Cipango - French Journal of Japanese Studies English Selection

2 | 2013 Language and Literature

Édition électronique URL : https://journals.openedition.org/cjs/269 DOI : 10.4000/cjs.269 ISSN : 2268-1744

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Référence électronique Cipango - French Journal of Japanese Studies, 2 | 2013, « Language and Literature » [En ligne], mis en ligne le 30 mai 2013, consulté le 08 juillet 2021. URL : https://journals.openedition.org/cjs/269 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/cjs.269

Ce document a été généré automatiquement le 8 juillet 2021.

Cipango - French Journal of Japanese Studies is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License. 1

SOMMAIRE

Editorial

Editorial Michael Lucken

Meiji : A Shift in the Minds

Language, script and modernity Pascal Griolet

Language textbooks following the Restoration Innovations from the Gakusei period Christian Galan

The rise of criticism (1886-1889) – Sohō, Hanpō, Ōnishi, Ōgai – Emmanuel Lozerand

Varia

Male? Female? Gender confusion in classical poetry (waka) Michel Vieillard-Baron

Two centuries of Japanese linguistics in France: 1825-1995 Catherine Garnier

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Editorial

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Editorial

Michael Lucken

1 The Meiji era (1868-1912) is often viewed in an overly simplistic light, with Japan seen as having entered the modern world abruptly in 1868, suddenly transforming its ways of life, values, culture and language. The three papers collectively entitled “The Changing Consciousness of Modern Japan” each show the magnitude of these transformations. The first, written by Pascal Griolet, demonstrates how a new written language came to the fore amid a range of radical suggestions; the second, by Christian Galan, shows the first attempts to reform the country’s education policy; the third, by Emmanuel Lozerand, describes the emergence of literary criticism in the 1880s. At the same time, however, these studies collectively demonstrate the gradual way the changes came about, illustrating that the solutions chosen were the result of intense local debate and that it was only at the end of a process spanning several decades that a new critical and modern way of thinking emerged. Recognising the time required for these transformations also means recognising how far-reaching they were, and distancing the twentieth century from the period.

2 These texts have been supplemented with papers by Michel Vieillard-Baron and Catherine Garnier, who present two further approaches by French Japanese Studies to the issues of language and literature.

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Meiji Japan: A Shift in the Minds

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Language, script and modernity

Pascal Griolet

EDITOR'S NOTE

Original release: Pascal Griolet, « Langue, écriture et modernité », Cipango — Cahiers d’études japonaises, special issue « Mutations de la conscience dans le Japon moderne », 2002, p. 121-192. In remembrance of Mori Arimasa and Mori Toshiko

1 Both vehicle and evidence of a long and tumultuous history, the found itself suddenly the target of criticism and reform during the latter half of the nineteenth century as it took a battering from the demands of “modernisation” (kindaika 近代化), which in this case consisted of the sudden emergence of western culture in Asia.1

2 In a country which, since the founding of the State in the seventh century, and as in China, had consistently attached great importance to the written word,2 teaching traditions – and in particular the teaching of reading and writing – were based on different principles to those developed within the modern education systems of the West. Whereas in France dictation became popular at the beginning of the nineteenth century, establishing itself as the main method of teaching French orthography and syntax, in Japan correspondence had long predominated, with models of letters used for reading or copying, in addition to vocabulary lists.3

3 Japan’s elite, under pressure and keen to adopt the modus operandi of western societies, struggled to implement a coherent education and language policy as well as define a “national language” (kokugo 国語) capable of ensuring Japan’s independence, unity and identity. This ideal was expressed in 1895 by Ueda Kazutoshi 上田万年, the great promoter of kokugo, in the famous slogan:4 Kokugo is the protective fence of the Imperial Household; the nurturing mother of the nation. Kokugo wa teishitsu no hanpei nari, kokugo wa kokumin no jibo nari. 国語は帝室の藩屏なり、国語は国民の慈母なり。5

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4 This period of change and cultural upheaval during the latter half of the nineteenth century was one of radical debate. Thus during bursts of enthusiasm in which fantasy was given free rein, the , its script and the relationship between the spoken and written language all came under scrutiny. This coincided with the appearance of a variety of new forms of graphic communication in the alphabet-using world: telegraphy, printing, shorthand, stenotypy, typewriting, Braille and sign language, for example, new tools which all tended to “rationalise” writing, in other words to organise language – and thus the world – in a phonetic or, to use the term coined by Jacques Derrida, logocentric manner.6

Language under the spotlight: Mori Arinori and Baba Tatsui

5 The government that took the helm of Japan’s modernisation in 1868 decided to establish a new education system. Its aim was for every citizen – irrespective of class and sex – to acquire the scientific knowledge and technical expertise that were the keys to Japan’s independence and power. The government thus abandoned the model of the former education system, which was deemed to be unproductive and a pure waste of time.

6 It was just as this new education system was being implemented, in 1872, that Mori Arinori 森有礼 (1847-1889), a young chargé d’affaires within Japan’s diplomatic mission to Washington – Japan’s highest-level representative in the at that time – suggested adopting English as the future language of education. Much ink has been spilt over this proposal. Though admittedly utopian, it nonetheless continues to be topical today: on the one hand there is currently talk of making English Japan’s official second language;7 and on the other globalisation has meant that certain major companies, both in Japan and elsewhere, are adopting English as their working language, not only for written documents but also, to a certain extent, for oral communication; finally, the growth of the internet has established English as a global standard and introduced bilingualism for all major Japanese websites.

7 Mori Arinori formulated his proposal on 21 May 1872 in a letter addressed to a Yale University linguistics professor named William Dwight Whitney (1827-1894), a specialist in Sanskrit and comparative philology, in order to request his opinion on the subject.8 In it Mori drew an extremely bleak picture of the Japanese language, which led him to advocate adopting English. He also to see English simplified in order to facilitate its acquisition in schools. In practical terms, he envisaged simplifying its orthography and syntax, in particular for irregular verbs.9

8 The first part of the letter dealing with the Japanese language (the second part focuses on English) reads as follows: Dear Sir, The fact that a high rank is awarded to you in the fields of Science and Literature has induced me respectfully to request your opinion on a project I have in contemplation, connected with the introduction of the into the Japanese Empire. The spoken language of Japan being inadequate to the growing necessities of the people of that Empire, and too poor to be made, by a phonetic alphabet, sufficiently useful as a written language, the idea prevails among us that, if we would keep pace

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with the age, we must adopt a copious and expanding European language. The necessity for this arises mainly out of the fact that Japan is a commercial nation; and also that, if we do not adopt a language like that of the English, which is quite predominant in Asia, as well as elsewhere in the commercial world, the progress of Japanese civilization is evidently impossible. Indeed a new language is demanded by the whole Empire. It having been found that the Japanese language is insufficient even for the wants of the Japanese themselves, the demand for the new language is irresistibly imperative, in view of our rapidly increasing intercourse with the world at large. All the schools the Empire has had, for many centuries, have been Chinese; and, strange to state, we have had no schools nor books, in our own language for education purposes. These Chinese schools, being now regarded not only as useless, but as a great drawback to our progress, are in the steady progress of extinction. Schools for the Japanese language are found to be greatly needed, and yet there are neither teachers nor books for them. The only course to be taken, to secure the desired end, is to start anew, by first turning the spoken language into a properly written form, based on a pure phonetic principle. It is contemplated that Roman letters should be adopted. Under such circumstances, it is very important that the alphabets of the two languages under consideration–Japanese and English–be as nearly alike as possible, in sound and powers of the letters. It may be well to add, in this connection, that the written language now in use in Japan, has little or no relation to the spoken language, but is mainly hieroglyphic–a deranged Chinese, blended in Japanese, all the proportion of the letters of which are themselves of Chinese origin. […]

9 Such was Mori’s proposal to adopt English as the language of Japan’s new education system in order to replace the Chinese of old. The term “Chinese” used by Mori is as ambiguous as its Japanese equivalent 漢文, a term that refers both to the classical Chinese texts studied in Japan since antiquity and to the texts produced by Japanese in imitation of them, but whose syntax at times differed considerably from Chinese (furthermore, the pronunciation of the characters had become completely different and the Japanese read this “Chinese” by translating it into Japanese, a language with an entirely different word order). This written language lost its raison d’être when Japan embarked upon the studying and mastering of Western learning, whereas China, Japan’s defeated foe, seemed no longer to hold any secrets. The main medium of modern learning was English. In Mori’s eyes it seemed both complicated and futile to go to the effort of translating this learning into Chinese and impossible to translate it into “Japanese”.

10 The term “Japanese language” is also misleading since it refers here to both the vernacular purged of all Chinese borrowings – that aristocratic language referred to as Yamato kotoba 大和言葉 (the language of Yamato)10 – and the Japanese language in its entirety and diversity, including vocabulary borrowed from or modelled on Chinese. However, there was no word at the time to refer to this linguistic entity. Admittedly the term Nihongo 日本語 (Japanese) was already attested but it was not part of everyday language: this term reflected an outside view of Japanese as it was a translation of the words used by Westerners to refer to the Japanese language.11 There was also the word 和語, used in Japan’s neighbouring countries to refer to the language of its inhabitants.12 Finally, I must point out the existence of an extremely common word that knows nothing of borders or nations: kotoba 言葉, which depending on the context can be translated as either “language” or “word”.13

11 Be that as it may, in Mori’s eyes the “Chinese” lexicon was not only useless but also a barrier to modernity. On the other hand, the pure vernacular was too impoverished to

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be used to disseminate the new knowledge that must be promoted to the Japanese people if the country was to end its inferiority in the fields of science and technology.

12 Mori pointed out to Whitney that for centuries all of Japan’s schools had used Chinese and that no Japanese-language schools or textbooks existed. What he states here is inaccurate, or at least misleading. When he employed the word “school” he no doubt had in mind the official institutions set up by the majority of domains to train their elites. In 1867 there were 219 such establishments located across Japan.14 Instruction in these schools was indeed based on the Chinese classics.

13 Did Mori also take into account the many small private schools open to both boys and girls from large sections of society? And yet these schools did not ascribe supreme importance to the study of Chinese classics. But perhaps in Mori’s eyes these schools were not places of “education”. The number of these private schools was initially estimated at 15,000, but by including the remote mountain and seaside villages their number is now put at 30, or even 40,000, though these estimations continue to be the subject of debate.15 Admittedly instruction at these schools usually focused on the ability to read and write the basic Chinese characters needed in everyday life. From this point of view they could be considered to teach “Chinese”, though the characters in question generally represented extremely common Japanese words (or Chinese words that had been fully assimilated into everyday language). However, if the identity of a language is determined by its script, only texts written in should be taken into consideration for the “Japanese language”, texts which in the world of education were reserved for women.16 In this respect, “Japanese” is a women’s and children’s language, hence Mori does not take it into account. Or perhaps, on the contrary, it is precisely because he considered this language feminine and childish that he described it as “poor”. In fact, throughout the Edo era Yamato kotoba, considered to be the native Japanese language, was often synonymous with nyōbō kotoba 女房ことば, a term which denoted the language of court ladies, and by extension, the language of women.17

14 On the other hand, in addition to developing the education system and unifying language use within Japan, Mori considered the dissemination of English – a language he described as “copious and expanding” – to be necessary for the “progress of Japanese civilisation” in order to facilitate trade with the outside world. In this instance, civilisation and trade appear to be inextricably linked. All those who, throughout modern history, would champion the opening up of Japan to the outside world, all the while opposing the upsurges of nationalism, also advocated devoting more hours to teaching English rather than classical literary studies, which in their eyes were pointless or of minor importance.18

15 As underlined by Tanaka Katsuhiko,19 by proposing to simplify English orthography and reorganise its syntax Mori was following in the footsteps of those who promoted a “constructed language” intended to be universal. He advocated turning English into a kind of Esperanto, the “international language” invented by Lazarus Ludwig Zamenhof (1859-1917) in Warsaw around ten years later, in 1887.

16 Finally, Mori did not entirely condemn this “impoverished” Japanese language in his letter, for he seemed equally to envisage creating schools where it would be used and written with the aid of the alphabet. This would solve the apparently central lexical issue. The use of Roman letters would make it possible to gradually abandon Chinese lexical units and directly adopt English loanwords.

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17 Nevertheless, Mori had a complete change of heart one year later. He expressed an even more radical point of view in a book published in 1873, Education in Japan: a series of letters addressed by prominent Americans to Arinori Mori.20 In his introduction dated 1 January 2533 (the year 1873 appears in brackets),21 he begins with a brief overview of Japanese civilisation and history which opens as follows:22

18 “The history proper of the Japanese Empire stretches over 2532 years and begins with the year of ascension to the throne of Emperor Zinmu […]”. At the end of the introduction he devotes a few lines to the Japanese language which are quoted in full below. They begin with a somewhat confused presentation of : […] An allusion to the subject of the Japanese language bears a most direct relation to the contents of this book. In the style of expression, the spoken language of Japan differs considerably from the written, though in their structure they are both mainly the same. In the written language there are fourteen elementary sounds, including five vowels. They are a, i, u, e, o, h, k, m, n, r, s, t, w, y. G, z, d, b, are represented by k, s, t, h, with two dots on their right hand side, while p is sometimes represented by h, with a little cipher in the place of the dots. The sound t is not well separated from that of ch; f from that of h or wh; g from either d, j, or z, n from ng. L, v, and th, are hardly known in Japan. The vowel-sounds are each defined and all short. The style of the written language is like the Chinese. In all our institutions of learning the Chinese classics have been used. There are four different methods of writing a character, and all of them are of Chinese origin. These methods differ in the degree of their complexity, and are graded according to their simplification of the Chinese character. The words in common use are very few in number, and most of them are of Chinese origin. There are some efforts being made to do away with the use of Chinese characters by reducing them to simple phonetics, but the words familiar through the organ of the eye are so many, that to change them into those of the ear would cause too great an inconvenience, and be quite impracticable. Without the aid of the Chinese, our language has never been taught or used for any purpose of communication. This shows its poverty. The march of modern civilization in Japan has already reached the heart of the nation – the English language following it suppresses the use of both Japanese and Chinese. The commercial power of the English-speaking race which now rules the world drives our people into some knowledge of their commercial ways and habits. The absolute necessity of mastering the English language is thus forced upon us. It is a requisite of the maintenance of our independence in the community of nations. Under the circumstances, our meagre language, which can never be of any use outside of our islands, is doomed to yield to the domination of the English tongue, especially when the power of steam and electricity shall have pervaded the land. Our intelligent race, eager in the pursuit of knowledge, cannot depend upon a weak and uncertain medium of communication in its endeavour to grasp the principal truths from the precious treasury of Western science and art and religion. The laws of state can never be preserved in the language of Japan. All reasons suggest its disuse.

19 Romanising the language and doing away with Chinese characters would not be enough; the Japanese language itself must be abandoned, for without Chinese characters Japanese would be without a framework. So many words relied on sight, in other words they assumed and required knowledge of Chinese characters to be understood, that without the visual clues they provided a Japanese language reliant merely “on the organ of the ear” would lose all force, all vitality.

20 The beginning of this passage on phonetics is confused in that Mori presents the five basic vowels in the order of the “table of fifty sounds” (gojūon-zu 五十音図), into which Japanese syllables are organised, while for the consonants he follows alphabetical

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order. Mori then reverts to the Japanese order to present the graphic distinction between voiced and unvoiced consonants. He continues by explaining that t is pronounced ch [t∫] before the vowel i and that h is pronounced [f] before the vowel u, or wh [w] when it appears within a word. From an educational standpoint this presentation is hardly a model of clarity. However, the crux of Mori’s argument resides in the conclusion of this passage, which is also the conclusion of the text, and thus of the book’s introduction: Japanese must be abandoned. Whereas the letter we saw earlier merely suggested adopting English, this one introduces the more radical option of abandoning the supposedly “meagre” Japanese language altogether.

21 The appendices of this book, Education in Japan, include Whitney’s reply from 29 June 1872, in other words before Mori wrote the aforementioned introduction.23 The great American linguist was in favour of simplifying English orthography but was more reserved about the idea of simplifying its syntax. Above all, while he fully supported the Romanisation of Japanese, he rejected Mori’s proposal to abandon the language altogether, which is not surprising at a time when each nation was asserting its own language as part of its national identity. And yet, despite being fully aware of this, Mori maintained his position and became even more radical.

22 Whitney was permanent secretary of the American Oriental Society and president of the American Philological Association, which he had founded himself and created within it a Simplified Spelling Board. This no doubt explains why Mori contacted him, despite apparently not having known him personally. He did so through the physicist Joseph Henry, Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, a fairly close acquaintance of his whom he had convinced of his plan’s validity.

23 Mori’s letter (as well as Whitney’s reply) was published in Japan a year later, on 1 May 1873, in an English-language newspaper published in Yokohama, The Japan Weekly Mail. It was also published that same year in the United States, in the Tribune. As early as December 1872 the evening edition of the Washington Star had covered the story of this Japanese diplomat who wanted to abandon “Chinese” in favour of English and who, in addition to the language, wanted his compatriots to adopt the American lifestyle and customs.24 In Japan, the editorials of the Japan Weekly Mail from 19 July to 9 August 1873 criticised and mocked Mori’s stance.25

24 Also in 1873, but this time on the other side of the Atlantic, Baba Tatsui 馬場辰猪 (1850-1888), a 24-year- man living in Great Britain, heard of Mori’s proposal and refuted it vigorously. The preface to his Japanese language textbook for foreigners,26 Elementary Grammar of the Japanese Language, with Easy Progressive Exercises, published by Trübner in London, began as follows: We have two objects in publishing this book – the first, to give a general idea of the Japanese language as it is spoken; and the second, to protest against a prevalent opinion entertained by many of our countrymen, as well as foreigners who take some interest in our country, and to show the reasons why we do so. It is affirmed that our language is so imperfect that we cannot establish a regular and systematical course of education by means of it; and that the best way is to exterminate the Japanese language altogether, and to substitute the English language for it. Those who maintain this opinion ought to have examined the language and proved its imperfection as a medium of intellectual thought and expression, but so far as we are aware they have not done so. […]

25 The strong language used to evoke the abolition of the Japanese language, “exterminate the Japanese language altogether”, eloquently conveys the author’s indignation. Baba

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rejected the idea, pointing out that European languages also borrowed words from Latin and Greek when they lacked an equivalent. From this point of view the Japanese language was in no way unique. Above all, he refuted the idea that Japanese was a particularly impoverished language and strove to prove the opposite by pointing to its coherent grammar (although the categories he presented were borrowed from English and on occasions – for example gender and number – were not relevant to Japanese).27

26 This nascent controversy was no doubt the result of a series of misunderstandings. Both Mori Arinori and Baba Tatsui were examining their language from an external point of view. Mori’s proposal was presented in English while he was living in the United States. It was refuted a year later, once again in English, by Baba, who was living in Great Britain at the time.

27 Since the age of eighteen Mori Arinori had lived most of his life outside of Japan. This man, who was twenty-five years old in 1872, came from the Satsuma domain (modern- day Kagoshima Prefecture), located on the southern tip of the island of Kyūshū. He initially received the classical education traditionally given to children from elite families at the domain’s school, the Zōshikan 造士館 (founded in 1773), an education which consisted in studying the Chinese classics and mastering this written language. In 1860, at a time when Western domination had become impossible to ignore, he was driven to study English by the discovery of a book by Hayashi Shihei 林子平,28 who evoked the strength of western countries and the danger they posed for Japan. He was just fifteen at the time. History began to gather pace when in 1863 English warships entered Kagoshima Bay and bombarded the city in retaliation for the Namamugi Incident (Namamugi jiken 生麦事件).29 Witnesses to the disaster realised the overwhelming superiority of the western powers and the futility of resistance. In 1864 Mori entered the School for Western Studies, which had recently been founded by the Satsuma authorities in imitation of the Edo school, the Kaiseijo 開成所. A year later, in 1865, and unbeknownst to the Edo government, he was sent to study in Great Britain with ten or so other young Satsuma students. He studied chemistry, maths and physics in London before staying briefly in Russia. As he discovered first hand a West that took him from one surprise to another, he began to take an increasing interest in the way society there was organised. In 1867 he travelled to the United States with a group of young compatriots to join a communitarian sect (the Brotherhood of the New Life) which combined visionary Christianity with the mysticism of Emanuel Swedenborg (1688-1772). This sect proposed to put the world to rights by returning to an authentic practice of the Christian faith and requiring total devotion from its followers. Mori stayed with the sect from July 1867 to April 1868 and abode by the community’s strict rules.30

28 Upon his return to Japan, numerous high-responsibility positions were conferred on him by the new government. According to one historian of education, Mori was perceived as a foreigner by contemporary Japanese and he himself felt like a stranger in a foreign land. For his own safety he was advised to abandon western dress and once again wear a kimono31. It should be stressed that prior to going abroad he had never left his southern domain. The former shogunate capital and the language spoken there must have added to his unease.

29 It was on his initiative that the “parliament” (Kōgisho 公議所) was founded, the creation of which had been announced in the founding text of the Meiji Government, the Charter Oath (Gokajō no seimon 五箇条の誓文), on the 14th day of the 3rd month of

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Keiō 4 (1868). Mori was also appointed to head this first parliament composed of representatives appointed by the various domains. There, he brushed custom aside by advocating monogamy and the abolition of the distinctive samurai practice of sword- wearing. This latter proposal came up against violent widespread opposition that led Mori to resign. He consequently returned to his domain and founded a small English school. In 1871 he was then recalled by the government and sent as a diplomat to the United States to represent Japan. In addition to his official responsibilities he published the English books Religious Freedom in Japan and Education in Japan, publications which earned him a reputation as both a diplomat and man of culture. He returned to Japan in 1873 and alongside his official position at the Ministry for Foreign Affairs, immediately founded an intellectual society known as the Meiji 6 Society (Meirokusha 明六社), which went on to be highly influential. It notably broke new ground by introducing the art of public speaking (enzetsu 演説) on a scientific or political issue. Mori then went down in history as the greatest education minister in modern Japan.

30 As for Baba Tatsui, he came from the Tosa Domain on the southernmost tip of the island of Shikoku. He received a similar education to Mori in his domain’s official school, known as the Bunbukan 文武館, which he entered in 1863. Sent to Edo by the authorities of his domain to study steam engines, in 1866 he entered a completely new type of school, the Keiō Gijuku (慶応義塾), which had recently been founded by Fukuzawa Yukichi 福澤諭吉 (1834-1901). Three years later, in 1870, he was sent to London where he lived until 1874, and then again from 1875 to 1878. He went on to become one of the historical figures of the Liberal Party (Jiyū-tō 自由党) and the opposition against the ruling government. He was imprisoned at the end of 1885 for violating the rules regulating explosives. A year later, after having been found innocent, he left Japan for the United States where he attempted to teach the Americans about Japan.

31 In her acclaimed book, Lee Yeounsuk stresses that these two men were the first to have understood the necessity of constructing a “national language”, although they were both extremely sceptical as to the possibility of unifying the language.32 Lee highlights the fact that Mori was a native of the Satsuma Domain, whose language was reputedly difficult to understand for those not from the region. For his part, Baba, when he left Tosa to study at the Keiō Gijuku, complained of not being able to communicate with his fellow students due to linguistic differences and sought to meet other people from his domain. Both Mori and Baba came from highly distinctive domains that were contemporary centres of unrest

32 Another paradox emphasised by Lee is that while he may have given many speeches in Japanese, which were then published in Japanese magazines and newspapers, and had an extensive journalistic activity, Baba Tatsui, the great defender of the Japanese language, wrote the majority of his work in English!33 Furthermore, the Japanese language he presented in his 1873 grammar – “Japanese as it is spoken” – was not his own language from southern Shikoku but a model Japanese based on the language of Edo, a language that had been foreign to him initially.

33 Japan’s linguistic situation at that point in time thus appears to have been extremely complex. Oral communication was characterised by significant regional differences that had been exacerbated politically by the borders established by the various domains between their lands. Accounts abound of the near impossibility for people from different regions, in particular the remote regions of Japan, to communicate: a

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man from the north of the main island could not communicate orally with a man from the south of Kyūshū. However, the shogunate capital acted as a linguistic crossroads in that representatives from every region were constantly present.

34 In terms of the written language, besides classical Chinese and Japanese, a range of intermediary styles between the two coexisted, not to mention works written in the vernacular language, known as zokubun 俗文 (colloquial style). 34 However, Sino- Japanese texts and texts written in kana were read the length and breadth of Japan and helped to unify language usage. Thanks to the rapid growth of print technology and the dissemination of books, “correspondence textbooks” known as ōraimono (往来物)35 spread a written language throughout the country. Despite this, none of the writing styles of the time seemed equal to meeting the challenge of modern education. This lack of a “national language” (kokugo 国語),36 “national script” (kokuji 国字)37 or “national style” ( kokubun 国文) was sorely felt. Their norms would be codified only gradually, over the final decades of the nineteenth century. The fact remains that Mori Arinori considered the Latin alphabet and English to be signs of modernity.

35 Fifteen years later, on 25 April 1888, the Education Minister Mori Arinori delivered a speech to lecturers at the Imperial University. His point of view had changed. During the course of his presentation he touched on the issue of foreign languages: [...] These days, in the majority of schools, and in universities in particular, it is standard practice to teach using foreign languages. This is unavoidable. Although this is a long-standing practice it will undoubtedly not last forever. The advantages and disadvantages, merits and demerits of teaching in a foreign language are a thorny issue […]. 抑今日ニ於テハ諸学校大邸特ニ大學ニ於テハ外国語ヲ以テ教授スルヲ常トスル 習慣ナリ、外国語ヲ以テ教授スルハ止ヲ得サルコトナリ、後来ト雖モ永續スル コトナラン、然ルニ此外国語ヲ以テ教授スルノ利害得喪ニ至テハ實ニ困難ナル 問題ナリ38

36 In his speech, Mori recommended limiting foreign languages, as far as possible, to one single language, thereby making himself the eulogist of English language domination. It should be pointed out that at this point in time certain classes were indeed taught in foreign languages, in particular those of the foreign professors invited to Japan. These professors, of which there were around 100 in the middle of the 1880s,39 were paid a king’s ransom by the Japanese government. As for Japanese teachers, it is difficult to imagine them really teaching their classes in English, French or German; however, textbooks, working documents and research material, on the other hand, were written in foreign languages. It is possible to think that they might have spoken in Japanese but peppered their speech with so many western words that they gave the impression of speaking in a foreign tongue. Even if some Japanese teachers were bilingual, were students really capable of following lessons without a Japanese translation?

37 On this point, which merits further investigation, it is worth quoting Fukuzawa Yukichi 福澤諭吉 (1835-1901). In his autobiography he talks of the school (modern-day Keiō University) he founded on the eve of the Meiji period:40 Instruction focused solely on English; students were pushed only to study and understand texts written in this language, without the slightest importance attached to the Chinese studies traditionally taught in Japan; students thus proved themselves to be incapable of reading Chinese texts. Since they could only read English and did not know Chinese, some students were unable to understand Japanese correspondence.

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38 The writer Natsume Sōseki 夏目漱石 (1867-1916) also gave an account of his years as a student in the 1880s:41 During our studies we worked in English for all of the standard subjects: geography, history, maths, zoology and botany. Furthermore, all subjects had to be studied using foreign-language books.

39 Nonetheless, by 1888 Mori had ceased to mention the “poor” Japanese language, but a little later on in his speech he spoke of the “poverty” and “weakness” of Japan (hinjaku na kunigara 貧弱な国柄). His focus was thus no longer the language but rather the country and inhabitants themselves. This betrays Mori’s constant feeling of belonging to a profoundly weak and impoverished country compared to the tall and powerful men of the West. This was one of his reasons for adding military-style training and intensive physical education classes to the Japanese curriculum.42

40 In the second edition of Baba Tatsui’s , published in June 1888,43 the author shortened his preface from a dozen or so pages to a dozen or so lines, merely pointing out that the publication of the book in 1873: […] aimed primarily at protesting against the idea entertained by some of my compatriots that the Japanese language was imperfect and consequently should be abolished. This idea, however, showed itself to be completely absurd and extravagant.

41 By 1888 the idea of adopting English for the purpose of studying had lost its relevance and it was no longer necessary to make a case against it. It is worth noting that this second edition was published both in London by Trübner and in New York by Appleton, the publishing house responsible for publishing Mori Arinori’s book on Japanese education. In it Baba Tatsui presents his indignant refutation of the opinion once expressed by Mori as being the book’s main objective, whereas in the first edition it was merely a secondary objective. Coincidentally, Mori was at that time the minister for education and was expediting all manner of reforms. Could this be why Baba singled him out for attack? Mori was stabbed a year later – at home whilst wearing ceremonial dress as he prepared to attend the ceremonies for the promulgation of the Constitution of the Japanese Empire – by a fanatic no doubt inspired by the traditionalist schools of thought which saw Mori as a worshipper of the West and a traitor to his own country. One may wonder if, intentionally or unintentionally, Baba might not have lent support to Mori Arinori’s enemies by presenting him as the man keen to “abolish” a Japanese language that others, unlike him, regarded as sacred.

42 Baba Tatsui’s book was simply a grammar for foreigners published in a foreign country. It is difficult to imagine it having had repercussions in Japan. Baba had left his country several years earlier and subsequently sunk into oblivion. That same year, in 1888, he fell ill and died in Philadelphia.

43 It was not until 1935 that these two Meiji-period figures were brought together and compared by the linguist Yamada Yoshio 山田孝雄 (1875-1958). Yamada, a great defender of the “spirituality” (seishinsei 精神性) of the Japanese language, gave glowing praise to this first major book on Japanese grammar and, more than anything, admired Baba’s speech in defence of the Japanese language.44 Throughout the controversies that have continued to dog Japan’s language policy even to this day, Mori Arinori would be used as a deterrent by those opposing the reforms.

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The alphabet to the rescue of language: Nanbu Yoshikazu

44 The debate on the Japanese language and script was brought into the public arena by a journal whose influence at the beginning of the Meiji period is indisputable and which was founded by Mori Arinori in March 1874: Meiroku Zasshi 明六雑誌. The first issue was devoted entirely to this topic and featured, in particular, a famous essay by Nishi Amane 西周 (1829-1897), who evoked the prospect of the alphabet being adopted and weighed up the pros and cons.45

45 Historically, however, and before it was recommended by Mori, the possibility of a change in language had been suggested by another less well known person, and this time not in English but in classical Chinese. That person was the sinologist Nanbu Yoshikazu 南部義籌 (1840-1917) who, like Baba Tatsui, his junior by ten years, came from the Tosa Domain. Given the anarchic situation of the Japanese language and the resulting impossibility of studying, in 1869 he suggested adopting a foreign language.46 No sooner had he proposed the idea than he promptly rejected it in favour of adopting the Latin alphabet to enable the Japanese to “master the national language” (Shū- kokugo ron 脩国語論). This was the title of a presentation he made to the head of Daigaku Nankō, Yamauchi Yōdō 山内容堂.47 Nanbu was also one of the first to use the term kokugo (“national language”), the language called upon to unify linguistic usage throughout the country and enable western knowledge to be translated and then mastered. Let us begin by examining the following document:48 On mastering the national language The path of study is easy in Western countries; it is difficult in our Empire, as it is in China. Moreover, it is especially difficult in our country. In Europe, all one need do in order to study is learn twenty-six letters, understand the grammatical rules and then any text can be read. This is what makes it easy to study. The same cannot be said of countries such as China, where one must read hundreds of books and master thousands of characters. This is what makes it difficult to study. However, in China there is only one principle, whereas the written language of our Empire also makes use of classical Japanese,49 as well as the various colloquial styles that must be learnt. This is what makes it particularly difficult to study. The development of the arts and letters depends fundamentally on this issue. If we want to train men of worth, is this not a great obstacle? Currently those engaged in study, whether in the field of sinology or that of western studies, neglect the content in order to focus their efforts on the form. Consequently, rare are those who understand the national language and have mastered our classics. This situation is not the fault of those who study; it is the responsibility of the government. It is in man’s nature to neglect the pointless and concentrate on the worthwhile, just like water runs downwards. Who can prevent this? Ever since Japan adopted China’s institutions in ancient times, the wording of decrees and edicts has continued to draw on the power of Chinese classics, which must therefore be mastered. This type of text is also recurrent in everyday documents. This means that it is impossible to conduct one’s affairs successfully without knowledge of the Chinese classics. Furthermore, studying Western learning is now a necessity. Finally, regarding Japanese studies, they bear no relevance to modern-day activities and are virtually useless outside of poetry composition. This is a political error. Is it not regrettable that students have no command of the national language? Consequently, the national language is being increasingly forgotten, words differ throughout the land and our language makes it virtually impossible to communicate. This is due to our ignorance of language study. Can we then call ourselves a civilised nation?50 Unless we end this situation a

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radical change of language may be envisaged in favour of Chinese, English, French or Dutch, leading to indescribable chaos. Is this not regrettable? If we think about it carefully, it is clear that we must make it easier to study and that means first taking steps to make mastering national studies possible. If we really want to achieve this, there is no other solution but to borrow the western alphabet in order to acquire mastery of the national language. No doubt those attached to old habits will argue that this is impossible carry out. However, if we think about it calmly, it is clear that this is the most logical solution. It is thus most certainly advisable that we adopt the alphabet. Through study and careful thinking we will acquire mastery of the historical classics of our country and, in terms of Chinese and Western books, we will choose those that may be useful to the governance of our country, in addition to astronomy and geography books. They will be translated and taught to students in this form. By learning this way, students will not be dependent on foreign learning; they will improve their knowledge of the principles that govern the world and become acquainted with the situation in all countries. Is it not a case of changing the difficult in order to achieve the easy? If rescripts, edicts and everyday texts employ this national language, no one will be ignorant of national learning. Consequently, the same words will be used throughout the land and our difficulties in communicating will disappear. In this way, the inhabitants of the entire country will perfectly command first national learning and then, depending on their interests, Chinese or Western learning. And through solid foundations they will be able to achieve their objectives. Training men of worth and developing the arts and letters must be implemented today, without delay. Thus, the current priority is to train men of worth. Can this be ignored? Some people will say: your argument is admirable but would not adopting the western alphabet wound the body politic?51 To this I would reply: in what way would it wound it? From the Empire’s point of view, China and the West are both foreign entities, so why favour one or the other? Being able to master the national language thanks to borrowing a foreign script, compared to the disappearance of the Empire’s own language, is it not as different as heaven and earth? That is why this matter must be put right at all costs; there is no doubt about it.

46 While in its English translation this text can be read and understood (disregarding any awkwardness in the translation), the original is virtually illegible for a Japanese person today, for it is written in kanbun, the “Chinese” that Mori Arinori spoke of and suggested abolishing.

47 The Japanese method of reading texts originally intended to be read in Chinese is not linear but requires the reader to constantly jump back and forth in order to recreate the Japanese sentence structure. In other words, the text cannot be read exactly in the order presented but requires the reader to constantly skip certain words and return to them later. These movements back and forth may be indicated, as in Nanbu’s text, using small marks placed between the Chinese characters in the bottom left-hand corner.

48 It is important to consider how this type of text was read if we are to clearly understand the depth of the issue being raised when the men of this era spoke of reforming the language and script. The first symbol we come across in Nanbu’s text is known as a re-ten レ点,52 indicating that the preceding character must be read after the one that immediately follows it, meaning that the reading order of two successive characters is reversed. If several follow each other, the entire series of characters must be read backwards from the last to the first (in Nanbu’s text there are never more than four in each series). This means that for a short time the text must be read in reverse order. For characters that do not immediately follow each other, the reading order in

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Japanese is indicated by the numerals three (san 三), two (ni 二) and one (ichi 一): as soon as the numeral “three” appears, one must “remember” which character has been marked, read on until “two” appears and again “remember” this character, and it is only when “one” is reached that, after reading it, one works back to “two” and then “three”. The two systems – the re-ten marker for reversing two successive characters and the numerals – can be combined. At a higher level the characters for bottom (ge 下), middle (chū 中), and top (jō 上) are used; at an even higher level the first three Heavenly Stems of the Chinese calendar are used: third (hei 丙), second (otsu 乙) and first (kō 甲); and finally, if necessary, “man” (jin 人), “earth” (chi 地) and “heaven” (ten 天).53 The ancestral art of reading Chinese in Japanese, often referred to as yomikudashi 読み下し, and the art of placing these markers, which curiously are used in threes, merit their own in-depth study.

49 This punctuation system (kunten 訓点), which facilitates the understanding and translation of the text, appears in the published version of Nanbu Yoshikazu’s text. This was justified by its being aimed at an unspecified audience; however, the letter sent to the university head (which apparently was not conserved) probably lacked any such indications. It would have been impolite to place such markers in a text addressed to a high-ranking individual (which would have implied considering him to be a simpleton to whom the reading of a Chinese text must be explained).

50 The passage in the text that most interests us here appeared and must be “read” as follows: 如レ此而不レ止則堂々皇国之語或変為レ漢或為レ英為レ仏為レ蘭混雑摩滅将レ 至レ不レ可二分弁一 Kaku no gotokushite yamazunba, sunawachi dōdō-taru kōkoku no kotoba mo aruiwa hen- jite kara to nari, aruiwa ei to nari, futsu to nari, ran to nari, konzatsu mametsu, masa ni bunbetsu subekarazaru ni itaran. If this situation continues, there is talk of radically changing the Empire’s language and adopting Chinese, English, French or Dutch, leading to indescribable chaos.

51 The author mentions some of the ideas that were topical at the time. In this respect, Mori Arinori’s proposal was not an entirely isolated point of view. In 1869, all those confronting the challenge of modernity through study had to learn a foreign language, usually English – which thus superseded Dutch as well as Chinese and other languages –, in order to acquire theoretical knowledge of the world.

52 The fact remains that in both cases the idea of a potential change of language was mentioned. At the end of his text Nanbu once again touches on the possible

“disappearance of the empire’s native language” (失中皇国固有之語上 Kōkoku koyū no kotoba wo ushinau), something which in his eyes could only be avoided by adopting the Latin alphabet. This would free the Japanese language from the shackles of Chinese notation.

53 The “mastery” of the national language, which he considered to be the aim of Romanisation, can be understood both as a personal “mastery” – studying and deepening one’s knowledge – of the national language, as well as its “mastery” by the State, in other words as a linguistic policy that looks after the national language. The character shū in the term shū-kokugo 脩国語, which appears in the text’s title, allows for these two meanings. The Japanese translation of this character, the verb osameru, means both “to assimilate through study” and “to rule, to pursue a policy”. Furthermore, the author saw the situation he described and deplored as the

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consequence of “a political error” and did not consider the fault to lie with the scholars of each discipline. The “mastery” of the language to which he alluded could thus only result from a political act.

54 The text opens with the term gakumon 学問, or “learning”, which was thus fundamental to the language debate. As with Mori Arinori four years later, the focus here was the “language of learning”. Remember that one of the fundamental books of this period was entitled Gakumon no susume 学問のすすめ (An Encouragement to Learning) and was published in 1872 by Fukuzawa Yukichi. Such reflections on the language illustrate the importance attached to study, the desire to cultivate learning and the national commitment to meeting the challenge of modernity. However, in Japan studying was dependent on acquiring a foreign language: Chinese in one case, and Western languages in the other. Nanbu saw this as neglecting content in favour of form.

55 In Japan, wrote Nanbu, in addition to Chinese there was a native Japanese study tradition (wagaku 和学) as well as the colloquial style (zokugo 俗語). By wagaku he was referring to what is often called kokugaku (national studies). Perhaps wagaku refers more specifically to classical and the rules governing the classical language and traditional poetry. He thus considered the situation at that time wasteful because students also had to learn all of those other languages. Far from scorning “national studies” – which, rightly or wrongly, sinologists were often considered to do – Nanbu also expressed his attachment to Japanese learning, and while critical of the direction it was taking at the time, hoped to see the situation rectified. He stressed the need to establish a Japanese grammar by means of bunten no gi 文典之義 (grammatical rules). This would involve abandoning the Chinese script, precisely because it did not represent the grammatical components of the Japanese vernacular.

56 Thus, this particular sinologist challenged the traditions of his own discipline and advocated clearly distinguishing Chinese from Japanese. The former should be studied as a foreign language, while the latter should be extricated – through the use of a phonetic script – from the language in which it was imprisoned. Nanbu was himself one of the heirs to the tradition of Japanese sinology and in this sense his stance seems suicidal, for he was criticising his own field of study. Chinese studies were undoubtedly undergoing the most painful moments in their Japanese history.

57 Nanbu reiterated his suggestion on several occasions. The oldest document found appeared in the journal Yōyōsha-dan洋々社談 (Society of the High Seas, no. 7, November 1875) in which, following an essay by the linguist Ōtsuki Fumihiko 大槻文彦 (1847-1928) on the need to establish a Japanese grammar, Nanbu published a paper entitled “On Changing the Script” (Monji wo kaikan-suru gi 文字ヲ改換スル議). The text was subdivided into the following three sections: • 1.Correcting pronunciation and choosing the written characters; • 2.Breaking down sentences and establishing word categories; • 3.Compiling grammar books and dictionaries, and creating textbooks to help children read.

58 In 1874 he published, in alphabetical form, the first volume of a Japanese grammar book: a Nippon Bunten uhi-manabi hazime no maki / 横文字綴日本文典初学第一巻. The title differed slightly depending on whether it was written in letters or Chinese characters. The title in Chinese characters specified that the text was written in “horizontal writing”, in other words using the alphabet. The title in letters contained –

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within a Japanese utterance – the English indefinite article “a”. In a way, Nanbu had switched directly from the classical Chinese wording to alphabetical wording.

59 His concern was no doubt to build a “national language”, a written language based on phonetic principles, in other words, abandoning the logographic system of Chinese and moving closer towards the rules governing Western languages. Moreover, Nanbu suggested reading Chinese as a foreign language by abandoning the traditional reading technique and respecting the contemporary pronunciation of the language. He expounded this idea in issues 59 and 60 (1879) of the same journal, Yōyōsha-dan, using a title written – paradoxically – in Sino-Japanese, Rōmaji wo motte kokugo wo utsusu narabi ni seisoku kanbun wo sakan ni suru no ron 以羅馬字写国語並盛正則漢学論,54 (Transcribing the National Language using Roman Letters and Promoting Orthodox Chinese Studies). Nanbu thus revealed the crisis being experienced by traditional Chinese studies at that time, the split within this discipline, and the new sinology set to emerge, one that looked towards contemporary China.

For the abolition of Chinese characters: Maejima Hisoka

60 Others advocated abandoning Chinese characters entirely and writing with kana. Such was the argument of Maejima Hisoka 前島密 (1835-1919), who in the 12th month of Keiō 2 (1866) submitted a petition to the shogun that began as follows: If the State is built on the education of its citizens, it is important to extend it to all, regardless of class, and thus to use a script and written language that are as simple as possible. Furthermore, every discipline, the noblest or most profound, must abandon the dry and tortuous study method that requires characters to be learnt before the things themselves are understood. Knowledge should always enable the principle of things to be understood. For this reason learning should be disseminated as in western countries using phonetic symbols - kana - and the use of Chinese characters in everyday texts, both public and private, should be abolished. 55

61 This petition, entitled go-haishi no gi 漢字御廃止之儀 (On the Abolition of Chinese Characters), is often cited as being the starting point of the “Movement to Unify Spoken and Written Language” ( itchi undo 言文一致運動), which was instrumental in modernising the written language, in particular the literary style. The following passage is frequently quoted in this regard: All languages evolve over time. However, it is important to ensure that a perceptible gap does not arise between the written and spoken forms. 言語は時代に就て變轉するは中外皆然るかと奉存候 但口舌にすれは談話とな り筆書にすれは文章となり口談筆記の両般の趣を異にせさる様には仕度事に奉 存候

62 Although he had a lifelong appreciation of the Chinese poetry he wrote, Maejima felt that the minds of the Japanese had been “poisoned” by the Sino-Japanese language and Chinese characters. He believed that they should be banished from the field of education. Allow me to quote the opinion of an American by the name of Williams.56 He travelled to China as a Christian missionary in order to spread his faith in Asia. There he studied Chinese until the end of the 1850s; he then came to where he has recently been studying our language. Shortly after his arrival in China, he was passing by the door of a house when he was surprised to hear

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children shouting. He went through the door and looked around. The house was a school and the children were raising their voices in order to read. When he enquired as to the reason for such a racket, he was told that there was no need for alarm: the students were only trying to pronounce the written characters without understanding the content of the texts and they put all their effort into learning by rote how to write and pronounce the characters. The books they were using were the Chinese classics, the complexity of which bewildered even the old Confucian scholars. If China, a vastly populated empire with a huge territory, has sunk into its current predicament, if its population has descended into barbarism and is held in contempt by the West, it is due to the harmful effects of these pictograms and the inability to implement an education for all.

63 Maejima is hiding here behind the words of an American missionary, but it is clear that in his eyes modernity implied leaving behind China and its “archaisms”. However, for Maejima and many of his contemporaries, modernity was also inseparable from the idea of nationhood. He went on to describe the traditional curriculum: The higher level generally begins with pronunciation exercises from the Four Books and the Five Classics, and covers Chinese history, including its major works and institutions as well as its hours of glory and peace, troubles and decline. Our own history and classics are not covered and are generally passed over in silence. The harmful effects of revering others and disparaging oneself soon spread to the minds of the young and wound their national pride. […] The young must be taught to love what is native to Japan and respect themselves. To teach foreign learning before our own is to confuse priorities and seriously endanger our traditions and customs.

64 When he sent this letter to the shogun, Maejima had recently been hired as a writer- translator (hon’yaku hikki-gata 反訳筆記方) at the Kaiseijo, the Edo institute of research and documentation on the western world.57 The following year he would attain the position of mathematics professor. This was of course western mathematics, a discipline whose influence on the Japanese script debate cannot be ignored due to the spatial arrangement it implies, the Arabic signs it requires and the horizontal writing style with which it is associated.

65 Maejima submitted other similar petitions to the new government. In the year Meiji 2 (1869), in Kokubun kyōiku no gi ni tsuki kengi 国文教育之儀ニ付建議 (Proposal for Teaching the National Style), he presented a seven-year plan to completely abolish Chinese characters. His proposal was rejected by the House of Representatives (Shūgiin 集議院, which replaced the aforementioned Kōgisho in 1869) but he wrote two further petitions in the same vein: Kokubun kyōiku shikō no hōhō 国文教育施行の方法 (Methods for Teaching the National Style) and Haikanji shikensho 廃漢字私見書 (A Personal View on the Abolition of Chinese Characters). In July 1872, one month before the Education System Order (Gakusei 学制) was promulgated, he was back on the offensive writing to the minister of the right Iwakura Tomomi 岩倉具視 (1825-1883), and the education minister (Monbukyō 文部卿) Ōki Takato 大木喬任 (1832-1899), with a “Report on my Humble Opinion that Reform of our Script should Precede the Establishment of an Education System” (Gakusei goshikō ni sakidachi kokuji kairyō ainaritaki hiken naishinsho 学 制御施行ニ先立チ国字改良相成度卑見内申書). Finally, the following year he wrote to a close relation of the emperor, Prince Arisugawa-no-miya Takehito 有栖川威仁 (1862-1913), with a text entitled Kōkokubun haikanji 興国文廃漢字 (Creation of a National Style and the Abolition of Chinese Characters). He thus attempted to consult the emperor through a member of the imperial family who was in favour of disseminating a kana-based script. His audacity earned him the wrath of the

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authorities. One of the most powerful politicians of the time, Ōkubo Toshimichi 大久保 利通 (1830-1878), is said to have sent him the following warning:58 The view that you defend is certainly a fine one, but among the supporters of Chinese characters are many high-ranking individuals, both Confucianists and sinologists. Is it not proper that those at the top, the government officials, and those at the bottom, farmers and tradesmen, conform to the established order? Do you intend to overturn it in order to revolutionise our language and literature?

66 Like many of his contemporaries, Maejima had been struck by the strength of western communications technology. He was fascinated with the subject and in 1870 was given the task of developing a postal system. He was instrumental in this field, establishing a government monopoly on postal delivery as well as reduced rates for newspaper companies, deciding on the creation of postal orders, setting up a postal savings bank system and helping found companies involved in land transportation (the present-day Nippon Tsūun 日本通運) and shipping (the present-day Nippon Yūsen 日本郵船). He also played a decisive role in the construction of a railway network and a telegraph and telephone network. He resigned from the government in 1881 during a political crisis in protest against the ruling authorities.59

67 Having understood the educational role of the press before others, back in 1873 he had founded the first all-kana newspaper, the Mainichi Shinbun まいにち ひらがな しんぶん, which lasted just one year. In 1882 he lent his support to the founding of a daily that would go on to become one of the most important of the era, the Yūbin Hōchi Shinbun 郵便報知新聞 (The Postal News).

68 During the latter part of his life he headed several railway companies, including the one that began building the main Korean train lines in 1903. His unrelenting efforts to simplify the language and his staunch opposition to Chinese characters may seem somewhat obsessive, especially given that his public duties often required him to write Chinese poems on, for example, the wonders of electricity! However, an examination of his life and career suggests that for him the issue was part of a wide-reaching view of social communication.

69 Some people have questioned the existence of Maejima’s petition to the shogun.60 Indeed, the text only surfaced in Meiji 32 (1899) at a time when, following Japan’s victory over China in 1895, the plan to reform the Japanese language was beginning to take shape. It was at this time that Konishi Nobuhachi 小西信八 (1854-1938), a kana advocate and pioneer of the adaptation of braille to the Japanese language, put together – for publicity purposes – a small booklet containing Maejima’s petitions for script reform entitled Maejima Hisoka-kun kokuji kokubun kairyō kengi-sho 前島密君国字 国文改良建議書.

70 To consider this text a complete fabrication designed to make it appear pioneering would doubtless be a step too far, and it is preferable to think that it was simply rewritten by Maejima (in principle the original sent to the shogun would have been written in classical Chinese, the most formal style, which the published version is not). Based on the suggestion of Ōtsuki Fumihiko, Yasuda Toshiaki believes that the text was revised after the .61 Regardless, what we do know for certain is that the 1866 text was first brought to the public’s knowledge in May 1900, in the journal Taiyō 太陽,62 which devoted a special issue to the founding of the National Language Investigative Committee (Kokugo Chōsa Iinkai 国語調査委員会), of which Maejima had

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been appointed chairman a month earlier in April 1900.63 According to Yasuda, Maejima created a shortened version based on a copy (utsushi 写).

71 The fact that doubts exist over the 1866 text is of no great importance since it elicited no response from the government and went unnoticed at the time. On the other hand, it was highly influential from the end of the nineteenth century when the government began its aggressive policy to rationalise the national language, the very policy called for by the various figures discussed here.

The first official decisions

72 On 26 January 1900 the Imperial Education Society (Teikoku Kyōikukai 帝国教育会) presented a petition to each government minister and the speakers of both houses of the Diet to introduce a government-level reform of the “national language”, and in particular its script (Kokuji kokugo kokubun no kairyō ni kansuru seigansho 国字国語国文 の改良に関する請願書). This petition gave the green light to the first attempts at political action on the issue. The full text reads as follows: Petition for the reform of the national script, language and style Imperial Education Society The Imperial Education Society submits the following request: That the government undertake a prompt investigation into the ways in which to reform the national script, language and style.64 Explanatory Statement Careful examination of the language, script and style used in our country reveals a complexity and heterogeneity that make reading and understanding particularly arduous. In order to express a single meaning in our language there may be a native Japanese term, a term of Chinese origin and a hybrid term. Using them judiciously is far from simple. The writing system includes kana and Chinese characters. There are almost fifty kana, but each syllable is further subdivided into two different sets, and hiragana. Furthermore, the many variant forms of hiragana mean that there are over two hundred symbols in total. If we then add that some of these symbols have two different pronunciations, the original and the derived, it must be acknowledged that they are extremely confusing. As for Chinese characters, there are some five thousand in everyday use, with each character having three written forms: square, semi-cursive and cursive. They are generally formed of a highly complex tangle of dots and strokes, leading to frequent errors. Most of them have two Chinese pronunciations, known as Han and Wu, to which the Tang pronunciation must often be added. Furthermore, for these two sets subtle distinctions in pronunciation, known as original, secondary and Japanese pronunciations, must be taken into account. Consequently, one single character may occasionally have over ten different pronunciations of this type. These multiple pronunciations intermingle in compound Chinese words, and above all in hybrid Sino-Japanese words, in a highly disordered and irregular fashion, creating often insurmountable ambiguity. Moreover, Chinese characters have multiple readings that correspond to their equivalent translations in Japanese. Aside from a few rare cases where there is only one Japanese equivalent, there is generally a minimum of five or six, and sometimes even dozens. These many Japanese equivalents and numerous Chinese pronunciations act as readings for the Chinese characters and are sometimes combined together, sometimes used in isolation. They have become, in a highly incoherent manner, the constituents of the spoken and written forms of our language. Writing a character correctly from memory, and recognising which of the Chinese and Japanese readings must be employed based on

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the context and the position of the character, is not obvious, even for an accomplished scholar. Additionally, the written form of our language includes the classical Japanese style, the samurai chronicles style, the epistolary style, the classical Chinese style, the style translated literally from western languages and the colloquial style. Selecting one of these styles to be the norm amounts to discontinuing the others. Going deeper into this one means ignoring another. Even scholars do not know which one to base themselves on. After all, our national language has no standard spoken form and in reality is made up of dialects. These differ considerably by region and social class, whether noble or humble. Sometimes the language of one region cannot be used in another, or the language of one social class does not befit another. In particular, the desire to avoid confusing them represents a major difficulty. If we add to this the difficulty of using Japanese, Chinese and hybrid terms judiciously, it must be acknowledged that there are serious obstacles to mastering our national language. The morphological and syntactic rules, which in western countries are more or less identical, are subject to considerable differences over here. To appreciate this, one need only consult two or three grammar treatises: one is based on classical Japanese, another on the style derived from Chinese and the third on the colloquial style. Conforming to one means contradicting the others; basing oneself of this one means not complying with the rules set out in that one. The heterogeneous nature of the language and difficulty of setting it in order, the excessive number of Chinese characters and the writing errors they cause, the profusion of Chinese pronunciations and equivalent Japanese readings, as well as the chaotic way they are combined, the multiplicity of written forms and difficulty mastering them, the lack of a standard morphology and syntax on which to base oneself, such are the difficulties involved in teaching written and spoken Japanese. Some time ago a European declared that the Japanese language was the most complex in the world and that he himself had often been tempted to abandon his studies of it. An American also declared to his compatriots that Japanese students endure a hardship in learning their language that is unique in the world: not only must they master their own language and its writing system, but also the and script, as well as a choice of English, German or French. Words fail to describe this situation! In terms of difficulty, the Chinese language that Japanese students must master is equivalent to studying five western languages. This is why Westerners consider our language to be an aberration that is unique in the world. But in this they are not alone: all those who work in public education also witness first-hand the difficulties involved in learning Japanese and relentlessly go to the greatest effort to teach it. Because of this our students and pupils waste the majority of their school life studying the language and script to the detriment of other valuable knowledge. But most of all, the futility of such a daily task impoverishes their minds and hinders their development. Great importance is currently attached to the task of educating; there is discussion of reforming the school system, increasing the number of schools and developing physical education. These projects are doubtless legitimate, but will be ineffectual as long as studying the language remains so difficult. If we think about it carefully, the written and spoken forms of languages, as well as their script, differ in structure and orientation according to a society’s cultural advancement and complexity, the dynamism of its activities, as well as the wealth and depth of the ideas conveyed. Having entered the arena of international competition, our Empire now finds itself facing increasingly complex and varied issues that require us to constantly widen the boundaries of our knowledge. The virtues of a country’s language and script are intricately linked to the effectiveness of its education system, the culture, strength and wealth of its people, and consequently to its dynamism and power. That is why the implementation of this reform must not be delayed. One day’s delay would represent for forty million individuals a day lost for the development of their abilities and smooth running of

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their affairs. It would be detrimental to the prosperity and happiness of tomorrow’s citizens and hinder the advancement and success of the nation. From this point of view, it is clear that reforming the national script, style and language must not be postponed. Many initiatives have already been implemented in the past, by both individuals and private groups. Our Society has also taken action by establishing a committee for script reform. Indeed, the reform of the spoken and written language must begin with an overhaul of the writing system. With regards this issue, there are those who suggest limiting the number of Chinese characters, those who favour abandoning them entirely and using only kana, those who suggest abolishing both of these and adopting the Latin alphabet, and finally those who want to create a simpler and radically new script. While admittedly divergent, these proposals all recognise and denounce the disadvantages and futility of Chinese characters. Each has its advantages and drawbacks and deciding between them rapidly has not been possible. However, after an in-depth examination it should not be difficult to select the most appropriate. Nonetheless, we are firmly convinced that studying and implementing a reform of our script, language and style is the responsibility of the government and should under no circumstances be left to individuals or private groups. Holland, the States of Germany and Denmark all use the alphabet, a much more convenient script than ours, and yet when spelling and pronunciation diverge, the reforms proposed by scholars and educators are adopted by their governments and successfully implemented as national priorities. Our country, which is striving to prosper and take its place among the great powers, must also undertake such a far-reaching investigation and develop similar programmes. It is for all these reasons that the Imperial Education Society requests that the government undertake, through a competent body, a prompt investigation into the ways in which to reform the national script, style and language of the Nation.65

73 The Imperial Education Society was an influential association of teachers and education specialists. It was founded under this name in 1896, a year after Japan’s victory over China, at a time when the word teikoku 帝国 (empire) was once again in vogue. A study group on script reform, headed by none other than Maejima Hisoka, was added to the society in 1899. Based on the tone and content of the petition there is a good chance that Maejima was the author of this text, although nothing allows this to be stated with any certainty other than the similarity in views between this petition and Maejima’s early-Meiji-period texts.

74 In his Autobiography,66 in which he devoted a large section to his fight to simplify the language, Maejima Hisoka mentions that the petition was widely distributed within the education community at the time of its drafting and that the major newspapers gave it front page space on the very day of its publication on 26 January 1900. He adds that the then education minister, Kabayama Sukenori 樺山資紀 (1837-1922), 67 had previously given him permission to establish a committee to investigate the issue.

75 On 8 January, at the instigation of its editor-in-chief, Nakai Nishigi 中井錦城 (1864-1924), who supported the simplification of the written language, the newspaper Yomiuri Shinbun 読売新聞 created a column where the reformers could present the different solutions envisaged.

76 For his part, Hara Takashi 原敬 (1856-1921), the future prime minister who at that time was editor-in-chief of the major Kansai newspaper the Ōsaka Mainichi Shinbun 大阪毎日 新聞, published a long text from 2-10 January which began as follows: My decision to support a reduction in Chinese characters does not lead me to envisage merely reducing their number: the final objective remains their complete abolition. However, this will take decades to achieve and it is practically impossible

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to set a date with any accuracy; I will thus content myself to championing a limitation on Chinese characters.68

77 Believing that a sudden abolition of Chinese characters would risk causing too great a confusion, he recommended undertaking two initiatives in a concerted manner: Firstly, he recommended establishing a committee of specialists chosen by the Ministry for Education in order to draw up an inventory of the characters indispensable for school textbooks, decrees and the various official documents, and select substitute terms for the written forms that would be eliminated. This committee was to publish an annual report in order for its directives to be implemented at all levels. Secondly, Hara intended to raise greater awareness of these issues among the public through a stronger commitment from the major press organs: Our newspaper, the Ōsaka Mainichi Shinbun, endeavours to use simple language and make it easier for readers to understand.

78 Intense competition between the various newspapers meant that great vigilance was required in the matter. Those who worked on the paper had to instinctively pay attention to the difficulty of the language they used in order to avoid alienating readers and maintain the paper’s “easy-to-read” image. Consequently, the Imperial Education Society’s petition was given considerable coverage in the press, where educational issues were frequently debated at the time. It received a warm political reception since both Houses adopted it in February and suggested the government set up a national committee on the subject.

79 However, this apparent consensus should not obscure the mistrust of some, in particular writers, with regards the excessively bureaucratic approach that was taking shape. This is how the poet Takahama Kyoshi 高浜虚子 (1874-1959) appealed to writers in an article on the unification of the spoken and written language: The mission to reform the national language and script must not be entrusted to the Investigative Committee, for in truth this task is your responsibility. The committee merely carries out its investigations by following in your footsteps and its decisions depend, in the end, on your action. This is how the future of the Japanese language and literature will be decided.69

80 On 2 April 1900, the Ministry for Education made Maejima Hisoka responsible for selecting competent individuals in order to establish the committee. He began by surrounding himself with five advocates of the reform, some in favour of using kana, others the alphabet. They included Ueda Kazutoshi, Ōtsuki Fumihiko and Naka Michiyo 那珂道世 (1851-1907), a historian and high-ranking scholar who laid the foundations for the discipline tōyō-shi 東洋史 (oriental history) as something distinct from western history. As for Asahina Chisen 朝比奈知泉 (1862-1939), a prominent political journalist who worked for the daily newspaper Tōkyō Nichinichi Shinbun 東京日日新聞, he supported the principle of a phonetic script, in particular for practical reasons related to printing and telegrams. Yumoto Takehiko 湯本武比古 (1847-1925) was connected through his family to the tradition of national studies, but he had previously studied in Germany and also led a study group on “unifying the written and spoken language” which he founded that same year within the Imperial Education Society. Finally, there was Tokutomi Sohō 徳富蘇峰 (1863-1957), who founded the first major general-interest monthly magazine Kokumin no tomo 国民の友 (Friend of the People) in 1887, followed by the daily newspaper Kokumin Shinbun 国民新聞, a distant ancestor of the present- day Tōkyō Shinbun, in 1890. Having converted to Christianity at a very young age, he first defended the principles of equality and freedom before evolving towards an

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increasingly vehement nationalism following the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese War, making him the target of criticism after Japan’s defeat in 1945. Despite this, the work he accomplished as a historian was significant.

81 In what appears to have been a desire to maintain a modicum of balance, Maejima also selected someone openly opposed to the abolition of Chinese characters: Miyake Setsurei 三宅雪嶺 (1860-1945). Miyake had studied philosophy at the Imperial University under Ernest Francisco Fenollosa (1853-1908), an American academic who was fascinated with traditional Japanese arts and had led a campaign in Japan to restore them to favour. In 1888 Miyake had helped found Seikyōsha 政教社 (Society for Politics and Religion) with the aim of highlighting national values in the face of what was judged to be excessive “westernisation”. Though he acknowledged the difficulties linked to Chinese characters, he supported their preservation, partly in the name of tradition and partly for communicating with other Asian countries.70 With the guiding principles of the committee established, Maejima and his team drew up its objectives and statutes. Yet it was another two years, on 24 March 1902, before the Imperial Rescript (chokurei 勅令) instituting the National Language Investigative Committee (Kokugo Chōsa Iinkai 国語調査委員会), chaired by Katō Hiroyuki 加藤弘之 (1836-1916),71 was promulgated. Katō set out the aims of the committee’s work in the Official Gazette of 4 July 1902: 1) To adopt a phonetic script (phonograms) and, to this end, compare kana with rōmaji. 2) To adopt a written language that is identical to the spoken one and determine its rules. 3) To study the phonetic system of the national language. 4) To study dialects and define the norms of the standard language (hyōjungo 標準 語). Examining these four points was the committee’s first task. However, in order to respond to the exigencies of the public education system, it would also investigate the following issues: 1) Limiting Chinese characters. 2) Rationalising standard contemporary written language. 3) Distinctive styles such as the epistolary style.72 4) Using kana ( 仮名遣い) for the national language. 5) Using kana for words of Chinese origin. 6) Transcribing foreign words.73

82 The stated objective was radical and unequivocal. The word “phonogram” appears in article one and was written in katakana ( fonoguramu フォノグラム). Choosing a phonetic script was thus laid down as a precondition. Was this the committee’s way of testing the waters or of launching an offensive? Was it simply a working hypothesis or the announcement of a fundamental reform? Whatever the case may be, the demands for government action made since the beginning of the modernisation process seemed finally to have been heeded. The path to implementing a bold language policy appeared to be marked out.

The first concrete measures

83 On 21 August 1900, an overall reform of primary school education was implemented under the leadership of education minister Kabayama, along with Sawayanagi Masatarō 沢柳政太郎 (1865-1927), 74 head of public education, and Ueda Kazutoshi, head of

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special education. The aim was to adapt the education system to society’s needs. An increase in the number of schools was required and a greater obligation for families to send their children to school. Free education was introduced, school registration fees were scrapped and grants made available for families in need.

84 This reform was accompanied by an overhaul of school curricula. Notable measures included combining the different subjects relating to language, reading and writing into a new subject known as “national language” (kokugo).75

85 This merging of subjects was intended to encourage more coherent educational methods and promote the teaching of the spoken language. The language previously used was judged too far removed from pupils’ everyday lives. Above all, with Japan in need of increased unity, disseminating the standard language was a pressing national necessity.

Limiting Chinese characters

86 The regulations specified that from then on writing must be taught using the “square” style of calligraphy (kaisho 楷書) and possibly the gyōsho 行書 (semi-cursive) style. This break with the tradition of favouring the semi-cursive style, the most convenient for reading and handwriting, clearly resulted from the growing importance of printed characters in everyday life. However, it was above all a preliminary to fixing the form of characters rigorously, as cursive styles left too much leeway and room for improvisation. The pre-eminence of the “square” style has never been challenged since.

87 One article of the reform lists 1,200 Chinese characters for the four years of primary education. This measure represented the first official limitation on Chinese characters. Not all of these characters necessarily had to be taught but the stipulated upper limit was to be respected as far as possible (narubeku 成ルベク). It was understood that the names of people and places were an exception.76 In accordance with the list, the first set of government-issue readers (Jinjō shōgaku tokuhon 尋常小学読本, eight volumes), released in 1904, contained just over five hundred characters. The Ministry for Education had specified that the main objective of these readers was to unify the national language by striving to use the “language as it is spoken” (kōgo 口語) and taking middle-class Tokyo speech as “standard” (hyōjun 標準).77

88 An analysis of this list shows – after several checks! – that in reality it only included 1,199 characters.78 If we ignore the 108 allographs, in other words simple differences in writing,79 a comparison between this list of characters and that used in primary schools since 1989 (kyōiku kanjihyō 教育漢字表, 1,006 characters taught over six years)80 provides the following results: Characters common to both lists: 842 62% Characters specific to the 1900 list: 357 26% Characters specific to the 1966 list: 164 12%

89 The two lists share a considerable number of core characters. The 1900 list seems to contain certain inconsistencies and omissions. For example, the characters for “wheat” (麦) and “millet” (粟) are included, but curiously “rice” (米), a basic character by any standard, is absent, even though it is a component in many much more complicated characters. Incidentally, this arbitrariness, which always plagues such selections to some degree, would be a stumbling block for each of the subsequent lists. It provoked

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endless arguments over the inclusion of one character or other and the exclusion of another. In any case, it seems that abstract bureaucratic vocabulary was generally favoured over more concrete language, such as that of farmers and fishermen, and that this trend would only increase over time.

90 The differences between the two lists stem in part from the selection criteria adopted. From 1946 onwards it was decided that neither plant and animal names, nor the characters reserved for adverbs, would be written with Chinese characters. Of the 357 words specific to the 1900 list, over 100 fall into these two categories.

91 Furthermore, the 1900 list seems to have given priority to characters used in simple words, thus for the most part native Japanese nouns and verbs. The majority of characters specific to the modern list seem to be abstract – many of them have no Japanese reading – and were often chosen for their usefulness in forming Sino-Japanese compound words.

92 Consequently, the 1900 list can be seen as demonstrating a desire to eliminate, or at least to avoid giving preference to Sino-Japanese terms. Conversely, the contemporary list enables these terms to be represented more systematically and encourages the use of kana for writing native Japanese words. The first list could thus be described as “logographic” – one character equals one word - and the second as “morphemographic” – one character equals one Sino-Japanese constituent, enabling a high number of compound words to be formed.

93 However, the most important difference lies elsewhere. The list currently in use constitutes a minimum, taught in a fixed order year by year (students must be able to read and write all the characters on the list), whilst the 1900 list indicated an upper limit. This may explain why the 1900 list barely caused any controversy: it went virtually unnoticed.

94 Despite the lack of information on the selection criteria and approach adopted, everything suggests that it was the work of the group headed by Maejima Hisoka.

95 The Imperial Education Society was simultaneously in the midst of preparing a much more radical plan to limit Chinese characters to 436. It was never made public but the principles on which the selection was based are known: 1. Chinese characters should no longer be used for words that would be understandable written in kana, and in particular Verbs, adjectives, verb suffixes, adverbs, and emphatic and postpositive particles belonging to the native Japanese language.81

96 The terms employed here correspond to the parts of speech defined by the linguist Ōtsuki Fumihiko, who was largely accepted to be an authority on the subject at the time. This essentially amounted to restricting the use of Chinese characters to Sino- Japanese words and, for the Japanese language, nouns. 2. Words of western origin would henceforth be written only in kana. In fact, it was in around 1900 that the practice of phonetically assigning Chinese characters to foreign words was abandoned in favour of using katakana. 3. Finally, Chinese characters that were excessively difficult to write were to be systematically eliminated, which entailed either replacing them with kana or adopting the unofficial abbreviated forms.

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Simplifying the kana script and standardising written forms

97 The different allographs of the kana syllabary, henceforth referred to as , were reduced to one grapheme per syllable and the hiragana and katakana characters chosen were presented using two charts. This has been the standard convention ever since.

98 In theory there could be as many as ten or more of these variants. In practice, however, there were not quite so many. Rarely seen in the printed texts of the era, they were still widely used in handwriting and considered essential to poetry and traditional Japanese calligraphy. In any case, it was not rare for certain characters to have at least two competing allographs. Curiously, there was no opposition to the abolition of these variants. The government measure no doubt merely confirmed what had already been established as standard practice by printing.

Transcribing Sino-Japanese terms using kana

99 The reform also introduced a new norm for the kana spelling of certain Sino-Japanese terms. Complete anarchy reigned at the time due to considerable discrepancy between actual pronunciations and the highly complex writing conventions upheld by both sinologists and philologists from the Japanese tradition.82 These conventions were based on the phonetic indications provided by Chinese dictionaries and “rhyme books”. However, from the fourteenth century onwards the diphthongs that had originally been frequent in these terms were increasingly pronounced as long vowels.

100 The rules imposed graphically distinguishing Sino-Japanese units according to the theoretical pronunciations of classical Chinese and using the distinctive – but necessarily limited – resources of the Japanese syllabary. With its emphasis on the phonetic unification of Japanese, the reform put an end to these complex and highly confusing conventions. Thus, for example, the diphthongs written (in a form which is transliterated here) as かう (kau), かふ (kafu), こう (kou), こふ (kofu) or くわう (kuwau), were henceforth to be written in an identical fashion reflecting their standard pronunciation: こー (kō).

101 Similarly, the written distinctions between きやう (kiyau), きよう (kyou), けう (keu) and けふ (kefu) were abolished and they were to be transcribed according to a single norm corresponding to their actual pronunciation: きょー (kyō).

102 The kana transcription of these terms traditionally played a very minor role since they were systematically written with Chinese characters. It was, however, necessary for indicating the pronunciation of characters in dictionaries and readers. Furthermore, its importance had increased along with the growing use within the press of 振り 仮名, small syllabic characters placed above a line of text to indicate the reading of Chinese characters.

103 It appeared above all indispensable with the prospect of a substantial limitation on the use of Chinese characters in school textbooks and thus the notation of Sino-Japanese words in kana. The education minister Inoue Kowashi 井上毅 (1843-1895) had already considered such a reform back in 1892. In his eyes, such subtleties could only interest sinologists and Chinese poetry enthusiasts in search of perfect rhymes and were devoid of interest in everyday language.83 However, this standardisation was above all a

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preliminary to the complete abolition of Chinese characters, which was now seriously under consideration, and to simplifying the orthography of Sino-Japanese terms, which it seemed impossible to eliminate overnight.

104 Furthermore, long vowels were to be indicated by a vertical stroke – or “stick” bō 棒 – placed immediately after the kana character. The origin of this symbol is not clearly known. It was first attested very early on but had been used so rarely that it is tempting to consider it a borrowing from the Latin macron. Whatever the case may be, the introduction of its use with the two sets of kana was sufficiently shocking for the reform to be nicknamed “stick spelling” (bōbiki kanazukai 棒引仮名遣い).

105 Nonetheless, this simplification only partially met the wishes of the Imperial Education Society, which in May had demanded that the government adopt a strictly phonetic orthography, not only for Sino-Japanese terms but for the entire language. Indeed, the reform did not apply to native Japanese words, which brought with them other complications, and instead cautiously limited itself to Chinese characters.

106 No sooner had it appeared than this first major reform, the effects of which would only be felt in 1904 with the publication of government-issued school textbooks, was violently contested as a first step towards much more radical simplifications.

107 Following the initial radical debates of the late-Edo and early-Meiji periods, it had taken over forty years to see the Japanese language unshackled from Chinese, yet without being destroyed and transformed into English, and for the building blocks of a “national language” to emerge, one intended to correspond to the Japanese Empire’s objectives and place in the world, and one whose norms were yet to be clearly defined.

NOTES

1. This paper is a revised and expanded version of a speech given on 8 June 1998 at the French Senate (Palais du Luxembourg), as part of the symposium « La naissance de la modernité au Japon » (The Birth of Modernity in Japan) organised by the Centre for Japanese Studies at Inalco. 2. The archives of Heijōkyō 平城京, more commonly known as Nara 奈良, the Japanese capital from 710 to 794, contained 12,000 paper documents, not to mention the thousands of tablets (mokkan 木簡) constantly discovered by archaeologists around the country. 3. For information on the French language, see Bernard Traimond’s remarkable study: Une cause nationale: l’orthographe française (French Spelling: a national cause), PUF (« Ethnologie » collection), 2001, and for Japanese the monumental work Ōraimono kaidai jiten 往来物解題辞典 (Analytical Dictionary of “Correspondence Textbooks”), two volumes, edited by Koizumi Yoshinaga 小泉吉永 and supervised by Ishikawa Matsutarō 石川松太郎, Ōzora-sha 大空社, 2001 (which lists exactly 3,769 woodcut textbooks). See also Christian Galan, « Le paysage scolaire à la veille de la restauration de Meiji: écoles et manuels » (Japan’s Educational Landscape on the Eve of the Meiji Restoration: Schools and Textbooks), Ebisu, no. 17, spring-summer 1998, Maison franco-japonaise, p. 5-47. . Some of these textbooks can be viewed online on the Gakugei Daigaku university

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website (https://library.u-gakugei.ac.jp/etopia/orai_list.html and http://library.u-gakugei.ac.jp/ lbhome/mochi/mochi.html). 4. Ueda (1867-1937) also called himself Mannen, the Sino-Japanese reading of the two Chinese characters in his first name. Thus, he is sometimes called Ueda Kazutoshi, sometimes Ueda Mannen. 5. In Kokugo no tame 国語のため (The National Language Cause), Fuzanbō 冨山房, 1895, quoted in Hirai Masao 平井昌夫, Kokugo kokuji mondai no rekishi 国語国字問題の歴史 (History of the National Language and Script Issue), Shōrinsha 昭林社, 1948, p. 218. In this slogan the word kokumin 国民, translated as “nation”, literally means “the Japanese people”, which language must irrigate and keep alive while taking up arms to defend the imperial palace. Thus, Kokugo has a nurturing role with regards Japan and a defensive role with regards to the outside world. 6. Jacques Derrida, De la grammatologie ( Of Grammatology), Éditions de minuit (« Critique » collection), 1967, p. 11. Among the factors which – to an extent that remains to be evaluated – contributed to a drastic change in the Japanese script are Arabic numerals in mathematics and western music theory. I originally intended to examine each of these within this paper, as well as their links to the debate on language and writing; however, editorial deadlines forced me to cut to the chase and devote another paper to the subject. I am grateful to Claire Brisset for her thorough proofreading and numerous remarks. 7. Proposition put forward in a report written by the committee on “Japan’s Goals in the 21st Century” (Nijūisseiki nihon no kōsō 二十一世紀日本の構想), which was presented to Prime Minister Mori Yoshirō 森喜朗 in January 2000. 8. This letter, which is held at Yale College, appears in Mori Arinori zenshū 森有禮全集 (The Complete Works of Mori Arinori), edited by Ōkubo Toshiaki 大久保利謙, Senbundō shoten 宣文 堂書店, 1972, vol. 1, pp. 310-305 (the page numbering is inverted to reflect the Japanese order used throughout this volume). It was also published, along with Whitney’s reply, in Yoshida Sumio 吉田澄夫 and Inokuchi Yūichi 井之口有一 (eds.) Meiji ikō kokugo mondai ronshū 明治以降 国語問題論集 (Collection of Essays on the National Language Issue since the Meiji Period), Kazama shobō 風間書房, 1964, pp. 44-55. For English titles see Ivan Parker Hall, Mori Arinori, Harvard University Press, 1973. 9. Certain Edo-period scholars, such as Arai Hakuseki 新井白石 (1627-1725) and Honda Toshiaki 本田利明 (1744-1821), had already raised similar questions as to the adequacy of the Japanese language for acquiring western learning. However, their questions focused on the Chinese script and not on the Japanese language itself. For further information on the subject see P. Griolet, La Modernisation du Japon et la réforme de son écriture (The Modernisation of Japan and Reform of its Writing System), POF, 1985, p. 24. 10. The term appears in the monogatari with a meaning similar to waka 和歌, literally “Japanese song”. It also appears in the same document as Yamato koto no ha. 11. The Japanese language dictionary Nihon kokugo daijitten 日本国語大辞典 (Shōgakukan, 1976, 20 volumes) gives no example of the use of this word prior to the Meiji period. Professor Okada Kesao 岡田袈裟男 was kind enough to bring to my attention, as an attestation of the word Nihongo before the Meiji period, a passage from a book entitled Yakubun hitsuyō shokubun kinnō 訳 文必用属文錦嚢, a kind of translation guide for the Dutch language written by an interpreter working in Nagasaki, Yoshio Gonnosuke 吉雄権之助. This handwritten document has no exact date. Some specialists have dated it to 1822 but in-depth research by the Japanese language historian Sugimoto Tsutomu 杉本つとむ suggests the date should be 1809. The book carries the following translation of a Dutch sentence: “Orandago wo Nihongo ni yaku suru tame ni” 蘭語ヲ日本 語ニ譯スル為ニ (in order to translate Dutch into Japanese). 12. These days the term wago refers above all to native Japanese words, as opposed to kango 漢語, or Sino-Japanese words, and 外来語, words from “elsewhere”, in particular the West.

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13. The term gengo 言語, which now refers to “language” and is used in terms such as gengogaku 言語学 (linguistics), is attested in extremely old texts. The medical treatise Ishinhō 医心方 (Essential Medical Methods), for example, which was presented to the imperial palace by Tanba no Yasuyori 丹波康頼 (912-995) in 984, devotes an entire chapter of volume 27 to the word gengo, which was no doubt pronounced gengyo at the time. This pronunciation was still in use in the 16th-century Portuguese- (Vocabulario da lingoa de iapam) translated by Léon Pagés in 1868, with an indication given as to its translation in Japanese: cotoba catarou and the translation “word”. Notice that in the medical book Yōjōkun 養生訓 (The Secret of Good Health), written by Kaibara Ekiken 貝原益軒 (1630-1714), the word appears as the verb gengyo su (to speak). Below is a translation of chapter eight from Ishinhō entitled “Gengyo”: 1. It is stated in the “intermediate classics” (zhongjing 中経), according to the Yangsheng Yaoji 養 生要集 (Collected Essentials on Nourishing Life), that one must take care to talk and laugh (goshō 語笑) as little as possible and not raise one’s voice. Raising the voice (声々高々) leads to discussions and quibbling, causing arguments and offensive words that must be appeased. On such occasions one must empty the heart and calm the breathing (kaki 下気). Excessively conversing and laughing damages the lungs, strains the kidneys and troubles the essence (sei 精) and spirit (shin 神). 2. It is said in the Quianjinfang 千金方 (Prescriptions Worth a Thousand Pieces of Gold) that: one may converse (語) on winter days but speaking is not advisable (言). Speaking involves taking the initiative oneself, whereas conversing is initiated by others. If someone asks a question it must be answered. 3. It is also said that on cold winter days one must neither use harsh words (大語) nor speak (言) with the mouth wide open. 4. It is also said that when conversing (語) one must speak [while making the voice resonate deeply] as if ringing a bell. 5. It is also said that one must not walk and converse at the same time. One must stand still while conversing. Conversing whilst walking causes energy to be lost (shikki 失気). 6. It is also said that when using a resonant voice to read, or when chatting, one must always remember that the voice comes from the sea of energy (kikai 気海), which is located beneath the navel (also known as a “cinnabar field" [tanden 丹田], a centre of vital energy). 7. It is also said that when waking in the morning one must only use auspicious words. One must not count money or goods in the morning. 8. It is also said that in the morning, when getting out of bed, one must not lose one’s temper and reprimand others or speak ill of them. 9. It is also said that one must not sigh in sorrow in the morning. 10. On chilly mornings one must always use auspicious words. Upon hearing evil words one must immediately turn in their direction and spit three times. 11. It is said that after sunset one must not speak or read out loud. If reading aloud cannot be avoided, it must be done after the hour of the tiger (4am) in order to read with care. 12. It is said that one must not converse whilst lying down. Since the five hang from the body like bells or sonorous stones, they cease to hang when we lie down and this is why one must not converse. 13. It is said that one’s night-time dreams must not be explained to others. In the morning one must fill one’s mouth with water and then spit it out towards the east while saying: “Bad dream, be gone into the grasses. Good dream, be a treasure”. 14. It is said that one must not discuss the lucky or unlucky meaning of dreams. 15. It is stated in the Yangsheng-zhi 養生志 (Treatise on Nourishing life) that when getting up in the morning one must not talk nonsense. One must not sing, hum poems or whistle. This is considered a recipe for happiness.

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16. It is said in this same work that one must not utter angry words upon waking. This harms the vital energy and saps the vigour (kiryoku 気力). 17. It is also said that one must not sing while going to sleep. Doing so would bring bad luck. 18. It is stated in the Zhenzhongfang 枕中方 (Pillow Book of Prescriptions) that he who studies the Way must take care to keep his energy inside himself. No words must slip out. A word uttered is energy wasted. This loss of energy corresponds to three days of life. (Tanba Yasuyori, Ishinhō 医心方, edited and translated by Maki Sachiko 槙佐知子, vol. 27, Chikuma shobō 筑摩書房, 1993.) 14. Kokushi daijiten henshū iin- 国史大辞典編集委員会, Kokushi daijiten 国史大辞典 (Dictionary of National History), Yoshikawa kōbunkan 吉川弘文館, vol. 11, 1990, p. 743. 15. Kokushi daijiten henshū iinkai, op. cit., vol. 9, 1988, p. 919. See also Christian Galan, op.cit., p. 7. 16. The many Edo-period textbooks for young girls were always written in kana (although everyday Chinese characters written in the cursive style occasionally mingled with the syllabic characters), while textbooks for boys always gave priority to the systematic acquisition of Chinese characters. This does not mean that women did not know Chinese characters; however, society required them to have only a passive knowledge of these symbols. Some of the aforementioned textbooks are available online on the website of the library of the Nara women’s university’s Nara joshi daigaku. 17. Rather than being a completely different language to that spoken by men, the term nyōbō kotoba refers above all to supposedly “feminine” vocabulary and language use. The close association between Yamato kotoba and nyōbō kotoba is frequently attested in Edo-era textbooks for young girls. One book worth mentioning here is Onna chōhōki 女重宝記 (Record of Valuable Treasures for Women), a 5-volume encyclopaedia or handbook on etiquette published in 1692 (year 5 of the 元禄 era) in , and Edo (Arima Sumiko 有馬澄子 et al., Onna chōhōki 女重宝記, Tōyoko gakuen joshi tanki Daigaku josei kenkyūjo 東横学園女子短期大 学女性文化研究所, 1989, 2 volumes, followed by an index volume). The first volume of this handbook contains a chapter on the proper use of feminine language and lists those terms classed as Yamato kotoba for, among others, clothing, food, fish and utensils. For example, the list presents as an alternative to mizu (water) the word ohiya (a term used at the court, while mizu is an everyday word), and instead of kome (rice), kugo (a term used at the Imperial Palace). The list also includes many words composed of the first syllable of the usual word followed by moji (character); tamoji for tako (octopus), imoji for ika (cuttlefish) and omoji for obi (sash). This category of words characteristic of the vocabulary of court ladies is known as moji kotoba 文字言葉. 18. See in particular Kawasumi Tetsuo 川澄哲夫 and Suzuki Takao 鈴木孝夫 (eds.), Shiryō nihon eigakushi, 2 eigo kyōiku ronsōshi, 資料日本英学史 2 英語教育論争史 (Documents on the History of English Studies in Japan, Vol. 2: History of the Controversies over English Education), Taishūkan 大修館, 1978 (1996). 19. Tanaka Katsuhiko 田中克彦, Kokkago wo koete 国家語をこえて (Beyond a State Language), Chikuma shobō 筑摩書房 (Chikuma gakugei bunko 筑摩学芸文庫 series), 1993, p. 16. 20. Published by Appleton in New York. 21. In 660 BC, after having pacified the country, the mythical emperor Jinmu 神武 founded the Japanese imperial dynasty. 22. Mori Arinori zenshū, op. cit., vol. 3, pp. 211-465 (volume 3 of Mori Arinori’s Complete Works is devoted entirely to his English-language publications and unlike the other volumes, a Western- style page numbering is used). This section of the introduction on the Japanese language also appears in Kawasumi Tetsuo and Suzuki Takao (eds.), op. cit., pp. 51-52. 23. Mori Arinori zenshū, op. cit, vol. 3, pp. 414-423; as well as Kawasumi Tetsuo and Suzuki Takao (eds.), op. cit., pp. 53-58.

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24. Mori Arinori zenshū, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 93. 25. Overseas once again, Mori’s suggestion was mentioned and ridiculed by the orientalist Archibal Henry Sayce in his book Introduction to the Science of Language, published in London in 1880. 26. Mori Arinori zenshū, op. cit., pp. 7-15. 27. Baba’s grammar of Japanese as a foreign language was one of the first of the modern era. An overview of the Japanese script and grammar is followed by a second section entitled “Japanese and English exercises”, which contains some particularly interesting sentences in that they represent the state of the language at that point in time. Here are three examples: Watakusi no tomodati wa sinsetu ni gozarimasu. [My friend is kind.] Anata no musume wa kireini gozarimasu. [Your daughter is beautiful.] Anata no kiodai wa watakusi no tomodati de gozarimasu. [Your brother is my friend.] Whereas nowadays the inflectional suffix -desu has become the norm, Baba uses either ni gozarimasu, in the case of predicate adjectives, or de gozarimasu for predicate nominals. The origins of the -desu suffix, which belongs to the polite register of spoken language and is characteristic of modern Japanese, are not clear: it may be a contraction of de gozarimasu but it functions as a contraction of de arimasu, a form that appears in the negative expression de (wa) arimasen. In the copy of this book held at the Bibliothèque Interuniversitaire des Langues et Civilisations Orientales, one reader thought it appropriate to correct – with a pencil – all the ni gozarimasu forms by crossing out the particle ni and replacing it with de. Apart from the use of the de gozarimasu form and a few other minor details, the language presented by Baba is not very different to contemporary Japanese. 28. Hayashi Shihei (1738-1793), an economist and geographer concerned by Russia’s advance into the islands of northern Japan, published two major works presenting the reality of the outside world and advocating the need for Japan to protect itself: Sangoku tsūran zusetsu 三国通覧図説 (An Illustrated Description of Three Countries, 1785), a study on Korea, the kingdom of Ryūkyū and Ezo (the book was translated into French with the title Aperçu général des trois royaumes by Julius Klaproth in 1832), and Kaikoku heidan 海国兵談 (Discussion of Military Issues for Maritime Nations, 1786), which was censored and brought its author under attack for interfering with political matters and above all for criticising the government. 29. On the 21st day of the 8th month of Bunkyū 文久2 (1862) in the village of Namamugi near Yokohama, four British subjects on horseback attempted to pass by the large retinue of the Lord of Kagoshima, who was on his way to Edo. They were attacked with swords and one of them, Charles Richardson, killed. Great Britain demanded, and received, compensation. 30. Inuzuka Takaaki 犬塚孝明, Mori Arinori, Yoshikawa kōbunkan 吉川弘文館 (Jinbutsu sōsho 人 物叢書 collection), 1996, pp. 63-83. 31. Morikawa Terumichi 森川輝紀, Kyōiku chokugo e no michi 教育勅語への道 (The Road to the Imperial Rescript on Education), Sangensha 三元社, 1990, pp. 118-119. 32. Lee Yeounsuk [I Yonsuku] イ・ヨンスク, Kokugo to iu shiso – kindai nihon no gengo ninshiki「国 語」という思想: 近代日本の言語認識 (The Ideology of Kokugo: Nationalizing Language in Modern Japan), Iwanami shoten 岩波書店, 1996, pp. 20-21 and p. 322. 33. Lee Yeounsuk, op. cit., p. 21, quoting Hagiwara Nobutoshi 萩原延壽, Baba Tatsui 馬場辰猪, Chūō kōronsha 中央公論社, 1978. 34. By way of example, see the list of styles that are mentioned in the document quoted on page 44 of this paper. 35. The printed books known as ōraimono (correspondence textbooks) disseminated a range of useful and necessary information, on both the world and writing, in the form of correspondence, but also in various styles of prose and occasionally poetry.

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36. Yasuda Toshiaki 安田敏朗 has studied usage of the word kokugo during the , when it appears to have had a fluctuating meaning and was used by specialists of Dutch studies to refer to foreign languages. It was first used to designate the Japanese language (along with kokuji to mean the Japanese script in general) in a book published in around 1770 by the specialist in Dutch medicine Maeno Ryōtaku 前野良沢 (1723-1803), Oranda yakubun ryaku 和蘭訳文略 (reprinted in Teikoku nihon no gengo hensei 帝国日本の言語編制 [Language Organisation in Imperial Japan], Yokohama 横浜, Seori shobō 世織書房, 1997, pp. 29-32). In order to give a complete list the word hōgo 邦語 must be added. This also means “national language” but after enjoying a certain popularity at the beginning of the Meiji period, it was replaced by kokugo. The word appears, for example, in an essay by Shimizu Usaburō 清水卯三郎 (1830-1910), published in the first issue of the journal Meiroku Zasshi, in which he argues in favour of using the hiragana script: mata hōgo o haishite eigo ni aratamen to iu mono ari 又、邦語ヲ 廃シテ英語ニ改メント云フ者アリ, “[…] Furthermore, certain people propose abandoning our language in favour of English […]”. Finally, Emmanuel Lozerand informs me that the term kokubun 国文 appears in a text written by Ueda Akinari 上田秋成 (1734-1809) entitled Tandai Shōshin Roku 胆大小心録 (Records of Courage and Caution, 1808). He employs the term to refer to written Japanese as opposed to the Chinese style of writing. However, it was above all at the beginning of the Meiji period, and in particular, as we shall see, in the writing of Maejima Hisoka that this word frequently appeared. 37. The term kokuji has three accepted meanings: a) it appeared during the Edo period, in particular in the work of Honda Toshiaki (see P. Griolet, op. cit., p. 27) who, arguing in favour of the alphabet, speaks of the “national script” of European countries and criticises that of China with its innumerable characters; b) it refers specifically to the Japanese script, and thus kana, as opposed to the Chinese script (this is the case, for example, when Kaibara Ekiken in the Yōjōkun states that medicine cannot be understood if one reads only the national script (meaning that one must study classical Chinese); c) the word refers – and this is its main usage today – to the Chinese characters created in Japan. 38. Speech published in Kawasumi Tetsuo and Suzuki Takao, op. cit., vol. 2, pp. 94-96. 39. Satō Seijitsu 佐藤誠実, Nihon kyōikushi 日本教育史 (The History of Education in Japan), published by Naka Arata 仲新 and Sakai Yutaka 酒井豊, Heibonsha 平凡社 (Tōyō bunko 東洋文 庫 collection), 1973, vol. 2, p. 156. 40. Fukuzawa Yukichi 福澤諭吉, Fukuō jiden 福翁自伝 (The Autobiography of Yukichi Fukuzawa), Iwanami shoten 岩波書店 (Iwanami bunko 岩波文庫), 1954, p. 197. 41. In the journal Gakusei 学生, January 1911, quoted in Satō Kiyoji 佐藤喜代治 (ed.), Kokugogaku kenkyū jiten 国語学研究辞典 (Dictionary of National Language Research), Meiji shoin 明治書院, 1977, p. 834. 42. See Céline Nicolas, Construire un homme nouveau, la Restauration du corps par l’éducation physique à l’ère Meiji (Building a New Man: the Restoration of the Body through Physical Education in the Meiji Period), master’s thesis supervised by Emmanuel Lozerand, Inalco, Sept. 2001. 43. Tatsui Baba, An Elementary Grammar of the Japanese Language, with Easy Progressive Exercises, Second & Enlarged Edition, London, Trübner & Co. / New York, D. Appleton & Co., 1888, reprinted in Baba Tatsui zenshū 馬場辰猪全集 (Complete Works of Baba Tatsui), Iwanami shoten, 1987, vol. 1, p. 109. 44. Ibid., pp. 269-270. 45. Essay translated in P. Griolet, op. cit., pp. 50-60. All forty-three issues of the journal, which ran for approximately eighteen months, were translated into English by William Reynolds Braisted with the help of Adachi Yasushi and Kikuchi Yuji, in Meiroku Zasshi: Journal of the Japanese Enlightenment, University of Tokyo Press, 1976. 46. Text sent to the head of the newly founded Daigaku during the fifth month of Meiji 2 (1869), followed by the education minister during the fourth month of Meiji 5. It was first published in

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issue seven of the journal Yōyōsha-dan 洋々社談 in November 1875. It also appeared in Yoshida Sumio 吉田澄夫 and Inokuchi Yūichi 井之口有一, Kokuji mondai ronshū 国字問題論集 (Collection of Essays on National Language Issues), Toyama-bō 富山房, 1950, pp. 40-41. 47. Prior to the Restoration, Yamauchi Yōdō 山内容堂 (1827-1872) was lord of the Tosa Domain. After some hesitation he sided with those campaigning to overthrow the shogunate and restore the emperor to power. Above all, it must be pointed out that during this time of trouble and uncertainty, Yamauchi attached great importance to educating the young people of his domain. 48. I am very grateful to Professor Andō Takahiro 安藤隆弘 from the university Kawamura gakuen joshi daigaku 川村学園女子大学 who helped me to decipher this text. 49. Nanbu uses the term wagaku 和学 (Japanese studies) to refer to the language style that scholars in this field of study took as their reference, in other words, the native Japanese style developed during the . 50. The compound word bunmeikoku 文明国 (civilised country) can also be translated as “modern country”. One of the key terms of the period, kaika 文明開化, literally “opening up to civilisation”, can also be considered to mean “modern”. 51. In many cases the term kokutai 国体, literally “national body”, corresponds to the word “nation” as it is used in French; however, it occasionally takes on connotations of the sacredness of the Japanese nation, connotations which were heightened by the rise of nationalism and militarism. In some cases it can be translated as “national identity”. The word “nation” translates into Japanese as kokumin 国民, a somewhat ambiguous term as it literally means “the people” and is also used with a meaning similar to “citizen” when referring to the Japanese people. The word kokka 国家, literally the “national family”, is also employed frequently but is often confused with “state”. These two terms used together as kokumin kokka translate as “nation state”". 52. This symbol was also called a karigane-ten 雁点 (wild goose mark) because prior to resembling a hook and the katakana symbol re レ, it looked like a bird in flight. 53. For an in-depth analysis in French, see Jean-Noël Robert, Lectures élémentaires en style sino- japonais (Elementary Readings in Sino-Japanese), Université Paris VII, 1985, and Marguerite- Marie Parvulesco, Écriture, lecture et poésie – Lettrés japonais du 17e au 19e siècle (Writing, Reading and Poetry - Japanese Literati from the 17th to 19th Centuries), Publications Orientalistes de France, 1991. 54. The symbols used for reading Chinese in the Japanese order are indicated in this title. 55. A full translation in French is available in P. Griolet, op. cit., pp. 16-22. The original text can be found in Nishio Minoru 西尾実 and Hisamatsu Sen’ichi 久松潜一 (eds.), Kokugo kokuji kyōiku shiryō sōran 国語国字教育史料総覧 (Overview of Historical Documents on National Language and National Script Education), Kokugo kyōiku kenkyūkai 国語教育研究会, 1969, pp. 17-20. 56. Channing Moore Williams (1829-1910), an American missionary who lived in China for several years before moving to Japan, where he had a religious, intellectual and social activity. In particular, he founded the modern-day Rikkyō University. 57. This institution was founded during 安政 3 (1856) at Kudanzaka, close to the Imperial Palace, and was known as Bansho shirabejo 蕃書調所 (Centre for the Study of Barbarian Books). It was then renamed Yōsho shirabejo 洋書調所 (Centre for the Study of Western Books) in Bunkyū 文久 2 (1862), at a time when it had around 100 students. In Genji 元治 1 (1864), it was reorganised around the western school model with an education and research programme focused on five languages: Dutch, English, French, German and Russian. Different departments were established, such as astronomy, geography, maths and economics. It then became the Kaiseijo (“Centre for Development and Achievement”), borrowing its name from an expression in the Yiking 易経. After the Meiji Restoration it changed names successively to Kaisei Gakkō 開成学 校, Daigakukō 大学校 and Daigaku Nankō 大学南校, before forming the core of the present-day Tokyo University (Kokushi daijiten henshū iinkai, op. cit., vol. 11, p. 781).

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58. Hirai Masao 平井昌夫, Kokugo kokuji mondai no rekishi 国語国字問題の歴史 (History of the National Language and National Script Debate), Shōrinsha 昭林社, 1948, p. 159. 59. Osamu 山口修, Maejima Hisoka 前島密, Yoshikawa Kōbunkan 吉川弘文館 (Jinbutsu sōsho collection 人物叢書), 1990. 60. Noguchi Takehiko 野口武彦, Sanninshō no hakken made 三人称の発見まで (The Path to the Discovery of the Third Person), Chikuma shobō 筑摩書房, 1994, p. 195. 61. Yasuda Toshiaki 安田敏朗, Teikoku Nihon no gengo hensei 帝国日本の言語編制 (Language Organisation in Imperial Japan), Yokohama 横浜, Seori shobō 世織書房, 1997, p. 35. 62. Pages 101-105. 63. Osa Shizue 長志珠絵, Kindai nihon to kokugo nashonarizumu 近代日本と国語ナショナリズム (Modern Japan and National Language Nationalism), 吉川弘文館 Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 1998, p. 57. 64. The italics indicate passages in the Japanese text where hiragana are replaced by katakana. 65. Text published in Inokuchi Yūichi 井之口有一, Meiji igo no kanji seisaku 明治以後の漢字政策 (Policy on Chinese Characters since the Meiji Period), Nihon gakujutsu shinkōkai 日本学術振興 会, 1982, pp. 22-26, and in Nishio Minoru 西尾實 and Hisamatsu Sen’ichi 久松潛一 (eds.), Kokugo kokuji kyōiku shiryō sōran 国語国字教育史料総覧 (Overview of Historical Documents on National Language and National Script Education), Kokugo kyōiku kenkyūkai 国語教育研究会, 1969, pp. 107-109. 66. Maejima Hisoka Denki Kankōkai 前島密伝記刊行会 (ed.), Maejima Hisoka jijoden 前島密自叙 伝 (Autobiography of Maejima Hisoka), 1956, pp. 178-179. 67. A professional soldier entrusted with repressing the revolts of the “Freedom and People’s Rights Movement” in 1881 and with pacifying Taiwan when he was named the island’s first Governor-General in 1895. 68. Text published in Nishio, M., op. cit., pp. 92-110. The Chinese character used in the author’s first name, Takashi, is often given the Sino-Japanese reading Kei, in particular in historical texts. 69. Takahama Kyoshi, “Genbun itchi”, quoted by Christophe Marquet, La revue Hototogisu et l’art du croquis sur le vif – 1898-1900 (The Journal Hototogisu and the Art of Sketching from Nature), unpublished master’s thesis, supervised by Jean-Jacques Origas, Inalco, 1989, p. 276. 70. Essay that appeared in the journal Taiyō from 28 August 1895, published in Nishio, M., op. cit., pp. 79-82. 71. A major intellectual figure of the Meiji period who taught at the Bansho Torishirabejo at the end of the Edo period, was a member of the Meiji 6 Society (Meirokusha) and later became the first director of education at Tokyo University. 72. It should be noted that although a special case is made here of written correspondence, there is no mention of so-called "respectful language" (sonkeigo 尊敬語), an issue that is often raised today. In fact, epistolary correspondence and respectful language are intricately linked since, as in French, it is in letters that respectful and humble expressions are crucially important and can be highly sophisticated. 73. Inokuchi, Y., op. cit., p. 30. 74. Educator and education official who adopted pioneering positions and founded the experimental school Seijō. 75. In middle schools (chūgakkō 中学校), on the other hand, this new subject was known as kokugo kanbun 国語漢文 (national language and Chinese texts), revealing the continued importance of studying the Chinese classics in higher levels of education. 76. Ōno Susumu 大野晋 (ed.), Kokugo kōza, Kokugo kokuji mondai 国語講座国語国字問題, 1977, Iwanami shoten, p. 271. Sasaki Kazuji 佐々木一二, Kokugo kyōzai no hensen 国語教材の変遷, Meiji shoin 明治書院, 1934, pp. 41-42. Watanabe Shigeru 渡辺茂, Kokugo kyōiku-shi 国語教育史, 1933, p. 31 and pp. 72-76.

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77. Previous readers included between 1,500 and 2,000. Based on Kokuritsu Kokugo Kenkyūsho 国 立国語研究所 (ed.), Kokutei tokuhon yōgo sōran 国定読本用語総覧, Sanseidō 三省堂, 1985, vol. 1, p. 6. 78. Inokuchi, Y., op. cit., pp. 393-394 and Nishio, M., op. cit., pp. 832-878. 79. In fact, the 1900 instructions also specified that it was acceptable to teach common simplified forms of characters. 80. List drawn up in 1948 (881 characters) and expanded in 1966 by the addition of 115 characters. In 1989 it was increased to 1,006 characters (see the comparative table in the appendix). 81. Inokuchi, Y., op. cit., pp. 26-27. 82. On the subject of kana orthography see P. Griolet, « L’orthographe du japonais et les ’études nationales’ » (Japanese Orthography and “National Studies”), Cipango, Cahier d’études japonaises, no 3, November 1994, Inalco, p. 7-36, and « L’intervention de Mori Ōgai dans le débat sur l’écriture japonaise » (The Role of Mori Ōgai in the Japanese Script Debate), Cipango, Cahier d’études japonaises, no 4, November 1995, Inalco, p. 49-83. 83. Bunkachō 文化庁 (ed), Kokugo shirīzu 国語シリーズ, vol. 1 (Kokugo no mondai 国語の問題), pp. 146-147.

ABSTRACTS

The Japanese writing system was the target of criticism and reform during the latter half of the 19th century. In order to implement a coherent education, some like Mori Arinori suggested adopting English; others like Nanbu Yoshikazu proposed the adoption of the Latin alphabet and the abolition of Chinese characters. This paper shows that, contrary to the image that everything has changed in Japan within a few years around the Meiji Restoration (1868), from the initial debates of the late-Edo, it has taken over forty years to see the Japanese language unshackled from Chinese, yet without being destroyed and transformed into English, and for the building blocks of a “national language” (kokugo) to emerge.

Le système graphique japonais fut la cible de critiques et l’objet de réformes durant la deuxième moitié du XIXe siècle. Afin de mettre sur pied un système éducatif cohérent, certains, comme Mori Arinori, suggérèrent d’adopter l’anglais ; d’autres, comme Nanmu Yoshikazu, proposèrent l’adoption de l’alphabet latin et la suppression des caractères chinois. Cet article montre que, contrairement à l’image selon laquelle tout aurait basculé en quelques années au Japon autour de la Restauration de Meiji (1868), depuis les débats de la fin de l’époque d’Edo, il aura fallu plus de quarante ans pour qu’apparaisse une langue japonaise dégagée de l’emprise du chinois sans pour autant être anéantie et métamorphosée en anglais, et pour qu’émerge les premières fondations d’une langue nationale (kokugo).

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INDEX

Keywords: modern Japan, Meiji era, national language, kokugo, Chinese characters, kanji, education, Westernisation, romanization, kana transcription, Mori Arinori (1847-1889), Nanbu Yoshikazu (1840-1917), Maejima Hisoka (1835-1919), linguistics Chronological index: Meiji Subjects: linguistique Mots-clés: Japon moderne, langue nationale, Kokugo, caractères chinois, Kanji, éducation, occidentalisation, romanisation, transcription en kana, Mori Arinori (1847-1889), Nanbu Yoshikazu (1840-1917), Maejima Hisoka (1835-1919)

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Language textbooks following the Meiji Restoration Innovations from the Gakusei period

Christian Galan

EDITOR'S NOTE

Original release: Christian Galan, « Les manuels de langue aux lendemains de la Restauration de Meiji. Les innovations de la période du décret sur l’Éducation », Cipango — Cahiers d’études japonaises, no 8, 1999, p. 215-257.

1 The Education System Order (Gakusei 学制) period ran from 1872 to 1879, period during which this statutory text, promulgated on 4 August 1872, remained in effect. The main, and most pressing, task of the newly created Department of Education at that time was to implement a standardised national curriculum accessible to all children, while simultaneously unifying the astonishing patchwork of schools that had arisen during the Edo period.1 The promulgation of the Education System Order marked the culmination of a twin reflection process: on the one hand, the investigation since the mid-nineteenth century of foreign education systems, and on the other a review of Japan's traditional Confucian-inspired education system.

2 The education system established by this decree included three levels of schooling: elementary school, middle school and university. All educational institutions were made the sole responsibility of the Department of Education,2 which set curricula and supervised both teaching and teachers. Seen as the keystone of the entire system, elementary school education was the subject of intense scrutiny.

3 In order to make an irreversible break with Edo-period education, Meiji leaders wanted to see schools adopt textbooks that differed radically to those used up until then. However, the compiling and manufacturing of such textbooks proved to be too slow and their distribution too insufficient to immediately cover needs.3

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4 When it became clear to the government that for both practical and financial reasons the new system was headed straight for failure, in May 1873 the Department of Education issued an “Amendment to the Elementary School Regulations” (Shōgaku kyōsoku kaisei 小学教則改正). However, differences with the “Elementary School Regulations” (Shōgaku kyōsoku 小学教則) of 1872, which accompanied the decree, remained minimal and consisted essentially of a reduction in teaching hours.

5 The classroom reality was that the world of teaching practices was split into two separate camps. On one side were the new teachers trained at normal schools, veritable teaching laboratories where the methods imported from overseas were presented and discussed. On the other side teachers from the old schools, trained in traditional teaching methods, continued to form the majority.4

6 One of the rare pedagogical innovations from this period to gain rapid currency and truly be implemented in every classroom was the so-called “simultaneous teaching method” (issei kyōjuhō 一斉教授法), in which the teacher addressed the entire class rather than each student in turn. An efficient way of imparting knowledge to the greatest number, this method enabled the content of lessons to be systematised and standardised while simultaneously extending the amount of time each pupil spent studying or reflecting, since the teacher was constantly addressing the entire class. The drawback, on the other hand, was that it confined children to an essentially passive role.

7 The period running from 1872 to the beginning of the 1880s is often referred to by Japanese specialists as the “translated textbooks period” or the “Western-inspired textbooks period”. These terms can be misleading if taken literally, however, for this period was above all one of great freedom – and confusion – in everything relating to the editing, publishing and use of teaching materials. Textbook supervision was non- existent (or proved to be extremely flexible); the official directives mentioned certain titles but did not impose them. Primary school teachers could thus choose from a range of widely diverging materials that can be grouped into three broad categories: • Edo-period textbooks, Chinese classics and ōrai-mono 往来物,5 or any texts which, although written at the very beginning of the Meiji era, could be considered as such; • books that could be classed as “Westernizing”, in other words, that described Western morals and customs or served as teaching aids for new subjects such as geography and the sciences. The majority were not written specifically for children and their content could be highly complex. They were frequently used during the first few years of the Gakusei period to compensate for the lack of appropriate textbooks while conveying the spirit of the Japanese age of civilisation and enlightenment (bunmei kaika 文明開化); • and finally, new textbooks devised and written to be used by children in the type of school environment established by the official directives: close to 280 textbooks for beginners and more than 550 language textbooks were published between 1868 and 1885, in addition to around 300 maths textbooks and 520 geography textbooks.6 Amongst these, language textbooks were fundamental in modernising the education system of the early Meiji era.7

New textbooks for teaching Japanese

8 Article 27 of the decree organised the teaching of the Japanese language into seven subjects: kana transcription ( kanazukai 綴字), vocabulary (kotoba 単語, literally “words”), conversation (kaiwa / kotobazukai 会話), reading (tokuhon 読本), grammar

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(bunpō 文法), writing (tenarai 習字) and composition (shotoku 書牘).8 All of these terms, with the exception of tenarai and shotoku,9 had been newly created based on the subjects taught in Western schools.

9 These subjects were reprised and further divided in the elementary school regulations of 1872 and 1873, bringing to fifteen the number of lessons directly linked to language instruction.10 The regulations indicated the titles of textbooks that could be used for each of these subjects.11 The fragmented and, it must be said, somewhat vague nature of language instruction – it was difficult to grasp the actual content of each “subject”, or even to understand the pertinence of creating separate disciplines – was further reinforced by the great confusion that reigned over the subject names.12 There was a clear desire to go beyond the reading/writing dichotomy (kaki 書き / yomi 読み or tenarai 手習 / sodoku 素読)13 of the traditional education system using new terminology; 14 however, in retrospect it also appears to have reflected an extremely fragmented view of the Japanese language and how it should be taught.15

Kana-zukai

10 The first kana-zukai textbooks were published in 1873.16 The most representative among them was by Sakakibara Yoshino 榊原芳野 (1832-1881), Shōgaku kana-zukai [sic] sho 小 學綴字書 (Kana Usage Textbook for Elementary School), published in August 1874 by the Department of Education.

11 In his foreword the author informed readers that learning how to read and write kana was the first step to learning the language and that the textbook they held in their hands had been written with a view to teaching these skills. The first pages were taken up with charts presenting kana 仮字 (the most common hiragana given in the iroha いろ は format),17 katakana 片仮字 (the most common following the gojūon – fifty sounds – ordering), hiragana variants (kana bettai 仮字別体) and katakana variants ( katakana bettai 片仮字別体).18 Next combinations of kana were presented. Words (each combination had a meaning) were presented in the gojūon order based on their first symbol: aka, aki, asa, ashi; ika, iki, ike, ito, for example. Each word in hiragana was accompanied by its transcription in Chinese characters (kanji) written slightly to one side. When two commonly used kanji shared the same kana transcription they were both mentioned. Thus 紙 (paper) and 神 (god) appeared opposite kami かみ. Each page contained one or two drawings illustrating some of the words presented.

12 Once all of the possible two-kana combinations had been exhausted, words beginning with voiced sounds19 and transcribed with two kana were presented in the same manner. The textbook then presented several lessons on words containing three kana and ended with a series of lessons on the kana transcription of kanji containing, for the most part, complex sounds.20

13 While Sakakibara's textbook was heavily inspired by American spelling books, its contents were entirely Japanese and its form (word lists and illustrative vignettes) even made it appear to be derived from the vocabulary ōraimono. Nevertheless, in contrast to ōraimono, words were not presented thematically or in the iroha format but instead were systematically presented following the gojūon ordering and in such a way as to cover all (or almost all) the possible combinations of Japanese syllables. The desire to imitate contemporary Western textbooks by presenting an exhaustive catalogue of letter combinations was strong, and the influence of the syllabic methods at the heart

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of these Western texts was decisive in the years following the promulgation of the Education System Order.

14 It is not clearly known in what proportion, or in what manner, these textbooks were used. Given that no mention is made of them in the elementary school regulations of the Department of Education or the Normal School, nor in the regulations issued by the various local authorities, doubt exists as to whether they were actually used in any great number.

Kotoba

15 The term kotoba-hen (“word textbook”) appeared for the first time in the 1872 regulations which, once the kana syllabaries and rules for transcribing them had been learnt, stipulated the use of these textbooks to teach kanji.

16 The first of these “word textbooks21 was the three-volume Kotoba-hen 單語編 published by the Department of Education in 1872 (author unspecified). The first five pages of volume one (twenty-five pages long) contained various charts: the iroha chart in hiragana, the gojūon chart in katakana and a presentation of the various verb categories. These were followed by lists of nouns (transcribed in kanji) connected to everyday life and classified according to themes: numerals, directions, shapes, colours, geography and anatomy. Volume two also consisted of words transcribed in kanji and grouped thematically. These words were more difficult and bore less relation to everyday life than in the previous volume. Finally, volume three continued to present words transcribed in kanji and was divided into three parts: historical eras and names of emperors, family names, and names of places, towns and regions.

17 By dividing the book into three separate volumes its makers underlined the importance attached to the need to progress by level, gradually increasing the difficulty of the material presented (in this case words) with each subsequent book. Although the influence of Western textbooks was clear, it should be pointed out that the words presented referred to concepts and objects that were common in everyday Japanese life (or uncommon, but in this case had strong cultural connotations). It was by no means a translated textbook. In fact, in some ways it was yet another example of a textbook that followed the compilatory tradition of the ōrai-mono, consisting solely of lists of words in kanji grouped by theme and semantic field. The third volume of the Kotoba-hen in particular so closely followed this tradition that it can be considered an ōrai-mono.

18 In this sense, despite its unfamiliar name the Kotoba-hen was not the textbook that caused teachers the most difficulty, since the teaching method it implied (having pupils memorise, recite and write lists of words) was familiar and had been practiced for decades, if not centuries. In fact, the Kotoba-hen was very well received and enjoyed a wide distribution throughout the country. On the other hand, it is easy to imagine the degree of difficulty that these lists of words studied in isolation, without any context, must have represented for first year students.

Kotoba-zukai [kaiwa]

19 The Department of Education itself did not compile any kotobazukai hen and those that were published came from private publishing houses.22 Although there could be substantial differences between these textbooks, the most widely used among them

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seems to have been one by Ōta Zuiken” 太田随軒 (birth and death unknown), Ōta shi kaiwa [kotobazukai] hen 太田氏會話篇 (Mr Ōta's Conversation Textbook), published in August 1873.

20 The first volume opened with three tables of figures23 and the second with a presentation of eight word “categories”: nouns (meishi 名詞), personal and demonstrative pronouns (daimeishi 代名詞), adjectives (keiyōshi 形容詞), verbs (dōshi 動 詞), adverbs (fukushi 副詞), particles that function as determiners (zenshi 前詞), conjunctions (setsuzokushi 接続詞), and interjections (kantōshi 間投詞). Each of these two volumes was then composed of short sentences that supposedly constituted the basis of any conversation. The sentences were presented in a strict grammatical progression. Their style, expression and structure were heavily influenced by Western grammar, to such an extent that today this textbook more closely resembles a book on formal grammar than a guide to conversation. The introduction of numerous interrogative sentences from the second half of the first volume onwards is the only thing that suggests the book was designed to teach conversation.

21 The content of the two volumes showed little coherence and the presentation consisted simply in placing various model sentences side by side. Furthermore, the desired objectives were not clear and the texts suspiciously resembled translations from a foreign language, including excessive use of personal pronouns that are often unnecessary in Japanese and structures grafted literally onto Japanese. Directly translating sentences that were already somewhat stilted in English stripped the Japanese of all coherence and produced utterances that were not only strange, but often incorrect and at times incomprehensible. For example, almost all the sentences began with ware 我 (I), warera 我等 (we) or nanji 汝 (you). Moreover, quite astonishing phrases appeared, such as nanji wa zutsū o motsu 汝ハ頭痛ヲ持ツ or ware wa haita (shitsū) wo motsu 我ハ歯痛ヲ持ツ (lesson 5, volume 2). Translated literally back into English these would produce something along the lines of “you possess a headache”, “I possess a toothache”, as opposed to the standard expressions atama ga itai 頭が痛い (you've got a headache), ha ga itai 歯がいたい (I've got toothache).

22 Nonetheless, this textbook has great historical importance due to its clear desire to create a “conversation” lesson in the new elementary school curriculum, and in doing so establish oral communication as one of the starting points of language instruction. Despite its failings, its pedagogical intentions were undeniably ahead of their time and would subsequently lead spoken Japanese to once again take precedence over the written language.

23 Other kotobazukai textbooks featured dialogues that were more relevant to everyday life and contained some rudimentary writing exercises, making the kotobazukai subject seem like a preliminary step in this type of exercise. The subject matter of the dialogues made some of them feel rather academic. All, however, had been compiled under the influence of Western conversation books and had, to differing extents, the same artificial feel of a translation. According to Nanette Twine,24 kotobazukai provided the ideal terrain for advocates of unifying spoken and written Japanese (genbun itchi 言 文一致), in other words, simplifying the latter to bring it in line with the former. In fact, certain members of the Department of Education hoped that teaching this subject would encourage the dissemination of the national language at the expense of regional dialects. On the whole, however, the kotobazukai texts were unable to meet these

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linguistic challenges. Poorly distributed and in small numbers, they disappeared from the proposals of the Normal School in 1873, and from teaching curricula in 1881.

Bunpō

24 The 1872-73 regulations introduced the teaching of grammar from the first term of the third year of lower elementary school to the end of upper elementary school. This subject had never existed as such before and the education chiefs of the time had decided that, in view of Western practices, it was lacking from Japanese language education.

25 More than any of the other newly created subjects, “grammar” implied conducting an in-depth reflection on the subject matter to be taught, something that had never been undertaken before in Japan.25 The confusion of those in charge of setting curricula was evident. Although they had clearly stipulated the teaching of grammar at elementary school, they had failed to set out a precise timetable. Accordingly, implementing instruction in this subject was fraught with difficulty.

26 A number of “grammar books” (bunpō sho 文法書) were produced, however, by private publishing houses. Since the elementary school regulations had not specified any set texts, and with good reason, certain prefectures supplemented the list of textbooks to be used at upper elementary schools with works such as those by Tanaka Yoshikado 田 中義廉, Shōgaku Nihon bunten 小學日本文典 (Book of Japanese Grammar for Elementary School, 1874), or Nakane Kiyoshi中根淑, Nihon shō-bunten 日本小文典 (Book of Elementary Japanese Grammar, 1876). However, the content of these works, which wavered between that of the kanazukai textbooks and kotobazukai textbooks with which they overlapped, amounted simply to presenting the different word categories and the ways in which they could be employed in sentences. In the classroom they served merely as teachers' guides and are thought to have been distributed to students only rarely.

Inadequate yet essential textbooks

27 The aforementioned textbooks were never truly used as stand-alone texts in lessons, in other words as textbooks for “subjects” that were distinct from one another. The division of subjects imposed by the regulations proved impossible to implement in reality. Poorly defined, the teaching content of the new subjects overlapped and duplicated each other as the subjects struggled to exist and find their coherence. The confusion that reigned over the different course titles and textbook names was symptomatic of this state of affairs. Kotobazukai textbooks that in reality more closely resembled grammar books coexisted with grammar books which themselves were virtually indistinguishable from kanazukai texts. The combined influence of Western and Edo-period textbooks, the conflict between new ideas and a traditional view of education, and the discrepancy between what teachers on the ground were truly capable of and what officials drafting the regulations wanted – and were themselves capable of – were all at the root of this confusion.

28 However, this confusion was also synonymous with intense activity and intense reflection. The Japanese tested, experimented, studied and made proposals. These flawed and seemingly incomplete textbooks clearly demonstrate – undoubtedly better

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than those compiled later – the frenetic activity that characterised the world of education and publishing during the Gakusei period. Beyond their shortcomings and awkwardness, they perfectly reflected the two major concerns of education specialists at the time: providing children with appropriate educational materials and systematising Japanese language instruction to make it simpler, more rational and more progressive.

29 Finally, from a pedagogical point of view they introduced the learning progression that would subsequently become the norm, namely: syllables in kana > words in kanji > sentences. Leaving aside the issue of whether these textbooks were used, how and by whom, they constitute a vital link in the history of Japanese language teaching, or even the language itself!

The educational wallcharts of 1873-1875

30 This learning progression relating to the introduction of writing also featured in the “educational wallcharts” (kakezu 掛圖) published by the Tōkyō Normal School at the beginning of 1873. These were a completely new innovation. This type of American- inspired teaching aid was unheard of in Japan and deviated from the tradition of individualised teaching and the book as the sole vehicle for conveying knowledge. The American models for the Japanese wallcharts, the School and Family Charts: Accompanied by a Manual of Object Lessons and Elementary Instruction (1870s) by Marcius Willson(1813-1905) and N. A. Calkins, (1822-1895) were introduced to Japan at the beginning of 1872 on the initiative of the American G.H.F. Verbeck (1830-1898).

31 Immediately translated and adapted, the Japanese version comprised twenty-eight charts (56 cm x 74 cm): Fifty sounds chart (Gojūonzu 五十音圖) Fifty sounds chart in the cursive style (Gojūon sōtaizu 五十音草体圖) Voiced sounds chart (Dakuonzu – handakuon 濁音圖半濁音) Word charts (1-8) (Kotobazu daiichi – daihachi 單語図第一・第八) Sentence charts (1-8) (Rengozu dai ichi – daihachi 連語図第一・第八) Lines and angles chart (Sen oyobi do zu 線及度図) Shapes and solids chart (Katachi oyobi tai zu 形及体図) Numerals chart (Sūjizu 数字図) Arabic numerals chart (San'yō sūjizu 算用数字図) Roman numerals chart (Rōma sūjizu 羅馬数字図) Addition tables (Kasan kukuzu 加算九九図) Multiplication tables (Jōsan kukuzu 乗算九九図) Colour charts (2) (Irozu 色図)

32 Published at a time when the Department of Education and the Tōkyō Normal School each produced their own teaching materials independently of one another, these wallcharts were designed to encourage dissemination of the simultaneous teaching method and compensate for the lack of textbooks. The series of charts by the Tōkyō Normal School were reissued the following year, in 1874, under the authority of the Department of Education. This second version of the charts was distributed by the Department until December 1878. The content of these charts, the number of which had grown in the interim to forty-seven, was based on that of the 1873 version but with

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a certain number of differences. Thirty of them were devised by the Normal School and seventeen by the Department of Education.

The iroha and the fifty sounds chart

33 Whereas instruction in reading and writing generally began with the fifty sounds chart in katakana, followed by the iroha in hiragana, the first series of charts from the Tōkyō Normal School in 1873 featured only the fifty sounds. The disappearance of the iroha reflected the preference of “Westernizers” for the fifty sounds chart. However, the fact that children were more familiar with the iroha through card games, songs and everyday activities led education officials to reintroduce it with the new series in 1874.

The word charts

34 The first two of the eight words charts (73 cm x 58 cm) each presented thirty or so words, while the remaining six contained twenty-five, making a total of 210 words and 310 kanji for all eight charts. The words were always presented in the same manner. Each square on the charts contained a drawing representing the object, plant or animal in question along with a transcription of its name written in square-style kanji. The first of these eight charts was designed chiefly to help children distinguish between similar sounds (i イ, hi ヒand wi ヰ; e エ, he ヘand we ヱ), while the second sought to teach some of the words with particularly complicated kana spelling (wa ワor ha ハ, o オor wo ヲ).

35 Although the vocabulary itself drew on the everyday world of children, the kanji presented were often graphically complex. The first two charts, for example, contained the words shokudai / 燭臺 (candlestick), ebi / 鰕 (shrimp), kanae / 鼎 (three-legged metal pot), tarahi / 盥 (washbowl), and iwashi / 鰯 (sardine).

36 The remaining charts presented dialogues (mondō 問答) between pupils and teachers. These dialogues were essentially designed to teach children the function and characteristics of objects taken from the world around them26 and have them memorise the kanji used to write their names.

37 The second series of charts authorised by the Department of Education in 1874 differed from the first series on a certain number of points: with new illustrations and certain words replaced, the new version was ultimately considerably more difficult than the first. Examples include 糸ito (thread) replaced with 絲 and 大根 daikon (a large radish) with 蘿蔔 rafuku (same meaning). The few words to appear in katakana in the first version had also been replaced by words in kanji. In fact, the first version more closely resembled the Japanese language of today than the second.

38 These changes were the first signs of the reversal in situation that the world of Meiji education would experience, with the specialists in Chinese studies (kangakusha 漢学者) at the Department of Education gradually regaining the ground previously abandoned to the “Westernizers” (yōgakusha 洋学者) at the Tōkyō Normal School.

The sentence charts

39 These charts served as material for training children in sentence construction using the “word linking” technique (according to a very literal translation of rengozu). Their

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presentation was identical in both versions of the charts and featured a list of words in kanji followed by short, literary-style sentences that recycled these words. The first chart, for example, featured the words 神 (kami, god), 人 (hito, person), 天地 (tenchi, universe), 万物 (banbutsu, all creation), 主宰 (shusai, master), 霊 (tama, soul / spirit), followed by sentences like: 神は天地の主宰にして、人は万物の霊なり (kami wa tenchi no shusai ni shite, hito wa banbutsu no tama nari / the gods are the masters of the universe, men are the kings [literally the “soul”] of creation.

40 In all, 191 words were presented in isolation across all nine charts,27 as well as 271 kanji. Only ten words were written in kana, in chart no. 3. Many variant written forms (hentaigana) appeared in the parts transcribed in kana. Just like the word charts, these sentence charts, which in addition to the number and difficulty of the kanji used introduced quite complex moral and scientific concepts, were extremely difficult for language teaching materials that were supposedly designed for very young children.

Distribution of the wallcharts

41 The first annual reports published by the Department of Education in 1873 (Monbushō nenpō 文部省年報) show widespread distribution of the charts throughout the entire country. Teachers who had not graduated from the Normal School spent several weeks learning how to use them at seminars organised by the prefectures. These seminars taught elementary school teachers how to teach a whole class using the simultaneous method and how to have children read by showing them the words with a stick and/or having them run their fingers along under the sentences.

42 As evidenced by the one million copies distributed as of 1874, these charts were not simply supplementary teaching materials but rather educational resources on a par with textbooks. To my knowledge this was the first time in the history of Japanese education that teaching materials other than textbooks were produced and used in classrooms on this scale. Ideally suited to simultaneous teaching, they enabled all teachers to familiarise themselves with this method without unnerving those who had only ever known the traditional method.

43 However, the difficulty of the kanji taught in these charts and the complexity of the historical kana orthography used (rekishi kanazukai) soon proved to be inappropriate for children aged six to eight years old. Mounting criticism led the Department of Education to publish a new set of ten charts (72 cm x 50 cm) called Shōgaku shikyōzu 小 學指教圖 (educational wallcharts for elementary school) in January 1879. The first six were word charts in hiragana and the other four served as teaching aids for arithmetic lessons: Chart no.1: iroha in hiragana Chart no.2: fifty sounds in katakana (simple sounds only) Chart no. 3: voiced sounds in katakana and numerals in kanji Charts 4 to 6: words transcribed exclusively in hiragana and illustrated with a drawing, such as inu, hashi or hon (24 words per chart) Charts 7 to 10: tables of maths operations (multiplication, addition, subtraction and division).

44 The major difference with the 1873 charts was that instead of being transcribed using what were often very difficult kanji, all of the words were written in hiragana. This time there was a real desire to adapt the teaching material to the developmental stage of

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children and their abilities, and in this respect these charts prefigured the language teaching policy subsequently introduced in the “Elementary School Curriculum” (Shōgakkō kyōsoku kōryō 小学校教則綱領) decreed in May 1881. Moreover, the elements relating to arithmetic that remained in the 1879 Shōgaku shikyōzu were directly linked to the traditional practice of using an abacus and moved away from “Western” arithmetic. With their focus once again on language instruction using elements that directly prepared children for reading – iroha, fifty sounds chart, voiced sounds, kana words, short sentences –, these charts foreshadowed the tokuhon 読本 style readers published later.

The Shōgaku nyūmon

45 The wallcharts of 1873-1875 were also published together as a collection in the form of textbooks. The first among these was the Shōgaku kyōjusho 小学教授書 (Book of Lessons for Elementary School) by Tanaka Yoshikado 田中義廉 (1841-1879) and Morokuzu Nobuzumi諸葛信澄 (1849-1880), published by the Department of Education in August 1873. It grouped together into one single volume all the charts from the Tōkyō Normal School published that same year, except for the table of colours.

46 In October 1874 the Department of Education published a second series of charts in a single 150-page book entitled Shōgaku nyūmon kōgō 小學入門 甲号 (Elementary School Primer – A),28 the foreword to which stated: The charts are large and impractical to fold and transport. Furthermore, they are difficult to purchase due to their high price. We have therefore assembled them in this practical and lightweight book.

47 The following year, in January 1875, an abridged version of this textbook (62 pages) was published with the title Shōgaku nyūmon otsugō 小學入門 乙号 (Elementary School Primer – B).

48 Whichever version we consider, the Shōgaku nyūmon served as an introduction to all the subjects taught at elementary school but, like the original charts, continued to focus essentially on learning the language. Reading instruction clearly began with characters (kana followed by kanji) then words, progressing to compound words, expressions and finally short sentences, each time combining the elements studied separately during the previous stage.

49 This concern for starting with concrete objects and associating the signifier with as precise a representation of the signified as possible (influenced by the Pestalozzian method)29 was clearly visible in the presentation of these word charts and their multiple and highly detailed illustrations. As such, the charts, along with the Shōgaku nyūmon, were evidently teaching resources developed in line with the so-called “object lessons method” (shobutsu shikyō 庶物指教),30 which emphasised visualising the concrete object or, in this case, a simple representation of it. In fact, the American charts that had served as a model bore the subtitle “accompanied by a manual of object lessons and elementary instruction”.

50 The Shōgaku nyūmon continued to be extremely popular until around 1877-1879, and even until the beginning of the 1880s. Much has been written about its content and use. However, the majority of these works – teachers' guides or commentaries – focused

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essentially on the word charts and on providing highly detailed explanations of their use.

51 The educational charts and various versions of the Shōgaku nyūmon had been developed and published at short notice following the Education System Order, and were chiefly intended to provide teachers at the newly created elementary schools with textbooks whose content conformed to the new regulations. The problems that arose once they were in circulation and being used in classrooms stemmed essentially from the fact that their editors had been more interested in breaking with traditional teaching practices (notably individualised instruction) than in creating materials truly suited to young learners. It must be acknowledged that the reflection conducted on the actual abilities of young learners was non-existent (or inadequate). Simply copying Western teaching resources without truly taking into account the children themselves had led to the publication of materials that were unsuitable and excessively difficult.

52 Nevertheless, the pioneering and modern nature of the Shōgaku nyūmon and the educational charts must not be forgotten. Their presentation of subject matter for beginners makes them of prime importance in the history of language textbooks. They introduced and established a new way of assembling and presenting the elements necessary for teaching the language, in addition to the first notions of the other subjects on the curriculum, in particular arithmetic and science. A summary of basic knowledge and an introduction to the sciences, if only through basic vocabulary, continued to characterise all readers published until the early twentieth century.

53 A much clearer and more coherent idea of the way textbook authors and the majority of officials at the time viewed language teaching can be obtained by flicking through the pages of the Shōgaku nyūmon (in any case much more than through the charts purchased by schools individually and not as a set). The influence of Edo-period textbooks was by now only really perceptible from a graphic point of view. The Shōgaku nyūmon had all the characteristics of the compendium-like primers used in the West, and of all the textbooks presented in this paper, it is probably one of those in which the influence of the so-called “civilisation and enlightenment” (bunmei kaika) movement is the most visible, whether in the content of lessons and underlying ideology, or the pedagogical approach and conception of knowledge on which it was based. In fact, its disappearance from lessons was concomitant with that of the very notion of bunmei kaika and the loss of influence of its adherents. This textbook definitively fell out of use after the Department of Education published the First Manual of Reading ( Yomikata nyūmon 読方入門) in 1884.

The shōgaku tokuhon of 1873, the first true elementary school “readers”

54 Of all the textbooks written during the Gakusei period, the most important for language teaching in general, and reading in particular, were the shōgaku tokuhon, or “elementary school readers”, the first of their kind.

55 First published in 1873, they quickly stood out from other language textbooks and rapidly superseded them in everyday classroom practices. Originally, however, these textbooks which prefigured the future combined “national language” (kokugo 国語) texts were simply a teaching aid for one of the seven subjects that made up language

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instruction. However, the coherence of the subject “reading” compared to the fluctuating nature of the six other subjects gradually established readers as the core texts for teaching the language. From the second year onwards, in other words, once children had been introduced to writing, readers became, in the vast majority of schools, the textbooks for language instruction.

56 These new textbooks – they did not exist in the old school system – were designed to be used in teaching “school-based reading” (yomikata) in the strict sense, as well as the “group reading-comprehension-explanation” activity known as rinkō 輪講. The term tokuhon, which in this new meaning was a neologism31 to translate the English term “reader” (riidā リーダー), subsequently became a generic term for all elementary school reading textbooks as well as the subject itself.

57 None of the textbooks cited in the official regulations of 1872 for the subjects tokuhon no yomikata and tokuhon no rinkō, taught from year two onwards, contained the word tokuhon in their title. It was only in the supplementary list of textbooks proposed by the Normal School and appended to the 1873 teaching regulations that a text entitled Shōgaku tokuhon, published shortly earlier in Tōkyō, appeared for the first time. Written by Tanaka Yoshikado, it was published just before Sakakibara Yoshino's Shōgaku tokuhon. Though fundamentally different, both of these textbooks were distributed on a tremendous scale throughout the entire Gakusei period. Widely used throughout the country until 1879, they are considered to be the most representative readers from the period.

Tanaka Yoshikado's Shōgaku tokuhon

58 Tanaka Yoshikado's Shōgaku tokuhon was initially published between March and June 1873 by the Tōkyō Normal School, then revised and republished jointly by the Department of Education and the Normal School in August 1874. All the hiragana used appeared in their current form and no variants featured in the text.

59 The first three volumes were essentially composed of texts focusing on the everyday life and games of children. The fourth consisted almost exclusively of texts of a scientific nature (celestial bodies, air, water). Tanaka had faithfully reproduced the style of the Willson Reader by Marcius Willson,32 the American textbook that had served as a model.

60 Highly representative of the bunmei kaika mentality, this textbook was the most utilised and imitated of all the readers. Its opening sentence, the only one that was not translated from the Willson Reader (and which Tanaka thus wrote himself), was memorised by all elementary school children: The humans inhabiting the Earth can be divided into five races: the Asian race, the European race, the Malay race, the American race and the African race; the Japanese belong to the Asian race.

61 For the Japanese of the time, this sentence alone symbolised the end of a long period of closure and isolation, the opening up to the West and the rest of the world, a breath of fresh air as well as an entirely new sum of knowledge to be acquired.

62 Except for this opening sentence, the first volume of Tanaka's reader was merely a complete and virtually word-for-word translation of the First Reader of the Willson Reader series, while the second volume reproduced the first half of the Second Reader

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with a few modifications and additions. Aside from a few differences, the third volume reproduced the second half of the Second Reader. The fourth volume, on the other hand, owed little to Willson's work, though with its focus almost entirely on the sciences it respected the same principle.

63 The texts and illustrations used contained many elements belonging to a culture and civilisation that were different, foreign. They lent the book a slightly odd feel that disconcerted many Japanese, but at the same time were responsible for its appeal and success. The images, which were identical to the ones used in the Willson Reader, showed children playing baseball, sleeping in beds, using music boxes and wearing western clothes, all unheard of in Japan at that time. The texts all had a certain strangeness that was most often due to their being literal translations from English. Their artificiality was somewhat toned down in the revised version of 1874 and changes to their content made them more closely coincide with the culture and everyday life of the Japanese.

64 Overall, however, the textbook still read like a translation (overuse of personal pronouns, sentence structures translated literally from English) and in some respects the second version proved itself to be even odder than the first, notably due to the fact that its prose combined Old Japanese (the interrogative ya, for example) and Modern Japanese (the interrogative ka). More generally, there was a kind of anachronism in the second version between the numerous old forms used (in particular the verbal suffixes beshi and nari) and a “modern and Western” content that would undoubtedly have been better served by a more contemporary language.

65 With regards the Japanese script, Tanaka introduced certain kanji right from the very first lesson of volume one, which was logical since in the Normal School learning progression the Shōgaku tokuhon was only tackled once kana had been studied. However, Tanaka employed these kanji with no effort to progress from the simple to the more complex in terms of the form or number of characters presented. Right from the opening lessons of his textbook, all words that would have been written with kanji in a text aimed at an adult readership were transcribed in the same way. No spaces separated words and punctuation was limited to commas and full stops (which were in fact circles the same size as a character).

66 Distributed nationwide, Tanaka's Shōgaku tokuhon found itself at the centre of a wealth of literature: explanatory guides, teachers' editions and dictionaries. Although it progressively fell out of use at the beginning of the 1880s, given that it was still being reprinted in places until around 1885-1886, its representative nature is coupled with an astonishing longevity for the period: over ten years.

Sakakibara Yoshino's Shōgaku tokuhon

67 Published for the first time in 1873 by the Department of Education, Sakakibara Yoshino's Shōgaku tokuhon consisted of six volumes, including an introductory volume.

68 The introductory volume (kubimaki 首巻) began in the same way as the Department of Education’s Kotoba-hen. It borrowed almost all of the introductory section; in other words, it began with the iroha in hiragana (including voiced sounds but not the variant written forms). This was followed by the gojūon chart in katakana, then a certain number of lessons presenting one-, two- or three-kanji words classified by theme, 33 giving a total of 1,078 words and at least as many kanji. Remember that this was a beginners' textbook used during the first six months of school!

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69 Volume one presented the names of things and objects (one or two per page) classified according to their first syllable in the order of the iroha. Each word was illustrated by a panel containing a drawing and the first kana character of the word. Beneath this a few lines provided a simple explanation of the word.34 The second half of the textbook presented other words in the same way but following the gojūon ordering, with the kana character inside the panel no longer a hiragana but a katakana.

70 This process of presenting over one thousand kanji in less than six months (in the introductory volume), then returning to a slower pace to study kana or the same kanji seems extremely bizarre, if not incoherent. However, it seems to perfectly reflect the still widely held view at the time that the characters had to be learnt before learning to read. From this point of view it was thus logical to have seen as many of them as possible before recycling them in texts “to be read”.

71 Volumes two and three were composed of short texts containing the words and kanji studied in the introductory book and volume one. The texts had been adapted to make them accessible to children and focused on everyday life or very simple subjects. At the top of each lesson, separated from the body of the text, were questions such as: “Which is the largest planet?” or “How many satellites are there?”, with the answer provided in the text of the lesson. These questions, which were designed chiefly to underline the essential points of the text, were one of the main characteristics of this textbook.

72 Volumes four and five,35 on the other hand, had been compiled according to a different editorial policy that favoured moralistic narratives, anecdotes and Chinese, Japanese or Western historical accounts. This policy was justified in the foreword in the following terms: In this volume we have used materials that can be read easily by children and have presented them simply. We have employed a vocabulary that is neither common nor sophisticated and have endeavoured to choose easy-to-pronounce words that can be understood by children without difficulty when they are heard. This textbook presents things in a certain order, without distinguishing between the old and the new, or between the Japanese and the foreign.

73 “Easily”, “simply”, “without difficulty”: these few lines reveal a clear concern for children, which is all the more remarkable considering that, until then, little concern had been shown in the texts targeting the moral edification of these same children. As in the previous volumes, questions underlining the main points figured in the upper margin of the texts: “Why are there wise men and fools?”, “Why do natural things deteriorate?”

74 In contrast to the artificial, translated feel of Tanaka's textbook, Sakakibara's text, based as it was on Japanese teaching materials, seemed much more traditional. Initially consisting of simple sentences, its style then evolved towards more sophisticated language. Nevertheless, like all the textbooks published prior to 1885, the spirit of “civilisation and enlightenment” was not completely absent since there were numerous foreign stories (albeit with a moralistic tone).

75 This textbook was widely distributed and utilised, in particular volumes four and five which, with their accounts of China and Japan, seemed to remedy one of the shortcomings of Tanaka's book, thus winning over many teachers. In fact, many schools moved straight on to volume five of Sakakibara's textbook after finishing the four

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volumes of Tanaka's reader. One compensated for the weaknesses of the other, and they were often used if not jointly, at least successively. In contrast to Tanaka's reader, however, use of Sakakibara's increased as the return to tradition in terms of morals and education became more pronounced, in particular from 1877-1879 onwards. The five volumes of Sakakibara's textbook, which were re-issued many times, were abundantly imitated in the different prefectures and even gave rise to a multitude of explanatory books and other teachers' editions. Being pervaded as they were with traditional and Confucian thought enabled them to completely eclipse Tanaka's book between 1881 and 1886.

76 The immense popularity of the Shōgaku tokuhon by Tanaka and Sakakibara was such that they were simply referred to as Tanaka-hon (Tanaka's book) and Sakakibara-hon (Sakakibara's book). They perfectly represented the two currents of thought apparent in language textbooks at the beginning of the Meiji era and which, more generally, were at odds in the world of education: an innovative current, initially dominant then increasingly minor – one inspired by the Western textbooks that were translated or adapted (Tanaka) – and a more traditional current, initially minor then increasingly powerful, which continued in the tradition of the previous era's education system (Sakakibara).36

77 The two main shortcomings of Tanaka's book were its use of unnatural language unlike the everyday language spoken by children, and the inclusion of content that was on occasions beyond a child's grasp. As for Sakakibara's reader, it could be criticised for adopting a system and overly rapid pace of introducing kanji and acquiring difficult vocabulary which, beyond the writers' stated intentions, showed little consideration for the abilities and developmental stage of children. In both cases, moreover, their specificity as language textbooks was eclipsed by their resemblance to general teaching textbooks that combined several subjects and differed little from the traditional readers of the Edo period. This is also undoubtedly one of the factors that eventually drove teachers to gradually use tokuhon-type readers as the sole language textbooks and then to establish them as the core elementary school textbooks.

Conclusion

78 An analysis of language textbooks from the Gakusei period shows that not only did they evolve along the same lines as the official directives, but in pedagogical terms they were even ahead of them. Indeed, by contenting themselves with merely indicating what books teachers could use, the 1872 and 1873 directives effectively aligned themselves with the textbooks available on the market. This was a unique moment in the history of Japanese education, a situation that would continue for another few years but would never again be repeated.

79 The new textbooks also reflected the ideological and philosophical views dominating the world of education and, more generally, society at the beginning of the Meiji era. The major influence at that time was American and Pestalozzian. But while the majority of textbook writers did indeed take inspiration from Western works, this was not the case for everyone. The influence of Edo-period textbooks was still palpable in these so-called new publications. Considered in its entirety, the corpus of language textbooks published between 1872 and 1879 above all reflects the considerable educational freedom that existed in Japan at that time: dissemination of new ideas and

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practices inspired from abroad, freedom in the writing and use of textbooks, relative independence of the prefectures, and considerable autonomy of teachers in the classroom.

80 The consequence of this educational freedom was that a gulf existed during this period between, on the one hand, what education specialists and officials advocated through their documents and new textbooks, and what actually happened in classrooms on the other. Indeed, the content and spirit of the new textbooks, suffused with the “civilisation and enlightenment” ideal, were rather poorly perceived on the ground. The materials directly developed from the translation of Western textbooks in particular were found disconcerting and shocking. Parents, children and teachers, who had already taken a battering from the new system, were extremely disconcerted by these books whose content was for many incomprehensible. Many teachers thus continued to use the old textbooks with which they were familiar.

81 The investigation conducted by the specialists themselves into language and language instruction appears to have focused essentially on ideological (breaking away from the traditional education model) and practical aspects (being rapidly applicable everywhere, by all and for all subjects) that left little room to consider the subject taught (written Japanese) as well as the learners and learning process. In fact, general principles of education were simply applied to language teaching, just as they were for other subjects. Japanese specialists in fact refer to this period as “gogaku kyōiku jidai” 語 学教育時代: literally the “language education period”, in other words, the period in which education focused on systematically studying the components of the written language, a method modelled on the way foreign languages were studied at that time.

82 The extremely synoptic presentation of the writing system thus proposed was based on an abstract conception of the written code which saw characters as visual or phonetic units isolated from their function. Despite the recommendations of certain Japanese specialists, notably those from the normal schools, teaching was mechanical and involved little active use of the language apart from extremely formalistic “questions and answers” (mondō 問答), prepared and learned by heart.37 However, this situation also revealed a perverse effect of the old Western syllabic method which, encouraged by the extremely syllabic nature of the Japanese language, was used at that time as a model. Accordingly, kana were presented in the “syllabic” order of the iroha and the gojūon (Western influence + Japanese tradition) rather than progressing from the easiest to the most difficult.

83 Similarly, the graphic complexity and frequency with which kanji appeared in the actual texts were not yet truly taken into account (influence of the traditional method). Kanji were either presented in isolation, without context, or within words grouped together according to a particular theme, the number of syllables they contained or shared semantic elements; or else in short utterances that more closely resembled expressions than sentences. The process of learning to read and write was thus simply based on an accumulation of graphic and visual elements. Each as poorly suited to the needs, abilities and developmental stage of children as to the knowledge and practical experience of teachers, the new language textbooks, especially those most faithful to their Western models, continued – paradoxically – to focus essentially, just like the Edo-period textbooks, on Japanese characters as both the point of departure and aim of education.

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84 The adoption of the simultaneous teaching method and appropriate teaching material is thus often presented as the main, if not the only, educational advance of this period. The previously mentioned difficulties and the failings or weaknesses of the new textbooks from the Gakusei period should not, however, mask other advances made in language teaching, advances that are clearly visible in the textbooks of those years and which were equally important and definitive, albeit decidedly less spectacular. These include breaking away from the traditional model of teaching written Japanese, promoting the spoken language and oral communication, which were on their way to taking precedence over the written language, and kana being seen as the sole gateway to the written language for all children. The traditional model was in fact abandoned in stages, the first, which took place during the period studied in this paper, being the inversion of the “writing > reading” teaching order (which became “reading > writing”). It was not until the end of the 1880s that the need to teach these skills concurrently was established.

85 Finally, an examination of the textbooks of this period shows that the major obstacle to implementing an efficient method of language instruction on a truly nationwide scale remained the Japanese language itself. All efforts and attempts were doomed to failure from the start due to the excessive instability of the language. This is something that is difficult to imagine today, but the Japanese elementary school teachers of the period were teaching a language that was not fixed, that varied according to place, period and purpose, whom it was written by and to whom it was addressed, a written language that vacillated between several traditions and whose usage implied a cultural and ideological choice on behalf of the writer. A language that, in contrast to contemporary Japanese, was graphically much less certain. None of the diacritical marks subsequently chosen were used, for example, while the link between the written form of kana and their pronunciation was as complex as French orthography. In fact, the textbooks presented in this paper provide an extremely tangible illustration of these difficulties linked to the nature of the Japanese script, since they present little homogeneity in terms of form. The size of characters, presentation of texts, calligraphy style, preference given sometimes to hiragana, sometimes to katakana when writing in the kanji kana majiri-bun style (a mixture of kanji and kana), and punctuation: all of these elements varied considerably from author to author. Not to mention the problems relating to the language employed (spoken, written or “translated”), the syntax, and the kanji chosen. It would be some years before the first signs of a standardisation of these elements would become visible.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

AKITA Kisaburō 秋田喜三郎, Shotō kyōiku kokugo kyōkasho hattatsushi初等教育国語教科書発達史 (History of the Development of Japanese Language Textbooks for Elementary School), , Bunka hyōron 文化評論, 1977.

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FURUTA Tōsaku 古田東朔, Shōgaku tokuhon benran 小學讀本便覧 (Guide to Elementary School Readers), 10 volumes + 1 supplementary volume, Musashino shoin武蔵野書院, 1978 [in this series the textbooks are reproduced in full, in facsimile; the texts studied in this paper appear in volume one and in the supplementary volume].

HIDA Takio 飛田多喜雄, Kokugo kyōiku hōhōron shi 国語教育方法論史 (History of Japanese Language Teaching Methods), Meiji tosho 明治図書, 1966.

KAIGO Tokiomi 海後宗臣 (ed.), Nihon kyōkasho taikei – kindai-hen 日本教科書体系近代編 (Overview of Japanese School Textbooks – Contemporary Period), 27 volumes, Kōdansha 講談社, 1964-1967 [the textbooks studied in this paper appear in volume one].

KARASAWA Tomitarō 唐沢富太郎, Kyōiku hakubutsukan 教育博物館 (Museum of Education), 4 volumes, Gyōsei ぎょうせい, 1977.

Kokugo kyōiku kenkyūjo 国語教育研究所 (National Language Research Institute), Kokugo kyōiku kenkyū daijiten 国語教育研究大辞典 (Dictionary of Research on Japanese Language Education), Meiji tosho 明治図書, 1991.

NAKAMURA Kikuji 中村紀久二, Kyōkasho no shakaish i教科書の社会史 (Social History of School Textbooks), Iwanami shoten岩波書店, Iwanami shinsho岩波新書, 1992.

Tōkyō hōrei 東京法令 (ed.), Kokugo kyōikushi shiryō 国語教育史資料 (Documents on the History of Japanese Language Education), 6 vols, 1981 (vol. 2: School Textbooks).

YAMAZUMI Masami山住正己, Kyōkasho 教科書 (School Textbooks), Iwanami shoten 岩波書店, Iwanami shinsho 岩波新書 [1970] 1984.

NOTES

1. See Christian Galan, « Le paysage scolaire à la veille de la Restauration de Meiji – écoles et manuels » (Japan’s Educational Landscape on the Eve of the Meiji Restoration: Schools and Textbooks), Ebisu – Études japonaises, no 17, spring-summer 1998, p. 5-48, and « L’enseignement de la lecture à la veille de la promulgation du Gakusei (1872) » (Reading Instruction on the Eve of the Gakusei Promulgation, 1872), Ebisu – Études japonaises, no 18, autumn-winter 1998, p. 5-47. 2. From 1872 to 1885, in other words until a true cabinet system of government was adopted in which ministers were directly involved in organising affairs of state and public services, it is not really possible to use the term “Minister of Education” to describe the person at the head of the Monbushō. This body, translated here as “Department of Education”, was headed by a (mere) director or secretary general (a position which in fact was often vacant). 3. An Editorial Section (henshūryō 編集寮) was created in October 1871. However, the work of editing and publishing textbooks truly began with the establishment in October 1872 of a Textbook and Editing Office (Kyōkasho hensei-gakari 教科書編成掛) within the Department of Education itself. An Editing Bureau (Henshūkyoku 編輯局), set up at the Normal School, was also given the task of editing and distributing school textbooks. 4. In 1876 only one eighth of Japan’s 52,000 primary school teachers had graduated from a normal school. 5. Ōraimono is a generic term for the books, other than the Chinese classics, used as elementary education textbooks prior to the Meiji era (see C. Galan, « Le paysage scolaire », op. cit.)

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6. Japanese National Commission for Unesco, Development of Modern Textbook System in Japan 1868-1961, Tokyo, Ministry of Education of Japan, 1961, p. 14. 7. All of these textbooks were analysed in detail for my doctoral thesis (L’Enseignement de la lecture au niveau élémentaire dans le système éducatif du Japon moderne depuis Meiji (1872-1992) [Reading Instruction at Elementary School in the Modern Japanese Education System since the Meiji Era (1872-1992)]), supervised by Jean-Jacques Origas, Inalco, 1997). This thesis includes numerous illustrations taken from the textbooks cited in this paper (and others merely mentioned in passing), as well as their full bibliographic references and their authors’ biographies. See also Christian Galan, L’Enseignement de la lecture au Japon – Politique et éducation (Reading Instruction in Japan - Politics and Education), Toulouse, PUM, 2001. 8. This term literally means “letter, missive, or correspondence”. As in the Edo period it continued to be used for some time as a synonym for composition (sakubun 作文). The choice of this term reflects the fact that in the traditional education system, and this continued to be true at the beginning of the Meiji era, the first (and often only) texts that children were encouraged to write were letters of a personal, professional or official nature. 9. The textbooks on writing (tenarai) and composition (shotoku), subjects which were a fundamental part of the traditional education system, continued to present considerable similarities with Edo-period textbooks. They will not be analysed here since the reform of language instruction took place essentially through the other subjects. 10. Kotoba and kaiwa were both subdivided into three subjects: yomikata 讀方 (reading), anshō/ sorayomi 暗誦 (recitation) and kakitori 書取 (dictation/copying); and tokuhon into two: yomikata (reading) and rinkō 輪講 (group reading-explanation). 11. With the exception of anshō and kakitori. 12. The readings given in furigana differed from the usual readings of the selected terms: kotoba zukai no yomikata for 会話読方 (kaiwa yomikata), kanazukai for 綴字 (tsuzuriji), kotoba yomikata for 単語読方 (tango yomikata), or even, more astonishingly, for in this case two different kanji could simply have been chosen, tenarai for 習字 (shūji). 13. Or su yomi, “reading aloud without comprehending”, “reading-deciphering”, literally “simple reading”. In the traditional teaching model it was considered the first step in the study of kanbun. See C. Galan, « L’enseignement de la lecture à la veille […] », op. cit and L’Enseignement de la lecture au Japon, op. cit., p.44-46. 14. Only tenarai, rinkō and shotoku already existed in this context. 15. This epistemological problem of defining the content of the different subjects was resolved in the 1879 regulations by simply abandoning this terminology and returning to a more traditional reading/writing-composition dichotomy. In fact, this terminology had already been unofficially abandoned as early as in 1873 in training programmes at the Normal School. 16. The three kana-zukai textbooks indicated in the 1872 regulations – Uhimanabi うひまなび (First Lessons, 1868), by Yanagawa Harukage 柳河春蔭 (1832-1870), Eiri chie no wa 繪入知慧の環 (The Magic Rings – with Illustrations, 1870) and Chie no itoguchi ちえのいとぐち (The First Steps to Learning, 1871), both by Furukawa Masao 古川正雄 (1837-1877) – were published between 1868-1870, before the new subject was defined in the official directives. They will not be analysed here. See Christian Galan, « L’ébauche d’un nouvel enseignement de la langue écrite à la veille des réformes éducatives de 1872 » (The Beginnings of a New Way of Teaching the Written Language on the Eve of the 1872 Educational Reforms), Ebisu – Etudes japonaises, no. 22, autumn- winter 1999, p. 77-124. 17. The iroha, or iroha uta いろは歌 / 伊呂波歌, named after its three opening syllables (like our "ABC") is the oldest method of ordering the Japanese syllabary characters. Mnemonic in character, it takes the form of a Buddhist-inspired poem from the late tenth century in which each syllable appears just once.

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18. Each kana, depending on its own particular since their creation in the eighth century, had several written forms derived from different Chinese characters or which had been simplified in a different way. The majority of these were labelled “hentai-gana” 変体仮名 (irregular kana) or “itai-gana” 異体仮名 (different kana) at the end of the nineteenth century when one single written form (for each kana character) was classified as normal and standard. 19. They had been studied previously in words in which they appeared in second position. 20. Two successive vowels, final nasals, contracted sounds, long vowels, repeated consonants. 21. The 1872-1873 regulations distinguished between three separate “subjects” relating to the teaching of “words” (kotoba): “reading of words” (kotoba no yomikata 單語讀方), “recitation of words” (kotoba no sora yomi 單語諳讀), and “dictation of words” (kotoba no kakitori 單語書取). “Reading of words” consisted in the teacher writing words on the board, reading them aloud and then having students read/recite them together after having explained their meaning. “Recitation of words” amounted to the children reciting one by one from memory words they had learnt the previous day (they could also be asked to write them on the board). As for “dictation of words”, this involved the teacher calling out previously studied words and having students write them on their chalkboards. The teacher then wrote the words on the board and asked students to correct their work. These three “subjects”, which in reality formed one single discipline, corresponded to the three stages, in this case spread out over time, of a teaching method that consisted in having children learn words, recite them from memory and then write them in the form of dictations. 22. The 1872-1873 regulations introduced three “subjects” relating to “conversation”, or more literally, “word usage” (kotobazukai 會話): “reading of conversations” (kotobazukai no yomikata 會 話讀方), “recitation of conversations” (kotobazukai no sorayomi 會話暗誦), and “dictation of conversations” (kotobazukai no kakitori 會話書取). Just as with “words” (kotoba), these subjects actually formed one single discipline aimed at having pupils memorise supposedly "conversational” sentences. 23. Cardinal and ordinal numbers, plus a series of numbers with the counter word for frequency. 24. Language and the Modern State, London and New York, Routledge, 1991, pp. 86-87. 25. Admittedly studies had been conducted, essentially from the 18th century onwards, on the subject of particles, verbal variations, word categories or vocabulary, notably within the field of poetry, but grammar such as it had developed in the West had never been fixed or, for this very reason, taught in a normative or formal manner. 26. Chart no. 3: fruit and vegetables; no. 4: utensils and crockery; no. 5: writing implements and everyday objects; no. 6: clothing and anatomy; no. 7: insects and plants; no. 8: birds, animals and fish. 27. Chart no. 1: gods, man and family; no. 2: school; no. 3: places and space; no. 4: stars and the climate; no. 5: food and hygiene; no. 6: clothing and shoes; no. 7: living places, tools and the home; no. 8: life; no. 9: moral lessons; no. 10: units of measurement. 28. The letter (A) did not appear on the first version. It was added at a later date when version (B) was published. 29. See Christian Galan, « Pestalozzi, Herbart et la pédagogie japonaise » (Pestalozzi, Herbart and Japanese Educational Methods), Japon pluriel 3, Arles, Philippe Picquier, 1999, p. 53-61. 30. Term chosen to translate “object lessons method”, a method developed in the United States, at the Oswego Normal School (New York State) in particular, and which was directly descended from Pestalozzian thought. 31. The compound word 読本 existed during the Edo period, probably with the sole reading yomihon, and referred to "reading books" as opposed to "picture books" (ehon 絵本). 32. Marcius Willson, The Readers of the School and Family Series, New York, Harper and Brothers, 1860 (alternative edition: The First Reader, The Second Reader, New York, 1863).

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33. Numbers, directions, zodiac signs, the ten Heavenly Stems of the Chinese calendar, shapes, colours, angles, quantity, weight, measurements, currencies, heavenly bodies, units of time, geography, buildings, society, anatomy, fabrics, clothing, food, taste, objects (4), metals, vegetables (2), fruits, plants and trees (1), plants and trees (2), animals, birds, fish, and insects. 34. Or in any case an explanation of the word that was intended to be simple. The first word “house” (ie) was presented in the following manner: [drawing of a house, kana i い], “This is the generic word for the place where people live. It consists of pillars, joists, beams and rafters. On the roof there are also tiles, wooden planks or straw. The place where light enters is called a window. The place from which one can leave is called a door”. 35. Only the first three volumes were by Sakakibara, the remaining two were written by Naka Michitaka 那珂通高 (1828-1879) and Inagaki Chikai 稲垣千頴 (birth and death unknown). 36. Sakakibara was one of the most fervent supporters of historical kana orthography. 37. See Christian Galan, « Le nouveau paradigme éducatif du début de Meiji : analyse d’une liasse de copies de compositions d’écoliers des années 1876-1877 » (The New Educational Paradigm at the Beginning of the Meiji Era: Analysis of a Bundle of Copies of School Children’s Writing Compositions from 1876-1877), Cahiers du GREJA, no 2-3, « Éducation au Japon : éléments d’histoire (XIXe-XXe siècles) » (Education in Japan: Historical Elements (19th-20th Centuries)), 2006, p. 21-47.

ABSTRACTS

The Education System Order (Gakusei) was promulgated in 1872 and remained in effect until 1879. This period is often referred to by specialists as the “translated textbooks period”. An analysis of language textbooks from that period shows that they reflected the ideological and philosophical views dominating the world of education at the beginning of the Meiji era. The major influence at that time was American and Pestalozzian. But the influence of Edo-period textbooks was still palpable in these so-called new publications. The Gakusei period was a unique moment in the history of Japanese education, a situation that would continue for another few years but would never again be repeated.

Le décret sur l’Éducation (Gakusei) fut promulgué en 1872 et resta en vigueur jusqu’en 1879. Cette période est souvent appelée par les spécialistes « période des manuels traduits ». L’analyse des manuels de langue de cette période montre qu’ils reflètent les conceptions idéologiques et philosophiques dominantes dans le monde de l’éducation. L’influence majeure est alors américaine et pestalozienne. Mais l’influence des manuels scolaires de l’époque d’Edo se fait encore sentir dans ces productions que l’on dit nouvelles. La période du décret sur l’Éducation fut un moment unique dans l’histoire de l’éducation au Japon, une situation qui se prolongera encore quelques années, mais qui ne se reproduira jamais plus.

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INDEX

Keywords: modern Japan, Meiji era, education system, Gakusei, school textbooks, national language, kokugo, elementary school, kana learning, Pestalozzi Johann Heinrich (1746-1827), Tanaka Yoshikado (1841-1879), Sakakibara Yoshino (1832-1881), linguistics Subjects: linguistique Chronological index: Meiji Mots-clés: Japon moderne, système éducatif, Gakusei, manuels scolaires, langue nationale, Kokugo, école primaire, enseignement des kana, Pestalozzi Johann Heinrich (1746-1827), Tanaka Yoshikado (1841-1879), Sakakibara Yoshino (1832-1881)

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The rise of criticism (1886-1889) – Sohō, Hanpō, Ōnishi, Ōgai –

Emmanuel Lozerand

EDITOR'S NOTE

Original release: Emmanuel Lozerand, « L’affirmation de la critique 1886-1889 : Sohō, Hanpō, Ōgai », Cipango — Cahiers d’études japonaises, special issue « Mutations de la conscience dans le Japon moderne », 2002, p. 325-397. Before the 19th century there were critiques, not criticism. Albert Thibaudet, Physiologie de la critique, 1930 Thus, criticism is absolutely essential. 夫れ批評は寔に止むべからず Mori Ōgai, “Shigarami zōshi no honryō”, 1889

1 Beginning with issue 9, in September 1887, the journal Kokumin no tomo 国民之友 (The People’s Friend) reorganised its layout to include a section entitled “Criticism” (hihyō 批評). This would appear to have been the first time a Japanese periodical created a space specifically for texts intended to provide a systematic review of newly published material.1 An “Announcement” (shakoku 社告), in which the journal’s editorial staff explained the role ideally assigned to each of the new sections, stated that: The “Criticism” section will be reserved for frank reviews, either succinct or detailed, of recent publications and analyses of newspaper and journal editorials. 批評ニハ直筆シタル新刊書籍ノ詳評略評及ヒ新聞雑誌社説ノ評論アリ2

2 This stance was neither whimsical nor isolated. Indeed, the previous month (August 1887) had seen the creation of Shuppan geppyō 出版月評 (Monthly Publishing Review), whose chief aim was to “offer a fair and impartial review of recent publications in addition to important older works” (新刊書並重要なる旧著書に公平無 私の批評を下し). This endeavour continued until August 1891. It was the first time that a Japanese periodical had assigned itself such an objective.

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3 Shuppan geppyō, just like the section in Kokumin no tomo, was instrumental in establishing criticism as an independent field. The genre would subsequently grow at a rapid pace, quickly occupying a prominent place in modern Japan. This is illustrated by the fact that in 1936 Hijikata Teiichi 土方定一 (1904-1980) was able to write a book on the subject entitled Kindai Nihon bungaku hyōronshi 近代日本文学評論史 (The History of Modern Japanese Literary Criticism). More generally, it could no doubt be said that the vitality of critical discourse continued unabated throughout the entire twentieth century.3 However, it is the emergence of criticism, during the final third of the 1880s, that I would like to reflect on here by examining first the general conditions that explain this phenomenon, and then some of the contemporary theoretical texts that attempted to illustrate, from a conceptual perspective, and with their own internal dynamics, the necessity, task and role of criticism. I am thinking in particular of Takada Hanpō’s 1886 text “Tōsei shosei katagi no hihyō” (A Critique of Portraits of Contemporary Students), Ōnishi Hajime’s “Hihyōron” (Essay on Criticism) from 1888, and Mori Ōgai’s “Shigarami zōshi no honryō” (The Home Territory of The Weir) from 1889.4 First, however, how can we explain the sudden appearance, at this particular moment in time, of an interpretive discourse focused chiefly on recent publications?

The “flood” of publications at the end of the 1880s

4 This new-found desire to review recent publications would appear to result primarily from a quantitative change. Recalling the second decade of the Meiji era (1887-1896), Tokutomi Sohō 徳富蘇峰 (1863-1957), a major figure from that era, wrote: If we attempt to determine which of the phenomena witnessed by our country [during the second decade of the Meiji era] was the most astounding, it was undeniably the nationwide dissemination of countless books and opuscules, which left bookstore shelves en masse in a tumultuous flood. 起りたる我国の現象に付て、其最も人目を驚かすに堪へたる者を調査せば、無 数の書籍、小冊子等が混々滔々として、一時に書籍店の棚上よりして、全国に 汎濫したるを以て、其一とせざる可らず。5

5 An indirect account from his younger brother Roka 蘆花 (1868-1927) continues in this vein. In his autobiographic novel Kuroi me to chairo no me 黒い眼と茶色の目 (Black Eyes, Brown Eyes), published in 1914, he wrote: From the young blood of the Meiji era, then in its twentieth year [1887], sprang forth innumerable new publications each month, sent as gifts to Minhōsha for review (hihyō shōkai 批評紹介). Slim political novels or laborious translations of foreign texts: all manner of books piled up at Minhōsha. 二十歳になつた明治の若い血から月々生れ出づる夥しい新刊物は、批評紹介を 求めて民朋社に寄贈された。薄つぺらな政治小説、佶倔な翻訳小説、雑多の著 書は民朋社に山をなした。6

6 The year 1887 is mentioned in this passage and the narrator then cites, as an example of these innumerable new works, the novel Ukigumo 浮雲 (Floating Clouds) by Futabatei Shimei 二葉亭四迷 (1864-1909), the first volume of which was published that very same year. However, most notable is the link established from the outset between the explosion in new publications and the field of criticism, for behind the transparent mask of Minhōsha 民 朋社 was of course Min’yūsha 民友社,7 none other than the publishing house responsible for Kokumin no tomo.

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7 The Tokutomi brothers’ recollections are substantiated by the figures. Beginning in 1886, the Japanese publishing industry – which had experienced a sudden slump the previous year following six years of regular growth between 1879 and 1885 – saw a reversal of its fortunes. In the space of one year, the number of books published in Japan increased by almost twenty per cent, rising from 8,109 titles (in 1886) to 9, 549 (in 1887), then to 11, 273 in 1888, 14, 066 in 1889 and 18, 720 in 18908. Incidentally, it is not insignificant that the best tool for keeping apprised of new publications changed status at precisely that moment in time. Up until then the Bureau for Books (Toshokyoku 図書 局) at the Ministry for Home Affairs (Naimushō 内務省) had published a Monthly Publishing Booklist (Shuppan shomoku geppō 出版書目月報) listing the works (nōhon 納本) submitted for preliminary screening. However, this official bulletin disappeared in August 1887, after issue 114, and was replaced by a list that appeared in none other than Shuppan geppyō, at the end of each copy in a section entitled “Publishing Booklist” (Shuppan shomoku 出版書目).9

8 This explosion in publishing cannot simply be explained as resulting from a technological revolution. Although the transition from xylography to typography, which largely took place between 1870 and 1880 (a little later in the case of fictional works),10 undoubtedly enabled print runs to be increased, there had to be a demand, or at least a receptiveness, from the whole of society for such an increase, and in particular, a vast commercial publishing industry capable of making a large number of books available to a wide audience needed to be developed.

9 It was precisely in 1887 that Hakubunkan 博文館 came into existence, becoming in less than ten years the first modern publishing giant in Japan. This publishing house stood in stark contrast to those that had been established since the beginning of the Meiji era. 11 What set Hakubunkan apart was that it was first and foremost a commercial, profit- seeking enterprise. Its founders, Ōhashi Sahei 大橋佐平 (1835-1901) and son Shintarō 新太郎 (1863-1944), were essentially businessmen who saw in the printed word a profitable source of trade and industry. In this respect they differed fundamentally from intellectuals like Taguchi Ukichi 田口卯吉 (1855-1905) and Tokutomi Sohō who, having understood the practical constraints imposed by the dissemination of ideas, had set up publishing houses such as Tōkyō keizai zasshisha 東京経済雑誌社 and Min’yūsha. Incidentally, Ōhashi Sahei was of merchant stock.12

10 The company was a dazzling success. Ōhashi published journal after journal: he had ten in his catalogue after just eighteen months and used the capital accumulated to adopt a plethoric publishing policy. He quickly achieved his objective of publishing one new title per day, the result being that by 1892 he had already published approximately 500 titles, amounting to over 1,700 volumes. These were printed in great number, at a modest price, and making revolutionary use of distribution channels.

11 However, one should not make the mistake of thinking that Hakubunkan specialised in publishing second-rate books.13 Although this publishing house was a commercial venture, its strategy was based on variety and quality. It notably published remarkable multi-volume works of a practical, encyclopaedic, historical or literary nature, for which it enlisted the services of the most eminent writers and scholars. The dazzling string of successes it achieved enabled it to dominate the market within just a few years.

12 Journals played a vital role both in the rise of criticism and the rapid growth of the publishing industry, as I have already suggested. And in the final third of the 1880s,

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periodicals such as journals and newspapers also underwent a fundamental transformation.

13 The unique medium of the journal took root in Japan at the beginning of the 1870s. Meiroku zasshi 明六雑誌 (Meiji Sixth Journal), founded in 1874 by Mori Arinori 森有礼 (1847-1889) and the other members of Meirokusha, featured many well-known names from among the intelligentsia of the period and symbolised this flourishing of the medium. Nonetheless, a look at statistics on the number of journals created14 reveals that it was between 1875 and 1877 that the potential of this press organ was suddenly realised. Over this three-year period, an average of eighty new titles appeared each year. Although growth slowed somewhat over the following years, it continued apace, to the extent that between thirty and fifty new titles were created each year between 1882 and 1889.15

14 These journals were extremely varied in nature. Some were devoted to disseminating new learning, such as Meiroku zasshi; some were scholarly, such as Tōyō gakugei zasshi 東 洋学芸雑誌 (Journal of Oriental Science and Art, created in 1881) and Tōkyō iji shinshi 東 京医事新誌 (Tokyo New Medical Journal, founded in 1877); some were professional, such as Tōkyō keizai zasshi 東京経済雑誌 (Tokyo Economics Journal, set up in 1879); and some literary or artistic, such as Kagetsu shinshi 花月新誌 (New Moon and Flowers Journal, created in 1877). Some journals targeted a specific audience, such as Jogaku zasshi 女学雑誌 (The Women’s Magazine, founded in 1885). Others were merely for entertainment, such as Marumaru chinbun 団団珍聞 (Strange News…!, founded in 1877). While others, such as Ōmei zasshi 嚶鳴雑誌 (Journal of the Good Friends Chorus, created in 1879), were engaged in political battles or championed a particular religion. However, it seems that no strictly general-interest publications existed, although Tōkyō keizai zasshi, for example, was notable for its broad editorial content.

15 The change that occurred at the end of the 1880s was decisive. It was both qualitative and quantitative in nature, and was embodied by two titles in particular:16 the aforementioned Kokumin no tomo, founded in February 1887 by Tokutomi Sohō, and Nipponjin 日本人 (The Japanese), founded in April 1888. Indeed, the content of these two journals was designed to be general interest. The subheading of Kokumin no tomo spoke volumes on this point: “Seiji shakai keizai oyobi bungaku no hyōron” 政治社会経 済及文学之評論 (Political, Social, Economic and Literary Critiques). Moreover, they targeted a much wider audience than their predecessors.

16 Circulation figures for Kokumin no tomo soon reached, and then exceeded, over 10,000 copies per issue, whereas it is thought that until then journals had rarely made it past the 1,000 mark. While explaining the originality of these two new journals in a text entitled “Kokumin no tomo oyobi Nipponjin” 国民之友及ひ日本人, published in six instalments in Tōkyō keizai zasshi starting in the autumn of 1888,17 Miyazaki Koshoshi 宮 崎湖処子 (1864-1922) expressed his surprise that Kokumin no tomo had immediately attracted the attention of newspapers from around “the entire country” (zenkoku 全国). 18 Success came rapidly for the journal, which went from monthly publication at its outset to being published bi-monthly in October 1887, and then tri-monthly in January 1889.

17 The distribution of journals – in greater numbers, with increased frequency and speed, and on a national scale – enabled or accompanied the creation of a platform for debating a wide variety of topical issues outside of a coterie of specialists. This did not

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occur at the expense of daily newspapers, with which, on the contrary, journals found an equilibrium as their circulation grew.

18 Newspapers, for their part, experienced their period of rapid growth between 1870 and 1874. The period from 1883-1884 was less happy. The so-called “large newspapers” (ō- shinbun 大新聞) experienced a decline caused by repression, the fall in political activity and also perhaps the economic depression. Centre stage passed to the “small newspapers” (ko-shinbun 小新聞) with their focus on entertainment. However, it was precisely from 1886-1887 onwards that this distinction between the two categories began to blur. The “small newspapers” expanded and diversified, while the “large newspapers” sought to increase their readership. The commercial aspect of the press industry irreparably took to the fore.19 Newspapers became products that were required to make a profit, and doing so meant increasing sales, lowering prices and improving industrial mass production.

19 From the latter half of the 1880s onwards, newspapers took full advantage of the advances in technology: membership of international press agencies, implementation or expansion of postal, rail and telegraph networks, purchase of sophisticated rotary printing presses. Yano Fumio 矢野文雄 (Ryūkei 竜渓, 1850-1931), for example, implemented profound changes at the Yūbin hōchi shinbun 郵便報知新聞 in 1886, following a two-year trip to Europe where he witnessed the success of dailies such as the Parisian newspaper Le Petit Journal, with its circulation of over one million copies. Seki Naohiko 関直彦 (1857-1934) replaced Fukuchi Ōchi as head of the Tōkyō nichinichi shinbun 東京日々新聞 and radically changed its orientation in 1888. Above all, that same year Murayama Ryūhei 村山竜平 (1850-1933), the owner of Ōsaka shinbun 大 阪朝日新聞, aggressively introduced the Tōkyō asahi shinbun 東京朝日新聞 to the capital, where it was a great commercial success.

20 Who were the readers of this new mass of printed matter sweeping through Japan? Among others, they were the products of the education system created by the Education System Order (gakusei 学制) of 1872. Although the figures are less reliable than they appear,20 we know that literacy rates in Edo-period Japan were high. The fact remains that the reforms introduced approximately fifteen years earlier bore their first fruits in around 1885-1890. At this point in time three million Japanese, out of a population of approximately thirty-eight million, were enrolled in elementary education and 15,000 in middle schools where they followed a standardised curriculum. 21

21 Enrolment figures for middle school education may seem low; however, these students constituted an extremely important category for the future of Japan since they represented almost the entirety of the country’s future elites. Whereas in 1872, faced with the urgent need to introduce elementary education, little interest had been placed on secondary education, the situation in 1886 was extremely different. At this time Mori Arinori, appointed education minister the previous year, introduced a series of decrees that profoundly transformed Japan’s education system, and in particular the entire secondary level (chūtō kyōiku 中等教育) which included middle schools (chūgakkō 中学校), higher schools for girls (kōtō jogakkō 高等女学校) and the various vocational schools (jitsugyō gakkō 実業学校). Similarly, also noteworthy is the 1886 transformation of Tokyo University (Tōkyō daigaku 東京大学), founded in 1877, into the Imperial University (Teikoku daigaku 帝国大学). It marked a further step forward in developing

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Japan’s higher education, thus contributing decisively to the creation of a new public sphere.

22 To the above information two further points must be added, admittedly more general in nature but nonetheless extremely significant. Firstly, in 1886 the Japanese economy, in a severe recession since the implementation by Matsukata Masayoshi 松方正義 (1835-1924) in 1881 of an austerity plan and aggravated by extremely bad harvests in 1883, 1884 and 1885, entered a new cycle of vigorous growth that clearly encouraged the growth of the printed word. This palpable economic upturn created a kind of optimism that was violently dampened by the failures and attitude of the Itō Hirobumi 伊藤博文 (1841-1909) administration.

23 Secondly, attention must be paid to the political climate at home and abroad. The circumstances in the latter half of the 1880s were in fact exceptional. In 1880 the demands of the Freedom and People’s Rights Movement (Jiyū minken undo 自由民権運 動), active since 1874, were partially fulfilled when an imperial rescript promised to convene a national assembly by 1890 at the latest. Henceforth, the movement’s violent or spectacular protests ceased and were replaced with the task of establishing political parties22 and waging a battle of opinions in the press.

24 In 1885 the first cabinet was established, headed by Itō Hirobumi and with Inoue Kaoru 井上馨 (1835-1915) in charge of foreign affairs. It was during this period, in 1886 and 1887, that there was a return to political unrest with the creation of the Union of Like- Minded Persons (Daidō danketsu 大同団結), in which Gotō Shōjirō 後藤象二郎 (1838-1897) was a dominant figure. Its members were protesting against the failure of Inoue Kaoru’s efforts to revise the unequal treaties, the attacks on the freedom of the press and the burden of land taxes. They addressed a petition to the government on “[these] three major affairs” (sandai jiken kenpaku 三大事件建白).

25 The first two elements are extremely significant from the point of view of interest to us here. From the moment he was appointed Inoue had raised great hopes with regards Japan’s foreign policy by entering into negotiations to revise the treaties (jōyaku kaisei 条約改正) which, since the end of the bakufu, had reinforced Japan’s inferior status in the international arena. He failed, for reasons linked both to Japan and overseas, and was forced to resign in September 1887. Public opinion had been fired up for the cause and the public’s anger was commensurate with its expectations. Furthermore, events like the so-called “Normanton Incident” in 1886 – in which the sinking of a ship highlighted the racism and impunity of the West – provided a cruel illustration of the colonial contempt in which Westerners held Japan. Also noteworthy is the cholera epidemic that broke out that same year, causing more than 150,000 deaths. This epidemic could no doubt have been avoided had the Western powers not used the unequal treaties to refuse the quarantine measures the Japanese government was intending to impose on foreign ships and nationals.23 These circumstances explain why an opposition to the government based on the defence of Japan’s honour and dignity emerged at this point in time.

26 Faced with a hostile public opinion, this same government chose to go down the route of repression and in December 1887 issued an Imperial Ordinance on Safety Preservation (hoan jōrei 保安条例) that was viewed by opponents as a bad law (akuhō 悪 法). It imposed considerable restrictions on the freedom of assembly and the press, and included measures to banish leading opposition members from the capital. This repressive attitude, coming from a government with no international successes to its

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name, angered many of the period’s young idealistic intellectuals, despite the looming prospect of a constitution being promulgated (which took place in 1889) raising public expectations. A paradox thus existed, albeit a partly illusory one if we think about it carefully: the creation of a public sphere in Meiji Japan was accompanied by intensified political censure.

27 Given this context, a brief review of the main founders of Shuppan geppyō would be useful, for their personalities and backgrounds are not insignificant.

28 Trained chemist Sugiura Shigetake 杉浦重剛 (1855-1924) was, along with Miyake Setsurei 三宅雪嶺 (1860-1945) and Shiga Shigetaka 志賀重昂 (1863-1927), one of the initiators of the group Seikyōsha 政教社 and its journal Nipponjin, founded in April 1888, which aimed to champion the “preservation of the national essence” (kokusui hozon 国粋保存).

29 Kuga Katsunan 陸羯南 (1857-1907) was the founder and president of the newspaper Nihon 日本 (Japan), the first issue of which was published on 11 February 1889, the day the Constitution of the (Dai Nippon teikoku kenpō 大日本帝国憲法) was promulgated.

30 Takahashi Kenzō 高橋健三 (1855-1898), a high-ranking government official who had previously worked for the Official Gazette (Kanpō 官報), was also, along with Okakura Kakuzō 岡倉覚三 (Tenshin 天心, 1862-1913), one of the founders of the leading art journal Kokka 国華 (National Flowers) in October 1889. He later became one of the main directors of the Ōsaka asahi shinbun.24

31 All three of these men thus hailed from the press, newspapers or periodicals; however, they also belonged to that circle of Meiji elites who henceforth found themselves in the opposing camp to the government and who, beginning in 1886-1887, channelled all their energy into and waged all of their battles in the cultural arena, on a nationwide scale. In this respect, it is highly significant to find them behind the first journal given the task of reviewing new publications.

32 The growth of the printed word, the demonstration of opposition through debates and controversies, and the shifting of conflict from the strictly politically arena to a wider cultural sphere: in the latter half of the 1880s, and more specifically in around 1886-1887, a change in scale, and thus in nature, seemed to have occurred in Japan in the circulation of words and ideas. Is it unreasonable to see in this the creation of a veritable public sphere?25 The scale of this public sphere was nationwide. Henceforth, books, journals and newspapers were potentially addressing all readers across the entire country. That a “national”, or even nationalistic, discourse crystallised at this precise moment in time is thus no surprise, whether it was the cause, the consequence or simply a correlate.26 These changes brought their fill of challenges for the print media, as much in terms of form as of content.

Criticism in the new public sphere: Tokutomi Sohō (1887)

33 In order to better understand the specific structure of this new public sphere, as well as the role criticism played within it, it would perhaps be useful to re-examine the text in which Kokumin no tomo explained its new layout in the autumn of 1887. It is quoted here in full:

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34 In the section entitled “People’s Friend” (Kokumin no tomo 国民之友), firm and precise stances (giron 議論) will be adopted regarding the major issues of the moment (mokka 目下), whether political, social, economic or literary. The “Special Contributions” (tokubetsu kisho 特別寄書) section will feature stimulating opinion pieces (ronbun 論文) by famous writers and politicians. The “Anthologies” (moshio-gusa 藻塩草)27 section will include charming personal essays (zuihitsu 随筆) on political or literary topics. The “Documents” (zatsuroku 雑録) section will provide all manner of important information (yōhō 要報) via reports (kiji 記事) and statistics (tōkei 統計).28 The “Readers” (tōsho 投書) section will feature texts of great worth (takusetsu 卓説) from anyone who wishes to contribute, whoever they may be (kōko 江湖). The “Criticism” (hihyō 批評) section will be reserved for frank reviews, succinct (ryakuhyō 略評) or detailed (shōhyō 詳評), of recent publications (shinkan 新刊) in addition to analyses (hyōron 評論) of editorials (shasetsu 社説) published in newspapers (shinbun 新聞) and journals (zasshi 雑誌). The “Current Affairs” (jiji 時事) section will feature high quality discussions (hyōron 評論) of topical issues from Japan and overseas (naigai no jiji 内外ノ時事): they will seek to illustrate the vital points (yō 要) and uncover the facts (jitsu 実).

35 Although this was merely a statement of intention – which must be compared of course to the actual articles that appeared in the different sections – and the overabundance of ameliorative qualifiers may irritate, this text is striking for the wide variety of discursive or documentary prose, as well as language levels, it envisaged for a wide- circulation, general-interest publication.

36 Giron 議論 (adopting of stances) and ronbun 論文 (opinion pieces) have similar meanings. These terms essentially imply a debate, an exchange of arguments and the adoption of a particular stance in a context where divergent opinions are expressed. They could thus be applied to Buddhist disputation. In this particular text shasetsu 社 説 (editorial) has a related meaning. A journal like Kokumin no tomo thus wanted to defend specific stances in an arena where public opinion was taking shape in an intrinsically pluralistic manner.

37 Tokubetsu kisho 特別寄書 (special contributions) and tōsho 投書 ([texts submitted by] readers) imply that authors, famous or otherwise, from outside the journal provide texts for publication. In other words, in addition to its own editorial line, a journal like Kokumin no tomo judged it necessary and useful to provide its readers with different points of view and opinions to its own, with which it may not necessarily have agreed but which it considered meaningful. This open stance was not entirely new – Taguchi Ukichi’s Tōkyō keizai zasshi, for example, had applied such an approach for years –, but it was no doubt the first time that it had been set out so clearly.29 A shift appeared to be occurring following the age of strictly and rigidly partisan periodicals that characterised, in a fairly marked manner, the first half of the Meiji era. Henceforth, specific choices could be expressed in a wide variety of fields, without this precluding the ability to listen to other voices which, while neither overtly friendly nor bitter enemy, hailed from diverse horizons. Sohō thus designed his journal as much as a vehicle for championing a particular cause as an instrument for encouraging the appearance and flourishing of public debate.

38 The journal’s open stance thus operated in two directions. First of all, an appeal was made to “famous writers and politicians” (yūmei naru seijika bungakusha 有名ナル政治 家文学者).30 It is worth considering the qualifier “famous” (yūmei 有名) for a moment rather than focusing on the two types of authors mentioned, who enjoyed intellectual

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and moral authority at that time. It had long been possible, but particularly so during the Edo period, for an individual to acquire a name (na 名)31 or a reputation (hyōban 評 判) for themselves via various channels such as oral transmission – rumour (uwasa 噂) – and specific media like kawaraban 瓦版, hyōbanki 評判記, or banzuke 番付, for example. 32 But how many of them were truly famous during their lifetime, with the exception of a handful of kabuki actors, courtesans and sumō wrestlers? Surely one of the characteristics of the Meiji public sphere – which was also a media sphere in the literal sense – is that thanks to a new growth in printing it established a larger, or at any rate better known, group of celebrities, from various fields, than had been possible during the Edo period? Although this line of enquiry requires some refining, is it not clear that the appearance and growth of national newspapers and journals with their soaring circulation figures, followed by the publication of photographic portraits in the second half of the 1890s,33 changed to say the least the very conditions of possibility of celebrity? The wheels had been set in motion for the all-too-familiar spiral in which the media themselves create the celebrities on which they feed.

39 Nevertheless, as if in an effort to offset the somewhat perverse focus on the race for fame, another equally respectable section was created for ordinary unknown citizens who were invited to take part in the creation and exchange of ideas to be disseminated throughout Japan. The expression used to signify that everyone, without exception, could submit a manuscript is highly revealing. It is Chinese in origin and although barely used today, was widespread and part of standard usage during the Meiji era: kōko 江湖 (jianghu in Chinese),34 literally “the River and the Lake”, or more specifically the Changjiang 長江35 and the Dongting-hu 洞庭湖. In fact, the story goes that two Chan masters, Mazu 馬祖 and Shitou 石頭, who lived far away from each other, one West of the River and the other South of the Lake, took it in turns to receive the same disciples who studied alternately with one master and then the other. From here the expression came to mean “society”, “people” or “the world”, occasionally with the nuance of “the provinces” as opposed to the centre. If the expression remained vivid in the mid-Meiji era, it is due to its convenience for referring concretely to the entire population – which was never named as such in the compartmentalised society of Edo –, and had neither the formality, nor the abstract or overly political nature of a word like “kokumin” 国民 (people, nation). In principle the only restriction on publishing these texts sent from all over the country was a requirement for quality. Takusetsu 卓説, translated here as “texts of great worth”, no doubt referred more precisely to manuscripts in which someone “expressed their opinion”. This was in any case the precise meaning given to shuo 説 (setsu in Japanese) in the Chinese typology of genres.

40 Moshio-gusa 藻塩草 and zuihitsu 随筆 (personal essays, literally essays “following the brush”) are synonymous and in this instance refer to less serious essays, freer in form and tone, than those that were part of public debate. Although the journal chiefly adhered to a serious editorial line focused on debate, it also felt the need to make room for subtle intelligence (esprit de finesse) and even entertainment by creating a space for less didactic or controversial texts that sought neither to affirm, nor to reflect or debate, or at least not openly and directly. Zatsuroku 雑録 (documents), kiji 記事 (reports), tōkei 統計 (statistics) and yōhō 要報 (important information) all demonstrate a link to objective reality, which needed to be “recorded” (roku 録), “documented” (ki 記), “measured” (kei 計) and “communicated” (hō 報). Thus, rather than being purely ideological, debates were required to draw on knowledge of the world as it was. And yet

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while, far from rejecting this undertaking, the journal was concerned with current events (jiji 時事) and the present (mokka 目下), it also felt the need to distance itself from reality as it appeared at first glance and increase its angles of attack in order to better understand the truth (jitsu 実) and the elements on which reality hinged (yō 要), meaning that the journal was against falsifications and superficial approaches.

41 When faced with such a wealth of terms and the profusion of different aspects in the text’s discourse, care must be taken not to commit anachronisms – since language use in the mid-Meiji era is deceptively transparent and differed subtly from usage today –, just as one must avoid giving ill-considered English equivalents based on stock translations. In reality, such non-fiction, non-narrative types of prose must be analysed and understood according to three polarities: argumentative texts designed to convince compared with those with a different chief purpose; serious texts compared with those that are less so; and texts ruled by their relationship to reality compared with those based on self-affirmation. In some ways, all or most of these texts could be grouped into one single, vaguely all-encompassing heading such as “essays”; in reality, all are subtly but resolutely different.

42 The highly complex discursive space outlined in this text has the further characteristic of seeking to avoid neglecting, in theory, any aspect of reality. The reminder of the journal’s main fields of interest – politics, society, economics and literature – echoes its subheading. Admittedly, there appears to have been a focus on literature and politics, which are cited on several occasions, while no mention is made of religion, science and art as such. The fact remains that the journal clearly wanted to avoid confining itself to a limited sector of human activity or restricting itself to Japan, and strove instead to look outwards towards the entire world.

43 What role was assigned to criticism in such a context? Before we go any further, a lexical clarification is necessary. In contemporary Japanese the words hyōron 評論 and hihyō 批評 have become virtually synonymous, and if any difference exists it no doubt relates to the fact that “hihyō” is seen as having a more abstract and general meaning than “hyōron”, which is often restricted specifically to literary criticism.36 During the Meiji era, however, the distinction between these two long-standing terms, which were suddenly destined for a new life and rise in popularity, was virtually the exact opposite. It was the term “hihyō” that was specifically reserved for critical reviews and the assessing of new publications,37 whereas “hyōron” had a more general meaning that extended to “political, social, economic and literary analyses” (seiji shakai keizai oyobi bungaku no hyōron 政治社会経済及文学之評論), as stated in the subheading of Kokumin no tomo. Indeed, the prolific nature of the term “hyōron” in the second decade of the Meiji era (1887-1896) must be stressed, in particular in the title of innumerable journals. Etymologically, in any case, both words centre on the act of “distinguishing” (hyō 評) the good from the bad and establishing dividing lines in the complexity of the world; in other words, making value judgments via a precise examination of reality.

44 As for “criticism” (hihyō) proper, in the more restrictive sense employed in the Kokumin no tomo section heading, there are three important points to underline. Firstly, criticism was an activity that had to avoid indulgence. This is clearly visible in the expression “frank” analyses (chokuhitsu shitaru 直筆シタル), which more precisely means to “write without concealing the reality”, as opposed to “kyokuhitsu” 曲筆 (“writing while distorting the facts”).38 This assertion of rigour and impartiality was pivotal in the development of criticism in the Meiji era, as we shall see. The objective

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was no doubt to avoid a situation where journalists, under pressure from the editorial or financial powers that be, merely published brief promotional paragraphs.

45 The second point relates to the distinction made by the journal between “succinct” (ryaku 略) reviews and more “detailed” (shō 詳) ones. This distinction, also visible in the journal Shuppan geppyō, which clearly distinguished between the two types of criticism in its table of contents,39 seems to have been the solution adopted to avoid the contradiction brought about by the dual demands made on criticism: to deal with the profusion of publications by reviewing as many books as possible, while nonetheless offering an in-depth analysis. It is striking to observe that just a few years earlier, one Émile Zola solved the same dilemma in the same way. Having been placed in charge of advertising at the publishing house Louis Hachette in 1862, Zola launched a column entitled “Books of Today and Tomorrow” in the newspaper L’Événement (the future Figaro), owned by Villemessant, in 1866. Devoted to the books of the day, and preferably those still in the process of being printed, this daily column was lively and eclectic, consisting of short reviews – of between ten and fifteen lines – presenting books on medicine, geography, spiritualism, law, philosophy or history, in addition to novels! In his first column on 31 January 1866, Zola explained his work as “public reader” in the following terms: My task is to provide readers of L’événement with daily literary news; my task is to read, before everyone else, the some 100,000 pages published each month in Paris.40

46 However, the critic soon launched another column in the same newspaper entitled “Marble and Plaster”. This somewhat solemn-sounding column, with a slower pace and longer articles, allowed Zola to provide in-depth analyses of selected authors: Taine, Flaubert, Littré, Michelet, Gautier and Sainte-Beuve, for example.

47 Although this fluctuating of criticism between short reviews and in-depth analyses appears to have been a congenital trait, it must also be pointed out that the long essay seemed destined to remain the prerogative of journals, with some exceptions of course, if only for practical reasons. Thus, as underlined by Komori Yōichi,41 it was no doubt the development of the long review that allowed journals to definitively establish their specificity and independence with regards newspapers and become a separate medium.

48 The final striking point is the subject matter Kokumin no tomo assigned to its “Criticism” section. On the one hand the aim was to review “recent publications” (shinkan 新刊), and on the other “editorials” (shasetsu 社説) published in newspapers (shinbun 新聞) and journals (zasshi 雑誌). Thus, what emerged through this journalistic endeavour was a passion for topicality to which Zola bore witness and which Villemessant summed up in the expression “being on the lookout for books as they are published, and if possible before”, in other words, books that were either in print or in the process of being printed. This was a step in the direction carved out by Shuppan geppyō, except that – significantly – this journal claimed to also be interested in “important older works” (jūyō naru kyū-chosho 重要なる旧著書). This preference for the immediate present as opposed to old canonical works – or those formerly considered as such – broke with the tradition of interpreting and commenting on the classics. What came about instead was a criticism focused on the here and now, valued as such for its quality of being contemporary, in principle without considering other criteria of authority. As Baudelaire wrote in 1863, in “The Painter of Modern Life”, henceforth “the pleasure which we derive from the representation of the present is due not only to the beauty with which it can be invested, but also to its essential quality of being present.”42

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49 Furthermore, criticism as viewed by Kokumin no tomo made room for commentary from other newspapers and journals. The journal clearly intended to create an arena for dialogue and debate – a forum –, such was the importance it accorded to knowing the opinions of others, to understanding and commenting on them and even, if needs be, refuting them. The era of blind and virulent clashes between press organs ruled by special interest groups gave way to an age in which, irrespective of any differences and controversies, a form of “public debate” (kōron 公論)43 was taking shape. Engaging in controversial debate was all the rage, in politics naturally, in literature, art and on social issues. However, a well ordered exchange of arguments was the norm. Thus, criticism seems to have emerged just as the political battle became first and foremost a battle of opinions and words rather than a head-on, merciless clash between military or financial powers. In fact, this was one of the things that most puzzled Fukuzawa Yukichi on his first trip to Europe, as he recalled in his autobiography: There were also the political parties, the Conservative Party and the Liberal Party, constantly waging a battle than nobody ever won. What did it all mean this political squabbling in a country at peace? (taihei buji no tenka ni seiji-jō no kenka 太平無事の 天下に政治上の喧嘩) I could make neither head nor tail of it: it was unbelievable! What on earth were they doing (nani wo shite iru no ka shiran 何をしているのか知ら ん)? So-and-so eating and drinking at the same table as so-and-so, despite supposedly being enemies! I was utterly baffled. It was with much difficulty, and making gradual progress, that I finally managed to vaguely understand what it was all about; on occasions I spent between five and ten days on the most complex particularities before I felt satisfied. Such was the advantage of this visit to the West.44

50 This frenzy of discourse on the discourse of others no doubt seemed novel, or even excessive and ridiculous. In 1888 the journal Tōkyō keizai zasshi, founded by Taguchi Ukichi, published a lengthy series of articles by Miyazaki Koshoshi under the unknown name of Aikyō Gakunin 愛卿学人. These articles, mentioned earlier in this paper, focused specifically on “Kokumin no tomo oyobi Nipponjin”, and more precisely, as the subtitle of the series indicated, issues 1 to 37 of Kokumin and issues 1 to 16 of Nipponjin. Despite the obviously high quality of this text, which appeared in the “Readers” section (kisho 寄書), the editorial team seems to have had slight misgivings, for it was preceded by a brief unsigned preamble, perhaps written by Taguchi Ukichi himself: Recently, in Japanese literary circles and society, no-one is superior in the art of criticism to Kokumin no tomo and Nipponjin. But here suddenly is a scholar who in turn has made these journals the object of his criticism. We should fear what the future may hold. Who knows if tomorrow someone might appear and take this scholar as the object of their criticism? 近日日本の文壇社会に於て批評の術に長ずるもの国民之友と日本人に過ぐるな かるべし然るに今ま又た之を批評するの一学人を出たせり誠に後世恐るべきな り 焉ぞ将来此学人を批評するの人を出さヾるを知らんや

51 Reading between the lines, is it not the danger of the explosion in criticism, of the metadiscourse spiral, that is exposed here, just as modern criticism was emerging?

52 Thus, what Kokumin no tomo’s “Announcement” of its new layout dramatically demonstrated was the establishment of the journal as a separate medium, one clearly distinct from both the newspaper and the book, and which, through its characteristic internal structure, established its own unique relationship with reality, time and readers.

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53 More specifically, the conceptual endeavour undertaken by this journal, followed by many others, aimed essentially to create the intellectual conditions conducive to the birth and development of a genuine public sphere which, as we saw, was also encouraged by external circumstances. It devised a format that enabled it to assert its own positions and standpoints, listen to and welcome other voices – famous or anonymous –, provide information and analysis, and finally take part in dialogue with other periodicals and book authors by establishing, for the first time in Japan, a section specifically devoted to criticism. It proposed a kind of polyphony and plurality of approaches to reality which surely reflected if not an expectation, at least a certain maturing on behalf of Japanese society. There can be no other explanation for its stunning success.

54 Finally, in the comprehensive outlook of a journal that strove to encompass every aspect of reality, the role of a “Criticism” section appears to lie at the confluence of several requirements. Firstly, it responded to the desire to distinguish or separate – the true from the false, the beautiful from the ugly, the fair from the unfair – which corresponded to a deep-seated intellectual, political and moral need in modern Japan, embodied by the word “hyōron”, or critical analysis in general, of which reviews (hihyō) were simply one element. It further conveyed the desire to develop and maintain the public sphere as a theatre for debate by ensuring a revival or a kind of second life for books and periodical texts, which thus immediately entered into an interplay of questioning, answers and commentary. Furthermore, in a society where the movement of people, things and information seemed to be accelerating, the drive to keep abreast with current affairs found a precious ally in criticism thanks to its desire to keep apace with the publishing industry and the press. Finally, in a period that saw the volume of printed material skyrocket, criticism provided a vital service for readers by pre- screening new material, thus conferring a new responsibility on the field.

55 Before we move on from Kokumin no tomo, let us remember that its promoter Tokutomi Iichirō 徳富猪一郎, known by his pen name Sohō, was born into a warrior family in Higo Province, in the Minamata region, in 1867. He grew up in the intellectual-political atmosphere encouraged by the highly pragmatic figure Yokoi Shōnan 横井小楠 (1809-1869), related to the family through marriage, who was a major player in the events surrounding the collapse of the bakufu and the Meiji Restoration. Having studied the Chinese classics, in addition to English, from a very young age, he then embraced Christianity in 1876. He studied at Dōshisha 同志社, a school founded in Kyoto by Niijima Jō 新島襄 (1843-1890), and is said to have decided to become a journalist during this period. He embarked on this career in 1881, amidst the turmoil of the Freedom and People’s Rights Movement, by contributing to a newspaper in the region. At the same time he entered the local political scene and went on lecture tours. He also opened a private school. He began publishing his first essays in the national press from 1884, two of which attracted much attention: “Daijūkyū seiki Nihon no seinen oyobi sono kyōiku” 第十九世紀日本の青年及其教育 (The Youth of 19th-Century Japan and their Education, 1885)45 and above all, Shōrai no Nihon 将来之日本 (The Future Japan, 1886), a slim opuscule published by Tōkyō keizai zasshisha, which enjoyed great success throughout the country.

56 Sohō moved to Tokyo in 1887 where he founded the company Min’yūsha, responsible for the immensely successful Kokumin no tomo. He was just twenty-five years old at the time. He soon followed this by launching the newspaper Kokumin shinbun 国民新聞 (The

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Nation) and other journals such as zasshi 家庭雑誌 (The Home Journal) and an English-language version of Kokumin no tomo entitled The Far East.

57 An intellectual of great merit, Tokutomi Sohō elected the press as his main sphere of activity, both as a means of educating the people and a weapon, but also a field to be developed in itself, because the circulation of ideas and information was essential to the existence of a public sphere.46 He nonetheless maintained his fundamental connection to books and that same year, in 1887, published his own long essay on a then-popular genre, “Kinrai ryūkō no seiji shōsetsu wo hyō su” 近来流行の政治小説を 評す (A Criticism of the Political Novels Recently in Vogue). He was thus, in more ways than one, a founding figure and protector of modern Japanese criticism.

Advocacy for a cruel criticism: Takada Hanpō (1886)

58 In reality it was in February 1886, eighteen months before Kokumin no tomo introduced its criticism section, that the text considered to be the first literary critique in Japan was published. The text reviewed was a novel by Tsubouchi Shōyō entitled Ichidoku santan – Tōsei shosei katagi 一読三歎当世書生気質 (The Characters of Students Today: Read Once and Sigh Thrice).

59 This analysis, simply called “Tōsei shosei katagi no hihyō” 『当世書生気質』の批評 (A Review of The Characters of Students Today), was written by one Hanpō Koji 半峰居士. Behind this name lurked a prominent figure: Takada Sanae 高田早苗 (1860-1938), sometimes described as the “founding ancestor of criticism” (hihyō no ganso 批評の元 祖) in Japan due to this very text.

60 The son of wealthy farmers and grandson of national studies scholar Oyamada Tomokiyo 小山田与清 (1783-1847),47 Takada Sanae entered higher education in 1876 at the Kaisei Gakkō 開成学校 before continuing at the University of Tokyo, founded in 1877. There, he studied political science and specialised in the British Constitution. As a matter of fact his fellow students included Tsubouchi Yūzō (Shōyō), who Takada apparently introduced to the charms of English literature.

61 Takada’s activities were protean in nature. In addition to his work as a constitutional lawyer he wrote the first book on rhetoric in the modern sense to be published in Japan, Bijigaku 美辞学 (Rhetoric, 1889). He also played a decisive role in the field of journalism,48 being appointed editor-in-chief of the newspaper Yomiuri shinbun 読売新 聞 in 1887. He was behind the hiring of Kōda Rohan 幸田露伴 (1867-1947) and Ozaki Kōyō 尾崎紅葉 (1867-1903), and encouraged the publication of translations by Mori Ōgai 森鴎外 (1862-1922) following his return from Germany; in other words, he made the paper into the “literary newspaper” (bungaku shinbun 文学新聞) it was sometimes described as at the time. Takada Sanae was also one of the founders of the Tokyo Technical College (Tōkyō Senmon Gakkō 東京専門学校) in 1882 – renamed 早稲田大学 in 1902 – alongside Ōkuma Shigenobu 大隈重信 (1838-1922) and Ono 小野梓 (1852-1886). In fact, he served as its president on several occasions until the 1920s. This did not prevent him from having a busy political career, for he was elected as a member of parliament six times beginning in 1890 and served as education minister in a cabinet headed by Ōkuma Shigenobu.

62 More than simply the eclecticism of one individual, this convergence of seemingly diverse interests and spheres of activity – literature, theoretical reflection, press,

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education, politics –, does it not perfectly embody the new intellectual space that was taking shape during the Meiji era and which was one of the conditions for the development of criticism?

63 “A Review of The Characters of Students Today” was published in February 1886, in three instalments, in Chūō gakujutsu zasshi 中央学術雑誌 (Central Academic Journal). This publication run by professors and students from the Tōkyō Senmon Gakkō had a limited circulation but published decisive texts in the intellectual history of modern Japan, including extracts from Tsubouchi Shōyō’s Shōsetsu shinzui 小説神髄 (The Essence of the Novel, 1885-1886) and the essay “Shōsetsu sōron” 小説総論 (General Theory of the Novel, 1886) by Futabatei Shimei.

64 The novel reviewed by Takada had enjoyed great success since its publication one year earlier, in separate instalments, between January 1885 and January 1886. Analysing in retrospect the reasons for such a positive reception by the general public, Uchida Roan 内田魯庵 (1868-1929), one of modern criticism’s leading lights, played down the specific qualities of the work and listed other elements that were almost more important in his eyes than its artistic qualities: the fact that this novel – signed Harunoya Oboro – was widely known to be the work of an arts graduate from the prestigious Imperial University, at a time when the novel was still considered a form of second-rate entertainment; the simultaneous publication of the highbrow essay Shōsetsu shinzui by Tsubouchi Yūzō, further highlighting the contrastive combination of two supposedly segregated worlds and thus eliciting surprise and expectations; finally, the publication of what he called the “interminable critique” (naganagashii hihyō 長々し い批評) of Takada Hanpō.

65 That same year, in 1886, Takada wrote critiques of two other important contemporary texts: a vast political novel, Kajin no kigū 佳人之奇遇 (Strange Encounters with Beautiful Women, 1885-1896) by Tōkai sanshi 東海散士 (1852-1922), and a daring essay by Taguchi Ukichi, the founder of Tōkyō keizai zasshi, entitled Nihon no ishō oyobi jōkō 日 本の意匠及び情交 (Forms of Love in Japan, 1886). He considered the critiquing of literary works, and in particular novels, to be truly a task of the utmost importance. And in the course of doing so he demonstrated the soundness of his choices.

66 A detailed examination of his extremely long critique of Tsubouchi’s49 novel is not possible; however, what interests us in particular is the passage at the beginning of Takada Hanpō’s text devoted to the subject of criticism in general, and more specifically its necessity, task and responsibility:50 Criticism in China favours praise (sanbi 讃美); that of Westerners the attack (shishō 刺衝). Books by Chinese authors thus frequently enjoy critical appraisals written by wise men who heap praise upon them, whilst works by Westerners are unable to resist the onslaughts of critics and pitifully fall victim to these devourers of books. And thinking about it further, not only does the Chinese tendency to give praise (Shinajin no sanbi shugi 支那人の 讃美主義) often turn to flattery (ten’yu 諂諛), it fails to reveal the true power of criticism (hihyō no jikkō 批評の実効). When such critiques are brief (ryaku naru 略なる) they often content themselves with simply stringing together fine-sounding words and praising the author; when they are detailed (shō naru 詳なる) they limit themselves to unearthing subtle and difficult- to-know points, or highlighting essential and difficult-to-perceive points: this is none other than “commentary” (konmentari コンメンタリー) or gloss (chūshaku 註 釈). Yet the fundamental role of criticism is to hew the stone (hihyō no yō wa sessa ni ari 批評の要は切磋に在り). The fundamental role of criticism is to polish the diamond (hihyō no yō wa takuma ni ari 批評の要は琢磨に在り). Western critics, who

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often write with a scathing pen (sen’ei naru mōei 尖鋭なる毛穎), frequently appear to be extremely cruel (hanahada koku naru 甚た酷なる), as if they harboured some inextinguishable grudge (enkon 怨恨) against young writers, but they can be said to carry out their task to the full (hihyōka no shokubun wo tsukushitaru 批評家の職分を 尽したる). When we think about it, the reason why Western Letters progress rapidly, day by day, mirroring the progress of the world (yo no naka no shinpo ni tomonōte 世の中の進歩に伴ふて) and without falling behind, is that Western critics carry out their task without idleness, giving credit where it is due and disparaging those who deserve it without reserve. And if Far Eastern Letters appear to stagnate and decline (shunjun taiho 逡巡退歩), to weaken and grow lethargic, it is because critics in this field remain idle and bear the responsibility for unnecessarily reeling out empty flatteries (ten’yu no moji wo roretsu shite 諂諛の文字を臚烈して).

67 This text draws on a caricatured antithesis established between Chinese criticism and Western criticism, the former being characterised by its servility, the latter by its ferocity. From a historical point of view Hanpō’s observations contain little objective truth, since there was nothing particularly servile about “poetry talks” (Ch. shihua, J. shiwa) for example – the main form of poetry criticism on the continent –, while one need only re-read certain passages from Illusions perdues to be enlightened as to nineteenth-century practices in French literary journalism. It may be true, however, a contrario, that the golden age of shihua lay in the eighteenth century with works like Suiyuan shihua 随園詩話 (Poetry Talks from Suiyuan) by Yuan Mei 袁枚 (1716-1798). The genre subsequently fell into decline and saw itself “disparaged for its lack of rigour, lack of analysis and vague notions”,51 in particular as Chinese intellectuals came to adopt Western literary concepts. Similarly, the emergence of high calibre and exacting critics like Sainte-Beuve and Taine in France, and Poe, Whitman, Hawthorne or Melville in the United States, to cite but a few, may explain Hanpō’s biased perception.

68 In reality, the essayist’s insistence on stressing the ferocity of Western criticism, as opposed to the supposed laxness of Chinese critics, should no doubt be interpreted essentially as a demand for criticism to be impartial. Indeed, the value of criticism is undermined if there is any hint of it being subservient to external powers, in other words to pressures of a financial, institutional or friendly nature. In the remainder of his text Hanpō devoted several pages to justifying his critique of a text whose author, Shōyō, was a friend. For him, the critic’s pen had a duty to be “objective and impartial” (kōmei seidai 公明正大).52

69 This demand for impartiality must no doubt be interpreted in a context where, through a lack of a truly independent and solidly established field of criticism, all that existed were thinly disguised adverts in the form of laudatory paragraphs, or in any case, in a context in which the sudden growth of the publishing industry had intensified commercial competition, leading to increasingly aggressive advertising practices. Tokutomi Sohō’s description of the literary world of the period, in an article written on the role of the journal Shuppan geppyō in November 1887, is enlightening on the subject: I believe that circumstances have recently become conducive to tackling the bad habits of the literary world (bungaku sekai no akushū 文学世界の悪習), boldly and without caution, and putting fear into manuscript wholesalers (oroshiuribito 卸売人) and book manufacturers (shoseki seizōsha 書籍製造者). Indeed, the literary world of our country resembles the world of the night parade of one hundred demons (hyakki yagyō no sekai 百鬼夜行の世界), and for the rest of us, it is exceptionally rare when faced with a new publication not to experience a very strange sensation (totsutotsu 咄咄怪事). Shuppan geppyō will now take responsibility for being for

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its readers the perfectly smooth mirror that reveals the demons (shōma-kyō 照魔 鏡).53

70 Was Sohō’s description exaggerated? Were his radical suspicions justified? What is certain in any case is that the theme of collusion or the indulgence of critics – or, conversely, the rancour of certain others – is omnipresent in texts where criticism was attempting to establish its autonomy. In this way, as we will recall, Kokumin no tomo prided itself on proposing “frank” reviews (chokuhitsu shitaru 直筆シタル) in its “Criticism” section, or Shuppan geppyō54 stressed its intention to offer fair and impartial reviews (kōhei mushi no hihyō 公平無私の批評) of recent publications and important older works, to contribute to the development of the world of books (chojutsu shakai no shinpo 著述社会の進歩), as well as establish the true value of literary works (chosho no shinka 著書の真価) and work for the benefit of its readers (kōdokusha no ben’eki 購読者 の便益).

71 Beyond the controversial, and somewhat anecdotal, denunciation of dubious literary practices, with all the pettiness, jealousy and powerlessness that came with them, the assertion of criticism’s duty to act with integrity transcended the moral sphere to attain another level. Indeed, visible behind this obligation for integrity were both a duty to combat immorality and a demand for intellectual independence. Journals and criticism thus seemed to be working hand in hand to present a united front against the world of publishers and traders. The close relationship they could hope to establish with their loyal readers – subscribers or otherwise – thus provided them with the conditions for their autonomous existence: legitimacy and a raison d’être.

72 In using China as a foil – perhaps with a certain amount of bad faith –,55 Hanpō did not claim to provide a historical and cultural analysis of Chinese criticism. Beyond his accusations of indulgence and idleness he strove to understand and demonstrate what he called the “true power of criticism” (hihyō no jikkō 批評の実効), which in his eyes resided neither in purely rhetorical variations nor in erudition. The cruelty he demanded from criticism, and which he felt he had found in the ferocity of Western critics, should not be interpreted solely in psychological or social terms. It corresponded to a quest for a distinct identity for a criticism that truly fulfilled its role.

73 Although Hanpō postulated and desired an autonomous criticism, he still struggled to clearly define its contours. He used an image taken from the Shijing 詩経 (Classic of Poetry) and borrowed from stonemasonry: “hewing the stone” (sessa 切磋), and “polishing the diamond” (takuma 琢磨). This imagery is ambiguous since when used together these terms form a set expression meaning “collective emulation”, “mutual encouragement to intellectual and moral effort”, but also have a wealth of evocative connotations. Although the use of a chisel or file inherently suggests a certain cruelty, the role of stone-cutter or jeweller bestows on the critic an essential, albeit poorly defined, role in the reception, and moreover, the accomplishment of a work. In other words, Hanpō was without doubt calling for a change, a revolution even, in reading.

74 Thus, beyond this ambivalent expression full of imagery, at once vague and suggestive, conventional and daring, the essence of Hanpō’s argument is that criticism had a duty. In fact, the Japanese term employed is extremely evocative: “shokubun” 職分 signifies an individual’s “share of the work”, to be carried out to the full (shokubun wo tsukusu 職 分を尽くす),56 something the Chinese critics accused of idleness failed to do (shokubun wo okotaru 職分を怠る). This desire to define the scope of a particular discipline, profession or institution was fundamental to the momentous effort to restructure

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views, feelings and actions that characterised the Meiji era. Thus this term “shokubun” frequently appears in Gakumon no susume 学問のすすめ (Encouragement to Learning, 1872-1876) by Fukuzawa Yukichi,57 who believed that everyone – farmers, tradesmen, scholars, or more generally the people, the nation, the government, or even mankind – had a role to fulfil. Similarly, in Shōsetsu shinzui Tsubouchi Shōyō attempted to define both the “object of the novel” (shōsetsu no shunō 小説の主脳) and the “novelist’s duty” (shōsetsuka no tsutome 小説家の務). Ōgai, as we will see shortly, also wanted to define the “home territory” (honryō 本領) of the journal he founded in 1889, Shigarami zōshi; while Masaoka Shiki, in his 1895 work Haikai taigai , strove to illustrate what “distinguished” (kubetsu 区別) the haiku from other forms of literature. Any number of examples could be cited, so essential was this desire to delimit, characterise and define the specificity of new fields.58

75 To return to criticism, Ōgai would also declare some time later, in 1900, in Ōgai gyoshi to wa ta zo 鴎外漁史とは誰ぞ (Who is Ōgai Gyoshi?) that: In our age of specialisation (bungyō no yo no naka 分業の世の中), the vocation of critic has become a profession in its own right (hitotsu no shokugyō 一の職業), […].59

76 A little further on in this text he spoke of the field’s “boundaries” (kyōkai 境界). The line had remained unchanged since Hanpō’s first efforts.

77 Finally, as far as Hanpō was concerned, although there was still no clearly established definition of criticism, the desire to create an existence for it was obvious and the role assigned to it clear. Criticism was to be the ultimate instrument for advancing Far Eastern Letters. Hanpō’s world view was firmly focused on the future, both haunted by a fear of stagnation and decline, and fascinated by the potential for progress. Much more than the quality of his conceptual thought, it was his willingness to play an active role in his history that gave his call for cruelty in criticism its strength and explained his faith in its supposed effectiveness.

78 In order to assess both the novelty and impact of this new requirement, as well as the limits of the reasoning behind it, it is useful to remember that in January 1886 the literary revolution of modern Japan had barely begun. Only poetry, with the Anthology of New-Style Poetry (Shintaishi shō 新体詩抄) by Toyama Masakazu 外山正一, Yatabe Ryōkichi 矢田部良吉 and Inoue Tetsujirō 井上哲次郎, published in 1882, had undertaken any kind of reform. The Society for Theatre Reform (Engeki kairyōkai 演劇 改良会) was only founded in August 1886. As for the novel, it was in the midst of a boom in political novels and thanks to Tsubouchi’s various activities had recently experienced its first shake-up. Similarly, if Hanpō reasoned in terms of Far Eastern Letters and not – which he hoped to see distinguish and differentiate itself –, it is simply because the concept of “national literature” had not yet taken shape in Japan.60 Perhaps the same could even be said of the notion of “literature” itself, at least in the modern sense of the word.

79 In other words, it is no surprise that Hanpō’s contribution was both energetic and simplistic. It did not come after the fact but rather, on the contrary, was one of the elements that heralded the transformations to come. His text was definitely published in 1886, and not in 1890 like Maihime or Nihon bungakushi.

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In praise of the gardener-critic: Ōnishi Hajime (1888)

80 On 4 May 1888, an essay by one Seidō Koji 西堂居士, bearing the title “Essay on Criticism” (Hihyōron 批評論), appeared in issue 21 of Kokumin no tomo, eight months after the creation of its “Criticism” section. It is credited with being the first discussion paper published in Japan to be devoted entirely to the field.

81 Its twenty-four-year-old author, Ōnishi Hajime 大西祝 (1864-1900), was born into a family of Christian samurai and at a very young age entered the private denominational school Dōshisha Eigakkō 同志社英学校, founded in Kyoto in 1875 by Niijima Jō. He remained there for seven years from 1877 to 1884 and mixed, among others, with Tokutomi Sohō, one year his senior, who studied there from 1876 to 1880. Having completed the general curriculum (futsūka 普通科), in 1881 Ōnishi turned to theology (shingakuka 神学科). He was aged seventeen. In 1885 he went to Tokyo to study for entrance to the University of Tokyo. He was accepted into the Faculty of Letters, then the Department of Philosophy the following year. From this period onwards he published a large number of articles in Christian journals,61 including “Waka ni shūkyō nashi” 和歌に宗教なし (There is no Religion in Waka). Having graduated in 1889 he became a teacher at the Tōkyō Senmon Gakkō (the future Waseda), where he was responsible for its philosophy classes. For eight years, alongside Tsubouchi Shōyō, he was one of the central figures of the Faculty of Letters at this prestigious establishment, from where he exerted a strong intellectual and moral influence. Having also entered the graduate school (Daigakuin 大学院) of the Imperial University, he undertook research in both German idealism and British empiricism. In order to deepen his understanding of them he moved to Europe in 1898, studying at Jena, Leipzig and Heidelberg. He fell seriously ill just the following year and returned to Japan to die, in 1900, aged thirty-six, though not without having been awarded his PhD. 62 His complete works were compiled and edited by his friends and students in 1903.

82 The intellectual gifts of Ōnishi Hajime – “Japan’s first specialist in Kant”, as he was sometimes referred to – were dazzling. His premature death was fraught with consequences for the Japanese philosophical scene, which for many years remained under the iron rule of the formidable Inoue Tetsujirō 井上哲次郎 (1855-1944), with whom Ōnishi had previously crossed swords. Nevertheless, it is on one single aspect of his thinking focused essentially on a dialogue between art and Christianity that I will concentrate on here. As the author Shimazaki Tōson 島崎藤村 (1872-1943) would later write, Ōnishi Hajime was “the brilliant young philosopher who can be described as being the first to have elevated the meaning of the word criticism” (hajimete hihyō to iu mono no imi wo takameta to mo iieru ano shōsō na tetsugakusha 初めて批評といふものの意 味を高めたとも言ひ得るあの少壮な哲学者)63.

83 In the spring of 1888, Ōnishi was acutely aware of the change that had taken place in the Japanese public sphere in the preceding months. He wrote: It is logical that people have come to understand the need for criticism (hihyō no hitsuyō 批評の必要). Over the past two years it seems that nothing has so transformed the pages of newspapers and journals than the columns devoted to criticism. Each time a novel appears in translation, newspapers and journals inevitably provide a critical review of varying length. And there are even journalists to meticulously review the short-lived opuscules that appear in the morning and are gone by the evening. There is even a monthly journal that specialises in criticism. Thus, in the course of this fashion for criticism (hihyō no

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ryūkō 批評の流行) there are people who perform rapid feats of magic (majinai 神験 術), transforming themselves and assuming the guise of a critic (hihyōka to narisumasu 批評家となりすます).64

84 Without denying himself a certain irony with regards what was equally a “fashion”, with its inherent abuses, Ōnishi identified a number of converging circumstances that eloquently illustrated the flourishing of criticism, noting for example the existence of a journal that irresistibly brings to mind Shuppan geppyō. However, far from restricting himself to denouncing the absurdities of this nascent criticism, he undertook – on a much more sophisticated and conceptual level than Hanpō – to endow it with a legitimacy. I propose to examine point by point the extremely well-structured argument he expounded in “Creation and Criticism” (Sōsaku to hihyō 創作と批評).

85 Ōnishi began by affirming the rarity of good critics and took the opportunity to propose an initial definition: High quality critiques (meihyō 名評) are almost as difficult to find as high quality works. Among the reviews of Hamlet, for example, there is one by Gœthe. And the quality of his critique plunged Macaulay65 into despair and admiration. However, it took 200 years for Shakespeare to find Gœthe. Well! If literary or artistic creation (bungaku oyobi bijutsu-jō no sōsaku 文学及美術上の創作) is chiefly an act of construction (kekkōteki no sayō 結搆的の作用), revealing the aesthetic heart of this construction thanks to a discerning and analytical eye (rikaiteki no keigan wo motte sono kekkō no myōsho wo ugatsu 理解的の慧眼を以て其結搆の妙処を穿つ), such is the critic’s true vocation (hihyōka no tokui 批評家の得意).

86 Ōnishi went on to declare that an incompatibility existed between the creator and the critic, who each possessed their own specific gift: Since the creator and the critic possess talents of a somewhat different nature (sukoburu sono sainō no omomuki wo koto ni suru 頗る其才能の趣を異にする), it is extremely difficult, and virtually unimaginable, to find both skills combined to a high degree within one single individual. Rare are those men of the past who combined both talents, such as Goethe or Lessing. When Byron composed his poems, his rhythm was so melodious, his verse so powerful that there seems to be a kind of magic at work, but when he tried to write critiques of poetry or prose, while concealing his true feelings, his words are singularly weak, everything is terrible. His poems are the work of an angel; his reflection that of a three-year-old.

87 Ōnishi then explained the specific characteristics of poetic genius and critical genius, eventually concluding that the relationships between poets and critics were unique and not interchangeable: The poet composes because his poetic genius is set in motion, (shisai ugoku ga yue ni shijin utau 詩才動くが故に詩人歌ふ), without necessarily knowing where it comes from. The poet often captures Beauty intuitively (bimyō wo chokkaku su 美妙を直覚 す). It is the critic who understands this (kore wo rikai suru mono wa hihyōka nari 之を 理解する者は批評家なり). The poet is like a person who communicates with the gods: without himself understanding the principle, he discovers the beauty of the cosmos and extracts the truth. It is the critic who understands the principle (ri 理) of this for the poet. The poet captures beauty and places it at the heart of his work. Naturally he sees the beauty of his work. But he is not always capable of interpreting the reasons for this beauty (sono bi taru riyū 其美たる理由). It is the critic who explains them. Thus, it can be said that the poet understands nature, and the critic understands the poet (hihyōka wa shijin wo kai suru mono 批評家は詩人を 解する者). Consequently, the relationship between one particular poet and his critic does not generally make it possible to understand that between another poet and his critic.

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88 Ōnishi then developed his argument by demonstrating that the critic was not always in the rearguard of poetic creation, but on occasions may also find himself in the vanguard: The critic is therefore placed in a position at the rear (shingari 殿) of the creator, but has often also had the honour of being a forerunner (senku to naru no eiyo 先駆 となるの栄誉). For a high quality critique does not always follow a high quality piece of work; it also has the power to bring about future masterpieces (mirai no meisaku wo yūin suru no chikara 未来の名作を誘引するの力). Criticism is not required merely to look back to the past; it also has the ability to orchestrate the future (hihyō wa tada ni ōji wo kaerimiru ni tomarazu, mata shōrai wo shiki suru no chikara ari 批評は啻に往時を顧るに止まらず、又将来を指揮するの力あり).

89 This ability of the critic to prepare the ground for creation is based on the idea that history is characterised by an alternation between periods of creation and periods of criticism, and that the two must not be confused: Although he himself does not create, the critic can act as a mentor to the writers of the future (kōsei no sōsakuka ni oshiete 後世の創作家に教へて) and indicate promising paths to tread (nozomi aru no kōro wo torashimuru 望あるの行路を取るら しむる); moreover, since in literary history periods of creation and periods of criticism differ entirely in their nature (bungaku no rekishi ni oite sōsaku no jidai to hihyō no jidai to wa sukoburu sono omomuki wo koto ni suru 文学の歴史に於て創作の 時代と批評の時代とは頗る其の趣を異にする), when a country’s literature is in the midst of a period of criticism, creation is not desirable (ikkoku no bungaku, moshi hihyō no jidai ni aru wa sōsaku wa aete nozomu bekarazu 一国の文学、若し批評の 時代にある時は創作は敢て望む可からず). It is better to carry out preparations (mushiro kore ga tame ni junbi wo nasu beshi 寧ろ之が為に準備を為すべし).

90 Just as it would be a mistake to choose the path of creation during a period of criticism, it would be unwise to force the course of events. A period of creation can only come about when certain conditions are met: A period of creation does not appear on demand (sōsaku no jidai wa maneite tadachi ni kuru mono ni arazu 創作の時代は招て直に来る者にあらず). Its appearance is conditioned by the situation of the entire nation (sono kuru ya fukaku kokka hyappan no jōkyō ni in’en su 其来るや深く国家百般の情況に因縁す). Many factors explain the periods of creation we have witnessed in the past – the Elizabethan era in English literature or the Goethe and Schiller period in German literature, for example –, but when an entire nation breathes new ideas and embarks on energetic spiritual exercise (ippan no kokumin, shinsen no shisō wo kokyūshi, kappatsu naru seishinteki no undō wo hajimuru ni oite wa 一般の国民、新鮮の思想を呼吸し、活発 なる精神的の運動を始むるに於ては), its literature can then hope to come closer to a period of creation.

91 In such circumstances the critic’s role is clearly defined: to prepare for the future during periods of criticism. His role is thus that of an obstetrician, or more precisely, a gardener of history: Therefore, it is the critic who differentiates and critiques the many and varied ideas crisscrossing society, reveals their true worth and in this way precedes the world of ideas (kono toki ni atari shakai ni hihon suru shuju zatta no shisō wo hanbetsu hihyō shite sono shinka wo akiraka ni shi motte tōji no shisōkai ni sakidatsu mono wa kedashi hihyōka nari 此時に当り社会に飛奔する種々雑多の思想を判別批評して其真価を明にし 以て当時の思想界に先たつ者は蓋し批評家なり). It is the critic who cuts the grass, ploughs the earth, plants the seeds and prepares for the emergence of the beauties of tomorrow’s civilisation (kono toki ni atari kusa wo kiri tsuchi wo kaeshi shushi wo kudashite motte shōrai no bunka wo manekikitasu mono wa kedashi hihyōka nari 此時に当り草を耨り土を反し種子を下して以て将来の文華を招き来す者は蓋し

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批評家なり). The speed or slowness with which they appear, and the conditions for their appearance, greatly depend on the criticism that preceded them. These two elements are intimately linked: this must be understood.

92 It would be wrong, therefore, to hand out ill-considered value judgments that take umbrage with the critic. The critic’s legitimacy is indisputable: It is impossible, therefore, to separate periods of creation and criticism. It is very difficult to keep the creator and discard the critic (hihyōka wo sute sōsakuka wo en to suru wa jitsu ni nashigataki 批評家を措て創作家を得んとするは実に為し難き), but if one wanted to hold forth as to their respective worth, it goes without saying that the latter would be inferior to the former. Nevertheless, if in the literary world it is the creator who deserves the highest decoration, it is the critic who bestows it on him (kedashi bungaku no sekai ni oite saikō no kunshō wo ukuru mono wa sōsakuka naredomo kore wo sazukuru mono wa hihyōka nari 蓋し文学の世界に於て最高の勲章 を受くる者は創作家なれども之を授くる者は批評家なり).

93 The differences between the analyses of Hanpō and Ōnishi are obvious. They stem first and foremost from Ōnishi’s use of a style that was partly freed from Chinese rhetoric, more concise and less allusive,66 though still heavily influenced by parallelisms. Above all, this text relies on the omnipresence of an abstract vocabulary composed of a series of concepts apparently drawn from the aesthetics of Kant and Hegel, and in any case clearly developed through contact with Western philosophical theories and art history.

94 Beyond the highly abstract impression produced by Ōnishi Hajime’s essay, it must be remembered that he succeeded – something that cannot be said of Hanpō – in establishing an extremely precise definition of the very nature of the critical act: “revealing, thanks to a discerning and analytical eye, the aesthetic heart of the act of construction that is literary or artistic creation”, “understanding the poet”. In other words, the critic must use applied aesthetic philosophy.

95 In addition, while Hanpō – whose eye was fixed firmly on the future, which he feared held nothing but decadence and lethargy – wanted to see criticism act as a spur nudging into literature’s sides, Ōnishi’s view was much more complex, less impatient and more historical, although he made no real attempt to analyse the specific circumstances of modern Japan. He was certainly concerned about the future but insisted that the course of events could not be hurried and that periods of crisis could not be rushed through. He even demanded, not without a certain jubilation, the right for criticism to rule supreme during the times that paved the way for periods of creation. This view of the critic as gardener provided Ōnishi with arguments to promote the critic’s value as a “forerunner” capable of “bringing about a future masterpiece”, of “orchestrating the future”. In the name of this summary and deterministic historicism, he even went so far as to literally forbid creators to create, stating that “when a country’s literature is in the midst of a period of criticism, creation is not desirable. It is better to carry out preparations”.

96 Furthermore, in contrast to Hanpō, who waved the spectre of the decadence supposedly threatening to strike down Japanese literature just as it had Chinese literature, Ōnishi demonstrated a certain optimism by seeing promise in the situation of Japan at that time, describing the entire nation as “breathing new ideas and embarking on energetic spiritual exercise”. Like many of his contemporaries, Ōnishi saw the confusion that reigned at the beginning of the second decade of Meiji as a sign of dynamic activity rather than a maelstrom perched on the edge of an abyss. The “young blood of the Meiji era” (Meiji no wakai chi 明治の若い血), of which Roka wrote,

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was full of promise. A radical change had well and truly taken place between 1886 and 1888.

97 The final marked difference between Hanpō and Ōnishi lies in the very way they viewed the role of criticism. Whereas Hanpō, as you will recall, used the image of the stoneworker or jeweller, Ōnishi referred to the art of gardening (“cuts the grass, ploughs the earth, plants the seeds and prepares for the emergence”). This divergence no doubt stemmed from the two men’s differing sensibilities, yet it reveals a clear development in thinking in the space of two years. What Hanpō was asking of criticism resembled a feat of magic: he hoped to see criticism undergo a sudden transmutation, a virtually instantaneous rise in the value of Far Eastern Letters, which explains his comparison with the work of a jeweller who extracts the stone from its gangue and transforms it into a jewel. On the other hand, for someone like Ōnishi whose reasoning was based on a philosophy of history, the slow work of the gardener preparing today for the harvests of tomorrow was more meaningful. Despite everything, Ōnishi was also more precise. For him, criticism was grounded in its primary role, which was to differentiate and put in order. This would be asserted even more emphatically by Mori Ōgai.

Criticism against chaos: Mori Ōgai (1889)

98 Despite the wildly differing fates of Tokutomi Sohō, Takada Hanpō and Ōnishi Hajime, we have seen that numerous links existed between these three men: Sohō and Ōnishi formerly attended Dōshisha together;67 Hanpō and Ōnishi were colleagues at the Tōkyō Senmon Gakkō (alongside Tsubouchi Shōyō); by working for the Yomiuri, Hanpō attached the same importance to periodicals as Sohō did when he embarked on his Kokumin no tomo adventure.

99 In comparison to these three individuals, Mori Ōgai may seem somewhat out of place, isolated even. In any case, his personality had been shaped and matured in a slightly different context. To be precise, he was not physically present in Japan when the aforementioned revolution of the public sphere took place, the very period in which the three texts presented here were published. In fact, he had been studying in Germany since 1884 and only returned to Japan in August 1888. Furthermore, Mori Ōgai was a scientist, or more specifically a doctor specialising in hygiene, a rapidly developing discipline at that time. Finally, he was also a soldier, having enlisted in the army as a medical officer following his graduation from university.

100 And yet at the beginning of 1889, just a few short months after his return to Japan, Ōgai entered – and what a dazzling entrance it was! – Japan’s newly established public sphere, while simultaneously assuming his professional responsibilities. And he naturally formed immediate links, if not directly and personally with the three previously presented authors, at least with the institutions that employed them.

101 Accordingly, beginning in January that year he contributed several translations to Takada Hanpō’s Yomiuri shinbun, including “Shōsetsuron” 小説論 (Essay on the Novel), in which he expounded the theories behind Zola’s experimental novel, and a Japanese version of the play El Alcalde de Zalamea by Don Pedro Calderon de la Barca, which he wrote with his younger brother, entitled Shirabe wa takashi gitarura no hitofushi 調高矣 洋絃一曲 (A Guitar Melody).

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102 In April he began to contribute regularly to Kokumin no tomo, publishing work virtually every month until 1892. His texts were extremely varied: there were literary essays such as “’Bungaku to shizen’ wo yomu” 「文学と自然」を読む (Reading “Literature and Nature”); political and social opinion pieces including “Daigaku no jiyū wo ron zu” 大学の自由を論す (Essay on the Freedom of Universities) and “Shiku kaisei ronryaku” 市区改正論略 (Brief Essay on Urban Reform); novels such as Jishin 地震, a translation of Das Erdbeben in Chili by Heinrich von Kleist, or the famous Maihime 舞姫 (The Dancing Girl), published in the January 1890 issue; and even poetry, to which I will return later. In January 1900, in Ōgai gyoshi to wa ta zo 鴎外漁史とは誰ぞ (Who is Ōgai Gyoshi?), Ōgai recalled his links with Sohō and his previously described entrance into the public sphere: Being an inveterate reader, I was delighted to have friends who loved books and to be able to discuss them with them. One day, the editor-in-chief of Kokumin no tomo, my friend Tokutomi Iichirō [Sohō], came up with the idea of asking me to share these discussions with the public (yo no kataru tokoro wo kōshū ni shōkai shiyō to omoitatarete 予の語る所を公衆に紹介しやうと思ひ立たれて) […]. This was how I came to switch from speaking in a private capacity to speaking in a public one, and how Ōgai Gyoshi was born.68 Then one after the other newspapers and journals in Tokyo asked me to write for them (sorekara Tōkyō no shinbun zasshi ga, kare mo kore mo yo wo hite katarashimeta それから東京の新聞雑誌が、彼も此も予を延いて語ら しめた). By nature I am quite talkative, even in private, as long as an audience presents itself at the right time, and during that period I addressed the public at length (kōshū ni tai shite shabetta 公衆に対して饒舌つた). In the beginning I was in demand from newspapers and journals, but as time went by they became irritated with my verboseness and complained that my boasting and interminable sermons were a nuisance (sō daigen sōgo serarete wa komaru to ka, sō naga-dangi wo serarete wa komaru to ka itte, yo no shaberu ni hekieki shita さう大言壮語せられては困るとか、 さう長談義をせられては困るとか云つて、予の饒舌るに辟易した).69

103 Although there is no evidence of a direct link between Ōgai and Ōnishi, it must of course be pointed out that between 1891 and 1893, Ōgai was locked in a heated debate on aesthetics with Tsubouchi Shōyō, and thus with the Tōkyō Senmon Gakkō (Waseda) where Ōnishi and Hanpō also played a leading role, which was immortalised as the “submerged ideals debate” (botsurisō ronsō 没理想論争). Although Shōyō and Ōgai may appear to have been opponents during this period, in reality they were on the same side, fighting to introduce literary and aesthetic debates into the public arena. This was clearly understood by public opinion at the time, for as Ōgai himself pointed out in Ōgai gyoshi to wa ta zo,70 the names of these two literary giants together came to symbolise this era of criticism.

104 Not content with merely writing, Ōgai also took an active role in creating this public sphere by founding journals. Without listing all those he created and supported throughout his lifetime, I will simply point out that as early as March 1889 he founded Eisei shinshi 衛生新誌 (New Journal of Hygiene), followed in January 1890 by Iji shinron 医事新論 (New Medicine). He then merged these two titles in September that same year to create Eisei ryōbyōshi 衛生療病志 (Journal of Hygiene and Treatment). In the field of interest to us here, in October 1889 Mori Ōgai founded a journal whose title is – too often – mutilated and mangled:71 Bungaku hyōron – Shigarami zōshi 文學評論 志か らミ草紙 (Literary Criticism – The Weir). In total fifty-nine issues were published72 over almost five years, until Mori Ōgai went abroad for the Sino-Japanese War in 1894. Although Shuppan geppyō was the first journal devoted to critically reviewing recent

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publications (and older works) from all fields, Shigarami zōshi was the first to specialise, as its full title indicates, in literary criticism. In Ōgai gyoshi to wa ta zo, Ōgai explained how the journal came into existence following his aforementioned problems with newspaper and journal publishers: This situation did nothing to quell my habit of addressing the public and eventually I came to think that I need not wait for people to drag me up to the rostrum, that I should set up my own to address the public. I called it Shigarami zōshi.73

105 The journal was published by Shinseisha74 新声社 (New Voices Society), in other words the group of translators behind the anthology of translated poems Omokage 於母影 (Reminiscences), published in August 1889 in the form of a summer supplement (kaki furoku 夏期付録) to none other than Kokumin no tomo. This anthology, which introduced the Japanese public to a range of European poets such as Byron, Goethe and Heine, was an unexpected commercial success and the money earned from translating poetry was reinvested without further ado into a journal on literary criticism!75

106 Apart from Ōgai – who requires no further introduction and who, as we have seen, had begun to work simultaneously as a translator, novelist, critic and polemicist –, who were the organisers behind this journal? Ichimura Sanjirō 市村讃次郎 (1864-1947), a sinologist, was a pioneer in the study of Oriental history. Ochiai Naobumi 落合直文 (1861-1903), a specialist in national literature and a waka poet, was embroiled in the debate on Japanese language and literature reform.76 Inoue Michiyasu 井上通康 (1866-1941), who also specialised in national literature and was a waka poet, worked as an ophthalmologist.77 Koganei Kimiko 小金井喜美子 (1870-1956), translator, novelist, essayist and poet, was Ōgai’s younger sister. Finally, Miki Takeji 三木竹二 – alias Mori Tokujirō 森篤次郎 (1867-1908), Ōgai’s younger brother, was a theatre lover and critic. He founded the journal Kabuki 歌舞伎 in 1900.

107 This small group of highly diverse individuals did not constitute a school or a movement based on shared theoretical views. It drew first and foremost on personal attachments that justified its members’ respective roots in a diverse range of disciplines, the only common bond being a love of language and languages. However, this group, led by Ōgai, refused to limit itself to the task of creating and translating – without abandoning these activities of course. They felt an acute need, an urgency, that Ōgai would later explain with the greatest clarity. In 1914,78 a quarter of a century later, he recalled what motivated the group’s decision to call the journal Shigarami zōshi: The idea was to build a weir to stem the tumultuous flood from the literary world. Tōtō-taru bundan no nagare ni shigarami wo kakeru to iu imi kara de atta. 滔々たる文壇の流に柵をかけると云ふ意味からであった。

108 “Shigarami” 柵, clumsily translated as “weir” or “against the current or tide”, refers in reality to structures made of intertwined bamboo and branches attached to wooden stakes placed in the middle of a watercourse to interrupt or, more precisely, to channel or regulate the flow. This metaphor is wholly in keeping with the one employed by Sohō, as you will recall,79 to describe the “tumultuous” flood (tōtō 滔々) of publications – both men employed the same term – that characterised the year 1887.

109 Thus for Ōgai and his friends, criticism was synonymous with resisting the natural course of events. It sought to oppose, if needs be, but also to put things in order. In the first issue of his journal, Ōgai published a long text in which he defined what he considered to be “the home territory of Shigarami zōshi”. The first paragraphs read as follows:

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When Western learning came to the East, in the beginning its content was conveyed but not its spirit.80 Learning was equated with the acquisition of knowledge and the understanding of principles; technique was equated with the art of medicine and war: in other words, everyone knew that Westerners were practical (kichi 機智) but not that they were virtuous (tokugi 徳義). And even less that they had an aesthetic sense (fūga 風雅)! During this period, those who studied Western learning were only interested in profit (ri 利); they became morose if they earned nothing. Just as the precious wood used to make harps or the rare pieces of bamboo used to make flutes one day become firewood, so the tongue of the yellow ox and the flesh of the crane cannot escape the casserole. Almost everyone had taken to emulating Plato, who wanted to banish poets from the city. Nowadays there has been a change of direction and the refined literature of the West has entered our lands along with its supreme philosophical principles (今や此 方嚮は一転して、西方の優美なる文学は、その深邃なる哲理と共に我疆に入り 来れり). If we consider the subdivisions of this literature we find lyrical poetry, epic poetry and drama, while the novel, which has flourished in Western Europe in recent years, is predominant, despite not belonging to any of these categories. While of course we should rejoice in the novel’s popularity, given that this genre’s content is indeterminate, it is populated with incompetents, capable only of aping senselessly, making an infernal racket. In the literary circles of our country there is already a myriad of elements from the outside (我邦の文学界には、外より来れる分子、既に甚だ多し). In the past, when Buddhism arrived in Japan, it did so via retranslations from Chinese and was scarcely accompanied by Indian literature. Chinese literature alone accompanied the political education originating in that country and it greatly transformed the national style. It is true that today’s men of letters include waka poets (歌人) and authors of Chinese poetry (詩人), masters of the national language (国文を善くす るもの) and specialists of Sino-Japanese (漢文を善くするもの), those who excel in the classical style (真仮名体に長ずるもの) and those who shine in the unified language (言文一致体を得意とするもの). The result is that highly diverse aesthetic elements hailing from our own national resources, China and the West intertwine haphazardly (本国、支那、西欧の種々の審美学的分子は、此間に飛 散せる). This chaotic situation cannot be borne for long (此混沌の状は、決して久 しきに堪ふべきものにあらず). The rest of us understand that the period of clarification is near (余等はその澄清の期の近きにあるを知る). There is only one path that can bring about this clarification and that is criticism.81

110 What is striking about Mori Ōgai’s thinking is his desire to place his analysis within the framework of a specifically and deliberately historical perspective. Whereas Hanpō looked solely towards the future, which he feared held only decadence and lethargy, and Ōnishi restricted his analysis to a somewhat abstract alternation between periods of creation and periods of criticism, and thus a somewhat mechanical dialectic between present and future, Ōgai situated his activity in the historical evolution of his country. He chose as a starting point the arrival of Western learning in Japan, which no doubt should be interpreted as the emergence of Dutch learning in the eighteenth century,82 and he criticised the attitude that had subsequently endured until the beginning of the Meiji era and which consisted, in his eyes, of an instrumentalist view of the technology provided by this body of knowledge. In contrast, he noted that a change had recently taken place that had enabled the moral, but above all aesthetic, dimension of Western civilisation to be recognised. He claimed that this had led to a radical change in Japanese literature and engendered a chaotic situation that needed to be addressed.

111 In order to evaluate this chaos, Ōgai placed it in a historical context and pointed out that it was not unheard-of in a civilisation that had previously succeeded in

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assimilating foreign influences. In other words, he showed confidence in the course of history, which he believed would inevitably lead to a period of clarification, no matter how difficult the situation at that time. In contrast to Ōnishi, rather than seeing periods of creation and criticism as alternating automatically, Ōgai believed that criticism’s role as clarifier was to offset the disorder produced by the creative ferment, as if creation and criticism were indispensable to one another.

112 The chaos of which Ōgai spoke was of course widespread, but it particularly concerned art, and especially literature, split as it was between Chinese and Japanese references on the one hand – which had long coexisted in harmony – and Western references on the other. First and foremost, the sudden rise of the novel, a genre that, despite its popularity, was held in contempt by the literary traditions of the Far East, created a kind of challenge. Indeed, explained Ōgai, while the popularity of the novel itself could not be criticised, the vague definition of this genre left the door open to imposture. Yet it is quite certain that at the very moment Ōgai was writing, the creative ferment was at its most intense, something that Saitō Ryokuu 斎藤緑雨 (1867-1904), for example, had not failed to understand when a year earlier he published his faintly mockingly titled Eight Schools of the Novel (Shōsetsu hasshū 小説八宗). And a rapid review of the literary history of this period would unreservedly corroborate Ōgai’s general analysis of the “highly diverse aesthetic elements that intertwine haphazardly”.

113 Faced with this feeling of confusion, which remained with him throughout his lifetime, to the extent that he made it the subject of a 1909 lecture simply entitled Konton 混沌 (Chaos),83 Ōgai did not give up. On the contrary, it only appeared even more essential to him that the situation be resolved. Firstly because he found chaos unbearable, but perhaps more fundamentally because he appeared to believe that a kind of natural historical process existed in which chaos would be followed by clarification. However, Ōgai was no more an idealist than he was a determinist. It appeared essential to him to make his work part of the course of history in order to play an active and enlightened role in this process and “bring about” (itasu 致す) this clarification. This is why he considered criticism so essential.84 By definition it was the most appropriate instrument for combatting chaos and creating order. He reiterated this in a separate text from the same period entitled “Meiji nijūni-nen hihyōka no shigan” 明治二十二年 批評家の詩眼 (The Poetic Appreciation of Critics in Meiji 20 [1887]): Nothing is as essential for the evolution of literature as criticism. And yet nothing is more despised than criticism. 文学の進化には批評ほど必要なるものはあらず。されど又批評ほど畏るべきも のはあらず。85

114 Moreover, the terms that he employed – “clarification, or purification” (chōsei 澄清), “evolution” (shinka 進化) – are revealing, for both belonged to the evolutionary rhetoric of social Darwinism which, as we know, was popular in Meiji-era Japan. Without dwelling unduly on this fact, let us recall that the advantage of this theory was that it allowed a Japanese people facing international conflicts to view progress as being immanent in themselves.

115 What was it that gave criticism this power to contribute towards the clarification, the decantation of chaos? The quoted text provides some clues when it speaks of the aesthetic sense of Westerners, their “refined literature” with its “supreme philosophical principles”, as well as “literary subdivisions and categories” or even the intertwining of diverse “aesthetic elements”. However, it is further on in his text that

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Ōgai clearly revealed his thinking. Whereas Far Eastern writers were dependent on the writing conventions set out in treatises on poetry (karon 歌論 and shiron 詩論), Western men of letters follow the norms of poetics, itself built on the foundations of aesthetics. 西欧文学者が審美学の基址の上に築き起したる詩学を以て準縄となす。 And along the way Ōgai also pointed out that: This is why, thanks to the publication of Shōsetsu shinzui by Shōyōshi and Bijigaku by Hanpō Koji, we can rejoice that our men of letters now have literary norms. 故に逍遥子の小説神髄、半峯居士の美辞学の出づるや、我邦操觚家の為めに此 文学上の標準を得たるを賀したり。

116 These “standards” (hyōjun 標準) and “norms” (junjō 準縄)86 were supplied by “poetics” (shigaku 詩学), and ultimately “aesthetics” (shinbigaku 審美学), and in Ōgai’s eyes were evidently the levers that enabled criticism to develop.87 In this way it could shake off the bad reputation perpetuated by certain entrenched ideas reflected in expressions such as “bunjin sōkei” 文人相軽 – literally, men of letters mutually despise one another – or “bunshi keiatsu” 文士傾軋 – men of letters set traps for one another out of jealousy – which Ōgai cited.88 This new theoretical foundation allowed criticism to fend off the persistent accusations of succumbing to personal reflections, indulgence or cruelty when assessing the work of others.

117 Ōgai’s immense confidence in the resources of aesthetics stemmed of course from his readings of German philosophy, and in particular Edouard von Hartmann (1842-1906), who he translated intensely during his time at Kokura: his translation of Philosophie des Schönen, entitled Shinbi kōryō 審美綱領, was published in 1898.89

118 In truth, this attitude followed directly in the wake of the introduction of Western aesthetic concepts, which was one of the major undertakings of – and principal causes of the revolution in – Meiji intellectual and artistic circles.90 Fukuzawa Yukichi 福沢諭 吉 (1834-1901) himself, in Seiyō jijō 西洋事情 (Conditions in the West) in 1866, and even more so in Bunmeiron no gairyaku 文明論之概略 (An Outline of a Theory of Civilisation) in 1875, acknowledged the importance of arts and letters in Western society. Thanks to the efforts of thinkers such as Nishi Amane 西周 (1829-1897), in particular his 1870-1872 lectures The Links between all Sciences (Hyakugaku renkan 百学連環), and his 1875 text Bimyōgaku setsu 微妙学説 (The Theory of Aesthetics), or Kikuchi Dairoku 菊池 大麓 (1855-1917), who in 1879 translated a English guide to rhetoric and poetics entitled Shūji oyobi kabun 修辞及華文 (Rhetoric and Belles-Lettres), the main concepts of Western aesthetics existed in Japanese. In 1882 a famous lecture by Ernest Fenollosa on The True Theory of Art (Bijutsu shinsetsu 美術真説) went down in history, leading to a re-appraisal of ancient Japanese fine arts, in particular painting and sculpture, as well as a movement to revive them. Nakae Chōmin 中江兆民 (1847-1901) then presented the neo-Hegelian aesthetics of Eugène Véron in Wishi no bigaku 維氏美学 (The Aesthetics of Mr V., 1883-1884). Far from remaining confined to small groups of initiates, the vocabulary, concepts and reasoning introduced by these texts had a huge impact. Although based on his own readings and personal analyses, the stance adopted by Ōgai in 1889 cannot be explained without taking into account these circumstances.

119 Be that as it may, it was armed with his convictions that Ōgai launched a “literary criticism” journal with his friends. It served as the spearhead for his contribution to numerous debates, whether the aforementioned debate with Shōyō on “submerged ideals”, or others on a wide variety of subjects.91 In fact, aside from defending his own opinions, one wonders if it was not purely a love of debating and courting controversy

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that motivated this author the most. In any case, in his long article from January 1890, “Meiji nijūni-nen hihyōka no shigan”, he did not hesitate to review the activities of his “colleagues” and fellow critics from other journals over the previous year, whether Tsubouchi Shōyō, Ishibashi Ningetsu 石橋忍月 (1865-1926), who mainly wrote for Kokumin no tomo, or Uchida Roan 内田魯庵 (also known as Fuchian 不知庵, 1868-1929), who worked for the journal Jogaku zasshi 女学雑誌 (The Women’s Magazine) edited by Iwamoto Yoshiharu 巌本善治 (1863-1942). There can be no doubt: the public theatre for debate desired by Sohō, the “criticism of criticism” whose appearance was fearfully awaited with anxious irony by those in charge of Tōkyō keizai zasshi, had well and truly come into existence.

The age and moment of criticism

120 “In Japanese literature […] the creative act has gone hand in hand with a continual effort to reflect on practice and principles”, wrote Jean-Jacques Origas,92 and it is certain that ever since the time of Japan’s ancient texts, the lineaments of a critical, reflective – metadiscursive if you will – activity concerning what are today termed “literary” works have existed in Japan. Thus, in the ninth century the Buddhist monk Kūkai 空海 (774-835), founder of the Shingon 真言 school of Buddhism in Japan, compiled a collection of treatises on poetry and Chinese rhetoric in Bunkyō hifuron 文鏡 秘府論 (Treatises on the Secret Treasury of the Literary Mirror). This aspect of Japan’s intellectual and artistic life continued unabated throughout the centuries, and this explains that Hisamatsu Sen’ichi93 久松潜一 (1894-1976) was able to present an impressive overview of the History of Japanese Literary Criticism in his monumental five- volume work Nihon bungaku hyōron-shi 日本文学評論史 (published between 1935 and 1950 based on lectures given between 1924 and 1931). This publication pays tribute to the wealth of thought on waka (karon), haikai (haiwa) and Sino-Japanese poetry (shiwa), in addition to nō (nōron) and monogatari. Given these circumstances, how is it possible to talk, as I have done, of a “birth” or “rise” of criticism in around 1886-1887?

121 It must be pointed out first of all that the majority of reflections on Japanese literature prior to this period were written in the context of existing writing practices, in particular poetic, which required writers, whether amateur or professional, to assimilate a body of references and continue in the tradition of canonical texts. Fundamentally, these ancient “literary critiques” paid little heed to newly published books – an expression which in any case is meaningless when referring to past centuries – and were not aimed at pure readers. Whether directly or indirectly, their objective was always to help or encourage people to write.

122 From this point of view, a certain evolution had undoubtedly taken place during the Edo era. The growth of the publishing industry – and thus a book market – on the one hand, combined with an increase in the penetration and density of communication networks on the other – and thus the establishment of a realm open to information and rumour, a kind of “proto-public sphere” as it were – had led to the appearance of para- promotional works such as hyōbanki 評判記 (“record of reputations”), which compiled a sort of ranking and brief review of popular celebrities, including actors, courtesans or, less frequently, certain writers such as poets specialised in kyōka 狂歌 (mad poems).

123 Other more elaborate examples can also be cited. The Genroku Taiheiki 元禄大平記 (Chronicle of the Great Peace of the Genroku Era [1688-1704], 1702), by the novelist

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Miyako no Nishiki 都の錦 (born in 1675), presents fictional publishers and booksellers from Kyoto and Osaka engaged in rambling discussions on the state of the publishing world and the reputation of contemporary novelists.94 Similarly, the Imayō heta dangi 当 世下手談義 (A Clumsy Sermon on ours Times, 1752) by Jōkanbō Kōa 静観房好阿 (year of birth and death unknown), which established a genre of humorous novels known as dangi-bon 談義本, depicted the customs of the Edo upper-classes and in doing so passed judgment on the novelists of the time.95

124 Nevertheless, considerable differences remain between this and developments that took place in the second half of the 1880s. These relate first of all to the general state of the publishing industry: in the Edo period, for example, the power wielded by publishers and booksellers, who controlled the entire process of writing, manufacturing and distributing books, was in no way balanced or counterbalanced by specialist intermediaries like the critics of the latter half of the Meiji era. Periodicals – newspapers and journals – did not exist. There was no real arena for public debate. Furthermore, the nature of discourse on literary works changed radically in the middle of the Meiji era, when alongside the fleeting, laudatory or vicious reviews, as well as scholarly commentary, a well-structured discourse appeared based on poetic, rhetorical and aesthetic concepts.

125 It is precisely these differences that allow me to speak of a “birth” and “rise” of literary criticism in Japan in 1886-1887, without denying of course the existence of theoretical reflection on literary works in previous periods. This theoretical reflection could also be termed “criticism”, provided that we keep in mind the unique character, which I have attempted to highlight, of what emerged at this turning point in history. “Criticism”, in the specific sense that developed in the mid-Meiji era, doubtless possessed three new, previously unseen characteristics: it reviewed newly published material, using scholarly discourse drawn from the field of aesthetics, within the public sphere established by periodicals.

126 More fundamentally perhaps, the nature of literature itself changed at the end of the 1880s. At a time when writing practices were torn, fragmented even, between entertainment (yūgei 遊芸) and scholarship (gakumon 学問), a new field took on an independent existence, one in which the soul of a nation lived and grew stronger, through the art of language, over the course of its history. We have already seen several accounts of this emancipation, relativization and nationalisation of literature through the analyses presented in this paper, in particular from Ōnishi and Ōgai. They appear to have reached a peak in 1890 in such pioneering and analogous endeavours as Nihon bungakushi 日本文学史 (History of Japanese Literature) by Mikami Sanji 三上参 次 (1865-1939) and Takatsu Kuwasaburō 高津鍬三郎 (1864-1921), Kokubungaku tokuhon 国文学読本 (National Literature Reader) by Haga Yaichi 芳賀矢一 (1867-1927) and Tachibana Sensaburō 立花銑三郎 (1867-1901), and Kokubungaku 国文学 (National Literature) by Ueda Kazutoshi 上田万年 (1867-1937).96

127 The rise of criticism between 1886 and 1889 is thus no accident, but rather the consequence and embodiment, not to mention the vehicle, of other changes, implemented with varying speed and at different moments, but which converged during this period to give rise to the founding texts of Sohō, Hanpō, Ōnishi and Ōgai.

128 From criticism as a spur (Hanpō) to criticism that sorts, separates and clarifies (Ōgai), not to mention criticism as a gardener preparing the ground for the future (Ōnishi), in the three-year period between 1886 and 1889 we can clearly see a new discourse

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emerge, within its own specific conceptual framework, and acquire legitimacy and independence alongside creation. However, at the same time, different inflexions resonate in the work of these three authors. And it is this that is most remarkable in the history of the previous century: the growth of critical discourse in contemporary Japan has enabled the emergence of a variety of unique voices and provided a place for many important figures to work and gain recognition for their writing. It is of course impossible to name them here, even briefly. Perhaps it should merely be pointed out that after Natsume Sōseki’s magnificent farewell to criticism in his two-part work Bungakuron 文学論 (1907) and Bungaku hyōron 文学評論 (1909), key figures such as Takayama Chogyū 高山樗牛 (1871-1902), Shimamura Hōgetsu 島村抱月 (1871-1918) and Masamune Hakuchô 正宗白鳥 (1879-1962) made a name for themselves at the beginning of the twentieth century.

129 However, if only one name could be retained amongst a myriad of others, it would of course be Kobayashi Hideo 小林秀雄 (1902-1983), whose entire oeuvre was dedicated to criticism.97 And if only one moment could be seized, in a controversy-laden twentieth century, it would no doubt be the post-war period. Indeed, in January 1946, in a ruined Japan in which everything was in short supply, starting with the most basic means of subsistence, men in the prime of their lives found nothing better to do than to bring to fruition – without further ado – an idea conceived in the autumn of 1945, just weeks before Japan surrendered: found a journal of literary criticism. Its name was Kindai bungaku 近代文学 (Modern Literature) and its seven founders were Honda Shūgo 本多 秋五 (born in 1908), Hirano Ken 平野謙 (1907-1978), Yamamuro Shizuka 山室静 (1906-2000), Haniya Yutaka 埴谷雄高 (1909-1997), Ara Masahito 荒正人 (1913-1979), Sasaki Kiichi 佐々木基一 (1914-1993) and Odagiri Hideo 小田切秀雄 (1916-2000).

130 Along with dozens of others – including Karaki Junzō 唐木順三 (1904-1980), Kuwabara Takeo 桑原武夫 (1904-1988), Itō Sei 伊藤整 (1905-1969), Takeuchi Yoshimi 竹内好 (1910-1977), Nakamura Mitsuo 中村光夫 (1911-1988), Takeda Taijun 武田泰淳 (1912-1976), Yoshida Ken’ichi 吉田健一 (1912-1977), Katō Shūichi 加藤周一 (born in 1919), Saeki Shōichi 佐伯彰一 (born in 1922), Maruya Saiichi 丸谷才一 (born in 1925), Yoshimoto Takaaki 吉本隆明 (born in 1924), Shinoda Hajime 篠田一士 (1927-1989), Etō Jun 江藤淳 (1933-1999), and Hasumi Shigehiko 蓮実重彦 (born in 1936) – they would embody over the next fifty years a certain permanence, an importance, a kind of necessity in Japanese intellectual life of a discourse that essentially grew from a critical reflection on literature and subsequently spread to every sphere of society.

131 Is this age over? In April 2000, after nine years of existence, the final issue of the quarterly journal Hihyō kūkan 批評空間, founded by Karatani Kōjin 柄谷行人 (born in 1941) and Asada Akira 浅田彰 (born in 1957), two of the most prominent intellectuals of the late twentieth century, went to press. The journal was intended to provide a critical space, as indicated by the subheading Critical Space, and the Japanese equivalents provided by Asada: kikiteki 危機的, rinkaiteki 臨界的.98 In fact, in April 1991 the first issue opened with a round-table discussion of “Problems Relating to Meiji Criticism” (Meiji hihyō no sho-mondai 明治批評の諸問題).99 Thus we seem to have come full circle. But history is cunning, and no doubt we have not heard the last of criticism.

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NOTES

1. One of the initial stimuli behind this paper was an essay by Komori Yōichi 小森陽一, “Kindai hihyō no shuppatsu” 近代批評の出発 (The Departure of Modern Criticism), Hihyō kūkan 批評空 間, no. 1 (“Meiji Nihon no hihyō” 明治日本の批評), Fukutake shoten, February 1991, pp. 69-84. It initially existed in the form of presentations given at the interdisciplinary seminar “Social Science in Japan: Past and Future” (Sciences sociales au Japon: héritages et perspectives) organised by EHESS, CNRS, Inalco and Paris 7 University, and coordinated by Annick Horiuchi and Patrick Beillevaire, on 1 April 1999; and the doctoral seminar “Meiji Texts” (Textes de Meiji) which I run at the Inalco Centre for Japanese Studies alongside Jean-Jacques Origas and Christophe Marquet, in December 1999 and January 2000. I would like to take this opportunity to thank Messrs Origas and Marquet for their time and suggestions, as well as the seminar’s regular participants Jean Guillamaud, Yamashiro Yuka, Kawamura Hatsuho, Doi Yōko, Sylvain Chollet and Gérald Peloux. Special thanks go to Yoshida Akemi for her particularly instructive comments on a first draft of this paper. 2. Quoted by Komori Yōichi, op. cit., p. 72. 3. For an overview, see the following anthologies: Meiji geijutsu/bungaku ronshū 明治芸術・文学 論集, compiled by Hijikata Teiichi 土方定一, “Meiji bungaku zenshū“ collection, book 79, Chikuma shobō, 1975; Kindai hyōronshū 近代評論集, vol. I, compiled and annotated by Kawazoe Kunimoto 川副国基, and vol. II, compiled by Tanaka Yasutaka 田中保隆, ”Nihon kindai bungaku taikei“ collection 日本近代文学大系, books 57 and 58, Kadokawa shoten, 1972; Meiji-ki 明治期, vol. I, II and III, compiled respectively by Yoshida Seiichi 吉田精一 and Asai Kiyoshi 浅井清, Inagaki Tatsurō 稲垣達郎 and Satō Masaru 佐藤勝, and Yoshida Seiichi and Wada Kingo 和田謹 吾, “Kindai bungaku hyōron taikei“ collection 近代文学評論大系, books 1, 2 and 3, Kadokawa shoten, 1971-1972. 4. I could have added “Hihyō no hyōjun” 批評の標準 (The Norms of Criticism) by Tsubouchi Shōyō, published in Chūō gakujutsu zasshi in September 1887. Aside from the aforementioned essay by Komori, the previously quoted first issue of Hihyō kūkan also featured an essay by Noguchi Takehiko 野口武彦, “Kindai Nihon bungaku to ’hihyō’ no hakken” 近代日本文学と「批評」の発見 (Modern Japanese Literature and the Discovery of ’Criticism’), pp. 6-26; as well as a round-table discussion on “Meiji hihyō no sho-mondai” 明治批 評の諸問題 (Issues Relating to Meiji-Era Criticism), with Asada Akira 浅田彰, Karatani Kōjin 柄谷 行人, Hasumi Shigehiko 蓮実重彦 and Miura Masashi 三浦雅士, pp. 27-68. 5. Quoted by Komori Yōichi, op. cit., p. 70. 6. I am extremely grateful to Mr Jean Guillamaud for having brought this text to my attention; the quote is taken from Roka zenshū 蘆花全集, Shinchōsha, 1928, vol. 10, p. 161. 7. The characters “hō 朋” and “yū 友” have a similar meaning (“friend”). 8. Based on Yamamuro Shin’ichi 山室信一, “Kokumin kokka keiseiki no genron to media” 国民形 成期の言論とメディア (Public Opinion and the Media during the Formative Period of the Nation-State), postscript from the volume Genron to media 言論とメディア, “Nihon kindai shisō taikei” 日本近代思想大系 collection, book 11, Iwanami shoten, 1990, p. 498. For the Edo period, see Peter Kornicki, The Book in Japan, Leiden, Brill, 1998, p. 140. 9. There is a facsimile collection of catalogues and new publication lists from the Meiji era: Nihon shoseki bunrui sō-mokuroku 日本書籍分類総目録, vols 1-7, Nihon tosho sentā, 1985. 10. Letterpress printing, which had been used in Japan on several occasions in the past, was reintroduced in around 1870, initially to print newspapers. It became widespread in around 1877. Kōno Kensuke 紅野謙介 (Shomotsu no kindai 書物の近代, Chikuma shobō, 1992, p. 23) cites the example of Saikoku risshi-hen 西国立志編 (a translation of Self-Help by Samuel Smiles), which was

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first published in 1870-1871 as eleven xylographed paperback fascicules, then in 1877 as a single 764-page printed volume bound at the spine. According to Kōno this process spread to fictional works in around 1882. See also P. Kornicki, op. cit., pp. 163-166. 11. For example, Maruzen shōsha 丸善商社, founded in 1869 by Hayashi Yūteki 早矢仕有的 (1837-1901), which specialised in disseminating western learning; Kinkō-dō 金港堂, founded in 1875, which focused on publishing textbooks and reference books; Yūshi-kaku 有史閣, founded in 1877, which devoted itself to publishing scientific works; and Shun’yō-dō 春陽堂, founded in 1878 by Wada Tokutarō 和田篤太郎 (1857-1899), which chiefly published literary works. 12. His first undertaking was an enlightening one, involving the creation of the monthly periodical Nihon ronshū 日本大家論集 (Essays by Eminent Japanese Writers), which went into publication in October 1887. This periodical included a collection of essays by leading figures. Ōhashi had “borrowed” these texts from high quality contemporary journals. While the journal’s intellectual credentials could not be faulted, on the contrary! the problem was that the novice publisher had taken advantage of a legal loophole to use these texts without permission and without paying copyright. 13. Its founder’s lack of scruples earned the company the nickname “Akubunkan” 悪文館 (aku 悪 meaning “evil”), despite its real name seemingly being derived from a passage in The Analects (Lun’yu 論語, VI), by Kongzi 孔子, in which it says “bo xue wu wen” 博学於文 (hiroku bun ni manabite 博く文に学びて in Japanese), meaning “to open the mind through literature”, “to widen one’s knowledge”, or to “widen one’s knowledge through texts”. 14. My figures are based on the “Chronology of Meiji Journals” (Meiji zasshi nenpyō 明治雑誌年 表) published in the appendix of Zasshi 雑誌, volume 18 of the series “Meiji bunka zenshū” 明治 文化全集, edited by Yoshino Sakuzō 吉野作造 (1878-1923), and published by Meiji bunka kenkyūkai 明治文化研究会, Nihon hyōronsha 日本評論社, 1927 (reprinted 1955-1956). 15. Titles that ceased publication must of course also be taken into account. Meiroku zasshi, for example, ran for just three years. 16. Based on Hiraoka Toshio 平岡敏郎, “Kokumin no tomo”, Nihon kindai bungaku daijiten 日本近代 文学大事典, vol. 5 (Shinbun - zasshi), Kōdansha, 1977, p. 111. 17. I would like to thank Yamashiro Yuka for having brought to my attention this unjustly forgotten publication, which I have quoted based on photocopies of the original she sent to me. 18. As was the case for an opuscule published by Sohō two years earlier: Shōrai no Nihon 将来之日 本 (The Future Japan), about which Miyazaki wrote: In the middle of Meiji 19 (1886), Keizai zasshi-sha published an opuscule entitled Shōrai no Nihon, which was well received in the press and consequently was immediately reprinted once, twice, exciting the passions of students from virtually the entire country. He then added: hortly after wondering what the editorial vision of Kokumin no tomo was, the first issue came out, was reprinted and praised by newspapers from around the entire country. 19. Based on Christiane Séguy, Histoire de la presse japonaise (History of the Japanese Press), POF, 1993, pp. 213-219. 20. See for example Christian Galan, « Le paysage scolaire à la veille de la Restauration de Meiji – Écoles et manuels » (Japan’s Educational Landscape on the Eve of the Meiji Restoration: Schools and Textbooks), Ebisu – Études japonaises, no. 17, spring-summer 1998, pp. 5-48. 21. These figures come from Nihon no kyōiku hyakunen 日本の教育百年, Monbushō, 1972, appendices. 22. Although these disappeared shortly after, before reappearing a little later on: the Liberal Party (Jiyūtō 自由党) was founded in 1881, and the Constitutional Reform Party (Rikken kaishintō 立憲改進党) in 1882. 23. For further information on this subject see Philippe Chemouilli, Les épidémies de choléra et la mise en place d’un appareil moderne de santé publique dans le Japon de Meiji (Cholera Epidemics and

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the Creation of a Modern Public Health System in Meiji Japan), unpublished master’s thesis, supervised by P.-F. Souyri, Inalco, 2000. 24. The name Fukumoto Nichinan 福本日南 (1857-1921) must be added. Note that the journal’s contributors included Hasegawa Tatsunosuke 長谷川辰之助, alias Futabatei Shimei. For more information on all of these figures see Kenneth B. Pyle, The New Generation in Meiji Japan – Problems of Cultural Identity, 1885-1895, Stanford University Press, 1969. 25. See Jürgen Habermas, L’Espace public, translated from German by Marc B. de Launay, Payot, 1993 (original: Strukturwandel der Öffentlichkeit, 1962; translated into English by Thomas Burger as The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere, MIT Press, 1991). 26. One will remember of course the analyses of Benedict Anderson on the links between the emergence of print and the rapid growth of nationalism in Imagined Communities, 1983 (translated into French as L’Imaginaire national, La Découverte, 1996, p. 45, 50, 54-57). 27. Moshio-gusa usually refers to seaweed that is harvested (kakiatsumeru 掻き集める) in order to extract salt, a metaphorical image used since the Heian period to represent the act of collecting written texts (kakiatsumeru 書き集める). 28. The history of the introduction of statistics to Japan - the consequences of which can easily be imagined - would need to be written to provide a more comprehensive, but more abstract, picture of Japan’s national unity. The term tōkei 統計 is said to have appeared in around 1882-1883. It is interesting to note, for example, that from February to August 1889, Ōgai led an extremely fierce debate in his journal Tōkyō iji shinshi on the appropriate way to understand public health statistics. 29. During the Meiji era journals existed that were composed entirely of texts written by readers, but these are another matter. 30. An impressive list of all these famous external contributors can be found in the entry “Kokumin no tomo” in Nihon kindai bungaku daijiten 日本近代文学大事典, vol. 5, Kōdansha, 1977, pp. 111-112. 31. One need only read the Heike Monogatari! For further information on this subject see Claire- Akiko Brisset, “Le nom dans l’épopée – Aspects du Heike monogatari” (The Name in the Epic – Aspects of the Tale of the Heike), Cipango, no 8, 1999, p. 119-158. 32. Kawaraban were short-lived news sheets printed at irregular intervals to cover specific events; hyōbanki were publications that ranked the fame of prominent individuals in a specific arena of popular culture (theatre or pleasure quarters, for example); banzuke were a kind of chart ranking talented individuals in a particular entertainment sector (sumō or satirical poetry for example). 33. Kōno Kensuke, op. cit., pp. 129-154 34. This was the name of a section in Nipponjin reserved for readers’ texts. 35. The Yangtze River (Yangzi-jiang 揚子江), or Blue River. 36. Proof can be found on the website for the bookstore Kinokuniya 紀伊国屋 (bookweb.kinokuniya.co.jp), where the section “hyōron” includes works that belong strictly to what we know as literary criticism, while the section “hihyō” contains works that extend more generally to the “vanguard” of intellectual life (somewhat like in the journal Critique, founded by Georges Bataille). 37. In Hyakugaku renkan 百学連環 (The Links between all Sciences, lectures given between 1870-1872), Nishi Amane suggested “kansaijutsu” 鑑裁術 (literally “the art of assessing and judging”) as being the equivalent of the English word “criticisme”. 38. The reading “jikihitsu” exists for this compound word which at the time designated a text written by oneself as opposed to one written by a ghostwriter (daihitsu 代筆). 39. Based on Nakajima Kunihiko 中島国彦, “Shuppan geppyō”, Nihon kindai bungaku daijiten 日本近 代文学大事典, vol. 5 (Shinbun - zasshi), Kōdansha, 1977, p. 159. Additionally, see the text by Takada Hanpō, infra, p. 360.

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40. Quoted by Gérard Delfau and Anne Roche, Histoire Littérature (History and Literature), Seuil, 1977, p. 42. 41. Komori Yōichi, “Kindai hihyō no shuppatsu”, op. cit., p. 71. 42. Based on Baudelaire, critique d’art (Baudelaire: Art Critic), Gallimard, Folio, 1992, p. 344. English translation taken from Jonathan Mayne (ed). The Painter of Modern Life and Other Essays. London, Phaidon Press, 1964, p. 1. 43. Interestingly, the well-known journal Chūū kōron 中央公論 (Forum) - literally “public opinion of the centre” – which was given this name in 1899, was the result of a restructuring of Hansei-kai zasshi 反省会雑誌 (Journal of the Self-Examination Society), founded in the Buddhist circles of Kyoto by, among others, the future Takakuzu Junjirō 高楠順次郎 (1866-1945) in… 1887! 44. Fukuō jiden 福翁自伝 (The Autobiography of Old Fukuzawa), ch. “Yōroppa kakkoku ni iku” ヨーロッパ各国に行く (In the Countries of Europe), Iwanami bunko, 1978 (1st ed. 1899), p. 133, French translation by Jean-Noël Robert, published in Quand le Japon s’ouvrit au monde (The Opening up of Japan to the World) by Keiko Omoto and Francis Marcouin, Gallimard, « Découvertes » imprint, 1990, p. 122. This was also one of the aspects of Western civilisation that most left its mark on Fukuzawa. Gakumon no susume 学問のすすめ (An Encouragement to Learning, 1872-1876) could thus be read as an attempt to describe and encourage the conditions necessary for a public sphere in which the contradictory diversity of opinions and points of view would draw on the autonomy of each educated and thoughtful individual. Furthermore, more periodically, Fukuzawa’s efforts to promote public speaking (enzetsu 演説) can be interpreted in this way (see for example Gakumon no susume, volume 12). In the foreword of his Complete Works (1898) he spoke of the need to “clearly express what one is thinking to a large number of people” (自分の思ふことを明らかに大勢の人に向て述ること) (quoted from Komori Yōichi 小森陽一, Nihongo no kindai 日本語の近代, Iwanami shoten, 2000, p. 32). 45. Reprinted in 1887 with the title Shin Nihon no seinen 新日本之青年 (The Youth of the New Japan). 46. It should be pointed out, however, that in the latter half of his life Sohō devoted himself to a monumental historical work, Kinsei Nihon kokuminshi 近世日本国民史 (The History of the Japanese People in the Early Modern Era, 1918-1962). 47. Oyamada was particularly famous for his work as a scholar, booklover and collector: his private library, Yōshorō 擁書楼, was one of the largest collections in the Edo period (see Okamura Keiji 岡村敬二, Edo jidai no zōshoka tachi 江戸時代の蔵書家たち, Kōdansha, 1996, pp. 8-77). 48. It is said that Hanpō’s philosophy on journalism can be summed up by the following aphorism: “Always be one step ahead of society, never two” (shakai yori ippo sakinzubeshi, niho wa sakinzubekarazu 社会より一歩先んずべし、二歩は先んずべからず), quoted by Inagaki Tatsurô 稲垣達郎, “Takada Hanpō”, Nihon kindai bungaku daijiten 日本近代文学大事典, vol. 2, Kōdansha, 1977, p. 273. 49. Becoming an object of criticism was both a sign and an instrument of the revolution in the novel. This is why rather than opposing the novel and criticism, their simultaneous emergence must be considered intrinsically necessary. 50. Quoted from Kindai hyōronshū, “Nihon kindai bungaku taikei” collection, vol. 57, Kadokawa shoten, op. cit., pp. 50-65. 51. Based on N. Chapuis, « Shihua », Dictionnaire universel des littératures (Universal Dictionary of Literatures), PUF, 1994, p. 3513. 52. Quote taken from Kindai hyōronshū, “Nihon kindai bungaku taikei” collection, vol. 57, Kadokawa shoten, op. cit., p. 51. When creating the newspaper Jiji shinpō 時事新報 in 1882, Fukuzawa gave it the moto “dokuritsu fuki” 独立不羈 (autonomy and independence) and announced a principle of neutrality and impartiality (fuhen futō 不偏不党). 53. Quoted by Komori Yōichi, “Kindai hihyō no shuppatsu” op. cit., p. 73.

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54. Komori (ibid.) provides a particularly striking example of the ferocity with which Shuppan geppyō denounced the plagiarism (hyōsetsu 剽窃) shamelessly committed by certain journals of the period. 55. And much ingratitude when one considers how much his prose owes to Chinese rhetoric! 56. Although this echoes the expression “mibun wo tsukusu” 身分を尽くす (to carry out the duties associated with one’s status) – which characterised the official moral code of the Edo period –, we must take stock of the change this represented: that each individual had a task to fulfil, whatever his station, did not mean that he was intrinsically a prisoner of his condition. 57. As was fruitfully suggested to me by Jean-Jacques Origas at the “Meiji Texts” seminar. 58. On the subject of Shintō purification, see also, for example, François Macé’s essay in the spring 2002 special issue of Cipango, Spring 2002, p. 7 et seqq. 59. Ōgai zenshū 鴎外全集, vol. 25, Iwanami shoten, 1973, p. 123. Gérard Delfau and Anne Roche wrote the following with regards the period 1866-1870 (op. cit., p. 44): “Criticism truly gained acceptance […] and became a necessary profession that was complementary to the boom in printed matter from 1830”. 60. This would not take place until 1890. On this subject see my paper Recherches sur la formation d’une littérature nationale dans le Japon des années 1880-1890 – Genèse d’une histoire, définitions d’un corpus (Research on the Development of a National Literature in Japan between 1880-1890: Genesis of a History, Definitions of a Corpus), unpublished typescript, Inalco, January 2000. See also my book Littérature et Génie national (Literature and National Genius), Paris, Les Belles Lettres, 2005. 61. And in particular in Rikugō zasshi 六合雑誌 (The Cosmos), founded in 1880 by Kozaki Hiromichi 小崎弘道 (1856-1938) and Uemura Masahisa 植村正久 (1858-1925). 62. He was one of many young authors struck down before their fortieth birthdays between 1894 and 1908: Kitamura Tōkoku (1868-1894), Nakano Shōyō (1867-1894), Higuchi Ichiyō (1872-1896), Masaoka Shiki (1867-1902) and Kunikida Doppo (1871-1908). 63. Quoted from Shinchō Nihon bungaku jiten 新潮日本文学辞典, Shinchōsha, 1988, p. 190. 64. Quoted from Meiji geijutsu/bungaku ronshū, “Meiji bungaku zenshū” collection, vol. 79, op. cit., pp. 165-169; and Kindai hyōronshū, “Nihon kindai bungaku taikei” collection, vol. 57, Kadokawa shoten, op. cit., pp. 75-84. 65. Thomas Babington Macaulay (1800-1859). 66. This is not always the case in the rest of his text, despite its enticing plan: “Sōsaku to hihyō” 創作と批評 (Creation and Criticism), “Hihyō no shokubun” 批評の職分 (The Duty of Criticism), “Hihyō no han’i” 批評の範囲 (The Scope of Criticism), “Nani wo hihyō subeki ka” 何を批評すべ き乎 (What should be Criticised?), “Waga kuni no shisōkai” 我国の思想界 (The World of Thought in Our Country), “Hihyō wo yō suru mono” 批評を要する者 (What Must be Criticised). 67. And let us remember that Ōnishi published his essay on criticism in Sohō’s journal. 68. This pen name was mainly used by Ōgai between 1889 and 1893. For more information, see my opuscule Les Tourments du nom – Essai sur les signatures d’Ôgai Mori Rintarô (Na no wazurai – Ôgai Mori Rintarô no shomei ni tsuite 名のわづらひ 鴎外森林太郎の署名について) (Torments of the Name: Essay on the Signatures of Ōgai Mori Rintarō), Maison franco-japonaise, 1994. 69. Quoted from Ōgai zenshū, vol. 25, op. cit., pp. 124-125. Ōgai continued: In its heyday, the name Ōgai was dragged into a maelstrom of criticism and praise, and this brought me an artificial and illusory joy, earning me the mistrust of the academic and bureaucratic world (Ibid., p. 125). 70. Ibid., p. 122. 71. By omitting the first part. 72. Priced at 7 sen, this monthly journal measured 15.2 × 21.8. It contained approximately 50 or 60 pages per issue, sometimes a little more. It is said to have had a circulation of 2,000 copies at best.

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73. Ōgai zenshū, vol. 25, op. cit., p. 125. 74. Often referred to by the initials “S.S.S.”. 75. According to Ōgai’s recollections, these royalties amounted to 50 yen (“Shigarami zōshi no koro”「柵草紙」のころ, 1913, Ōgai zenshū, op. cit., vol. 38, p. 282). 76. He shares with Ichimura the characteristic of having studied at the Koten kōshūka 古典講習 科 (Classics Department) at the Imperial University. 77. He was also an adviser to the imperial court and, incidentally, the older brother of Yanagita Kunio. 78. According to “Shigarami zōshi no koro”, op. cit., p. 282. 79. See page 4 of this paper. 80. “Seigaku no tōzen suru ya, hajime sono mono wo tsutaete sono kokoro wo tsutaezu” 西学の 東漸するや、初その物を伝へてその心を伝へず. In many respects this phrase startlingly echoes the beginning of the short preface to Seiyō jijō 西洋事情 (Conditions in the West, 1866-1870) by Fukuzawa Yukichi: “Yōseki no waga kuni ni hakurai suru ya hi sude ni hisashi” 洋籍の 我邦に舶来するや日既に久し (Western works arrived in our country long ago), as was pointed out to me by Jean-Jacques Origas. 81. Quoted from Ōgai zenshū, op. cit., vol. 22, pp. 27-28 (this text is the version reprinted in 1896 in Tsukigusa. It varies slightly from the one published in Shigarami zōshi). 82. Unless Ōgai is referring to the period encompassing the end of the bakufu, which is less likely. 83. French translation by E. Lozerand, in Cent ans de pensée au Japon (A Hundred Years of Japanese Thought), edited by Yves-Marie Allioux, Picquier, 1996, volume 1, p. 117-126. 84. A concrete analysis of the journal is clearly necessary in order to compare it with his initial intentions. Let us simply state that although it was an essential vehicle for Ōgai’s prolific activity between 1889 and 1892, it did not contain such a high number of critiques but also included stories, poems, translations and literary history. 85. Ōgai zenshū, vol. 22, op. cit., p. 89. 86. The two characters that form the term “junjō” are highly significant. “Jun” 準 refers to a measuring rod (mizumori 水盛) used to sound or probe a recipient or reservoir; “jō” 縄 refers to the string of an instrument (suminawa 墨縄) used to draw straight lines. 87. Not least among the standards that were implemented during this period was the Constitution in 1889! 88. Quoted from Ōgai zenshū, op. cit., vol. 22, p. 28. 89. Before admitting his disillusion a few years later in Mōzō 妄想 (Daydreams), in 1911. 90. The best illustration of this triumph of aesthetics and its “norms” (hyōjun 標準) is no doubt provided in this passage from Haikai taiyō 俳諧大要 (The Elements of Haikai) by Masaoka Shiki – who had studied philosophy! – in 1895 Haiku is part of literature. Literature is part of art (bijutsu). Therefore the norms of beauty (bi) are also those of literature. In other words, whether in painting, sculpture, literature, theatre, poetry or the novel, criticism must be based on shared norms. 俳句は文学の一部なり。文学は美術の一部なり。故に美の標準は文学の標準なり。即ち絵 画も彫刻も文学も演劇も詩歌小説も皆同一の標準を以て論評し得べし。 91. On his short stories Maihime and Utakata no ki, on rhyme, theatre and language reform, for example. 92. « L’affirmation de soi, l’oubli de soi – Création artistique et réflexion chez Masaoka Shiki » (Self-Affirmation and Self-Effacement - Artistic Creation and Reflection in Masaoka Shiki), Cipango, special issue entitled « Mélanges offerts à René Sieffert » (Miscellanies for René Sieffert), June 1994, p. 23. 93. Also worthy of mention is the posthumous work by Fujioka Sakutarō 藤岡作太郎 (1870-1910), Nihon hyōronshi 日本評論史 (The History of Japanese Criticism, 1911).

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94. It includes, for example, severe criticism of the great master of the preceding generation, Saikaku 西鶴. 95. I am extremely grateful to Yoshida Akemi from the “Meiji Texts” seminar for providing me with this reference. 96. On this subject, see my paper Recherches sur la formation d’une littérature nationale dans le Japon des années 1880-1890, op. cit. 97. See Ninomiya Masayuki, La Pensée de Kobayashi Hideo – Un intellectuel japonais au tournant de l’histoire (The Thought of Kobayashi Hideo - A Japanese Intellectual at a Turning Point in History), Geneva/Paris, Librairie Droz, « Hautes études orientales » (Advanced Oriental Studies) collection, II-30, 1995. 98. “Henshū kōki” 編集後記, p. 258. 99. An initial series of 12 issues was published by Fukutake shoten 福武書店 from April 1991 to January 1994, followed by a second series of 25 issues published from April 1994 to April 2000 by Ōta shuppan 太田出版.

ABSTRACTS

The rapid development of Japanese press during the twenty first years of the Meji era led to the appearance of a new type of writings: book reviews and criticism. This article tries to explain the sudden appearance between 1886 and 1889 of an interpretive discourse in Japan. It argues that the rise of criticism is no accident, but rather the consequence and embodiment of other changes, implemented with varying speed and at different moments, but which converged during this period to give rise to the founding texts of Tokutomi Sohō, Takada Hanpō, Ōnishi Hajime and Mori Ōgai.

Le développement rapide de la presse japonaise durant les vingt premières années de l’ère Meiji entraîna l’apparition d’un nouveau type d’écrits : le compte rendu d’ouvrage et la critique. Cet article tente d’expliquer la soudaine apparition d’un discours interprétatif entre 1886 et 1889 au Japon. Il explique que l’avènement de la critique n’est pas un accident, mais plutôt la conséquence et l’incarnation d’autres mutations effectuées à des rythmes différents depuis des moments différents, mais qui convergent en ces quelques années pour donner naissance aux textes fondateurs de Tokutomi Sohō, Takada Hanpō, Ōnishi Hajime et Mori Ōgai.

INDEX

Keywords: modern Japan, modern literature, Meiji era, press history, literary criticism, Kokumin no tomo, Tokutomi Sohō (1863-1957), Takada Hanpō (1860-1938), Ōnishi Hajime (1864-1900), Mori Ōgai (1862-1922) Chronological index: Meiji Mots-clés: Japon moderne, littérature moderne, histoire de la presse, Kokumin no tomo, Tokutomi Sohō (1853-1957), Takada Hanpō (1860-1938), Ōnishi Hajime (1864-1900), Mori Ōgai (1862-1922)

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AUTHOR

EMMANUEL LOZERAND Centre d’études japonaises, Inalco

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Varia

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Male? Female? Gender confusion in classical poetry (waka)

Michel Vieillard-Baron

NOTE DE L’ÉDITEUR

Original release: Michel Vieillard-Baron, « Homme ? Femme ? La confusion des genres (gender) dans la poésie classique (waka) », Cipango — Cahiers d’études japonaises, no 14, 2007, p. 7-44.

1 The Man’yōshū 万葉集, the oldest surviving anthology of Japanese poetry (completed in around 759), includes the following poem (book 4, no. 499):

Momohe ni mo He could come Kishikanukamo to one hundred times or more, Omohekamo so I think! Kimi ga tsukai no Your messenger, never Miredo akazaramu will I tire of seeing him

2 This poem concludes a series of four pieces attributed to Kakinomoto no Hitomaro 柿本 人麻呂 (?-710): the first three lament the poet’s sadness at being separated from his wife; the fourth (quoted above) adopts the point of view of the wife impatiently awaiting news of her husband. An annotated edition of this anthology published in 1971 stated that: “This poem was no doubt composed by Kakinomoto no Hitomaro’s wife”.1 However, a more recent edition2 acknowledged that the poem was in fact written by the great poet himself, undoubtedly making it one of the oldest examples of a “transvestite poem”, in other words a poem that intentionally adopts the point of view of a person of the opposite sex, a mode of composition which, as we shall see, enjoyed a certain success in the poetic tradition of classical Japan. As the above example illustrates, a “gender confusion” sometimes arises in the mind of the reader – or

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commentator – who, sensing a discrepancy between the author’s sex and the poem’s gender, hesitates, wavers, and no longer knows to whom attribute authorship.

3 The aim of this paper is to raise the thorny issue of sexual identification in literature. This issue can be approached from various angles. One could ask, for example, “Is there a difference between literature written by men and that written by women?” Or, “Why is it that we can now use the term ‘women’s literature’, yet no one would think to speak of ‘men’s literature’?”3 Or even, “What constitutes the ‘feminine’ and, by contrast, the ‘masculine’ in literature?” Clearly this is a complex issue with multiple ramifications. In order to examine the subject in a concrete – and if possible effective – manner, the exact scope of the study and method used must be specified. Rather than adopting the usual method of analysing works written by women in order to identify invariable features supposedly peculiar to women’s writing, I preferred a comparative approach. Accordingly, my aim is to analyse works (poems) written by women from a man’s perspective, and poems written by men from a woman’s perspective; only those poems with clearly identified authors will be used, which immediately excludes all anonymous works. I will begin by examining these poems to ascertain if gender identification is possible in waka and if so, at what level. I will strive to define the internal (vocabulary, situation described) and external (authorship, notes indicating the context of composition) elements involved in identifying the gender of a poem.

4 The subject of this paper is therefore the waka 和歌 or “Japanese poem”, also known as a tanka 短歌 or “short poem”, a quintain containing 31 syllables, the writing of which was both the most commonplace and the most prestigious activity in classical Japan. Every kind of event, the sending of a love letter or a letter of condolence for example, entailed the writing of waka; similarly, various occasions – some of them extremely formal – attached great importance to the writing and presentation of these poems. Accordingly, waka were composed to grace the panels of folding screens, and poetry contests, or utaawase 歌合, were commissioned by high-ranking individuals.

5 It is important at this point to define the historical scope of my research: waka, a genre of poem that continues to be composed today, can be found as far back as one goes in the history of Japanese literature (the oldest extant works date from the early eighth century but there is evidence of poems from the seventh). Within the waka’s over one- thousand-year-old history, I will focus on a four-century period spanning the beginning of the tenth century to the end of the thirteenth. This period, which includes the Heian era (794-1192), was a golden age for waka composition: eight anthologies were compiled on imperial order, including the two most prestigious collections, the Kokin Wakashū 古 今和歌集, or Collection of Ancient and Modern Poems (completed in around 905), and the Shinkokin Wakashū 新古今和歌集, or New Collection of Ancient and Modern Poems (officially completed in 1205). Before proceeding to the heart of the subject, I should explain that the second objective of this paper is to respond to the application of theories developed within gender studies (translated into French as “gender identity research” [recherches sur les identités sexuelles], “gender research” [étude sur le genre] or “research on expressions of gender” [étude(s) des expressions du genre])4 to the field of classical Japanese literature. Gender studies grew out of the feminist movements of the 1960s, but they only became established in the United States in the 1990s, thanks in particular to the work of the philosopher Judith Butler, considered to be the movement’s main theorist.5 While “essentialist” feminists argue that the differences between men and women are derived from their very essence, and accordingly that there is no need to

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distinguish sex from gender, for “constructionist” feminists – who include gender studies advocates – gender and biological sex are two different things:6 biological sex is innate, whereas gender is a purely social construct, the result of a person’s upbringing and cultural environment.7 To quote Françoise Héritier, “gender is something assigned to the mind, then reproduced socially and culturally […], it relies on conceptual and symbolic constructs that, while extremely archaic, still exist.”8

6 Although the theorisation of “constructionism” is relatively recent, its conception dates back much further; it appears in embryonic form in the works of Simone de Beauvoir9 and apparently owes much to French feminists (in particular Julia Kristeva, Luce Irigaray, Monique Wittig and Hélène Cixous), as well as to the philosopher Michel Foucault10 (oddly, despite its importance, the work of anthropologist Françoise Héritier is barely taken into account).11 Judith Butler considers gender to be “performative”, in other words constituted through a sustained set of acts which she describes as “repetition” and “ritual”;12 it is also normative – it constitutes a norm – and is dependent on power. For this philosopher, it is about understanding (and denouncing) the norms that define us (heteronormativity, for example) in order to reformulate domination in terms of power.

7 Having taken root in the United States in every discipline of the humanities and social sciences (history, philosophy, sociology, psychoanalysis, anthropology and literature, for example), gender studies has naturally entered the field of Japanese studies and, in my case, research on classical literature. The impression I get through my reading is that the authors (male and female) – with a few rare exceptions – confuse “gender” and “biological sex”, and adopt an essentialist feminist perspective all the while claiming to represent gender studies. Consequently, a caricatured and distorted view of the classical Japanese world is often presented (women are like this and men like that), and the interpretive frameworks applied to texts do not always do them justice. In Japan, the gender approach has been applied – tentatively – to the field of classical literature since around 1995; although borrowings from these theories remain limited and in the minority, the results are generally more convincing – despite the eternal confusion between gender and biological sex – because researchers are writing for a specialist readership who, on the whole, know their literature (and history) reasonably well. Approximations are therefore rarer, though not entirely absent.

8 A review of some historical facts is required in order to understand the issues at stake in this paper. Firstly, it is important to understand that literary production (and poetry composition in particular) during the period in question was strictly limited to the world of the imperial court; only aristocrats and those with links to the court read and produced literature. In the tenth and eleventh centuries aristocrats and officials, along with their families, servants and monks (in other words, all those likely to read literature) numbered at most a few tens of thousands out of Japan’s seven to eight million inhabitants.13 Out of these tens of thousands of people, only a tiny minority – no doubt scarcely more than a few dozen individuals in each generation, men and women combined – were capable of writing literary prose. In principle the social role of waka as a means of communication obliged every courtier to know how to compose them. The reality was no doubt very different and although we are entitled to think that more people were capable of composing poetry than writing a piece of prose, those capable of composing high quality waka, for any occasion, represented a tiny elite who participated in courtly poetry events and could be called on by an individual to

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compose a poem in their stead. Thus, paradoxically, although waka poetry was seen as the most authentic (and most natural) expression of the self, opportunities to write commissioned waka were not rare. I will therefore analyse waka composed in a variety of circumstances: firstly, poems for folding screens (byōbuuta 屏風歌); secondly, poems presented at poetry contests (utaawase); thirdly, poems composed for an anthology entitled “Poems for each Month”, Maigetsushū毎月集; and finally, poems composed on behalf of a third party (daihitsu 代筆 or daisaku 代作).

Poems for folding screens (byōbuuta)

9 Like the majority of literary practices in classical Japan, the composing of poems for folding screens originated in China. Folding screens were one of the main pieces of furniture in palaces and the homes of the aristocracy, serving as both decoration and partitions for dividing space. Originally it was customary for the panels to be decorated with Chinese-style paintings (karae 唐絵) supplemented with calligraphied Chinese poems. The Keikokushū 経国集, or Collection for Ordering the State, a collection of poems and prose pieces written in Japan in the Chinese language and compiled in 827 on the orders of Emperor Junna 淳和天皇, contains four poems designed to grace a landscape painting for the Pure and Cool Palace (Seiryōden 清涼殿), the sovereign's place of residence. This practice was soon adapted to local tastes and it became customary to calligraphy waka on to Japanese-style paintings (yamatoe 大和絵). The oldest surviving example of byōbuuta dates back to between 850 and 858; the poem in question was written by the empress (the wife of Emperor Montoku [827-859; reigned 850-858]), known as Sanjō no Machi 三条町,14 who based it on a folding screen painting of a landscape with waterfall. This poem (no. 903) appears in the Kokin Wakashū, the Collection of Ancient and Modern Poems, the first anthology of waka compiled by imperial edict.15 The history of folding screen poetry thus dates back to the mid-ninth century; this mode of composition, which was closely linked to celebrations (birthdays, for example), peaked during the tenth century before rapidly declining at the beginning of the eleventh.16 Although many of the poems survived, no folding screens from the Heian period were preserved. The only information we have on the paintings comes from the brief headnotes (kotobagaki 詞書) accompanying certain poems and which describe the circumstances in which they were composed.

10 In his Notes on the Draft of the Collection of Gleanings (Shūishō chū 拾遺抄注,17 1183), the poetician Kenshō 顕昭 (ca. 1130, death unknown) describes the ideal folding screen poem: “When a poem celebrates a painting for a folding screen or sliding door, for example, it immediately conveys the feelings (kokoro) of a character featured in the painting.”18 Thus, the role of the folding screen poem is not to comment on or explain the painted image, but rather to offer a new – and original – interpretation by adopting the perspective of a character that appears – or is imagined to appear – in the painting.

11 Let us now examine a series of ten byōbuuta composed by the woman poet Ise 伊勢, who was born in around 874 and died in around 939. Ise entered the palace in 888, aged approximately fifteen, in the service of Fujiwara no Onshi 藤原温子 (or Takako), the future wife of Emperor Uda 宇多天皇. She was soon recognised to be a first class poet, and as such took part in various poetry contests and had poems commissioned: she can therefore be considered the first professional woman poet in waka's history. Twenty- two of her poems are included in the Kokin Wakashū, making her the leading woman

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writer, ahead of Ono no , 小野小町 the anthology's other major female figure. Ise left behind almost 500 waka,19 including several folding screen poems, a mode of composition at which she excelled. Emperor Uda had ordered that [illustrations] from the “Song of Everlasting Sorrow” be painted on a folding screen; [below are the poems] he had [me] compose for certain scenes.

12 The “Song of Everlasting Sorrow” (Changhenge; Chōgonka 長恨歌 in Japanese) is the title of an extremely well known ballad by Bai Juyi白居易 (772-846), the famous Tang poet. This long poem (comprising 120 lines of seven syllables) describes Emperor Xuan Zong's 玄宗皇帝 (685-762) love for his favourite concubine Yang Guifei 楊貴妃 (719-756) and the tragic end to their affair. The emperor's passion for the beautiful Yang Guifei was such that he came to neglect affairs of state. Thus, when the rebellion instigated by An Lushan 安禄山 (?-757) forced the emperor to flee the capital, the army generals commanded that he order Yang Guifei's execution; she was assassinated on the orders of her own lover. The poem describes the emperor's love for his favourite concubine, her death and the immense grief that led him to use a necromancer to seek her in the hereafter.20

13 Ise composed ten waka inspired by this famous poem; five are written from the perspective of Emperor Xuan Zong, five from that of the lovely Yang Guifei. The folding screen itself21 – which sadly has not survived – is mentioned in the chapter “Kiritsubo” 桐壺/ “The Paulownia Pavilion” from the famous Genji Monogatari 源氏物語.22 My reading draws on the headnotes (kotobagaki) that precede the series of ten poems and each set of five poems: [Poems composed] as if written by the Emperor [Xuan Zong]:

14 This indicates that these waka should be read as the words of the emperor, and thus of a man:

No. 5223 Momijiba ni What scatters down Iro mie wakazu with colors indistinguishable Chiru mono ha from the crimson leaves Mono omohu aki no are my tears of sorrow, Namida narikeri longing for you this autumn.

15 In this first poem Ise chose to recount the emperor’s immense sorrow as he cries tears of blood while remembering Yang Guifei. It does not refer to one line of the poem in particular but rather to several. Accordingly, in Bai Juyi’s poem we can read the following: The emperor could only cover his face; he was unable to save her. Looking back, the blood and tears were flowing together. And further on in the Chinese poem: So when he looked at them, how could he help but weep? […] In the autumn rains the wu-t’ung trees shed their leaves in season. The West Palace and the Southern Enclosure were full of autumn grasses, Falling leaves covered the stairs with red, and were not swept away.24

16 Note that Ise’s waka is not a Japanese translation of the Chinese poem, but a transposition of the emperor’s emotions, expressed in first-person narrative, into the waka form. Nothing in the waka, whether its vocabulary or the situation it describes,

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enables the (real) author’s sex to be identified, nor that of the character whose voice Ise adopts in the poem (the emperor).

17 Let us move on to examining the following poem (no. 53):

Kaku bakari Falling this way Otsuru namida no my tears, gathered up, Tsutsumareba would serve as a message Kumo no tayori ni into the realm of clouds, Misemashi mono wo if only I could show them to you.25

18 Once again, Ise does not refer to one particular line of Bai Juyi’s poem but chose to combine two themes: the emperor’s immense sorrow, symbolised by tears, and the figure of the sorcerer sent into the heavens to find Yang Guifei. These images appear in the previously quoted line “So when he looked at them, how could he help but weep?”, and in the lines: “He [the sorcerer] marshalled the clouds and drove ether before him, quick as lightening/Up in the sky, down into the earth, he looked for her everywhere”. 26 Note that the idea of the emperor wanting to show his tears to the deceased came from Ise. Nothing in this waka indicates a particular gender.

19 Let us now examine the third poem (no. 54):

Kaherikite Coming back, Kimi omohoyuru longing for you Hachisuba ni – on the lotus leaves, Namida no tama to just like my tears – Okiwite zo miru I gaze at the dewdrops.27

20 In this waka Ise recounts the moment the emperor returns to the capital after An Lushan’s rebellion has been crushed: everything there reminds him of his love Yang Guifei. Below are Bai Juyi’s moving lines from which Ise took inspiration: When they returned, the pools and parks were as in the olden days, Lotuses from Lake T’ai-yi, and Wei-yang Palace willows. The lotuses were like her face, the willows like her brows, So when he looked at them, how could he help but weep?28 And further on: The wick in his lonely lamp burnt out and yet he [the emperor] would not sleep.29

21 Ise introduces the term wokite into her waka, meaning both the “settling” of dewdrops and “standing up”, the emperor being unable to sleep. Nothing in the original waka indicates a particular gender.

22 Here is the penultimate poem composed as the emperor (no. 55):

Tamasudare Unaware of the dawning day, Akuru mo shirade curtains still drawn, Neshi mono wo together we slept; Yume ni mo miji to And even in my dreams I see you no more. Yume omohiki ya Who could have foreseen it?

23 The first three lines of Ise’s waka allude to the following in Bai Juyi’s ballad: “Within lotus canopies they passed their spring nights in warmth/The spring nights seemed very short, the sun would rise high”.30 The final two lines correspond to: “His thoughts

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were on the distance between life and death, year after year without end/But her spirit would not return, or come to enter his dreams.”31 Sexually this waka is open to any interpretation.

24 And now for the last of the emperor’s poems (no. 56):

Kurenai ni My garden, Harawanu niwa wa that has gone unraked, Narinikeri has turned a crimson hue – Kanashiki koto no sad words of grief ha nomi tsumorite are all that have collected here.32

25 This waka by Ise, which is a simple description, is a variation on the previously quoted lines from Bai Juyi’s ballad: “Falling leaves covered the stairs with red, and were not swept away”;33 it contains nothing to indicate gender.

26 Let us now turn our attention to the poems composed as Yang Guifei:

Poems as the imperial concubine (no. 57): Shirube suru If there were Kumo no fune dani not this cloud-boat Nakariseba to serve as guide, Yo wo umi naka ni who would know of this land amid the sea Tare ka shiramashi where I grow weary with sorrow?34

27 In Bai Juyi’s poem the necromancer sent by the emperor to search for Yang Guifei learns that she is living amongst other immortals on a magical mountain floating in the sea. Ise creates the image of a “cloud-boat” that draws up alongside the island and employs in her waka the expression yo wo umi naka ni, the homophony in which makes two interpretations possible: “to be tired of the world, weary of one’s life [or fate]”35 and “out at sea”. Ise’s waka draws on various lines from Bai Juyi’s poem, including the one previously quoted: “He marshalled the clouds and drove ether before him, quick as lightening”, and the couplet: “Suddenly he heard of a mountain of immortals in the sea/The mountain was in the misty realm of emptiness.”36

28 Nothing in the original enables the gender of the poem to be established.

Poem no. 58: Tsuki mo hi mo When both the month and day Nanuka no yohi no were sevens, that night Chigiri woba we exchanged vows – Kieshi hodo nimo and though that lifetime is no longer, Mata zo wasurenu I still do not forget them.37

29 In this waka Ise alludes to the following passage in Bai Juyi’s poem: “About to part, she charged him further to take these words/In these words was meaning only their two hearts knew:/‘On the seventh day of the seventh month, in the Palace of Long Life/At midnight, with no one else there, we exchanged a secret vow:/That in the heavens we wished to fly, two birds with joined wings’”.38

30 The gender of this waka is open to interpretation as either male or female.

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31 Let us examine the following waka (no. 59):

Kieshi mi ni I am dead already Matamo kenubeshi and the springtime haze Harugasumi will kill me once more; Kasumeru kata wo when I think that the fog Miyako to omoheba bellow conceals the capital

32 In this poem Ise alludes to several lines in Bai Juyi’s ballad: “Since we parted our voices and faces are dim to one another, […] But when I turn my head to gaze down at the mortal world, I can never see Ch’ang-an, but only fog and dust”.39

33 Nothing in the original indicates the poem’s gender.

Poem no. 60: Ki ni mo ohizu Neither uniting our branches Hane mo narabede nor flying side by side Nanishikamo For what reason, Namiji hedatete separated from you by the sea, Kimi wo kikuran have I only messages to hear?

34 Here Yang Guifei bewails the fate that prevents her from meeting the emperor. The two images at the beginning of the poem (united branches and birds flying side by side) recall the famous lines from Bai Juyi’s poem (previously quoted): That in the heavens we wished to fly, two birds with joined wings, And on the earth we wished to grow, two trees with branches entwined.40

35 Since the personal pronoun kimi, the second-person singular in polite language (the equivalent of the French “vous”), can be used by both men and women, there is nothing in this poem to positively establish its gender.

Poem no. 61: Wiru kumo no If these spreading clouds Hito waki mo senu did not separate me Mono naraba from the human realm, Namida wa miwoto then my tears would not flow as they do Nagarezaramashi like an open waterway.41

36 This final poem is a variation on the following lines by Bai Juyi: On her jade face from loneliness the tears trickled down, […]42 Since we parted our voices and faces are dim to one another, […]43 But when I turn my head to gaze down at the mortal world, I can never see Ch’ang-an, but only fog and dust.44

37 The term hito, “the person [I love]”, can refer to either a man or a woman: this poem, therefore, provides no means of positively identifying the gender of its narrator.

38 Ise’s waka are magnificent examples of a popular mode of composition at that time which consisted in taking Chinese verse as the subject of Japanese poems, a practice known as kudai waka 句題和歌.45 In addition to their obvious literary merit (at least in the original), these poems are remarkable for their intertextual references. Using Bai Juyi’s ballad as her inspiration, Ise focused her attention on certain scenes, no doubt

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imposed by the paintings on the folding screens. She remodelled passages, in some ways extracting their essence. Finally, she gave a voice to the emperor and his concubine, whereas the Chinese original is essentially composed of descriptions written using indirect speech. It is interesting to note that Ise’s waka – in the original – contain nothing to indicate gender. It is an external element – the headnotes – that, by indicating that the poems adopt the point of view of the emperor or his concubine, guide our reading and interpretation. These poems also put paid to the still widely held view that women had no knowledge of Chinese. Remember that the majority of women writers during the Heian period belonged to the middle-ranking aristocracy and literary circles. These highly educated women were able to read Chinese (as evidenced by various accounts, in addition to their works themselves),46 and even, in some cases, to write it – although the ideal of integrity forbade them to flaunt this ability and appear to be “erudite”.47 It should also be pointed out that although Chinese was at that time the language of government and official texts, the language written by civil servants had little in common with the literary language (in fact, in most cases it consisted of Japanese written exclusively with Chinese characters). The few men capable of writing literature in Chinese belonged for the most part to families who had made the studying and practicing of this language – the language of erudition – their speciality.48

The poetry contests

39 Although they appeared in the latter half of the ninth century and like folding screen poems were of Chinese origin, the poetry contests known as utaawase enjoyed a much longer history, for they were held more or less regularly until the first half of the fifteenth century.49 These contests pitted two teams (kata 方), known as the Left and the Right, against each other. The waka presented during these competitions were composed on a set theme (dai 題), and either prepared in advance or improvised on the spot. The poems were presented in pairs: one from each of the two opposing teams. In the beginning the participants themselves debated the merit of the poems and decided between the competitors. However, judges (hanja 判者) chosen from among the poets of renown soon took over this role. The team with the highest number of winning poems was declared victorious. These contests played a vital role in the development and advancement of Japanese poetics since, in order to be entered into competition, the poems had to be composed on the same topic and the judge, in order to explain the victory or defeat of a poem, had to justify his decision in a (more or less) objective manner.

40 Starting at the beginning of the twelfth century some of these contests featured extremely precise and complex topics that involved various elements (in fact, they were referred to as “compound topics”, musubidai 結題), including some that required participants to compose their poem from the point of view of one gender or the other. This is evidenced by the example of Ukyō no Daibu 右京大夫 (dates uncertain, ca. 1155-1234), a famous woman poet who, during a contest whose manuscript unfortunately has not survived, was required to compose a poem on the extremely difficult topic “romantic tryst under an assumed name” (na wo kahete ahu kohi 名を変へ て逢ふ恋).50 Tradition – in particular literary tradition – held that it was the man who initiated a romantic liaison; it was he who, following an exchange of poems, would visit

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his beloved by night and in the most discreet manner possible. He had to leave the lady’s home before dawn so as not to be seen. In a society in which noblewomen could not move about freely, romantic relationships often grew from rumour. Thus, novels feature stories of men and women falling head-over-heads in love with people they had never seen. Furthermore, a man could take advantage of another’s glowing reputation – and the darkness – to masquerade as him in order to gain access to a woman.51 Such was the topic to be covered by Ukyō no Daibu in the thirty-one syllables of a waka. It read as follows:

Itohareshi By changing that detested name, Ukina wo sara ni Which marked me fickle, Aratamete Bringing such unhappiness Ahi miru shimo zo I have at last met with my love, Tsurasa sohikeru But now I am more wretched still!52

41 Ukyō no Daibu chose to convey the bitterness of the suitor who, having successfully tricked his way into meeting his beloved, realises that she feels only hatred for him. In this poem it is the situation inferred by the topic that establishes the sex of the narrator, despite the fact that nothing in the original poem’s vocabulary points to one particular gender.

42 Some authors voluntarily chose to compose “transvestite” poems. For example, during the Hundred Round Palace Poetry Contest (Hyakuban utaawase 百番歌合), held at the imperial palace in 1216, Fujiwara no Teika 藤原定家 (1162-1241) decided to compose a poem on the set topic of “love” 恋 in the guise of a woman, in doing so creating one of his most beautiful – and most famous – poems:

Konu hito wo For the man who doesn’t come Matsuho no ura no I wait in the Bay of Matsuho – Yuhunagi ni In the evening calm Yaku ya moshiho no where they boil seaweed for salt, Mi mo kogaretsutsu I too, burn with longing!53

43 Teika chose to explore the theme of love from the perspective of waiting. As previously mentioned, traditionally in Japan – in particular in literature – it was the man who visited the woman. Waiting (and the distress this caused) thus became a leitmotif in “female” love poetry, whether composed by a woman or, as in the above example, by a man. Teika employs the place name Matsuho 松帆, which implicitly contains the verb matsu待つ, “to wait”; he also uses the image of the seaweed burned to extract salt as a metaphor for the ardour of love.54

44 Let us now examine a complete round of the Poetry Contest in Six Hundred Rounds (Roppyakuban utaawase 六百番歌合, 1192-1193). This contest, the most ambitious to have actually been held, saw twelve poets compete against each other, men who were among the most important of the day (no women poets took part). The contest featured 1,200 waka composed on 100 different topics and paired off against each other in six hundred rounds. The poems were initially evaluated collectively, then Fujiwara no Shunzei 藤原俊成 (1114-1215), the greatest authority on poetry at that time, was given the task of judging and writing the grounds for his decision. The poems we are about to read make up round 25 of the section Love 9; they were composed on the topic of “love

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with reference to a straw mat” mushiro ni yosuru kohi 寄席恋. The two poets in competition were Kenshō, who we saw earlier (Left team), and Fujiwara no Tsuneie 藤 原経家 (1149-1209) for the Right.

Left55 Tie Idenikeru On this mat of straw Kimi ga yodoko no where you slept Samushiro ni until you left, Hitori neshite ya I long to lay down alone Hada wo furemashi to feel your skin Right Ayamushiro Though no-one Tachiyoru hito ha comes to sleep Nakeredomo on my woven mat, Aramashi ni nomi it is full of this desire Shikite koso mate that I lay it out and wait

[Group judgment]: the two poems are said to be somewhat playful in tone (geke 戯 気).

45 The judgment reads: Left poem: […] if this poem describes a woman sleeping alone on a mat bearing the imprint of the man who has left, it seems to me a most improper attitude. Since this poem was composed by a man [literally: it is a man’s poem otoko no uta 男の歌], is this poem about a man sleeping on the imprint of the woman who has left [the room]? […] The right poem says: “Though no-one comes to sleep on my woven mat”; this also seems to be a woman’s poem (onna no uta 女の歌).56 The bantering of the left poem and everything about the right poem are deviant, are they not? I declare this a tie.

46 Shunzei appears to have been deeply disturbed by both of the poems in this round. In the left poem, Kenshō uses the polite form of the second-person pronoun kimi, which, as we saw, can be employed by both men and women. Moreover, he used the verb “to leave, or to go out” (translated here as “left”) which could mean to leave [the room] and thus apply to a person of either sex. Accordingly, Kenshō’s poem is open to different interpretations; the first one that comes to mind, and is mentioned initially by Shunzei, leads me to interpret this poem as adopting a woman’s perspective. Shunzei seems to have been troubled (shocked?) by the female eroticism expressed in the poem. It is touching to see him attempt to interpret it from the male perspective (a man sleeping on the place left empty by his wife), which he no doubt felt to be more appropriate.

47 Tsuneie’s poem, while less ambiguous, is just as erotic. Although the author uses the word hito, “person”, which can refer to either a man or a woman, the situation described – waiting – unquestionably marks this poem as being written as a woman. It is noteworthy that Shunzei concludes his commentary by remarking that he found these two poems to contain deviance, literally “a disturbed or sick mind”, kyōki 狂気.

48 The two poems presented here were composed twenty-three years before Teika’s previously cited waka. Given the long-standing tradition of transvestite poetry, Shunzei’s harsh commentary, which contrasted sharply with the admiration elicited by Teika’s poem, can only be explained by the overly explicit eroticism of the poems by Kenshō and Tsuneie.

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Poems from the Maigetsushū

49 Let us now turn our attention to another poet, Sone no Yoshitada 曽禰好忠, alias Sotan 曽丹 (ca. 923-1003), who was renowned for his inventiveness. Yoshitada’s personal collection, entitled Sotan shū 曽丹集 or Yoshitada shū 好忠集,57 contains around 580 poems, probably written between 960 and 985, in other words, at the earliest thirty years after the death of Ise. This collection features a series of 360 waka entitled Collection of Poems for Each Month (Maigetsu shū 毎月集). The poems are classified in the order of the seasons, with each month illustrated via some thirty waka; the collection can thus be read as a poetic journal. These waka – essentially descriptions of rural scenes – include a few love poems and, in particular, twelve that tell of love from a woman’s perspective:58 it is on these poems that I will now focus.

50 Let us start by looking at poem no. 96, a summer poem:

Miru mama ni The garden grasses Niwa no kusaba ha as I contemplate them Shigeredomo have grown thick, Ima ha kari nimo yet my man does not come Sena ha kimasazu to cut them, not even for a moment

51 In this poem portraying the waiting of a woman neglected by her lover, Yoshitada employs the term sena – translated here as “my man” – which can be found in poems from the Man’yōshū (mid-eighth century); it is a term of affection used by women for their husbands or older brothers. From the outset Yoshitada thus establishes a sexed interpretation of his waka. The situation described is also “gendered”, to borrow gender studies terminology, since in classical Japan men and women usually lived in separate residences; according to tradition (in particular literary tradition), it was the man who visited his beloved. Finally, note that the term kari nimo can be interpreted (intentionally) in two ways: “to cut” and “even temporarily”, “even for a moment”.

52 Poem no. 144, another summer waka, can be seen as a variation on the same theme as the previous poem:

Waga seko ga My dear friend Kimaseritsuruka will no doubt soon arrive, Minu hodo ni for since last I saw him Niwa no kogusa mo the young shoots in the garden, Katamayohiseri thick have they grown

53 Here Yoshitada employs the term waga seko “my dear friend” which, just like sena, is used by women in Man’yōshū poems as a term of endearment for their husbands (or older brothers); there is therefore no doubt as to the gender of the narrator. This poem also features the same theme of the neglected woman (left so long that the grass has had time to grow in abundance), a topos in classical literature.

54 The pair of autumn poems we will now examine, nos. 189 and 207 respectively in my anthology, is interesting for it presents both perspectives, that of the man and of the woman:

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Tohoyamada Despite the past failure Kozoni korisezu I once again planted Tsukuri okite the mountain field, Moru to seshima ni and whilst I kept watch Imo ha taharenu my sweetheart was unfaithful

Waga sena ha My beloved husband Stumagohi surashi must miss his wife Tohoyamada while I count Moru ni natsukete the days he has gone Hi kazuhenureba to watch over the mountain field

55 Reading this pair of poems it is clear that the author was having fun: the tone is intentionally rustic and archaistic, for once again Yoshitada employs the term sena (my man, my husband) and its female equivalent imo (my sweetheart). It is important to note that these terms were already obsolete in Yoshitada’s day and were thus used for stylistic effect.59 In this period, the word hito was preferred to these (overly explicit?) terms, since it was more ambiguous and could refer to either a man or a woman.

56 Let us now examine autumn poem no. 212:

Koshi hito no Since this morning Okite wakareshi when my guest arose Ashita yori and bid me farewell, Aki kinikeri to I see it has arrived, Shiruku miteshi wo the autumn of our love

57 The construction of this poem adheres much more closely to the canons of Heian- period poetry. It deals with the theme of weariness in love (a traditional theme) and in order to do so makes conventional use of the amphibology of the word aki, meaning both “autumn” and “weariness”.

58 The poem’s gender is established through the situation described. As mentioned earlier, convention stipulated that it was the man who visited the woman and had to leave before dawn.

59 To conclude this section on Yoshitada’s compositions, let us examine one final poem, no. 222 (an autumn waka):

Mishi hito no Trusting in Kotodeshi koto wo the words spoken Tanomitsutsu by my beloved, Aki woba yoso no love’s autumn Mono to koso kike cannot touch me.

60 As illustrated by the translation, the gender of this poem is open to interpretation: it could be written from the point of view of a man or a woman, confident in their everlasting love. The term mishi hito, literally “the person I saw”, means “the beloved”, male or female. Since the situation described is not gendered, there is no way of identifying the sex of this waka’s narrator. Note once again the play on the double meaning of the word aki, “autumn/weariness”.

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Poems composed on behalf of someone else

61 Let us now turn our attention to a mode of composition referred to in modern criticism as daihitsu 代筆, “writing in the place of someone else”, or daisaku 代作, “work written in the place of someone else”, and which consists in composing on behalf of a third person. In the majority of cases a person (male or female) unable to compose poetry adequately requests that an experienced poet (male or female) of their acquaintance do so in their place. This could involve a man composing a poem for another man to send to a woman (or a man); or a woman writing a poem for a woman to send to a man (or a woman). In keeping with the theme of this paper, the examples I will examine here are “transvestite poems”, in other words, waka composed by a man for a woman to send to another man (who must believe that the woman was the author), or the opposite: poems written by a woman for a man to send to a woman (who must believe that he was the author). Although the waka we are about to read are all love poems, a similar strategy is conceivable for poems intended to thank someone for a gift or to reply to an order from the emperor.60

62 The first pieces we will examine – a poem and its reply (the latter being the transvestite poem) – appear in the Kokin wakashū (Love 3, nos. 617-618) and are preceded by a headnote.61 Poem composed and sent to a lady serving in the house of Mr Narihira:

Mr [Fujiwara no] Toshiyuki 藤原敏行: Tsuzezure no Unable to meet you, Nagame ni masaru I am lost in lonely thought, Namidagawa my sleeves drenched with tears Sode nomi nurete abundant as the waters Ahu yoshi mo nashi of a rain-swollen river.

63 On behalf of the lady he composed the following reply:

Mr [Ariwara no] Narihira 在原業平: Asami koso Because it lacks depth, Sode ha hitsurame it merely drenches your sleeve – Namidagawa yon river of tears. Mi sahe nagaru to Were your body to float off, Kikaba tanomamu I might have faith in your words62

64 The gender of Toshiyuki’s composition (the first poem) is established through the preceding headnote, or kotobagaki: we know that the poem is sent by a man to a woman. However, an examination of the poem reveals that it could easily be the work of a woman. Nothing indicates a male author and the situation described could just as easily concern a woman (and be expressed by a woman).

65 As for Narihira’s poem, it appears to be a snub. This method of rejecting a suitor by making fun of him features so frequently in classical poetry – particularly in the Kokin wakashū – (in fact it is poetic convention) that Suzuki Hideo 鈴木日出男 sees it as one of the characteristics of women’s poetry.63

66 The next poem was composed by Izumi Shikibu 和泉式部 (ca. 978- death unknown), an immensely talented poet and contemporary of Murasaki Shikibu 紫式部 and Sei

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Shōnagon 清小納言. Her work appears in the Goshūi wakashū 後拾遺和歌集, the Second Collection of Gleanings, the fourth imperial anthology, completed in 1086 (Love 1, no. 611): Composed on behalf of a man writing to a certain person for the first time:

Obomeku na Don’t pretend! Taretomo nakute You know not who, yet Yohiyohi ni Every night Yume ni mieken He is in your dreams. Ware zo sono hito That man is I, of course!64

67 Once again, the first indication of the poem’s gender is given by the kotobagaki, which states that the poem is supposed to have been composed by a man. A second clue is provided by the last line: ware zo sono hito “That man is I, of course!” Ware is a personal pronoun for the first-person singular (for both sexes), frequently used from the time of the Man’yōshū onwards. By adding to this the exclamatory particle zo, Izumi lends her poem a violent affirmation of the self that could be described as “virile” or “manly”.

68 Izumi Shikibu seems to have been particularly solicited by men to write their love poems; Gotō Shōko 後藤祥子 cites some ten examples (and her list does not claim to be exhaustive).65 Aside from the poem by Izumi Shikibu quoted here, the Goshūi wakashū contains two further examples of “transvestite” love poems, written at the behest of men by Sagami 相模 (ca. 994-after 1061) and Ise no Taifu 伊勢大輔 (dates unknown), two major women poets.66

69 Having come to the end of my analysis, conclusions must now be drawn. What first emerges from my research is that the waka poetic genre is intrinsically sexually ambivalent, even in the case of love poems (which make up the majority of the corpus I studied). As we have seen, the vast majority of waka contain no internal elements to suggest the gender of the piece. In addition to the limited vocabulary and strictly codified images they employ, the main reason for this is of course the fundamentally ambivalent nature of the Japanese language, which has no grammatical gender (masculine/feminine). Moreover, the majority of words used in poetry to refer to people (hito, “the beloved”; kimi, “you”; ware, “me”, for example) can be used for either sex. Finally, the brevity of waka (thirty-one syllables) prohibits the use of keigo 敬語, the honorific parts of speech which, in prose – and in the spoken language –, chiefly serve to clarify the hierarchical relationship between speakers (and consequently, on occasions, their sex). While in some cases the situation described (waiting, for example, which places the poem in a female register) enables the gender of the poem to be determined – albeit independently of the author’s biological sex – in most cases it is external information (the name of the poet and the headnotes explaining the context in which the poem was composed) that enable us to identify the sex of the waka’s author and the gender of the narrator (which, as we saw, can be different). The fundamental role of these external elements in determining our reading and interpretation of waka is thus clear; without them, the question of sexual identification would often remain open.

70 The second lesson that can be drawn from the examples cited in this paper is that, in classical Japan, male and female authors knowingly composed poems for which they adopted the point of view of a person of the opposite sex. I am well aware that the poems presented here do not constitute a major current in the poetic production of the

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period. Nonetheless, these poems provide a striking illustration of the artist’s craft (and the dissociation that must be made between the sex of the author and the gender of their work). Men and women played with using the codes, images and situations associated with the opposite sex. The result, to borrow the metaphor employed by Laurel Rasplica Rodd, is that anyone attempting to identify the sex of the author of a waka “is skating on very thin ice”.67 The researcher Kondō Miyuki 近藤みゆき has for some years focused her research, which she clearly situates in a gender perspective, on using IT tools to identify words and expressions used in waka exclusively by men or women. Her studies tend to prove the existence of expressions that are exclusively male, and others that are exclusively female. However, the result is not entirely satisfactory as in each of her papers Kondō Miyuki limits herself to examining one single piece of work. This enables her to assert, for example, that in the Kokin wakashū the word ominaeshi 女郎花, “maiden flowers”, appears only in poems written by men.68 However, while this may be correct for the anthology in question, one need only make a few enquiries to establish that the poet Ise, a contemporary of the Kokin wakashū anthology, also used this flower in her poems.69 The issue becomes even more complicated when Kondō turns her attention to the Genji monogatari.70 While she is once again able to identify expressions used in the novel’s poems that are particularly masculine or feminine, the aim of this research seems to be for the most part futile, since we know that all of these waka, whether attributed to a male or female character, were composed by a woman, Murasaki Shikibu.

71 What I have tried to illustrate in this paper is that the biological sex of an author, whether male or female, does not determine the gender of the work that he or she writes. What is important is the position he or she adopts at the time of composition. Where there is literary writing, there is creation and thus construction (even in the most realist or autobiographical of texts). If just one credit had to be given to gender studies – sadly ignored by the literary studies I consulted (even those that claim to be part of this current), it is to have finally separated biological sex from gender. Judith Butler writes: “Taken to its logical limit, the sex/gender distinction suggests a radical discontinuity between sexed bodies and culturally constructed genders”.71 It seems high time that we realised, whether certain essentialist feminists and their male counterparts like it or not, that it is not the author’s biological sex that decides whether a work is masculine or feminine, but rather the position adopted, the choice made by the author at the time of creation (thus, examples exist in Japan and the West of “male” works written by women, and “female” works written by men).72 While this claim may seem radical, it is not. I need only point out, as Joan E. Ericson and Tomi Suzuki have done, that the concept of “women’s literature” is a recent creation in Japan (dating from the beginning of the twentieth century) and that many women writers do not identify with this vast category in which they find themselves “classified” simply because of their biological sex.73 The extraordinary growth of literature written by women during the Heian period is sometimes attributed to their using the vernacular while men composed in Chinese. As Laurel Rasplica Rodd, among others, has pointed out, this is a caricatured view.74 I stressed earlier in this paper that literary Chinese was the speciality of a handful of families, and that few men were capable of using it (on the other hand, women literary writers were able to read and sometimes even to write it). Monogatari, nikki and waka are all literary genres in which men also wrote,75 if women were behind literary masterpieces such as the Genji Monogatari and Makura no sōshi 枕草 子, The Pillow Book, to name but the most famous, it is because they were perfectly well-

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educated and moved in circles characterised by intense cultural rivalry, in particular literary. As underlined by Haruo Shirane, this irrefutable fact is reminiscent of seventeenth-century France, an era in which Mme de Sévigné, Mme de la Fayette and Mme de Scudéry all rubbed shoulders.76

72 Murasaki Shikibu, Sei Shōnagon, Izumi Shikibu and the other women writing literature during the Heian period were perfectly aware of belonging to an intellectual elite and of the power their talent conferred on them; they also knew that through their writing they could to some extent transcend the battle of the sexes and affirm their identity. This paper has shown that both men and women authors played with voices of the opposite sex in their work; attributing a piece of literature to a particular sex can lead to surprises and no definition77 will ever do justice to the multiplicity of voices, both male and female, that abound in literature. Yet when all is said and done, the only thing that matters is surely that we let them speak to us.

BIBLIOGRAPHIE

Editions used for sources and translations

Anthologie de la poésie chinoise classique, Paul Demiéville (ed.), « Poésie » collection, Paris, Gallimard, 1962.

Brocade by Night: “Kokin Wakashū” and the Court Style in Japanese Classical Poetry, Helen Craig McCullough, Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1985.

Chinese Narrative Poetry: The Late Han Through T’ang Dynasties, Dore J. Levy, Durham (NC), Duke University Press, 1988.

Genji monogatari, Yanai Shigeru et al. (ed.) “Shin Nihon kotenbungaku taikei” series, nos. 19 to 23 (5 vols), Tokyo, Iwanami shoten, 1993-1997.

Goshūi wakashū, Kubota Jun, Hirata Yoshinobu (eds), “Nihon kotenbungaku taikei” series, no. 8, Tokyo, Iwanami shoten, 1994.

Ise shū zenshaku, Sekine Yoshiko, Yamashita Michiyo (eds), “Shikashū zenshaku sōsho” series, no. 16, Tokyo, Kazama shobō, 1995.

Izumi Shikibu, Journal et Poèmes, René Sieffert (translation), Cergy, POF, 1989.

Kenreimon-in Ukyō no Daibu shū, Towazugatari, Kubota Jun (ed.), “Shinpen Nihon kotenbungaku zenshū” series, no. 47, Tokyo, Shōgakukan, 1999.

Kokin wakashū, Kojima Noriyuki, Arai Eizō (ed.), “Shin Nihon kotenbungaku taikei” series, no. 5, Tokyo, Iwanami shoten, 1989, 3rd reprint 2001.

Kokin wakashū, Ozawa Masao (ed.), “Nihon kotenbungaku zenshū” series, Tokyo, Shōgakukan, 1971.

Le Dit du Genji, René Sieffert (translation), vol. 2, Cergy, POF, 1988.

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Man’yōshū, vol. 1; Kojima Noriyuki et al. (ed.), “Nihon kotenbungaku zenshūe” series, Tokyo, Shōgakukan, 1971, 9th reprint 1979.

Man’yōshū, vol. 1, Satake Akihiro et al. (ed.), “Shin Nihon kotenbungaku taikei” series, Tokyo, Iwanami shoten, 1999.

Optical Allusions. Screens, Paintings, and Poetry in Classical Japan (ca. 800-200), Joseph T. Sorensen, Leiden, Brill Academic Publishers, 2012.

Pictures of the Heart: The Hyakunin Isshu in Word and Image, Joshua S. Mostow, Honolulu, University of Hawai’i Press, 1996.

Roppyakuban utaawase, Kubota Jun, Yamaguchi Akio (eds), “Shin Nihon kotenbungaku taikei” series, no. 38, Tokyo, Iwanami shoten, 1998.

Shūishō chū, “Nihon kagaku taikei” collection, supplementary vol. (bekkan) no. 4, Tokyo, Kazama shobō, 1980, 1991 reprint.

Sone Yoshitada shū zenshaku, Kansaku Kōichi, Shimada Ryōji (eds), Tokyo, Kasama shoin, 1975.

The Poetic Memoirs of Lady Daibu, Phillip Tudor Harries, Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1980.

The Tale of Genji, Royall Tyler, Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition series, New York, Penguin Classics, 2003.

Waka for Japan 2001, Thomas McAuley, 2001, [Accessed 15 October 2012].

Essays

AOYANAGI Takashi, “Joryū rōei kō”, in Kuwabara Hiroshi (ed.), Nihon koten bungaku no shosō, Tokyo, Benseisha, 1997.

BOWRING Richard, “The Female Hand in Heian Japan: A First Reading”, in The Female Autograph, Chicago, The University of Chicago Press, 1984.

BUTLER Judith, Gender Trouble, Feminism and the Subversion of Identity, New-York and London, Routledge 1990, 1999 reprint, and new edition 2006 (used for quotations in the English version of this paper); French translation by Cynthia Kraus, Trouble dans le genre, pour un féminisme de la subversion, Paris, Editions La Découverte, 2005.

DIDIER Béatrice, L’Écriture-femme, « PUF écriture » collection, Paris, Presses Universitaires de France, 1981, 3rd edn 1999.

ERICSON Joan. E., “The Origins of the Concept of ‘Women’s Literature’”, in Paul Gordon Schallow, Janet A.Walker (eds), The Woman’s Hand, Gender and Theory in Japanese Women’s Writing, Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1996.

FUJIOKA Tadami, “Byōbuuta no honshitsu”, in Byōbuuta to utaawase, “Wakabungaku ronshū” series, no. 5, Tokyo, Kazama shobō 1994.

FUJIMOTO Kazue, “Kokin-kanajō ‘onna no uta’ o megutte”, in Sekine Yoshiko hakase shōga-kai (ed.), Heian bungaku ronshū, Tokyo, Kazama shobō, 1992.

GOTŌ Shōko, “Joryū ni yoru otoko uta”, in Sekine Yoshiko hakase shōga-kai (ed.), Heian bungaku ronshū, Tokyo, Kazama shobō, 1992.

GOTŌ Shōko, “Josō suru Teika”, in Bungaku vol. 6, no. 4, 1995.

GUILBERT Georges-Claude, C’est pour un garçon ou pour une fille ? La dictature du genre, Paris, Autrement, 2004.

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HÉRAIL Francine, La cour du Japon à l’époque de Heian aux Xe et XIe siècles, « La vie quotidienne » series, Paris, Hachette, 1995.

HÉRITIER Françoise, Masculin / Féminin, La pensée de la différence, Paris, Odile Jacob, 1996.

HÉRITIER Françoise, Masculin / Féminin II, Dissoudre la hiérarchie, Paris, Odile Jacob, 2002.

HÉRITIER Françoise, Hommes, femmes, la construction de la différence, Paris, Le Pommier, 2005.

HUCHON Mireille, Louise Labé, une créature de papier, Geneva, Droz, 2006.

KAWAMURA Yōko, “Michinaga, Yorimichi jidai no byōbuuta”, in Byōbuuta to utaawase, Wakabungaku ronshū series, no. 5, Tokyo, Kazama shobō 1994.

KEENE Donald, “Feminine Sensibility in the Heian Era”, in Nacy G. Hume (ed.), Japanese Aesthetics and Culture, New-York, State University of New York Press, 1995 (originally published in Appreciations of Japanese Culture, Kodansha International, 1971).

KOJIMA Naoko, “Koi uta to jendā, Narihira, Komachi, Henjō”, Kokubungaku, October 1996.

KONDŌ Miyuki, “Kokinshū no ‘kotoba’ no kata, gengo hyōshō to jendā”, in Kokubungaku kenkyū shiryōkan, (ed.), Jendā no seisei, Kokinshū kara Kyōka made, “Koten kōen shiriizu” collection, no. 8, Tokyo, Rinsen shoten, 2002.

KONDŌ Miyuki, “Otoko to onna no ‘kotoba’ no yukue, jendā kara mita Genji monogatari no waka”, Genji kenkyū no. 9, Tokyo, Kanrin shobō, 2004.

MITAMURA Masako, “Janru, daihitsu, seitenkai”, in Nihon kindai bungaku no. 51, May 1994.

MIYAKK Lynne K., “The Tosa Diary: In the Interstices of Gender and Criticism”, in Paul Gordon Schallow, Janet A.Walker (ed.), The Woman’s Hand, Gender and Theory in Japanese Women’s Writing, Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1996.

MOSTOW Joshua S., “Mother Tongue and Father Script. The Relationship of Sei Shōnagon and Murasaki Shikibu to Their Fathers and Chinese Letters”, in Rebecca L. Copeland, Esperanza Ramirez-Christensen (eds), The Father-Daughter Plot: Japanese Literary Women and the Law of the Father, Honolulu, University of Hawai’i Press, 2001.

PIGEOT Jacqueline, « Littérature et image au Japon », in Grand Atlas des Littératures, Paris, Encyclopaedia Universalis, 1990.

PIGEOT Jacqueline, Michiyuki-bun, poétique de l’itinéraire dans la littérature du Japon ancien, Paris, Maisonneuve et Larose, 1982.

RASPLICA RODD Laurel, “‘Moving and Without Strength’: Is there a Woman’s Voice in Waka?”, in Janice Brown, Sonja Arntzen (eds), Across Time and Genre: Reading and Writing Women’s Texts, Conference Proceedings, University of Alberta, 2002.

REIN Raud, “The Lover’s subject: Its Construction and Relativisation in the Waka Poetry of the Heian Period”, in Sekine (ed.), Love and Sexuality in Japanese Literature, Proceedings of the Midwest Association of Japanese Literary Studies, vol. 5, 1999.

SARRA Edith, Fictions of Femininity, Literary Inventions of Gender in Japanese Court Women’s Memoirs, Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1999.

SCHALOW Paul Gordon, WALKER, Janet A. (eds), The Woman’s Hand, Gender and Theory in Japanese Women’s Writing, Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1996.

SHIRANE Haruo, “Sekai bungaku ni okeru Genji monogatari – jendā, janru, bungakushi”, in Genji monogatari kenkyū no. 6, Tokyo, Kanrin shobō, 2001.

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SUZUKI Hideo, “Onna uta no honsei”, in Kodai waka shiron, Tokyo, Tokyo daigaku shuppankai, 1990.

SUZUKI Tomi, “Gender and Genre: Modern Literary Histories and Women’s Diary Literature”, in Haruo Shirane, Tomi Suzuki (eds), Inventing the Classics, Modernity, National Identity, and Japanese Literature, Stanford, Stanford University Press, 2000.

TABUCHI Kumiko, “Utaawase no kōzō – nyōbō kajin no ichi”, in Kanechiku Nobuyuki, Tabuchi Kumiko (eds), Waka wo rekishi kara yomu, Tokyo, Kasama shoin, 2002.

TAMURA Ryūichi, “Shinkokin-jidai to onna uta”, in Gotoba-in to sono shūhen, Tokyo, Kasama shoin, 1998 (originally published in Gobun no. 82, March 1991).

VIEILLARD-BARON Michel, Fujiwara no Teika (1162-1241) et la notion d’excellence en poésie, Théorie et pratique de la composition dans le Japon classique, Paris, Collège de France/ Institut des Hautes Études Japonaises, 2001.

VIEILLARD-BARON Michel, « Les métamorphoses du mot : la citation de vers chinois comme sujet de composition de poèmes japonais, waka », in Extrême-Orient Extrême-Occident no 17 (Le travail de la citation en Chine et au Japon), Presses Universitaires de Vincennes, 1995.

WATANABE Yumiko, “‘Onna no uta’ to iu hihyōgo”, in Kokubungaku kenkyū no. 139, March 2003.

WATANABE Yumiko, “‘Onna no utayomi’ no sonzaikeitai – Yakumo misho ni saguru”, Meigetsuki kenkyū no. 7, 2002.

YAMAZAKI Masakatsu, “Utaawase no hihyōgo toshite no ‘onna no uta’”, in Kodai chūsei kokubungaku no. 14, December 2000.

YOSHIKAWA Eiji, “Kokinshū izen no byōbuuta”, in Byōbuuta to utaawase, “Wakabungaku ronshū” series, no. 5, Tokyo, Kazama shobō 1994.

NOTES

1. Man’yōshū, vol. 1, Kojima Noriyuki et al . (ed.), “Nihon kotenbungaku zenshū” series, Shōgakukan, 1971, 9th edn 1979, p. 305. 2. Man’yōshū, vol. 1, Satake Akihiro et al. (ed.), “Shin-Nihon kotenbungaku taikei” series, Iwanami shoten, 1999, p. 331. I am grateful to my friend Yoshino Kazuko for having brought this poem to my attention. 3. I am told that in some Japanese bookshops, where previously only women’s literature, joryū bungaku, was singled out (with its own special area) – with no signage used for men’s literature –, one can now see the label “men’s novels”, danryū shōsetsu, above shelving containing books written by male authors. This phenomenon, which is the result of feminist demands, remains extremely marginal and does nothing to resolve the fundamental problem, namely: is it pertinent to separate books according to the biological sex of their author? 4. Georges-Claude Guilbert, C’est pour un garçon ou pour une fille ? La dictature du genre (Is it for a Girl or a Boy? The Dictatorship of Gender), Autrement, 2004, p. 35. 5. Judith Butler’s most significant work is Gender Trouble, Feminism and the Subversion of Identity, Routledge, 1990, republished in 1999, which was recently translated into French by Cynthia Kraus as Trouble dans le genre, pour un féminisme de la subversion, Éditions La Découverte, 2005. 6. More precisely, Judith Butler stresses that biological sex, gender and sexual orientation are three different things, and that it is precisely when gender and sexual orientation clash that gender trouble arises.

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7. To quote Judith Butler (Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity, Routledge, new edition 2006, p. 6): “[…] whatever biological intractability sex appears to have, gender is culturally constructed: hence gender is neither the causal result of sex nor as seemingly fixed as sex.” 8. Hommes, femmes, la construction de la différence (Men and Women: Constructing Difference), Le Pommier, 2005, p. 29. 9. In fact, her famous phrase, “One is not born a woman, but rather becomes one” (« On ne naît pas femme, on le deviant », Le Deuxième sexe, vol. 2, Gallimard 1949, reprint, « Folio » collection, 1976, p. 13) is often held up as an illustration of the constructionist theory; see for example J. Butler, Trouble dans le genre, op. cit., p. 59 (Gender Trouble, op. cit., p. 11). 10. Georges-Claude Guilbert, op. cit., p. 36. 11. The bibliography of Judith Butler’s most recent work to be published in French, Défaire le genre (Undoing Gender) (Paris, Editions Amsterdam, 2006), contains a few publications by Françoise Héritier but the anthropologist is completely absent from the index. Those books by Françoise Héritier that are relevant to my research can be found in the bibliography at the end of this paper. 12. See Judith Butler, Gender Trouble, new edition 2006, pp. XV-XVI: “[…] performativity is not a singular act, but a repetition and a ritual, which achieves its effects through its naturalization in the context of a body, understood, in part, as a culturally sustainable temporal duration.” Butler continues further on in the text: “The view that gender is performative sought to show that what we take to be an internal essence of gender is manufactured through a sustained set of acts, posited through the gendered stylization of the body. In this way, it showed that what we take to be an ‘internal’ feature of ourselves is one that we anticipate and produce through certain bodily acts, at an extreme, an hallucinatory effect of naturalized gestures.” 13. Francine Hérail, La Cour du Japon à l’époque de Heian aux Xe et XIe siècles (The Japanese Court of the Heian Period in the 10th and 11th Centuries), Hachette, « La Vie Quotidienne » collection, 1995, p. 9. 14. Sanjō no Machi was the name by which Ki no Seishi was known. 15. Unless otherwise stated, all information on folding screen poems is taken from the Byōbu uta entry in the Waka Daijiten (Dictionary of Japanese Poetry, Meiji Shoin, 1986, p. 849), written by Katanō Tatsurō. For more information on folding screen poetry see, in French: Jacqueline Pigeot, Michiyuki-bun (pp. 93-103 and passim) and « Littérature et image au Japon » (Literature and Image in Japan), in Grand Atlas des Littératures (Grand Atlas of Literatures), p. 168-169. 16. Several theories have been put forward to explain the decline of this mode of composition: fires at the palace, a reduction in the number of official celebrations and the epidemics that ravaged the capital between 995 and 998 may all have played a part. See Kawamura Yōko, “Michinaga, Yorimichi jidai no byōbuuta”, p. 109, who cites the hypotheses put forward by Katano Tatsurō. 17. Comments on the Shūishō, a private anthology no doubt compiled by Fujiwara no Kintō in around 996-999 and which would serve as the basis for the Shūi Wakashū “Collection of Gleanings”, the third imperial anthology compiled by Emperor Kazan himself and most likely completed in around 1005. 18. Shūishō chū, “Nihon Kagaku Taikei (Bekkan 4)” series, p. 387. 19. Her own poetry collection, the Ise Shū, contains 482 waka (including pieces written by people around her). 20. A full French language translation of this poem can be found in Paul Demiéville (ed.), Anthologie de la poésie chinoise classique (Anthology of Classical Chinese Poetry), Poésie /Gallimard collection, 1962, p. 313-320. An English translation can be found in Dore J. Levy, Chinese Narrative Poetry: The Late Han Through T’ang Dynasties, Duke University Press, 1988, pp. 129-133.

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21. It may in fact have been a pair of folding screens, with each screen illustrating one of the two characters. See Ise shū zenshaku, op. cit., p. 142. 22. See Genji Monogatari (“Shinchō Nihon koten shūsei” series, vol. 1, p. 26): “Lately he had been spending all his time examining illustrations of ‘The Song of Unending Sorrow’ commissioned by Emperor Uda, with poems by Ise and Tsurayuki; and other poems as well, in native speech or in Chinese, as long as they were on that theme, which was the constant topic of his conversation.” (Translation by Royall Tyler, The Tale of Genji, Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition, 2003, p. 10) The poems of Ki no Tsurayuki, if they ever existed, have not survived. 23. I have reproduced the numbering used in my reference edition, Ise shū zenshaku. Translation by Joseph T. Sorensen, Optical Allusions. Screens, Paintings, and Poetry in Classical Japan (ca. 800-200), Brill Academic Publishers, 2012, p. 131. 24. Dore J. Levy, Chinese Narrative Poetry, op. cit. p. 131. 25. Joseph T. Sorensen, Optical Allusions, op. cit, p. 131. 26. Dore J. Levy, Chinese Narrative Poetry, op. cit., p. 132. 27. Translation by Joshua S. Mostow, “Mother Tongue and Father Script”, in Copeland, R. L., and Ramirez-Christensen, E. (eds), The Father-Daughter Plot: Japanese Literary Women and the Law of the Father, University of Hawai’i Press, 2001, p. 122. 28. Dore J. Levy, Chinese Narrative Poetry, op. cit., p. 131. Note that the “hibiscus” of the translation has been systematically corrected to “lotus”. 29. Ibid., p. 131. 30. Ibid., p. 129. 31. Ibid., p. 132. 32. Joseph T. Sorensen, Optical Allusions, op. cit, p. 132. 33. Dore J. Levy, Chinese Narrative Poetry, op. cit. p. 131. 34. Joseph T. Sorensen, Optical Allusions, op. cit, p. 132. 35. This expression appears in anecdote 66 of the Ise monogatari / Tales of Ise. 36. Dore J. Levy, Chinese Narrative Poetry, op. cit. p. 132. 37. Joseph T. Sorensen, Optical Allusions, op. cit, p. 133. 38. Dore J. Levy, Chinese Narrative Poetry, op. cit. p. 133. 39. Ibid., p. 133. 40. Ibid., p. 133 41. Joseph T. Sorensen, Optical Allusions, op. cit, p. 133. 42. Dore J. Levy, Chinese Narrative Poetry, op. cit. p. 133. 43. Ibid., p. 133. 44. Ibid., p. 133. 45. On this mode of composition see my paper: « Les métamorphoses du mot : la citation de vers chinois comme sujet de composition de poèmes japonais, waka » (Metamorphoses of the Word: Citing Chinese Verse as the Subject of Japanese Poems, waka), in Extrême-Orient Extrême Occident, no 17 (Le travail de la citation en Chine et au Japon [How Citation Works in China and Japan]), 1995. 46. Joshua S. Mostow, in his essay “Mother Tongue and Father Script”, cites the main examples (relating to Murasaki Shikibu and Sei Shōnagon in particular) attesting that certain literary women had knowledge of Chinese. Also noteworthy is Aoyanagi Takashi’s essay “Joryū rōei kō”, which provides further proof of the recitation of Chinese poems by women. 47. Joshua S. Mostow (op. cit. p. 121) cites the example of a poem composed in Chinese by the Kamo Priestess Princess Uchiko (807-847) on the occasion of a visit by her father, Emperor Saga. Mostow also notes (p. 123) that the naishi, female functionaries serving in the imperial court, whose responsibilities included receiving and conveying the emperor’s orders, did so using written Chinese. However, it appears that in reality important orders were written in Chinese by a (male) member of the Chancellery (kurōdo), created at the beginning of the Heian period; the

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naishi no doubt only wrote edicts that specifically concerned female staff (lists of nominations, for example) and it is impossible to ascertain their actual skill in writing Chinese with any certainty; whatever the case may be, they were capable of reading it. I would like to thank Francine Hérail for providing me with this information. 48. As was the case of the Sugawara and Ōe families, for example. 49. The last recorded contest in the Shinpen Kokka Taikan (vol. 5, Kadokawa shoten, 1987) dates back to Kakitsu 3 (1443). 50. For this topic (and poem) I have used the interpretation proposed by Kubota Jun in his edition of the book: Kenreimon-in Ukyō no Daibu shū, Towazugatari, “Shinpen Nihon koten bungaku zenshū” series, no. 47, Shōgakukan, 1999, poem no. 26, p. 27. 51. Such a scene is featured in the chapter Ukifune in Genji Monogatari; see for example Arthur Waley (translation), The Tale of Genji, Tuttle Publishing, 2010, pp. 1010-1058. 52. Phillip Tudor Harries, The Poetic Memoirs of Lady Daibu, Stanford University Press, 1980, p. 93. 53. Joshua S. Mostow, Pictures of the Heart: The Hyakunin Isshu in Word and Image, University of Hawai’i Press, 1996, p. 427 54. For more information on this poem see my book Fujiwara no Teika et la notion d’excellence en poésie (Fujiwara no Teika and the Notion of Excellence in Poetry), pp. 359-364, as well as Gotō Shōko’s essay, “Josō suru Teika”. 55. Roppykaban utaawase, op. cit., p. 397. 56. On the use of the term “onna uta” (woman’s poem) in poetry criticism, see Watanabe Yumiko, “‘Onna no uta’ to iu hihyōgo”, in Kokubungaku kenkyū, no. 139, March 2003, as well as Yamazaki Masakatsu, “Utaawase no hihyōgo toshite no ‘onna no uta’”, in Kodai chūsei kokubungaku, no. 14, December 2000, and Fujimoto Kazue, “Kokin-kanajō ‘onna no uta’ o megutte”, in Sekine Yoshiko hakase shōga-kai (ed.), Heian bungaku ronshū, Kazama shobō, 1992. 57. For this anthology I have used the edition compiled and annotated by Kansaku Kōichi and Shimada Ryōji, Sone Yoshitada shū zenshaku, Kasama shoin, 1975. 58. In my edition the poems are numbered as no. 96, 144, 165, 207, 212, 221, 222, 234, 246, 272, 276, and 329. 59. In the poems in my corpus Yoshitada uses sena twice and seko eight times. 60. See, for example, Kokin wakashū no. 17, a poem composed by Ki no Tomonori for someone who was to attend a palace celebration. 61. These poems also appear in the Ise monogatari / Tales of Ise (anecdote no. 107). 62. Translations by Helen Craig McCullough, Brocade by Night: “Kokin Wakashū” and the Court Style in Japanese Classical Poetry, Stanford University Press, 1985, pp. 207-208. 63. See his paper “Onna uta no honsei”, p. 54. 64. Translation by Thomas McAuley, 2001. Waka for Japan 2001 [online], [Accessed 15 October 2012]. 65. See Gotō Shōko, “Joryū ni yoru otoko uta”, pp. 309-310. 66. Poems 643 and 670, quoted by Gotō Shōko, op. cit., p. 310. 67. Laurel Rasplica Rodd, “‘Moving and Without Strength’: Is there a Woman’s Voice in Waka?”, p. 17. 68. Kondō Miyuki, “Kokinshū no ‘kotoba’ no kata, gengo hyōshō to jendā”, p. 26. 69. See the poem (no. 51) she composed for the Teijiin ominaeshi awase, the maiden flower contest, published in the appendix of the Kokin wakashū, Ozawa Masao (ed.), “Nihon kotenbungaku zenshū” series, Shōgakukan, 1971, p. 477. 70. See her paper: “Otoko to onna no ‘kotoba’ no yukue, jendā kara mita Genji monogatari no waka”, Genji kenkyū no. 9, Kanrin shobō, 2004. 71. Gender Trouble, op. cit., p. 9. 72. Just as I finish my paper, a fascinating book by Mireille Huchon has been published: Louise Labé, une créature de papier, Droz, 2006. Huchon demonstrates with prodigious scholarship that the

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Œuvres of Louise Labé were merely a “brilliant hoax” devised by a group of male authors – including the famous poet Maurice Scève – linked to the printer Jean de Tourmes. Although Louise Labé did exist, it was men who wrote the poems attributed to her and which until then had been considered masterpieces of feminine poetry! 73. See the interesting papers by Joan E. Ericson “The Origins of the Concept of ‘Women’s Literature’”, and Tomi Suzuki “Gender and Genre: Modern Literary Histories and Women’s Diary Literature”. 74. Laurel Rasplica Rodd, “‘Moving and Without Strength’: Is there a Woman’s Voice in Waka?”, op. cit., p. 9. 75. Béatrice Didier (L’Écriture-femme [Women’s Writing], p. 39) writes: “It must not be forgotten that the segregation of the sexes was a system of oppression, that in the beginning the Japanese employed, for example, a dual system of different writing styles and literary genres for men and women, not so much to affirm some glorious particularity but to curb female creation.” My paper has shown – I hope! – that this view is misguided. 76. Haruo Shirane, “Sekai bungaku ni okeru Genji monogatari – jendā, janru, bungakushi”, op. cit., p. 32. 77. Béatrice Didier (L’Écriture-femme, op. cit., p. 37) explains: “Women’s writing is one of the Inside: the inside of the body, the inside of the home. It is a writing of returning to this Inside, of nostalgia for the mother and for the sea.” This definition, which is perfectly applicable to Proust, immediately excludes Sei Shōnagon.

RÉSUMÉS

L’objectif de cet article est de soulever la question du genre et de l’identité sexuelle dans la littérature classique japonaise, à travers l’exemple de la poésie waka et en particulier à travers l’analyse de poèmes d’Ise et de Fujiwara no Teika. Il montre qu’aucune définition ne peut rendre justice de la multiplicité des voix, masculine ou féminine, que recèle la littérature.

The aim of this article is to raise the issue of gender and sexual identity in classic Japanese literature, through the example of waka poetry and in particular through the analysis of poems by Ise and Fujiwara no Teika. It shows that no definition can do justice to the multiplicity of voices, both male and female, that abound in literature.

INDEX

Index chronologique : Heian period, Mots-clés : étude du genre, voix genrée, identité sexuelle, littérature japonaise classique, poésie waka, Dame Ise (875-938), Fujiwara no Teika (1162-1241) Keywords : gender studies, gender voices, sexual identity, Japanese classic literature, Lady Ise (875-938), waka poetry, Fujiwara no Teika (1162-1241)

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AUTEUR

MICHEL VIEILLARD-BARON Centre d’études japonaises, Inalco

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Two centuries of Japanese linguistics in France: 1825-1995

Catherine Garnier

EDITOR'S NOTE

Original release: Catherine Garnier, « La linguistique japonaise en France de 1825 à nos jours », Cipango — Cahiers d’études japonaises, no 8, 1999, p. 259-288.

1 To celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of its founding, in Tokyo, in 1948, the National Institute for Japanese Language and Linguistics (Kokuritsu Kokugo Kenkyūjo 国立国語 研究所) decided to issue a bibliography of works published outside of Japan on the Japanese language. Released in 1996, it featured the titles of some 13,504 books and journal articles. The French list, for which I was responsible, included 408 works, comprising 85 books and 323 articles. While quantity is not necessarily a significant criterion, for comparative purposes it is interesting to cite the following figures (only the United States and Western European countries were included):

United States 2,328 titles (books and articles combined) Germany 1,193 titles (173 books, 1,020 articles) United Kingdom 697 titles (213 books, 484 articles) Italy 150 titles (82 books, 68 articles) Holland and Belgium 18 titles Spain 6 titles

2 Besides the intrinsic value for researchers of a list of French publications on the Japanese language from 1825 to 1995, the compilation itself is a document I felt worthy of analysis, for it reflects an entire history, with its periods of productivity and stagnation, its successes and hesitations. What I hope to highlight is the way a

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discipline developed, the themes on which attention was focused throughout this development, and the stages leading up to the current state of affairs.

3 In my view this history can be told in seven periods. 1. From 1825 to 1856: birth of a discipline; 2. From 1856 to 1886: Léon de Rosny and the beginnings of Japanology; 3. From 1886 to 1914: grammars and dictionaries; 4. The interwar years: stagnation; 5. From 1948 to 1970: Charles Haguenauer, a crucial stage, a new beginning; 6. From 1970 to 1978: Hubert Maës and the journal “Travaux du Groupe de linguistique japonaise” – from grammar to linguistics; 7. From 1978 to 1995: a two-fold trend – linguistics in Japanese; Japanese in linguistics.

From 1825 to 1856: birth of a discipline

4 The year 1825 saw the publication in Paris of the French translation of Arte da Lingoa de Iapam, and with it the beginning of the history of Japanese linguistics in France. It is only fair, however, to mention the Japanese word lists compiled just a short time earlier, in 1823, by Julius von Klaproth in his Asia Polyglotta, despite the limitations of his endeavour: They were so many erratic fragments, and in an attempt to elucidate their etymology, he repeatedly put forward the most disconcerting hypotheses. 1

5 The full title of the Arte da Lingoa de Iapam, also known as Arte Grande da Lingoa, is Arte da Lingoa de Iapam composta pello padre Joam Rodriguez Portugues da companhia de Iesu, dividida em tres livros. Com licença de ordinario e superiores – Em Nagasaqui no gollegio de Japam da Companhia de Iesu – anno 1604. It consists of a description of the Japanese language modelled on Latin grammars, and thus featured the same classification based on parts of speech and the same grammatical categories. Nouns had “case”, “gender”, “number” and were “proper” or “common” […]; verbs had “person”, “tense”, “voice” and “moods”. 2

6 This book is considered to be the first major description of the Japanese language written by a European, and as such represents a vital step forward in knowledge of this language outside of Japan, in spite of its flaws (in particular in its description of the Japanese verbal system). If we confine ourselves to evaluating the system itself, it can be considered a much less mediocre descriptive tool than one might initially be tempted to believe, given the relatively flexible way the European framework was applied to new linguistic realities. After all, the approach that consists in projecting a preconceived system of categories onto a language to be described, and modifying it according to the obstacles posed by the structural characteristics of this language, is it any different to that adopted in reality, and despite what they claim, by all modern schools of descriptive linguistics? 3

7 In the first quarter of the nineteenth century ships belonging to the great powers began to make a tentative reappearance in Japanese waters following a virtually blanket ban that lasted two centuries. The information coming out of Japan at that time allowed sinologists (sinology being a well-established field since the major Jesuit works of the eighteenth century) to foresee the importance of understanding Japanese civilization, leading them to consider the “decipherment” of Japanese a necessity. Consequently, when the newly created Société Asiatique, founded in 1823 on the

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initiative of a group of sinologists, made the decipherment of this language one of its main objectives, attention turned quite naturally to Rodriguez’s work, a copy of which was held at the Bibliothèque Nationale (or more precisely, at the Bibliothèque du Roi as it was known at the time). At this point in time “[it] was considered the least bad of all the existing learning materials” (Maës, 1975). A translation was thus published in 1825: Éléments de la Grammaire Japonaise, par le P. Rodriguez, traduits du Portugais sur le Manuscrit de la Bibliothèque du Roi, et soigneusement collationnés avec la Grammaire publiée par le même auteur à Nagasaki en 1604, par M. C. Landresse, membre de la Société Asiatique (Elements of Japanese Grammar by Father Rodriguez, Translated from Portuguese Based on the Manuscript Held at the Bibliothèque du Roi, and Carefully Compared with the Grammar Published by the Same Author in Nagasaki in 1604, by M. C. Landresse, Member of the Société Asiatique). The translation’s author, Charles Landresse, was a sinologist. And Maës concluded his paragraphs on the translation in the following terms: Despite these weaknesses revealing the author’s lack of familiarity with the idiom of which the book was intended to facilitate learning, Landresse’s endeavour, which finally made a Japanese grammar, however imperfect and archaic, accessible to the public, drew the attention of orientalists and attracted considerable comment in Europe. 4

8 Another noteworthy event was the publication by the German physician Philipp Franz von Siebold of the Bibliotheca japonica (1833-1841). This title grouped together six Japanese and Korean works chosen by Siebold from among the many books he brought back with him from his six-year stay in Nagasaki. Among these six works were two dictionaries, one of the Chinese characters used in Japan listed along with their so- called “Sino-Japanese” pronunciations, the other of Japanese words accompanied by definitions in Sino-Japanese.

9 The year 1853 marked the official date of the early stages of the re-opening of Japan. After the initial contacts made by the American naval officer Commodore Perry and his famous “black ships”, Japan was forced to open its ports to the vessels of the great powers. And as Maës noted, knowledge of Japanese, formerly the concern only of philologists, became a priority for politicians and diplomats. 5

10 Thus when a young orientalist, Léon de Rosny (1837-1914), a student of the sinologist Stanislas Julien, would later seek to learn Japanese, two sources were available to him: the French version of the Arte da lingoa de Iapam by Landresse, and the dictionaries published in Siebold’s Bibliotheca japonica. It was on these foundations that in 1856 Rosny published his Introduction à l’étude de la langue japonaise (Introduction to Studying the Japanese Language), signalling the birth in France of the discipline that was to become Japanese linguistics.

From 1856 to 1886: Léon de Rosny and the beginnings of Japanology

11 Léon de Rosny, a trained sinologist, was instrumental in establishing Japanology as an independent discipline. He began teaching Japanese at the École Impériale et Spéciale des Langues Orientales in 1863, and was appointed professor there in 1868. His education with regards to Japanese was based on his knowledge of Chinese and, as I mentioned earlier, on the works on the Japanese language at his disposal. His first

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contact with Japanese speakers, which he put to great use, came about in 1862, date on which the first Japanese embassy officials sent to Europe arrived in France.

12 The list of Rosny’s work is impressive and the fields concerned rather diverse: A glance at the catalogue of the Bibliothèque Nationale, where the (far from exhaustive) list of Rosny’s work covers no less than fifteen pages, gives some idea of the breadth and diversity of subjects explored by this astonishingly prolific author. 6

13 Natural history, politics, travelogues, philosophy, Christianity, Bible, pre-Columbian writings, China, India and Japan, Rosny’s interests were limitless. The same can be said of his activities: in 1859 he co-founded the Société d’Ethnographie; in 1868 he founded the first Japanese-language newspaper outside of Japan (whose lifespan was limited to just one issue); and he was the heart and soul of the first International Congress of Orientalists in Paris in 1873. Diversity and quantity, however, are not necessarily a guarantee of quality. He had an inquiring and original mind but was incredibly prone to spread himself too thinly, publishing studies on all manner of subjects that were completely unrelated to Japan, and on which it was clearly impossible for him to have any genuine competency. 7

14 Be that as it may, it is the volumes devoted to the Japanese language that retain our attention in this body of work. They can be grouped under three headings, in descending order based on the number of publications: 1. Japanese grammar for students. 2. Studies on the Japanese script. 3. Research on the origins and genealogy of Japanese.

15 The third group consists merely of a few articles or reports of papers given at congresses or learned societies: “Affinités du japonais avec certaines langues du continent asiatique” (Similarities between Japanese and Certain Languages on the Asian Continent), and “Affinités des langues sino-japonaises” (Similarities between Sino- Japanese Languages). For the second group, however, one senses that Rosny set out to present the Japanese writing system in all its complexity. Thus, for example, we have him to thank for a presentation of the syllabaries and above all an attempt to put together a dictionary of “Chinese Ideograms with their Pronunciation used in China and Japan” (Dictionnaire des signes idéographiques de la Chine avec leur prononciation usitée en Chine et au Japon).

16 The first group occupied a central position in Rosny’s studies on the language. Between 1856 and 1874 he embarked on the publication of a series of fascicules (twenty appear to have been planned), several of which were re-workings of previous publications (in particular the aforementioned dictionary). In these fascicules collectively entitled Cours de japonais (Lessons in Japanese), Rosny presented a mixture of rather “theoretical” data: presentation of the language, rudiments of grammar, and “practical” data: pronunciation, conversation lessons, collections of texts, exercises and vocabulary lists.

17 There is often speculation as to which “Japanese” Rosny taught in his classes. Whatever the case may be, and as evidenced by some of these fascicules, it is clear that he wished to avoid restricting himself to older forms of the language and instead introduce students to contemporary Japanese.

18 If we examine the most elaborate grammar book, namely Éléments de grammaire japonaise (Rudiments of Japanese Grammar), volume two of Cours de japonais published in

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1873, it is obvious that the majority of Rosny’s presentation was descended directly from Rodriguez, despite him having greatly increased his knowledge through contact with Japanese speakers since volume one, entitled Introduction à la langue japonaise (Introduction to the Japanese Language) from 1856.

19 The classification system adopted differed from that used by Rodriguez but the description itself barely deviated from that in Arte da lingoa. It was no doubt inspired by one of the grammars that proliferated at the time in Japan, and which presented a description of the Japanese language modelled on the descriptions of European languages, in particular Dutch, followed by English, but it is not known which one. Despite stating that he had not followed the old Japanese classification which distinguished na, or nouns, kotoba, or variable words, and tenioha, in other words all units that did not fall under the first two categories, Rosny proposed a three-point presentation: “nouns”, “verbs” and what he called “mots de condition”, the latter being like tenioha, a residual category for everything that was neither noun nor verb. As for the description of nouns and verbs, it differed little from that of Rodriguez. Nouns no longer had “gender” but “case” and “number” remained. Verbs were described according to Rodriguez’s system of three conjugations and featured “tense”, “mood”, “number” and “person”.

20 Another issue to pique Rosny’s interest was that of the dialectal variants of Japanese, on which he delivered a paper at the International Congress of Orientalists in 1874 (“Sur quelques patois japonais” [On some ]).

21 During this period spanning 1856 to 1886, Rosny was virtually alone in taking an interest in grammar. This can be explained of course by his work as a teacher and the need to provide his students with study materials. The publication in Yokohama, in 1873, of a French translation of the grammar written by British Japanologist Aston does not appear to have influenced him.

22 The main issue mobilising scholars of the time in France, including Rosny, was the writing system. The decipherment of newly discovered or rediscovered scripts was the great concern of the nineteenth century. Champollion was not far away, and the decipherment of cuneiform was at its height. It was in this same spirit that a number of scholars took an interest in the “decipherment” of Japanese and knowledge of the various scripts used in Japan, their origin and their history. The complex issue of transcribing Japanese in Roman letters was also on the agenda at the Congresses.

23 As we saw, Rosny’s teaching position led him to publish a dictionary of the Chinese characters used in Japan; however, his activities did not extend to lexicology. It was other scholars – Soutcovoy, Mermet de Cachon and Pagès – who, in 1862, 1866 and 1868, published glossaries or French-English-Japanese and Japanese-French dictionaries, kick-starting an intense activity in dictionary compilation which characterised the following period.

From 1886 to 1914: grammars and dictionaries

24 Interest in script-related issues and the genetic relationship of Japanese to other languages tailed off. The genealogy of Japanese gave rise to just two publications, one concerning the relationship between Japanese and Chinese (1905), the other examining the “Soi-disant parenté des langues basque et japonaise” (So-Called Relationship

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between the Basque and Japanese Languages) (1906), a theory which, despite not garnering the support of the linguistics community, has never really disappeared from their view.

25 As for the script, its “decipherment” no longer posed a problem. The issue was now to make the necessary tools available to the public. This was done by Millot, in 1909, with his Dictionnaire des formes cursives des caractères chinois (Dictionary of Cursive Forms of Chinese Characters), and Rivetta, in 1912, with his book Les cent caractères hiragana les plus employés au Japon (The One Hundred Most Used Hiragana in Japan) and an article entitled “Sur la transcription des noms étrangers avec les signes de l’Iroha japonais” (On the Transcription of Foreign Names Using Symbols from the Japanese Iroha).

26 On the other hand, this was a productive period for the fields of lexicology and grammatical description. Between 1888 and 1905 no less than seven bilingual dictionaries were published: four French-Japanese and three Japanese-French. The three dictionaries published prior to 1900 remained small in size, containing between two and three hundred pages. Despite calling themselves “dictionaries”, they more closely resembled glossaries which sought, according to the term used in their title, to present “common words” from the Japanese language. In 1895 one of the authors also presented an article entitled “Notation des couleurs au Japon” (Notation of Colours in Japan). The dictionaries compiled in 1904 and 1905 by two members of the Missions Étrangères de Paris (Paris Foreign Missions Society) – Le Maréchal for the Japanese- French dictionary, and Raguet for the French-Japanese dictionary –, each containing around one thousand pages, can be considered the first major modern bilingual dictionaries. In reality they have never really been replaced (with the exception of the dictionary compiled at a later date by Cesselin).

27 At the same time, the French had much more practical interests, as evidenced by the publication by the Société de Langue Française in Tokyo of two Japanese-French dictionaries in 1885 and 1887, one of “legal, political economic and administrative terms”, the other of “military, nautical and hippology terms”. They were accompanied in 1888 by an article published in the Bulletin de géographie historique et descriptive (Bulletin of Historical and Descriptive Geography) on the “Geographic and Administrative Nomenclature of Japan” (“Nomenclature géographique et administrative du Japon”). There was also a Dictionnaire militaire japonais-français ( Japanese-French Military Dictionary) published by Renondeau in Tokyo in 1912.

28 The second major concern, as in the previous period, remained grammar. Five grammars were published in French between 1899 and 1907. The titles clearly specified “grammar of spoken Japanese”. Two were published in Japan, on the printing presses of the Missions Étrangères (Sansaisha). They were the work of two members of the Missions Étrangères de Paris: Émile Raguet (previously cited as a dictionary author) and Cyprien Balet. Another was published in Paris, the work of diplomat Maurice Courant (a specialist in Korean affairs rather than Japanese), one more in Brussels and one in Germany. All, apart from the grammar by Maurice Courant, resulted from the experience of men living, or having lived extensively, in Japan.

29 Grammatical studies during this period continued to aim for a comprehensive description of the language for the use of learners. They shared this point in common with the undertakings of Rosny. Nevertheless, the gulf separating them could now be gauged, as much in terms of the homogeneity of the language described – which was now clearly intended to be contemporary Japanese – as in the descriptive principles,

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which were largely inspired by the research of British scholars Aston and Chamberlain, on whom Maës made the following remarks: The theoretical presuppositions behind the descriptive models they developed for Japanese were, if I may say so, the exact opposite of those put forward by Rodriguez. Aware of the complete inadequacy of a method that consisted in making a non-Indo-European language fit the Greco-Latin mould, of the typological diversity of the world’s languages and the need to provide each of them with a description reflecting its “spirit” or “genius”, they nonetheless saw this diversity as being reducible to three main types: isolating, agglutinative and inflecting. 8

30 Whatever one might think of this typological view today, it undeniably provided the necessary conceptual framework to move away from Rodriguez’s “Greco-Latin mould”, adopted by Rosny, to describe the Japanese language.

31 The influence on British grammarians, and through them the French-speaking grammarians of interest here, of the new descriptions used in Japan from the end of the nineteenth century onwards must also not be underestimated. Known as “compromise” grammars (setchū 折衷), they combined concepts from the Japanese tradition with elements taken from Western grammars. The most obvious result of this blend was the abandonment of certain notions derived directly from the description of Latin declensions and conjugations. This was the case for notions such as “case”, “number” and “gender” for nouns, and “person” for verbs (although these terms were occasionally retained, or the concepts mentioned to indicate that they did not exist in Japanese). On the other hand, the notions and terms “voice”, “mood” and “tense” continued to be used to describe the verbal system.

32 The fundamental change lies in the following two sentences taken from Balet’s grammar: In order to show the various relations between words in a clause, the Japanese language uses postpositions, so called because they follow the word whose relation they explain.9 All verbs, whatever their voice or form, include: 1. an invariable root which is sometimes decomposable, sometimes irreducible; 2. stems obtained by attaching a suffix to the root; 3. moods and tenses obtained by adding new suffixes to the stems. 10

33 The notion of “stem” was directly derived from the Japanese tradition. It was conducive to ambiguity. European grammarians attempting to name the different stems often confused syntactic criteria and semantic criteria. The word “stem” itself, adopted by all the grammarians of the period, was virtually the only new term to be used to describe Japanese, all the others having been borrowed from French grammar. The very notion of what constituted a grammar book exactly replicated the model of the era, which is still familiar to users of Latin or Greek grammars from my generation.

34 It is worth taking a moment to examine Balet’s grammar, since it is highly significant in these various respects. An introductory chapter was devoted to pronunciation, followed by a first section presenting morphology and a second one, syntax.

35 The “morphology” section covered each part of speech: noun, number noun, pronoun, adjective, verb, adverb, conjunction and interjection.

36 The “syntax” section consisted of chapters on sentence construction, postpositions, degrees of comparison, subject, verb, quotation, figures and honorifics. This final chapter was the only one to depart from the traditional model.

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37 With regards to Balet, his stance was clear: the starting point was unquestionably French grammar. He looked for the Japanese equivalents of the different elements of the French language and thus felt no need to use new terms. Furthermore, he often used what could be described as a description “by absence”: Japanese nouns have no gender.11 Japanese substantives have no number.12 The Japanese language, like Mongolian languages, has neither declensions nor articles or prepositions.13 If we exclude one or two words translating the first-person pronoun, Japanese can be said to have no real personal pronouns.14 Relative pronouns and adverbs do not exist in Japanese. 15 Adverbs proper are extremely rare in Japanese; on the other hand, adverbial phrases of every origin allow French adverbs to be conveyed. 16

38 Similarly, after reflecting on the difference between logical subject and grammatical subject – the latter being defined as “so closely linked (to the verb) that a change in the subject such as the number, gender or person should entail a change in the form of the verb” –, Balet declared that: This distinction made, one can and must say that Japanese has no grammatical subject.17

39 At the same time, Balet gave a clear account of what was defined at the time as the “agglutinative” nature of the Japanese language.

40 The contribution of grammars from this period is to have clearly highlighted the particularities of the Japanese language and attempted to propose a coherent description of it, a considerable step forward from previous studies.

41 Before moving on to the next period I must mention an important body of work accomplished by Deffennes and Cesselin, consisting of a regular section in the issues of a journal published in Tokyo between 1904 and 1910. It took the form of a list of the “Proverbs, Sayings and Figurative Expressions in the Japanese Language” (by Deffennes, “Proverbes, dictons et locutions figurées dans la langue japonaise”) and “Popular Sayings in Use among Japanese Peasants” (by Cesselin, “Dictons populaires en usage parmi les paysans japonais”). Halfway between linguistics and ethnology, this was an original attempt to approach the linguistic life of the Japanese by less normalising means.

42 Finally, a new field – phonetics – made a timid appearance with the publication in 1903 of Étude phonétique de la langue japonaise (A Phonetic Study of the Japanese Language) by Edwards.

The interwar years: stagnation

43 After the wealth of publications – in terms of both quality and quantity – during the previous period, the interwar years were a remarkably quiet time for studies on the Japanese language.

44 The only significant exception was the publication in 1939 of the remarkable 2,365-page Dictionnaire japonais-français by Georges Cesselin. Intended to be comprehensive, in other words covering both the classical language and contemporary Japanese, this dictionary was unique. It has never been replaced.

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45 Although the grammars by Raguet, and above all Balet, continued to be revised and reprinted, there were no new publications in this field. On the other hand, presentations of the Japanese language by non-specialist scholars appeared in collective works on several occasions. This is the case, to name but a few well known examples, of the presentations by Serge Elisseev in Les Langues du monde ( World Languages) (Champion, 1924), or Henri Maspero in Encyclopédie française (French Encyclopaedia) (Larousse, 1938).

46 The script continued to preoccupy scholars. Dautremer, Rosny’s successor as the chair in Japanese at Langues Orientales, published a new dictionary of Chinese characters in 1919. And in 1927 a young scholar living in Japan presented a translation of a Japanese essay on a point relating to the syllabic script. His name was Moïse Haguenauer and he would reappear twenty years later at the heart of the Japanese studies of the following period.

47 Another continued focus of research was the origins of Japanese and its genealogy, specifically its relationship with Ural-Altaic and Austro-Asiatic languages.

48 The only field to see any real output was phonetics. In 1936 one issue of the Bulletin de la Maison franco-japonaise in Tokyo presented three important contributions in the field of historical phonetics and morphophonology under the title “Études de linguistique japonaise” (Studies in Japanese Linguistics). It was the first significant output in this field.

49 The return to the productivity of the beginning of the century would not come about until 1948, with Haguenauer’s first publications.

From 1948 to 1970: Charles Haguenauer, a crucial stage, a new beginning

50 After an education that took in Japanese, as well as Chinese and Malay, Sanskrit and Indian Studies, linguistics, ethnology and sociology, [Moïse] Charles Haguenauer (1896-1968) left for Japan in 1924. He would live there for eight years, until 1932. Upon his return to France he was appointed chair in Japanese at the École Nationale des Langues Orientales Vivantes, taking over from Dautremer. He can be considered responsible for providing Japanese studies with its true beginning in France, on as solid foundations as the other main fields of orientalism. 18

51 We are not yet dealing with a “linguist”, in the sense given to this term today, but rather an encyclopaedic mind: His curiosity with regards the field of Japanese was virtually all-encompassing. However, he was above all notable for his linguistic studies, including the memorable Morphologie du japonais moderne (1951) and Nouvelles recherches comparées sur le japonais et les langues altaïques (1977), his multidisciplinary approach in Origines de la civilisation japonaise (1956) […], and his work as an ethnographer and historian of religions in addition to his expert knowledge of classical texts. 19

52 Indeed, both of the two major works to mark the revival of Japanese studies after the war were written by Haguenauer: the first volume of Morphologie du japonais moderne (Morphology of Modern Japanese) in 1951; and the publication of Origines de la civilisation

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japonaise, the first part of his theory on the origins of Japanese civilisation, in 1956. These two works are closely linked to the subject of this paper.

53 To some extent Haguenauer continued in the tradition of the previous period with a short essay on “japanese scripts” (“Les écritures japonaises”) written for the Imprimerie Nationale (French official printing works) and articles providing a general presentation of Japanese, initially in a book published in 1948 to commemorate the 150th anniversary of the École Nationale des Langues Orientales Vivantes, then in Les Langues du monde (Champion, 1952), edited by Meillet and Cohen. However, at the same time he marked a radical departure from the research conducted to date on the history of Japanese and the description of its morphology.

54 Completed before the war, then revised and supplemented “as soon as it became possible to access the studies published in Japan after 1939” (Haguenauer, 1956), this vast work approached the question of the origins of Japanese civilisation from four perspectives: those of an anthropologist, an ethnographer, a linguist and an archaeologist. Unfortunately, the second part which was to be devoted to archaeology never saw the light of day. It is significant that three quarters of volume one, published in 1956 as Origines de la civilisation japonaise – Introduction à l’étude de la préhistoire du Japon (Origins of Japanese Civilisation - Introduction to the Study of Prehistoric Japan), focus on the linguistic perspective. In this volume Haguenauer meticulously examined the resemblances between “common Japanese” and “Altaic” with regards phonetics, lexicography, morphology and function. He remained highly cautious in his conclusion to the 460 pages he devoted to this study: I believe I have sufficiently explained the cautious stance I adopt here to not risk giving readers the impression that I pretend to have successfully shown that “common Japanese” belongs definitively to a well-defined “Altaic” family that includes Turkish, Mongolian, Tungusic and Korean, if not Ainu. It is even less my intention to claim that “common Japanese” presents itself in every aspect as an original member of such a family. In fact, I have contented myself to submitting a certain number of observations to the opinion of qualified specialists in the justifiable or fanciful hope […] that they illustrate, with all the desired clarity, the existence, between “Altaic” on the one hand, and “common Japanese” on the other, of resemblances that can only be explained by the existence of extremely ancient contacts, at least between certain human groups which, currently, speak languages related to those taken into consideration for the comparative study conducted above.20

55 This book was subsequently supplemented by articles, then by another book published in 1976, Nouvelles recherches comparées sur le japonais et les langues altaïques (New Comparative Research on Japanese and Altaic Languages), in which the author continued his lexicographic comparisons of Japanese, Mongolian, Tungusic, Korean and Turkish.

56 Origines de la civilisation japonaise had a clear impact on the French scientific community, as well as overseas, as evidenced by the many book reviews that followed its publication not only in France, but also in Italy, Great Britain and Finland. In France, Haguenauer’s research on the origins and genealogy of Japanese constitutes a unique body of work that has yet to be continued.

57 Morphologie du japonais moderne was part of an ambitious plan to present a comprehensive description of Japanese under the title Cours de langue japonaise moderne (Lessons on the Modern Japanese Language). This is reminiscent of Rosny’s attitude and feeling, as a teacher, of being entrusted with a mission to offer students all the

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elements necessary for their studies. Haguenauer’s Cours de langue japonaise moderne was to include volumes entitled Phonétique, Structure de la Langue and Morphologie. The latter was to comprise two volumes, the first devoted to general points and an analysis of invariable words, the second to a study of enclitics, variable words and suffixes. Only the first volume of Morphologie was actually published, in 1951, and represented something of a phenomenon. Book reviews appeared in linguistics journals from France, America, Britain and Italy. And, as such, it was a phenomenon. Though it remained incomplete, Haguenauer’s Morphologie represented a watershed in studies on the Japanese language. The author’s intentions, as set out in the introduction to his book, were clear: An effort has been made to describe the Japanese language in conformance, as far as possible, with its own genius and true nature. I have thus renounced the terminology that has remained in use in grammars, in particular each time I realised that the terminology in question only succeeded in masking the essential workings of the mechanism of the language and, consequently, in creating a more or less erroneous view. […] In other words, deploring that the majority of grammarians have disfigured the Japanese language by forcing it into an inappropriate framework, that of the grammars valid for Indo-European languages, I have attempted to provide an analytic description of the language that is more in keeping with its “Altaic” character.21

58 An examination of the planned outline of the two morphology volumes clearly shows that Haguenauer used the word categories established by the Japanese tradition: 1. words: variable and invariable; 2. grammatical elements: particles and suffixes. He completely abandoned the previous model, adopted in the grammars of Balet and Raguet, and proposed an entirely new and original description that drew heavily on his knowledge of the history of Japanese. He expressed it using a terminology that was itself new, directly inspired from that used at the time by Japanese linguists.

59 The influence of this book was considerable since it is still possible today to state that the terminology used to teach Japanese in France, as well as the foundations of the “standard” description of Japanese, are directly derived from the model proposed by Haguenauer. Maës judged the contribution of Morphologie in the following terms: While this “philological” attitude taken to the problems of descriptive linguistics might today appear to be one of the book’s outmoded aspects, the author must be commended for having, above all guided by his intuition and experience of Japanese linguistic realities, highlighted certain fundamental theoretical difficulties ignored by the superficial pragmatism of grammars from the Chamberlain school. And one cannot reproach a man whose aim, in this field, was merely to “prompt criticism and stimulate the research necessary for the progress of scientific investigation” for having raised or evoked, more often than he resolved, the problems posed by the synchronic analysis of Japanese.22

60 Paradoxically, Haguenauer, whose true interest clearly lay in studying the history of the language, as evidenced by his studies on the particles wa and ga (1960), or the particle no (1970), or even on the origin of certain words, paved the way in France for a new, modern and original approach to synchronic Japanese linguistics.

61 This first step was consolidated by the publication in 1968, in the Encyclopaedia Universalis, of an article on the Japanese language by Fujimori Bunkichi, showing that a new stage had definitively been reached and that, in a way, the ground had been prepared for a development in linguistic research. Although, as Maës pointed out, the problems remained unresolved, they had been formulated, and skilfully so.

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62 While this period stretching from 1948 to 1970 was undeniably dominated in France by the studies and personality of Charles Haguenauer, we must not forget that it began with the publication in 1947 (the first of the post-war period) of Aspect et tendances actuels du phonétisme japonais (Current State and Trends in the Japanese Phonetic System) by Jean Drans, an excellent study but isolated in the field.

63 Above all, this period saw a flourishing of research in the field of dialectology and studies on Ainu, in Belgium, at the Catholic University of Leuven. This research was given expression through the journal Orbis, published by this university. In 1961 and 1962 Pierre Naert and A. J. Van Windekens published numerous articles on the Ainu language. The etymology of certain words from this language was the subject of debate, even within the journal itself. In this same journal between 1952 and 1970, Willem A. Grootaers and Fujiwara Yōichi looked at the issues of linguistic geography and dialectology in Japan.

64 Finally, continuing the orientations seen in the previous period, these years also saw the publication of two dictionaries by J.-M. Martin, though without this being a truly original work. The Dictionnaire français-japonais was a revised and expanded edition of Raguet’s dictionary and the Dictionnaire japonais-français an abridged and modernised Cesselin.

65 The publication in 1966, by Bernard Saint-Jacques, of an Analyse structurale de la syntaxe du japonais moderne (Structural Analysis of Modern Japanese Syntax) in some ways completed the “syntax” volume missing from Charles Haguenauer’s oeuvre. With its clearly functionalist inspiration it already belonged to the following period, but did not have the impact one might have expected, due largely to the fact that its author, who lived in Japan, was virtually unknown to French specialists of Japanese.

From 1970 to 1978: Hubert Maës and the journal “Travaux du Groupe de linguistique japonaise” – from grammar to linguistics

66 The changeover that would take place, in 1970, from Charles Haguenauer to Hubert Maës (1938-1976) signalled the transition from grammar to linguistics.

67 The descriptions of Japanese that had been proposed during the previous periods clearly belonged to the field of grammar. They were often motivated by teaching needs and were at times written by individuals whose main area of specialism was not necessarily the strictly linguistic study of the language.

68 The 1970s saw a spectacular growth in the teaching of Japanese at university, as well as its expansion into secondary education. It is in this context that I must mention the vital work updating teaching materials undertaken at the Institut National des Langues et Civilisations Orientales (or Inalco, formerly the École Nationale des Langues Orientales Vivantes) by Jean-Jacques Origas, Fujimori Bunkichi, Ninomiya Masayuki, Hayakawa Masami and Kanō Misawa. These texts, such as, for example, those entitled “Structure de la langue” (Origas, [Structure of the Language]) and “Analyse et traduction” (Fujimori, [Analysis and Translation]), which were distributed from 1974 onwards by the Centre National de Télé-Enseignement (CNTE, National Centre for E- Learning) but never published in book form, constitute a body of both theoretical

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(grammatical) and practical data which, through successive revisions, reinforce the instruction given at Inalco.

69 Hubert Maës’s motivation was very different, as was his education, since he himself described himself as a disciple of André Martinet. Through his adherence to functionalism he paved the way for an entirely new approach to studying the language, and it does not seem exaggerated to call him the first true specialist of Japanese linguistics in France. He was also the first to defend a doctoral thesis in the field, on Le temps et l’aspect en japonais moderne (Tense and Aspect in Modern Japanese), in 1970. Furthermore, he was the first to teach a course in Japanese linguistics, at Paris 7 University, following the creation in 1969 of an Education and Research Unit (UER) in East Asian Languages and Civilisations (LCAO).

70 This change in orientation was clearly signalled by the publication, edited by Maës, of the “Travaux du Groupe de linguistique Japonaise – Université de Paris VII” (Studies from the Japanese Linguistics Research Group - Paris VII University) (renamed following Maës’s death, from volume 5 onwards, “Travaux de linguistique japonaise – Université de Paris 7” [Studies in Japanese Linguistics - Paris 7 University] edited by André Wlodarczyk, and which ceased publication in 1991).

71 Maës’s work bore some of the characteristics of the previous period in that he still tended to present a comprehensive description of Japanese phenomena, although his approach was clearly and explicitly linguistic. In 1976, volume three of “Travaux du Groupe de Linguistique” published his Présentation syntaxique du japonais standard (Syntactic Presentation of Standard Japanese). Functionalist in its inspiration, it “limited” itself – to borrow the term used by Maës himself – to 1) listing and classifying lexical and grammatical monemes (smallest syntactic units); 2) listing and classifying the functions linking these monemes and groups of monemes together (syntagms).

72 Volume five consisted of a Phonologie du japonais standard (Phonology of Standard Japanese) written by Maës in tandem with the Japanese linguist Kinda’ichi Haruhiko. In fact, these two volumes corresponded to two of a three-part whole to be published in the collection “Les Langues du monde” (edited by Jean Perrot, at the publishing arm of the CNRS). The third part was to be a volume entitled “Généralités” (general points), written by Kinda’ichi and translated by Maës.

73 In any case, the impetus had been given to research on syntax. This field of research, through various contributions, would make up the majority of the remaining volumes of “Travaux [du Groupe] de Linguistique Japonaise”, of which nine were published between 1975 and 1991.

74 Syntax was the preferred area of study throughout this entire period. The seminar and research group led by Hubert Maës at Paris 7 University from 1972 until his death in 1976 was explicitly focused on this field (and the research conducted by this group also provided the material for the articles in the majority of issues of “Travaux”). Mention must also be made of the research by André Wlodarczyk on the structure of the verbal syntagm in Japanese, then on the workings of the nominal syntagm, or those of Maurice Coyaud on the expression of the subject in Japanese (the supposed “ambiguity” of the subject, an issue in vogue at the time).

75 Although Maës considered syntax to be at the heart of research, for him it entailed, inevitably one might say, studies in two other directions.

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76 Firstly, with describing a language inevitably came the problem of metalanguage. Volume one of “Travaux” was thus devoted entirely to the issue of terminology, for, as Maës himself explained in the introduction to this volume, the situation of Japanese linguistics in France is such that it seems almost impossible to draw on a widely recognised and accepted terminological tradition. Although the influence of Haguenauer’s Morphologie du japonais moderne was and remains quite considerable, a uniform interpretation of the terms introduced by this work is required. Furthermore, we have seen the emergence over the years, and from author to author, of a terminology born of translation, which more or less explicitly reflects Japanese grammatical vocabulary, […]; however, these attempts remain incomplete and disparate. It was thus important to agree as soon as possible on a provisional and pragmatic terminology that can be easily and immediately applied to the most diverse fields.23

77 After the research conducted by his group was complete, Maës decided to propose a list of terms that was “a French adaptation of the standard Japanese terminology”. Although a relatively limited number of these terms made it into common usage for describing the language, many terminological issues remain unresolved today. Nevertheless, Maës’s endeavour must be recognised as an extremely fruitful one which not only lent credibility to the discipline, but also, following on from Haguenauer’s initiative, definitively legitimised the search for methodological tools developed exclusively for the description of Japanese.

78 The studies conducted on Japanese terminology led Maës quite naturally to take an interest in the Japanese grammatical tradition and the history of linguistic thought in Japan. The first volume of “Travaux” thus featured several essential contributions on the history of key terms from the Japanese tradition.

79 The decade between Maës receiving his degree in Japanese from the École Nationale des Langues Orientales Vivantes in 1966 and his premature death in 1976 was a period of rare productivity for Japanese linguistics in France. This brief period was capital in that it established a discipline that could henceforth truly be called Japanese linguistics. It led to fruitful developments, as evidenced by the many publications devoted to the field since the beginning of the 1980s. Yet one further step remained to be taken. This would be accomplished at the beginning of the following period.

80 Mention must be made of certain significant works in lexicology, with several specialist studies published in mathematics, natural history and biology, by Maurice Coyaud, in aquaculture, by Nadine Lucas, or in culinary terminology, by Jane Cobbi.

81 Finally, a number of studies in phonetics, at the Institut de Phonétique d’Aix, as well as articles on Ainu may also be cited.

From 1978 to 1995: a two-fold trend – linguistics in Japanese; Japanese in linguistics

82 Beginning in 1978, Japanese linguistics established itself as an independent field within Japanese studies, while at the same time the phenomena and descriptions of Japanese began to be known and recognised in linguistic circles.

83 This trend no doubt began at the end of the 1970s when several young Japanese students, originally all specialised in the French language, arrived to study for PhDs at the Department of Linguistic Research at Paris 7 University under the supervision of

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Antoine Culioli, at the very time he was encouraging his own students – originally specialised in English – to take a close interest in languages from other linguistic fields, including Japanese.

84 Symbolic of this new development was the publication in December 1982 of issue 68 of the journal Langage, entitled “Japanese Linguistics”. I might also mention the publication, in 1984, of volumes one and two of Recherches en linguistique japonaise ([Research in Japanese Linguistics] ERA 642 collection, Laboratory of Formal Linguistics at the Department of Linguistic Research at Paris 7 University).

85 This was no longer a time for sweeping general presentations of grammar – although mention must be made of both volumes of Manuel de japonais (Japanese Textbook) by Kuwae Kunio in 1980 and the first volume of Grammaire systématique du japonais (Systematic Grammar of Japanese) by Shimamori Reiko in 1994 –, but rather for specific linguistic studies.

86 There are too many publications for me to describe them in detail. I will simply attempt to provide a brief inventory for each field, whether old or new. For some fields disappeared, while others appeared. I have chosen to present the studies briefly, according to the number of publications, starting with the least represented fields.

87 The two notable absentees are clearly dialectology and dictionary compilation. There were no dialectology publications in French during this period and no serious dictionary compiled, the last having been Cesselin in 1939 and its revised version by Martin in 1970.

88 Four fields were still in their infancy. In phonetics and phonology, two doctoral theses were defended, including one in historical phonetics by Laurence Labrune in 1993, and four articles published.

89 Research on the script, which for Japanese is undeniably one area of linguistic enquiry, was limited to research on the history of the control exercised by the Japanese over the evolution of their writing system (Pascal Griolet). The history of the language and description of were still in their early stages. Two theses were written, including one by Okada Hitomi on the history of dictionaries (in particular during the twelfth century), in addition to six articles. The publication in 1998 of Jacqueline Pigeot’s Manuel de japonais classique (Textbook of Classical Japanese) thus filled a huge gap. The history of linguistic thought also began to be significantly represented with eight articles published.

90 On the other hand, three new fields appeared. These were translation studies, with numerous studies conducted by Daniel Gile beginning in 1984, and research into natural language processing, on which six articles were published after 1984 (in particular by Nadine Lucas and André Wlodarczyk). Similarly, what could be described as a stylistic approach made a timid appearance (five articles counted). This period also saw a rise in the number of articles written by specialists with the aim of disseminating data concerning the Japanese language (ten articles) and its script (seven articles), whether in non-specialised works (encyclopaedias) or in publications devoted to knowledge of Japan.

91 Besides the continued compilation of specialised lexicons (aquaculture and oceanography), the scope of lexicological research began to broaden with the publication of what could be described as monographs on certain words or groups of words. Maës had already paved the way in 1974 with his study entitled “Métaphores

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japonaises dans la faune et la flore” (Japanese Metaphors in Flora and Fauna). Thirteen articles of this type were published between 1981 and 1995.

92 The field that overwhelmingly occupied the forefront of research is that of the description of language phenomena, a label I apply to anything belonging to what was traditionally referred to as morphology, syntax, morphosyntax and semantics, given just how blurred the boundaries between these different starting points for observing the language have become. It is more interesting to attempt to identify the main themes tackled. While this is admittedly a somewhat risky endeavour, it will throw light on emerging tendencies. This major field is represented by thirteen theses and 82 articles, among which it is possible to identify some popular centres of interest. Since it is not possible to cite the names of all those who have contributed to these studies, I will limit myself to those who have made a particular field the focus of their research activity and have authored several publications.

93 Clearly in front (with twenty-two titles) are the studies on the Japanese verbal system (six theses and sixteen articles): verb morphology, aspect, tense, modality, voice (passive, causative), in particular France Dhorne and Patrick Le Nestour. In second place are strictly syntactic studies, in other words those directly concerned with the structure of the utterance, with twelve mentions (two doctoral theses – including my own – and ten articles, four of them on appositive clauses). Next come studies on particles (ten titles, including one book by Shimamori Reiko and nine articles). Next we can cite (with nine mentions) the studies on deixis (one thesis) and the demonstrative system (eight articles), on language registers (with Ōshima Hiroko’s thesis, a book by André Wlodarczyk and eight articles), as well as the studies on the expression of person (eight articles). Topic and subject were the focus of five articles, while questions and appositive clauses were each the subject of four articles. Four more were devoted to issues of semantic analysis. Hypothesis, concession and cause were each the focus of one article, as was the numeral system. These latter four articles were essentially the work of Irène Tanba and Terada Akira. At the end of this period a new area of enquiry – the description of spoken language phenomena – gave rise to promising studies by Higashi Tomoko and Ōshima Hiroko.

94 This brief presentation of developments in Japanese linguistics from 1978 to 1995 clearly demonstrates that at the end of the twentieth century, although certain fields remained underrepresented, Japanese linguistics could be considered a field in its own right, the subject of research by an ever-growing number of specialists hailing either from Japanese studies or linguistics. The situation during this period no longer bore any resemblance to that of previous periods, nor even to the end of the 1970s. Furthermore, conditions had evolved greatly in the field of general linguistics in France. Having long been stuck in a narrow view limited to conclusions drawn from the study of (Western) European languages, it began to broaden its field of enquiry to include languages from other zones. This is clearly evidenced by the collaboration of specialists in Japanese linguistics (and other Asian languages) on several research projects in general linguistics, as well as the interest taken in Japanese language phenomena by numerous researchers from outside the field. This is undoubtedly one of the aspects that will characterize the next period, the boundaries of which have yet to be defined.

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NOTES

1. Jean-Jacques Origas, « Les études japonaises en France », in Japanese Studies in Europe, Tokyo, The Japan Foundation, 1985, p. 81. 2. Hubert Maës, La Linguistique japonaise en France, « Travaux du Groupe de linguistique japonaise », Université Paris VII, vol. 2, Paris, 1975, p. 11. 3. Ibid., p. 12–13. 4. Ibid., p. 15. 5. Ibid., p. 18. 6. Ibid., p. 22. 7. Bernard Frank, « La japonologie – Histoire et définition d’une approche », in Les Études japonaises en France (conference proceedings of a symposium held in Paris in October 1979), p. 10. 8. Hubert Maës, op. cit., p. 28. 9. Cyprien Balet, Grammaire japonaise – Langue parlée, Tôkyô, Sansai-sha, 1899, p. 198. 10. Ibid., p. 124. 11. Ibid., p. 41. 12. Ibid., p. 42. 13. Ibid., p. 44. 14. Ibid., p. 74. 15. Ibid., p. 81. 16. Ibid., p. 163. 17. Ibid., p. 229. 18. Francine Hérail, « Charles Haguenauer », in Langues’O, 1795-1995 – Deux siècles d’histoire de l’École des langues orientales, texts collected by Pierre Labrousse, Paris, Hervas, 1995, p. 324. 19. Ibid., p. 324. 20. Haguenauer, Charles, Origines de la civilisation japonaise – Introduction à l’étude de la préhistoire du Japon, Klincksieck, 1956, p. 637-638. 21. Charles Haguenauer, Morphologie du japonais moderne, Paris, Klincksieck, 1951, p. 1. 22. Hubert Maës, op.cit., p. 43. 23. Hubert Maës, Introduction, « Travaux du Groupe de linguistique japonaise », Université Paris II, vol. 1, Paris, 1975, p. 1-2.

ABSTRACTS

This article offers a historical survey of the development of Japanese language studies in France since the beginning of 19th century. It demonstrates that, at the end of the 20th century, Japanese linguistics in France could be considered a field in its own right, the subject of research by an ever-growing number of specialists hailing either from Japanese studies or linguistics.

Cet article propose un panorama historique du développement des études sur la langue japonaise en France depuis le début du XIXe siècle. Il montre que, à la fin du XXe siècle, la linguistique japonaise en France peut être considérée comme un domaine à part entière, objet des recherches

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de spécialistes de plus en plus nombreux, issus soit des études japonaises, soit des études linguistiques.

INDEX

Subjects: linguistique Chronological index: Meiji, Taishō, Shōwa Keywords: Japanese studies, Japanese linguistics, grammar, France, Balet Jean Cyprien (1867-1948), Haguenauer Charles (1896-1976), Maës Hubert (1938-1977), linguistics Mots-clés: études japonaises, linguistique japonaise, grammaire, Rosny Léon de (1837-1914), Balet Jean Cyprien (1867-1948), Haguenauer Charles (1896-1976), Maës Hubert (1938-1977), France

AUTHOR

CATHERINE GARNIER Centre d’études japonaises, Inalco

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