The Tokaido Road: Travelling and Representation in Edo and Meiji Japan

THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

The Tōkaidō Road offers a comparative study of the Tōkaidō road’s representations during the Edo (1600–1868) and Meiji (1868–1912) eras. During both periods, the Tōkaidō was a popular topic of representation and was depicted in a variety of visual and literary media. This book, the first to examine the Tōkaidō’s imagery from an academic perspective, aims to highlight how such representations were fundamental in shaping the Tōkaidō and the realm of traveling in the collective consciousness of the Japanese people. Throughout the Edo era, the Tōkaidō highway was the most important route of Japan and transportation was confined to foot travel while it also figured heavily in the popular imagination as a space of play and release. In 1889, the Tōkaidō railway was established, at first paralleling and eventually almost eliminating the use of the highway. After the installation of the railway in the Meiji era, the Tōkaidō was presented as a landscape of progress, modernity and westernization. By crossing the distinct disciplinary boundaries of cartography, art history and literature, and examining the numerous genres of the road’s representations including maps, guidebooks, diaries, geographical treatises, pictures and songs, the author discerns an initial fusion of visual and literary forms that are being gradually replaced by modern disciplinary and stylistic divisions. As one of the first western books to examine Meiji cartography and to provide a comparison between the Meiji and Edo representations of this historically and geopolitically important road, The Tōkaidō Road will prove an illuminating read for scholars of Asian Studies, Art History and Planning Studies and/or Geography alike. Jilly Traganou teaches Theory of Design at the University of Texas at Austin. She has contributed to Japanese Capitals in Historical Perspective (2003) and Suburbanizing the Masses (2003).

THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD Traveling and representation in Edo and Meiji Japan

Jilly Traganou

NEW YORK AND LONDON

First published 2004 by RoutledgeCurzon 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by RoutledgeCurzon 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 RoutledgeCurzon is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2005. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” © 2004 Jilly Traganou All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Traganou, Jilly, 1966– The Tōkaidō Road: traveling and representation in Edo and Meiji Japan/Jilly Traganou. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Tōkaidō (Japan)—Description and travel. 2. Communication and traffic—Japan—Tōkaidō—History. 3. Japan—History—Tokugawa period, 1600–1868. 4. Japan—History—1868– I. Title. DS894.59.T632T73 2004 700′.42521–dc21 2003012041 ISBN 0-203-45797-8 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-203-34056-6 (Adobe eReader Format) ISBN 0-415-31091-1 (Print Edition)

για τους Eυτέρπη και Mιχάλη Tραγανό, za Mikija,

και για τα δικά σoυ ταξίδια, Mάγια

CONTENTS

1

2

3

4

5

List of illustrations

vii

Acknowledgments

xii

Introduction

1

The metaphorical road of the Tōkaidō: traveling and representation, traveling as representation

1

Mobility and the Tōkaidō as scholarly subjects

5

Structure of the book

8

Infrastructure and cartography of the Tōkaidō in macro

11

The Tōkaidō as a geopolitical territory

11

Infrastructure upon the Tōkaidō route

13

The Tōkaidō’s cartography

24

Traveling practices and literary Tōkaidō

64

Road cosmology—the road as a microcosm

64

Traveling practices

65

Literary Tōkaidō

90

Performance, visuality and imagination at the Tōkaidō’s microscale

141

Transportation-stations: spaces of performance, spaces of representation

141

Tōkaidō and visuality

150

Conclusions and openings: the Tōkaidō as medium of national knowledge

202

National knowledge and epistemology

203

History as nostalgia, history as play

212

vi

Glossary

217

Notes

221

Bibliography

235

Index

253

ILLUSTRATIONS

Plates (between pp. 110–111) 1 Satellite image of the Tōkaidō region, 1997 2 Dai Nihon kunijunro meisai ki taisei (Greater Japan routes from one province to another, detailed descriptions, complete edition), Izumiya Ichibei (publ.) 1850 3 Keisai Eisen, Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi meisho koseki ruiki dōchū sugoroku (Travel dice game with famous and historic places along the fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō), late 1830s 4 Hokusai, Tōkaidō meisho ichiran (The famous places of the Tōkaidō at a glance), Kadomaruya Jinsuke (publ.), 1818 5 Suizen-ji garden in Kumamoto 6 Tōkaidō kaidō zu byōbu (Screen-painting of the Tōkaidō), Edo period 7 Numazu Mizuno Dewanokami gonyūbu gyōretsu (Procession of the daimyō of Numazu Mizuno Dewanokami), late eighteenth century 8 Model of Futagawa station 9 ‘Travelers.’ From Hiroshige, Tōkaidō fūkei zue (The landscape of the Tōkaidō), Fujioka Keijirō (publ.), 1851 10 Kanō Tunenobu, Ariwara no Narihira azumakudari no zu (Picture of Ariwara Narihira’s trip to the east), Edo period 11 Nakamura Tetsugai, Mount Fuji and the Tōkaidō highway, c. Tenpō era (1830–44) 12 ‘Shinagawa.’ From Hokusai’s untitled series, c. 1801–4 13 ‘Narumi.’ From Hiroshige, Gojūsan tsugi meisho zue (Illustrated collection of famous places of the fifty-three stations), vertical Tōkaidō, Tsutaya (publ), 1855 14 ‘Nissaka.’ From Hiroshige, Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō), Reisho Tōkaidō, Jukakudō (publ.), c. 1847–52 15 ‘Arai.’ From Kunisada Kōchōrō, Tōkaidō gojūsan no uchi (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō), Kikakudō (publ.), c. Tenpō era (1830–44) 16 ‘Arai.’ From Hiroshige, Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō), Hōeidō (publ.), 1833–4 17 ‘Between Hodogaya and Totsuka: Gonta Hill-Igami.’ From Utagawa Toyokuni III (Kunisada), Yakusha mitate Tōkaidō (Actors of the Tōkaidō), 1852

viii

18 ‘Nissaka.’ From Kuniyoshi, Tōkaidō gojūsan tsui (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō by pairs, collaborative series by Kunisada, Kuniyoshi and Hiroshige), Tōmata Ibakyū (publ.), c. Bunka era (1845–6) 19 ‘Arai.’ From Hiroshige Tōkaidō gojūsan zue, bijin Tōkaidō (Fifty-three illustrations of the Tōkaidō, Tōkaidō with female beauties), Fujiyoshi (publ.), c. 1847–52 20 ‘Kanaya.’ From Yoshimori, Tōkaidō meisho fūkei (The landscape of the famous places of the Tōkaidō), Hukuchu (publ.), 1863 21 Yoshiwara, Kanbara, Okitsu, Hara and Yui (No. 4). From Hiroshige Tōkaidō harimaze zue (Illustrated collection of the Tōkaidō in cut-outs), Ibaya Senzaburō (publ.), 1852 22 ‘Kyōiku Tōkaidō tetsudō sugoroku’ (Educational Tōkaidō railway sugorokuiv), Nagamatsu Sakunosuke (publ.), 1888 23 ‘Atsuta prostitute quarters.’ From Atsuta meishō (The famous places of Atsuta), Meiji era 24 Utagawa Yoshitora, ‘Shibaguchi Shiodome bashi yori tetsudō kan ichiran no zu’ (Railway at a glance from Shiodome bridge), Sawamuraya Seikichi (publ.), 1874 25 Hasegawa (Engraver), Advertisement of Naikoku Tsūun Gaisha (Co.) baggage transportation company, Sayama Husanaga (publ.), 1890 26 ‘Yui.’ From Hiroshige, Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō), Hōeidō (publ.) 27 ‘Satta tōge no Fuji’ (Fuji from Satta pass), 1889 28 ‘Satta tōge’ (Satta pass). From Kobayashi Kiyochika, Nihon meisho zue (Famous places of Japan), Matsumoto Heikichi (publ.), 1896 29 Kawai Gyokudō, Seifū ryōha (Bracing breezes, cool waves), 1901 30 Nyuu Tōkaidō, machi to michi no yumezukuri, Yonhyakunen no rekishi to bunka o nijū-isseiki e (New Tōkaidō, dream-making with the towns and roads, 400 years of history and culture to the twenty-first century), 1997 Figures 1 Discrepancies between the route of the Tōkaidō highway in the Edo period and the establishment of the Tōkaidō railway in 1889 2 Tōzai kairiku no zu (Map of the east-west and land routes), Nishida Katsubei (publ.), 1762 3 Tōkaidō michiyuki no zu (Itinerary map of the Tōkaidō), 1666 4 Shokoku dōchū ōezu (Large itinerary map of all the provinces), Urokogataya Tokubei, Yamaguchi Genjirō, Kawachiya Tarobei (publ.), second half of eighteenth century 5 Bokuryūsai, Daizōho Nihon dōchū kōteiki (Traveling itinerary book of Japan, enlarged widely), Torikai Ichibei (publ.), Osaka, 1744

16 29 31 32 33

ix

6 Hara post-station. From Ichikochi Dōin and Hishikawa Moronobu, Tōkaidō kōmoku bunken nozu (Proportional map of the Tōkaidō, detail), Hangiya Shichirōbei (publ.), 1690 7 The Tōkaidō road across Yui, Kanbara, Hara and Yoshiwara poststations. From Sōyō, Tōkaidō bunken ezu (Proportional map of the Tōkaidō), Yorozuya Seibei (publ.), 1752 8 The castle-town Fuchū (Sunpu). From Bakufu Dōchū Bugyōsho (Transportation magistrate of the bakufu), Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu (Proportional linear map of the Tōkaidō), 1806 9 Shōtei Kinsui, Kuwagata Shōi, Shinkoku kaisei Tōkaidō saiken ōezu, zen (Large picture map with detailed views of the Tōkaidō), Sanoya Ichigorō, Izumiya Hanbei, Izumoji Manjirō, Nakaya Tokubei (publ.), first half of nineteenth century 10 Moji Tominosuke, Kyōto Ōtsu kan kisha jikoku oyobi chinginhyō (Fare and schedule from Kyoto to Ōtsu by train), 1880 11 Naoe Sotojirō, Shin sen, Nihon ryokō binran (New line, manual to travel in Japan), Aono Tomosaburō (publ.), 1892 12 Tetsudō senro chinsen ritei hyo (Timetable, distance, and price-list of railway lines), Tenshodō (publ.), 1898 13 Tōkaidō tetsudō ryokō hitori annai (Guide for travel on the Tōkaidō railway), Sugakita Kannosuke (printer), Nishikawa Masajū (publ.), Nagoya, 1889 14 Dai Nihon tetsudō senro zenzu (General railway map of Japan), Teishinshō Tetsudōkyoku (Communications Ministry, Railways Office) (publ.), 1902 15 Comparison of map-legends: (a) Kappaan Kamata-Suiō, Dai Nihon kōtei daiezu (Large road-map of Great Japan), Kikuya Shichirōbei, Hiranoya (publ.), 1857; (b) Moji Tominosuke, Dai Nihon ryokō daiezu (Large travel map of Great Japan), Murata Uhei (publ.), 1881; (c) Dai Nihon tetsudō senro zenzu (General railway map of Japan), 1902 16 Sōyō, Kisoji anken ezu (Guidebook to Kisokaidō), Ibaragi Taemon (Kyoto), Suhara-ya Mohei (Edo), Yorozu-ya Seibei (Edo) (publ.), 1756 17 ‘Mount Fuji viewed from Suruga.’ From Shiba Kōkan, Gazu Saiyūdan (Illustrated account of a western journey), Bunkin Shodō (publ.), Naniwa (Osaka), 1803 18 ‘Minakuchi.’ From Dōchūki (Road record), Kojima Yahei (publ.), 1655 19 ‘Minakuchi.’ From Asai Ryōi, Tōkaidō meishoki (Travel records of the Tōkaidō), c. 1658–60 20 ‘Nagoya.’ From Tomiyama Dōya, Chikusai shokoku monogatari (Chikusai’s stories in different provinces), 1664

36 37 40 44

48 49 52 54 55 59

91 98 100 104 105

x

21 ‘Abekawa.’ From Jippensha Ikku, Dōchū hizakurige (Shank’s more), 1865 22 ‘Gojōbashi.’ From Jippensha Ikku, Dōchū hizakurige, 1865 23 ‘Gojōbashi.’ From Akisato Ritō, Miyako meisho zue (Illustrated collection of famous places of the capital), Kawachiya Kihei (publ.), Osaka, 1786 24 Kitao Masayoshi, ‘Nihonbashi.’ From Akisato Ritō, Tōkaidō meisho zue (Illustrated collection of famous places of the Tōkaidō), Kobayashi Shinpei, Edo, 1797 25 ‘Mishima.’ From Akisato Ritō, Tōkaidō meisho zue 26 ‘Kuwana.’ From Akisato Ritō, Tōkaidō meisho zue 27 Africa. From Kanagaki Robun, Fusō Kan, Ochiai Yoshiiku, Utagawa Yoshiiku, Hiroshige III and Shōjo Shōsai, Bankoku kōkai: Seiyō dōchū hizakurige (On the road through western countries: comic journey toward civilization), Mankyūkaku (publ.), 1870–6 28 Ōya Kenkyō, Ise sangū dōchū hitori annai (Guide for the road to Ise), Kishimoto Eihichi (publ.), 1889 29 ‘Nagoya station.’ From Miyato Munetarō, Illustrated Guidebook of Owari, Miwa and Kawase (publ.), 1890 30 ‘Aichi Cement Company.’ From Miyato Munetarō, Illustrated Guidebook of Owari 31 Ogata Kōrin, Iris and Bridge, pair of six-fold screens c. 1709–11 32 ‘Mikawa no Yatsuhashi no kozu’ (A view of the eight-fold bridge of Mikawa). From Hokusai, Shokoku meikyō kiran (Famous views of bridges in all provinces), Eijudō (publ.), c. 1834 33 ‘Ōigawa Kanaya zaka no chōbō’ (Panorama of Ōi River from the slope of Kanaya). From Tani Bunchō, Tōkaidō shōkei (Superior views of the Tōkaidō) c. 1820 34 ‘Odawara.’ From Utamaro, Bijin chidai gojūsan tsugi (The lives of beautiful women along with the fifty-three stations), c. 1795 35 ‘Ōigawa’ view of Kanaya. From Akisato Ritō, Tōkaidō meisho zue 36 ‘Kanaya.’ From Hiroshige, Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō), Hōeidō (publ.), 1833–4 37 ‘Kusatsu.’ From Hiroshige, Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō), Hōeidō (publ.) 38 ‘Megawa.’ From Shitomi Kangetsu, Ise sangū meisho zue (Illustrated collection of famous places traveling to Ise), Hishiya Magobei (publ.), 1797 39 The Tōkaidō from Narumi to Chiryū post-station. From Kuniyoshi, Tōkaidō gojūsan eki shilgo shuku meisho (Famous views of the fiftythree stations of the Tōkaidō four or five at a time), Yokoye Series, 1830s

107 108 109 114 115 115 118

120 122 122 155 155 156 162 165 166 166 167 169

xi

40 The Tōkaidō from Chiryū to Kyoto. From Kuniyoshi, Sono mama jiguchi myōkaikō gojūsanbiki (Cats suggested as the fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō), Ibaya Sensaburō (publ.), c. 1848 41 ‘Yoshida.’ From Utagawa Toyokuni III and Hiroshige, Sōhitsu gojūsan tsugi (Fifty-three stations by double-brush), Maruya Kyūshirō (publ.), 1855 42 ‘Ōtsu.’ From Utagawa Kunimaro, Hizasuri nikki (Diary of slippery thighs), 1855 43 Kobayashi Kiyochika, Satta no Fuji—Ichigatsu chūjun gozen kuji utsusu (Mount Fuji from Satta pass—sketched at 9 a.m. in midJanuary), 1880–1 44 Shimizu Ichirō, Tōkaidō Satta yamashita nokei (View of the Tōkaidō under Mount Satta), 1889 45 Kuwata Shōzaburō, Kitayama Tatsuo (printer), Tōkaidō tetsudō Okitsu kaihin shinkei (True view of Tōkaidō railway over the coast of Okitsu), Kuwata Shōzaburō (publ.), 1889 46 Tōkaidō Satta yama shita tetsudō (Tōkaidō railway under Mount Satta), 1889 47 ‘Déjeuner dans le train’ (Breakfast in the train). From Georges Bigot, Le Train de Tokio Kobé, Dessins Humouristiques de Georges Bigot (The railway from Tokyo to Kobe, humorous sketches by Georges Bigot), 1897 48 ‘View of Hokoni Village.’ From Felix Beato, Album, c. 1863–84 49 ‘Opening of the first railway in Japan: arrival of the Mikado.’ From Illustrated London News, vol. 21, December 1872 50 Kobayashi Kiyochika, Shinbashi stenshon (Shinbashi station), Fukuda Kumajirō (publ.), 1881 51 ‘Shinagawa eki.’ From Kamei Takejirō, Kaiko Tōkaidō gojūsan eki shinkei (True views of old Tōkaidō’s fifty-three stations), Ōyama Shūzō (publ.), 1892

171 174 177 186 187 187 187 192

193 194 196 198

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Traveling has been a fond subject for me since my early childhood, as my family’s annual summer trip to Crete would acquire almost mythical dimensions and would figure by far as the highlight of each year. It was not until 1991, however, that traveling escaped the realm of the extraordinary and became an almost permanent state of affairs. All started with a Monbushō scholarship that brought me to Japan for research, which was then followed by twelve years of constant coming and going literally around the globe. This book has indeed been the culmination of this course of travels between Greece, Great Britain, Japan and the United States, places of permanent or temporary residence that comprised the milieu of my life for the last decade or so. The present book has been based on my PhD dissertation, completed in 1998 at the University of Westminster. My dissertation material has been reworked since then, through the opportunity of a post-doctorate research post, numerous conferences and publications, and courses that I taught at the University of Texas at Austin. Throughout the course of this research, I have received invaluable support from a large number of individuals and institutions. Since my first research period in Japan, I owe my deepest gratitude to Professor Katō Kunio who kindly accepted me as a research student at his laboratory at Kyōto University, first as a Monbushō student and later as a Japan Foundation fellow. His thought and his invaluable academic support shaped my approach to the study of Japan and facilitated enormously my research in various Japanese institutions. To the supervisor of my dissertation Dr Tanis Hinchcliffe I am particularly indebted for her constructive criticism at all stages of this research and for her trust. I will always remember her advice to look closely at the material of representation that I had collected, a process that proved enormously challenging, as I gradually started to be able to really see this fascinating but also often unintelligible material. The seeds of many ideas elaborated in this book were placed during my undergraduate education at the School of Architecture at the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki in Greece. It was primarily through discussions in Professor Lois Papadopoulos’s classes that my interest in the theory of architecture was motivated and I began to become aware of the relations between language, power and space. I am also particularly grateful to the members of my PhD committee Dr Toshio Watanabe (Chelsea School of

xiii

Art) and Dr Paul Waley (University of Leeds), as well as to the three anonymous readers of this book for their valuable suggestions. Although not my direct professors, I would like to thank the following academics: Kenneth Frampton, for inviting me as a visiting scholar at Columbia University in 1994–6; Henry D.Smith for generously offering his enormous knowledge and support for the last nine years; and Günter Nitschke for hours of inspiring discussions in the cozy environment of Kyoto’s cafes. I was fortunate that this work was undertaken in the era of electronic communication. Particularly, through the mailing lists of H-Japan and Japan Art History Forum I had the chance to correspond with a large number of academics and professionals. I wish to thank the following persons for offering their expertise in numerous ways: Constantine Vaporis, Timon Screech, Joseph Murphy, Ken Tadashi Oshima, Miya Mizuta Lippitt, Paul Noguchi, Steve Erickson, Doi Takashi, Jinnai Hidenobu, Miyakawa Yasuo, Hamish Todd, Susan Napier, Melinda Takeuchi, Harold Bolitho, Laura Nenzi, Yoshimi Shun’ya, Earl Kinmonth, Cordell Yee, Ekkehard May, Joshua Mostow, Frank Chance, Mengfeng Su, Nam-lin Hur, Lawrence Marceau, Edward Kamens, Masuda Yutaka. Most warmly I would like to thank Catharine Nagashima and Kanō Keiko for offering academic support together with their hospitality and friendship. I am particularly grateful to Suga Tatsuhiko, Director of the Japan Railway Culture Foundation, for inviting me to submit a paper to the Japan Railway and Transport Review in 1997 and offering invaluable assistance concerning my research on Japanese railways. I owe my thanks to the staff of the following institutions for offering visual material and information: American University Library; British Library; C.V.Starr East Asian Library, Columbia University; East Asian Library, University of California Berkeley; Iwase Collection, Aichi Library; Library of University of British Columbia; Mitsui Library; Shizuoka Prefectural Central Library; Tokyo Metropolitan Central Library; Arai Checkpoint and Museum; British Museum; Butsuryū Museum; Edo-Tokyo Museum; Eisei Collection; Elvehjem Museum; Equine Museum of Japan; Futagawa Post Station Honjin Archives at Toyohashi; Gifu Museum of Fine Arts; Hamamatsu Municipal Museum of Art; Honolulu Academy of Arts; Hyōgo Prefecture Museum of History; Kawasaki City Museum; Kobe City Museum; Metropolitan Museum of Art; Nagoya Subway Promotion Inc.; Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam; Santa Barbara Museum of Art; Shinagawa Historical Museum; Spencer Museum of Art; Tenri University Sankōkan Museum; Tokyo National Museum; Victoria & Albert Museum; Yokohama Archives of History, as well as two private collectors Unno Kazutaka and Günter Nitschke. I owe my special thanks to Mr Ueno Toshio of the Tenri Sankōkan Museum; without his kind help this research would be certainly lacking in information in regards to Meiji era’s cartographic material. My deepest thankfulness goes to my Japanese friends who voluntarily spent countless hours helping me in various ways, most of all with translations: Arai Hiroko, Ukita Mari, Satō Yumi, Tsutsui Miho, Wakasugi Yūko, Iwasaka Kyōko,

xiv

Koyama Chieko, and Fukamizu Hiroshi. I am also indebted to the professional help of Tanaka Midori, Irie Makiko and Takenaka Akiko for proofreading at various stages the Japanese terms that appear in this book. This research would not have been possible without the generous financial support of the Greek State Scholarship, the Japan Foundation Dissertation Writing Fellowship and the European Union Science and Technology Postdoctorate Fellowship. The book itself was greatly assisted by a Graham Foundation Grant and by a University Cooperative Society Subvention Grant from the University of Texas at Austin for which I am immensely grateful. I have no doubt that I would not have been brought to the point to enjoy such privileges without my parents’ wholehearted support, trust and encouragement throughout my studies, and help that has continued in manifold ways until the last moment of this book’s completion. Besides my fascination with the material examined in this book, my work was stimulated by rewarding discussions with friends and colleagues. I would like to acknowledge fellow students, now all scholars or professionals, Hiroshi Fukamizu, Hirao Kazuhiro, Nicolas Fiévé, Milena Markova-Metalkova, Murielle Hladik, Axel Sowa, Corrine Tirry, Ulrich Heinze, each of whom broadened my knowledge in the field of Japanese studies and helped in various ways. Among them I reserve my special acknowledgments to two great friends: Eleni Petouri, for countless hours of discussions during the most formative years of our undergraduate studies in Greece and early research studies in Japan; David Adjaye, for years of offering me a home in London; both for keeping me in contact with the world of architecture with a capital A. Needless to say, without the editorial talents of Stephanie Rogers, Zoë Botterill, Nicola Cooper from Routledge and Sophie Richmond who promptly answered all the queries of the inexperienced author and helped expunge numerous errors and imprecisions, this book would still be incomplete. Working on this book has been a fascinating process. Besides the intellectual reward that a book offers, it also requires time and labor, and this is something that families know too well. I am fortunate that I could share both intellectual stimulation and everyday life with my companion in all journeys Miodrag Mitrasinovic. I am thankful for his patience and manifold help that expanded from dealing with crashed computers and practicalities to offering insightful criticism at all stages of this work. And to you Maya, I hope this book in the long run may give more than it took. It was indeed all those everyday rituals that surrounded this work that will make it memorable; your persistence in coming to work with me when I overdid it, your help in ‘excavating’ my boxes full of ‘Japanese things.’ Thank you for making me not forget what is essential, and for bringing joy and balance through the course of this work that would have been too dull if only spent over those boxes. I complete this book content that, despite the painstaking research that it took, my enthusiasm and love for ‘Japan,’ which was sparked twelve years ago, has never subsided. This may be a scholarly error. Together with this, other types of

xv

errors may have also slipped in the pages to follow. I hope the reader will be tolerant of such shortcomings. Austin, Texas and Athens, Greece

1 INTRODUCTION

The metaphorical road of the Tōkaidō: traveling and representation, traveling as representation Metaphora in modern Greek not only means ‘metaphor’ as in English, but also stands for the notion of transportation. I would like the readers of this book to establish an analogous associative mechanism so that they think of the functional and the conceptual aspects of the Tōkaidō—Tōkaidō as a transportation route and Tōkaidō as a metaphor—as two closely related and often reversible realms. As I will argue in the pages to follow, the Tōkaidō of Edo (1603–1868) and Meiji Japan (1868–1912) was not simply a means of transportation, but carried a strong figurative capacity, embodying a multitude of ideologies and imaginings that shaped travelers, artists and spectators. Throughout the Edo period, transportation in Japan was confined to foot travel and the Tōkaidō highway was the most important route of the country. The Tōkaidō railway was established in 1889, at first paralleling and eventually almost eradicating the use of the highway. During both periods, the Tōkaidō was a popular subject of representation and was depicted in a variety of visual and literary media that were produced before0 and after Hiroshige’s (1797–1858) famous Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō). During the Edo period, the Tōkaidō figured in the collective imagination as a space of play and release, while at the same time it was the locus of famous places (meisho), poetically attested locales that were scattered within the territory of Japan. After the installation of the railway in the Meiji era, the Tōkaidō was presented as a landscape of progress, modernity and westernization expressing the positive or negative connotations that such notions carried. Such representations were fundamental in shaping the Tōkaidō and the realm of traveling in the collective consciousness of the Japanese. In the following chapters I will examine a diversity of material that have the Tōkaidō as their subject matter, including such forms as maps, diaries, guidebooks, printed or painted images, geographical treatises and songs. Notions and concepts embodied by such material expand beyond the narrow definition of the road as a traveling route. The study of these diverse, evolving and sometimes

2 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

contradictory representations of the Tōkaidō during the transitional period from the Edo to the Meiji era will interrogate the will to fabricate and consume visual or literal images of the Tōkaidō, and the function of such representations in forming identities in Edo and Meiji Japan. The title of the book also implies a relationship between traveling and representation; a relation that is not limited to the case of Japan. This book postulates that both traveling and representation are conditioned more upon conceptual and imaginary notions, than on the realm of corporeality and direct experience. This conceptual or imaginary repository from which traveling and representation derive their resources is broader than the directly physical contexts that surround viewers, travelers or art-producers and affects their subjectivities in multifaceted ways. Following Jonathan Crary, I would say that overall ‘discursive, social, technological, and institutional’ contexts affect the realms of traveling and representation, as well as the construction of subjectpositions (Crary 1990:6). Such contexts are to be found as the subtexts of traveling and representation, affecting in fundamental ways the treatment of the specific subject-matter and the issues that underlie the physical encounter between traveling subjects and sites/sights of traveling. I would not like the reader to assume that the individual capacity to overcome or to reflect upon such encompassing paradigms, or the ability of a traveler or an artist to look at his environment with ‘one’s own eyes’ are disregarded. Rather I would like to reiterate what Crary has postulated: namely that subjects are not only producers but also products of representation, in the sense that they not only formulate but are also formulated by it. Moreover, as Karatani Kōjin (1994) maintained, the interiority of the subject in Japan was initiated as late as the nineteenth century, being itself a construct of modernity, and part of a long and complicated process. Thus, what contemporary western society often assumes as given, namely individuality as the cornerstone of the self, has not always been the case, at least not in Japan—and I would assume not in the west either to the degree that is generally believed. Hence, looking with ‘one’s own eyes’ is not a spectator’s natural capacity, but rather a constructed condition that has been valorized through the modern faith in the power of individuality. The above stipulations are strongly related to the constructionist approach to representation, which readers of the field of cultural studies will find familiar.1 This view differentiates itself from essentialist art interpretations, namely the reflective or the intentional approaches. According to a reflective approach, representation is accounted as ‘mimesis’ of what exists in the ‘real world,’ while the intentional approach is based upon a consideration of the artist as the only authority who controls the meaning of his/her work. The constructionist approach, which I will take in this book, is based on the stipulation that the meaning of art, or more broadly visual or material culture, is constantly under construction and is affected by social as well as individual implications deriving from both artists and readers (Hall 1997a: 24–6). For the constructionist approach, representation does not simply reflect the ‘real world;’ it is rather seen precisely

INTRODUCTION 3

as constitutive of the experience of the ‘real,’ which is being shaped by the conceptual and imaginary notions that are configured through representations (Hall 1997c). At the same time, the study of representation should not try to dig out merely what is in an artist’s mind but also what exists in the minds of the readers, the dynamically changing audience and succeeding artists who reflect upon, consume or ‘reproduce’ the work. This type of approach will be applied in the study of the Tōkaidō and its representation during the passage from the Edo to the Meiji era. In the chapters to follow, I will attempt to avoid a deterministic or essentialist scheme that subordinates traveling and representation to the field of perception, namely the alterations of the landscape that modernization and industrialization brought to Japan. According to such a rather deterministic scheme, representational changes should be attributed to the rupture brought about by the development of infrastructure from a highway to a railway, the accompanying physical transformations of the natural and urban setting, and their influence upon human vision or, more broadly, the perceptible realm that surrounded travelers, artists and spectators. As I will claim through the following examination, traveling along the Tōkaidō has itself been a framework of representation, upon which various sets of conceptual, literary or visual ‘images’ have been projected. However, most of those images are not direct products of a gaze and might have little to do with the actual field of perception, vision or physical reality. Rather, they are related to major epistemological and sociopolitical transformations that shaped not only landscapes and representations, but also the geographical desires and imaginations of travelers and spectators. Such a view, that attributes both material and illusionary notions to the realm of traveling, is not necessarily tied up with traveling per se and can indeed be projected onto the examination of any given spatial configuration. According to Henri Lefebvre, the notion of space is a physical, social and mental entity. Space is a product of social and authoritative actions that attain material manifestations that are perceived by sensory organs, but also includes immaterial products ‘of the imagination, such as projects and projections, symbols and utopias’ (Lefebvre 1991:11–12). There is however something distinctive happening during traveling (and all the surrounding notions of displacement, diaspora, borderlands, immigration, migration, exodus, tourism, pilgrimage, exile; see Clifford 1997:11) which cannot be encountered to such an extent at the place of inhabitation, the place with which we relate in a habitual manner. It is within the field of cultural studies that studies on traveling have found their own raison d’être. While traditionally studies of the humanities have privileged ‘roots over routes’ (Clifford 1997:3), in the past few decades, anthropologists such as James Clifford, Caren Kaplan and others have emphasized the ideological function of travel and displacement within modern and postmodern discourses. Traveling, both in its physical and conceptual manifestation, is indeed the locus where metaphors of subjectivity and familiarity obtain a spatial definition, but is also

4 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

the locus of ‘trans-local cultures’ and ‘contact zones’ where hybridity and cultural interaction occur (Clifford 1997:7). The representation of the Tōkaidō in its expansion is a topic of inquiry that bridges cartographic with artistic concerns; in other words, issues of national territoriality with cultural and individual interests. Not many roads have been represented in their totality; in Japan it is mostly the Tōkaidō (and much less the Kisokaidō) that have attracted the interest of such a varied range of artists and scholars. Before we start examining the Tōkaidō’s representation we should first ask whether the Tōkaidō—a 500 km route— is an entity that is qualified to attain a unified image. Cities are registered in the public memory through perceptual elements that assemble their ‘mental map,’2 and nations are based upon visible or invisible notions that are the products of symbolic constructions.3 A road obtains its distinctiveness in its trespassing on a variety of natural or urban entities while maintaining its own physical and regulatory order. Travelers thus experience the road not only as a path to a diversity of places but also as a distinct topology, a place in its own right, or even a template invested with variable notions. Because of its size, the Tōkaidō lies at the borders between the cognitive scale of ‘geography,’ that goes beyond the direct experience of space and ‘is thought more than lived,’ and that of the ‘landscape,’ a ‘ground’ but also ‘a structure of its own’ as distinguished by Norberg-Schulz (1971:28).4 Roads, despite the fact that related social groups cannot directly identify with them —as citizens can with their city or with their nation—still function as parts of a group’s milieu, in other words as loci of symbolic attachment that configure a group’s set of values. I would argue that the Tōkaidō—either by its being imagined as the realm of the margin in Edo Japan, or by its being appropriated under the auspices of the ‘central’ ideology in the Meiji era— has been a locus of identity formation, if not for the whole of Japan, at least for the residents of the main urban centers (Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka) and their intermediary areas. At home or away from home, the Tōkaidō provided a part of an ‘alphabet’ for understanding the world, defining the evolving notions of ‘center and home’ vs. ‘the realm of the margin and the other.’ At the same time the Tōkaidō was also strongly entangled with the country’s modernization, introducing novelties, liberties, but also procedures for conforming to an international order. Indeed, as historians of Japanese studies have claimed, Edo Japan, despite the feudal regime, developed major characteristics of modernity especially after the Genroku era (1688–1704): rapid urbanization, literacy, increase of social and physical mobility, to mention but a few. Within such an environment the Tōkaidō played a major role, not only by including the three major urban centers of the country, but also by facilitating exchanges between populations of different regions—including those between Japanese and foreigners—and giving rise to consumerism. In the Meiji era the Tōkaidō introduced technological innovations that came, unavoidably, with new disciplinary procedures that led into the development of the industrious subject of modern Japan.

INTRODUCTION 5

Mobility and the Tōkaidō as scholarly subjects Throughout Japanese history, the Tōkaidō has acquired four distinct functional identities: (1) Tōkaidō as a highway until the early Meiji era, (2) Tōkaidō as a railway from the Meiji era, (3) Tōkaidō as a region (dō) established in ancient Japan5 and (4) Tōkaidō as a megalopolis6 in the 1960 and 1970s. These transformations indicate that the Tōkaidō evolved from an on-foot traveling route that trespassed on distinct urban and rural entities giving cohesion to a region to a conglomeration of urban units that functions as a mega-city. Besides such functional definitions, we can identify four broader fields of inquiry related to the Tōkaidō: (1) the Tōkaidō as a field of traveling-tourism studied by history, cultural geography and anthropology; (2) the Tōkaidō as part of Japan’s inland infrastructure, studied by history and transportation geography; (3) the Tōkaidō as a megalopolis, studied by geography and planning; and (4) the Tōkaidō as a subject of cartographic, literary and visual representation, studied by cartography, literature and art history. The chapters that follow provide information about the social and institutional contexts that surrounded the Tōkaidō during the Edo and Meiji eras and indicate how both traveling along the Tōkaidō and representing the Tōkaidō functioned as meta-languages that introduced notions far surpassing the topographical subject-matter. As historians have indicated, the borders between the Edo and the Meiji era are not clear-cut and a fusion of ideas and forms may be easily detected. Thus a direct comparison between these two diverse, though sequential periods is particularly problematic. It is most of all because of the differences between the institutional bodies that regulated traveling and its representations that symmetries—which would ideally allow for direct comparisons— are difficult to identify. It is implicit in the argument of this book, that in order to study such transitions in a manner that would avoid formalist reductionisms, an interdisciplinary view has to be established. By looking at the representation of Edo and Meiji Japan, it may not be too difficult to locate similarities and differences in a formal level. This book goes beyond formal analogies, looking at the symbolic contents that representations of mobility carry, as they are embedded and appropriated by the diverse epistemological and sociopolitical contexts of each era. Indeed, mobility and its representation have never functioned in a vacuum; rather they always operate as powerful tools for expressing broader sociopolitical tendencies. The ‘travel boom’ that was characteristic of Edo Japan was a sign of departure from the feudal condition and, in combination with the newly created middle class, denoted the concoction of a ‘protonationstate’ (Mitani 1997). The sites of traveling—highways and post-stations— although they had been established initially as a means of facilitating the centralization and control of the country un0der the bakufu, were appropriated by the commoners’ culture indicating the empowering of the, until then, lesser classes. In the Meiji era, the establishment of the railway epitomized Japan’s

6 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

technological achievement and paved the way to equalize itself with western powers. The Tōkaidō attracted major capital investments and along its route numerous tourist facilities introduced western lifestyles and modes of leisure. From the Meiji era until World War II, the accelerated development of the railway was in accord with the expansive nationalist ideology of Japan, and the railway became an icon of Japan’s military machine. In the postwar period, mobility facilitated rapid urbanization and exchanges between what had, until then, been remote regions. Commuting and suburbanization expanded the formation of the three major metropolitan areas of modern times (Tokyo, Nagoya and Kyoto-Osaka-Kobe) to a continuous conurbation, characterized by geographers as the Tōkaidō megalopolis. The Tōkaidō Shinkansen became the symbol of Japan’s economic miracle and boundless faith in technology, while recently, the Tōkaidō highway has resurfaced as an asset from Japan’s premodern history, becoming the subject of a tourist campaign named Tōkaidō Renaissance. Throughout this history, we should notice that particular areas became mobilized while others remained static, and also that traveling accumulated a multitude of nuances, promoting diverse subject positions: wandering, pilgrimage, displacement, tourism, migrancy, commuting, selfdiscovery and so forth. Comparisons between railway and pre-railway modes of perception have often provided the basis for negative reviews of modernity. Since its establishment, the railway has been presented as symbolic of the repression and anguish of rationalized modern life. In Europe, Flaubert described the boredom of the railway traveler in comparison to the previous excitement of journeys on foot. In the Meiji era, when the railway was introduced to Japan, a number of prominent Japanese saw the train as a major expression of the negative side of modernity. Natsume Sōseki (1867–1916), who believed there was nothing more typical of twentieth-century civilization in its contempt for individuality than the train, wrote in his novel Kusamakura (The three-cornered world) written in 1906: Whenever I see the violent way in which a train runs along, indiscriminately regarding all human beings as so much freight, I look at the individuals cooped up in the carriages, and at the iron monster itself… and I think, ‘Look out, look out, or you’ll find yourselves in trouble.’ The railway train which blunders ahead blindly into pitch darkness is one example of the very obvious dangers which abound in modern civilization. (Natsume 1965:181) In recent times, geographer David Harvey has argued that the sensuous qualities of spatial representation within the ‘enduring’ time of pre-modern ages were eliminated by the objectivity and rationalization of modernity (Harvey 1989: 240). Within the same framework, according to Schivelbusch, the railway network deprived the traveler of a holistic perception, reducing the position of the individual to that of passive observer. The aversion towards the railway is

INTRODUCTION 7

followed by an apotheosis of the ‘sensual’ character of pre-industrial modes of perception and representation. Traveling by railway is considered to have ‘annihilated’ the traditional space-time continuum which characterized an old transport technology ‘organically embedded in nature’ (Schivelbusch 1979:36). Contrastingly, the traveler-walker (voyager) is considered as someone who perceives space in its duration (durée, time understood not as a mathematical unity but as subjective perception). De Certeau praises ‘walking practices’ contrary to the ‘speculative experience of the world’ through the railway, ‘a module of imprisonment that makes possible the production of an order’ (de Certeau 1988:97–111). Thus a set of polarities is being assumed: walker versus railway traveler, nature versus artificiality, continuity versus fragmentation, sensuality versus automation, intensity versus abstraction. Contrary to that established perception, I will suggest that many of the negative characteristics that are attributed to the mechanized mode of mobility, such as fragmentation and abstraction, are not absent from the structure and representation of traveling in the pre-railway era. In order to draw comparisons, this book will look at the ‘perception’ mode not of the individual traveler, but rather of the social subjectivities that are involved in the business of traveling, replacing the emphasis on ‘perception’ with a set of mental faculties much broader than the direct bodily view of the world. The representations of the Tōkaidō which form the focus of the book have rarely been examined in juxtaposition; rather, they are usually studied through the distinct boundaries of disciplines, such as cartography, literature and art history. Studies of the Tōkaidō’s representation might thus be described as ‘horizontal;’ namely road-maps of the Edo period Tōkaidō are examined in conjunction with Edo period cartography, while comparisons between material of different periods or different forms are rare and non-systematic. In this book, I will examine closely such diverse representations of the Tōkaidō in Edo and Meiji Japan, identifying lineages, repetitions and ruptures throughout their production. Through this examination the reader will discover that our contemporary classifications of cartography, literature and art in fact constitute a modern construction and have not always been applicable. Indeed, in the Edo period the above forms were hardly distinguished from each other, reflecting not only weak distinctions between genres and styles but also fusions between institutional bodies that authorized such representations. For instance, Edo period cartography was not infrequently undertaken by visual artists, who at the same time drew heavily upon travel literature, while both official and popular artists worked with multiple stylistic references and crossed freely between ateliers (Clark 1995:255–6). The fusion of forms that was characteristic of Edo Japan was gradually abolished in the modern era, and modern organizations that were introduced to Japan in the Meiji era led to a gradual distinction between genres and producing bodies. The chapters that follow synthesize a diversity of material with the use of critical tools that derive from the fields of the visual studies, cultural geography

8 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

and spatial anthropology; all of which are newly formed interdisciplinary ‘coalitions’ that stand between traditional academic boundaries, and focus on the changing dynamics between high and low cultures, strategies from the realm of above and practices from below. Structure of the book The examination of the Tōkaidō that will be presented below is elucidated by Henri Lefebvre’s postulation on a tripartite structure of space: space perceived (spatial practices), space conceived (representations of space) and space lived (representational space) (Lefebvre 1991:33, 38–40). Lefebvre’s scheme is particularly helpful in understanding the relations between the material, conceptual and experiential aspects of the Tōkaidō. At the same time it is extremely abstract and thus susceptible to a diversity of interpretations. ‘Spatial practices’ stem from governmental or corporate authorities and aim predominantly at the reproduction and maintenance of the social relations and the given order. This is the realm of space that is perceived by the sensory organs. It consists of material applications and regulatory mechanisms, including infrastructural applications, urban planning or architecture. Such an approach encompasses the macroscale of a given space which is determined by the totalizing gaze of map-makers, planners and architects who aspire to control a territory. In the case of the Tōkaidō it can be best expressed by road-cartography, a means of describing but also prescribing the territory, and by the design aspects of its transportation stations. ‘Space conceived’ consists of the ‘social engineering’ of space, conceptual notions that aim to direct space in accordance to certain visions. Such conceptual notions can be best expressed in language and in the case of the Tōkaidō are usually uttered through the writings of ideologues and intellectuals. These writings reflect the ideology of either political or intellectual authorities and create subject positions as they advise potential or imaginary travelers on their relations with given spaces. ‘Space conceived’ also lies behind cartography, planning and architecture, especially in eras when these practices have an ideological function. ‘Space as lived’ is the space of experience that exists within the material environment, but also the mental space that embodies concepts and imaginings. We have to dive into the ‘micro-scale’ in order to observe ‘space as lived,’ but also into the visual and literal arts that express the preoccupations of broader populations. In our case these are mainly the transportation stations and other famous locales along the Tōkaidō, represented in numerous products of popular arts and inspiring the fantasies of actual or potential travelers. It is in the countless printed and painted views of the transportation stations and in their almost encyclopedic associations, that such ‘underground’ notions of public life have been encoded.

INTRODUCTION 9

In the present book we will examine these last two layers of space (‘space conceived’ and ‘space lived’) in juxtaposition, while ‘space perceived will form a separate chapter. It should be noted that the book focuses on visual descriptions and relations between texts and images rather than aspects of literary criticism. The structure of the book can be described as follows: Chapter 2, entitled ‘Infrastructure and cartography of the Tōkaidō in macro,’ starts with an examination of the functional and administrative operation of the Tōkaidō; in other words, with a description of the ‘spatial practices’ upon the Tōkaidō as a part of the inland infrastructural applications in each of the two periods. The second part of the chapter deals with the Tōkaidō’s cartography as a means of facilitating movement of officials and commoners, but also of producing items of symbolic value. This chapter will examine the administrative and commercial framework of map production, as well as the variety of visual languages employed by road-maps. I will distinguish between governmental and popular maps, as well as between Edo-influenced maps of the Meiji era and those that reflect the application of an abstract model of capitalist space, characteristic of the condition of modernity. It was in this era that road-cartography was endorsed by the authorities as a means of establishing particular national and international hierarchies in the collective consciousness of the Japanese. Chapter 3, ‘Traveling practices and literary Tōkaidō,’ starts with an introduction to the variety of travelers who coexisted along the Tōkaidō, including aesthete-travelers, pilgrims and processions from Japan or abroad in the Edo period; migrants, weekenders and Japanese or foreign tourists in the Meiji. Such subject-positions and traveling practices along the Tōkaidō are culturally and socially constructed. They are interconnected with literary prescriptions that shaped the Tōkaidō as a conceptual field: diaries, guidebooks, fictional literature, songs and geographical treatises. All such works, produced by intellectual authorities, ideologues or private enterprises gave significance to the Tōkaidō and its locales, promoting specific travel attitudes and establishing a diversity of connotative layers that the travelers could recall during their journey. Chapter 4, ‘Performance, visuality and imagination at the Tōkaidō’s microscale,’ focuses on the Tōkaidō’s transportation stations, famous places and tourist destinations. This chapter introduces the notion of sakariba, an urban stage that embodies both representational and performative aspects of space. The chapter continues by examining the lineage of printed, painted and photographic images of the Tōkaidō’s locales in the Edo and Meiji Japan, distinguishing between official and popular productions, and pointing out analogies with language-based media. The chapter considers issues of authorship and originality, and searches for the semantic trajectories of motifs that are repeated in works by different artists. The fifth and last chapter, ‘Conclusions and openings: Tōkaidō as a medium of national knowledge,’ positions the previous findings within the broader epistemological discourses of the two eras, discussing the changing national identity of Japan during these two periods. This chapter distinguishes a

10 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

continuity between the Meiji era’s ‘modern mythologies’ and contemporary appreciations of the Tōkaidō’s history, investigating the predominance of Edo period within postmodern cultural politics. With the above in mind, I invite the reader to depart upon the metaphorical road of the Tōkaidō, for a journey to a distant era, thus ‘away from home’; but also inescapably ‘at home,’ as we unavoidably carry with us our contemporary theoretical burden; tourists as well as theorists.

2 INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY OF THE TŌKAIDŌ IN MACRO7

The Tōkaidō as a geopolitical territory The history of Japan’s infrastructure is usually narrated as a history of progress. In this account, the system of infrastructure prior to the railway is often described as backward or primitive.8 However, the low-tech infrastructure of the Edo period was instrumental in instituting the bakufu’s military and political control over the territory and establishing the castletown of Edo as the center of a unified Japan. In what follows I will claim that the development of the Tōkaidō’s infrastructure, which in more recent eras has led to the creation of a megalopolis, has been intertwined with political decisions that were implemented during Japan’s early modern era. Since ancient times there has been a close relation between Japanese roads and regions. According to the early geographer Robert Hall: from remotest times down to the present the concepts of road and region have been closely identified by the people of Japan. In the earliest records, the 8th century Kojiki and Nihon shoki, we find the character pronounced ‘michi,’ ‘ji,’ or ‘dō’ used indiscriminately for road, circuit, province, group of provinces and region. In a country as mountainous as Japan, this is a logical development. Natural routes are few, and the great roads were largely determined by geography and have followed much the same courses down through the centuries, changing only in detail with the demands of a changing economic order. Like great rivers, these highways were fed by tributary roads and trails, coordinating the whole region. (Hall 1937:356–7) Indeed, as we see in the satellite image of Plate 1, the geographical formation of the Japanese archipelago is composed of high mountains in the inland area and narrow coastal areas parallel to the Pacific and the Japanese sea. The Tōkaidō region also contains three large plains—Kantō, Nōbi and Osaka—that lie in proximity to the natural bays of Tokyo, Ise and Osaka, a topographical formation

12 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

that has facilitated the development of urban clusters in proximity to plains and water-routes, with high population densities. Nevertheless, the Tōkaidō was not always the most important route in the country. From the ancient to the Heian period (794–1185), the principal highway was the San’yōdō—the route that connected Kyoto, the imperial capital, and Dazaifu, an important military base in north Kyushu, that was founded in 664 after the defeat of the Japanese in Korea. When the first shogunal capital was established in Kamakura, in 1185, and throughout the Kamakura period (1185– 1333) the Tōkaidō grew in importance, as it connected the two main seats of power, the shogunal with the imperial capital. During the Muromachi (1333– 1467) and the Warring-states period (1467–1573), the lack of a unifying power over the country and the defense needs of each separate clan led to the weak maintenance and gradual abandonment of national highways. The highways were revitalized during the early unification of the country under Oda Nobunaga (1534–82) and Toyotomi Hideyoshi (1537–98) who established Osaka castle as his center of power, drawing in merchants from various areas. When Tokugawa leyasu (1543–1616; r. 1603–5) came into power, the Tōkaidō regained its importance as a link between Kyoto and Edo, the new administrative center of Japan. The Tokugawa fortified the Tōkaidō to an unprecedented degree, by establishing along the route centers of power that were their allies. Besides Edo and Okazaki, which had been his own castle before he became the shōgun, Ieyasu proceeded to establish two more bulwarks along the Tōkaidō: Nagoya and Sunpu or Fuchū (present day Shizuoka), which became his military base and where he later retired. With this, the traveling of officials increased, which meant the highway had to be improved. The Tokugawa also arranged that the rest of the castles along the Tōkaidō belonged to daimyō (provincial lords) submissive to them, mainly shinpan (daimyō related to the Tokugawa) and fudai (daimyō who were loyal to the Tokugawa rulers prior to their taking full bureaucratic control of the country). The daimyō along the Tōkaidō were directed to patrol the road, while their castles functioned as military outposts for the Tokugawa. All tozama (apart from daimyō who achieved their status independently or through alliance with Oda Nobunaga or Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and who were forced to swear allegiance to the Tokugawa when the latter became politically supreme), were placed in between two fudai daimyō’s domains or in regions remote from Edo, such as Kyushu and Shikoku. Despite Edo’s importance however, until the Edo period traveling to Edo was named kudari (go-down) and traveling to Kyoto was named nobori (go-up), indicating the Emperor’s superiority to the shōgun, at least at a symbolic level. By the seventeenth century, a ‘tripartite metropolis’ (santo) developed in the Tōkaidō region. The functions of the capital were distributed into three areas: the imperial capital Kyoto, which was also the place of production dominated by both aristocrats and artisans; Osaka, the exchange center where the merchant class prevailed; and Edo, the administrative center and the place of consumption par excellence with the highest concentration of samurai. These were the

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 13

followers of the daimyō during their annual or bi-annual visitation to Edo (sankin kōtai or system of alternate residence) where they kept luxurious residences, while their wives and children were practically kept hostage by the shōgun. Besides Tōkaidō’s eminence in Japan’s internal affairs, at the end of the Edo period external forces demanded that international ports should open at Yokohama (1859) and Hyōgo (1867), while international settlements would be established at Yokohama, Kobe and Osaka. The establishment of international ports and the subsequent increase of trade played an important role in the development of the Tōkaidō’s economy, and particularly for the cities near the ports, which attracted numerous industrial functions, benefiting from their location near the water-transportation routes. To the tripartite metropolis, we should also add Nagoya, which lies near Yokkaichi port and Nōbi plain; it has attracted various regional investments and, since the Meiji Era, has been named chūkyō, or the ‘mid-capital’ of Japan. Because of all this, raw material, food, labor and the consuming population were concentrated in those urban clusters, creating the possibility for modern development favored by the Meiji government. Tōkaidō’s three principal areas, Hanshin (centered in Tokyo), Keihin (centered in Osaka-Kyoto) and chūkyō (centered in Nagoya), were established as the economic and cultural centers of the modern state, accompanied by the establishment of the first banks, commercial enterprises, national universities and other modern institutions. With the establishment of private and national railway companies, the Tōkaidō region (and more broadly what is called ‘Pacific coastal belt’ expanding to reach northern Kyushu) was knitted together into an unbreakable whole. That it contained capital cities was another major advantage of the Tōkaidō. After the restoration of the Emperor, there were conflicting opinions as to where the new capital should be located; all agreed, however, that it should be in the Tōkaidō region. Proposals ranged from the establishment of a single new capital at Fushimi, or Osaka; double capitals at Kyoto and Edo; and triple capitals, an eastern one at Tokyo, a western one at Osaka, both to be controlled by the imperial capital at Kyoto. Noting the conflict, a former young leader of the vassals of the shōgun persuaded the head of the Meiji government to relocate the capital from Kyoto to Edo (Miyakawa 1983:112). In 1868, Tokyo became the capital of the modern state, while the role of Kyoto and Osaka was gradually reduced. Infrastructure upon the Tōkaidō route Inland infrastructure in the Edo period The division of Japan into independent and hostile domains during the Muromachi period had left a fragmented highway network that intentionally restricted accessibility and communication between separate domains. The

14 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

significance of the highways as a means of not only mobility but also the country’s unification was first realized by Nobunaga. Nobunaga widened the roads and abolished the barriers (sekisho) throughout the areas over which he extended his control. Hideyoshi continued this project, eliminating the bandits who lived outside the law and were the major fear of the travelers along the highways (Bresler 1975:65–8, 71–2). With this, traveling, and pilgrimage in particular, increased critically. When the Tokugawa came to power, the highways were reorganized and maintained to an unprecedented degree. The Tokugawa established the Gokaidō highway system (system of the five roads), replacing the earlier system of the eight highways (Go kinai, Tōkaidō, Tōsandō, Hokurikudō, San’indō, San’yōdō, Nankaidō, Saikaidō) that had degenerated by the middle of the Heian period. The Gokaidō included Tōkaidō, Nakasendō (Kisokaidō), Kōshūkaidō, Nikkōkaidō and Ōshūkaidō. Besides the five roads there were four sub-major highways: Mitōkaidō, Minōkaidō, Isekaidō and Chūgokukaidō. The Gokaidō was meant to cover primarily the military needs of the government and to facilitate the movement of the officials, martial forces and mail delivery. The starting point was Nihonbashi, the center of the shōgun’s capital Edo. Another important difference that the Tokugawa brought to the system was the abolition of the tolls that were previously established during the Muromachi period, as a profitable financial resource for the competing provincial lords. The Tokugawa organized the infrastructure in a systematic way, institutionalizing what had previously been the function of religious leaders— yamabushi in the case of Buddhist and oshi in the case of Shintō—who had assumed an active role in infrastructural maintenance and in guiding travelers.9 Infrastructural work was now undertaken by the government in a unified manner, through this did not mean that the work of the religious leaders ended; quite the contrary, as traveling became easier their and other local agents’ services became more needed. Along the highways post-stations (shuku) were established at equal distances, from an average of 2.131 ri in the case of Tōkaidō to 1.33 ri in the case of Nakasendō, offering lodging and other travel facilities (Plate 8).10 Between them, middle stages (ai no shuku) and tea-houses (chaya) were established at shorter intervals. The provision of highway infrastructure included the building of bridges, the development of water-crossing facilities, the positioning of distance-markers (ichirizuka) at every ri (3.927 km), as well as stone-paving and planting roadside pine-trees. At each post-station an official mediator called ton’ya coordinated and checked transportation of goods, people and the use of horses. The main aim behind the Tokugawa’s emphasis on infrastructure was to facilitate official mobility, not recreational traveling. Thus various facilities made traveling easier on one hand, while necessary difficulties that would allow for control of mobility were maintained. The major points of control were the barriers, where passports were examined. Although barriers always existed, they were positioned in different points according to the location of the center of

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 15

power that they were meant to defend. For example, until the Heian period the barriers defended mainly Kyoto and were set at Suzuka in Mie, Arachi in Fukui (later replaced by the Osaka barrier in Shiga) and Fuwa in Gifu (Ōshima 1966: 58). In the Edo period there were two permanent barriers along the Tōkaidō (Arai, Hakone), and other temporary ones established on the occasion of various military expeditions of the Tokugawa (e.g. Seta, Yamashina).11 Tokugawa discouraged non-official traveling, especially that of women and farmers. The movement of the first was prohibited mainly for the fear that the wives of the daimyō could escape Edo and go back to their province (han). With regard to farmers, Tokugawa ideology favored agriculture as the material and moral backbone of their society, and farmers traveling meant reduction of agricultural production. Thus farmers had to remain at the place of their registration and they required official permission to travel (Vaporis 1994:136–59). Restrictions on farmers’ mobility had been imposed since the early Edo period, through the Proclamation of Seven Articles of 1603, which allowed farmers to leave their village only if they had a legitimate grievance against the overlord and if they followed procedures established by the authorities (Satō 1990:40–1). The permissible length of a traveler’s stay at a post-station was limited to just one night: leisurely sightseeing in the towns along the highways was not encouraged, and every person who stayed at an inn was required to record his name and place of residence in the register. Regulations issued by the Superintendent of Highways in 1686 stated: All travelers are to be closely examined. Stopping for one night is permissible, but no one at all shall be lodged for two nights. All persons such as migrant laborers and other doubtful characters shall be reported immediately. (Kodama 1957:179) In the Edo period, traveling was confined to travel on foot, and in the cases of high-status and—later—wealthy travelers to palanquins or horses, which had to be changed at each post-station at the office of the ton’ya (ton’ya ba).12 In the case of water crossings there were ferry services (Ise Bay, Lake Hamana), but at the large Ōi and Abe Rivers travelers had to hire porters (see Figures 35 and 36). Gradually, outcasts and homeless people came to act as private riders, providing services to travelers for a fee. Fares depended on the weight of the load and on the use of man-power or horse-power for its transport. Before the Edo period, official accommodation was offered only to governmental travelers and aristocrats at the residence of the head of the stations (chōja) (Kodama 1960:14– 15; Bresler 1975:51). In the Edo period, daimyō resided at luxurious hotels named honjin, their followers at waki-honjin and commoners at simple inns named hatagoya. Unlike in modern times, travelers of status like the daimyō did not have to pay fees, but there was a custom of making large presents to the owner, the ‘husband of the honjin,’ such as refitting the mats or providing

16 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 1 Discrepancies between the route of the Tōkaidō highway in the Edo period and the establishment of the Tōkaidō railway in 1889.

furniture for the house, etc. In order to facilitate increasing transportation demand, the bakufu employed the post-village system (sukegō seido), according to which the surrounding villages had to work in turn to provide various transportation facilities, in return for exemption from feudal duties. Sukegō, however, often provoked dissatisfaction and the protests of the farmers (Walthall 1986:66–8). Another way of increasing the transportation capacity of a poststation was the kajuku system (villages supplementary to post-stations), in which adjacent villages joined the post-station in providing certain types of facilities, with the exception of lodging. The Tōkaidō as a highway The Tōkaidō ran from Nihonbashi in Edo to Sanjō bridge in Kyoto (Figure 1). Traveling time between these two locations was reduced from 91 days in the period of the Taika reform (645) to 12–15 days by 1223, a speed that was maintained throughout the Edo period, with the exception of the much-faster courier system.13 In 1604 the width of the Tōkaidō was set to 5 ken. The Tōkaidō included fifty-five post-stations,14 and two more until its expansion to Osaka. Some of its stations were parts of castle-towns (jōka-machi), such as Odawara, Yoshida and Kuwana; temple-cities (monzen-machi) such as Mishima and Atsuta; and port-cities (minato-machi), such as Kawasaki, Shimada and Kanaya. The main water-crossings of the Tōkaidō were the connections between KuwanaAtsuta and Arai-Maisaka, and the crossings of the Tenryū, Ōi, Abe, Okitsu, Fuji and Sakawa rivers. Tōkaidō’s post-stations had the highest average population in relation to the other roads averaging 3,950 inhabitants in 1843.15 For defense purposes, while crossing through castle-towns the highways acquired many bends; for instance, the Tōkaidō was bent no fewer than twenty-

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 17

seven times in its passage through the town of Okazaki. Highways always avoided the towns’ centers, and preferably ran through the merchants’ quarters. The Tōkaidō included less mountainous parts in comparison with other roads and, at some places, there was almost no distance between its post-stations, which expanded in both directions, a condition that was facilitated by the absence of fortifications around Japanese settlements. In the early Edo period, the German physician Engelbert Kaempfer (1651– 1713) referred to conglomerations along the highways that were created by the elongation of existing post-stations, as a response to the expansion of trading facilities along the highways: very often, a large number of villages continues in one row without a break. On leaving one village, one enters the next, and in this fashion rows of houses built next to each other continue for many miles with merely a change in name. (Kaempfer 1712:482; in Bodart-Bailey 2003:109) Specifically, in the connection between Osaka and Kyoto, Kaempfer noted that ‘the road and the surrounding countryside is covered with villages, and not many more are needed to turn the whole road up to Miyako into an urban street’ (Bodart-Bailey 1999:317). This situation became more pronounced in the following years, so that a hundred years later the German doctor Franz von Siebold (1796–1861), who worked for the Dutch, remarked: Except for a small portion of the Tōkaidō which passes through a mountainous region, the road consists of almost a continuous line of towns, villages and teahouses. (Siebold 1982:220; in Vaporis 1994:23) The Tōkaidō was the most frequently used road for the sankin kōtai (system of alternate attendance). All western daimyō had to use the Tōkaidō, and only eight of them were later given the privilege of choosing between Tōkaidō or Nakasendō16 (Tsukahira 1966:70–1). Imperial envoys were obliged to alternate between the Tōkaidō and Nakasendō (Watanabe 1981: 528). Foreign processions also passed along the Tōkaidō. The Tōkaidō was important, too, for the shōgun’s own traveling across the country. Especially after he had retired to Sunpu, leyasu traveled frequently between Sunpu and Edo, personally inspecting the condition of the road (Maruyama 1992: 198; Bodart-Bailey 2003:109). The first three shōgun all traveled to Kyoto on a number of occasions: leyasu four times, Hidetada (1579–1632; r. 1605– 23) six times, and lemitsu (1604–51; r. 1623–51) three times. The largest of these processions, that accompanying lemitsu to Kyoto in 1634, consisted of over 300,000 people and, needless to say, required a considerable number of personnel to service the road and the lodgings (Maruyama 1992:220; Bodart-Bailey 2003:109). The travel of shōgun Iemochi (1846–66; r.

18 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

1858– 66) to Kyoto in the spring of 1863 in response to a summons by the Emperor Kōmei (1831–67, r. 1846–67) was another famous event as it happened at the end of the Edo period, when the authority of the Tokugawa was largely declining. This unprecedented step signified that the political center of the empire was already shifting back to Kyoto. At the end of the Edo period, diplomatic problems between foreigners and Japanese officials led to a proposal to open a new route specifically for the passage of foreigners. The most famous incident happened at the village in the company of the British merchant C.L.Richardson (?–1862) crossed Namamugi near Yokohama in 1862. During this incident three British men the road as a daimyō train belonging to Satsuma clan was passing, an action of major disrespect according to the daimyō protocol, and Richardson was eventually killed by a samurai. Francis Hall (1822–1902), a correspondent for Horace Greely’s New York Tribune, reported that, because of such incidents, there was a proposal to construct a new Tōkaidō several miles away from and parallel to the present one, so that the daimyō could avoid meeting foreigners. Nevertheless, ‘of a sudden this order is rescinded because […] the daimios regarded the removal out of the way of the foreigners a disgraceful concession’ (Notehelfer 1992:454). The amount of wealth and people being transferred via the Tōkaidō was greater than on any other road.17 This contributed greatly to cross-fertilization between local cultures along the region. According to Vaporis, Edo period culture was not only a product of Edo castle, but ‘was produced and transmitted all along the metaphorical road of alternate attendance.’ The retainers of the daimyō, and their consumption habits, use of material goods and cultural activities operated as ‘carriers of culture’ throughout the country (Vaporis 1997: 28). The volume of traffic on the Tōkaidō and the amount of wealth circulating along the route resulted in the development of a large travel industry. In it, merchants, despite their low status within the Tokugawa social system, played an active role. The traffic of the Tōkaidō road, and the way it was maintained, attracted the admiration of many foreign travelers. The Swedish physician Olof Willman was so impressed with the Tōkaidō in the seventeenth century that he wrote: ‘probably no other road in the world costs as much as this’ (Vaporis 1995: 27). The introduction of the railroad Advocates and enemies The love affair of the Japanese with the railway had already begun at the end of the Edo period. It was no coincidence that when Commodore Perry (1794–1858) came to Japan in 1853, one of the presents he brought to the Japanese shōgun was a model train. Two years later, the first unofficial railway construction completed in Japanese territory was in the province of Saga, which practiced the

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 19

construction of technological advances through the application of western knowledge. For the early Japanese travelers abroad, the railway was one of the major curiosities of western civilization. One of the first Japanese who described the railways was the castaway Manjirō Nakahama (1827–98), known as John Manjirō, who wrote in 1845: ‘The appearance of the railway is like a ship, it has a bell and sounds like boiling water.’ Kume Kunitake (1839–1931), author of the account of the Iwakura mission (the first official mission to the west), after his trip to Chicago wrote with admiration on the prosperity of the area around the railway station, and after his trip to England described the sensation of being in a train as like hearing a clap of thunder and of the subway as an earthquake (Kōken Sekkei Ekiken Guruppu 1994:8). Foreigners were the first to advise Japanese authorities on the necessity of building the railway. In 1869, the year when the feudal highway system of barriers and travel control was abolished, a famine struck northern Japan. With this opportunity, Harry Parkes (1828– 85), the British minister to Japan, advised the Japanese government that if they possessed railroads they could easily have sent relief supplies to the stricken areas. Soon after, the Foreign Office presented a memorandum urging the construction of a railroad between Tokyo and Yokohama: ‘Railroads…make it possible to move goods from areas of plenty to areas of scarcity, they also encourage the reclamation of waste land, and they facilitate the movement of troops in emergencies’ (Ike 1955:219). Thus the railway was clearly presented as a medium of intertwined economic, military and civil implications. At the same time, on the side of Japan, a Yokohama merchant named Takashima Kaemon (1832–1914) proposed a nationwide system of railroads to be financed by the Japanese nobility.18 The Meiji government asked the advice of various authorities, such as the lighthouse expert R.H.Brunton (1841–1901) and it soon became obvious that the Tokyo-Yokohama line was favored because of its low cost, its potentially high returns, and its usefulness for developing foreign trade (Ishii 1952:153 ff.; Ike 1955:219). Opinions among Japanese political leaders as to the desirability of building railroads were divided, however. Those who were opposed used all kinds of arguments: railroads would facilitate foreign invasion, it would be utter extravagance to use iron for rails when iron was being used to make coins, and so on (Ike 1955:220). The biggest advocates of railway construction were two young statesmen, Ōkuma Shigenobu (1838– 1922), the Vice-Minister of Finance who came from the province of Saga, where incidentally the first working model of a locomotive was built, and Itō Hirobumi (1841–1909) the Assistant ViceMinister of Finance. Ōkuma envisaged a trunk east-west line parallel to the Tōkaidō highway, connecting Tokyo, Yokohama, Kyoto, Osaka and Kobe, and a branch line extending from Kyoto to Tsuruga on the Japan Sea. The two men were able to persuade enough senior statesmen to get official approval for a project to build a line from Tokyo to Yokohama and later to Kyoto. According to Ike, there is no evidence that this decision was preceded by any careful analyses

20 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

of costs and potential revenue in order to determine whether such a line would be a profitable venture (Ike 1955:220). The Meiji government saw railway construction as a means of modernization, centralization of power and market unification in Japan. On December 7, 1869 it was indeed decided that the first line between Tokyo and Kobe (where one of the International Settlements was located) and a branch line from Lake Biwa to Tsuruga would be built. Participants in the decision, besides Ōkuma and Itō, were Vice-Premier Iwakura Tomomi (1835–83) and Minister of Foreign Affairs Sawa Nobuyoshi (1835–73) (Aoki 1994a: 28). Masaru Inoue (1843–1910), who studied railways and mining in London, was appointed the first Director of Railways in Japan in 1871. In order to construct the railway, the government had to employ a large number of foreigners, their specialties ranging from civil engineering and repairing rolling stock to scheduling train services and operations. The engineers were followed by clerks, foremen, locomotive experts, engine drivers, painters, masons, blacksmiths and boilermakers (Finn 1995:45). These foreign experts were named oyatoi gaikokujin literally meaning ‘the government’s official employees.’19 The Japanese government, unlike colonized countries in Asia or South America, kept all these experts under control, and used their knowledge not only for building Japan’s infrastructure, but also for educating Japanese students about engineering (Finn 1995:45).20 The Japanese relied on British technicians to lay the first part of the railroad that connected Tokyo with Yokohama, appointing as chief engineer E.Morel (1841–71) who was formerly engaged in railway construction in Borneo and New Zealand. In parallel to the construction between Tokyo and Yokohama there was a preliminary survey concerning the route of the trunk line. This survey at first concluded that it would be more useful to construct the trunk route along the Nakasendō instead of the Tōkaidō. This would be a way of promoting the development of this mountainous region, but above all it was a solution that had the approval of the military authorities, who were afraid that a coastal railway would be vulnerable to foreign attacks. Japanese military officials, together with conservative samurai, saw the railway as an increase in facilities for foreigners, and thus were hesitant about its development. Since then, there have been numerous cases in which the army altered or delayed Japanese railway plans. In the case of Shinagawa for example, the army refused to let the railway run along the coastal land facing Tokyo Bay and thus the railway line had to be constructed on an artificial embankment on the sea (Aoki 1994a:29). This was not only dangerous in the case of earthquakes, but also caused complaints from local fishermen, whose access to the sea was thus blocked. Although the Nakasendō plan was accepted by both the government and the army, as the work proceeded they realized that the proposed route, which had to run through rugged terrain, would cost much more and take longer to construct. So the route was abandoned in 1886 for a new one, almost parallel to the old Tōkaidō (Aoki 1994b:34).21

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 21

The construction of the Tōkaidō railway According to Aoki, railway construction in Japan took place in four stages: (1) the stage of the construction of the first railway lines in the vicinity of Tokyo and Kyoto (1872–80), (2) the stage of the trunk lines completion (1880–93), (3) the stage of major railway constructions (1893–1908) that ended with the nationalization of the railway in 1906–7, (4) the light railway stage (1908–20) (Aoki 1988:28). During the first period, the two ends of the Tōkaidō, namely the Tokyo-Yokohama and Kyoto-Ōtsu lines, were completed, while the Tōkaidō trunk line as a whole was completed during the second stage. This was followed by the Tōkaidō’s extensions along the Pacific coast; the Tōhoku line from Tokyo to Aomori, and San’yō from Kobe to Kyushu. Construction of the line started in November 1886 and proceeded without serious difficulty. In Figure 1 we can see the deviations of the route in comparison to the highway, mostly as a result of the mountainous topography of the bypassed areas. The line follows the Tōkaidō highway as far as Atsuta, with the exception of Hakone Pass, where the railroad took the easier route of Ashigara (Ōiso, Kōzu, Gotenba, Numazu), skipping the post-stations of Odawara, Hakone and Mishima. From Atsuta, the railroad took the ancient Minō way to the famous pass of Sekigahara. There, it turned southward along the Biwa plain and crossed the southern tip of Lake Biwa by a new bridge over the Seto. This last part is almost identical to the trajectory of the Tōkaidō in the Heian period. Therefore, post-stations of the old Tōkaidō from Kuwana to Ishibe were not included in the Tōkaidō railway line, and the old Tōkaidō was rejoined again at Kusatsu (Hall 1937: 371–2). These and numerous other local connections that were not included in the trunk line were soon undertaken by private lines that proliferated, creating by the turn of the century the so-called first (1885–90) and second (1893–7) ‘railway manias.’ The local foreign press heralded the construction of the railways in Japan. In 1872, after the opening of the Tokyo-Yokohama line the newspaper Far East wrote: Until all Japan is so closely united by the iron roads…prosperity and wealth may increase, and the country become so compact and homogenous that it shall become also very great and powerful! (The Far East 1872; in Meech-Pekarik 1986:88) The British traveler Isabella Bird (1831–1904) also remarked the ‘admirable, well-metalled, double-track railroad…with iron bridges, neat stations and substantial roomy termini, built by English engineers,’ after her first ride to Tokyo (Bird 1973:10). It should be noted that until the opening of the connecting line between Yokohama and Edo, communications were maintained by fourhorse coaches, called the ‘Yedo Mail,’ or alternatively via the sea by a steamer named the City of Edo (Williams 1972:105).

22 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Center and periphery relations after the establishment of the railway Parallel to the railway construction, the Meiji government attempted to improve the condition of the highways. In 1874, the government ordered separate lanes for pedestrians and horses, and horse-drawn buses to be used between Yokohama and Hakone (Yanagita 1957:142–4). Jinrikisha trams (jinsha tetsudō),22 trams based on man-power, were also available along certain parts adjacent to the Tōkaidō, such as that connecting Odawara with Atami. In 1876 the government attempted to fix the width of each road depending on its status as a national highway, prefectural highway or village road.23 The width near Tokyo was in accordance with these standards, but although the Tōkaidō was the widest of all roads, these standards were not met throughout its whole length. Widening the road was a difficult project since the only means of achieving it was to rezone the areas in question and buy up the land designated for construction projects (Shibusawa 1958:167–8). This idea roused the opposition of landlords, and the order was not carried out, apart from in a few cases. For the same reason, Japanese railways have throughout their history preferred to raise elevated lines rather than proceed to land expropriation. The abolition of traveling restrictions by the Meiji government gave an opportunity to private enterprises, such as land transportation companies that were now allowed to use horse-drawn carriages. In 1872, the company Rikuun Moto Gaisha was established in Tokyo by Edo-period express messengers’ guilds of Edo, Kyoto and Osaka (Santo Hikyaku Nakama). Two years later it merged with all the local companies and was renamed Naikoku Tsūun Gaisha (Plate 25). The new company also handled freight transportation and became affiliated with 2,000 local inns, organizing a powerful inn-network that facilitated travel along the Tōkaidō route. The company initially operated between Tokyo and Odawara, but in 1875 they extended their business as far as Atsuta, and in 1876 up to Kyoto (Harada and Tamura 1978:7). These services however declined after the completion of the trunk line. Reactions of those living near the railway were mixed. Most of the towns supported the idea of being equipped with a railway station and there are reported cases of local farmers who offered their labor hauling equipment with their own horses in order to develop rural railways (Aoki 1988:153). Indeed, overall, thanks to the railway a large number of oil storage tanks— used primarily for lamp-oil—and lumber mills were distributed nationwide bringing a significant change in living conditions throughout the country (Shibusawa 1958: 217–18). Thus the railway became associated with an increase in prosperity and economic growth. Allinson gives the example of Kariya in Aichi prefecture, a town that became one of the Tōkaidō’s railway stations, as a ‘combination of good luck and local effort’ Although the town was situated only a few kilometers from the old Tōkaidō road, this did not guarantee it a station. At first, it appeared that the centrally located town of Anjō would become the site of the station.

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 23

Fearing damage to Kariya, two prominent citizens used their political and business contacts in order to establish a Tōkaidō stop in Kariya, which succeeded in 1888, three years before Anjō. However, the station did not bring the boom they had anticipated, since it was located half-an-hour’s walk from the center of the old castle-town, discouraging both riders and shippers. Moreover, the antagonism between Kariya and other stations increased. Consequently, many years passed before Kariya was able to exploit the new line to its full potential. The journey between Kariya and the station was accommodated by the private line of Mikawa, which brought Nagoya much closer—both physically and psychologically (Allinson 1975:35–8). This example makes obvious that the efficiency of the railway in Japan was supported greatly by private, local railroads, which complemented the trunk railway system. On the other hand, the construction of the railway created various negative reactions on the part of the post-stations, residents, as well as horsetransportation companies who saw in it a threat to their prosperity. Some of them, especially the most conservative, ex-supporters of the Tokugawa, in places such as Hikone and Okazaki, refused to build railway stations near their cities, much to their regret later on (Harada and Tamura 1978:21). Although the railway initially appeared to bring economic development to the cities it passed through, it also caused an indirect increase in the price of food and commodities, and consequently complaints from local residents. After the opening of the railways, areas remote from the urban centers started to compete with each other in order to be chosen as suppliers of agricultural products to the main urban centers (Shibusawa 1958:218). The opening of the railway also upset the equilibrium between different classes and professions. For instance, wholesale merchants were now those who arranged the transfer of supplies to the cities resulting in the farmers losing an important contact with the outside world (Yanagita 1957:133). With the development of the railway, the influx of outsiders to places far from the urban centers was reduced, and only a few localities were promoted as tourist attractions. The rest were gradually drained of their population who started immigrating to the industrial and urban centers and especially to Tokyo. Thus the fascination with the railways was soon followed by skepticism on the part of the periphery that sensed the privileging of the main urban centers and their own eventual decay. The study of the geographer Taniuchi confirms that the Tōkaidō line functioned as the spine of Japan in parallel with the metropolitan dominance of its main urban centers. Taniuchi’s study makes clear that the railway structure of the Meiji era was based upon the Edo period’s infrastructure which was characterized by a balanced regional development throughout the country. However, despite the fact that the railway network connected most of the regions, the regional equilibrium was not maintained. The Meiji government’s focus on the urban centers caused the decline of many regional centers that flourished in the Edo period, especially local port-towns and cities on the Japan Sea. Until 1906, the urban centers in Japan were confined to Tokyo, Nagoya, Osaka, Kyoto, four port-towns, as well as a few smaller towns to the northwest of Tokyo

24 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

that were the center of the silk-industry. Most of the other centers, even those connected with the railway, failed to grow. Until 1920, although the fifty largest centers of Japan in terms of population were connected by the railroad, the areas showing growth were still confined to the aforementioned metropolitan areas, few industrial towns and port-towns. By the 1930s, the Tōkaidō line clearly emerged as the corridor of major growth and its urban centers became even more pre-eminent. Thus it is clear that, despite the balanced expansion of the railway network, centralizing forces were stronger than decentralizing ones (Taniuchi 1984: 122–3). The Meiji government’s centralization policy is also obvious in decisions concerning the national highway system drafted in 1910. This plan — eventually implemented in 1919—reaffirms the centrality of Tokyo to the country. The plan distinguished between national, prefectural and local roads and stipulated the following order of construction: (1) roads to the major ports from Tokyo, (2) a road to the Ise shrine from Tokyo, (3) roads to all major army encampments from Tokyo and (4) roads to all prefectural capitals from Tokyo (Hanes 1997:492). Thus it is clear that the infrastructural decisions of the Meiji era favored the centralization of the country around Tokyo and privileged the route of the Tōkaidō, laying the foundations for the region’s postwar growth. The Tōkaidō’s cartography How many maps, in the descriptive or geographical sense might be needed to deal exhaustively with a given space, to code and decode all its meanings and contents? It is doubtful whether a finite number can even be given in answer to this sort of quest…. It is not only the codes—the map’s legend, the conventional signs of map-making and map-reading—that are liable to change, but also the objects represented, the lens through which they are viewed, and the scale used. (Lefebvre 1991:85–6) There are indeed innumerable maps on the subject of the Tōkaidō. In this book we will encounter printed maps, painted maps, maps with gold leaf, portable maps, maps several meters long, linear maps, labyrinthine maps, game-maps, gardenmaps, maps that defy conventional categorization. Although conventionally maps are distinct from both pictures and guidebooks for reasons that I will enumerate below, Edo and early Meiji era maps defy such distinctions. The major difference between maps and pictures is that maps are products of land surveys that far exceed the perceptible realm of a given observer, thus they cover a wide expansion of a territory, in contrast to pictures of places that depict a segmented part of the land corresponding to the perception of a given subject. The collected data found on maps is presented through a visually diagrammatic and semantically codified graphic language, which requires the micro-reading of

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 25

the viewer. The role of the reader is to decipher this data, in order to extract or to learn from it information that is beyond his/her faculties of direct perception. Pictures, on the other hand, are conventionally meant to be looked at as a whole —thus in their macro-scale—and usually correspond—or conventionally allude— to the artist’s perception, that is offered as a new visual perception to the viewer. Looking closely at the broad body of material that is labeled as road-maps of Edo and early Meiji Japan, it is not unusual to find elaborate imagery integrated with symbols of cartography. These maps are stylistically and functionally open carrying many influences from the visual arts. At the same time, if a map is a map because of its accurate depiction of a space, many pictures may be found to have more qualities of maps than artifacts actually labeled as maps. The boundaries between Edo road-maps and guidebooks are also blurred. If guidebooks rely more on verbal descriptions while maps use mostly graphic representations, Edo and Meiji era maps present elements of both. Their texts are often expansive and the same maps may be printed in a variety of formats, ranging from long scrolls to bound books. Consequently, maps from these eras present elements that exceed the strict role of ‘path-finding’ and include elements of ‘place-initiation,’ which conventionally is covered by guidebooks.24 Thus if the maps are meant to present the products of a land survey, that is to say the material and quantifiable attributes of space, such as relevant locations and distances between distinct spots, a guidebook presents also the legendary, historical and cultural knowledges that lie beyond the physicality of a given space. As we will see, most Edo period road-maps include both types of information, lying at the borders between the two categories. Also, if conventional maps are meant to be used on the road and guidebooks upon arrival at the destination, the very nature of traveling on foot calls for such fusions. During travel on foot, traveling-time and time spent at the destination practically merge and every place on the way may also be seen as a temporary destination. With this, leading and mediatory functions become equally important throughout the whole length of the journey. A final distinction is between practical tools of traveling and artifacts that use traveling as their subject-matter. I will call the first ‘proto-traveling’ tools, and I could conventionally categorize in them practical road-maps and guidebooks meant to be carried by the traveler during traveling. I will call the second ‘metatraveling’ tools, including in them pictures, utensils, laquerware, mirrors, kimonos or other artifacts that are ‘decorated’ with representations on a traveling subject-matter and often functioned as souvenirs. The last are meant to be consumed in places and times other than those of the journey and capitalize on the symbolic dimensions of traveling and topography. As we will see below, there are many cases of road-cartography and travel literature with a ‘metatraveling’ function, while, in fact, there are almost no practical artifacts without some symbolic dimension. To these two categories we should also add road-map production that fulfilled administrative and military purposes, a type of cartography that was not limited to the description of the roads but also covered

26 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

the regions around them, or even the country as a whole. In the Edo period ‘proto-traveling’ and ‘meta-traveling’ artifacts are largely fused. There are several cases of maps that have become so long and decorated that they are obviously addressed to armchair travelers, and of guidebooks that become totally fictional, losing any practical function. Similarly, if maps are conventionally products of surveys, guidebooks of received knowledge and pictures of perception, most Edo and early Meiji era artifacts present elements of all the above. Such characteristics show the influence of Chinese maps, in which the usual western-based oppositions ‘between visual and verbal, cartographic and pictorial, mimetic and symbolic may not apply.’ Rather maps become canvases upon which the ‘three perfections’ (poetry, calligraphy and painting) intersect (Yee 1987:128, 134). Such formal and functional fusions make clear that the maps in question are highly symbolic objects that play a major role within the value-laden imagery that contributes to the social construction of their time. Cartographer J.B.Harley, basing his argument on the work of Michel Foucault, has claimed the necessity of exploring cartography through a broader iconological perspective that addresses the relation between maps and power or, more broadly, the overall ideological discourses that envelop map production (Harley 1988:277). In the examination that follows I will treat maps as ‘deep-texts,’ texts that demand interpretation and recontextualization. Thus the following evaluation will go beyond the level of the codified signification that describes selected aspects and relations within a given space. Indeed, the information to be found on the surface of any map, and the maps that will be studied below in particular, is rarely limited to the codified data indicated in the legend, and rather expresses prior assumptions and ideologies. The analysis of cartographic signification will reveal a surplus of non-cartographic systems of representation, either iconic or textual, which are employed in the making of these maps. These are susceptible to diverse interpretations, depending upon the contexts of time, place, language, and the viewer’s identity. Road-maps in the Edo period The maps of the Edo period displayed a high degree of accuracy. They were initially made by means of traditional surveying methods learned from China, supplemented by so-called nanban (Spanish and Portuguese) techniques, and the help of instruments that had been introduced from Europe before Japan’s period of seclusion. From the middle of the eighteenth century, official cartography was also influenced by the cartographic knowledge developed in Japan by scholars of rangaku, the study of western sciences through Dutch scholarship. Maps of the Edo period are divided into five categories according to the scale of the region represented: maps of the whole country (teizenzu or Nihon sōzu), domain maps (kuni ezu), regional maps (chihōzu), city maps (toshizu), and road-maps (dōchūki, dōchūzu). The basis for the maps of the whole country were the domain maps

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 27

that were commissioned by the Tokugawa from each province. During the Edo period maps of the whole country were revised four times in order to meet changes in geographical or man-made features as well as sociopolitical conditions.25 Domain maps showed the geographical demarcation of provinces and districts. They indicated villages, which were represented by small oval shapes, together with the indication of total village production (muradaka); topographical features such as rivers, seas, lakes, swamps; and man-made works, such as castles, shrines, temples, inns and roads. Those maps did not include depictions of ordinary buildings and houses, a type of data that appeared in road and city maps. They provided, however, the basis for much of the information that was necessary in order to produce all other maps.26 In the Edo period, road-maps of the country’s five main highways, the Gokaidō, were an important instrument for administration and military security, and a practical tool for official traveling. Nevertheless, due to an enormous increase in travel, road cartography became not only an official affair but also a product of the popular arts. The Tōkaidō, being the busiest road in the country, appeared in the public imagination as a ground of escape, play and release from the repression of everyday life, becoming the subject of numerous products of popular culture, such as maps, guidebooks, humorous narratives and ukiyo-e prints. These were not just meant to facilitate traveling but often assumed decorative or fictional forms using traveling simply as their subject matter. Roadmaps of the Tōkaidō were produced in various formats including screens, fans, plates, games, mirrors, cases or kimonos. The origin of the road-maps of the Edo period was the dōchūki (Imai 1976:32– 6), a linear, diagrammatic book-formatted material, similar to the European gazetteers that appeared first in Great Britain in the sixteenth century. Dōchūki, like a gazetteer, provided information on towns, villages and their populations, sometimes mentioning in a comprehensive manner, topographical data such as rivers, mountains and lakes. The main difference beween a dōchūki and a gazetteer is that a gazetteer is alphabetic, functioning as a dictionary, as a method of structuring meta-data, while the dōchūki was based on the sequence of an itinerary, thus it functioned primarily as a ‘proto-traveling’ artifact, in other words an artifact that facilitated traveling. I consider dōchūki and its pictorial elaboration into dōchūzu to be the prototype of most Edo period travel-artifacts. Not only maps and guidebooks follow its basic structure, but even picture series with road iconography are in fact mutations of this prototypical form. Thus, although the translation of the word dōchūki in English is ‘a road record’ or ‘an itinerary’ I would prefer to consider dōchūki as a typology rather than simply as a common noun. To be sure, innumerable maps and guidebooks incorporated the word dōchūki/dōchūzu in their titles. Specifically, early books entitled Dōchūki (Road record) will be examined in more detail in the following chapter. The structure of the dōchūki (as a typology) is composed of a sequence of place names (mostly post-stations) with additional information, such as distances between them or names of places of tourist interest. Dōchūki were produced in a

28 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

variety of shapes: oblong booklets opening horizontally; accordion-like, folding maps; single folded sheets; and fan-shaped maps. The style in which they were drawn could be schematic (usually based on frames that corresponded to the sequence of post-stations), or it could be a continuous sketch of the scenery. Dōchūzu(e) is the pictorial version of the dōchūki that combined text with pictures or charts (zu, e). Dōchūki usually included one or two highways, but sometimes included the whole highway system of the country, indicating the points of intersection between different roads. Later dōchūki abandoned the ‘linear method’ and became precise geographical maps of Japan, but in general most dōchūki positioned the itinerary in diverse layouts (from linear to circular, zigzag, spiral and so on), neglecting the system of geographical coordinates. The orientation of the dōchūki, as of most road-maps, was not fixed and reflected various symbolic systems of the Edo period, or simply practical necessities. There were numerous systems of orientation used at the time.27 The most relevant to the case of the Tōkaidō (a road running east-west) is the orientation system that refers to the cosmology of the east-west axis. According to Buddhist beliefs, the west is the direction of heaven (the Pure Land), and therefore important places were positioned on the left-hand side. In most of the Tōkaidō maps, Kyoto is positioned on the left, not only because of its location west of Edo, but also because it was revered as an important place (Narazaki 1969:12). According to Unno Kazutaka, road-maps28 can be formally divided into the following categories: picture scrolls (emaki), mandalas, labyrinths, diagrammatic maps with straight parallel lines, and ‘conformal’ maps to minimize distortion (Unno 1987:424). The first three categories are almost always oblivious to direction and scale, without however necessarily compromising the accuracy of their information. The method of lining up all highways through the length of Japan as parallel straight lines with cross-connections, was called heikō chokusen-shiki (parallel method) (Wattenberg 1990:58). Also, the first three categories disregard the geographical outline of Japan, as it was familiar to the Japanese through popular maps of the whole country, such as Gyōki maps. Maps that belong to the picture-scroll or emaki typology had both symbolic and practical value. A characteristic example is one of the first official roadmaps entitled Kisoji/Nakasendo Tōkaidō ezu (Map of the Kiso/ Nakasendō and Tōkaidō roads) of 1668. This map incorporated information provided by a governmental survey of the road conditions in Japan29 and was drawn as a folding-book manuscript (Unno 1987:404). Having this map as a model, an itinerary map for ordinary travelers entitled Tōzai kairiku no zu (Map of the eastwest and land routes) was published in Kyoto in 1672, adopting the emaki typology (Figure 2). This was the first popular map thought to be based on official sources namely Saigokusuji kairiku ezu (Map of the sea and land routes in the western regions). Unno postulates that Tōzai kairiku was produced under the auspices of the government, as its scale would have been beyond the resources of a private publisher (Unno 1987:423). Maps that belong to this category often expand to take in Nagasaki, including sea routes, and were used

Figure 2 Tōzai kairiku no zu (Map of the east-west and land routes), Nishida Katsubei (publ.), 1762 woodblock, detail (Courtesy of the Mitsui Library).

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 29

30 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

for official traveling such as sankin kōtai. Such official maps were drawn in linear form disregarding distances and directions but taking into account aesthetics of official landscape representations (Unno 1987:401–2). Another map of this category is the Tōkaidō bunken ezu (Proportional map of the Tōkaidō) (see Figure 7) that we will examine in detail later in this chapter. All such emakimono are nothing but dōchūki, expanded and elaborated to the degree that they lose their ‘proto-traveling’ function, thus indicating the highly symbolic function of traveling in the Edo period. It is also important to point out that the role of emaki by definition is not simply to depict an event but also to illustrate a text;30 thus the topographical representations of those road-maps with the use of variable viewpoints is inseparable from the narration of a series of stories. Such maps not only expressed the narrative qualities of topography, but, because of their length, were also meant to be ‘read’ as the viewer unrolled the scroll. Mandala maps show the routes as curved lines and include scenes of the road as if they were viewed from a distant high viewpoint. Mandalas prioritize the temporal and symbolic dimension of space, being thus clearly ‘meta-traveling’ artifacts. They often impose elements of geometrical order on the flowering landscape (Lee et al. 1983:144) and bring together distant landmarks through the use of the cloud-pattern, the technique of reversed perspective or of variable viewpoints. Their curved schemes may also reflect the Chinese doctrine of attributing malign influences to straight lines (Yee 1987:154). Tōkaidō michiyuki no zu (Itinerary map of the Tōkaidō road) (Figure 3), the oldest surviving printed road-map of the Tōkaidō, is a mandala thought to have been published in 1654 (Unno 1987:422). Although accuracy is not its main concern, practical information such as distances between post-stations and lists of fares for travelers using horses is provided. Late Edo period panoramas such as Katsushika Hokusai’s (1760–1849) (Plate 4) and Kuwagata Shōi (?–1855) (Figure 9) are also considered by Unno as belonging to the mandala category. They present a much stronger awareness of cartographic precision, however, as will be explained later in this chapter. In a similar manner, labyrinthine maps disregard distance and direction, scattering roads and post-stations across the maps’ surface. In these labyrinthine maps, roads are shown as curved lines, thus they distort the linearity of the dōchūki to the extent that the succession of places is not legible in a macro-view. Labyrinthine maps were often printed on both sides of the paper, a fact that indicates that, despite their apparent illegibility, they were used as ‘prototraveling’ artifacts during traveling. An example is Shokoku dōchū ōezu (Large itinerary map of all the provinces) (Figure 4) published in 1683. In it, Edo is represented by a circle in the lower right corner of the first side of the map and Kyoto in the upper right corner of the other side. The map contains a table of fares between post-stations, which is also an indication of its use for practical purposes. Diagrammatic maps are clearly ‘proto-traveling’ tools, direct successors of the dōchūki. Diagrammatic maps generalize the routes by showing them as straight

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 31

Figure 3 Tōkaidō michiyuki no zu (Itinerary map of the Tōkaidō), 1666 (original published in 1654), woodblock print on paper, 131.3×57.9 cm (Courtesy of the Kobe City Museum).

32 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 4 Shokoku dōchū ōezu (Large itinerary map of all the provinces), Urokogataya Tokubei, Yamaguchi Genjirō, Kawachiya Tarobei (publ.), second half of eighteenth century (original published in 1683 by Urokogataya Magobei), woodblock print, doublesided print, 40.3×64.8 cm (Courtesy of the Kobe City Museum).

lines that parallel the coast of Japan, which is also depicted in a linear form. An example is Daizōho Nihon dōchū kōteiki (Widely enlarged itinerary of Japan) (Figure 5), a folded map published in 1744 that covers a surprisingly expansive area starting from the southern part of Korea and going to Ezo (Hokkaido). In this map, south is depicted at the top, thus the upper part of the map is the Pacific

Figure 5 Bokuryūsai, Daizōho Nihon dōchū kōteiki (Widely enlarged itinerary of Japan c.f. p.31), Torikai Ichibei (publ.), Osaka, 1744, woodblock, handcolored with light yellow, light brown and light orange color, 16.5×505 cm (16.5×7.3 cm folded) (Courtesy of Unno Kazutaka).

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 33

34 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Ocean and the lower part is the Japan Sea. Edo is represented by a large square towards the left that depicts its castle (Unno 1987:426). Although all previous road-map categories are unconcerned with measurement and geographical precision, the maps of the conformal category that were mostly produced in the late Edo period showed an attempt to minimize distortion and also depict the familiar outline of the country as a whole. Such was the map Dai Nihon Kunijunro Meisai ki Taisei (Greater Japan routes from one province to another, detailed descriptions, complete edition) of 1850 (Plate 2). These maps, which functioned as ‘proto-traveling’ artifacts and were mainly addressed to the members of specific religious co-fraternities, combine the linearity of the dōchūki with the typology of the maps of Japan as a whole. It is no coincidence that such maps were produced in the late Edo period. This was a period when Japan was much more conscious of its borders, given the broader international climate of the era. Also, some attention should be paid to the term ‘Dai Nihon’ in most of these maps’ titles. This title reflects the influence of western empires, especially Great Britain, which was a model to the Japanese, while at the same time it may be also be seen as an indication of the influence of Mito School and the return to the Emperor-centered view of Japan in the late Edo period.31 The production of such maps continued until the Shōwa era (1926–89). A last type of road-map, which falls into the miscellaneous category in Unno’s classification, is the sugoroku map. These are dōchūki that depict certain routes curved into spiral layouts upon which segmented scenes of the route are placed. Sugoroku maps were used for playing the popular dice game sugoroku, which is similar to ‘snakes and ladders’ in the west, and thus are clearly ‘meta-traveling’ artifacts. Sugoroku was usually played by women and children during the New Year’s holiday. Here we can see the Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi meisho koseki ruiki dōchū sugoroku (Travel dice game with famous and historic places along the fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō) (Plate 3), made by the ukiyo-e artist Keisai Eisen (1790–1848) in the late 1830s. There are numerous other sugoroku maps that depict pilgrimage routes around Kamakura region, the city of Edo, and so on. Popular and official road-maps What physical positions should a given subject assume for creating such macroscale views of the Tōkaidō? The Tōkaidō, unlike a city, cannot be perceived in its totality from a fixed position, at least given the instruments available during the eras in question. It is obvious that in order for the Tōkaidō to be perceived as a whole, one should either be on the move, or adopt a detached position that allows for the panoptic conception of the Tōkaidō in its totality. If the first is achieved through the role of a traveler, who is located in the realm of below, and is best expressed in the temporary form of what Michel de Certeau names an ‘itinerary,’ the second is reflected in the spatializing action of cartography, in other words in the panoramic view of space from above, that according to de Certeau always has the hidden agenda of controlling a given territory (de Certeau

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 35

1988:119). Thus, not only the technical know-how but also the conception of the road as a whole were indispensable for the construction of such totalized views. Roughly speaking, and at the risk of oversimplifying, these two realms may fall into the ‘low’ or ‘popular’ versus ‘high’ or ‘official’ division, a polarity that in this case is not meant to denote value but rather identify the location of those who sponsored these products. Road-maps of the popular culture were often made by ukiyo-e artists and had varying degrees of pictorial elaboration. Although many of them covered simply the practical needs of traveling, being portable, diagrammatic and providing useful information, there are cases of highly elaborated and lengthy maps that could not be carried while traveling but were rather objects of status. Official travel-maps were patronized by the authorities, and especially the shōgun or the daimyō. Such maps were usually painted, or combined printing with painting techniques, and carried plentiful symbolic and ornamental elements. Official travel-maps were mostly related to administrative and military functions, rather than simply facilitating travel. Despite their importance for the bakufu as a means of control, there are not a few cases in which their information was popularized and functioned as the base for commoners’ maps. This happened because of the frequent exchanges between official and popular artists, but it also suggests that official maps were not as secret as one might expect. Below I will examine two characteristic examples of each of the two categories, the Tōkaidō bunken ezu and the Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu maps. Tōkaidō bunken ezu One of the most popular maps of the Edo period was the Tōkaidō bunken ezu (Proportional map of the Tōkaidō) made by Ichikochi Dōin, a map-maker of ambiguous background32 and illustrated by the famous ukiyo-e artist Hishikawa Moronobu (1618–94). This was a woodblock-printed map that formally belongs to the picture-scroll or emaki category, carrying high pictorial elaboration and including elements of a guidebook. The map’s first edition in 1690 was drawn at a scale of 1:12,000 (3 bu to 1 chō) and was published in Edo (Matsumoto 1977: 5). The information presented in the map was based on an earlier official map of 1651 made by Hōjō Ujinaga (1609– 70) on behalf of the shogunate. Tōkaidō bunken ezu was divided into five folded volumes with a total length of 3,610 cm, a fact that indicates that the map was a ‘meta-traveling’ artifact, meant to be used mostly for armchair traveling rather than actual use along the road. Although its first publication was entitled Tōkaidō kōmoku bunken nozu (Proportional map of the Tōkaidō, detail) (Figure 6), the numerous reprints of the map that followed carried the name Tōkaidō bunken ezu. The first version of the map clearly follows the division of the fifty-three stations. The post-stations are identified through a label carrying their name, the name of the ton’ya and travel charges,

Figure 6 Hara post-station. From Ichikochi Dōin and Hishikawa Moronobu, Tōkaidō kōmoku bunken nozu (Proportional map of the Tōkaidō in detail), Hangiya Shichirōbei (publ.), 1690, woodblock print, hand-color, folded-book, 5 vols, 26.7×3.610 cm, (26.7×14.9 cm folded), detail (Courtesy of the Tokyo National Museum).

36 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 7 The Tōkaidō road across Yui, Kanbara, Hara and Yoshiwara post-stations. From Sōyō, Tōkaidō bunken ezu (Proportional map of the Tōkaidō), Yorozuya Seibei (publ.), 1752, woodblock print, folded-book, 15.7×1,220 cm (15.7×9.3 cm folded), detail (Courtesy of Günter Nitschke).

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 37

38 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

namely fees for river crossing, and cargo-fees for either horses or porters. Rowhouses in the area of the post-stations are diagrammatically presented while castle-towns are marked by a schematic depiction of their castle. Other placenames, tea-houses, temples and shrines are merely marked without further elaboration. Not all shrines and temples along the route are noted, only the most famous or those known to the map-makers. The map also includes geographical elements (such as mountains and rivers), as well as trees planted by the bakufu (the shogunal administration), which are distinguished by kind: pine trees (Jap. matsu; pinus densiflora Sieb. and Zucc.), Japanese cedar (Jap. hinoki; chamaecyparis obtusa Endl), and hackberry trees (Jap. enoki; celtis sinensis Pers.). The fact that the map depicts 103 out of the 120 mile-markers of the road indicates that is made with precision (Kurimoto 1960a). Square blocks with the four points of the compass were drawn for each major area of the map, presenting directions with accuracy.33 Thus, despite its non-official use, the map did not lack in accuracy. The major characteristic of the map is its combining precise topographical descriptions with vigorous details of life. Indeed, the illustrations added by Moronobu transformed the map into a vivid pictorial illustration of the culture of traveling in the Edo period. Such illustrations focus on the celebrated ‘floating’ aspects of the culture of the road, elements that are ephemeral and changeable. The map depicts various types of travelers, including daimyō processions and commoners traveling back and forth, as well as incidents for which the Tōkaidō was well known in popular culture. It is interesting to note the close similarities in the ways figures of travelers are drawn between this map and the Dōchūki of 1655, a guidebook that was published a few years before Tōkaidō bunken ezu’s first edition, which will be examined in the following chapter (see Figure 18). The map also depicts meteorological conditions such as the Ōi River in flood, snow on Mount Fuji and rain in Hara, which is a typical preoccupation of ukiyo-e iconography. A major difference between this map and our contemporary geographical standards is the depiction of certain, important geographical elements more than once. As Nitschke has noticed, Mount Fuji appears on the map more than ten times at spots from which it is visible (Nitschke 1993:54). To this we should add the repeated appearance of Mount Ōyama, famous in the popular mythology of Edo. This view represents an understanding of space that is different from the Cartesian one, according to which each element is represented in a single location upon the map. If we make a more detailed inquiry into the points where Mount Fuji has been depicted, we realize that the selection of these places corresponds to stereotypical representations of Mount Fuji as seen in meisho literature and arts. Not surprisingly, the depictions of Tōkaidō bunken ezu are highly schematized. As Coaldrake has commented, Edo castle is shown with four instead of five levels, indicating that Moronobu did not necessarily consult reality for this iconography, although the map was probably made after he had moved to the city of Edo (Coaldrake 2003:138).

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 39

The significance of the meisho becomes more obvious in a later revised version of the Tōkaidō bunken ezu published in 1752 in Edo (Figure 7). This map was produced in a single scrolled volume, drawn to a scale of 1:36,000; thus its dimensions were almost a third of the previous one, covering a total length of 1, 220 cm (Unno 1987:424) and thus restoring the missing practicality of the earlier production. Place-names and illustrations also differ between the two versions, while the last classifies travel fees (which had doubled since the Genroku era when the first was published) in an appendix at the end of the map and not next to each post-station. What mostly distinguishes this version from the first is the overwhelming amount of text that complements the pictorial representation, not unlike ukiyo-e books of the same period in which visualizations were complemented by expansive texts. While the first version was determined by the space division of the post-station system and simply contained toponyms, the second is enriched with a plethora of non-practical information that introduces the cultural landscape of the Tōkaidō. The map incorporates haiku and legends that relate to the meisho along the route rather than simply focusing on post-stations. Representations of famous places that lie in proximity to the road, remind the travelers of places that they know from poems, paintings and history. Such places punctuate the landscape of Japan, not being familiar through actual viewing but through poetic memory and pre-existing knowledge. By celebrating such localities, the spatial journey becomes a journey into historical time. As Katō Kunio has remarked, there is a double projection taking place through such conventions: at the same moment ‘we are going to the landscape, while the landscape is coming to us. This double projection makes us dwell’ (Katō 1977). Besides such perceptions of landscape as text, a narrative of Japanese cultural continuity, history and mythology, there is an opposing tendency that we can observe in some of the landscape representations of the Edo period and most importantly in the cartographic endeavors. This is the perception of space as an empirically grasped reality, a realm of observation that is different from what is simply known or contemplated, a view that is essential for administrative and military purposes. Next we will view a map of the Tōkaidō made by the shogunal authorities in the early nineteenth century, a precise visualization of data that derived from a survey of the actual field rather than from received readings and conventions as found in the previous map. Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu Both versions of the Tōkaidō bunken ezu differ greatly from official road-maps drawn for administrative purpose, such as the Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu (Proportional linear map of the Tōkaidō) (Figure 8). This map was a part of the Gokaidō sono hoka bunken mitori nobe ezu (Proportional linear maps of the Gokaidō), which included the whole Gokaidō system in separate volumes.34 It was produced by the bakufu office for roads (bakufu dōchū bugyōsho) in 1806 and was drawn to the scale of 1:1800. This map was meant to function primarily

40 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 8 The castle-town Fuchū (Sunpu). From Bakufu Dōchū Bugyōsho (Transportation magistrate of the bakufu), Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu (Proportional linear map of the Tōkaidō), 1806, hand-color on paper, 60.1×254.6 cm, detail (Courtesy of the Tokyo National Museum).

as a tool of administration and its function was thus beyond the direct or indirect functions of traveling. The decision to produce this Gokaidō map was taken in 1800. The information was collected through a primary survey of the condition of the roads, which started as early as 1797, after which a separate book about each post-station was prepared. The Nakasendō, which ran through the mountains of central Japan, was the first road to be surveyed, while the research for the Tōkaidō started in 1802. The surveys proceeded in parallel. Groups of three officers collaborated in surveying each post-station under the guidance of the ton’ya (post-station administrator), the toshiyori (senior statesmen of the poststation), the nanushi (the head of the village) or the kumigashira (group leader of the village) (Honda 1996:272–4). In 1843, the research was repeated in order to compare the changes between these periods, registering the population and number of houses at each post-station (Honda 1996:290). The bakufu ordered that no shrine, temple, river or bridge should be excluded, and that not even farmers’ houses should be overlooked, covering an area that went beyond the strict limits of the road. It is obvious that the intentions of this project much exceeded the function of the usual road-maps (Honda 1996:274). There were three original copies of these maps, one kept in Edo castle and the other two by the bakufu officer for roads. The restricted usage of these maps makes for a sharp contrast with the numerous reproductions of the popular maps discussed above. Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu belongs formally to the emakimono typology. It is a precise topographical map, a land survey drawn in a consistent codified manner, including both iconography and texts. The manner of drawing is basically planimetric, but the map includes many iconographic symbols drawn in elevation or schematic axonometric (parallel perspective) views with exaggerated proportions. The depiction of the Tōkaidō itself is just such an exaggeration, since it is drawn much wider than it actually is, making it look disproportionately large in comparison to bridges or rivers. Special attention is given to the rightangle turns of the road in the approaches to post-stations and castle-towns, a

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 41

layout that facilitated defense and screening purposes. Iconographic symbols denote architectural typologies (shrines, temples, castles, houses), topographical features (trees, fields) and elements in the road infrastructure such as bridges or mile-markers. Three types of bridge are shown: stone, wood and earth. The names of the post-stations and the distances between them, the location of hotels for the daimyō (honjin) and their followers (waki honjin), and the location of the offices of the ton’ya (ton’ya ba) are marked precisely. Political maps use size and symbolism as a means of imposing their authority, while at the same time important information is concealed for reasons of military security. In the Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu, shogunal properties—for example, Fuchū castle—appear larger than they do in other maps, while details within the castle are covered under the conventional cloud technique. As the viewers of this map were shōgun and administrators, the emphasis is not on the practical aspects of traveling but rather on a high degree of accuracy regarding particular spatial information: visibility, such as exact demarcation of the road-bends, structure of bridges and in general information that was particularly critical not only for administrative but also military function. The whole series of Gokaidō maps, as well as most of the official scroll-maps, are hand-painted in color, which was done in an elaborate manner in accordance with the high standing of the maps’ commissioners and viewers. These maps were made in an extremely meticulous manner, being obviously a product of team work rather than of individual artists. Narrative itineraries—territorial maps Both Tōkaidō bunken ezu and Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu present Japanese land as a coherent landscape of rivers and hills, united by the passage of highways. The method employed in each of these maps in order to depict this coherence is significantly different. In Tōkaidō bunken ezu the road is floating on the surface of the map and visually lacks the grounded character that the second map carries due to its being drawn in a combination of a plan and axonometric. The road in the Tōkaidō bunken ezu is drawn in the foreground, being a territory of its own, with its distinct character and life. In Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu, the depicted territory is that of a spatial continuum that is not limited to the strict borders of the road. As noted earlier in this chapter, Japan’s unity, as implied through the continuity of the roads, was an innovative strategy introduced by the Tokugawa regime. Road-maps, besides their function as traveling tools, can thus be viewed as campaigns that reinforce the image of unification between different provinces whose borders are not drawn in any of them. Despite their diversity, both maps are indeed making a claim for unification. Tōkaidō bunken ezu unifies the territory through the creation of an image of a woven-into-myth landscape that binds the major geo-cultural symbols in a coherent narrative, thus reinforcing the collective consciousness of the Japanese through an emphasis on history and mythology, that is to say, memory. Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu, on the other hand, unifies the territory by presenting the outcome of a cohesive and thorough land-

42 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

survey that was ordered by the centralized government; thus its unifying dimension is a reflection of the political aims and power of the bakufu. The differences between the two maps are, therefore, mainly a consequence of the different objectives of the institutions that produced them. Another important distinction between the two maps is in regard to the figurations. While Tōkaidō bunken ezu is dominated by figures of all kinds of travelers, Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu shows the road empty of its inhabitants. As Michel de Certeau would say this map has ‘won out over these figures,’ it has ‘colonized space’ concealing the practices or expeditions that enabled its production (de Certeau 1988:121). De Certeau, in his discussion on the passage from medieval European maps to portolan maps, has distinguished between two cartographic categories: maps and itineraries. According to de Certeau, a map is a ‘plane projection’ that reflects ‘totalizing views from above,’ while an itinerary is a ‘discursive series of operations’ that expresses the movement of bodies in the realm below (de Certeau 1988:119). Medieval route-maps outline not the ‘route:’ but the ‘log’ of their journey on foot—an outline marked out by footprints with regular gaps between them and by pictures of the successive events that took place in the course of the journey (meals, battles, crossings of rivers or mountains etc.): not a geographical map but a history book. (de Certeau 1988:120) Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu is a map produced through observation of the structures from above, namely the scientific and governmental authorities of the time. It also presents and preserves the established order and law, the grid of administration and infrastructural regulations. Tōkaidō bunken ezu, however, despite its deriving from the cartographic data of a governmental map, subverts any objective of surveillance and incorporates elements that negate the governmental intent. This map functions as the mental itinerary of a collective traveler rather than as a record of an ‘immobilized totality’ seen from above. In it, the Tōkaidō is not a political territory but a ‘field of practices’ realized by the travelers. Mythical, historical and bodily time coexist upon the same surface. Therefore, while the domain of Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu is strategic, based on accuracy and observation, the domain of Tōkaidō bunken ezu is that of collective memory reflecting the legends, memories and desires of certain social subjects. Despite its illustrative character, Tōkaidō bunken ezu should not be considered as a conventional pictorial work. Its continuity is a deceptive one and its illustrations have a schematic, diagrammatic character. Although it includes pictorial elements, it does not cease being a dōchūki, a topological diagram that assumes a linear form oblivious to the geographical coordinates. On the other hand, Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu’s iconographical qualities are products of measurability and observation, an aspect that is closer to our contemporary cartographic definition.

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 43

From scriptual to visual cartogmphy Panorama If picture-scrolls had to be approached in a sequential order, as texts rather than as images, panoramas, a sub-category of the mandala, were meant to be approached in a reverse order: primarily visually, focusing on their macro-scale, and only secondarily as texts, focusing on their micro-scale. This approach was inspired by the increasing interest of artists in a combination of views: first, in realistic representations based on the capacities of the human eye, which from a distant viewpoint can afford a macroscopic perspective; and, second, in the illusionist possibilities created by the use of magnifying lenses, such as telescopes, that expanded the eye’s capabilities to penetrate into the microcosm of life within its separate parts. Such combinations succeeded in bringing about a remarkable transformation of the traditional Japanese preoccupation with detail, which can be seen in Rakuchū rakugai zu byōbu (Screens of the capital and its surroundings), bird’s-eye views of the city that incorporated the shiki-e (seasonal paintings) technique and depicted not only the total scenery of Kyoto, but also the buildings and inhabitants of the capital in the utmost detail (Fiévé 1992a or b, 1996). In the nineteenth century, most probably based on Kuwagata Keisai’s (1764– 1824) panoramic view of the whole of Japan, Nihon meisho no e (A picture of the famous places of Japan) described by Henry Smith as a ‘leap of vision’ (Smith 1988a:17), ukiyo-e artists produced panoramic topographic images of the whole Tōkaidō. Examples of such panoramic views of the Tōkaidō are Tōkaidō meisho ichiran (Famous places of the Tōkaidō at a glance; Plate 4) drawn in 1818 by Hokusai; Tōkaidō saiken ō ezu (Large picture map with detailed views of the Tōkaidō; Figure 9) made in the mid-nineteenth century by the painters Kuwagata Shōi and Shōtei Kinsui (Nakamura Yasusada, 1797–1862); Tōkaidō meisho zue (Illustrated collection of famous places of the Tōkaidō road), a compilation of twelve large prints, made by the artists Utagawa Yoshitora (active c. 1850–80) and Kunitora Kumezō (active early nineteenth century) in 1863; and Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi no ichiran (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō road at a glance), a continuous series of ten large woodblock prints made by Hiroshige II (1829–69) in 1863 in Edo. None of these panoramic pictures is limited to the poststations alone; they all mark numerous famous places along the road and some carry extensive text. While the first three do not depict any specific event—in fact their emphasis is on the land’s topography, minimizing the human depiction that is characteristic of the popular cartography of the era—Tōkaidō meisho zue depicts the famous trip of the fourteenth shōgun Iemochi to Kyoto in 1863 followed by more than 3,000 retainers, accompanied by important events of the era, such as the arrival of Commodore Perry’s black ships in Yokohama harbor. In Shōi’s map, Edo is positioned at the bottom left and Kyoto at the right top side. Expansive notes at the top describe meisho and meibutsu (famous

44 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 9 Shōtei Kinsui, Kuwagata Shōi, Shinkoku kaisei Tōkaidō saiken ōezu, zen (Large picture map with detailed views of the Tōkaidō), Sanoya Ichigorō, Izumiya Hanbei, Izumoji Manjirō, Nakaya Tokubei (publ.), first half of nineteenth century, woodblock color print on paper, 69.8×141.5 cm (Courtesy of the Kobe City Museum).

products), while the map itself carries detailed descriptions of temples and shrines. Within the map composition, Mount Fuji is dominant looming at the left upper side (Unno 1973:188). Hokusai’s panorama has a similar composition, figuring Mount Fuji at the left upper side, though it looks at the territory from a different viewpoint. Edo is represented at the bottom right marked by Nihonbashi and its castle, while Kyoto is at the top right represented by Mount Atago and Nijō castle, a symbol of the Tokugawa authority. Hokusai also includes distances between stations as well as numerous inscriptions of village and meisho names (Forrer 1992: notes on Plate 7). It should be noted that a year after the publication of the Tōkaidō panorama, Hokusai published a similar work, depicting Kisokaidō, a few years later Shiogama and Matsushima in Mutsu province, and later China, a place that he had never visited. These panoramas would not have happened if the first one of the Tōkaidō was not a success (Forrer 1992: notes on Plate 7). Although the panoramic views of the Tōkaidō seem to be using the technique of perspective, they are actually not as faithful as one might expect to the laws of perspective, and in some places even perform major geographical distortions for the sake of artistic composition, such as the shape of Suruga Bay in Hokusai’s view.35 In contrast to the apparent clarity of the horizontal scroll-maps, these panoramas convey the sense of a labyrinthine journey. Despite the fact that these panoramas are geographically incorrect, one cannot overlook the fact that, as itineraries, they are topologically precise: both the sequence of place-names and the intersections of the road with major points such as bridges and lakes are faithful to topography. The artists could, without doubt, have used the perspective technique (which was already known to them) or simply made a

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 45

copy of just a part of Kuwagata Keisai’s (1764–1824) panorama, had they wanted to be technically precise. Thus these artists depart intentionally from formal likeness for the sake of expressive priorities. The panoramas of the Tōkaidō are a reconciliation of map (zu) and picture (e), text and vision. By creating a hypothetical vista of the whole route at a glance (although unachievable in reality), they inscribe the landscape of the road upon the land(-scape) of the nation. Although issues of territoriality were not necessarily a direct concern of the artists, a broader climate of increasing national consciousness must have influenced their production (see discussion in Chapter 5). In those panoramas, the itinerary becomes a microcosm that symbolizes the whole of Japan, while at the same time resembles the maze layouts of sugoroku games, for which movement in space does not depend on temporal linearity. In spite of their geographical imprecision, and unlike many maps and series of the Tōkaidō in the Edo period, these panoramas include only one depiction of Mount Fuji, which with its eminent, central position symbolically represents Japan as a whole. Mount Fuji’s unusually emphasized uniqueness in these panoramas may be seen as a prophetic allusion to the notion of Japan’s own uniqueness that became so prominent in the forthcoming Meiji era. The panoramic views drawn by Shōi and Hokusai show one more similarity with Keisai’s view. This is their depiction of Japan’s topography in the conventional terms of mountains and an array of tiny settlements, almost ‘as a work of landscape art’ (Smith 1988a:4). Whether this type of representation is informed by visual faculties or has a fictitious basis is unclear. Such views may have been influenced by the Chinese Taoist landscape representations frequent in meisho books of the same period (such as Tōkaidō meisho zue, which includes representations of artists working in the Chinese style). Mountains had a highly symbolic value for both Buddhism and the Shintō religion, and thus are often emphasized in representations of Japan. On the other hand, similar depictions of hilly lands appear in Hokusai’s maps of China, which he had never visited, and in his imaginary Landscape with a Hundred Bridges that he claimed to have seen in a dream. There is a striking similarity, however, between the representation of Japan as a landscape of minute hills by the Japanese—influenced by their own cultural or religious tradition—and a description by the foreigner Francis Hall in the late Edo period: I took a long walk along the hills that overlook the Tōkaidō. I was on more elevated ground than I have been before and could see far up and down the bay and over a great breadth of country. Everywhere the characteristics of the country are the same. The whole surface is broken up into little hills of every possible shape and size with narrow and long valleys intervening. (quoted in Notehelfer 1992:118)

46 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

The decision to present the Tōkaidō as if seen from a high viewpoint is significant per se within the dynamics of the popular culture. Although Japan as a hilly land has been celebrated in poetry, actual views from the mountains were infrequent. The mountain, until the Edo period, was not a place for secular views or broad vistas that would please the eye through visual stimulation, unless it was the Emperor himself who was gazing at the landscape of Japan as the beholder of the country. Thus the representation of a landscape of such an extent is quite unique from the commoner’s perspective. The convention of Japan as a ‘hilly land’ is also obvious in a strolling garden built in 1632 known as Suizen-ji or Jōju-en, in Kumamoto, Kyushu, which G.Nitschke classifies as one of the ‘garden-substitutes for travel’ (Plate 5). This garden is considered to be a miniature replica of the Tōkaidō road.36 Replication of famous places is not unusual in the Edo period, as we can see in the numerous replicas of Mount Fuji in the city of Edo. The garden acquired its present form over the course of three generations of Hosokawa, the domain lords of Higo province.37 It includes a large-scale pond and a 15-acre garden for strolling, where the grassed artificial hills play against the waters of the central pond. The mountain scenery consists of tiny green hills, reaching a climax in a miniature representation of Mount Fuji, which is the only identifiable ‘mountain’ within the garden. Another interesting characteristic of this map is the Tōkaidō road’s representation as a loop. The two ends of the route are connected at a point of a single bridge, which is the entrance to the garden. Whether this refers to Sanjō, Nihonbashi or both bridges is left to each visitor’s interpretation. It is interesting to note that about 150 years later the daimyō Hosokawa Narishige (1755–1834) ordered the artist Tani Bunchō (1763–1840) to make a handscroll painting with the subject of the Tōkaidō (see Chapter 4). This loop-like configuration is reminiscent of a byōbu-e (painting on a sixfolded screen) known as Tōkaidō kaidō zu byōbu (Screen-painting of the Tōkaidō) (Plate 6). This is a ‘meta-traveling’ artifact on the Tōkaidō subject that depicts a combined macro/micro view of the Tōkaidō in the shape of infinity , presenting a perception of the journey as never ending. With the use of the cloud pattern, those screens compile an assemblage of distinct fragmented scenes that, despite their actual distance, succeed one another, rather than unfold in a continuous manner. In this way, the pictures require a micro-reading similar to that of the map. On the other hand, the screens do not lose their pictorial quality, allowing for a view at a glance. Like the panoramas studied above, it is obvious that those screens are inspired by the famous large screens of Kyoto, combining overall views, as if seen from a high vantage-point, with details that it is impossible to see from such a distance. Road-maps in the Meiji era The Meiji state’s endorsement of modernity produced a division of disciplines and institutions that dealt with different aspects of the state’s operation. Each of

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 47

these new divisions used distinct systems of representation relying on scientific, artistic or graphic languages. At the same time, the development of distinct academic disciplines such as geography, ethnography and the arts, each of which had its own methodology and scope, facilitated the division of travel-related production into categories that did not exist in the Edo period, which was characterized by a fusion of forms and functions. The representational systems that emerged through such distinctions—cartography, applied arts, western-style painting (yōga), Japanese-style painting (nihonga)—were addressed to different audiences and facilitated different functions. In parallel, the realm of ‘popular culture’ was greatly altered. What was previously sustained as popular culture, a spontaneously arising, communally based culture of the ‘masses,’ gradually entered the sphere of mass culture, an administered, commodified culture pretargeted and produced for large number of consumers.38 Road-map production in the Meiji era was controlled by the new railway and tourist authorities, propagating a modern national ideology and advertising the scientific and engineering achievements of the country. Official Meiji era mapping, largely based on major cartographic knowledge of the Edo period and in particular the cartographic achievements of Inō Tadataka (1745–1818), was first divided between three independent agencies: the Geographical Bureau of the Home Ministry, established in 1874, responsible for making cadastral maps at a scale of 1:600 in 1877 showing land use and tenure (chikenzu); the Land Survey Department of the Army established in 1869; and the Hydrographic Department of the Navy established in 1855 (Watanabe 1980:6–8). These maps produced by metal printing presented a new type of information, such as land-elevation, creeks, flora (bamboo groves, farmland, tea and mulberry fields), details of the exdaimyō lands, telegraph lines and of course railway networks, with a degree of clarity much higher than woodblock maps. In 1884 official map-making became standardized by the requirement of the Finance Ministry to issue rectified maps (saisei chizu) that inscribed every inch of national land, measured boundaries, positioned the north uniformly at the top and provided detailed information on ownership (Satō 1987:427; Hanes 1997:493). By 1889, the sole Japanese governmental agency responsible for the making of standard maps was the Army General Staff Office, making clear that Japanese cartography was first and foremost a military affair. Through Japan’s modern times, road cartography followed two distinct paths, either associated with administrative and military purposes, or meant strictly to cover ‘proto-traveling’ functions. Thus cartography gradually lost its earlier pictorial qualities and was limited to highly codified graphic languages. At the same time, it also lost its similarities with travel literature, as time spent during traveling and time spent at a destination were now strictly distinguished. That meant that guidebooks illustrated privileged destination sites, while practical road-maps sufficed to describe spatial relations between different locations, as well as the logistics of traveling, such as prices, time schedules and connections between different railway lines. This does not mean, however, that pre-railway

48 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 10 Moji Tominosuke, Kyōto Ōtsu kan kisha jikoku oyobi chinginhyō (Fare and schedule from Kyoto to Ōtsu by train), 1880 (Courtesy of the Tenri University Sankōkan Museum).

systems of representation were abandoned, nor that symbolic resources were diminished as a result of the advent of administrative or functional road-maps. Fusion of representational borders between Edo and Meiji road maps The endorsement of road cartography by Meiji authorities should not lead us to believe that influences from the Edo period’s cartographic and iconographic system were abandoned. On the contrary, not only in the Meiji era but even much later, in the early Shōwa era in the 1930s, popular road-maps were still based on Edo-period models. Therefore, despite the undoubted changes brought about by the new state, we should not neglect continuities. Such examples can mainly be seen in small-scale railway maps that present local connections in an almost painterly manner, in maps that combined railway and highway routes and in sugoroku games on the subject of railways. An example of the first is a picture-map that depicts the railway line from Kyoto to Ōtsu, and includes the first tunnel constructed by Japanese engineers crossing Mount Osaka in 1878. The map is entitled Kyōto Ōtsu kan kasha jikoku oyobi chinginhyō (Fare and schedule from Kyoto to Ōtsu by train, Figure 10) and it

Figure 11 Naoe Sotojirō, Shin sen, Nihon ryokō binran (New line, manual to travel in Japan), Aono Tomosaburō (publ.), 1892, 18.5×7.8 cm, detail (Courtesy of the Tenri University Sankōkan Museum).

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 49

50 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

was made in 1880 by the local railway authorities. The construction of the tunnel, which was 664 meters long, was an extremely difficult task and was epitomized by an inscription that reads: ‘Achievement depends on technology’ (Raku sei rai kō) (Finn 1995:48). This map shows a restriction of the ties between maps and topographical paintings as the natural topography appears highly schematized, utilizing graphic rather than pictorial means. The map is followed by a numerical chart indicating ticket prices and schedule, while all textual references on the map page are neatly arranged within rectangular tags. An example of the second is a lithographic map entitled Shin sen, Nihon ryokō binran zōho (New line, manual to travel in Japan, enlargement) whose first version was published in 1890 (Figure 11). The map is an enlargement of a whole map of Japan that here includes only the Tōkaidō part, and it is accordionfolded adopting the familiar Edo-period format (Ueno and Nakai 1997:10). Despite the fact that this map was made a year after the completion of the trunk line, it clearly stands at the mid-point between the two periods, making apparent the fusion of their representational systems. The purpose of the map is to clarify the relations between the old post-stations and the new railway stations, which are marked in oval or rectangular tags respectively. Since at this period the highways were still in use, the map responded to the great necessity for combining both systems of mobility. The iconographical style of this map is based upon Edo-period standards (such as tags, and neglect of coordinates) with just a few indications of the Meiji era’s emerging modern system of signification. Tokyo clearly forms the focal point of the map; it is marked however with Nihonbashi, rather than the starting point of the Tōkaidō railway, Shinbashi station. Nihonbashi, a major landmark of the city in the Edo period was the starting point of the five major highways, and thus functioned symbolically as the center of the whole country. Despite the propinquity of the two spots, the inset in this map focuses merely on Nihonbashi, so it seems that has retained its significance. It is important to note that this is not the bridge with the characteristic ‘giboshi’ (the ornamental knob placed at the top of a post that supports the bridge’s railings) that we see in Edo-period iconography, but a new wooden bridge constructed in 1873. This bridge, on which a variety of new vehicles characteristic of the modern era are to be seen, such as rickshaw (horsepowered streetcars also known as jinrikisha)39 and electric-powered vehicles, was known as one of the first places of enlightenment. The view of Nihonbashi is drawn in a western-style vignette, rather than using the conventions of the Edo era, and this is the only framed view that appears within the whole map composition. The appearance of meibutsu is one more characteristic inherited from the culture of the Edo period. These are drawn in an exaggerated size, freefloating on the map’s surface, and are means of indicating in iconic manner regional identity (e.g. eels in Lake Hamana). Surprisingly, Mount Fuji and Mount Ōyama, the only mountains marked on this map, are not drawn in elevation, but planimetrically, and do not play an important figurative role in the overall map composition. This is an obvious influence of modern, scientific maps and is also

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 51

found in most western maps of Japan even within productions intended for the general public. It is important to note that the Tōkaidō—now a railway line as well as a road— continued to appear as the exclusive theme of Meiji railway maps, at least until about 1890. This is understandable, not only as a vestige of the Edo period cartographic practice of depicting single routes, but also because the Tōkaidō was the first railroad constructed in Japan. Indeed, most of the railway maps that depict only the Tōkaidō, which was completed in 1889, were produced before the completion of other lines. However, soon after the development of the railway network, the Tōkaidō appears less often as the exclusive theme of railway cartography. Finally, the sugoroku game, that remained very popular among children in the Meiji era, was a means of educating Japanese youth and introducing them into the new westernized realm of Meiji Japan. Kyōiku Tōkaidō tetsudō sugoroku (Educational Tōkaidō railway sugoroku), was published in 1889 including the railway stations of the Tōkaidō line, iron bridges, tunnels, Japan’s monuments, as well as views of Japan’s countryside in various seasons all centered around an aka-e (red picture) of Shinbashi in Tokyo (Plate 22). In this era, the sugoroku theme is enriched by anything modern, such as sport activities and ‘civilization games.’ In what follows, I will review two distinct railway-map typologies that are emblematic of the specific technological and political context of the Meiji era. I will call the first railway-charts, in order to highlight their attention to measurement, and the second geographical railway-maps, in order to emphasize their relation to precise geographical descriptions. Railway maps of the Meiji era Railway charts Railway charts are ‘proto-traveling’ artifacts that indicate the itineraries and points of intersection of both railway and highway routes. Railway charts are drawn in a diagrammatic manner that disregards the geographical characteristics of the Japanese territory, such as its overall shape, topography, coordinates and the actual distances between locations. Railway charts appear as labyrinthine arrangements of an elastic railroad network, similar to the labyrinthine road-map category of the Edo period, examined above. Their graphic organization, like their writing system, is based on the traditional Japanese right-to-left layout. Tetsudō senro chinsen ritei hyō (Railway timetable, distances and fares) produced in 1898 is an example of such an arrangement (Figure 12). This chart distorts the railway routes as well as the (hypothetical) map of Japan, which is presumed to form a background to the railway network. This distortion can be clearly understood if we focus our attention on the relative positioning of places

Figure 12 Tetsudō senro chinsen ritei hyō (Timetable, distance, and price-list of railway lines), Tenshodō (publ.), 1898, copperplate etching, 35×76.3 cm (Courtesy of the Tenri University Sankōkan Museum).

52 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 53

such as Kyoto and Tokyo. Although the formal aspects of such distortions may be reminiscent of arrangements we have noticed in Edo period labyrinthine maps and panoramas, they are due to significantly different symbolic frameworks, as we will see in the sections below. In the chart of Figure 12 toponyms are specified with the use of tags, while roads are marked with lines that link poststations into sequences. The chart’s legend includes the following distinctions: railroads, highways, sea routes, prefectural capitals, stations, transfer stations, local towns, famous places, sea or lakes, army camps, navy ports, stations near destinations that are not directly connected with rail, stations where lunch-boxes are sold and stations with public phones. A rationalized system of classificafion or a legible signification code are difficult to discern. In the railway charts, the expansion of the land is indicated by the white surface of the paper, while the outline of the country—and subsequently its borders—are not always suggested. Upon the blankness of the rectangular paper (which operates as an imperceptible if instantly understood, map of Japan), the road network functions as the sole figure. However, due to its dense distribution, such a figurative impression is simultaneously negated, and the railway network appears more as a ‘second (artificial) ground,’ rather than as a figure upon the ground (=land/paper). Thus, it is no surprise that so few topographical and manmade landmarks are to be found on these charts. Rather, the primary function of the charts is to indicate price and time measurements. This is fulfilled by the second page where all distances, prices and measures are codified and illustrated in tables. In contrast to travel in the Edo period, fares are now determined by distance and class division, which corresponds to the social class distinction of the Meiji era.40 Therefore, the two parts (network and price list) are complementary; the visual quality of the first is converted into the measurable data of the second. Geographical railway maps In contrast to the railway charts, geographical railway maps represent the railway network as it is positioned upon the geographical map of Japan, incorporating the cartographic developments of their time and new knowledge concerning the exact outline of the Japanese archipelago. Some of these maps employ Edoperiod stylistic conventions, such as the Tōkaidō tetsudō ryokō hitori annai (Guide for travel on the Tōkaidō railway) of 1889 (Figure 13), while others, such as the Dai Nihon tetsudō senro zenzu (General railway map of Japan) of 1902 (Figure 14) adopt a system of signification that is influenced by scientific or military maps. This last map not only employs westernized means of cartographic representation but also its textual layout is based on left-to-right order and its legend appears in both Japanese and English languages. Both maps that are depicted here assume ‘proto-traveling’ functions, while the second is also administrative in character. A practical function of such artifacts, we should

Figure 13 Tōkaidō tetsudō ryokō hitori annai (Guide for travel on the Tōkaidō railway), Sugakita Kannosuke (printer), Nishikawa Masajū (publ.), Nagoya, December 18, 1889 (first published in October 10, 1889), copper-plate, 26×86 cm (folded 13×9 cm) (Courtesy of the Shizuoka Prefectural Central Library).

54 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 14 Dai Nihon tetsudō senro zenzu (General railway map of Japan), Teishinshō Tetsudōkyoku (Communications Ministry, Railways Office) (publ.), 1902 (first published in 1891), 248×88 cm (Courtesy of the British Library).

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 55

56 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

assume, is for the planning that takes place prior to a trip, rather than during traveling. Railway maps are based on a triple-scale figurative composition: the macroscale, constituted by Japan as a whole, or part of it, appears as a clear geographical form surrounded by sea; the middle-scale consists of the railway network covering the land of Japan; and the micro-scale shows stations and topographical or urban landmarks that lie within or without the railway network. The difference between this type of representation and the charts discussed above is that the railway network in the charts coincides with the ground— indeed, it could be said to be the only ground—creating its own topology and ignoring everything else that might exist outside the network. In contrast, in geographical railway maps, the railway network is represented in accordance with the national territory, which still seems to hold the major significance and is signified by naturalistic, iconic elements. As we will see below, besides their geographical precision, these maps show an attention to a system of place classification that is based on the new national hierarchy introduced by the Meiji government, an aspect that cannot be found with such accuracy in the rather homogeneous railway charts. This fact shows that such maps function as media that can imprint in the collective consciousness of Meiji citizens ideas of national hierarchy and differentiation that are important for the operation of the new modern state. Representational character in Meiji-era road cartography On a formal level, Meiji era road-maps often adopt graphic elements current in the Edo period, such as tags of various colors and shapes (oval, round, rectangular) or chain-like sequences of stations that constitute highway or railway routes. In most of these maps, however, we notice a distinction between textual, graphic and iconic information that is not to be found in the Edo period. Each of the above assumes a specific function: texts are limited to titles, placenames and practical data, tending to exclude annotations and descriptions. The network of mobility adopts a clearly graphic language, tending to exclude iconic elements. Topographical and other visual information on urban and other landmarks appears by iconic means, but always distinct from the maps’ graphics, either by its exaggerated and out-of-scale size or by being framed in distinct insets or vignettes. The purpose of railway maps and charts is not to register the full topography of the land, but rather to highlight selected landmarks and possible destinations in direct or indirect relation to a network facilitating movement. Looking at Meiji road-maps as a whole, it is safe to say that their representational strategy is abstract and diagrammatic, abandoning earlier attempts to represent a continuous topography, as seen in maps like Tōkaidō bunken ezu (see Figures 6 and 7), and thus severing their ties with the visual arts. Meiji era road-maps also sever their ties with guidebooks, as their textual information is limited.

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 57

On the other hand, we should not fail to notice that, besides the major reconstruction of the spatial (geographical) and temporal (historical) structure of Japan that took place in the Meiji era, ideas and preconceptions of the Edo period are still present. As noticed above, we should not be surprised to find toponyms characteristic of Edo period geography even in official documents of the Meiji era, despite their having been abolished by the new government. Examples of this are the names of the domains, which often appear in Meiji maps even though they were replaced by newly named prefectures, and urban landmarks characteristic of the Edo period, such as Nihonbashi mentioned earlier. These places and names are a part of the collective memory and therefore difficult to neglect or discard. This is an attitude that will be found in most Meiji era geographical material, including populist pieces such as the Railway Songs, but also works by intellectuals such as Shiga Shigetaka’s (1863–1927) Nihon fūkeiron (Japanese landscapes). If we attempt to evaluate Edo and Meiji road-maps in terms of their legibility, we must first recognize that none of the maps discussed above fails to transfer adequately the required information. Therefore we cannot convincingly talk about improvement of the legibility of these maps from one period to the other. The actual differentiation between the representational systems of Edo and Meiji Japan is not a matter of formal characteristics, but it should rather be sought in their reflections of broader sociopolitical contexts within which they are embedded. Two major characteristics will be noted below as the main distinctions between the road cartographic material of the two eras. One relates to the issue of abstract space—a ramification of Japan’s adopting the new international standards of modern capitalism—and the other to the use of geography as a symbolism of a reconfigured national idea. From absolute space to abstract space A major aspect of the railway maps is their emphasis on totalized views and the dependence of each part on the whole. This is a characteristic that can be also observed in late Edo-period road-maps of the conformal map category. Although most road-maps of the Edo period lack a sense of the overall shape of Japan and its geographical coordinates, a change is observable from the early nineteenth century, with an emphasis on the geographical outline of the country as a whole (with varied opinions on what the ‘whole’ consisted of). The transformations from Edo to Meiji maps relate in not insignificant ways to the sort of cartographic ideas that shaped the thinking of Ptolemy (c. 100–170), who is often regarded as the founder of western cartography. Ptolemy distinguished between ‘geographic’ and ‘chorographic’ maps, the first showing the whole world, using diagrammatic features, and the second representing smaller areas, using pictorial elements. According to this division, the role of chorography is to deal separately with a part of the whole, whereas that of geography is to survey the whole in its just proportions. Upon this basic distinction, P.D.A.Harvey has based his review

58 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

of topographical maps, maps that ‘set out to convey the shape and pattern of landscape, showing a tiny portion of the earth’s surfaces as it lies within one’s own direct experience’ (Harvey 1980:9). Edo-period popular maps were meant to facilitate the sequential experience in tiny portions of the land without subordinating it to totalized perceptions. This accords with the position of the highway journey in the popular mythology of the Edo period as a journey whose purpose is escape from the realm of the ordinary rather than arrival at a particular destination. Based on this, if we attempt to compare Edo-period labyrinthine maps, sugoroku games and panoramas with the geographically distorted railway charts, we realize that beyond the formal similarities in spurning what we would take today to be geographical accuracy, there are also fundamental differences. The first is the newly established association of space with time which is reflected in the appearance of the timetable that accompanies the map. As Giddens has postulated, the railroad timetable is not merely a ‘temporal chart,’ but rather ‘a time-space ordering device’ that indicates ‘the complex coordination of trains… passengers and freight across large tracts of time-space’ (Giddens 1991:20) with all the social and cultural ramifications of such a coordination. These elaborate timetables introduce the transformation of space into time by means of ‘measurability,’ expressing the radical shift from the perception of travel as a means of play into a business affair. Specifically, the purpose of railway charts was to indicate the fare according to two laws: social class and distance. Within the overall homogenized system, space and time were transformed in their relations one with the other through the mediation of money. Thus the labyrinth of endless traveling that was the ultimate goal of the travelers’ imagination in the Edo period, gives way to a regulated mechanism according to which space is measured as distance, distance is measured as time, time is measured as money. Indeed, as David Harvey and before him Henri Lefebvre have argued, one of the major aspects of capitalism is the transformation of space into time through the mediation of money (Harvey 1985:1–35). The sheer operational logic expressed by railway charts is thus symbolic of the abstract character inherent in capitalism. While Edo-period highways functioned as a marginal, differentiated ground that was separated from the realm of the ordinary, the railway network appropriated traveling space through the economic logic of modern capitalism. As a result, traveling could no longer be justified in its aimless form but became instead a means to an end. Rationalization and quantification came hand in hand with such transformations. There are indeed major differences in the degree of rationalization between maps of the Edo and the Meiji eras. Such differences can be revealed by comparing the legends of road-maps of the whole country that were produced in the late Edo period with geographical maps of the Meiji era. It is important to note that most road-maps of the Edo period did not carry a legend at all. Qualitative distinctions were marked on their surface without however establishing a systematic code for marking distinct types of information. The

Figure 15 Comparison of map-legends: (a) Kappaan Kamata-Suiō, Dai Nihon kōtei daiezu (Large road-map of Great Japan), Kikuya Shichirōbei, Hiranoya (publ.), 1857, woodblock print, 18.2×10.7 cm, detail (Courtesy Tenri University Sankōkan Museum); (b) Moji Tominosuke, Dai Nihon ryokō daiezu (Large travel map of Great Japan), Murata Uhei (publ.), 1881, copper-plate etching, 36.3×168.3 cm, detail (Courtesy Tenri University Sankōkan Museum); (c) Dai Nihon tetsudō senro zenzu (General railway map of Japan), 1902 detail (Courtesy of the British Library).

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 59

60 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

woodblock-printed map Dai Nihon kōtei daiezu (Large road-map of Great Japan) (Figure 15a) was published by a religious league in 1857 in order to facilitate the journey of pilgrims. There is no easily discernible hierarchical order in this map’s legend which includes the following entries: domain-names, castletowns, famous places, post-stations, main roads, customs, sea routes, barriers between different provinces and border of regions (dō). Although made in 1883, twelve years after the abolition of the domains, and six years before the completion of the Tōkaidō railway, the legend of the map of the whole country Dai Nihon Ryokō daiezu (Travel map of Great Japan) (Figure 15b) also indicates names of domains and former castle-towns. This is not surprising, as many of these maps were not made by governmental authorities and their texts are written in the language of ordinary people who preferred to use Edo-period names. Nevertheless, the mention of the word ‘former’ in front of the word ‘castletowns’ is notable. This map, which functioned as a travel-guide for pilgrims, also indicates the position of barriers between the domains in the form of red triangles, despite the fact that they were abolished in 1869. This should be seen as an indication that the map was a copy of an earlier one of the Edo period, now reproduced with the etching technique but without substantial changes to its content. The legend of this map includes the following entries: names of provinces, famous shrines and temples, route of the Yamato pilgrimage, borders of domains, famous mountains, post-stations, pilgrimage routes, water routes, rivers, famous ports, former castle-towns, railway. This legend does not present any specific hierarchical system for ordering its information, but it has been enriched with a variety of entries which had not been codified before in maplegends, such as mountains and rivers. The same map also distinguishes between pilgrim routes, sea routes and railway routes (the latter limited at the time to the line that connected Tokyo and Yokohama), a classification that seems to equate highway traveling exclusively with pilgrimage. The inclusion of the islands of Ryūkyū (present-day Okinawa) and the Hokkaido in this map has strategic importance and seems to ‘correct’ the absence of these regions in earlier maps. While the previous two maps use a combination of pictures and symbols, with Mount Fuji dominating in the final composition, the previously examined Dai Nihon Tetsudō senro zenzu (General railway map of Japan) (Figure 15c) displays a hierarchical rather than qualitative codification. The previous distinction between castle-towns and post-stations is now replaced by differences among city (shi) town (chō) and village (son), and the previous distinction between pilgrim route and railway is now replaced by the division into ‘main trunk road’ (that is, national, kokudō), ‘provincial main road’ (prefectural, kendō), ‘crosscountry road’ (local, ridō) and railway (tetsudō). Thus this map, even if seen only for an instant, reveals the major hierarchical divisions of Japan’s territory. Another fundamental innovation of this map is in its manner of marking boundaries. This is not through the position of barriers, as in the Edo period, but through the drawing of border lines.41 The comparison between the legends of the above maps reveals an emerging consciousness that cartography was not only

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 61

a means of recording and representing, but also a means of establishing classifications and hierarchies. It also reveals a progression from religious qualities of space to hierarchical codifications indicative of the modern geographical perception. Hierarchical classifications, totalizing views, and the dependence of space on time and money signifies the emergence of homogenized space, or, in the words of Lefebvre, the passage from absolute to abstract space. Absolute and sacred spaces are symbolic spaces, made up of natural fragments chosen for their intrinsic qualities, being populated by political, military and religious forces that mediate between what lies out there and what exists here. On the other hand, abstract space is the institutionalization of a homogeneous, isotropic space, established by capitalism, one that expands as a tabula rasa throughout a measurable terrain (Lefebvre 1991:48–53). The decline of the absolute qualities of space had been cultivated by the Tokugawa’s policies towards religious organizations and the development of a market economy that led to the formation of what Mitani calls a ‘protonation-state’ (Mitani 1997:298–9). Spatial homogenization and secularization were the premises of Japan’s becoming a nation-state and it is clearly reflected in the blunt expansion of the railway network that we observed in the railway charts. It goes without saying that the principles that such charts expressed are incorporated in geographical railway maps. These principles thus become naturalized, placed upon a geographical map (decorated, though it may be, with topographical motifs), reinforcing a monetary definition of space as well as national hierarchies recognized by the railway network. It is indeed hierarchy and difference rather than uniformity that complements the expansion of homogeneous space. Abstract space needs and capitalizes upon differences, and thus selectively uses qualities of absolute or sacred space as a means to establish itself. Therefore, as Lefebvre has shown, it is an intention inherent in capitalism, rather than a contradiction, that homogenized abstract space can accept fragmentation in isolated segments. Homogenization and pulverization, unity and fragmentation are the major characteristics of modern capitalist space. This is expressed through the divisions of zoning and the specialization of space, which is realized ‘under the umbrella of a bureaucratically decreed unity’ (Lefebvre 1991:317). Within modern space, such applications can be found within the city borders but also in the compass of divisions within the national territory, where centers of consumption are separated from production sites. If at the national level the metropolis was a locale of consumption, selected spots in the country (agricultural, industrial or tourist) became its objects of consumption. On one hand, products, raw material and labor were transported from the countryside to the city, while on the other selected spots of the countryside became themselves objects of tourist consumption. The development of the tourist industry, trading upon historical or mythological notions that reinforce national identity, is indicative of the incorporation of absolute values (Fuji, meisho, tradition) within undifferentiated abstractions (space-time-money). The abstract labyrinthine layouts and the

62 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

clipped images of the railway charts of the Meiji era are embedded with such processes. Symbolic geography From our daily experiences most of us know well that geographical precision does not necessarily facilitate the transfer of information regarding the operation of a mechanical network such as a railway or subway system. One can think, for example, the diagrammatic subway maps drawn with straight lines that do not correspond to the actual topography of the cities they represent. A question that emerges, then, is what was the aim in building a degree of geographical veracity into the railway map if not the operation of the railway, which was the primary objective of these maps. This said, however, it must be borne in mind that even in most cases of geographical maps, such as for instance the map in Figure 13, the shape and topographical outline of Japan’s territory is highly schematized and does not always correspond to the geographical knowledge of the era. The geographical railway maps are one more example of spatial representation being appropriated as a source of ideology. In the Edo period, popular road-maps expressed the mythological, narrative aspects of the Japanese cultural landscape, while official maps reflected military and administrative needs for detailed spatial survey. In the Meiji era, both specialized and popular railway maps are produced by authorized bodies (railway and tourist agencies) following the cartographic knowledge of their era, rather than by individual artists or the demand of a buying public. The interest in geography as a science was an innovation of the time. Geographical learning was highly valued, and many thinkers saw geography as a means of benefiting the nation and expanding the horizons of knowledge towards the west. The railway maps did not function in a vacuum but were embedded in a broader framework that fostered geographical knowledge as national knowledge. Geographical knowledge imprinted an image not only of national unification but also of national territoriality, supported by a plethora of geographical treatises, textbooks, guidebooks, advertising materials and school songs. The imagery of the Meiji era mythologized the new engineering achievements of Japan, but such images appeared in the foreground of the diachronic, symbolic images of Japanese land: Mount Fuji, famous places, legendary spots and mist and clouds were now merged with man-made elements that reconfigured the conception of natural, now identified as national, beauty. *** In the above Chapter, it is obvious that the infrastructural applications—in the words of Lefebvre the ‘spatial practices’—of Edo and Meiji governmental bodies were major means for maintaining and reproducing their political order: control of the territory, preservation of the feudal social system and centralization of the country in Edo by the bakufu; imposing a new national hierarchy with Tokyo in its center for the Meiji government. By the study of the road cartography of the two eras, we can conclude that cartography, despite its

INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY 63

major importance as a national affair, was appropriated by the popular culture of the Edo era, expressing the commoners’ view of topography as a field of practices. In modernity, cartography appears as a neutral delivery of land survey data, carrying with it however symbolisms that contribute to the foundation of a modern ideology. Thus major differences that we observed between popular itineraries and official maps of the Edo period ceased to exist in the Meiji era. Most Meiji-era maps use the paradigm of a panoptic, totalized spatial representation, within which the partial spatial experience of the traveler is eliminated. Such spatial representations, which are largely associated with systems of surveillance and control, became the dominant paradigm throughout the modern era not only in Japan but worldwide. Since then, spatial representations as well as spatial production have been undertaken by particular institutional bodies, based on specialized methodologies and abstract languages that are less and less accessible, more and more unintelligible to wider audiences. The meaning of space thus becomes codified in an overall, allencompassing set of values and jurisdictions, while the space of the individual or the group becomes more and more limited. The difference between Meiji- and Edo-period road-maps—the latter animated by figurations, ‘fragments of stories’ that mark the ‘historical operations’ (de Certeau 1988:121) from which the maps resulted—is enormous. Within the frame of modernity, the ‘ubiquitous character’ (de Certeau 1988:v), inhabitant, user of transport or traveler becomes a measurable entity, to be enumerated, manipulated and finally excised from any spatial representation.

3 TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ

Road cosmology—the road as a microcosm In the ancient and feudal eras, traveling was rare not only because of practical difficulties but also due to sociopolitical restrictions and popular beliefs. While administrative and military traveling was an obligation for government officials, commoners were not much accustomed to the idea of traveling. Until the Edo period, the space of the road was regarded as the realm of the ‘outside,’ the unknown and the unclassified, in contrast with the security and predictability of the local community. Strangers, visitors and flotsam represented the mystical ‘other world,’ and were considered as the marginal, ‘liminal’ figures which mediate between men and gods, the secular and the sacred, ‘this world’ and the ‘other world’ (Yoshida 1981: 95–6). On the other hand, the road was considered to be the route of bad spirits, the place of social exclusion and outcast populations. The marginal and somewhat atrocious character of the highways is confirmed by foreign travelers’ accounts. Kaempfer and Mitford (1837–1916) described the sites of public executions found along the highways, ‘recognizable by a number of crosses or posts and reminders of past executions’ (Kaempfer 1811:774) Execution sites were located outside and on the western side of cities and villages. Mitford characterized the execution site of Shinagawa where he witnessed the crucifixion of a criminal as a place of ‘gmesome sights’ (in Cortazzi 1985:17). In order to ease such anxieties the highways were dotted with shrines, temples and religious objects, such as stone idols. Highways were also associated with a specific caste of people, that of the wanderers for whom traveling was an existential condition. Wanderers were a semi-legendary subclan of troubadours called sarume that had appeared during the seventh to tenth centuries. The itinerant Shintō priests of such cults as Ise, Kumano and Izumo, contributed greatly to the otherworldly atmosphere of the road. They were often dancers, songsters or puppeteers and frequented the roads together with yūjo (young geisha) and shirabyōshi (female singers and dancers). Since the Kamakura period all the above and also the imonoshi and himonoshi (artisans who cast metal and artisans who constructed wooden tools) had the privilege of passing through the barriers without special permission (Kawasaki-shi Shimin

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 65

Museum 1994:60). From the tenth century, wandering became an ideal for a broader population, as first monks and then ordinary people abandoned the mundane world seeking in traveling religious spirituality, aestheticism or even escape through secular means. The words that signify traveling, and the way they were used, were different in each era and reveal the changing notion of traveling as a cultural practice. Until the Edo period the main word signifying traveling was tabi. As indicated in Nihongo dai jiten (Great dictionary of the Japanese language), tabi is a compound of Japanese origin meaning to leave the place one lives for a while and to go away. In ancient times tabi did not necessarily mean to go very far away from one’s home. The word appears in the poetic anthology Man’yōshū (A collection of 10,000 leaves) written after 759, in which ‘traveling-poems’ (tabi no uta) had the purpose of calming the kami (spirits) of a foreign place. In the Nara (712–94) and Heian periods tabi had the negative connotation of leaving one’s community and the local kami. It has also been asserted that the word tabi has religious origins. Kato claims that the word for traveler, tabibito, originally came from the word tabebito, a wandering ascetic, a stranger who could ask for food, a Buddhist holy man asking for alms or a beggar (Kato 1959; Graburn 1983:50). Yanagita also traces the derivation of the word tabi to tabe (bestow) and tabemono (food) (Yanagita 1957:130). Umesao (1995) relates travel with hardship, as seen in the old Japanese phrase ‘A journey is a sad thing, a difficult thing.’42 Since the Meiji era and up to the present, the word ryokō has been used more frequently than tabi. According to Nihongo dai jiten, ryokō is a word of Chinese origin used in literature and can be found in early dictionaries and in Nippojisho (Japanese-Portuguese dictionary) of 1603, which was the first western Japanese dictionary. Until the Meiji era however, it was not a part of the spoken language. According to these dictionaries, the purpose of ryokō is to go for a pilgrimage (mairi), to go to tabi, to observe nature, or travel for tourism. Unlike the word tabi, which in contemporary times has come to connote romantic traveling or traveling as self-discovery, the word ryokō means travel for a purpose, such as tourism or business. Other words that signify tourism are kankō, which according to Nihongo dai jiten means to go to another place or to a foreign country, to travel, to observe the landscape, the ways and habits of people and the country, and the word kenbutsu, which means sightseeing and, according to Ivy, contains nuances of theater-viewing, thus linking sightseeing with performance (Ivy 1995:37). Traveling practices Reasons for traveling In the Heian period most traveling was obligatory and the main travelers along the highways were government officials, tax carriers and soldiers. As there were

66 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

no travel facilities along the road, traveling meant hardship and travelers had to find their own shelter and prepare their own food. On the other hand, short excursions to religious or natural sites near Kyoto were not infrequent, but were limited to courtiers or priests. In the Middle Ages, it became common for young samurai to travel with a servant in order to gain skills such as swordsmanship as well as a social and geographical experience (Graburn 1983:54). At the same time, certain professions such as priests were allowed to travel for religious purposes. In the travel diary Ionushi (The master of the hut), written by a priest called Zōki, late in the tenth century, the writer gives an account of the reasons that lead one to travel: There was a certain man who desired to flee the world and live as he pleased. He was also stirred by the thought of visiting all the delightful places in the country of which he had heard. At the same time it occurred to him that if he were to worship at the various holy places it might reduce his burden of sins. His name was ‘Master of the Hut’. (Keene 1989:32) Thus the main incentive for traveling according to Zōki was the desire to escape from the mundane world, followed by a desire to visit ‘famous places,’ and only last to visit the holy sites. In the Kamakura period, pilgrimage to Kumano shrines, traveling for official reasons such as placing petitions, and visits to the new splendid capital were not uncommon (Keene 1989:114). Throughout the Middle Ages, there was an increase in aesthetic traveling, which was practiced mainly by monks or recluses who saw traveling as a means of enlightenment and poetic creativity. In the Edo period, obligatory traveling was mainly for administrative and sankin kōtai purposes. Improvements of the condition of the highway, which the shogunate saw as a means of ensuring control over Japanese territory, and a growing travel industry along the highways facilitated not only official traveling but also traveling by commoners. During the seventeenth century, as Engelbert Kaempfer described, the Tōkaidō road was ‘as crowded as the streets of a populous European city’ (Bodart-Bailey 1999:271). This continued until Francis Hall’s trip to Japan in the early nineteenth century, when we find descriptions like this: From early morn till night this national highway is a scene of busy life…. Crowds of people are passing through it, from the haughty grandee of the empire…to the naked coolie with his burden pole of bamboo. (Notehelfer 1992:29–30) Indeed, traveling through Japan thrived, so that historians talk about the development of a ‘travel boom.’ However this was by no means the aim of the Tokugawa shogunate. As discussed in the previous chapter, Tokugawa law

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 67

restricted non-official traveling, especially that of women and farmers. As nuns were the only women who traveled undisturbed, there are numerous incidents of ordinary women caught traveling having shaved their heads —the trademark of a nun—simply in order to travel freely. At the same time, various religious rules restricted women from visiting certain temples and shrines along the road, either because they were believed to be inferior to men, or to be impure beings. Thus women traveled usually with specific purposes, in contrast to men whose travel was more flexible and often fueled by the pursuit of pleasure (Itasaka 1993:158). Confucian ideologues such as Ogyū Sorai (1666–1728) viewed mobility with suspicion and stressed the link not only of farmers but also samurai with their native place. Mobility, and especially sankin kōtai was considered a means of moral destruction, resulting in the development of the city of Edo ‘as an inn,’ a place of play and luxurious expenditure (McEwan 1962; Smith 1978:50–1). Despite restrictions on farmers’ mobility, rapid urbanization and the accompanying growth of employment, the shift from extensive to intensive agriculture and the diversification of the economy created the conditions for farmers to travel during the slack season in order to find temporary employment in the towns and cities. In fact, in the latter half of the Edo period, farmers’ migration was the highest out of all classes, reaching 8–9 percent of the class population (Fruin 1973:24). This indicates that migration patterns emerged in Japan prior to the Industrial Revolution. Members of other classes, such as famous merchants or itinerant artisans (e.g. sake brewers of Niigata or the medicine salesmen of Toyama) were also allowed to travel throughout the country. As already mentioned, despite the overall travel restrictions in the Edo period, voluntary travel flourished. Indeed, aesthetic as well as religious traveling were the two most frequent forms of traveling. In particular, pilgrimage, the form of traveling that was most acceptable to the bakufu, became the pretext for pleasurable traveling, and was almost always combined with traveling to the meisho. Travelers’ subject positions Aesthetes and recluses Traveling for aesthetic purposes was associated with the notion of meisho (originally pronounced nadokoro), a form of artistic creation that originated in China. Meisho, which literally means ‘famous place,’ is related to visiting places renowned for their history, mythology or natural beauty. Physical traveling was not a prerequisite for composing meisho, since one could approach the famous places through already existing art forms. The outcome of the actual or imaginary visit to the meisho could be poetry, diaries, guidebooks, sketches or, broadly, one’s own life path. Meisho that lay along the Tōkaidō were represented

68 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

in various ways in the Edo and the Meiji eras; they will be examined in the following chapter. The notion of the meisho changed significantly through the times. In the ancient age (604 to 905), only the Emperor and a certain caste of courtiers had the privilege of traveling to famous places. Such places were selected as the stages of the ‘royal progress,’ where the public rite of ‘behold(ing) the country’ (kunimi) was performed. During such ‘place-panegyrics,’ the Emperor or his followers would compose a poem with ‘splendid verses in praise of the location.’ It is important to note that in this period, words were viewed not as the utterances of an individual but rather possessing kotodama, or spiritual power, in this case the power of Yamato. Thus, traveling and literary creation were sacred acts reaffirming the existence of Yamato culture, through words that were distinctively Japanese (Konishi 1984:204). As mentioned earlier traveling was a topic of the poetic anthology Man’yōshū, in which ‘traveling poems’ (tabi no uta) had the purpose of calming the kami of a foreign place. In the tenth century, the first royal poetic collection, Kokinshū (Anthology of ancient and modern poems) (c. 910) devoted one of its twenty scrolls to the subject of traveling. The use of meisho as a device to signify the relation between the Emperor and his land, that is to say Japan, continued in the Kamakura period with the imperial patronage of meisho arts that sought to revive ‘a vision of national unification under the Imperial House,’43 and thus questioned the emerging military authority of the shogunate. From 905 to 1500, a new type of traveler to the meisho emerged. This was the Buddhist ascetic who visited places where something had happened long ago, in order to experience the ‘evanescence’ (mujō) and the ‘truths of life…of which one is ordinarily unaware’ (Konishi 1991:298–306). This was recorded by a new literary form, the travel account (kikō). During the same era, travel by hermits or recluses became frequent. Recluses traveled as a way of forgetting their past and severing their ties with the mundane world. Their purpose was the pursuit of spiritual liberty rather than religious enlightenment. During the Middle Ages aesthete-recluses were the main sustainers of literature, composing waka poetry that praised the visited meisho. A lineage of poetic forms that had traveling and the meisho as their subject-matter was thus developed by poets such as Nōin (988–1058) and Saigyō (1118–90). Meisho as artistic creation depended primarily upon the linguistic bonds of a place that is being visited physically or mentally. The belief in the power of the words (kotodama) developed towards the prescription of linguistic stereotypes or utamakura that tied particular places with poetic images, and seasonal words (kigo).44 These words were collected in glossaries that functioned as poetic manuals which the poet, even if not personally familiar with the place, could consult in order to compose his own poetic account. Utamakura, or ‘poetic pillows,’ were ornamental words that could be used as fillers within the poem. Nōin utamakura (Nōin’s utamakura) was one important such glossary written between 1044 and 1049. The work of the poet in this tradition was the ingenious

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 69

rearrangement of materials into new poems that transparently displayed their points of contact with, as well as departures from, earlier poems, creating ‘webs of associations’ (Kamens 1997:2, 6). As the philologist Keichū (1640–1701) wrote in 1692: When there is a place-name [meisho] in a Japanese poem, it does for that poem what a pillow does for us in sleep. When we rest on a pillow, we have lavish dreams. When we refer to famous places, we make fine poems. (Keichū and Sen’ichi 1973:23; in Kamens 1997:1) Utamakura place-names developed out of specific places, such as rivers, bridges, lakes, passes, forests, or simple turns of the roads. These places functioned ‘as obstacles to freedom of movement’ and as ‘points beyond which home disappears’ and the travelers gave them significance (Plutschow and Fukuda 1981:4–5). It is important to note that in regards to place-names, while we should consider places that have frequently been used in traditional poetry as utamakura, meisho is a broader category that also includes places famous for historical and mythological events, and, by the middle of the Edo period, places famous for commodities and pleasures. The tradition of Nōin and Saigyō was followed in the Edo period by Bashō (1644–94) and later by Yosa Buson (1716–83) and Bakin (1767–1848), creating a genealogy of travel literature. This tradition however often led to a rigid, conventional perception of place and nature. As Keene observes, Zōki’s tenth-century diary was full of clichés: If he arrived at some beach that was famous for its shells, of course he gathered them. If he arrived at a place famous for certain flowers at a time when those flowers did not happen to be in bloom, he attempted to visualize them by recalling the poems that describe them. He did not waste time over flowers not celebrated in poetry. (Keene 1989:34–5) Similarly, in 1480 Sōgi (1421–1502) wrote in Tsukushi michi no ki (Travel record of the weed-road): Here too the pine forest stretches out into the distance, and though it does not at all seem inferior to that of Hakozaki, and both of these are unsurpassed, this place is of no special renown and therefore I am not much attracted to it. (Plutschow and Fukuda 1981:5) In the Edo period, meisho gained significant popularity and became formalized through the production of numerous books that carried the word meisho in their title, such as meishoki (records of famous places) or meisho zue (illustrated collections of famous places). As in the past, the writer did not need to have his

70 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

own experience of traveling, but could instead consult existing manuals. Elisonas, in his detailed examination of numerous meisho books of Edo castletown such as Edo suzume (The sparrows of Edo) and Edo meishoki (Travel record of famous places of Edo) notices that all those books provide a mere enumeration, instead of a precise description of the ‘famous places.’ The texts simply repeat the celebrated patterns of Edo culture related with entertainment, red-light districts and bodily pleasures. As Elisonas observes: ‘Once you’ve seen one meisho, you’ve seen them all’ (Elisonas 1994:283). Contemporary scholars have repeatedly remarked on the transformation of meisho during the Edo period from a conceptual to a perceptual notion. According to Ishimori, ‘in the Edo period, as travel became more popular among the common people, meisho became a visual, actual tourist destination.’ For instance, Edo meishoki added many new toponyms, since Edo did not form a significant theme in medieval poetry. In Edo suzume and Edo banashi (Stories of Edo) ‘more care was taken to provide explicit directions to the sites rather than to explain the historical background.’ Ishimori remarks that the new places were selected because of their natural beauty and not their literary associations (Ishimori 1995:13–14). Even before the fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō became a celebrated subject of Japanese arts, the Tōkaidō included a large number of poetic locations that were established through early poetic works. We should note however that in early times, when the Emperor still had political power and when the infrastructure was not sufficiently developed, priority was given to places in Yatsushiro, the central province of Japan, and not to distant provinces. Tōkaidō meisho included places like Yatsuhashi,45 a bridge that was believed to have been near Chiryū station that was praised in Ise monogatari (Tales of Ise)—a narrative of Prince Ariwara no Narihira’s (823–80) trip to the east via the Tōkaidō: Hamana no hashi, a bridge in southwestern Shizuoka prefecture famous from Kin’yō wakashū (A collection of verbal flowers of Japanese poetry) compiled by Fujiwara no Akisuke (1090–1155) in 1151;46 Utsu no yama, a mountain between Mariko and Okabe that literally translates as Mount Reality and was often used metaphorically to contrast reality with the dream-world;47 Tsuta no hosomichi (The narrow ivy path), a passage in proximity to Utsu no yama, famous for its thick ivy plants that became known from Ise monogatari and Shinshūishū (New collection of gleanings) compiled by Fujiwara no Tameaki in 1364; Tago no ura at the mouth of the Fuji River praised in Man’yōshū; Miho no matsubara famous from the ‘fairy’s feather robe’ described in Nōin utamakura,48 and Fuji no yama, which is referred to countless times in Japanese arts, and for the first time in the Nihon shoki (Chronicles of Japan) of 720. Closely associated with the meisho is the concept of meibutsu. Meibutsu is inseparable from the commercial environment that flourished in the Edo period and the development of a new buying public that was traveling across the country. That meant that each locality ought to be famous for its own unique specialty which the travelers could experience or purchase as a souvenir; thus

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 71

exchange value was installed in a previously intellectually experienced landscape where the notions to be consumed were mainly ethereal. According to Nenzi, meibutsu can be classified into the following five categories: (1) simple souvenirs such as the swords of Kamakura or the shell-decorated screens of Enoshima; (2) gastronomic specialties such as the roasted rice cakes (yakimochi) of Hodogaya, and the yam gruel tororojiru of Mariko; (3) supernatural souvenirs and wonder-working panaceas, such as the bitter powders of Menoke that supposedly cured a large number of illnesses; (4) bizarre things that added a touch of the ‘exotic’ to the aura of each location such as the fire-resistant salamanders of Hakone; and (5) the prostitutes, who made localities such as Shinagawa, Fujisawa, Akasaka, Yoshida and Goyu famous (Nenzi 2000). Such commodities made people stop at otherwise impoverished and remote localities, contributing to the local economy and the exchange between people of different backgrounds. Pilgrims During his trip to Japan at the beginning of the Edo period, Kaempfer noticed that Japanese people were ‘very much addicted to pilgrimage’ (Kaempfer 1811: 738). Pilgrimage was the form of travel of which the government was most tolerant and a traveling permit could hardly be refused for religious purposes. Thus pilgrimage was often the pretext for traveling rather than an aim in itself. Some of the pilgrimages involved huge numbers of people, reaching around 400, 000–500,000 in particular seasons, such as the New Year. Two of Hiroshige’s depictions in Tōkaidō fūkei zue (The landscape of the Tōkaidō), one of which we see in Plate 9, reflect the crowded condition of the pilgrimage and the variety of characters that one could encounter along the road such as komusō (‘monks of nothingness,’ who played the musical instrument shakuhachi), children on nukemairi (spontaneous joining of a pilgrimage), pilgrims to Konpira shrine carrying the long-nosed Sarutahiko mask, nuns, mixed with ‘single travelers’ (hitoritabi), people from the countryside (inaka monodomo), messengers, courtesans and others. Over time, the participants of the pilgrimage changed from the aristocracy in ancient times, to the warriors and the wealthy farmers in the medieval era and finally to the commoners and farmers in the Edo period. Pilgrimage gained particular popularity after the Warring-states period as most Japanese had lost family members and sought to travel to religious localities. Muromachi authorities saw pilgrimage as a means to collect money through the tolls and thus did not object to it. In the Edo period, it was commonly said that everyone should go on pilgrimage at least once in his lifetime, and pilgrimage became uncontrolled and even a threat to the authority of the bakufu. While farmers were allowed to go on pilgrimage, and did so especially during the slack seasons of the agricultural calendar, warriors, daimyō and samurai were not encouraged to participate. In this period the most important pilgrimages were to Ise shrine,

72 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Zenkōji, Konpira, Shikoku eighty-eight-temple circuit and Saigoku thirty-threetemple circuits. One of the most powerful types of pilgrimage that involved a great volume of traffic along the Tōkaidō road was the okage-mairi. Okage-mairi was a pilgrimage to Ise, originally taking place every sixty-one years. Besides the big okage-mairi of 1705, 1771 and 1830 there were also smaller okage-mairi that took place sporadically from 1630 to 1885. Okage-mairi can be translated as ‘thank the gods for their blessings’ (okage =thanks to, mairi=pilgrimage). Okage-mairi were often related to extravagant stories that had immense power. For instance the okage-mairi of 1830 started when a rumor was spread that amulets were falling from the sky (ofuda-furi). This was one of the most well-attended pilgrimages, with more than 400,000 participants. Along the roads almsgivers offered food, tobacco, various services and even bags to carry the gifts. Okage-mairi upset local economies, causing inflation of the prices of rice, straw, lodgings and other necessities, and had political ramifications being related to farmers’ rebellions, such as ikki. For this reason, the upper classes viewed popular religious movements with alarm and distaste. The conditions of such massive pilgrimages concentrate all four attitudes of the crowd: ‘the crowd always wants to grow; within it there is equality; it loves density; it needs a direction’ (Canetti 1960:29). However, the subversive potential of the pilgrimage is significant. According to the anthropologist Victor Turner, religious pilgrimage is a socially subversive action, established upon the concepts of liminality and communitas.49 Pilgrimage involves the abandonment of one’s occupation and the participants’ withdrawal to the place of separateness, the road. The abandonment of one’s secular occupation was made clear first upon one’s body. The Japanese pilgrims’ costume consisted of a white dress or sleeveless garment, a walking stick, a sedge hat, and a dipper slung from the waist. Among them, the ones called to a nukemairi (adults or children who joined the pilgrimage spontaneously) were usually in working clothes, since most of them were servants who left their jobs during the busiest seasons of the year (Davis 1992:240–1). Other markers were the long-nosed Sarutahiko mask carried on the pilgrim’s back on his way to Konpira shrine on Shikoku Island, as seen in Hiroshige’s print (Plate 9), and the ofurai, ‘indulgence boxes,’ tied under the hat before the forehead, which according to Kaempfer was a ‘good passport’ allowing the travelers to pass through barriers, since it was obvious that they were pilgrims (Kaempfer 1811:740). The anonymity within the condition of the pilgrimage offered a sense of liberation from the fixed social hierarchies. In the words of Foard: the road itself was the marginal space in which structures broke down, exposing both danger and freedom, and mixing the sacred and the most profane…. The pleasure and even licentiousness of pilgrims were part of this liberation from structure. (Foard 1982:239)

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 73

The political significance of the pilgrimage in Japan has been stressed by a number of historians. The okage-mairi of 1830 took place when peasant rebellions reached their apogee, and is often discussed in relation to antigovernment movements. The okage-mairi was accompanied by ecstatic dances, such as Ise-odori, okage-odori and ee-ja-nai-ka (ain’t it hunky-dory) that disrupted daily life and work for long periods. Those dances were reminiscent of carnivals, since they were combined with elaborate ornaments and fanciful costumes made of expensive materials. Clothing was often used as a parody of the authorities, despite prohibitions. In the okage-mairi of 1723, the upper urban classes in Kyoto dressed up as the forty-seven rōnin and Minamoto no Yoritomo (1147–99), while others dressed in elaborate costumes and pretended to be imperial messengers (Davis 1983: 114). In 1867, one year before the Meiji restoration ee-ja-nai-ka spread through the region from Nagoya to the east. Dancing that lasted up to thirty days continuously disrupted agricultural works and loan and tax payments, and was followed by a general disrespect for the authorities, who were not able to get the people back into order. According to Fujitani, the political aspect of the ee-ja-nai-ka of 1867 has been interpreted in a variety of ways. For some historians the movement was indicative of the repression of the populace and was seen as a phenomenon of mass excitement. For others it was a disguised political action intended to paralyze the power of the government in the light of the planned attempts to restore the Emperor’s authority. According to an opposite point of view, the ee-ja-nai-ka was instigated by the bakufu itself in order to distract the masses from rural riots (Fujitani 1973: 116–17, 122–4, 127–32). Although pilgrimage as anti-structure concentrates characteristics of separateness, outsiderhood and low status that deliberately differentiate the pilgrim from the established class divisions, according to Turner, there is a point when pilgrimage turns into the creation of a new structure losing its potential of resistance. Thus the pilgrimage, although initially realized within the realm of the marginal and the extraordinary, eventually functions as a procedure that creates a new order. Regarding Japanese pilgrimage, this procedure has been theorized through the employment of the terms hare (bright, formal, refreshing), ke (gloomy, private) and kegare. According to Winston Davis: The basic element of this triangulation is ke, the magico-religious power of everyday life and of agricultural production in particular. As this power declines (with age, sickness, etc.), it becomes kegare. Although the word kegare can mean ‘pollution,’ it is not simply the opposite of ‘purity.’ It implies a powerless or run-down state of affairs. Finally, hare is the ritual means for reproducing or stimulating ke. The best example of the interaction of these spiritual states is the Shintō festival itself. During the course of a festival prayer, orgies and ritual combat (hare activities) removed ‘withered’ or rundown condition (kegare) of the community and

74 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

its land, thereby restoring the power (ke) needed for a vigorous, productive society. (Davis 1984:216) Thus what appears as extraordinary and indecent, in fact, plays a specific role in the eventual restoration of authoritative values. The large number of people traveling during pilgrimages led to the establishment of an ever-growing travel industry. The pilgrims could no longer be accommodated in the temple-inns leading to the development of secular ryokan that severed the contact of the pilgrims with priests, and thus weakened the religious dimensions of the pilgrimage (Davis 1992:240–1). Indeed, as Turner and Turner have remarked, ‘a tourist is half a pilgrim, if a pilgrim is half a tourist’ (1978:20). Constantine Vaporis, Winston Davis and other historians describe how the pilgrimage during this early modern era underwent a process of secularization (Vaporis 1995; Davis 1983, 1984, 1992). The use of the pilgrimage as a pretext for travel in order to obtain secular pleasures is clear in the travel literature of the Edo period. Pilgrimage guidebooks bear little difference to general guidebooks enumerating all sites of tourist interest besides the religious ones. For instance Ise sangū meisho zue (Illustrated collection of famous places on the way to Ise) mentions most meisho along the road, as well as places famous for their meibutsu, such as the tea-house of Megawa near Kusatsu, famous for its ubagamochi, a rice-cake (see Figure 38). Vaporis asserts the close relation between pilgrimage and recreation at hot springs or houses of prostitution along the highways. Even, or especially at Ise, the renowned district of Furuichi was full of brothels with the reputation of being ‘the most interesting’ in the land (Vaporis 1995:32–4). Travel literature of the Edo period presents numerous examples of lax religious commitment, since many pilgrims seemed to be more interested in purchasing souvenirs of purification rather than participating in the worship (Ihara 1978:97; Vaporis 1995: 33). After arrival at the holy destination, pilgrims continued their journey to other sacred and secular sites, expanding the time of their journey to more than a month. The practices of the commoners during the temporary framework of the pilgrimage can thus be seen as a realm of tactics that, according to Michel de Certeau, declares the temporary victory of the ‘weak’ over the ‘strong,’ maneuvers devised as a means of temporarily disobeying the rules.50 By the middle of the Edo period, religious traveling for the masses was planned by leagues or co-fraternities, known as kō. These institutions organized the provision of lodgings with meals, baggage handling and inn-keepers’ trade associations. A kō consisted of a group of people from one or more villages with the common goal of religious worship. Each member of the kō made a contribution towards traveling costs and representatives used the money for the pilgrimage. Since the members took turns, every member was guaranteed the chance of traveling over a period of several years. According to Shinno, groups traveling on a pilgrimage consisted of members from more than one kō, making

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 75

groups of up to fifty travelers from a variety of villages. Travel diaries left by such groups attest that pilgrimage provided an experience of solidarity between participants of different origins (Shinno 2002:463–5). Naniwa-kō, Santo-kō, Azuma-kō were famous leagues of the Edo period. Their establishments offered the traveler the guarantee that no inn-harlots were employed in their associated inns. A type of credit card entitled users to lodge at any member-inn without paying money (Vaporis 1995:36). The development of co-fraternities contributed to the increase in women traveling. Women’s participation in religious activities depended on their age, and particularly older women who were free of child rearing were encouraged to travel and have an active role in the co-fraternity organizations (Shinno 2002:460). At the same time, we can notice the development of ‘travel packages,’ marketing strategies that combined visits to pilgrimage sites with meisho and commercialized facilities. Such were the ‘Sagami package,’ including EnoshimaKamakura-Mount Ōyama and the conurbation of Ise and Yamada-Fumichi that constituted appealing travel destinations for their ‘fusion of sacred and mundane elements’ (Nenzi 2000). The fusion of religion and relaxation, though perhaps perplexing to an audience of a Christian origin, may mean precisely that religion in Edo Japan was a form of enjoyment. According to Shinno, the modern dualistic ethic with its positing of an opposition between the sacred and the profane did not exist in that context (Shinno 2002:468). Processions to and from Edo The sankin kōtai, that was implemented in 1615 and lasted until 1862, facilitated the Edoization process of the Tokugawa, in other words the attempt of the bakufu to establish Edo as the center of a unified Japan. According to the sankin kōtai the daimyō were required every year or every other year to travel to Edo, where they kept austere residences in which their families resided, and stay for twelve months (the daimyō from the nearby provinces stayed only for six months). In this way, not only were their principal wives and eldest sons practically hostages to the shōgun, but also the daimyō themselves (being the eldest sons) were born and educated in Edo. Thus the daimyō identity was nurtured in Edo rather than in their own province. Consequently, the lords were dissociated from their province, minimizing the possibilities of collaborating with local activities potentially hostile to the bakufu. Moreover, the very great expense of the sankin kōtai expeditions to Edo, which had to be made in a manner appropriate to the status of each daimyō, was a severe stain on their finances. Despite the Tokugawa’s intentions, the sankin kōtai contributed to the development of the regional economy and the flourishing of travel-related industry along the highways; however, it also resulted in the weakening of the territorial defense of Japan as the daimyō who were considered responsible for this did not have the means to maintain rigorous coastal defenses (Tsukahira 1966:128–34).

76 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

For the sankin kōtai policy of the Tokugawa, traveling was an essential, institutionalized component that fulfilled practical and symbolic purposes. Daimyō’s processions were characterized by hierarchy, a fixed rigid order that contrasted with the crowded conditions of the pilgrimage. The ‘trains’ of the daimyō were major forms of power representation according to recognizable codes of prestige and wealth. According to a foreign account: Daimyō armies were superbly mounted, and language fails to give any description of their singular dress. It was very brilliant and striking and ornamented. Each wore the broad circular hat of steel lacquer and highly ornamented with insignia of rank stamped thereon. These were officers of the Court and one of them was the Tycoon himself, but just which one we did not know. (June 10, 1865; Notehelfer 1992:602) Even fairly humble daimyō were accompanied by at least 1,000 attendants, while top-ranking ones, as for example the daimyō of Kaga, had 4,000 retainers. According to Tsukahira the daimyō procession was a ‘decadent survival of the warlike columns of armed men who accompanied their lord to battle or attended him on his journeys.’ The lords were at first simply accompanied by a troop of armed soldiers, but later these journeys became grand, luxurious processions. Especially after the Genroku era, weapons and the outfitting of the trains became more decorative, in order to advertise the rank of the daimyō. The initially military purpose of the sankin kōtai, guarding the gates of the castle, soon become purely formal and meaningless. The procession, or train, of the daimyō consisted of numerous troops of fore-runners, harbingers, clerks and other inferior officers; the lord’s heavy baggage was carried by horses with a banner, or upon men’s shoulders; great number of smaller retinues belonging to the chief officers and noblemen attending the lord; the lord’s own train marching in an admirable and curious order and divided into several troops each headed by an officer and consisted of men with different tasks, such as those who carried the lord’s hat, umbrello, etc. The lord’s heavy baggage was carried by horses with a banner or upon men’s shoulders. The lord’s train was preceeded and followed by a great number of smaller retinues belonging to the chief officers and noble men attenday to the lord, six to twelve led-horses with their leaders, grooms and footmen; and finally a multitude of the lord’s court officers, some of whom were carried in kago (palanquin), with their own numerous trains and attendants. (Tsukahira 1966:77–9). The dignity of the daimyō had to be safeguarded by objects of status as well as by movements that were in accordance with a proper etiquette. The type of equipment carried by the daimyō’s trains had to follow strict rules determined by the family and rank of the daimyō and his ancestors’ military achievements. The military equipment carried by the attendants (spears, swords, guns, bows and arrows) became objects of symbolic display of power and wealth. A major sign

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 77

of status was hasamibako, a lacquered box carrying the crest of the daimyō and containing his clothes and accessories. Besides that box there were numerous other receptacles called nagamochi for footgear, armor, raincoats, etc. In Plate 7 we can see details of a scroll of the procession of the daimyō of Numazu Mizuno Dewanokami in the period between the mid-eighteenth and early nineteenth century, depicting segments of the forerunners, the daimyō in his norimono surrounded by his attendants and men carrying various nagamochi. The warriors’ posture and movements, and the ways that people of varied status were supposed to look at the daimyō were determined by a protocol. For instance, the best palanquins had a hinged roof to enable the lords to get in and out without bending over (Tsukahira 1966:73–5). The frequent bends of the highway served as a face-screening device so that if two daimyō processions were to meet they would have time to prepare themselves and pay the appropriate respects according to their status (Hall 1937:365). A major prerequisite was that the daimyō should not be seen directly by the commoners, unless from a lower level. Thus the construction code of the post-stations restricted the fitting of windows that could look out above the heads of the daimyō (Bresler 1975: 161). Francis Hall reports that in order to see the daimyō procession of the lord of Owari passing through Kanagawa in 1860, he was advised ‘to watch the whole affair from a friendly merchant’s house, peeping through the cracks in a wall. Or he might kneel down and look up from under his cap’ (March 2, 1860; in Notehelfer 1992: 43). Hall finally decided to watch the procession from a nearby hill through his opera binoculars knowing that this might be a great risk. While the foreigners were curious to see the lavish procession of the ‘Japanese tycoons’ without compromising their independence, special orders were promulgated according to which: ‘the citizens of the United States shall be enjoined to abstain from going on the Tōkaidō in any locality where they may be exposed to danger, not only through regard to their own lives, but also for the purpose of avoiding the complications of the political situation which might be occasioned thereby’ (Letter from Robert H.Pruyn, US Minister Resident in Japan to Geo.S.Fisher Esq., US Consul, Kanagawa, Japan August 29, 1864; Notehelfer 1992:564). Even on the side of the Japanese, who would all kneel down ‘like a shot’ at the passage of a daimyō, cases of disrespect were not absent. It has been recorded that once, when a group of pilgrims faced a daimyō procession, they did not pay the usual respects. Although this could have been considered a crime, the daimyō was said to forgive the lack of manners of these low-class people because of their being on a pilgrimage. However, more relevently, this indicates the weakened power structure in the face of these massive pilgrimages (Minowa 1830:514–15; Davis 1983:115). Similarly, one of the main performances at the commoners’ festivals was the mimicking of the daimyō procession in which ‘the feudal lord riding in his palanquin was a fox and the retainers flanking the “lord” were men clad in female attire, their faces painted and coloured like so many harlequins.’ The participants ‘used every opportunity to appropriate the dress and behaviour of the

78 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

samurai and upper classes’ carrying swords and dressing in superior outfits (Hall May 12, 1860; in Notehelfer 1992:44). The memory of the daimyō procession as a distinguished event survived into the Meiji era. On the last day of the Garter Mission to Japan (1906),51 at the ceremony given at the ‘exotic setting’ of Hibiya Park: the main item in the programme was the representation…of a daimyō’s procession…in the time before the restoration. Less than 40 years ago! The very paraphernalia necessary for the procession were hard to find, and old cupboards in ancient castles, and houses in distant provinces, had to be ransacked in order to bring them to light. Even the stage management was difficult. Few men are left who have seen such a procession. (Cortazzi 1985:216) Besides the travels of the daimyō, other processions along the highways were those of foreign missions (tōjin gyōretsu) from the island of the Ryūkyū, Korea or the west. As Toby has postulated, these embassies in the early decades were an important element in the political legitimation of the Tokugawa shogunate, and in later years helped to create a new Japanese conception of the organization of international space and of Japan’s role in the ordering of that space. At the same time, they defined Japan’s difference from the other nationalities and helped in the construction of the early-modern Japanese national identity (Toby 1986:415–23). There were twenty-two Ryūkyū embassies in the Edo period of around 100 people, the first of which happened in 1624 and the last in 1850. These embassies kept the pretense that the Ryūkyū Kingdom was still independent from Japan, despite the fact that they were conquered by the Satsuma clan in 1610. This was important as the Ryūkyū had maintained economic trade relations with China and the Satsuma had a political and economic interest in making them appear as non-Japanese. Some of the Ryūkyū embassies to Japan expressed Ryukuan gratitude to the shōgun for investing their king in office, and some were congratulatory on the occasion of a shogunal succession or the birth of new heir (Toby 1986:422–3). Ryūkyū embassies first called at Satsuma, then traveled by ship to Fushimi, and finally continued via the Tōkaidō on foot to Edo. Records describe them accompanied by troops of musicians, and attracting the curiosity, not only of the masses, but also of courtiers and the imperial family: The Ryukuan tribute mission…arrived at the [Osaka] mansion and warehouses of Satsuma on the twentieth…. On both sides [of the river] great numbers of spectators, both male and female, flocked to see, and even floated boats out into the middle of the river [for a better view], clogging the channel…. On the twenty-fourth, when they went upriver by boat from the [Satsuma] mansion to Fushimi, it was just the same. It is said that the spectators were lined up along the river all the way to Fushimi.

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 79

And what is more, at Fushimi and at Daigo, Imperial Princes, [members of] the Regent’s House, and the senior courtiers were pleased to appear [and watch]. It is even said that the Lord Sentō [the Retired Emperor Kōkaku] secretly made a royal progress [to watch]. (Yano 1970–82:239; in Toby 1986:416–17) During the Edo period, there were twelve Korean missions, the first of them in 1607 and the last in 1811. Most Korean embassies, at Japan’s request, were sent to congratulate a newly enthroned shōgun. Their processions, which were much more luxurious than those of the Ryukyuan embassy, consisted of a diplomatic corps of around 395 people from Korea as well as hundreds of Tsushima officials and soldiers, who guarded and escorted the foreign guests. The ambassador, the Korean king’s representative to the shōgun, held a puyongsōn— a heavy retuse court fan —and was carried in a roofed, open-sided palanquin, preceded by pennant-bearers, a drummer and a giant flag displaying a firebreathing dragon. On the pretext of promoting friendly relations with Korea, the bakufu assigned the daimyō the duty of feeding, accommodating, entertaining, transporting and guarding the Korean envoys along their travel routes, thus creating one more opportunity for high expenditure by the daimyō. As relations between Japan and Korea were not particularly friendly, these diplomatic missions were instrumental in enabling both Korea and Japan to construct their national prestige. Japan’s superiority was rooted on primordial history of Nihon shoki and Kojiki (Records of ancient matters) of 1712, according to which Empress Jingū had conquered the three kingdoms of Korea, a glory that Toyotomi Hideyoshi attempted to restore with his ‘Korean expedi tion.’ On the other hand, Koreans, who strongly held to the Chinese, and particularly Confucian, world order and ethos, found Japanese cultural production to be naïve and viewed lax Japanese morals with disdain. Traveling along the highways and encountering the great number of brothels and prostitutes gave them many opportunities to comment that the sexual morality of Japanese people as totally unacceptable (Hur 2002). The Dutch, who were allowed to have a trading post at the artificial island Deshima at Nagasaki bay, were also obliged to make an annual procession between the years 1660 and 1790, which was then reduced to once every four years. The purpose of the journey was to present the shōgun with gifts, thus maintaining the cordial relationship between the two countries. The Dutch embassy consisted primarily of the chief of the trading post, the Opperhoofd, his scribe or head secretary, and the trading port physician, all of whom were accompanied by a large entourage of Japanese officials and servants. The stretch from Nagasaki to Honshū was traveled by boat, but the rest of the route was traveled via the highways. The round-trip lasted three months in total. The Dutch embassy usually proceeded in the same order as that of the daimyō including a large number of packhorses and nagamochi carrying goods and gifts. According

80 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

to Blomhoff’s (1779–1853) account of 1818 the Opperhood was received with great respect. All marks of honour that are shown to Japanese nobles on their way to the Emperor were also bestowed upon the Opperhoofd. For that reason a few members of the local police, armed and dressed according to custom, were sent ahead to call out to the crowds on the road, cautioning them to bow as the entourage passed. The police ensured that four soldiers accompanied the train everywhere they went, from district to district and domain to domain. The populace remained bowed in their doorways and on their porches as the retinue passed their houses. Some touched the ground with their hands as a sign of respect. Travelers on the road had to move aside to allow the entourage to pass, and if the road was too narrow, they had to go into the adjoining fields. Those who stood on the road were not allowed to cross. If they did so, they were dealt with promptly and beaten or punched. There was a profound silence as the entourage passed, despite the rush of curious onlookers everywhere. (Forrer and Effert 2000:62–4) The Duke of Edinburgh was also received with similar signs of respect when he visited Japan in August 1869 as Mitford reported: On the day before his Royal Highness’s departure for his residence at Edo, the roads will be cleaned and repaired; and prayers for his safe journey will be offered up to the God of Roads. On the day on which his Royal Highness may be expected to arrive in Edo, religious ceremonies will take place at Shinagawa…to exorcise all evil spirits. (Cortazzi 1985:164) Traveling along the Tōkaidō gave the foreign embassies the opportunity to enrich their collection of things Japanese. At Kuwana and Miya they found fine iron and carpentry tools, in Fuchū high-quality bamboo goods, at Hakone laquerwork and other curiosities, at Hara shells and marine products which they purchased with great interest (Bodart-Bailey 2003:78). This is not to say however that westerners were not critical of Japanese customs, nor that unfriendly incidents did not happen. In the early seventeenth century, Kaempfer often comments on the strict Tokugawa rules towards both foreigners and Japanese nationals, but finds the morals of the Japanese too lax in comparison to the Europeans. For instance, Kaempfer refers to the post-station of Akasaka as the ‘storehouse of whores’ as it had ‘a great supply of dressed-up strumpets’ (Bodart-Bailey 1999: 334). He also mentions that homosexual encounters were common during traveling. At the post-station of Okitsu he describes the meeting with ‘two or three young boys, of ten or twelve years of age, well dress’d, with their faces painted, and feminine gestures, kept by their lew’d and cruel masters for the

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 81

secret pleasure and entertainment of rich travelers, the Japanese being much addicted to this vice’ (Kaempfer 1727:53; in Screech 1999:269). These foreign embassies were anticipated and received with curiosity and excitement by the Japanese public. Before the passage of Korean embassies for instance, a craze for things Korean would seize the urban centers of Japan (Toby 1986:448), while their processions became the subject of numerous artworks from luxurious emakimono to inexpensive prints. Foreign processions, including those by westerners, were not always viewed with admiration however, so the Japanese authorities were obliged to command that there should be no fingerpointing or laughing along the route when foreigners passed by (Toby 1986: 424). As the lower classes did not pass up the opportunity to mock the daimyō processions during their festivals, they also incorporated re-enactments of foreign processions. Toby gives numerous examples of Japanese urbanites and farmers masquerading as Koreans, and proposes that such events not only expressed a satisfaction with Japan’s ability to command the foreigners but also reveals the commoners’ wish for a ‘communal parity’ with the shōgun and his officials, who were the only ones allowed to receive the foreigners during their visits (Toby 1986:448–54). Traveling practices of the Meiji era The major infrastructural changes of the Meiji era had an enormous impact on traveling. On the one hand the railway facilitated crucial national interests, especially those related to the military and the economy, while, on the other, it had an immeasurable influence on culture. One of the significant changes brought about by the Meiji government was the official recognition and thus institutionalization of traveling under its auspices. In the early Meiji era, traveling was organized through governmental or private initiatives, such as Kihin-kai (Welcome Society of Japan) headquartered in Tōkyō Shōkōkai (the predecessor of the present Tokyo Chamber of Commerce and Industry). By 1912, it was officially regulated by the Japan Tourist Bureau (JTB), a part of Japanese Government Railways with branch offices in Tokyo, Kobe, and the Japanese colonies Manchuria, Seoul and Taipei.52 Traveling for the commoners branched into two directions: one was travel to sites that reflected Japan’s modern civilization, showcased in the new capital and other prefectural centers, or to resort areas where western-style activities, such as swimming and mountaineering, were practiced. The other possibility was travel to sites that glorified Japan’s tradition and past to show respect for religion and for the ideals that fostered the idea of nationhood in its historic continuity. Indeed, the modernization process of the Meiji era did not just entail the importing of western models of living. In the words of Christine Guth, the Meiji era also involved ‘a reclassification and recasting of the culture of the past…in order to preserve a sense of nationhood, in which arts, and architecture were the main participants’ (Guth 1996b:17). The nomination of Kyoto and Nara as cities

82 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

of culture or living museums was ‘profoundly influenced by Meiji campaigns to reinvent Japan’s artistic and religious traditions’ and was epitomized by the enactment of the Law for the Protection of Cultural Properties (Kokuhō hozon hō) according to which ancient architectural and artistic monuments, primarily in these two cities, were meant to be preserved (Guth 1996b:18). In this category we should also classify the school trips (shūgaku ryokō), the first of which was organized by Tōkyō Kōtō Shihan Gakkō (Tokyo Normal School). The annual school trips were soon established at national level, usually to Nara and Kyoto, and became the official camouflage for travel for pleasure. Time conceptions The clock, not the steam-engine, is the key machine of the modern industrial age. (Mumford 1934:14, 15) The institutionalization of traveling in Meiji Japan was shaped not only through the establishment of new authoritative bodies that reorganized traveling, but also, even more, through the radical transformation brought to the country after the introduction of the new temporal patterns that the Japanese aspired to since their acceptance of the western world order. As is obvious with institutionalized activities such as the annual school trips, a renewed notion of work versus leisure time was established, which was meant to cultivate the discipline of the industrious subject that was necessary for Japan’s modernization. One of the main concerns of the Meiji state was to increase national productivity and build munitions factories, railways and other modern establishments. Thus, ‘the familiar landscape of industrial capitalism,’ accompanied by the time-sheet and the timekeeper, was established in Japan as in all the modern world (Thompson 1967:90). The railway, together with the school and the factory, were major means of establishing such disciplinary models and brought for the first time the ideal of time-precision, as symbolized by the timetable and the clock. For instance, in the Edo period, river ferries had no fixed timetables and ferries would leave only when enough passengers had arrived. With the opening of Shinbashi-Yokohama line in October 1872, the Railway Bureau posted a notice that prospective passengers should arrive at the station no later than 10 minutes before the departure time of their train and that the gate to the platform would be closed 3 minutes before departure. The clock-tower was an indispensable component of most Meiji-era architectural typologies, and especially of the railway station. In order for Japan to become an equal member of the international community, the western perception of time had to be accepted. The western calendar was adopted with much complaint in 1872, with the decision that the third day of the

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 83

succeeding twelfth month would become the first day of 1873. The decree added: On this day a ceremony…will be held, and the Emperor will inform the sun goddess and the imperial ancestors of the change…. The day will be divided into 24 hours instead of twelve two-hour periods, as hitherto. (Yanagita 1957:255) The seven-day week was first introduced by foreign merchants in Yokohama. Summer vacations for students and workers were established in 1873, while Sunday became a holiday for schools in 1874 in order to accommodate foreign teachers, until in 1876 it was decreed a day of rest for all Japan (Yanagita 1957: 259, 264). In the Meiji era, new holidays were established in relation to imperial events, causing complaints from people who preferred to celebrate Buddhist or festive occasions while established celebrations were re-evaluated. Certain rural festivals that were celebrated in a way which seemed to challenge the Meiji era’s morality were abolished. For instance, the worship of the god of the road that was celebrated with bonfires was banned, while the girls’ festival became highly commercialized through the active involvement of department stores that produced various related commodities (Yanagita 1957:262, 266). Department stores in general favored the practice of relating festivals with sales, establishing new holidays. As Sunday does not have religious meaning in Japan, service industries and shops remained open, as a way to make profit. In general, entertainment was adapted to the principles of the ‘rational recreation’ method applied in England in 1834. This was seen as ‘a gentle way of moral regulation based upon permanent institutionalized facilities such as libraries, museums, parks and tourist enterprises, that were meant to educate the working class towards non-aggressive habits and middle-class values’ (Ishimori 1995:20–1). The ephemeral character of Edo-period public spaces was similarly eliminated, by enforcing the removal of stalls from the waterfront areas, while western-style parks such as Kinshi Park at Sumida riverfront, Sensōji near Yoshiwara and Maizuru Park in Nagoya were established, often replacing previous pleasure quarters (Markus 1985: 540). According to the functional hierarchy of Meiji land policy, the country was divided into areas of consumption-spectacle and areas of productionindustrialization. The new capital, historic centers and tourist resorts belonged to the first; industrial centers and agrarian countryside to the second. As mentioned above, Kyoto and Nara were officially nominated as cities of culture; Nagoya, the middle capital of Japan; Hakone, Atami, Kamakura and Enoshima resort destinations for foreigners and higher classes; while towns such as Yuwata, Kuwana and Yokkaichi became the new industrial sites. Each of these towns was based upon a distinct conception of ‘time.’ If historical centers and tourist spots capitalized upon past sublimations (now rendered into modernized facilities or preservation schemes), the countryside became synonymous with a negative

84 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

backwardness and viewed change with suspicion. Farmers complained about the change of the calendar, arguing that it did not agree with the traditional seasons, while nationalists thought that it violated the national polity and made Japan a colony. The railway itself became symbolic of various psychological influences on the individual of the Meiji era. In the Edo period, there was a widespread folk belief in bewitchment by foxes that could possess the bodies of people, thus plenty of shrines were dedicated to the spirit of the fox. By the end of the Meiji period, as John F.Embree has remarked, this belief ‘had assumed a modern cast, with people in certain localities claiming that the spirits of these animals took the form of ghost trains to retaliate for the depredation of their homes and lives by railroad employees’ (Embree 1946:258; Ericson 1996:57). Fables of fox-trains ‘verbalize the negative side of provincial ambivalence toward the railroad for being not only a facilitator of progress, but also a disrupter of land and community and a destroyer of pure and simple local customs’ (Ericson 1996:57). In the countryside peasants spoke of the locomotive as a karyū (‘fire dragon’) and sometimes knelt down when it went by. Similar folk beliefs of the evil side of modernization were held about the telegraph lines which had preceded the railway and were also viewed with suspicion. People complained about foxes knocking on doors in the middle of the night to announce false telegrams (Finn 1995:46–47). New travel attitudes and customs During the early establishment of the railway, Japanese people saw in it an extension of ‘democratic’ free public space. Inside the train, ‘dignified gentlemen arose to make a political speech and, when the train officials attempted to stop them, refused to yield on the grounds that freedom of speech was their privilege’ (Yanagita 1957:147). It was through the civic aspirations of the Meiji state that the railway was incorporated within the new framework of civilization and enlightenment, introducing new disciplinary models of public behaviour. As the interior of the train started to function as a public space, with characteristics similar to those of Japan’s pre-modern past, various prohibitions were issued in order to secure proper behavior. As mentioned, the railway gates closed 10 minutes before each departure, introducing time discipline in a form that was unknown before. While the train was in motion, passengers were not allowed to leave their seats or take off their shoes; people with infectious diseases were not allowed on the train; smoking or getting drunk were prohibited (Shimizu 1986:24). Railway travel was divided into three classes, the fare for first class being three times greater than that of second class. Usually, westerners or high officials traveled first class, wealthy urbanites second class, and commoners and peasants third class. However, many farmers considered the railway as an urban facility and continued to make their trips on foot or by boat (Yanagita 1957:129–30). It is obvious that the operations of the railway reflected the social stratification enforced by the Meiji state.

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 85

When the railway was introduced, traveling customs were initially adapted to the logic of the mechanized medium. The tradition of the meibutsu, a celebratory custom since the Edo period, found a new venue through the establishment of the railway and continues to this day. The famous lunch box (eki-ben) started to be sold in 1885 at Utsunomiya Station and soon spread to other stations, while around 1905, an organization called the Union of Lunch-box Salesmen on the Tōkaidō Line was allowed to run a dining room on the train (Yanagita 1957: 148). Traveling in groups, as in the Edo period, was encouraged, continuing the league tradition of that time. In 1891, the Japan Railway Company began selling commuters’ tickets at cut rates. Tickets for labourers traveling in groups and for students were sold at reduced prices, especially during events such as the National Industrial Exhibition of 1890 at Ueno (Shibusawa 1958:228). Commuting became a form of socializing, so that travelers between Shinagawa and Yokohama established a commuter’s club, organizing parties and picnics (Yanagita 1957:148). The introduction of western hotels—most of which were gathered around the railway station—was also related to the novelty of railway traveling. The stations’ front-squares (eki-mae) were transformed with the concentration of new types of wheeled vehicles, such as rikshaws and streetcars, gradually resembling the socio-microcosms of the Edo period’s post-stations. Modern pilgrims, tourists and weekenders With the intent of making Japan a modern country, the Meiji government tried to do away with pilgrimages as ‘relics of a primitive past’ (Graburn 1983:54). After an intense struggle between Christianity, Buddhism and Shintō, Shintō was formally made the state religion. The Sangū Railway Company was established in 1889 for the purpose of transporting visitors and pilgrims to the Ise Shrine, where a small okage-mairi took place in 1890, after the 1889 rebuilding of the shrine. The shrines organized traditional Shintō performances known as kagura dances and other events. Many pilgrims traveled using either train from Tokyo to Nagoya or steam-ship. However, as Davis remarks, after the Meiji restoration: the religious and social aspirations formerly expressed in pilgrimage, ee-janai-ka, and peasant rebellions to ‘renew the world’ were stamped out or forced to assume new, sublimated forms…. The Shintō ideology enabled the Meiji oligarchs to assign new valences to various elements of the repressed folk tradition and thereby exploit the people within the context of a newly concocted national eschatology. Ise itself, which after centuries of exclusive patronage by aristocratic and warrior families had become the heritage of the common folk, was once again transformed and became the national palladium, the Holy of Holies of the imperial system itself. Even ee-ja-nai-ka, which one associates with the sublimated protest and ecstatic tomfoolery of 1867, was absorbed by the spirit of Meiji nationalism. (Davis 1984:219–20)

86 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Indeed, as the Japanese were celebrating the defeat of Russia in 1905, groups of people were singing and shouting the refrain ee-ja-nai-ka in their spontaneous processions in the city of Shimonoseki (Norman 1975:242; Davis 1984:220). Meiji-era tourist developments were in their majority based on Edo period travel. Because of the desire for a ‘sound moral excuse’ for their leisure activities, the first holiday centers grew up near religious centers and hot springs. By 1897, it had become very popular for Tokyoites to travel by train to pleasure resorts such as Kamakura, Enoshima and Hakone. The following newspaper account tells of the heavy traffic on the hot days of August 1898: Railroads are gradually being built all over the country, and many places that were once quiet and lonely have overnight become prosperous and lively. Since the opening of the Tōkaidō Line, there has been an increasing stream of visitors from Tokyo to Kamakura, Enoshima, and the Seven Springs of Hakone. There were 730 guests in Kamakura and Enoshima on Saturday the 11th and 830 on Sunday the 12th. (Shibusawa 1958:225) Enoshima-Kamakura had been a very popular destination, combining religious with historic and other mundane goals since the Edo period, and attracted even more visitors after the opening of the railway. As sun-bathing and swimming became popular summer pastimes, both Kamakura and Enoshima took on more of the flavor of a resort than a place of pilgrimage. Kamakura, in particular, became a fashionable place for wealthy citizens to build their weekend houses, according to western prescriptions of wellbeing. Both places became the subjects of early Meiji era print-production and ‘must’ visits in Japanese and western guidebooks, continuing a tradition established since Edo Japan. The concept of beach vacations and summer homes was first introduced to Japan by the western residents of the international settlements. Formerly, swimming was a military practice in a particular style, and bathing in the sea was carried out as a purification ceremony, with specified days of the month throughout the year for entering the water. In the Meiji era, as Yanagita Kunio remarked, ‘new amusements included sports that were accepted almost as theatrical performances’ and the crawl-stroke was imported from the west and became very popular (Yanagita 1957:278). The first bathing beach was established at Ōiso on the Tōkaidō route by the well-known doctor Matsumoto Ryōjun (1832–1907). Although the beach was initially established for healing purposes, four years later, it was already being used for pleasure (Oda 1976:149– 50). In 1888 Kanagawa prefecture ordered the sex segregation of all bathing beaches, applying the same regulations as in the public baths for public morals and sanitation. (Yanagita 1957:278). Hakone, known for its barrier and hot-springs in the Edo period, became a popular resort during the Meiji era. The number of visitors rose after the opening of Odawara Railway and Mount Hakone Railway in 1918 (Ishimori 1995:19–20)

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 87

that were branches of the trunk line. One of the first western hotels in this area was Fujiya at Miyanoshita, built in 1878 by foreigners, but owned by the Japanese Yamaguchi Sennosuke, who was a minor member of Iwakura mission (Finn 1995:219). The hotel was equipped according to Victorian standards and its architecture alluded to traditional Japanese style filtered through a western sense of comfort. Hakone was an ideal place for mountaineering, and attracted the interest of foreigners who aspired to explore the unconquered tracks of Japan and were the first who urged the creation of alpine clubs. Mountaineering as a sport soon became popular among Japanese. This was different from mountaineering as a religious practice in the Edo period. As Karatani, based on Yanagita, asserts: the existence of mountain climbing as a sport in Japan is predicated on a qualitative transformation and homogenization of space which had traditionally been held as ‘separate’ on the basis of religious values and taboos. (Karatani 1994:29) After the Russo-Japanese war, travel for pleasure increased and announcements of the following type appeared in the newspapers around the New Year time: Kinken ryokō ni tsuki ketsurei no kōkoku. The meaning of such a sentence is that the person who is posting the announcement is traveling in nearby prefectures and cannot send New Year’s cards (Oda 1976:145). As a newspaper account indicates, pleasure-travel became a habit of wealthy citizens, especially during the weekends: Traffic is particularly heavy between Saturday and Monday mornings…. Since Westerners are also numerous, the upper-class and middle-class cars on the Tōkaidō Line, as well as the Yokosuka Line, seem especially crowded. Last Monday morning I came back to Tokyo in an upper-class car on the Yokosuka Line…at Ōfuna a lot of people from Kōzu and Ōiso transferred to our train, and the upper-class cars were so jammed that one could hardly move. (Nichinichi [Tokyo], July 22, 1901; in Shibusawa 1958:225–6) Visits to religious sites were still popular among the lower classes, and were usually combined with sightseeing or visits to recreational areas. Since the early Meiji era, the development of such recreational areas in Japan was commonly initiated by private railway companies, as a way to generate further profit for their railroads. Especially in the Kansai area, private companies were quite inventive, providing a model for private enterprises throughout the country. There are several cases of amusement parks being built by railway lines at the end of their routes in order to make the use of the whole line profitable.53 The major characteristic of such developments is the fact that they do not always

88 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

capitalize upon existing resources but rather create artificial ones, such as amusement parks or ‘pseudo-hot springs’ (Ogawa 1998:28). In Meiji-era newspapers, there were numerous advertisements for sea resorts, hot springs and hotels throughout Japan. According to Oda, places away from Tokyo advertised their local food-specialties following the traditions of the Edo period, while places near Tokyo advertised their scenic views and fresh air, as a means of escape from the cramped urban environment (Oda 1976:146–7). On the other hand, the trip to Tokyo (jōkyō) as the ‘showcase’ of modernity (Smith 1978:53) was a dream of many residents of the Japanese periphery who had a curiosity to see the capital, leading to the development of trends such as ‘city fever’ (tokai netsu). In the Meiji era one could always find peasants covered with ‘red blankets’ (aka getto) beside the Shinbashi station in Ginza (Takada 1995:110). Those people visited Tokyo in order to view rather than to partake in the urban spectacle, marveling at westernized typologies such as the twelvestorey tower (Jūnikai) or Ryōunkaku (Tower piercing through clouds) of Asakusa. Migrants to the urban centers The exodus from the farm to the city or other industrial nuclei is a major symptom of modernity. Since the beginning of industrialization, and especially after the Russo-Japanese War (1904–5), the labor force of Japan was supplied mostly from rural areas. According to Umemura 91.8 percent of the industrial labor force in 1857–80 was supplied from rural areas and even in the period of 1910–15 the percentage was as high as 72.5 percent (Umemura 1961 in Murata 1980:25). The labor force consisted of both male and female workers, the last known as ‘factory-girls’ who left temporarily their village in order to work in spinning and textile factories. The employment of female workers increased from 51,000 in 1882 to 829,000 in 1910–14. If we consider that the number of workers increased from 500,000 in 1904 to 1,500,000 in 1914 we can see that more than half of factory-workers were women (Taeuber 1958:39). The rapid industrialization of the country and the increase of migration led to a sudden increase in the size of the cities. If Kyoto and Nara signified the realm of Japanese history, the glorious Japanese past, Tokyo signified the era of progress. Indeed, Tokyo, as the new capital, became the center of gravity of major national investments, becoming the site of the First National Bank in 1872 and the First National University in 1877. After an initial reduction following the abolition of sankin kōtai and the subsequent withdrawal of the samurai, Tokyo regained its population by 1890, reaching 1.4 million at the turn of the century. Between 1898 and 1907, people moving to Tokyo each year numbered from 40,000 to 60,000 (Gluck 1985:159). Tokyo was seen as the place of success, a place to study or find job opportunities. Even more, Tokyo was the place of the latest intellectual trends, the place of a collective illusion of self-improvement. For intellectuals such as Kōda Rohan

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 89

(1867–1947) the city was a place where individuals have countless possibilities for contact with each other; and the amalgamation of the thoughts of people with different backgrounds would create the new consciousness of the capital (Kōda 1993: 48–9; Schulz 2003:296). The popularization of such ideas and the pursuit of success in life (seikō-seinen) was at the same time promoted by publications entitled ‘How to succeed’ or ‘How to earn’ as well as the translation of Samuel Smiles’s Self-Help, which was very popular at the time. According to Maruyama Masao such books supported the ‘new idea of independence and selfdetermination of individuals,’ in combination with the Confucian concept of ‘raising the reputation of the family by pursuing learning.’ The common dream of the period was success ‘in the network of bureaucratic organization, or to earn enough money to enjoy a luxurious urban life.’ Any reference to ‘individualism’ in such publications, however, according to Maruyama, had the meaning of ‘naked egoism’ and led to the formation of ‘privatized’ or ‘atomized’ subjects rather than true individuals (Maruyama 1965:509–10). Yanagita has left accounts of the gray reality that awaited rural migrants upon arrival in Tokyo. By 1880, migrants had to rely on employment agents who often: made shady deals with unscrupulous innkeepers. Innocent bumpkins were sent to hotels where…[they were] charged a tremendous amount for board…. In other cases innkeepers employed touts on the bridges across the Sumida river, who, when they spotted a fellow in straw sandals and leggings coming into the city, not only tried to drag him into a hotel, but offered to take him around to see the sights of the famous Yoshiwara district. (Yanagita 1957:157) Numerous overcrowded hotels appeared in the cities, and especially Tokyo, in the beginning of the Meiji era. The hotel of that time was almost the ‘permanent residence for young hopefuls coming to the city.’ For instance, in 1833, in the 48 blocks of the district of Hisamatsu-chc, there were 225 hotels, housing 36,950 persons every month (Yanagita 1957:157). Prefectural capitals built their modern image with Tokyo as their model. Nagoya, the capital of Aichi prefecture, and known as the ‘middle capital’ of Japan had migration patterns similar to those of Tokyo, though much smaller in volume. In 1880, migrants accounted for less than 1 percent of the prefectural population, but by 1893 they accounted for nearly 10 percent. As a result, Nagoya grew from 115,000 in 1879 to over 300,000 by the mid-1890s. Population movements stimulated growth in the prefecture’s major city and the rural areas that were active commercially and industrially, but they retarded growth in primarily agrarian counties (Allinson 1975:17).

90 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Literary Tōkaidō Travel literatrue in the Edo period According to Dean McCannell, markers mediate between the tourist and the sight for the concoction of a tourist attraction (tourist/sigh/marker) (MacCannell 1989:41). Markers construct the framework through which sights can be viewed; they can be implicated within the actual sight, like signboards, or take external forms like gazetteers, guidebooks, souvenirs or postcards. In the Edo period a thriving travel industry made all the above available for the demands of a traveling public. Expanding the sociologist Eric Cohen’s definition of the role of the guide as that of both a leader-pathfinder and a mediator-mentor (Cohen 1985: 5–29), I consider travel literature as a substitute for the guide’s role, facilitating the practical demands of traveling, thus fulfilling a path-finding role on one hand, and also introducing the culture of the destination, assuming a mentorship function on the other. We should also bear in mind that travel literature is created by the intellectual authorities of each era. In it travelers not only find themselves in reflection, but their attitudes and practices are shaped by the direct or indirect suggestions of the authors. As we saw earlier in this chapter, Edo-period highways were frequented by a mixture of people with diverse backgrounds, such as wanderers, pilgrims, aesthetes, samurai retainers of the daimyō and ordinary people for whom traveling was synonymous with adventures and encounters that were rare at their places of permanent residence. Despite class differences, the sites of interest along the route did not greatly differ from one traveler to the other. Although the degree of appreciation would vary depending on the educational and social background of each traveler, most of them consulted the same body of travel literature, consisting of books that circulated the same information and were characterized by cross-fertilizations and repetitions. These books privilege certain types of travelers and indicate ways of viewing and acting within the landscape. Travel literature on the Tōkaidō evolved between three poles: (1) the travel diary of a single traveler along the road that continued the meisho literate tradition of earlier times, (2) the simple guidebook type similar to a gazetteer that offered practical information about the road (dōchūki), and (3) popular literature, such as kanazōshi or ukiyozōshi on the subject-matter of traveling which, by the nineteenth century, was integrated with the humorous gesaku literature.54 Dōchūki, as a prototypical form of travel-related artifact, was described in the previous chapter, as it is the model for both road-maps and guidebooks. The most complex fictional forms of kanazōshi and ukiyozōshi were based on elements of both dōchūki and travel diaries. It has to be noted that these two categories are not necessarily forms that were abolished in later eras. In fact, dōchūki continued to be published even when fictional travel books became popular, while various travel diaries were publicized in the Meiji era as well.

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 91

Figure 16 Sōyō, Kisoji anken ezu (Guidebook to Kisōkaidō), Ibaragi Taemon (Kyoto), Suhara-ya Mohei (Edo), Yorozu-ya Seibei (Edo) (publ.), 1756, woodblock printed book, 11×16 cm (Courtesy of the Futagawa Post-Station Honjin Archives at Toyohashi).

Between them dōchūki and some of the travel diaries may be considered as ‘proto-traveling’ forms, as they were meant to clearly assist travelers during their journeys. The rest capitalize upon the appeal of traveling, taking a journey as a pretext in order to introduce diverse subject-matter and propagate certain worldviews. Most of the works that will be examined below are characterized by a combination of text with image, a characteristic that we also observed in many road-maps of the Edo period. Although in most of these works the text is the predominant element, this cannot be accounted as their main difference with the genre of road-maps. As explained in the previous chapter, there are numerous cases of expansive texts found in road-maps as well (see the second version of the Tōkaidō bunken ezu) while the scroll-format per se evokes the action of ‘reading’ rather than simply ‘looking at,’ implying that visual or graphic representations are to be ‘read’ no less than the texts. The two characteristics that may allow for distinctions between the two genres—road-maps and guidebooks —though both of them do not apply in all cases, are the following. The first relates to the narration of specific journeys of either real travelers (as in the case of the diaries) or hypothetical ones (as in the case of the fictional guidebooks), thus evoking the process of identification with specific models of action more directly than road-maps. The second relates to the format of the guidebooks. Guidebooks were published as bound books, unlike road-maps that were published as scrolls or in accordion formats. Between the road-maps in a scroll format and the guidebooks in a book format we should also mention a hybrid category of road-map published—or often reprinted—in a book format (Figure 16). Such maps may indicate the practicality of the book in comparison to the scroll format during traveling, but in them we may also observe the tendency to separate the information in distinct units (that is to say pages), which is obvious with the distribution of sets of one or two stations in a spread. These hybrid maps-in-books present the same structure throughout their length, without

92 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

separating texts from images. In the guidebooks, however, we can observe a separation between pictures and texts, each of which occupy distinct pages, thus they may be seen as predecessors of the print-series that appeared in the late Edo period. Not surprisingly, the increasing degree of the literary element, which was combined with the presence of one or more protagonists, led to the distinction of the picture into a separate category that was further elaborated and ideologized in the Meiji era. Again, this should not be seen as a process that occurred overnight. In such early books, pictures ofter carry strong traces of the text which they supplement or often substitute. These traces are revealed by the often expansive texts written on the blank areas of the picture, but also in the abbreviated textual elaborations of the accompanying texts, which show an awareness of their complementary functions. Travel diaries Since Heian Japan, numerous travelers had left accounts of their journeys reflecting on the landscape and traveling conditions along the highways. One of the most famous was Sarashina nikki (Sarashina diary) written between 1055 and 1060 by the daughter of Sugawara Takasue (1008–?). Her father was appointed governor of Hitachi in the distant Eastern Region and the diary describes her journey from Kazusa (today’s central Chiba) to Kyoto. This diary was reprinted and illustrated in 1704. An important distinction between the ordinary diary form nikki and literary forms such as gokōki (record of an imperial journey), michi no ki (record of the road), mōde no ki (record of a pilgrimage) and kikō (travel record) is that the first is composed of time units, while the others are composed of geographical units. Another fundamental difference is that in kikō the journey appears as a theme of existential significance. One of the first kikō was Kaidōki (Travel records of the Sea Road) written by an unknown author in 1223. This is the account of a traveler who visits places where specific events had occurred, and not simply utamakura, places famous from poetry (Konishi 1991:304–5). Although Kaidōki carries throughout the journey a tone of grief and desperation it also offers splendid accounts of notable places such as Kamakura and in general all the things that have aroused the author’s interest. According to Keene, the author tried to create a new kind of Japanese personality, more emotional than the mellifluous Heian Japanese, who at the same time does not lack an unconventional viewpoint. The author states, for example, that ‘famous places are not necessarily enjoyable… Places one has often heard about do not necessarily appeal to the eye’ (Keene 1989:117–18). During the Edo period there were many travel diaries, most of which refer to journeys that included a passage of the Tōkaidō or part of it. Such diaries were written not only by intellectuals, such as literary figures, artists or geographers, but also by ordinary people. Commoners’ diaries were left by a wide range of individuals as records of their experience, but also in order to report what they saw to their fellow travelers, who prayed for their safe travel. Such travel diaries

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 93

were often written by village headmen (shōya). These diaries carry either the title nikki (diary) or dōchūki (road record), and at times their titles carry explicit indications that pilgrimage was compatible with visits to the famous places or even places known for their delicacies (Shinno 2002:463–5).55 Literary diaries were emulated numerous times by male or female travelers of commoner status. Travel diaries thus often become means for enhancing the status and reality of the traveler by alluding to poetic and historical associations and metaphorically ‘meeting’ glorious figures of the past. Although women did not travel freely, female travel diaries are not uncommon, echoing a literary tradition of the Heian period that was particularly popular among court ladies. According to Itasaka Yōko, who has compared a number of such diaries with those left by males, women, who commonly lacked the education and experience of male travelers, were less prone to being critical of what they saw during their journey, and especially of localities such as meisho. Most female diaries are characterized by meticulous descriptions of landscapes, natural phenomena and idyllic scenes, which are hardly the points of attention in typical male diaries. In contrast, descriptions of incidents of interaction with local populations are missing from female diaries, while real events are often combined with the evocation of literary ones. Indeed, due to social limitations, women were not supposed to interact freely with strangers, thus were hesitant during their journeys in seeking such experiences. As a whole, women on the road frequently express their grief for the unavoidable nature of their journey, which was often happening due to the loss of a beloved one at the place of departure. By the end of such journeys, however, there is usually a change in mood due to the anticipation of a reunion with someone waiting at the destination. Overall, women’s traveling as described in their diaries, most probably because of their restricted role within Edo society, appears as an undesirable endeavor and is usually associated with difficulty and hardship, unlike the joy and freedom aspired by male trips (Itasaka 1993:158–64). Certainly the ‘true’ emotions of travelers cannot, and should not, be assessed by literary forms, which most commonly followed social and literary conventions that were set above the experience of each individual traveler. We may assume, however, that women in the Edo period had less or almost no opportunities of transcending their social rank, unlike men whose status was at least visually indistinguishable within the premises of the pleasure quarters. With such a lack of possibilities, traveling, and especially the manner in which it was fantasized through the diary form, could offer Edo-period women a chance of escaping transcending their status. Diaries by literary figures were common following a tradition established in the Middle Ages. The famous poet Bashō made numerous trips along the Tōkaidō and left travel-records that combine the form of diary with poetry. Artists’ diaries do not always count as records of reality. Often, through poetic license, travel diaries emphasize the symbolic dimensions of the journey, distorting descriptions so that they can meet their symbolic projections.56

94 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Bashō’s diaries recall renowned trips of past poets while at the same time his freshness and humor renovate the literary canon. Bashō’s fellow-travelers, more than people he encountered on the road, are not only the dead poets, ‘the mukashi hito, the kojin’ (Miner 1996:131–2), such as Saigyō, Sōgi (1421–1502), Sesshū (1420–1506), Kamo no Chōmei (1155– 1216), the nun Abutsu-ni (c. 1120–83), but also figures of the floating world such as the crazy doctor Chikusai. Bashō shows a stronger interest in places rather than people. According to Miner, ‘places can literally be said to displace the usual priority of people…and to render time a consideration almost solely of the seasonal topics of hokku’ (Miner 1996:191). Bashō’s best-known trip along the Tōkaidō started in September 1684 and lasted seven months, culminating in his famous Nozarashi kikō (The journal of a weather-beaten skeleton). The aim of his journey was multiple: to pay homage to his mother’s grave, to visit his students in Ōgaki, to discipline himself through the hardships of travel. Bashō was accompanied by one of his disciples in Edo, Naemura Chiri (1648–1716). As the Buddhist monk Yoshida Kenkō (1283–1350) had advised in his Tsurezuregusa (Essays in idleness), ‘one is not to admire cherry blossoms only when they are in full bloom, or the moon only when it is uncovered by the clouds.’ Bashō follows this advice and thus his work commemorates, or one may say even celebrates, the absence of what was anticipated but eventually was not met: It rained on the day when I passed through the barrier, and all the mountains were hidden in the clouds./In the misty rain/Mount Fuji is veiled all day—how intriguing… After nightfall I visited the Outer Shrine…./last day of the month, no moon…/embracing a cedar tree/one thousand years old, a storm…. I arrived at my native town at the beginning of the ninth month. Nothing of my late mother remained there anymore. All had changed from what I remembered. (Ueda 1991:102, 108, 112) If for Bashō traveling was a poetic affair, during approximately the same period, a different approach to traveling as a means to scholarship was articulated in the form of a diary by the rural philosopher and botanist of samurai descent, Kaibara Ekiken (1630–1714). Jinshin kikō (The written account in the year of Jinshin), a travel diary of a trip from Arazu no hama in Echizen to Edo, written as early as 1672, provided an ethnographic account of the lands passed through, including the Tōkaidō, in order to arrive at a critical re-examination of the relationship of humankind to nature. Ekiken paid careful attention to common people and looked at celebrated spots with critical eye, comparing their current status with descriptions in canonical texts. He did not hesitate, for instance, to criticize the inner shrine at Ise as ‘disagreeable,’ despite its high status within the geographical consciousness of his epoch (Yonemoto 2003:57–62). At that early time, Ekiken was looking at nature from a practical viewpoint, an approach that

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 95

derives from his broader interest in the neo-Confucian concept of ‘practical learning’ (jitsugaku), which ranged from ‘the experience and practice of ethics to manners, institutions, linguistics, medicine, botany, zoology, agriculture, production, taxonomy, food sanitation, law, mathematics (computation), music, and military tactics’ (Okada 1979:268). Ekiken’s attitude was shared by other Tokugawa scholars such as Hayashi Razan (1583–1657) and was accentuated later in the Edo period, especially after the Kyōhō reforms (1716–36) that advocated frugality and the opening of new lands to cultivation as a means of increasing tax yields. Such an approach of ‘experimental rationalism’ (Kurozumi and Ooms 1994:345) with the contribution of rangaku scholarship evolved into the more professional geographic approaches of scholars and officials such as Furukawa Koshōken (1726– 1807), who not only participated in governmental cartographic expeditions but also undertook the task of delineating Japan from its Asian and western others. It is important to note that Koshōken prioritized the landscape’s natural rather than cultural character, and questioned the criteria for ranking the three famous landscapes of Japan (Nihon sankei: Matsushima, Ama no Hashidate and Itsukushima), proposing that meisho should be judged on their natural elements rather than on their importance as cultural sites (Hasegawa 1996:19–20; Watanabe 1997:280). The attitude of looking at nature with the connotations of the territory, and at the same time as a resource of productivity, soon escaped the confines of scholarship and government, influencing popular productions on traveling subjects as well. Despite such scholarly concerns, literary figures continued the lineage of travel diaries. Since his first chapbook, the writer Takizawa Bakin57 had announced his wish to travel following Bashō’s trajectory. It is important to note that Bakin was a writer of yomihon, reading-books distinguished from picture-books, that included elements of fiction as opposed to fact and that aimed to entertain rather than teach. Bakin was dissatisfied with his life in Edo and departed on June 8, 1802 for a trip along the Tōkaidō with Osaka as his destination. Bakin was accompanied initially by his fellow writer Santo Kyōden (1761–1816) and a servant. Elements of his travel accounts are found in his book Kiryo manroku (A leisurely account of a curious trip) written in 1802 and, less, in Kumo no taema amayo no tsuki (The moon through a cloud rift on a rainy night), written in 1808 and illustrated by the artist Utagawa Toyohiro (1773–1828) (Zolbrod 1967:37, 39, 48). Unlike Bashō, Bakin is more interested in the present than in the past. In his Kiryo manroku58 Bakin, who was famous for his thorough topographical studies (obvious in the ‘romance of place’ that is a distinguishing mark of his historical novels) describes topography in detail. Unlike Bashō, for Bakin topography is strongly related with people; samurai in attendance on the daimyō, the greedy boatmen at the ferry crossings, prostitutes at the numerous brothels of the Tōkaidō and literary personalities at the main cities. If Bashō’s diaries allude to an aesthetic mode of traveling that transcends the secular dimension of the ordinary, Bakin’s accounts reveal the experience of a traveler who is not infatuated by the idea of traveling despite the prescriptions of his epoch. Indeed,

96 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Bakin’s trip does not appear as enjoyable as one would expect from descriptions found in fictional guidebooks of his era, as he does not hesitate to confess his loneliness and even his guilt for traveling alone, having left his children back in Edo. It is indeed to his children that he addresses his advice on what one should avoid while traveling, rather than to the anonymous reader. How selfish of me to make a long journey merely for art. Only a father could understand how I feel. Men with children, instead of wandering about the countryside, should banish all thoughts of travel from the crannies of their hearts. I worry so much about my family that I can hardly enjoy myself. Perhaps married men who have no children can forget about their wives, and perhaps I too could forget about mine. But I could never forget my children. I think of them whenever I eat good food or see pretty clothes. (Zolbrod 1967:44) This personal dimension that relates to Bakin’s family life and taste, both obviously grounded in Edo, rather than with his temporary role as a traveler is evident in Bakin’s frequent complaints. His diaries are full of expressions of dissatisfaction about things missing and other shortcomings that he encounters during his trip, such as the absent view of Mount Fuji due to rain in Hakone, the dull licensed pleasure quarters in Suruga, the noisy theater of Nagoya and so on. It is obvious that the measure of all is Edo: As far as Odawara the people and the architecture resemble those of Edo. The tobacco shops, for example similarly display a sign shaped like a tobacco leaf. The change begins at Hakone, though as far as the province of Tōtōmi women’s hairstyles and people’s dialects are the same as in Edo. Once across Imagire there is a noticeable change, and in Owari and beyond ‘the seven ri crossing’ at Miya…there is yet further change. (Zolbrod 1967:42) Bakin was thrilled, however, at the prospect of visiting Kyoto, and was indeed rewarded by the city where, as he confessed, he ‘temporarily cleansed himself of vulgarity’ (Zolbrod 1967:45–6). As a true and rather sexist Edoite, Bakin does not miss the chance to comment upon each city’s female populations: in Nagoya he found women to be thick-waisted, in Miya he found the prostitutes ‘turtle-like,’ and in Kyoto he noted the absence of true-hearted courtesans (Zolbrod 1967:41, 43, 46). Differing from the previous diaries in his use of visual means as the prevalent mode of recording information, Shiba Kōkan (17387–1818), a prominent rangaku artist, traveled along the Tōkaidō in 1788 on his way from Edo to Nagasaki, a journey that lasted approximately one year (French 1974:53). The ultimate purpose of Kōkan’s trip was to improve his painting skills through learning western techniques in Nagasaki. In 1794, Kōkan published his

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 97

travelogue under the title Saiyū ryodan (Account of a western journey) which, after a reprint of 1803 under the title Gazu saiyūdan (Illustrated account of a western journey), was rewritten and republished in 1815 with the new name Saiyū nikki (Diary of a western journey). The content of the two versions of the same trip vary considerably. The first two resemble the typical travel-book genre, while Saiyū nikki is an all-inclusive journey recounting in detail Kōkan’s experiences, ‘to the last cup of tea or sake he drank’ (French 1974:53–4). In Kōkan’s narrative, we can see the character of a scholarly figure who does not hide his interest in sake, women and theater-going. His intentions are obviously not didactic or moralizing, but often provocative to the conventional ethics. For instance, Kōkan is not afraid to demonstrate his contempt for religious injunctions and he frequently mentions the types of meat he enjoyed eating, an action that was against the Buddhist order (French 1974:54). Despite their divergences in terms of morals, Kōkan’s approach carried certain similarities with Ekiken’s empiricism. Indeed, historians have asserted that the neo-Confucian recognition of ‘practicality’ paved the way for the acceptance of western sciences (Low 1996:33–7). Kōkan’s record— far from being an idealistic account like Bashō’s—keeps an open eye to everything that the author encountered along his trip, and his descriptions are based on close observation rather than received knowledge. Kōkan, in his sketches, often employs the technique of perspective and records views that he witnessed rather than mentally constructed, such as the roofscape of a town from a neighboring hill, rather than in an hypothetical bird’s-eye view as an ukiyo-e artist would have it. Kōkan brings topography close to naturalism dedicating numerous pages in the careful recording of practices such as the hunting and cutting up of whales. This attitude, which indicates a speculative view of nature, is reminiscent of naturalist encyclopedias of the early eighteenth century, such as Wakan-sansai-zue (Japanese-Chinese illustrated encyclopedia) that recorded Japan’s native species.59 Of particular interest is the view of ‘Mount Fuji from Suruga province’ that appears as a woodblock in Saiyū Ryodan (Figure 17), a sketch that became the basis for a later silk painting, Mount Fuji, that Kōkan created in c. 1789. The specificity of the view is explained in a passage of his text: A View of Mt. Fuji from Kunaji-kannon. Long ago when Sesshū visited China, he drew a picture of Mt. Fuji. No one could guess the spot from which he had viewed the mountain, but I discovered it when I climbed Mount Daraku in Yabe, Suruga. Sketched on March 29, 1789, at the Heian Inn. (Inscription on the diary sketch, Plate 41; French 1974:50–1) As Timon Screech has remarked, rangaku scholars praised works in which all aesthetic content was subordinate to other imperatives, notably information— like making maps, charts, and diagrams—and ‘copying authenticity’ was the premise of their artworks (Screech 1996:53–4). Thus the specificity of the

98 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 17 ‘Mount Fuji viewed from Suruga.’ From Shiba Kōkan, Gazu Saiyūdan (Illustrated account of a western journey), Bunkin Shodō (publ.), Naniwa (Osaka), 1803, woodblock printed book (From the Charles Nelson Spinks Collection in the Special Collections of the American University Library, Washington, DC).

viewpoint as a proof that the view was perceived in real life enhanced both the artistic and pragmatic content of an artwork. At the same time, Kōkan, almost with the eye of a detective, sheds a new light on the classical work of Sesshū. Dōchūki As I postulated in Chapter 2, the prototype of both road-maps and guidebooks was the dōchūki. Indeed, numerous maps, guidebooks and diaries of the Edo and the Meiji eras carried the term dōchūki/dōchūzu in their title,60 while even more were based on the topological scheme of the dōchūki, elaborating it in varied degrees. Besides dōchūki as a typology, there were four guidebooks entitled Dōchūki (Road record) published in the Edo period, all of which described the itinerary of the Tōkaidō road. The first Dōchūki described the route from Edo to Kyoto, and it was published in Kyoto in 1655 by Kojima Yahei, 13.8 by 9.8 cm in size. This book had fifty-two pages and very minimal descriptions (Bresler 1975:136). The structure of this dōchūki strictly followed the itinerary of the road by simply enumerating a chain of post-stations that together composed the itinerary of the road, the distances between them, and the names of the officers.

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 99

The book starts with advice about the good or bad days for travel, according to the superstitions of the period, listing the ‘suspicious and inauspicious days for setting out.’ A sample from the first Dōchūki of 1655 reads: From Mariko to Okabe 2 ri Pack horses 70 mon Rider 43 mon Utsunoya. The road is steep. The road over the pass is called the Narrow Ivy Path. Strings of Ten Dumplings. (Bresler 1975:137) The second Dōchūki, published in 1659 under the same title, went in the other direction, from Kyoto to Edo adding a lot of new information and haiku for each station. The size of the book was 13.4 by 10.5 cm (Bresler 1975:140). This dōchūki presents a more systematic classification of information, keeping a fixed format that is composed of distances, travel-fees, and the condition of accommodation for each post-station. The style of the text is still abbreviated, but it shows a development from simply listing information toward evaluating information and composing a narrative (Bresler 1975: 138–9). A sample from the second Dōchūki of 1659 reads: Mariko 2 ri Pack horses 90 mon Rider 53 mon Accommodation: poor Very fine stones called Mariko stones are found. There is a bridge over the Mariko river. ‘The narrow Ivy Road’ Utsu Mountain. Ten dumplings on a string. There is a Jizō Shrine on the pass. At the bottom of the pass at Sakaguchi there is another Jizō Shrine. There is spring water. It is a very steep climb. It is best to get off your horse. (two haiku). (Bresler 1975:138–9) The illustrations of the two dōchūki differed greatly. The first contained only three illustrations, namely Nihonbashi, Kuwana and Tsuchiyama-Minakuchi stations (Figure 18), in the last of which the figures of the travelers show great affinities with those in Tōkaidō bunken ezu by Hishikawa Moronobu published a few years later. The second Dōchūki contained as many as forty-six illustrations, which are characterized by great vigor and density of information. A third Dōchūki was published the same year, going in the opposite direction and a fourth in 1664, which also described the route from Edo to Kyoto.

100 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 18 ‘Minakuchi.’ From Dōchūki (Road record), Kojima Yahei (publ.), 1655, woodblock printed book, 13.8×9.8 cm (Source: Kishi 1974).

Fictional guidebooks If dōchūki functioned almost as manuals fulfilling simply a path-finding role, the function of fictional guidebooks was more expansive. These guidebooks clearly assumed the mediatory role of the mentor, introducing the traveler to the culture of the foreign place and leaving the path-finding function to other artifacts. Thus it may be possible to assume that these were books that the traveler read at home before his trip, or regardless of whether he went on a trip or not. As will become clear in what follows, fictional guidebooks were often produced as crossfertilizations between dōchūki and travel diaries. Within these books, images always occupy distinct pages, but, due to their great number, play a narrative role equal to that of the text within the book’s flow. Thus, simply by looking at them the reader can obtain an idea of the book’s content, at least concerning the episodes described in the books. TŌKAIDŌ MEISHOKI

The six-volume book Tōkaidō meishoki written by the samurai Asai Ryōi (c. 1612?–91) was published in Kyoto around 1660. Tōkaidō meishoki (Travel record of the famous places of the Tōkaidō) is a combination of kanazōshi and dōchūki, and, as is obvious from its size and fictional character, it was intended mostly for the ‘armchair-tourist’ To be sure, Tōkaidō meishoki was not the first fictional guidebook. Chikusai tōka (Chikusai’s progress to the east), written by

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 101

Tomiyama Dōya around 1620, which describes the travel of a fictional doctor Chikusai from Kyoto to Edo61 was a model for Tōkaidō meishoki. Kamakura monogatari (The story of Kamakura) was another ‘armchair’ guidebook published in 1659 which clearly asserted that ‘the reader could merely gaze on those lands without having to take a step’ (Bresler 1975:30). Thus the subjectmatter of travel was interesting not only to those who intended to travel but to the general public of the early Edo period. It is important to note that this happened before the Genroku era, an era of high rates of literacy and cultural liberality during which the theme of traveling became popularized.62 Almost concurrently with the publication of Tōkaidō meishoki a number of similar publications on the subject of Kyoto’s famous places came out. It is difficult to conclude which were the forerunners, as the date of publication of Tōkaidō meishoki is unclear. Kyō warabe (The children of the capital), the first account of Kyoto’s famous places, was published in Kyoto in 1658 by the poet Nakagawa Kiun (1636?– 1705) possibly in the same year or earlier than the Tōkaidō meishoki, but most probably after the first Dōchūki.63 As Elisonas has indicated, Ryōi copied exact passages of this book in his description of Yoshiwara in Edo, despite the fact that the original passages described the Shimabara pleasure quarters of Kyoto (Elisonas 1994:255–8). Tōkaidō meishoki combines long descriptive monologues that convey practical and historical information, with sporadic comic dialogues between the two protagonists. The protagonists are a wandering priest, named Rakuamida Butsu or simply Rakuami and his companion, Mokuami. The companion, who is younger and of lower rank, asks questions that give the older man the opportunity to demonstrate his knowledge. Thus the dialogues offer vitality in an otherwise dull monologue, while at the same time transmitting to the masses the experience of an educated traveler, who visits meisho, recalls writings of old poets and composes waka poetry. Besides such pedantic intentions, the influences of the emerging ukiyo-e culture become visible. Rakuami, despite his intellectual capacities, is a fake priest who passes himself off as a wandering ascetic, collecting funds to build some nonexistent temple. The convention of the two fellow-travelers was very common in the Edo period, as is obvious in the cases of Bashō and Bakin examined above, as well as the narrations of earlier books such as Chikusai tōka. According to Ekkehard May, the content of Tōkaidō meishoki comprises a number of intertwined themes: (1) the story of the two travelers along the Tōkaidō, (2) practical information, advice and tips for traveling along the Tōkaidō, (3) meisho and waka poetry, (4) humorous kyōka and haikai poetry, (5) historical and religious information, and (6) description of lifestyles and customs in different provinces along the road. May asserts that the first, fourth and sixth aspects are provided by the author himself (May 1973:74). Ryōi, who was probably born in Edo and moved to Kyoto after the fire of 1657, had a first-hand experience of the Tōkaidō. This helped him compose commentaries on the customs at different localities along the road, particularly the ones that were

102 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

related with the floating world of pleasures, in places such as Edo, Kyoto, Akasaka, Minakuchi and so on. Ryōi, did not rely exclusively on his own memory, however. The book is built upon practical information provided by the first two Dōchūki of 1655 and 1659 (May 1973:62), and historical and religious information provided by a travel diary Heishin kikō (Heishin diary), written by the Confucian scholar to the shogunate Hayashi Razan in 1616 (Bresler 1975: 141; Keene 1989:272–5). Razan, in his trip, recalls his experiences as a follower of Tokugawa leyasu, who died the year of the trip (1616), but also offers a novel approach in his account of his travels. Razan follows the prescriptions by composing waka poetry at the famous places, but at the same time, being an advocate of the neo-Confucian concept of practicality, he is the first traveler to mention meibutsu in his diary (for instance the rice bales of Shōno) and is skeptical about legends, caring more about scholarly issues of their origins than about their content. Thus Razan provided a model of how a gentleman, as opposed to a professional renga poet, might enjoy the pleasures of travel attempting to bring Confucian enlightenment to the travelers of his generation (Keene 1989:273–5). This borrowing on the part of Ryōi fitted perfectly the pedantic, moralistic tone that kanazōshi literature required, as a genre whose purpose was to educate the lower classes through the introduction of superior ethics and life-models. As Bresler puts it, ‘Ryōi united the serviceable entries of the dōchūki with the rambling explanations of a tour-leader and weaves them all into the framework of a loose form of a picaresque fiction’ (Bresler 1975:141). With this, the guidebook genre developed into a semiliterary travel account, both entertaining and informative, incorporating long descriptive monologues that convey historic information. If we compare the sections for Fuchū to Mariko in Tōkaidō meishoki with those of the two earlier Dōchūki we can see how much Ryōi relied upon information provided by the former guidebooks, animating raw data with sporadic comic sketches based on dialogue. The change from the Dōchūki is also obvious not only through the introduction of fictional characters, but also through the lengthier descriptions of places, which this time exceed strictly topographical descriptions. At the top of the ascent [Utsu no yama] there are forty or fifty thatched houses. At each house they sell [strings of] dumplings. No larger than an adzuki bean they are strung together on a hemp thread. There used to be ten of them to a string: that’s why they are called ‘Ten dumplings’…. The road over the pass on Utsu Mountain is narrow. It is a dangerous spot: only one horse can pass at a time. At the pass there is a Jizō Shrine. There is fresh water, a great relief during the summer. In the Gyokuyō Collection there is this poem by Prince Munekata: The ivy and maple grow thickly together/Turn deep hues/Even the shadows/On the pass over Mt. Utsu/Take on fall color. Rakuami looking at the ‘ten dumplings’ composed this poem:

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 103

Like tiny grapes/The ten dumplings of Utsu Mountain/Are so hard/I can’t chew them. (Bresler 1975:147–8) Although history and old poetic forms are invoked throughout the journey, the author’s treatment of such subjects often reveals a mocking attitude which is typical of ukiyo-e literature. For instance the dual utamakura of Utsu no yama and Tsuta no hosomichi celebrated in classical poetry does not evoke here new verses respectful of the old subjects and the lineage of writing about them. Rather, the hero prefers to compose a poem on the ‘ten dumplings,’ the meibutsu of the area, thus indicating a shift from the poetic to the bodily interests that is a characteristic of the ukiyo-e culture that surrounds the production of such fictional guidebooks. It is also important to notice that the series of Dōchūki did not remain unaffected by the publication of Tōkaidō meishoki. According to May, the fourth edition of the Dōchūki published in 1664 is influenced by this book (May 1973:62). The text in Tōkaidō meishoki is accompanied by numerous illustrations most of which follow the typical diagonal composition of early ukiyo-e prints. In these, we notice a foreground plane that includes figures and primary action, and a view of the distant landscape set as a backdrop. The two planes are separated by the use of clouds, familiar from visual forms of the classical era. The drawing of distinct spots in a page layout fragments the continuity of the journey into separate spatial images, making the landscape of the road memorable through the means of pictorial configurations. This makes a difference with the lengthy maps of the same period, which despite their pictorial elaboration had to be read as scripts, rather than looked at as images. The figures of the protagonists are engaged in various activities such as watching kabuki theater, crossing rivers and bridges, encountering prostitutes at the post-stations and so on. The figures are drawn in a highly stylistic and rigid manner, almost like cut-outs, cropped and inserted in separately drawn landscape views. The events illustrated are mainly those related with humorous episodes that are narrated in the book, as we see in the case of a prostitute at Minakuchi who persistently invites the two heroes in the interior and at last grabs Rakuami’s hat (Figure 19). While the text of the book has a variety that relates to both the high and the low culture of the Edo period, the iconography derives almost exclusively from the realm of popular culture. There are noteworthy similarities between Tōkaidō meishoki and Chikusai monogatari, not only in the overall representational manner, but also the specific figures of the protagonists. In Figure 20 we see Chikusai and his fellow traveler entering Nagoya. Their faces and attire are remarkably similar with the figures of Ryōi’s heroes. This illustration is from an edition entitled Chikusai shokoku monogatari (Chikusai’s stories in various provinces) known as Kanbun series as it was produced in the third year of this era (1664) (Bresler 1975:201). TOKAIDŌCHŪ HIZAKURIGE

104 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 19 ‘Minakuchi.’ From Asai Ryōi, Tōkaidō meishoki (Travel records of the Tōkaidō), c. 1658–60, vol. 5, woodblock printed book, 26×18 cm (From the Charles Nelson Spinks Collection in the Special Collections of the American University Library, Washington, DC).

The pattern of the two fellow travelers is once again enacted in the picaresque novel Tōkaidōchū hizakurige (Shanks’ mare) published in the early nineteenth century. The book was written in a series between the years of 1802 and 1809 by the popular writer Jippensha Ikku (1765–1831). The serial form of the work makes obvious that it was not meant to be used as a guidebook, but rather was a piece of popular literature. Tōkaidōchū hizakurige describes the journey of Yajirōbei and Kitahachi, or simply Yaji and Kita, starting from Edo and going via the Tōkaidō towards a pilgrimage to Ise. From Asai Ryōi’s pedantic aspirations, the character of the journey is much changed. The pilgrimage is only the pretext of the journey, while the real intention is the pursuit of pleasurable experiences. To be sure, this was not the first book of traveling that adopted a comic style; Chikusai tōka was an early example of the genre. Tōkaidōchū hizakurige is composed as a sequence of episodes which the two heroes encounter along the road, most of which have little to do with the character of each place. There is indeed little attention given in describing the historical background of the physical surroundings of the road. As stated in the Preface, the book is interested in ‘the one-night love-traffic of the roads…[and] the great variety of objects [that are]…mixed together, as the goods in the shop of a

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 105

Figure 20 ‘Nagoya.’ From Tomiyama Dōya, Chikusai shokoku monogatari (Chikusai’s stories in different provinces), 1664, vol. 1, woodblock printed book (Source: Maeda 1970).

general dealer’ (Jippensha 1992:19). The author derives his inspiration from the wine and the music that accompanied one’s trip, while the travelers feel indebted to the ‘golden age’ of their times that allowed for such freedoms: The blind could walk alone, women go without protectors, and even the children who had stolen from their homes to go on pilgrimages were free from any danger of meeting robbers. Such was the golden age for which they had to be thankful. (Jippensha 1992:23) The sexual freedom offered to the traveler, and the escape from everyday conventions, made traveling most appealing to the Edo population: Naturally one is curious about the people who are traveling the same roads, and those whose fates are linked together at the public inns do not always have their marriages written in the book of Izumo. They are not tied by convention as when they live in the same row of houses, but can open their hearts to each other and talk till they are tired. (Jippensha 1992:237)

106 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

The heroes are not specific characters or autobiographical referents but rather comic figures. On the course of the journey, Yaji and Kita not only forget important details of their family background, but also the specifics of their characters seem to be unimportant for the development of the story. The novel is written in the colloquial language of Edo and other local dialects and is constructed in an episodic manner. By comparing Hizakurige’s passage on Fuchū with the description of other guidebooks around the same spot, we can see that Yaji and Kita’s interests are different from those of earlier travelers. Whatever happened they felt that they must spend the night at Abekawachō, of which they had heard so much…. ‘It will be fun going to buy a girl on horseback,’ said Yaji…. This Abekawa-chō is in front of the Abekawa Miroku. Turning off the main road you come to two big gates, where you must alight from your horse. Inside are rows of houses, from each of which comes a lively sound of music, meant to attract people to the house. In fact it is much the same as in the Yoshiwara quarter in Edo. Visitors to the town were walking about in cotton kimono with crests and with towels laid loosely on their heads, accompanied by teahouse maids, whose clogs made a loud sound as they dragged them along. These all looked very respectable, as most of them wore wide skirts and all had cloaks. But among the townsmen, those who had only come to look on, there seemed to be a competition as to which should wear the most stylish aprons…. Moving in a constant stream as they did, they looked like people who were going to worship an image of Buddha. It was impossible to know to what class they belonged or to tell the state of their fortune. (Jippensha 1992:81–2) It is obvious that the main interest of the heroes is to explore the sexual or gastronomic pleasures of the road, or simply enjoy the pleasure of mocking at things. Abekawa, known in the Dōchūki for its ‘paper kimono,’ and with its courtesans just briefly mentioned in the Tōkaidō meishoki, now proves to be a famous site of prostitution. The attention focused on bodily matters can be also seen in the emphasis upon famous foods. Abekawa, besides its pleasure quarters, is famous for the delicious cakes offered to Yaji and Kita, and Mariko is famous, not for its stones as in Dōchūki, but for a tea-house that was known for its potato stew. The meisho Utsu no yama is merely mentioned as a lonely pass in heavy rain that had to be endured until the next tea-house at Okabe, without any allusion to poetry, that was a must in earlier ages. Hizakurige carries a great number of pictures that illustrate almost every event of the narrative, thus even if one does not read the text, one can still obtain an idea of its content. The book’s iconography consists of a number of pictorial styles, the most frequent being those made directly by Ikku. A notable exception is the drawing of several of the illustrations of the first volume by the artist Hosoda Eisui (1790–1823) (Yoshida 1971:232). Ikku, who was an amateur

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 107

Figure 21 ‘Abekawa.’ From Jippensha Ikku, Dōchū hizakurige, 1865 (first published in 1802–9), vol. 2, woodblock printed book (Courtesy East Asian Library, University of California Berkeley).

painter, drew single-layered compositions in which the action of the heroes forms the main subject-matter. This can be viewed in the illustration of Abekawa where he offers a glimpse of the pleasure quarters (Figure 21). Landscapes are almost eliminated and place-names are either incorporated within the contents of the picture or inscribed on its surface. Ikku also used pictures that were borrowed from other books. Some of them are copied by Ikku himself, such as broad landscape-compositions that lack the foreground action of the protagonists. Such is the view of Gojōbashi in Kyoto (Figure 22), which was copied from the popular book Miyako meisho zue, published in 1780 by Akisato Ritō (1780– 1814) (Nakamura and Jippensha 1983:393) (Figure 23). By comparing these two views it becomes obvious that Ikku, being an amateur painter, could roughly copy the landscape composition of accomplished artists, but his drawing of the figures was clumsy and schematic. Ikku also included copies of Niwa Tōkei’s (1760–1822) illustrations of Dōjima komeichi no zu (Rice market of Dōjima) and Takeda Ōmi karakuri no zu (The automata of Takeda Ōmi) from Settsu meisho zue (Illustrated collection of famous places of Settsu) published in 1798 by Akisato Ritō. In Hizakurige these views appear signed by the artists Shikimarō (active c. 1810) and Yoshimaru and they relate to the heroes’ visit to Osaka (Nakamura and Jippensha 1983:457). Hizakurige appeared in a variety of iconographical forms after its success as a fictional travel book. Hiroshige produced a number of prints and a sugoroku game on this topic, while the popular writer Kanagaki Robun (1829–94)64 collaborated

108 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 22 ‘Gojōbashi.’ From Jippensha Ikku, Dōchū hizakurige, 1865, vol. 6 (From the Charles Nelson Spinks Collection in the Special Collections of the American University Library, Washington, DC).

in 1860 with the artist Utagawa Yoshiiku (1833– 1904) on the production of a print series entitled Tōkaidōchū kurige no yajiuma yori (A noisy group traveling along the Tōkaidō by horse). Kanagaki also produced a westernized version of Hizakurige in the Meiji era. There were also popular songs made on the topic of Hizakurige. In 1855 Fujichū Rochū (?–1861) added in the repertoire of the shinnai a three-part comic piece entitled Yaji Kita (Yaji and Kita) (Nakanishi and Tamura 1929:251– 88), while in 1909 a comic song series entitled Haikara dōchū hizakurige no uta (Songs of a westernized shanks’ mare) made its appearance (Nishizawa 1991:2751). As a literary work Hizakurige consists of unlinked episodes with a notable absence of development or plot, depending exclusively on the temporal structure of the journey, as few literary works do. Its main characteristic is the technique of fragmentation and discontinuity that can also be noticed in the road-maps and guidebooks of the Edo period that are composed as sequences of specific stations or famous places, neglecting the in-between passages. Indeed if the episodes were redistributed in a different order, the effect of the book would not change, in the same way that mixing the order of Hiroshige’s pictures would not affect the totality of the work. The narrative of Hizakurige, as most of nineteenthcentury gesaku literature, constitutes ‘less of plot and more of people speaking in a colloquial tongue.’ Hizakurige ‘drew heavily upon the street language, forms

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 109

Figure 23 ‘Gojōbashi.’ From Akisato Ritō, Miyako meisho zue (Illustrated collection of famous places of the capital), Kawachiya Kihei (publ.), Osaka, 1786, woodblock printed book (Courtesy C.V.Starr East Asian Library, Columbia University).

of traditional storytelling—usually ending with a joke or wordplay, Chinese archetypes and even historical episodes scaled down to satisfy a popular readership’ (Harootunian 1992:27). This characteristic should not be considered as a sign of naturalism. It is rather a device of dis-positioning what is ordinary and familiar under the light of the extraordinary. What writers and illustrators ‘reproduced was the world of things, familiar objects from daily life, repositioning them in such a way as to make them appear strange’ (Harootunian 1992:27). Thus the extreme vividness of the objects and the language used counterbalanced the loose biographical identity of the heroes. Most importantly, the purpose of gesaku literature was humor; in other words by emphasizing bodily affairs and disguising political commentaries under seemingly innocent jokes, the book aimed to provide the reader with the possibility of renewal, by temporarily forgetting the repression of everyday life. As Cohn has pointed out, this type of literature produced laughter without the non-pleasurable sensation of being laughed at, and shifted the object of laughter away from direct personal involvement (Cohn 1998:10–11). In this way, the aggressiveness that is often inherent in humorous representations, such as caricatures, was avoided. In short, Hizakurige offered the readers the freedom to be primitive, dissolving the world of reality to an exaggeration and allowing them to overcome the restrictions and adversities of everyday life. It is not surprising that elements of comedy do not appear in the official culture of the Edo or later eras. The comedy of the elite

110 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

culture, as might be expected, is far more conservative: there is little glorification of the forces of vitality, and much emphasis on propriety and restraint, on the affirmation of values and styles which mark its members off from their social inferiors (Cohn 1998:16). According to Timon Screech, Hizakurige’s language is in fact a cryptopornographic one. Though it cannot be characterized as a pornographic novel, it takes sex as its main premise and is full of word-puns that associate traveling with the pursuit of sexual activities. According to such an interpretation, Yaji and Kita were lovers from Sunpu (present-day Shizuoka) who moved to Edo before embarking on their travels. The entire preface of the book is a series of homosexual (nanshoku) puns all related to the words bottom (shiri). Even the location of their home at Hatchōbori in Edo is not coincidental as its second component bori means intercourse (Screech 1999: 270). However, as they leave Edo they cease to be lovers and switch their amorous attentions to the locals of the places they visit. With this they also switch from an interest in homosexual to heterosexual affairs (nyoshoku), becoming symptomatic of the broader eradication of homosexual references in the nineteenth-century culture. Although homosexual puns continue through the book, the main action is heterosexual sex, which is perfectly in accordance with the Tokugawa’s legislation that stressed the fundamental obligation of peasants to produce (Screech 1999:275–6). To be sure ‘hidden-words’ (Edo ingo), words with disguised erotic connotations were not unusual within Edo-period cultural products, and, as Julian Lee has postulated, landscape subjects were often used as hints of sexual connotations (Lee 1977:57–9). There were numerous publications that capitalized upon Hizakurige’s success paraphrasing its title and intersecting the subject-matter of traveling more openly with sexual affairs. Such were the books Kiechū hizasurige (The vagina through slippy thighs), published in 1812 by an author with the nickname Azumaotoko Itchō; Koikawa Shōzan’s Tabimakura gojūsan tsugi (Travel pillow for the fiftythree stations) published in the 1850s, and Tamenaga Shunsui’s (1790–1843) Irokurabe hana no miyakoji (Comparisons of sex on the flowery road to the capital) illustrated by the famous ukiyo-e artist Kunisada (1786–1864) and published in 1838 (Hayashi 1993:18–32; Screech 1999:270–2). In these books male Edoites, who are always the protagonists of the journey, appear as ‘singleminded quantifiers of sex,’ whose goal is to have fifty-three different sexual encounters during their travels on the Tōkaidō, bearing comparison to a figure like Don Giovanni in Europe. Famous places that appear in literary topographical texts are replaced by word puns that associate place names with sexual affairs (Screech 1999:274). These books are accompanied by explicit sexual depictions set in the foreground of usually vague landscape representations that simply carry the names of post-stations as a connection with the subjectmatter. For instance, the iconography of Kiechū hizasurige that follows the heroes Shitahachi (shita means tongue; Screech 1999:272) and Kujirōbei in their sexual adventures along the road copies Ikku’s simplistic representational manner

Plate 1 Satellite image of the Tōkaidō region, 1997, promotional material of the Tōkaidō Renaissance campaign.

Plate 2 Dai Nihon kunijunro meisai ki taisei (Greater Japan routes from one province to another, detailed descriptions, complete edition), Izumiya Ichibei (publ.), 1850, woodblock print, 180×8.7 cm (Courtesy Hyōgo Prefecture Museum of History).

Plate 3 Keisai Eisen, Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi meisho koseki ruiki dōchū sugoroku (Travel dice game with famous and historic places along the fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō), color woodcut, late 1830s, four-panel polyptych, woodblock print, 50.1×71.4 cm (Courtesy of the Spencer Museum of Art).

Plate 4 Hokusai, Tōkaidō meisho ichiran (The famous places of the Tōkaidō at a glance), Kadomaruya Jinsuke (publ.), 1818, woodblock print, 43×58 cm (Courtesy of the Beans Collection, Library of University of British Columbia).

Plate 5 Suizen-ji garden in Kumamoto (Photograph by the author).

Plate 6 Tōkaidō kaidō zu byōbu (Screen-painting of the Tōkaidō), Edo period, pair of sixfold screen paintings, ink, color and gold on paper, 99.2×273 cm, detail (Courtesy of the Hyōgo Prefecture Museum of History).

Plate 7 Numazu Mizuno Dewanokami gonyūbu gyōretsu (Procession of the daimyō of Numazu Mizuno Dewanokami), late eighteenth-century, ink and hand-color, accordion book, 2 vols, 17× 1609 cm—vol. 1, 17×2068 cm—vol. 2, detail (Courtesy of the Iwase Collection, Aichi Library).

Plate 8 Model of Futagawa post station (Courtesy of the Futagawa Post Station Honjin Archives at Toyohashi).

Plate 9 Travelers. From Hiroshige, Tōkaidō fūkei zue (The landscape of the Tōkaidō), Fujioka Keijirō (publ.), 1851, woodblock printed book (From the Charles Nelson Spinks Collection in the Special Collections of the American University Library, Washington, DC).

Plate 10 Kanō Tunenobu, Ariwara no Narihira azumakudari no zu (Picture of Ariwara Narihira’s trip to the east), Edo period, hanging scroll, color on silk, 41.5×72.5 cm (Courtesy of the Equine Museum of Japan).

Plate 11 Nakamura Tetsugai, Mount Fuji and the Tōkaidō highway, c. Tenpō era (1830– 44), ink and color on silk, 57.0×85.3 cm (Courtesy of the British Museum).

Plate 12 ‘ Shinagawa.’ From Hokusai’s untitled series, c. 1801–4, woodblock print, 11.8×16.8 cm (Courtesy of the Spencer Museum of Art).

Plate 13 ‘Narumi.’ From Hiroshige, Gojūsan tsugi meisho zue (Illustrated collection of famous places of the fifty-three stations), vertical Tōkaidō, Tsutaya (publ.), 1855, woodblock print, 37×24.8 cm (Courtesy of the Spencer Museum of Art).

Plate 14 ‘Nissaka.’ From Hiroshige, Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō), Reisho Tōkaidō, Jukakudō (publ.), c. 1847–52, woodblock print, 25×38 cm (Courtesy of the Hamamatsu Municipal Museum of Art).

Plate 15 ‘Arai.’ From Kunisada Kōchōrō, Tōkaidō gojūsan no uchi (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō), Kikakudō (publ.), c. Tenpō era (1830–44) woodblock print (Courtesy of the Arai Checkpoint and Museum).

Plate 16 ‘Arai.’ From Hiroshige, Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō), Hōeidō (publ.), 1833–4, woodblock print, 24.5×36.9 cm (Courtesy of the Spencer Museum of Art).

Plate 17 (left) ‘Between Hodogaya and Totsuka: Gonta Hill-Igami.’ From Utagawa Toyokuni III (Kunisada), Yakusha mitate Tōkaidō (Actors of the Tōkaidō), 1852, woodblock print, 35.5×24.8 cm (Courtesy of the Spencer Museum of Art).

Plate 18 (right) ‘Nissaka.’ From Kuniyoshi, Tōkaidō gojūsan tsui (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō by pairs, collaborative series by Kunisada, Kuniyoshi and Hiroshige) Tomata Ibaky (publ.), c. Bunka era (1845–6),woodblock print 35.9×24cm (Courtesy of the Spencler Museum of Art).

Plate 19 ‘ Arai.’ From Hiroshige Tōkaidō gojūsan zue, bijin Tōkaidō (Fifty-three illustrations of the Tōkaidō, Tōkaidō with female beauties), Fujiyoshi (publ.), 1847–52, woodblock print, 25×38 cm (Courtesy of the Hamamatsu Municipal Museum of Art).

Plate 20 ‘Kanaya.’ From Yoshimori, Tōkaidō meisho fūkei (The landscape of the famous places of the Tōkaidō), Hukuchu (publ.), 1863, woodblock print, 35.3×24 cm (Courtesy of the Futagawa Post Station Honjin Archives at Toyohashi).

Plate 21 Yoshiwara, Kanbara, Okitsu, Hara and Yui (No. 4). From Hiroshige Tōkaidō harimaze zue (Illustrated collection of the Tōkaidō in cut-outs), Ibaya Senzaburō (publ.), 1852, woodblock print, 34×23.4 cm (Courtesy of the Elvehjem Museum).

Plate 22 ‘Kyōiku Tōkaidō tetsudō sugoroku’ (Educational Tōkaidō railway sugoroku), Nagamatsu Sakunosuke (publ.), 1888, woodblock print, color on paper, 47.3×71.5 cm (Courtesy of the Tokyo Metropolitan Central Library).

Plate 23 ‘Atsuta prostitute quarters.’ From Atsuta meishō (The famous places of Atsuta), Meiji era, lithograph (ex-collection of Matsuo Teizo) (Source: Harada and Tamura 1978).

Plate 24 Utagawa Yoshitora, ‘Shibaguchi Shiodome bashi yori tetsudō kan ichiran no zu’ (Railway at a glance from Shiodome bridge), Sawamuraya Seikichi (publ.), 1874, woodblock print, 36.5×72.5 cm (Courtesy of the Shinagawa Historical Museum).

Plate 25 Hasegawa (Engraver), Advertisement of Naikoku Tsūun Gaisha (Co.) baggage transportation company, Sayama Husanaga (publ.), 1890, lithograph, 28.6×37.4 cm (Courtesy of the Butsuryū Museum).

Plate 26 ‘Yui.’ From Hiroshige, Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō), Hōeidō (publ.), 23×35 cm (Courtesy of the Elvehjem Museum).

Plate 27 ‘Satta tōge no Fuji’ (Fuji from Satta pass), 1889, hand-colored photograph, 9.3× 14.3 cm (Courtesy of the Edo Tokyo Museum).

Plate 28 ‘Satta tōge’ (Satta pass). From Kobayashi Kiyochika, Nihon meisho zue (Famous places of Japan), Matsumoto Heikichi (publ.), 1896, woodblock print, color on paper, 37.6× 25.7 cm (Courtesy of the Tokyo Metropolitan Central Library).

Plate 29 Kawai Gyokudō, Seifū ryōha (Bracing breezes, cool waves), 1901, handscroll, ink and color on paper, 31.5×638 cm (Courtesy of the Gifu Museum of Fine Arts).

Plate 30 Nyuu Tōkaidō, machi to michi no yumezukuri, Yonhyakunen no rekishi to bunka o nijū-isseiki e (New Tōkaidō, dream-making with the towns and roads, 400 years of history and culture to the twenty-first century), 1997, promotional material of the Tōkaidō Renaissance campaign.

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 111

and almost disregards any allusion to place, focusing blatantly on the heroes’ sexual encounters. Despite its popularity, Tōkaidōchū hizakurige received a lot of negative criticism in the following eras. In the Meiji era, critics saw in it ‘a mere attempt to appeal to the most vulgar tastes of the reader’ (Ryan 1967:51). Accordingly, the illustrations were seen as indications of the inability of the writer to incorporate persuasive descriptions as a part of the story. In the same line of thought, contemporary critic Ueda Makoto argues: although it [Dōchu hizakurige] was first published as a single piece of prose fiction, it is substantially a collection of hilarious episodes loosely strung together by temporal sequence, which in this instance has been translated into spatial progression. It is characteristic of this fiction that the main character does not grow psychologically by experience. If he did, the connection between episodes would become plot rather than sequence, and the work would look more like a tale than a collection of tales. (Ueda 1985:79) According to Ueda, a piece of writing that exclusively relies on temporal sequence for its structural unity unavoidably lacks development and is of inferior literary value (Ueda 1985:79–80). Illustrated guidebooks If the previous guidebooks relied mainly on fictional narratives, following the adventures of a pair of travelers along the road and using the subject-matter of traveling as a structural device, by the end of the eighteenth century we can observe a different type of guidebook that concentrated more on topography than on action. Guidebooks entitled meisho zue (illustrated collections of famous places) can be viewed as transformations of the meishoki and also as predecessors of the ‘landscape with figures’ series that appeared in the early nineteenth century. Meisho zue focus clearly on the landscape of the visited places, a landscape, however, that is loaded with cultural and historical references, rather than being simply the background for the journeys of specific travelers. Their expanded elaborations in numerous volumes include not only current place descriptions but myriad scenes and events that refer to history and legendary knowledge. Consequently, visual descriptions in the texts of these books are abbreviated due to the great effectiveness of illustrations. The first such book seems to be Kyoto jisha meisho zue (Illustrated collection of Kyoto’s famous temples and shrines) published around 1700. Among the most popular illustrated guidebooks were the guidebooks of the capital by Akisato Ritō. In 1797, the same year as the Tōkaidō meisho zue discussed below, Akisato published his Miyako rinsen meisho zue (Illustrated collection of the picturesque gardens of the capital), while a year later he published Miyako meisho zue

112 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

(Illustrated collection of famous places of the capital). Other popular books of the same format were meisho zue of Edo, Settsu, Sumiyoshi, Yamato, Kawachi and so on. In these books, however, illustrations play a great, if not the major, role, the books’ authors are not necessarily the central figures. The visual representations in such books were made by a plethora of ukiyo-e, as well as official artists, thus the books are products of team-work, composed by both literary and visual effort. We should not underestimate the fact, however, that most of the illustrations found in such books carry textual inscriptions, written in diverse calligraphic ways. Sometimes these flow freely on the prints’ surface, sometimes they are placed separately within the white cloud-patterns over the pictorial view. TŌKAIDŌ MEISHO ZUE

Akisato Ritō’s six-volume Tōkaidō meisho zue stands between earlier guidebooks and the print series of the Tōkaidō that appeared in the late Edo period (see Chapter 4). While the illustrations of Chikusai tōka, Tōkaidō meishoki and Hizakurige followed closely the activities of the protagonists, Tōkaidō meisho zue’s illustrations include broader landscape representations without being tied to the trajectories of specific protagonists. Tōkaidō meisho zue was produced as a collaboration of the writer Akisato Ritō and the painter Takehara Shunchōsai. The book was published in the same year in Edo, Kyoto and Osaka. Besides the works of the main painter, the book includes illustrations by twentyfive other artists, including the court painter Tosa Mitsusada (1738–1806), Yamaguchi Sōken (1759–1818), Maruyama Ōkyo (1733–95), Maruyama Ōju (1777–1815), Totsugen (1760–1823), Shirai Naokata (1756–1833), Ishida Yūtei (1754–93), Hara Zaisei (?–1810), Niwa Tōkei and Kitao Masayoshi (also known as Kuwagata Keisai) who produced the last fourteen pictures, which show the views from Kanagawa to Nihonbashi (Toda 1931:334; Kasuya 1997). It is important to note that these artists did not belong to the same artistic school, thus we can see a variety of representational styles included in the book. It is also interesting to note that the book Tōkaidō meisho zue was included in the material that Satsuma clan sent for participation in the International Exhibition of 1867 in Paris, together with other ukiyo-e publications such as Hokusai’s manga and Edo meisho zue.65 The narration of Tōkaidō meisho zue starts from the Gion and Sanjō area in Kyoto and heads towards Edo. As the book contains an unusually large number of illustrations of famous places (almost 30 percent of its total number of pages),66 made by artists of diverse backgrounds, it offers the opportunity for a comprehensive examination of the development of meisho in late eighteenthcentury Japan. A first distinction that I discern in an attempt to categorize the meisho in this book is between sites of diachronic or established value and sites of perceptible or subjective interest. As sites of diachronic value, I classify places of historical or mythological importance, landscapes famous for their

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 113

beauty, and meisho with an ‘intended’ value.67 All the above are sites of respect, sites that evoke reminiscence and contemplation. On the other hand, we should not fail to observe an interest in sites that evoke the immediate response of the travelers and deal with the realm of the perceptible landscape that travelers will encounter on their trip. Such sites are urban views seen from the highway, sites of travel adventures, places associated with meibutsu, post-stations famous for bodily pleasures, and landscapes in which we can notice the active involvement of people at work. Landscapes famous for their beauty establish natural time, and are drawn from a bird’s-eye view, thus illustrating a much broader view than the traveler’s field of perception. It is important to note that many of these sites have not been drawn from reality, representing a vista that has not necessarily been seen by the eyes of their painter. An example is the illustration of the famous long bridge of Hamana no hashi, which did not even exist when the book was published. However, since the bridge had become famous from waka poetry, it became an important place to recall. Places of historical or mythological interest establish historical time and illustrate events for which the place is famous. They are based upon mythological or historical associations of various places along the Tōkaidō. They usually depict legendary figures and events, such as the poet Saigyō offering a silver cat to the children at Kamakura.68 Fiévé mentions similar occurrences of places with historical or mythological interest in Kyoto’s guidebooks, postulating that the characters remembered belong to the popular imagination (Fiévé 2003:162). These illustrations are medium-distant views that allow the recognition of characters through known signifiers of their identity. Famous places with an ‘intended’ value (rather than value that emerged from events that happened literally or metaphorically on the spot, as in the previous category) are prominent religious institutions such as Shintō shrines and Buddhist temples. Examples are the illustrations of Atsuta dai jingū, a large compound of Shintō shrines that possessed one of the Three Treasures, the sacred sword of the Emperor (Kusanagi no tsurugi), or those of religious festivals, such as Sannō matsuri, held on April 23 in Karasaki which, according to the author, ‘everyone must visit once in a life-time.’ Urban views mainly appear at the beginning and end of the book. They present the end points of the highway, Sanjōbashi in Kyoto and Nihonbashi in Edo (Figure 24). These views emphasize the crowds of the two cities and appear with slight variations in similar publications of the same period, such as Ise sangū meisho zue by the same author. Places famous as sites of travel adventures are those that were known for their difficulty as passages along the route and often caused anxiety to the travelers. Such are Shimada and Kanaya (see Figure 36) at the banks of the Ōi River, which was notorious for its floods, the Satta and Hakone passes, that were infamous as steep passages, and so on.

114 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 24 Kitao Masayoshi, ‘Nihonbashi.’ From Akisato Ritō, Tōkaidō meisho zue (Illustrated collection of famous places of the Tōkaidō), Kobayashi Shinpei (publ.), Edo, 1797, vol. 6 woodblock printed book, 25×18 cm (Courtesy of the East Asian Library, University of California Berkeley).

Places famous for pleasures were clearly associated with the bodily aspects of the journey that Tōkaidō sites were known for. Such were the post-stations of Mishima (Figure 25) and Okazaki that were known for their prostitutes, or Hakone for its hot-springs. Places associated with meibutsu bridge the distance between bodily and historical time. They depict particular shops or tea-houses, usually within the areas of the post-stations or resting places along the road. Examples are the illustrations of Aoshima tea-house at Fujieda, that sold the famous rice-product someii of Seto, or a famous shop in Odawara that sold a medicine known as uirō, to refresh the mouth in the dry air conditions that the travelers would encounter while climbing Hakone. These views are related with both the practical and legendary aspects of traveling. Illustrations of landscapes with people at work intersect two above mentioned categories: landscapes famous for their beauty and places associated with famous products. Illustrations of landscapes with people at work present an unusual appreciation of the landscape as a realm of productivity rather than as merely an aesthetic category. Such are the illustrations of diverse fishing methods in Kuwana (Figure 26) or Hara, views that belong to the field of perceptible reality but were hardly considered as worth depiction in earlier eras. Observations as well as depictions of local customs and occupations also appear in some travel diaries, such as the one by the rangaku scholar Shiba Kōkan mentioned earlier.

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 115

Figure 25 ‘Mishima.’ From Akisato Ritō, Tōkaidō meisho zue (Courtesy of the East Asian Library, University of California Berkeley).

*** Although the quality of Edo period’s guidebooks as works of literature may be disputed, their contribution to the formation of an ‘imagined’ community is notable. This community of readers that encompassed both centers and periphery paved the way for the formation of a nationhood and gradually made familiar a standardized language and commonplace iconography. Dōchūki, meishoki and meisho zue publications inscribed in encyclopedic manner existing knowledges of places and cultures (meisho, meibutsu) and renovated ukiyo-e sites, contributing to spreading geographical knowledge of Japan’s territory as a whole throughout the country. With this, they brought the actual or potential travelers into contact with Japan as a field of unified native cultures. When we come to a popular fictional book like Hizakurige, it is not only the Edoite who could identify with it. The people of the province were also thrilled to find representations of themselves and not only the prevailing views of Edoites and Kyotoites (Nakamura and Jippensha 1983:23). With the above material it becomes obvious that, by the beginning of the nineteenth century, topographical knowledge has been disseminated through the large number of maps, gazetteers, guidebooks and pictures on Japanese topography. Places as well as their cultural connotations are recognizable and legible. After the primary level of recognition has been established, place significance is downplayed and a second-order semeiological system comes to the foreground. This system is based on diverse associations that reflect the manifold interests of the commoner audiences, ranging from the private and mundane to the political. This certainly would not have happened

116 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 26 ‘Kuwana.’ From Akisato Ritō, Tōkaidō meisho zue (Courtesy of the East Asian Library, University of California Berkeley).

without the literacy and the active involvement of the audience which was able to decipher such associations and read the hidden languages embodied in such art forms. Travel literature in the Meiji era Fusions between Meiji- and Edo-period literary forms Early Meiji-era travel literature adopted literary forms that were established during the Edo period. Fictional travel books continued to be popular in the early Meiji era, while practical guidebooks or guidebooks with ‘proto-traveling’ functions were adapted to the demands of railway traveling. At last, a new ‘metatraveling’ category that may be characterized as ‘geographical treatises’ emerged through the influence of western modes of topographical appreciation from a scientific viewpoint. It is important to note that, in this era, traveling and travel writing are considered to be topics of the newly founded discipline of ethnography. Within this framework, the type of travel literature based on a seemingly objective description ‘narrated by a hidden traveler’ was valorized by Meiji thinkers as equal to early works of European missionaries from the Edo period. The latter were attributed with ‘enormous documentary value’ in contrast to writings based on the meisho, which were found to be ‘deficient in

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 117

documentation’ and ‘of no scientific value’ (Karatani 1994:64). At the same time, there was a major transformation in book production and travel literature in particular. We already observed a slowly established tendency towards dissociating images from text in the Edo-period guidebooks. Within the broader literary climate of the Meiji era, illustrations were not only isolated in the books’ flow, but their number was also greatly reduced. This was partly a result of the newly established westernized distinction between literary and pictorial genres, but also a result of the introduction of the convenience of the letterpress in 1880. This was epitomized by the supplemental function of two new pictorial categories found in Meiji books: the kuchi-e (frontispiece) and the sashi-e (an inserted picture) in contrast to the integral function that illustrations held in Edo-period books (Mizuta Lippit 2002a:ii). Although guidebooks, a topographical genre, seemed to be quite slow in severing their ties with the image, this prevailing tendency soon affected them as well. The Edo-period gesaku style penetrated Meiji literature, producing such books as the serial novel Bankoku kōkai: seiyō dōchū hizakurige (On the road through western countries: comic journey towards civilization). The book was started in 1870 by the popular author Kanagaki Robun and was completed by Fusō Kan (Misugi Yosugi) (1841–94). Despite the fact that neither of the two authors had ever traveled abroad, this book narrates Yaji’s and Kita’s travels in the five continents. The writing has a strong undertone of ridicule and mockery, as in Edo-period gesaku literature, neglecting contemporary tendencies to ‘serious’ literature. According to the introduction: to travel one’s own country is like circling the back-garden. The fifty-three stations, the sixty-nine post-stops, the narrow road to the north, the ten regions of Ezo. The shot of a single cannon will reach three thousand miles. You leave on a trip, and before you have even sobered up from the farewell parties, there you are, entering the port of your destination. (Mertz 1997:220–1) Behind its humorous presentation and its traveling pretext, the book is obviously a ‘meta-traveling’ artifact that reflects and propagates modern Japan’s imperialist conceptions as well as Japan’s acceptance of a world-order based upon possession of technology and military power. Africa (Figure 27) for instance is described as a large land with a sparse population, where the few people are stupid and have neither literature nor fine arts (Mertz 1997:222). It is interesting to note that the authors’ comments on people’s race, customs or nudity are no less arrogant than those by foreign travelers to Japan, who did not hide their distress when encountering the almost naked coolies in the streets of Japan. Illustrations in the book include line etchings and half-tone prints, and were made by Utagawa Yoshiiku, Hiroshige III (1843–94) and Shōjo Shōsai or Ikkei (active c. 1870). Some of the illustrations show the influence of

118 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 27 Africa. From Kanagaki Robun, Fusō Kan, Ochiai Yoshiiku, Utagawa Yoshiiku, Hiroshige III and Shōjo Shōsai, Bankoku kōkai: Seiyō dōchū hizakurige (On the road through western countries: comic journey toward civilization), Mankyūkaku (publ.), 1870– 6, woodblock printed book (Courtesy of the C.V.Starr East Asian Library, Columbia University).

photography to the extent that they appear as ‘pseudophotographic’ snapshots (Marceau 2001:88–9). Throughout the Meiji era we can also notice an effort to sustain the traditional travel diary genre. Especially in the late Meiji era, in an environment of increasing nationalism and reconsideration of ‘things Japanese,’ a variety of guidebooks aimed at revitalizing highway travel in contrast to travel by railway. Toho ryokō (Travel on foot), published by Haishodō in 1902, is a series of travel essays, initially featured as newspaper articles by the haiku poet and newspaper editor Nakamura Rakuten (1865–1939). Gojūsantsugi zōri nikki (Fifty-three stations sandals’ diary) of 1907 is the diary of the artist Itō Gingetsu (1871– 1944), who traveled along the Tōkaidō on foot and by rickshaw in order to collect interesting objects and experiences that had survived Japan’s modernization. In a similar vein, Yokoyama Kendō’s (1871–1943) Bungei chiri Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi (Literature and Geography of the fifty-three stations) of 1911 was a travel essay addressed mostly to young Japanese, aiming at

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 119

conveying information about old ways of traveling in a sentimental manner (Shinagawa Kuritsu Shinagawa Rekishikan 2000:61). Practical or ‘proto-traveling’ guidebooks of the early Meiji era adopted Edoperiod dōchūki style, assuming either the accordion-map or the boundbook formats; thus the merger between maps and guidebooks continued. Such guidebooks were published by transportation companies or leagues (kō) that continued to thrive in the Meiji era. Meiji-era dōchūki indicate the names of the post- or railway stations, names of inns and fees of various means of transportation, such as not only the railway but also horse-drawn vehicles and rickshaw. The graphic representation of Meiji-era dōchūki varies from textual descriptions that usually indicate merely toponyms and raw data, to the inclusion of pictures or diagrammatic maps. Guidebooks to Ise continued to be very popular in this era, as Ise shrine was elevated to the holiest national Shintō site. Figure 28 shows a folded map contained in a guidebook to Ise entitled Ise sangū dōchū hitori annai (Guide for the road to Ise) published in 1889. This typical dōchūki is drawn with a geographical accuracy and a modern economy of means not to be found in Edoperiod material. Like railway maps studied in the previous chapter, this map relies on graphic and iconic signs rather than on words. Mount Fuji dominates in the whole map composition, while hills and views of the surrounding roofscapes and paddy fields are also illustrated, as if seen from a high vantage-point, the last being an emerging popular subject within Meiji-era imagery. The map is followed by a numeric chart that contains fees and schedules of the various railway itineraries, as well as sea routes that facilitate the journey to Ise. Moreover it contains pages with information on famous products, famous places and hotels at various locations on the route which are not limited to the Ise area. Such information, which in the Edo period would have been intermingled with the cartographical data, is now segregated and classified in a table-like arrangement at the end of the book. The establishment of the railway created a major distinction in the duration of travel time. Whereas during travel on foot, there is no qualitative difference between time spent on the way and time spent at the destination, in railway travel time spent aboard and time spent at the destination are clearly distinguished, for the obvious reason that the first is spent strictly inside the train. Thus it was unavoidable that guidebooks for the actual route (which in the Edo period carried lengthy descriptions) were rendered practically unnecessary, unless they were meant to satisfy the readers’ curiosity or offer encyclopedic knowledge. Therefore in the Meiji era we notice a renewed interest in guidebooks that depict single cities or regions as destinations, focusing on sights that were emblematic of modernity. Although guidebooks to the new capital, Tokyo, and its vicinity proliferated,69 here I would like to focus on a guidebook of an area other than Kantō, so that we can observe the modern restructuring of the country as it took place in Japan’s periphery. As example is the Illustrated guidebook of Owari by Miyato Munetarō (1857–1906), an artist who was also

Figure 28 Ōya Kenkyō, Ise sangū dōchū hitori annai (Guide for the road to Ise), Kishimoto Eihichi (publ.), 1889, booklet, 10×15 cm (Courtesy of the Tenri University Sankōkan Museum).

120 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 121

known as Shōsai. The book was published in 1890 by Miwa and Kawase using the copperplate technique. The very title of the book betrays the fact that Edoperiod regional geography still figured strongly in the collective consciousness of Meiji Japan, despite the modernization of the country. Owari, the Edo-period domain name for the Aichi prefecture, has not been changed in the book, which certainly comes as no great surprise considering that most Meiji citizens continued to use the name Edo instead of Tokyo for a long time after the Emperor’s restoration. Illustrated guidebook of Owari clearly indicates the changing interest of the Meiji audience towards meisho that can be categorized as modern. It is no coincidence that most are urban and industrial rather than natural sites, and that even those that belong to the second category are mostly appreciated for their ‘man-made’ attributes. The sights that appear in this book are primarily views of buildings that are symbolic of the modern institutions of Meiji Japan, such as ‘Nagoya post office,’ ‘Nagoya City office’ or ‘Aichi Prefecture office,’ new architectural typologies modeled after western examples, such as ‘Nagoya station’ (Figure 29) or ‘Hotel Shukinrō,’ and areas or buildings that signify the new economic and commercial structure of the region, such as ‘View of Sakae street,’ or ‘Mitsui bank.’ The book also indicates major engineering projects such as the ‘Tunnel of Susa,’ the ‘Bridge over Kiso River,’ and ‘Aichi Cement Company’ (Figure 30), as well as countryside views. Some of them appear simply as recreation sites, as seen in ‘Sea bath of Ōno,’ while others, such as the view of ‘Spring day in Tendō-san’ combine recreation with views of people at work. The aestheticization of industry and engineering works clearly shows the obsession of Meiji citizenry with technology as the path to enlightenment and progress. During the first visits of the Japanese to the west, the industrial landscape of the foreign countries was highly praised. Kume Kunitake expressed his admiration for the magnificence and beauty of the western cities he visited, where even the clouds of black smoke pouring from factory chimneys and the infernal noise of the underground railway were considered symbols of industrial prosperity (Takeuchi 1988:38). Similarly, Isabella Bird, upon her first visit to Edo, noticed that the city could hardly be seen from a distance, ‘for it has no smoke and no long chimneys’ (Bird 1973:12). This attitude is not dissimilar to the way technology was received in western countries. According to Rees (1980: 24), who examined the imagery of the early British railway: when a new technology is in its early stages of development it sometimes strikes the public imagination as something which is going to change the world…. In the early days of the railway, there was not only a new, highpressure, steam technology with which to become familiar, there were also great feats of civil engineering to be performed. Many railway prints ‘commemorate the triumph of engineering over obstacles of nature. Huge viaducts, deep cuttings, great bridges and tunnels express the

122 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 29 ‘Nagoya station.’ From Miyato Munetarō, Illustrated Guidebook of Owari, Miwa and Kawase (publ.), 1890, book printed with lithographic technique, Meiji era (Courtesy of Nagoya Subway Promotion Inc.).

confidence of the age in man’s ability to mould the environment to some economic end’ (Rees 1980:24). The parallel appreciation of the agrarian character of the countryside should not be seen as a contradiction. Pastoral views, in which farmers are depicted working happily in paddy fields, can be observed in numerous representations of this era but, as is discussed elsewhere in this book, such images are part of an ongoing process that has its roots in late eighteenthcentury iconography. Such trends reflect a broader shift in the perception of the landscape from the realm of aesthetics to the appreciation of its productive potential. If in the Edo period such tendencies often appeared disguised under the subject of beautiful women (bijin), in which female beauties are involved in work occupations, in the Meiji era agricultural and industrial productivity obtained their own raison d’être. Specifically within Meiji-era culture, the agrarian landscape appears as a source of morality. As the geographer Takeuchi has remarked: it was natural for Japan of that period, in which agriculture was the most important productive activity, that suitable physical conditions for rice cultivation were made much of in school textbook descriptions. We should note at the same time that the vast extensions of beautiful paddy fields with

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 123

Figure 30 ‘Aichi Cement Company.’ From Miyato Munetarō, Illustrated Guidebook of Owari (Courtesy of Nagoya Subway Promotion Inc.).

their elaborate water distribution systems were, in the writings of the text authors, ascribed to the many years of diligent toil on the part of the Japanese people. (Takeuchi 1988:36) Despite the book’s separation of visual from textual information, its great number of illustrations can still provide the reader with a fairly good impression of the modernized aspects of the Owari even without reading the text. Guidebooks and accounts of western travelers After Japan opened its ports to the outside world, a great number of foreigners entered the country, either as government employees or as travelers who sought to explore the exotic Far East. Guidebooks and travelogues published by westerners became influential not only in constructing an image of Japan for foreign consumption, but also in restructuring the Japanese identity and fostering its difference from the ‘other.’ Moreover these books establish the genre of the guidebook as a literary one, including a small number of inserted pictures— usually photographs—and maps, in comparison with the much greater number of

124 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

text-carrying pages. It is also important to point out that these maps follow the prescriptions of scientific cartography presenting Japan’s urban and natural topography in highly codified planar views, with only rare exceptions of bird’seye depictions of its major urban centers. Variations on the book A Handbook for Travelers in Central and Northern Japan written by writers such as Sir Ernest Mason Satow (1843–1929) and B.H.Chamberlain (1850–1935) were the first western guidebooks on Japan. Both writers were British who lived in Japan, held high positions and were considered to be among the first Japanologists. Satow was a scholar and a diplomat at the British Embassy in Japan and Chamberlain was a professor of Japanese and philology at the Imperial University of Japan. He also wrote the book Things Japanese, published in 1890. The Handbook for Travelers in Central and Northern Japan was a popular ‘proto-traveling’ material that was reprinted a number of times with the addition of sections that described the colonies of Japan, under titles such as A Handbook for Travelers in Japan Including the Whole Empire from Saghalien to Formosa in 1907. Early editions were made before the establishment of the Tōkaidō railway line, in an era when travel was by highway and water networks as well as by rickshaw. Thus the first handbooks follow the route of the Tōkaidō along its post-stations, indicating the distances in ri, in accordance with the convention of the Japanese guidebooks. It is interesting to note that Tokyo is not mentioned as the starting point of the road but rather Kanagawa, where the international settlement was located. It is not a coincidence that when the railway was established, the route of the Tōkaidō expanded to Kobe to provide a service for the foreigners who resided at Sannomiya International Settlement. Western guidebooks reveal an ambivalent perception of Japan’s modern achievements. On the one hand, it is apparent that the looking-for-the-exotic gaze of the foreigners is not always impressed by the signs of civilization at which Japanese travelers marvel. Ginza is a place with no more of interest than ordinary street scenes with coolies and street vendors, which define the realm of the ‘native,’ often carrying the associations of the uncivilized. Along the same lines, it is not surprising to see that Japanese-style lodgings are often preferred to unsuccessful western imitations, especially in provincial cities. This is not to say, of course, that the availability of modern facilities is not reassuring to the western traveler. To be sure, western guidebooks do not fail to mention the number of western-style hotels or museums as indications of the degree of civilization of each town. Locales that were favored by westerners soon developed into the main resort destinations of the country. It is not a coincidence that all lay along or in proximity to the Tōkaidō. Hakone, ‘one of the playgrounds of Tokyo,’ according to the English professor Arthur Lloyd (1839–1904), became easily accessible after the opening of Mount Hakone railway in 1918 and was recommended as a side trip from Tokyo, to last from two to seven days. As Chamberlain put it, the route Miyanoshita-Hakone ‘unit[es] charm of scenery, accessibility, and an

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 125

unusual degree of comfort’ (Chamberlain and Satow 1913). Atami (which became a part of the Tōkaidō railway after the opening of Tanna tunnel in 1924) was a favored resort area, due to the famous views of Mount Fuji, and its picturesque and ‘representatively Japanese’ scenery (Chamberlain and Satow 1898:156). The first and most luxurious western-style hotels, such as Fujiya hotel, were built in those areas. Most of the meisho are mentioned in western guidebooks that usually suggest a walking trip or a detour for a brief visit. For instance, at Okitsu the traveler was advised to employ a jinrikisha to go to Shizuoka in order to enjoy Miho no matsubara that offered a panoramic view of both Mount Fuji and Suruga Gulf (Chamberlain and Satow 1898:235–6). After the establishment of the railway, post-stations are hardly mentioned in any of these books. Not only was the leisurely and amorous ambience of the post-stations unattractive to the western traveler, but the now-desolate highway was still haunted by Japan’s feudal past. According to Mitford’s account in the late Meiji era: Feudalism is dead, but its ghost haunts me still. I shut my eyes and see picturesque visions of warriors in armour…processions of powerful nobles with their retinues marching along the cryptomeria avenues of the Tōkaidō, the road by the eastern sea—and I hear the cry ‘Shita ni iro, Shita ni iro’ (Be down, be down), at which all men of low degree go down upon their knees and bow their heads in the dust while the great man passes, silent and gloomy in the loneliness of the norimono (palanquin). (‘Feudalism in Japan,’ a paper read to the Authors’ Club on November 6, 1911; Cortazzi 1985:15) The railway era’s foreign guidebooks are proud to include not only the ‘beaten tracks’ along established routes such as the Tōkaidō, but also routes more difficult to access for the ‘sake of those travelers who may wish to go further afield’ (Chamberlain and Satow 1898: Preface). Therefore, although later editions rely largely upon the railway, they also include walking and trekking routes or alternative means of transport, such as the use of jinrikisha or jinrikisha tram (jinsha tetsudō). This exploratory attitude towards topography marks a major difference with most Japanese guide materials which, according to the meisho prescriptions, have no other intention but to follow what is already known and expected. Exploration was indeed very attractive to the nineteenth-century western traveler. For instance, the British traveler Isabella Bird found Enoshima and Kamakura to be ‘vulgar resorts,’ and set off to explore the still-unexplored Hokkaido and Ainu culture, an achievement for a woman raised in a climate of Victorian morality, which culminated in her famous book Unbeaten Tracks in Japan. The western interest in exploration was the major force towards the development of mountaineering which was for the first time introduced to the Japanese as a sport in the Meiji era. Japanese were not slow to catch up. As Lloyd reports while describing Hakone, ‘the old-fashioned Japanese will be content to stay at Yumoto [the first stage of Mount Hakone] and potter about;

126 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

[while] young Japanese doffs its “high collar” at this point, and like the foreigner, commences to climb’ (Lloyd 1909:127). Despite the fact that most foreign guidebooks suggest their readers avoid the railway for more authentic modes of traveling, the popularity of the guidebooks had strong ties with the development of the railway. In fact, guidebooks were promoted not only as tools of exploration upon arrival at the destination site, but as ‘literature for the railway,’ meant to accompany the traveler within the confines of the train as a means of entertainment during an otherwise dull trip. It is no coincidence that John Murray, one of the main publishers of western guidebooks, was the first to promote guidebooks in parallel with books of ‘sound information’ and ‘innocent amusement’ as ideal company during ‘dull’ railway traveling (Schivelbusch 1979:65). Western guidebooks on Japan made the Japanese aware of the potential exchange value that Japan’s landscape held within the international tourist industry, like that of its artworks within the international market, shown in international expositions and the like. At the same time, however, western books on Japan carried a tone that, despite their usual praise of the landscape of the country, was found to be offensive by certain Japanese intellectuals. For instance books such as the British writer Walter Weston’s (1861–1940) The Playground of the Far East (Weston 1918) raised concerns among circles like Min’yusha (Friends of the Nation), who argued in their publication Kokumin no tomo (The nation’s friend) that ‘these foreigners regard Japan as the world’s playground, a museum…. They pay their admission and enter because there are so many strange, weird things to see…. If our nation has become a spectacle, then we ought to be especially interested in the reform and progress that will make us a normal, civilized country’ (Kokumin no tomo, June 22, 1889; in Pyle 1969:85). Such impressions on the part of westerners, who insisted on viewing Japan as a playground or as a country of a ‘divine sweetness’ (Pyle 1969:86), attributing characteristics of ‘birds and butterflies’ to the Japanese, reinforced Japanese intellectuals’ determination to be rid of Japan’s past and insist on reform (Pyle 1969:85–6). A geographical treatise: Nihon fūkeiron (Theory of the Japanese landscape) Unlike books that have simply practical or entertaining orientation, Shiga Shigetaka’s Nihon fūkeiron (Theory of the Japanese landscape) of 1894 is a geographical treatise on the landscape of Japan with both philosophical and practical value. Nihon fūkeiron is of particular interest in this study because of its novel description of the Tōkaidō road that will be examined in detail below. The book is clearly a product of Meiji-era thought and it is influenced by both the scientific and political developments of this era. To be sure, Nihon fūkeiron does not constitute an ordinary form of writing within Meiji-era travel literature; it is however a paradigmatic one. While many Meiji-era travelogues were still based

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 127

on Edo-period conventions, Nihon fūkeiron introduced conceptions that were of the utmost importance in shaping Japan’s modern identity. In the nationalistic environment of this era, and in light of European colonizing attitudes in the east, Japanese had to develop new arguments in order to differentiate themselves from both western and Asian ‘others.’ Shiga discerned this difference in the beauty of Japan’s landscape and suggested a new means of landscape appreciation that aimed at improving national pride as well as promoting national knowledge. Shiga’s perception played upon the uniqueness of the Japanese landscape, contributing greatly to the establishment of a new national mythology that viewed Japan as superior to other countries. Nihon fūkeiron became an immediate bestseller, which is particularly noteworthy in light of the fact that the book is addressed to ‘literati, poets and writers, artists, sculptors and highminded gentlemen.’ General readers became thus introduced to geography which had not yet become an academic subject in Japan.70 Shiga became known as one of the three great writers of his time71 and a survey conducted during the Meiji era by the newspaper Jiji shinpō (Current news) disclosed that the most favored works of the Meiji era were those of Fukuzawa Yukichi (1835–1901) followed by Nihon fūkeiron (Gavin 2001:33). Thus, one may safely claim that Nihon fūkeiron, clearly a ‘metatraveling’ material, did indeed shape the identity of Meiji citizenry by helping develop a modern sense of nationhood. This work also made accessible to the wider public scholarly approaches undertaken by early geographers of the Edo period such as Furukawa Koshōken. Nihon fūkeiron was published in 1894,72 the same year that the Sino-Japanese War started, and five years after the completion of the Tōkaidō railway (1889). The book reflects the scientific background of the author, who took his bachelors degree at the Sapporo Agricultural College, in combination with his political beliefs which were nurtured in the nationalistic environment of the late Meiji era. Before Nihon fūkeiron, Shiga had published an introductory study to geography, entitled Chirigaku kōgi (Lectures in geography) and had also joined an investigative trip in the South Pacific Ocean, his account of which, published in 1887, was called Nanyō jiji (Affairs of the Southern Seas). Later, during the Russo-Japanese War, Shiga worked as a military reporter. It is obvious that Shiga had a great knowledge of foreign cultures and an interest in geography that was similar to that of the early Meiji thinker Fukuzawa Yukichi. Shiga was also an advocate of the ‘preservation of nationality’ (kokusui hozon) movement, with co-members Miyake Setsurei (1860–1945) and Kuga Katsunan (1857– 1907). The movement supported Japanese modernization, while resisting westernization, in order to enable Japan’s survival in the power struggle that was taking place in nineteenth-century Asia. In his essay ‘What the term “Japanese” essentially means’ Shiga wrote: Beginning with the conic form of the volcano Mt. Fuji rearing majestically into the sky, covered year-round by snow, many mountains and many islands covered by greenery, lakes, rivers and other physical characteristics

128 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

of Japan…have contributed to the formation of a sense of nationality on the part of the Japanese people…. We must learn from Western culture, but we must firmly conserve the spirit of nationality, formed in the admiration of the proper characteristics of the nature of Japan. (Takeuchi 1988:38) The purpose of Nihon fūkeiron was to get Japanese readers to identify with the uniqueness of their country, in contrast to westerners and Asian ‘others.’ It is true that the prevailing perception of the late nineteenth century was that the Japanese landscape was inferior to that of the west, and especially the British landscape that had won numerous paeans in books by writers such as John Lubbock (1843–1913) (Gavin 2001:31). Shiga’s writings aimed at restoring such lack of confidence on the side of the Japanese praising what was unique about their landscape and explaining it with a scientific, thus objectified vocabulary. According to Shiga the uniqueness of the Japanese landscape was attributed to the country’s climatic diversity, its being an island country situated at the conjunction of wind and sea currents, its great amount of precipitation that produces luxuriant soil and a verdant countryside, and its numerous volcanoes, igneous rocks and land erosions that create unusual mountain ranges and rock formations. Nihon fūkeiron adopted the Chinese literary style (kanbun) and cited numerous classical Japanese and Chinese poems (Gavin 2001:31) especially those regarding natural elements other than mountains.73 To use the theorist MacCannell’s terminology, if in early guidebooks of the Edo period, such as the first two Dōchūki, the landscape was introduced through the simple action of ‘naming,’ later guidebooks show tendencies of ‘framing’ or ‘elevating.’ The attitude of associating geographical location with intangible qualities that enhanced the place’s prestige is obvious in elaborated guidebooks of the Edo period as well as in travel diaries. In Shiga’s writings, we have the most sophisticated case of ‘identification,’ or ‘social reproduction’ which, according to MacCannell, appears when groups, cities or regions begin to identify themselves with famous attractions or name themselves after their monuments (MacCannell 1989:45). As such attractions we can consider specific spots, like Mount Fuji, or even the whole country in its physical and mental dimensions. It is interesting to note that Japanese renamed mountains in lands where they immigrated after Mount Fuji, such as Mount Rainier that was renamed Takoma-Fuji, and it was proposed to name Mount Taishan of Shantung in China the Fuji of Shantung (Kojima 1955:374). Shiga introduced new aesthetic principles for the appreciation of the Japanese landscape (elegance— shōsha represented by the autumnal beauty of Japan, beauty—bi represented by the Japanese spring and power—tettō represented by its unspoiled wilderness; Gavin 2001:30–1; Shiga 1995:1–3, 3–5), but besides lofty words his main contribution lies in his use of natural science as a means of describing the longstanding symbols of Japanese culture. Such is his description of the pine tree,

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 129

a ‘combination of trigonometry and fine arts,’ that, for Shiga, is the symbol of the character of the Japanese: ‘Pine trees’ features are magnificent. Their top stretches to the sky and sometimes their roots are very deep. Even if the earth is steep they can have very independent features. Their trunks, branches and leaves can all survive against very strong winds. As their roots are very firmly put in the earth, while in such circumstances many other plants cannot survive, pine trees can. If by chance they are cut off by people they do not lose pride and fall greatly. This is one trait of the Japanese character as well. (Shiga 1955:363) The text is supplemented by etchings and paintings by the artists Hibata Sekko and Ebina Meishi (Okada 1997:94) that depict features of the landscape and close-ups of birds and flowers, as well as diagrams that classify the mountains of Japan, focusing on their precise topographical formation and revealing their differences rather than their uniformity. Shiga’s scientific explanations gave birth to an idea of geo-cultural determination. Shiga examined not only surface phenomena, but also the geology of the Japanese islands, as the cause of the unique formations found in Japanese nature.74 From an academic viewpoint the discipline of geology was the descendent of geography in Japan. Within the broader epistemological context of the Meiji era, geology played a role beyond the academic environment, gaining particular attention as Japan was becoming aware of the necessity to exploit its geological resources, so as not to rely on imports. Such is the prism through which the landscape of the Tōkaidō is being viewed (Shiga 1995:26–8). The book does not deal with the physical changes of the Tōkaidō in the technological framework of the Meiji era, such as railway and industrialization, but rather with its natural characteristics which, although they may appear as everlasting also have their own slow historicity. Shiga’s narrative moves, in a kind of bird’s-eye view, along the Tōkaidō which, according to Shiga, is a landscape characterized by vapor. Water vapor is for Shiga the distinct characteristic of Japanese landscape: Water vapor is like a great ocean, a distant haze across the heavens, from which there appear and then disappear temples, palaces, and pagodas, with the peal of a temple bell pressing its way through now and again. (Shiga 1995:43; translation by Smith 1986b:26) Shiga follows the prescription of the shiki-e or four-season paintings, choosing a particular season for each region. Early summer is the ideal season for viewing the Tōkaidō. Shiga’s narration moves east to west, having Tokyo as its starting point and ending at the province of Ōmi. Shiga admires the deep greenery of the road which he sees as the result of ‘vapor rising from the ocean’ and heading

130 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

towards the mountains. The local production of each region is also explained due to climatic specifications. At Rokugō, rice production is a result of the rainfalls and the high temperature of the monsoon season; at Kōzu, the great orange production is attributed to the quantity of vapor brought by the warm oceanstream; at Sagami and Izu the accumulation of moss and the growing ivy (tsuta), the most celebrated plant in waka poetry, is attributed to the unusual—by Asian standards—rock formations found in those areas. At Hakone, there is a shift in the geomorphology of the landscape due to the existence of fertile volcanic soil and the lack of alluvium. The warm climate and humidity of Suruga plain makes it ideal for tea production. Here Shiga listens to the songs of women who collect the tea leaves, while the famous view of Mount Fuji finds a scientific explanation. The white, cotton-like clouds that surround Mount Fuji’s peak and have met plentiful praises in poetry are the result of ocean-vapor clashing with the cold mountain air. During the sunset, the color of the clouds changes to red, producing powerful images that Shiga suggests Japanese artists should capture. Consequently, the high water volume of the Fuji, Ōi and Tenryū rivers that have their sources in the high mountains of Japan’s hinterland is a result of the great quantities of show melting on the mountains peaks and flowing down into the rivers. The vapor, finally, functions as a poetic device that allows for the distinct sounds of each province to be heard; the sound of the ocean at Tōtōmi, weaving machines at Mikawa, chickens at Owari, fishermen’s songs at Ise and children’s voices at Ōmi, which was famous for its school. With such explanations, climate, poetry, arts and national production become an unbreakable whole. Aesthetic qualities such as miegakure (‘now you see it, now you don’t’) and physical elements—such as ivy and moss— that have been praised in the past, are demystified. At the same time, as in the approach of the early geographer Koshōken, the three greatest landscapes of Japan and most of the meisho (especially those related with mountains) are abandoned, as the locales that are found to be worth mentioning are only those that can be explained through cause-and-effect relations. For such a perception, the faculty of vision cleared of mythical thought is significant. It is through visual observation that data collection, classification, comparison and critical assessment of natural laws can occur. This is obvious in the mountain studies published in the book, that aim at revealing topographical differences rather than stereotypical ideas of natural beauty. Despite his scientific intentions, Shiga’s thoughts were distinct from those of academic geography. For instance, Shiga chose the word fūkei which was previously used for a classical Japanese genre of painting that ‘transcends topographical verisimilitude for heightened artistic expressions,’ taking locality as his point of departure (Lee 1977:507–8). Shiga’s choice of the word became associated with his political thoughts and thus the term was never accepted by the scientific circles of geographers. In 1920s and 1930s when the term ‘landscape’ or ‘landschaft’ was introduced into western academic geography, Japanese geographers adopted the term keikan, more abstract than

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 131

fūkei, which carries a ‘visual type of connotation, excluding the phenomenological or humanistic interpretation’ (Takeuchi 1988:39). It is important to note that Shiga’s views, despite their naturalistic scope, relied largely upon western views of Japan as they appeared in books of the same period, such as Mason’s A Handbook for Travelers in Japan (Takeuchi 1988:38– 9). Shiga’s fluency in English made such publications accessible to him. One innovation of these foreign books was the appreciation of the landscape as a terrain of activity, as expressed through the fascination with mountaineering. British writers in the 1880s and 1890s praised the alpine style of beauty of the Japanese mountains, an attitude supported largely by Shiga who became a member of the Nihon Sangaku kai (Japanese Alpine Club) in 1911.75 Shiga encouraged mountain-climbing not simply as a sport but also as a spiritual and poetic activity that provided panoramic views as well as enlightenment. Thus he encouraged artists to climb mountains in order to find sources for their art and gave advice on what is needed for climbing. For such reasons Nihon fūkeiron could be also characterized as a guidebook of ‘mountain literature’ (sangaku bungaku). Critics have indicated repeated references made by Shiga to John Ruskin (1819– 1900) and John Lubbock (1834–1913). Uchimura Kanzō (1861– 1930) named Shiga the ‘Ruskin of Japan,’ as Shiga was the first to suggest to the Japanese that they should ‘naturally read the beauty’ (Uchimura 1955:363–4). Most importantly, Shiga’s emphasis on mountaineering contributed to the development of a collective ‘love of the motherland.’ According to Shiga the passive enjoyment of nature that characterized pre-modern Japan was an attitude that could not inspire national solidarity (Gavin 2001:28). As Kojima had remarked, Nihon fūkeiron would teach the Japanese that the soil of their country is being carried by the ‘melted snow of Mount Fuji’ and he exclaimed ‘Where on earth could one find the most beautiful soil like this?’ (Gavin 2001:34; Kojima 1955:372). Critics, such as Iwai Tadakuma, Maeda Ai, Mita Hirō and Satō Yoshimaru, have claimed that Nihon fūkeiron was an imperialistic book that contributed to the increase of Japanese nationalist policy. Shiga’s description of the Japanese landscape did indeed show a ‘patriotic bias’ (Uchimura 1955:363–4), as it was always found to be more beautiful than that of any other country in the world. Moreover, Shiga regarded Japan’s expansion in the Asian continent as a means of adding a tropical zone to the Japanese archipelago (Okada 1997:106). As Gavin claims, however, Shiga’s immediate goal in praising Japan’s geography was to arouse national awareness and to alert his countrymen to Japan’s potentially important position in the fast-changing world order, rather than develop an expansionist policy towards Asia (Gavin 2001:27).76 Popularized Tōkaidō: Tetsudō shōka The Meiji era propagated an image of a modernized Japan that was extended to all classes and ages. National knowledge became part of the education of young

132 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Japanese and was primarily based on the aesthetic appreciation of Japan’s landscape that appeared as the receptacle of important events. Parallel to strictly educational manuals such as textbooks, school songs (shōka) were meant to imprint powerful, patriotic images in the collective consciousness of future Japanese citizens. Indeed Railway Songs (precisely Chiri kyōiku tetsudō shōka, Geographical education—railway songs), released in 1900, functioned as major ‘meta-traveling’ devices that established certain perceptions of the country in the mind of the Meiji and later generations over the course of their journeys, throughout their lifetime. Not surprisingly, Railway Songs started from Tokyo propagating Tokyo’s centrality throughout Japan: (Number 1) With one sound of the whistle, from Shinbashi Swiftly departs our train (Ericson 1996:30) Railway Songs were based on an idea of Ichida Genzō and their lyrics were written by the known classical scholar Ōwada Takeki (1857–1910). The melodies were based on western motifs and were composed by Ono Umewaka 1869–1920) (Finn 1995:142). The part on the Tōkaidō was based on an imaginary rail journey along the route, including thirty-six songs on the part that coincided with the old Tōkaidō route, nine songs along the coast of Lake Biwa, ten songs of Kyoto, six songs of Osaka and five songs of Kobe, which was the last stop of the line. Additional parts praised the railroads of San’yō and Kyushu, and those in Tōhoku, and the Japanese Sea and Kansai areas. The songs, intended as a grammar school textbook, were meant to help students learn historical and geographical facts and strengthen their national consciousness. Besides their educational function they were also disseminated via novel promotional means, such as placing ads and employing a band that played the songs as passengers traveled the Tōkaidō route. Street musicians also performed the railway songs in various towns and thus they quickly spread throughout the country (Nishizawa 1991:2736). In 1900, a satirical version entitled Tetsuuma shōka (Funny songs of railway-horse line) was composed, and others soon followed, producing such song series as Shikibu no uta aito jō musen ryokō (Funny songs of traveling without paying a fare) by Satō Tengai in 1908 and Haikara dōchū hizakurige no uta (Songs of a westernized shanks’ mare) by Midoriha Yamahito in 1909 (Nishizawa 1991:2748–64). Unlike the sophisticated postulations of Nihon fūkeiron, the railway songs are based on a set of knowledge that was accessible to the average citizen. It is not surprising to find in them a combination of modern and pre-modern elements upon which the Japanese national identity was founded; technology, westernmodeled sports and industry on one hand, history, literary memory, meisho, meibutsu on the other. Railway Songs indeed plays upon the two poles of nature/

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 133

technology and past/future as two complementary aspects of Japanese national identity. It is precisely through technology, in this case an automated mode of mobility, that natural elements are now enjoyed: (Number 14) Mount Fuji which was far away is now very close to us. There are clouds on the top of the mountain, and around the middle there are also clouds. Mount Fuji looks always so noble. (Fujioka 1982:134) Technological progress appears in harmonious coexistence with the beauty of Japan’s nature, while the Japanese landscape is dotted with memories of historical or mythical events. The sensation of nature contributes to the creation of memorable images as the backdrop of such events. (Number 28) Now we are going over the bridge of Hamana, leaving smoke over the water. The wind is quite cool and thus we know that summer is almost over. (Number 13) Entering and leaving so many tunnels, among them are Yamakita and Koyama. I cannot forget how appealing looked the river under the bridge. (Number 2) At Sengakuji of Takanawa, we see the graves of the forty-seven samurai on our right. Even if the snow disappears, their names are never going to disappear. (Fujioka 1982:134) Railway Songs, like all shōka, aimed to ‘produce a collective illusion of nature.’ According to Kamei Hideo: these texts were composed so as to be similar to a text of nature woven with the typical elements of beauty corresponding to the seasons, such as the cherry blossom in spring, the mandarin orange and cuckoo in summer, the moon in autumn and snowfall in winter. (Kamei 1994) This ‘textualized nature,’ which is essentially a reiteration of utamakura, was a continuation of the classical, standardized mode of natural representation and, even more, helped make an image of Japan as a homeland.

134 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

On the premise that to graduate from school amounted to depart from one’s homeland, the composers of ‘shōka’ persuaded young Japanese to discharge their duties, cherishing the idea of coming back home some day. Therefore most students in Tokyo or Kyoto or Osaka were inculcated with an inclination to recollect and imagine of their homeland through the words of ‘shōka.’ The representation of the nature of their homeland thus imagined was always dear and unchangeably beautiful. (Kamei 1994) The praise of natural beauty did not exclude paying attention to agricultural production: (Number 4) After passing Ōmori, famous for cherries, already there is Kawasaki, and in Kawasaki there is Daishikawara temple. Go train, go fast! (Number 17) There are famous villages named Ushibuse and Ganyūdō in Numazu. These are nice places with peaches and flowers in the spring, and good ocean in the summer. (Fujioka 1982:134) Even more, the praise of nature does not exclude admiration for industrial views, an aesthetic position which is symptomatic of Meiji Japan. (Number 5) After Tsurumi and Kanagawa we arrive at Yokohama station, where we can see the port with the hundred ships. There is a lot of smoke on the sky. (Fujioka 1982:134) Such a view may appear to conflict with our contemporary understanding of nature as the opposite of technology. As discussed above, for a newly modernized country, production, either agricultural or industrial, is worth appreciation as it is important for national development. Railway songs refer to legendary events and literary works of the ancient era, but they do not fail to suggest with pride the changes of modern times. Although past sublimations are important for the historical memory of the nation, the audience is constantly reminded of Japan’s optimistic future while new modes of activities are being introduced: (Number 65) Trains give us wings, now the old fifty-three stations pass like a dream. (Fujioka 1982:35)

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 135

(Number 18) There is an old story about Heike, that they were surprised by the sound of the birds. They took them for their enemy. But this is redundant. Now we can see the ships of Minobu on Fuji river. (Number 11) Coming back to the main line, we are crossing Banyū river in Sagami. Here, we can see Ōiso beach, which is famous for swimming and the ocean waves are cool. (Fujioka 1982:134, 135) Railway travel is celebrated as a means of a new visual enjoyment. Sitting next to the train’s window and viewing the changing landscape appears to the eyes of the writer as a new mode of visual illusion: Like a picture in the zoetrope [mawaritōro] views are changing. While seeing them we are passing dozens of kilometers. (Fujioka 1982:84)77 In such a poem, the railway indeed appears as a new illusionary lens for looking at the world, not unlike the optical machines that were very popular in the Edo period, such as the zoetrope. Despite the promotion of railway traveling as a technological, modernized form of traveling, the citizens of the Meiji era were still captivated by the pursuit of illusionist escape that characterized the Edo period. Even a new type of miegakure (‘Now you see it now you don’t’) was evoked through the new medium of the railway: (Number 3) Now we can see the fortress of Shinagawa and white waves and the mountains over the ocean. Are these mountains in Kazusa or in Bōshū? (Fujioka 1982:134) These verses bring to mind Bashō’s haiku from Oku no hosomichi: ‘Misty cherry blossoms, the sound of the bell is resounding from Ueno or Asakusa?’ Despite their differences, a common denominator that unites Shiga’s sophisticated perception of landscape and his stress on the sport of mountaineering with the more simplified narrations of the railway songs is their foundation upon a model of bodily and spiritual health. As Kamei Hideo has remarked: Shōka’s purpose was to improve the pupil’s health…[and] to heighten pupils’ sentiment using the refined and lofty words of ‘shōka.’… From this point of view, the traditional popular song, folkloric children’s songs and

136 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

laborer’s songs were regarded as prejudicial to pupils…. [Shōka] aimed to strengthen the pupils’ lungs and improve their posture adopting the European way of vocalization…. The words of shōka were ‘refined and lofty’ carrying the ability to ‘reform pupils’ minds and dispel malicious thoughts from their heads.’ (Kamei 1994) It is not just a coincidence that, after the first publication of the railway songs, their Osaka publisher hired a band to perform the songs while marching along the old Tōkaidō highway (Ericson 1996:30). Marching and singing along the Tōkaidō, a road that was previously associated with lax ethics, fitted perfectly with the Meiji aspiration of educating a physically and morally healthy, patriotic youth. Literary nostalgia The Meiji era fostered an emotional distinction between locales of progress and locales of the rustic past, a conflict that was resentfully experienced by the thousands of migrants to the urban centers. Such conflicts found plentiful expression in literary works of the Meiji era as some of the authors had undergone their own personal experience of migration. These migrant-writers left home without intending to return. Unlike the displaced subjects of earlier eras, their new home was not the ‘open road,’ but rather the urban locale and particularly Tokyo, the new promised land of modern Japan. In Shimazaki Tōson’s (1870–1944) novel Ie (The family) of 1910–11, we can observe how the alienating life in Tokyo would soon make Tokyo’s new residents link their hometown with a sentimental rusticity. According to Henry Smith, these memories of unity with nature and of a peaceful life were gradually dissociated from those of hardship—the initial reason for the migrants’ escape. Thus the periphery functioned as the repository for sentiments that could not be invested in the western novelties of Tokyo. However, this new migrant personality, after ‘contemplating the farming scenery easily gave up his bucolic life to return to the crowded machi of the city,’ showing no specific attachment to place (Smith 1978:59). Personal memories of a lost rural motherland were fused with sentiments of a national nostalgia for Japan’s pre-modern past. This individual and collective experience of modern Japanese was elaborated by the rhetorical discourse of furusato, nostalgia for one’s native place or, more broadly, Japan’s lost home, and was often heavily commercialized (Robertson 1995:89–103). The split between countryside (den’en)78 as past and urban centers as future and the influence of this upon the individual is reflected in numerous fictional works of the Meiji era that belong to the I-novel (watakushi shōsetsu) type. According to Karatani (1994), this is considered to be the first type of Japanese literature based on the interiority of the subject, and is configured within the Meiji era’s broader epistemological framework. The interiority of the Meiji era’s

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 137

self is well expressed by the following passage in Nagai Kafū’s (1879–1959) Kōcha no yoru (Evening for tea) (1911): The waiting room in the station is very comfortable and you can feel at home. There, you don’t need to order beer or tea, as an obligation to the waitress and you don’t need to get angry, while waiting for the rest of your order for five minutes. You can enter whenever you feel like and you can go out whenever you feel like. Sometimes, I feel very stressed in my studyroom and the air is very stuffy and it doesn’t let me concentrate. And the stuffy-air is telling me ‘never stop studying,’ ‘write good works as soon as possible,’ ‘read difficult books.’ In these cases, I take a light book and I go to this waiting room and I sit on the leather chair. In the winter, the waiting room has a stove and at night there is bright light. And in these wide rooms, there are so many people from different social classes, from the elite to the poor. And there, sometimes I think that I can see the drama of their life…. When I sit on the chair of the waiting room of Shinbashi station and I hear the sound of geta and the keen sound of the steam engine, I feel like I am on a trip. I feel free but lonely on the other hand. (Kōken Sekkei Ekiken Guruppu 1994:8) In this passage we can see the relation between the new individual subject of the Meiji era and the modern, urban locales. The self-discipline required by the state is something that affected both the society and the individual. Nagai’s hero is passing from the study room (working time, privacy) to the station (temporal break, public space) unable to escape the enclosure of his inner self. The stress of individuation, or in other words the construction of an isolated, disciplined and industrious political subject, as the foundation of the modern state, results in a fundamental split between private and public realms. As Mezaki has observed, the definition of self through the I-novel is reminiscent of the aesthete-recluses of earlier times. I-novels often used the device of the psycho-geographical journey in a symbolic manner, criticizing the influences of modern life upon the individual (Mezaki 1985:180). Such is the example of the novel Kōjin (The wayfarer) by Natsume Sōseki, written in 1912, which deals with the insecurity of modern man for whom ‘constant motion and flow is the fate.’ In the last part of the book, the hero is traveling along a part of the Tōkaidō with his friend, and we soon realize that the toponyms carry a special power, evoking conceptions that can transcend the mundane world, in a manner similar to those of the meisho. Although the hero neglects commodified famous places, toponyms and natural elements contain the power to cause psychological upheavals. For instance, the hero refuses to go to Numazu, claiming that he has no interest in the surrounding famous places, such as Miho no matsubara and the story about the fairy’s feather-robe (see note 48), but is very pleased to go to Shūzenji, because of the ‘idea of this watering-place.’ After a painful stop in Odawara they decide to head to Hakone, a place that although is known to be

138 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

noisy and disturbing, seems still challenging because of the symbolic power that such a mountainous location holds. Later the hero confesses, ‘What a waste it is to go to a resort merely to put up with it’ and promises that he will not come to such a place again. The interest of the hero is obviously not in seeing the landscape itself. The landscape, or rather the toponyms, lead him to increased anguish, and finally a confrontation with society, family, science and eventually God. In particular, travel by railway becomes a metaphor of self-destruction. For Sōseki the railroad was the symbol of alienation and dehumanization, the emblem of modernity with all its dehumanizing effects on the individual. In Kōjin (Wayfarer), Sōseki clearly links technological advance to madness: Man’s insecurity stems from the advance of science. Never once has science, which never ceases to move forward, allowed us to pause. From walking to ricksha, from ricksha to carriage, from carriage to train, from train to automobile, from there on to the dirigible, further on to the airplane, and further on and on—no matter how far we may go, it won’t let us take a breath. How far it will sweep us along, nobody knows for sure. It is really frightening.…because the fate which the whole of humanity will reach in several centuries, I must go through—in my own lifetime. (Natsume 1969:285–6) The experience of the railway is no different from that of other modern urban configuration. In the short story ‘Kyōfu’ (Terror) by Tanizaki (1886– 1965), written in 1913, the hero suffers from railroad phobia, whenever he rides the train which, ‘with its utter indifference and its tremendous energy, hurtles down the track at full speed.’ In this story, as James Fujii has suggested: the writer shows how the inscription of railways as a common-place artifact in everyday life gives rise to new ‘modern’ forms of pathology. Once the novelty of train travel was dimmed by its naturalization into the fabric of everyday life, sensations such as speed, [and] the train vibration…led to accumulated stress…. While fear of military services might have played a part, the narrator makes it clear that his neurosis extends to streetcars, automobiles, theaters—in short, any crowded bustling place. (Fujii 1997:16) For the thousands of migrants to the cities, modern mythologies were being played out along the polarities between the center and the periphery. At the same time, tourism and migration, although appearing as the two opposite poles of mobility—the first as a voluntary and pleasurable, the second as obligatory—are in fact two complementary sides of modern life. As Caren Kaplan has put it, it is between the dipoles of exile and tourism, as the opposite poles of modern experience, that the discourse of mobility is played out. ‘Exile implies coercion, tourism celebrates choice. Exile connotes the estrangement of the individual from

TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 139

an original community; tourism claims community on a global scale’ (Kaplan 1996:27). However, it is the exile that has been adopted as the condition of artistic production, based on the mythology of an ‘ideal distant city’ of men without country. In the voluntary exile of the poets who abandoned the mundane world, or the displaced individuals in the early metropolis, we can find the source of Edo- and Meiji-era creativity. Raymond Williams has described a similar condition in the world of western modern writers who: liberated or breaking from their national or provincial cultures… encountering meanwhile a novel and dynamic common environment from which many of the older forms were obviously distant, [the thinkers of this phase] found the only community available to them: a community of the medium, of their own practice. (Williams 1989:45; in Kaplan 1996:32) A major difference takes place during the transition from the Edo to the Meiji era, however. If, in the Edo period, leaving the city and assuming even temporarily the identity of the wanderer was a condition of poetic creativity, in the Meiji era the periphery provides the material for creativity but is never its locus. Artists have not only cut their ties with their native places (without, however, having found in the city a new motherland) but also refuse to participate in the new consumption of the periphery that is facilitated by modern tourist institutions. Thus traveling is hardly found as a source of escape, or as an alternative model of life; instead traveling has become almost completely substituted by tourism, a way of consuming places that carries normative, rather than liberating functions. Finally, it is interesting to note affiliations between Meiji-era writers and modern visual artists of the same period who practiced a new type of art called yōga (westernized art). Not surprisingly, modern literary works were usually supplemented by illustrations of yōga artists, although this did not happen until the end of the Meiji period (Mizuta Lippit 2002b:16). Both literary and visual artists who subscribed to modernist approaches seem to avoid literary or religious associations in favor of a ‘refreshing naturalism’ that pays attention to anonymous landscapes and observes the subtle effects of changing light or mist conditions. A characteristic example of such affinities is the ‘cloud diary’ kept by writers such as Shimazaki Tōson and Kagawa Toyohiko (1888–1960), a diary form that was first kept by the British philosopher John Ruskin (Watanabe 1997: 290). Such interests that were shared by writers and visual artists show a perception of landscape that is liberated from the conventions of meisho. As Karatani suggests, it was in the Meiji era that the landscape was severed from the perception of famous places; places ‘imbued with historical and literary significance.’ Karatani, using the example of Kunikida Doppo (1871–1908), a writer who described with his own eyes the oaks of Musashino (a site previously neglected by Japanese artistic accounts because of its insignificance as a

140 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

meisho), postulates that what modern Japanese writers perceive as ‘nature’ is the relation between humans and nature, close to the Marxist view of the landscape as a ‘human creation’ (Karatani 1994:65–6). Meiji-era modern thinkers struggled to re-discover Japanese landscape through experiences and observations rather than received knowledge. These faculties were essential for Japan’s overall modernization process and were valorized by both authorities and intellectuals of the Meiji era for two reasons: first, this meant a scientific methodology that would lead to Japan’s technological progress; second, it was a major intellectual enterprise that promised emancipation from traditional forms and the enhancement of the subjective as a source of creativity.

4 PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION AT THE TŌKAIDŌ’S MICRO-SCALE

Transportation-stations: spaces of performance, spaces of representation And as I was asking ‘Where is Yedo?’ the train came to rest in the terminus, the Shinbashi railroad station, and disgorged its 200 Japanese passengers with a combined clatter of 400 clogs— a new sound to me. (Bird 1973:12) This chapter will deal with the transportation-stations in Japan as spaces of experience—as ‘lived-spaces’—and also as spaces significant within the imagery of the Edo and the Meiji eras. The sound of the 400 geta (clogs) that overwhelmed the foreign traveler was the most plausible indication of her being in Edo; more truthful than any description found in guidebooks or maps. Such an experience is reminiscent of the ‘chorus of idle footsteps’ acclaimed by Michel de Certeau in his Practices of Everyday Life: Their story…begins on ground level, with footsteps. They are myriad but do not compose a series…. Their intertwined paths give their shape to spaces. They weave places together. In that respect, pedestrian movements form one of these real systems whose existence in fact makes up the city. (de Certeau 1988:97) Transportation-stations are the most vital spots within the Japanese environment and play an important role within the politics of everyday life. On one hand, their architectural layout reflects the ideals of their commissioners; on the other, transportation-stations function as major public spaces within which anonymous users are the main protagonists. To use the terminology of Lefebvre, stations are ‘representational spaces’ that embody symbolisms, linked to the ‘underground side of social life.’ They are ‘spaces as directly lived through their associated images and symbols,’ spaces ‘which the imagination seeks to change and

142 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

appropriate’ (Lefebvre 1991:33, 38–9). Since Japan’s early modern era, Japanese transportation-stations have indeed been major spaces of public performance, intimate places that are accessible to wider populations, but at the same time locales of the extraordinary and the unpredictable. Physical and anthropological characteristics of post-stations Post-stations, unlike modern single-building typologies, were rather urban conglomerations, or cluster-typologies, that provided a diversity of facilities (Traganou 2003a:295–9). In Plate 8 we can see a model of Futagawa, the thirtythird post-station of the Tōkaidō, starting from Edo. Ōiwa village is also a part of the model as it was the supplementary to the post-station village (kajuku).79 Futagawa, a small-size post-station, had a long, narrow shape, with dimensions of approximately 1,500×140 m. In 1843, Futagawa had 328 households and a permanent population of 1,468 people (Kawasaki-shi Shimin Museum 1994: 182). The main regulatory building of a post-station was the ton’ya where the station manager provided transport services for official travelers and cargo. The ton’ya was usually located near the center of the station, as in the case of Futagawa, while some stations had more than one such service. Other facilities included hotels, restaurants, shops, as well as public baths, pawn shops, pubs and wood-shops. Futagawa had two honjin and thirty-eight hatagoya. The buildings were positioned along the road, assuming very narrow facades and great depth. A post-station, despite the fact that the majority of its population were farmers, was not a typical village. Its character was more urban than rural since its economy was based mostly on service industry, rather than agricultural production (Taeuber 1958:25). It is also interesting to note that the location of such settlements could change, as was the case of Futagawa and Ōiwa, which moved twice, until in 1644 they were transferred to their present location (Toyohashi-shi Futagawa Shuku Honjin Shiryōkan 1992:32). What most distinguished a post-station from any other Japanese urban unit was that it nourished an environment of separateness and ephemerality, two characteristics that allowed the specific culture of sakariba to flourish. Sakariba were places associated with the commoners’ culture, located away from the centers of political authority such as the palace or the castle. Sakariba means literally crowded or bustling places, places of extreme population density where diverse, unpredictable activities may occur. As noticed earlier, the volume of traffic on the Tōkaidō road astonished European travelers who were not used to such a lot of traveling. This condition was mostly obvious in Edo and Kyoto. Nihonbashi (see Figure 24), the Tōkaidō’s entrance at Edo, built in 1603, was one of the most crowded areas of the city, as indicated by accidents like the collapse of the bridge because of the weight of those using it (Waley 1984:69). As Miura Jōshin wrote:

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 143

Nihonbashi…is used by people going back and forth through the city…. When one looks at Nihonbashi, one sees long lines of people morning and night. Just as the city prospers, one hears the feet of people and horses beating like thunder upon the bridge. (Miura 1980:116; in McClain 1994:112) Nihonbashi was frequented by a mixture of immigrants to the city, ‘signboard girls’ (kanban musume) employed at the water side tea-houses and merchants (McClain 1994:124–5). It was famous for its fish and rice markets, stockpiles of lumber, elegant dry-goods stores and numerous storage-buildings along the river. Nihonbashi was also a place of protests and riots.80 The congested condition that characterized Nihonbashi expanded towards Yokohama, which by 1859, according to foreign visitors, looked like a suburb of Yedo (Notehelfer 1992:29). The Tōkaidō was also in proximity to the most famous sakariba of Kyoto. The entrance of the road to the city was at Sanjō Bridge, which was the most important commercial road, concentrating a variety of amenities for visitors and locals, such as inns, fan shops, kilns for baking pottery, workshops for bronze mirrors and temple bells (Cole 1967:73). In direct propinquity with Sanjō was the famous geisha district Gion and the amusement district of Shijō that were frequented by thousands of visitors who gathered at the banks of the Kamo River. Sakariba have been always related to mobility. If in the contemporary Japanese city sakariba have been formed around traffic nodes,81 in the early modern era they were traffic intersections, like the Ryōgokubashi and the poststations, or ‘worlds within walls,’ like the theater and pleasure quarters.82 Nishiyama (1963) has described the culture of the Edo period as one that required constant movement in order to view changing natural phenomena or to participate in festivals. Within this culture, highways and their post-stations figured in the public imagination as places of informality and release, where one could come into contact with the extraordinary, the sacred and the marginal. Post-stations, having been created artificially by the authorities rather than emerging from the local community were different from the castle-towns, which followed a restricted hierarchical system and were surrounded by an inaccessible system of moats. Post-stations lacked the symbolic core of a castle-town and consisted of an impermanent society of travelers: monks, beggars, commoners, samurai, nuns, street performers, prostitutes, storytellers, puppeteers and misemono (carnival) troupes. As Miwa has suggested, the inescapable social ties of the Edo period namely kinship, occupation and social status, were diminished at such border-sites: ‘Going to the post-station meant release from the community or the group to which one belonged’ (Miwa 1994:128). The thriving of the post-stations, and of sakariba in general, owes much to the logic of the marketplace as it developed in Edo Japan. As McClain asserts, sakariba materialized in the context of the merchants’ emergent economic power and their gaining rights of land use (1994:129). For Isomura, sakariba provide

144 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

products other than those needed in the closed local society, ‘objects which are discovered, invented and devised’ (Isomura 1955:8–10; Yoshimi 1987:86–7). Post-stations were indeed associated with novelties and festivities that are vividly described in guidebooks and travel accounts. Besides local meibutsu products and other special items sold on the highways, misemono shows could be seen while traveling from one city to another. At times they carried various oddities, such as exhibits that included human freaks, while highway spectacles also included the passage of exotic animals, such as an elephant which was taken from Vietnam via Nagasaki to Edo.83 The processions of foreign embassies were exceptional chances for the commoners to see foreign nationals. In the late Edo period, male and especially female westerners daring to walk or ride a horse along the road were objects of curiosity to the Japanese, as was their gadgetry. Highways functioned as places equivalent to our contemporary media, places where news and rumors circulated rapidly through by word of mouth or the official signboards that announced the ordinances of the local authorities. According to Yoshimi sakariba are places of psychological uplifting, where people gather and become excited, as at a festival. Sakariba function as ‘urban stage[s],’ places where people are both the audience and the actors, sharing the same illusions or lifestyles (Yoshimi 1987:16–17). In sakariba the original identity of a person may be disguised and people are free to act in ways that do not accord with their social standing. Thus the culture of play (asobi)84 is an essential element of sakariba. Play was highly aestheticized in the Edo period, signaling a form of ‘breaking connections’ (engiri) with the world of politics, work and living space (Harootunian 1991:24). According to Johan Huizinga ‘play is a ritualized spatial and temporal process’ for which, ‘a closed space is marked out… either materially or ideally, hedged off from the everyday surroundings’ (1949: 19). Post-stations were marked off by gates that prohibited entrance or exit before sunrise and after sunset, thus creating the conditions for an environment of separateness, within which, despite the wishes of the bakufu, the culture of the floating world could flourish. Sakariba were also known as akubasho (bad places) since they were related with the indulgence of the body and licentious morals. As Isomura has postulated, sakariba attract ‘the extra-ordinary, the excessive behavior, and phenomena of social disease, such as prostitution, homelessness and delinquency’ (Isomura 1954:139; Yoshimi 1987:93). The inns at the post-stations had a number of so-called meshimori onna, women ‘who attended on the travelers at table and also at night’ (Vaporis 1994:81). According to a poster entitled ‘Shokoku yūjo seri banzuke’ (Ranking chart of prostitutes in various provinces)—similar to those announcing sumo (wrestling) tournaments— Shin Yoshiwara ranked first, with Shinagawa, Okazaki, Yoshida, Odawara and Kanagawa following (Hayashi 1993). For instance, at Furuichi, the renowned entertainment district that lay next to the holy site of Ise, there were ‘the most interesting brothels in the land’ (Fujitani 1981:70–1; Vaporis 1995:3). Ukiyo no arisama (The state of this transient world), written in early nineteenth century, provides information about incidents of ‘antinomianism and lust,’ that were

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 145

typical of pilgrimage periods and were related to graveyards, brothels, nudity and exhibitionism (Davis 1983:107–8). For these reasons, foreign travelers who happened to be on the road found post-stations hostile and dangerous places. According to Mitford: The tea-houses of Shinagawa, the suburb of Edo nearest to Yokohama, could tell many a story of deadly encounters. More than once, riding through that sinister and ill-famed quarter at early dawn, we would come upon bloody traces of the night’s debauch. Under the heady fumes of the hot sake men’s blood would boil to fever-point. (Cortazzi 1985:17) Similarly, Francis Hall described Shinagawa as a place ‘where all the fast youth and dissolute soldiery of Yedo resort for riot and drunkenness’ (February 3, 1863; Notehelfer 1992:464). Railway stations as border-sites: between performance and spectacle After the restoration of the Emperor in 1868 post-stations were abolished and highways were supplemented with railroads. Railway stations were built in agreement with the overall principles of the Meiji state’s spatial ideals, according to which urbanism and architecture became a tool for introducing civilization and the agency of the state. The main premises behind the Meiji state’s urban plans were a desire to create a cityscape that replicated western forms and was conducive to economic prosperity, and an urge to create ‘permanent’ spaces (Phillips 1996:110) that promoted the wellbeing of the citizenry in terms of both hygiene and moral health. In order to achieve these goals one of the Ministry of the Interior’s priorities was to change the unsanitary and cramped conditions of pre-modern Japanese cities by removing the slums from the urban centers and eliminating the backstreets and alleyways from Tokyo (Jinnai 1995:128–9). Railway stations, and with them buildings such as the city hall, banks, universities, post offices or even meat shops, were symbolic of the ‘era of civilization and enlightenment’ and became popular in the iconography of that period. Railway stations functioned as the front-stage of official representation, promoting new urban models and public behaviors, while at the same time operating as the back-stage of the townsmen’s activities, incorporating the informal character of the Edo period’s sakariba. Thus, a double process can be detected in the dynamic formation of the stations and their surrounding areas: productivity, efficiency and authoritative control on the one hand; informality, diversion and private, often illicit, initiatives on the other.

146 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Front stage If by the end of the Edo period the Tokugawa’s earlier emphasis on architecture had become more muted, taking the form of, for example, gateways (Coaldrake 2003:147–8), in the Meiji era, architecture regained its symbolic function and became a tool of ideology. Several of the early Meiji stations were built by western architects, and they were wood-framed buildings faced with brick. The stations proclaimed westernization not only through their choice of material and style but also through their name, suten-sho,85 a transliteration of the word ‘station’ that was in later eras replaced by the word eki (still in use). The opening ceremonies for the new station buildings, especially these for Shinbashi and Yokohama, were groundbreaking and exciting events for the public. Not only would Japanese populations have their first encounter of the railway station and of the steam-engine, a technological marvel of the era in the hands of a foreign driver (a British man, Thomas Heart); most importantly they would also have the rare chance to see the Meiji Emperor (1852–1912, r. 1867–1912) who inaugurated the sites. Indeed, during the opening ceremony, the Emperor appeared at both sites making a round-trip along the line by the steam-engine (Aoki 1994a:29). The physical presence of the Emperor, a figure physically unknown until Edo Japan, marked a new era in the Japanese politics. Thus the openings of railway stations boosted the formation of a modern national identity mediating between the world of politics and culture. In addition, the new social stratification of the Meiji era was reflected in the design of station buildings as well as inside the trains. The interiors of both were divided into three classes (as was also the case with the fares) while Kyoto station had imperial rooms reserved exclusively for the Emperor’s visits. Shinbashi and Yokohama stations—the first stations in Japan—were built identically by the American architect R.P.Bridgens. Shinbashi station was a symmetrical ‘plain and unassuming’ two-storey building, hailed by the western press as ‘the soundest and most testily constructed’ building in Japan (The Far East, October 2, 1871; in Meech-Pekarik 1986:88) (see Figure 50). Locating Tokyo’s Central station near the renovated area of Ginza was a means of improving the reputation of this previously impoverished area, which went through a major beautification process in the Meiji era. Shinbashi station excited the public imagination and was depicted innumerable times in woodblocks and photographs. We can see one of its depictions in Utagawa Yoshitora’s (active c. 1850–80) ‘Shibaguchi Shiodome bashi yori tetsudō kan ichiran no zu’ (Railway at a glance from Shibaguchi Shiodome bridge) (Plate 24), a print from 1874, where the station building appears fenced, having a landscape configuration within its premises, implying that its precincts were controlled by the authorities and not available for unauthorized public activities. Nagoya station (see Figure 29), built in 1886, and known as ‘Sasajima stensho’ was an example of an average functional station building. This building should be distinguished from the station of the private Kansai Railroad Company, which stood only 500

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 147

meters away and was built in the popular ‘Neo-Renaissance’ style, becoming known as ‘the gate of Nagoya city.’ By 1898, medium and small stations were based upon a model designed by the railway agency (tetsudō-kōji-sekkei-sankōzumeri). The typical building was a long clapboard structure, with a central entrance, sheltering roofs running along the front and back and a second-storey in the middle. It also had decorated gables at either end, tall windows and contained the obligatory parlor for important guests (Finn 1995:142). The station buildings in the urban areas gradually became more monumental, symbolically reflecting the state’s authority. They also became more public in character, because they were used so much and because of the concentration of public facilities around them. Conversely, in the case of regional, recreational or historical centers neo-traditional, ‘temple,’ ‘shrine,’ or ‘mountain-cottage’ styles were adopted. For instance Nijō station (1904) in Kyoto is said to have been modeled after Heian shrine (Kōken Sekkei Ekiken Guruppu 1994:58, 116). The economic prosperity of the station areas was indisputable. Local industry and tourism expanded because of the railway, as indicated by the Report on Life in the Meiji Period: 1. When a railway station was opened about one ri away all goods were converted into money, and living conditions changed greatly. 2. When a station was installed at a distance of a half ri or a ri away all freight (principally lumber, firewood, and charcoal) began to flow into the station, from whence it was shipped to the vicinity of Kyoto. 3. When a station was built, hotels, and shops were built in front of it, and silk, ice, and tea factories sprang up in the vicinity. A new street line with the houses of railway workers appeared. 4. A lumber yard appeared near the station and became the center of lumber deliveries. 5. Guests at the local water springs became more numerous, and lumber shipments more convenient. (Shibusawa 1958:219) Private companies took advantage of such environments, choosing the station areas as profitable sites for establishing their businesses. State-owned station buildings attracted a large number of commercial buildings, initiating what later developed into ‘cluster-typologies.’ Back stage In the Meiji era, as the official policy was to try to sweep away the remains of Japan’s pre-modern past, most of the highways were desolate and fell into decline. Several of the post-stations that happened to be crossed by newly established railway lines were supplied with a railway station. Their

148 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

development followed a path that was in accordance with the new state’s ideals of wellbeing, that aimed to reduce any remains of prostitution and idleness characteristic of Edo-period traveling culture. For instance, the former poststation Shinagawa, famous for its red-light district in the Edo period, soon became a quiet, respectable neighborhood with shops and factories, and even fashionable residences (Cortazzi 1985:17–18). As the urban historian Jinnai has shown, however, the anthropological structure of the Edo period, and the need for intimate and disorderly spaces could not be wiped out by the Meiji state’s rationalization plans. Back-streets flourished behind the newly established main streets or new monuments, such as Ginza in Tokyo or at Shinsaibashi-suji district behind the new Midōsuji Avenue in Osaka. The mixture of the extraordinary, intimate and informal that characterized Edo urban culture was thus revitalized, even in the most restrictive circumstances. Japanese literature of the Meiji era offers abundant descriptions of Japanese stations as places of social diversity, where encounters with people of different backgrounds and social classes were likely to occur. According to Fujimoto’s description of Shinbashi station: Ascending the stone steps, you pass the entrance and fall into the whirlpool of people. Pushing through the throngs, you approach the first and secondclass waiting-room where you find ladies and gentlemen in traveling costumes…. Porters of red caps are carrying bags and trunks for the train. In the ladies’ waiting-room, on the opposite side, you can see some six or seven young and old ladies of the peer’s rank, attended by their chambermaids. Then you come to the large waiting-room for the thirdclass passengers; men and women who constantly come in and out of the room are about to shock with you, and their chatters and idle talks with loud voice are raising a confused noise within the room. Most of the people assembled in this room are rustics; some dangle a cotton bag from their neck, and some carry baggages on the shoulder…. Coming round into the spacious part of the station which leads to the wickets, news-boys are crying for the evening press, and at one corner of the place you find a nicely-decorated shop of miscellaneous articles…. On the wall, near the shop, large square looking-glasses, with advertisement pictures on their broad frames serve for dandies to touch their hair or tie…. Along the wide frontage rikisha, carriages, and motor-cars are prepared in rows and waiting for guests. (Fujimoto 1927:77–9) Sōseki’s novels also describe the striking mixture of farmers coming from the still-unmodernized regions of Japan, foreigners and upper-class passengers. In fact, in the Meiji era the stations were the only buildings where common Japanese could coexist with foreigners, making them exciting places to be, especially for the lower classes and people from the provinces who had no other

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 149

chance of such encounters. Needless to say, foreign establishments such as the Rokumeikan (Hall of the Baying Stag), a European-style ballroom dance-hall built by the British architect Josiah Conder in 1883, were open only to upperclass Japanese. In the Meiji era, most of the station buildings were located at the urban borders; this is because most of the cities were densely built and had no central spaces available for the construction of the railway station and the passage of the railroads. An exception to this was Tokyo, where a lot of empty, centrally located lots that previously functioned as shogunal or daimyō grounds were given to the Meiji government and were transformed into public facilities. Osaka station was built in the still rural and inexpensive area of Umeda, while Kyoto station was built in the south of the city. The construction of the stations was followed by major urban works that gradually transformed previously undeveloped areas into new urban centers, without however eliminating their character as border-sites. In the case of Nagoya, the initial proposal was to position the railway station in Atsuta which was a post-station of the Tōkaidō highway in the Edo period known as Miya. However, due to the hierarchically higher position of Nagoya, which was a former castle-town and subsequently the capital of Aichi prefecture, it was decided that the national station had to be built at the borders of Nagoya city. Although the selected spot was marshy and desolate, the major infrastructural and architectural renovations that followed the construction of the railway radically transformed the area in to an important urban node. First, the erection of the station building was followed by the extension of Hirokōji road (a fire-break opened in the Edo period), that connected the central Sakae-machi area with the station. Hirokōji road was soon lined with commercial western-style two-storey buildings and became equipped with electrified trolley-line in 1898. Soon after, the station area started concentrating a number of national and private railway lines that set up their operations close by, while Nagoya station became a node for various means of transportation, and became notorious for the large number of rickshaws that gathered in its front square. However, the back of the station developed a parasitic relationship with the front, a character that survives today. It attracted cheap hotels and various illicit activities, such as prostitution and the black market in World War II. We should not assume, however, that within the Meiji-era morality pleasure quarters had to be hidden from public sight. On the contrary, as the Atsuta meishō (The famous sights of Atsuta) and Nagoya meishō (The famous sights of Nagoya) series of prints reveal, sites of enlightenment such as Nagoya station are indiscriminately mixed with views of Atsuta prostitute quarters. The last, busy as ever, appear now electrified and accompanied by a picture of the famous Atsuta shrine on the right top (Plate 23), showing once again that pleasure and religion were not seen as confrontational. As discussed earlier, in Tokyo, it was no accident that Shinbashi station was built in direct propinquity with Ginza, comprising the most westernized area of the city. The selection of the sites corresponds to the sanitizing and civilizing

150 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

plans of the state. Shinbashi station and Ginza were positioned in Shitamachi area, that was known as the hub of the commoners (chōnin) culture. The center of Shitamachi was Nihonbashi, the entrance of the Tōkaidō highway to the city, while Ginza Street itself was a part of the Tōkaidō highway. The reconstruction of Ginza-Shinbashi area was directed mainly towards eliminating the traces of Edo chōnin culture and expelling the lower classes from the urban center of Tokyo.86 However, despite the efforts of the government this area continued to keep the character it had in the Edo period. In the Edo period Shinbashi was famous for its unlicensed pleasure quarters in houses and boathouses along the river. Shinbashi remained one of the most celebrated geisha-quarters (karyūkai, ‘world of flowers and willows’) and was visited even by Meiji statesmen, such as Itō Hirobumi and Katsura Tarō (1848– 1913) (Waley 1984:87). Those quarters provided a distinct character to Ginza and accordingly attracted dance-rooms, billiard halls, famous hairdressers, etc. (Fujimoto 1927:41–2). Since the Edo period, the alleys in Ginza had been the slum quarters inhabited by the insignificant people of the lower classes, whose traces proved impossible to eliminate. Despite the brick buildings, the railway, and the separate car and pedestrian lanes of Ginza-Shinbashi axis, the city was of two minds about it. ‘Everyone wanted to look at it, but not many wanted to live in it…. The buildings were found to be damp, stuffy, vulnerable to mildew and otherwise ill adapted to the Japanese climate’ (Seidensticker 1983:59–61). Soon the only people who inhabited the area were outcasts, such as acrobats, jugglers and itinerant entertainers. By 1872—through the attempts of the government to attract new inhabitants—geisha-houses and provincial newspaper offices moved there (Waley 1984:89). In 1877 the renovation plan was totally abandoned. According to Seidensticker: The southern end of Ginza, towards Shinbashi station attracted two great bazaars, each containing large numbers of small shops. The youth of Ginza…loved to go strolling there, because from the back windows the Shinbashi geisha district could be seen preparing itself for a night’s business. (1983:62) Thus, the renovated Ginza in fact provided an opportunity to observe the city’s dark side, that lay behind the renowned westernized buildings. Tōkaidō and visuality Pictorial Tōkaidō in the Edo period We should have to study not only the history of space, but also the history of representations, along with that of their relationships —

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 151

with each other, with practice, and with ideology. Taking into account their genesis, but also interconnections, distortions, displacements, mutual interactions and their links with the spatial practice of the particular society or mode of production under consideration. (Lefebvre 1991:42) Pictures reflect not only the perceptible experience of the viewing subjects but also correspond to projections and idealizations of broader communities that consist of sponsors, artists and spectators. In the case of Edo-period imagery we are confronted with lineages of images that are addressed to an audience of high textual and visual literacy, an audience that has the ability to decipher latent symbolisms, associations, mutations and parodies, being in return rewarded with empowerment and gratification. As discussed above, post-stations played a major role within the politics of Edoperiod life as spaces of public performance, symbolism and imagination. For such reasons, stations became the subject of celebrated representations that overlaid material presence with cultural significance. The symbolic significance of the stations and their privileged qualities owe much to the way they were depicted by the artists of Japan, who managed to capture their atmosphere in their artworks, producing memorable images that evoked the desire of people to travel. At the same time, artists projected mental images onto the realm of traveling that gave it a special role within the collective imagination of the Japanese society. The study of the imagery of the Tōkaidō in the Edo period presents evidence of a culture within which physical objects are appropriated by desires and imaginings, hence overcoming their mundane character. In what follows I will make a distinction between the production of images of the Tōkaidō under the auspices of the authorities and that of artists of the ukiyo-e, bearing in mind however that this distinction is only schematic, as the boundaries between the two, especially by the late eighteenth century, became greatly blurred. Stylistic subdivisions of the official arts include the Kanō school patronized by the Tokugawa, the imperial school Tosa-Sumiyoshi, the scholastic Chinese school Bunjinga, Kōrin or Rinpa style and Buddhist arts. Some of the provinces, as for example that of the Satsuma clan, lent great support to the scholarship known as rangaku, which resulted in the production of artworks based on western methods. These styles did not remain isolated in the confines of palaces and castles. On the contrary they became widespread in the realm of popular culture. We can classify ukiyo-e, Ōtsu-e and the school of realism founded at Kyoto by the painter Mamyama-Shijō as popular arts of the Edo period. Many of the popular artists had classical training and often combined or shifted between various styles. The content of the high art, however, was greatly altered through its spread into the realm of the commoners. Although some motifs (such as the meisho) might have remained unaffected as signifiers, their significance was

152 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

often lowered, mocked or questioned, according to the taste and critical intentions of artists and spectators. The appreciation of the popular culture of the Edo period also spread far beyond the class of the commoners, and its products were favored even by samurai and military leaders (daimyō). For instance, decorative elements of screen paintings found in merchant homes were, through the synthesizing efforts of the Rinpa school, transferred into decorative paintings for samurai households. Especially by the late eighteenth century, professional distinctions between those who did work for the official samurai class and those who did work for lesser social orders were increasingly blurred, as we see in the cases of the painters Ōkyo, Kōkan and even Bunchō (Clark 1986:214). The Tōkaidō in the official arts of the Edo period The enormous popularity of the Tōkaidō in the popular arts should not lead us to believe that official painters had a dislike for it. Beyond the depiction of the Tōkaidō as a topographical space that will be examined below, we should also mention the scrolls that depicted narrative aspects associated with Japan’s highways. These were named gyōretsu emaki (processions handscrolls) and aimed at representing processions of the daimyō during their sankin kōtai obligation, or those by foreign embassies on the way to visit the shōgun in Edo. The last may be considered as forms of recordkeeping in an age before the invention of the camera, that were meant to help the daimyō cope with the protocol demands related to receiving foreign embassies (Toby 1986:436). At the same time, they held high symbolic value, aiming at representing either the daimyō’s prestige or the foreigners’ submission to the authority of the shōgun. Japanese authorities, shōgun and daimyō, commissioned their official artists to depict in a stereotypical manner the hierarchical order and paraphernalia kept in such parades, hardly ever paying any attention to the landscapes, as seen in the depiction of the procession of the lord of Numazu Mizuno Dewanokami in Plate 7. It is interesting to note that most of the daimyō’s scrolls present the procession as leaving from Edo facing left (as was the practice in China and Korea), while most of the foreign embassies are presented facing right, as if on their way to Edo, thus emphasizing their submission to the authority of the shōgun. The direction of such processions may be regarded as an implicit political statement of the patrons of the artwork. Interestingly enough, popular depictions of the same events, by artists such as Okumura Masanobu (1690– 1768) depict the processions frontally, seen from an impossible viewpoint, or even, one may say, by the eyes of the shōgun himself, rather than by the commoners, who were obliged to stand at the sides of the street; thus signifying a metaphorical appropriation of the authoritative gaze by the public. The Tōkaidō road included a number of utamakura, toponyms that were celebrated in Japanese poetry and attracted the interest of artists who wished to portray such localities according to the tradition of the meisho-e, pictures of the famous places usually dissociated from the playful ukiyo-e culture. Mount Fuji,

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 153

Tōkaidō’s meisho par excellence, was depicted frequently by official artists, as viewed from famous places such as Miho no matsubara, Tago no ura or Satta pass, places that obtained their fame precisely because of their view of the sacred mountain. A major source of inspiration for such depictions was Narihira’s trip to the east, as described in Ise monogatari which had been popular since the fifteenth century, especially among Tosa artists. The unseasonal coating of Mount Fuji with snow at episode 9, ‘Azuma-kudari: Fujinoyama’ (Journey to the east: Mount Fuji) led to the composition of the following poem: Fuji is a mountain/That knows no seasons./What times does it take this for,/that it should be dappled/With fallen snow? (McCullough 1986:76) This scene has been depicted in a great number of paintings, such as Kanō Tunenobu’s (1636–1713) Ariwara Narihira azuma kudari no zu (The picture of Ariwara Narihira’s trip down to the east) (Plate 10), Ogata Kōrin’s (1658–1716) Narihira azuma kudari and Sumiyoshi Jokei’s (1599–1670) Azuma-kudari: Fujinoyama (Journey to the east: Mount Fuji), which was painted in Tosa school style (Clark 2001:26). Kantō region at the eastern end of the Tōkaidō was also known for its view of Mount Fuji, which was a peculiar one. This was Musashino no Fuji, the view of the mountain from the plain of Musashino, a plain with a striking flatness that had been refered to in poems like the following: The plain of Musashi: no mountains for the moon to enter; it rises from the grasses, sinks back into the grass. (Smith 1986b:22) The celebration of a distant view of the mountain from a flat plain (which was so different from the close-up views of the mountains around Kyoto that the readers were used to reading about in topophilic descriptions of earlier eras) was a novelty of the Edo period. In the seventeenth century, Mount Fuji as viewed from Musashino made its appearance in genre painting, especially in works by Rinpa artists. Official representations of the sacred mountain as seen from locales not mentioned in poetry are uncommon. An exception is by Nakamura Tetsugai (act. in Tenpō era, also known as Gakuren), an artist of samurai origin, who worked at the Kakegawa mansion in Edo. Nakamura Tetsugai produced a handscroll in ink and color that has been conventionally given the title Mount Fuji and the Tōkaidō highway (Plate 11). The depicted location is Naka-Yoshiwara, where the road made a characteristic zigzag. This meant that the travelers from Edo to Kyoto, who were accustomed until then to have Fuji on their right, were suddenly faced with Fuji on the left (hidari Fuji). Mount Fuji appears in its usual white-capped attire while the section of the Tōkaidō includes the linear

154 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

settlement of Naka-Yoshiwara and a view of the tree-lined road. This work is drawn in a free, painterly style that seems to combine elements from the Maruyama-Shijō and Bunchō schools, unlike other works by the same artist which are drawn in a stiff, detailed manner probably derivative from meisho zue publications (Clark 2001:33). Tsuta no hosomichi (the narrow ivy road) was another established meisho of the Tōkaidō that was depicted frequently in official arts. At Mount Utsu in Suruga province, Narihira and his companion came to a gloomy, narrow pass overgrown with ivy and other creepers. There they met a wandering ascetic who recognized Narihira as a courtier he had once known and he gave him a waka poem as a message for his lady in the capital: Beside Mount Utsu/In Suruga/I can see you/Neither waking/Nor, alas, even in my dreams. (McCullough 1986:75) Fukae Roshū (1699–1757) and Tawaraya Sōtatsu (?–1643) produced lavish landscape paintings on this subject accompanied by calligraphy (Watson 1981: 58, 71). Yatsuhashi at Mikawa Province was a celebrated subject that derived from Ise Monogatari and the Ensai shū (Poems of Ensai). The bridge’s complicated structure was explained by the myth that eight rivers came together at this spot, the same number as the legs of a spider. The bridge did not exist in the Edo period; it became the topic of numerous representations, however, as if it were still there. Most importantly, the bridge signified Narihira’s nostalgia for his motherland Kyoto, as it reminded him of a similar spot in Kyoto, and thus it was often used to hint at anti-shogunal sentiments. At Yatsuhashi, Narihira and his followers expressed their yearning by a series of nostalgic verses. Inspired by the blooming iris flowers in the water, each line of the poem starts with a syllable of the word kakitsubata that means iris in Japanese (Karagoromo/Kitsutsu nare ni shi/ Tsuma shi areba/Harubaru kinuru/Tabi o shi zo omou): I have a beloved wife/Familiar as the skirt/Of a well-worn robe, And so this distant journeying/Fills my heart with grief. (McCullough 1986:75) Yatsuhashi was painted by the Rinpa artists Ogata Kōrin (Figure 31) and Ogata Kenzan (1663–1743) ‘with an economy of motif and a maximum of sumptuousness’ (Takeuchi 1998:269). The same bridge in the late Edo period became the subject of the ‘Mikawa no Yatsuhashi no kozu’ (A view of the eightfold bridge of Mikawa) (Figure 32), printed by Hokusai in his series Shokoku meikyō kiran (Famous views of bridges in all provinces) and it also appears in almost all guidebooks of the Edo period. As the bridge did not exist in their day,

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 155

Figure 31 Ogata Kōrin, Iris and Bridge, c. 1709–11, pair of six-fold screens, paint on paper, 179.07×371.475 cm (Courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art).

all the above works were based on poetic memory and the validity of the topic as a meisho. One of the major official painters of the eighteenth to nineteenth centuries, Tani Bunchō, created at least two works that deal with the subject-matter of the Tōkaidō in the sansuiga style (pictures of mountains—san and water— sui). The first entitled Kōyo tanshōzu (Views from and inspection tour of the coast) is a scroll in which some of the eighty images derive from the Tōkaidō itinerary.87 The second is a complete work on the Tōkaidō subject entitled Tōkaidō shōkei (Superior views of the Tōkaidō) (Figure 33) which, though unsigned, is believed to be the work of the artist. This is an exceptionally wide handscroll, 57 cm in width, one of the largest, if not the largest, ever painted in Japan (Chance 2002). It was painted around 1820 on the order of the daimyō of Kumamoto, Hosokawa Narishige who wrote the inscriptions on the outside of the scroll and on its box. The handscroll consists of twenty scenes, stretching from Shinagawa to Ōtsu,

156 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 32 ‘Mikawa no Yatsuhashi no kozu’ (A view of the eight-fold bridge of Mikawa). From Hokusai, Shokoku meikyō kiran (Famous views of bridges in all provinces), Eijudō (publ.), c. 1834, woodblock print 24.8×38 cm (Courtesy of the Honolulu Academy of Arts. Gift of James A.Michener, 1970 (15,935)).

eight of which include Mount Fuji. Each scene also features a brief caption, indicating the site from which it was viewed; several (but not all) of these correspond to the fifty-three stages of the Tōkaidō. One of Bunchō’s main interests is obviously Mount Fuji, which expands into an overpowering presence, dwarfing the travelers and the highway below. We should note that Tani Bunchō visited western Japan in 1794, 1795, 1806 and 1820, and all his visits involved travel along the Tōkaidō highway. Mount Fuji looms unrealistically large in this work, which shows that the symbolic height of the mountain, and possibly of other localities depicted by the artist, was more important than that he actually encountered during his trip. This should not make us assume that the artist did not have an interest in realistic representations, however. His early work Kōyo tanshōzu, of 1793, shows surprisingly realistic views of Mount Fuji, with topographical details far exceeding the mere depiction of the silhouette of the mountain (Chance 2002). This emphasis on the holy mountain as a subject is symptomatic of the official artists’ interest in the landscape, and it was meant to satisfy the taste of the highclass audiences for whom the works were intended, rather than the demands of a buying public. We should not forget that the Hosokawa family, the owners of the work, about 200 years before had commissioned another project on the same subject, the garden-replica of the Tōkaidō in Kumamoto (Plate 5). Chance makes an interesting remark about the relation between the handscroll and its audience,

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 157

Figure 33 ‘Ōigawa Kanaya zaka no chōbō’ (Panorama of Ōi River from the slope of Kanaya). From Tani Bunchō, Tōkaidō shōkei (Superior views of the Tōkaidō), c. 1820, handscroll, color on paper, 56.2×26,428 cm (overall scroll) (Courtesy of the Eisei Collection).

which in these times was almost exclusively limited to the owner of the handscroll and his guests and, like all such artifacts, was relegated to the private, feminine realm of the mansion. Was Hosokawa Narishige trying to make a not-so-subtle political statement about ‘ownership’ of the landscape, in commissioning this work, keeping it, and, presumably, viewing it from time to time? Another possibility is that he wanted to share the work with his wife and children who, by contrast with the feudal lord himself, could not travel (legally) outside the borders of Edo. Did he want the pictures to show them the Tōkaidō, in an intimate setting, so he could explain his sankin-kōtai trips? (Chance 2002) Whether alluding to personal experience or symbolic ‘ownership’ for both Hosokawa, a lord and Bunchō, a privileged samurai, the experience of travel was far removed from that of ordinary citizens, thus they did indeed have the luxury of concentrating on the conceptual and the poetic rather than the practical and mundane details of travel. Tani Bunchō’s work, however, does not fall into stereotypes in an unconscious way. As is obvious in some of his work, as well as that of other literati artists, the need to approach the real scene before proceeding with painting was claimed in both artistic debates and practices. In fact, ever since the Kamakura period the validity of fixed models in the depiction of meisho as an imperial subject had been questioned and accuracy demanded for geopolitical purposes. Thus an interest in visiting and directly experiencing the place developed on the side of both the Emperor and the artists. The case of the official artist Kanō Tan’yū

158 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

(1602–74), who produced a tiny handscroll of impromptu sketches in 1662 during his trip to Kyoto, illuminates the changing relation between meisho and sight in the Edo period.88 Although the impact of Tan’yū’s sketches is not visible in the final works produced after his trip, which follow the conventions of the Kanō school, one should not disregard the interest of the artist in painting from reality. According to Melinda Takeuchi, the sketches of Tan’yū show Fuji six times en route between Hakone and Yoshiwara, avoiding conventions of brushwork and attempting to reconstruct forms as they appear in nature. Fuji’s summit is rendered in its true shape instead of the symmetrical three-peaked form that dominated traditional depictions like a template (Takeuchi 1992:121). Such works, which transcend the conventions of meisho-e, should be classified as shinkeizu or true views. Shinkeizu, however, should not be assumed to be simply external vistas objectively seen by the eyes of the artists, but are rather ‘mind landscapes’ as apprehended by the artist as a ‘superior man’ (Takeuchi 1989:5– 9). Besides their differences in artistic styles, what distinguishes most of the official paintings of the Tōkaidō from the popular ones is the sheer interest of the first in the landscape, a honorable, established subject of Japanese visual arts.89 On the contrary, the body of ukiyo-e imagery that we will study below is populated by a variety of travelers, allowing for a process of identification between spectators and subjects of representation. The Tōkaidō in the popular arts of the Edo period It is without doubt that the best-known work on the Tōkaidō subject is Hiroshige’s Hōeidō series entitled Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō). Hiroshige’s idea of creating a series on the Tōkaidō theme did not emerge in a vacuum. Not only were the great variety of maps and guidebooks, already discussed, Hiroshige’s predecessors, but also numerous Tōkaidō series were produced earlier by other artists. As Lane maintains, although maps and guidebooks of the Tōkaidō were popular during the centuries before Hiroshige: the Tōkaidō theme was rather slow in breaking into the print market. Before the nineteenth century a full set of the fifty-five prints…would have been beyond the means of the average citizen, and representations of portions of the highway were not very meaningful to a citizenry interested primarily in the subject matter rather than in the art itself. As prints came to be mass produced for a more plebeian audience, however, their price (and sometimes their quality) fell, and more extensive series on a particular theme became feasible. More important was the fact that at the same time interest in the various details of Tōkaidō life increased, and the way was paved for a ‘Tōkaidō boom’ in both literature and art. In literature the most

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 159

notable production was Ikku’s famous Tōkaidō hizakurige published between 1802 and 1809. (Lane 1978:176) I see the Tōkaidō print series format as a combination of two traditions: the lineage of dōchūki on one hand and the tradition of ukiyo-e on the other. As we have seen, dōchūki is a framework of linear representations that obtained a variety of shapes, varying from long narrative emakimono, spiral sugoroku or unfolding labyrinthine maps to bound guidebooks. An important difference between bound guidebooks and road-maps is that they break the road continuum into views of distinct parts, each of which appears on a separate page. With this, they also imply the action of looking at, rather than reading, which is characteristic of narrative media. In the print series of the Tōkaidō, or Kisokaidō—which also became a popular subject of representation—the sheets become detached from each other, thus breaking even the temporal continuity of the journey, which is thus only hinted by the titles of the prints, each referring to a distinct stage of the itinerary. It is important to note that most of the Tōkaidō print series are drawn as ‘landscapes with figures,’ a development of ukiyo-e that appeared in the early nineteenth century. Through the Edo period, ukiyo-e developed from early prints or paintings that focused most attention on the figure, toward a growing interest in the depiction of the landscape. The representation of the landscape started as the background of domestic or outdoor scenes and developed toward the visual unification of the ‘landscape with figures’ that we see in early nineteenth-century prints. When the ‘landscape with figures’ style was produced, ukiyo-e’s golden age was already past; nevertheless ‘landscapes with figures’ have been rated highly by art critics. This is mainly because of their frequent use of the perspective technique as a compositional method, which is strongly related to an often false hypothesis that most of them are based on life-sketches. The validity of attributing value to a work of art on the basis of such characteristics can be largely questioned. As Timon Screech and other historians have argued, perspective in Edo Japan was not related to realism, but was rather a pictorial style used for the representation of illusionary subjects such as kabuki theater (Screech 1994:58–69). Thus in most of these cases, with the exception of rangaku artworks, the use of perspective was removed from the scientific concerns with which its emergence in the European Renaissance was associated, and one may safely claim that it was just mechanically applied. Second, the assumption that realism is superior to nonrealism is a proposition that cannot be maintained in art criticism after modernism. Furthermore, many of these works that were indeed drawn from an artist’s experience of reality, still derive much from what is already known rather than from what has been seen with the artists’ own eyes. Trying to avoid such models of evaluation, I will identify three broader contexts that encouraged the growing emphasis on the landscape, culminating in the development of the ‘landscape with figures’ style at the end of the Edo period.

160 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

The first is related to the growing awareness of national space. Within the international political climate of the late Edo period a growing consciousness of the importance of the borders and the precise recording of the topography arose. Thus cartography and topographical recordings had a strong influence on ukiyo-e production. The second context is related to the appropriation of meisho subjects (previously accessible mainly to aristocrats and intellectuals) by the popular arts, indicating the empowerment of the commoners and their expansion to previously restricted domains. A third context that encouraged the emphasis on landscape was the restrictions imposed by the Tenpō reforms (1841–3). These reforms prohibited the representation of artists and courtesans, as well as the recognizable facial features of real people, that had been the favorite subjects of ukiyo-e. Accordingly, artists had to turn to seemingly ‘safe’ subject-matters, such as landscapes. Early Tōkaidō series The first series on the Tōkaidō subject were made around the dawn of the nineteenth century by Kitagawa Utamaro (1753–1808), Utagawa Toyohiro and Katsushika Hokusai. The dating of these early series however is quite unclear. Utamaro’s series Bijin ichidai gojūsan tsugi (The lives of beautiful women along with the fifty-three stations) may well be the first series of the Tōkaidō, designed around 1795.90 These prints included portraits of women rather than entire figures, combined with insets of the Tōkaidō stations at the top. Combining portrayals of women with other celebrated subjects was usual for Utamaro, who also compared bijin with flowers or famous places, such as the views of Ōmi. In his Tōkaidō series it is obvious that Utamaro’s main interest lies in the female figures, who are always drawn in pairs, rather than the landscape, which appears highly schematized. The inset of the print of Odawara (Figure 34) presents a stereotypical view of its castle and two schematically drawn fellow-travelers, à la Yaji and Kita. In the foreground we see two women, who may be a pair of courtesans considering that Odawara was famous for its pleasure quarters. According to Yoshida Teruji, the series did not get beyond Fuchū, despite Utamaro’s intention to complete the depiction of the fifty-five stations. Based on the texts that are inscribed on the Marujin version of the series (missing from the one depicted here), Yoshida assumes that Utamaro’s purpose was to provide a catalogue of female emotions, including women of a variety of social classes (Yoshida 1971:81–2). Almost at the same time, probably in 1804, Toyohiro, whose work often shows the influence of Utamaro, published a series of miniature prints entitled Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō) on which there are freehand inscriptions of kyōka poetry.91 It is important to note that Toyohiro is the first member of the Utagawa family to produce a Tōkaidō series.92 As Narazaki has commented:

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 161

there is a sort of souvenir note to most of the designs of the Toyohiro series, and many of them are, in fact, rather similar to our travel postcards of today. Some of the prints illustrate historical events; some show glimpses of scenery; others show the meibutsu for which many of the Tōkaidō stations were noted. The fact that none of the prints has the seal of the publisher probably means that these prints were not distributed for sale, but were privately printed in order to be given to the kyōka poets whose poems are prominently featured on the prints. (Narazaki 1975:174) In the period 1802 to 1810, the leading ukiyo-e artist Hokusai, who had received multifaceted training under the ukiyo-e master Katsukawa Shunshō (c. 1726–93), the Kanō-painter Yūsen (1778–1815) and the rangaku scholar Shiba Kōkan, produced a number of series on the Tōkaidō subject.93 His famous Fugaku 36 kei (Thirty-six views of Mount Fuji) also contained images of famous places of the Tōkaidō (Hodogaya, Umezawa, Hakone, Mishima, Tago no ura, Miho and Yoshida). Hokusai’s Tōkaidō print series have not been highly esteemed by art critics. As Takahashi Seichirō (1884–?) remarked in 1942: Now looking at a set of his [1802] pictures consisting of vertical mediumsized nishiki-e, we perceive in them nothing shaky in the established order of the feudalism. This effect seems due to the fact that Hokusai was so feudalistic and Chinese-like in his style that his might almost be called an exception to the generally light-hearted spirit of ukiyo-e artists, but it also comes from the attitude of practically everybody depicted, which bespeaks a rigidity based upon socially fixed status or institutions. (Takahashi 1955:103) Lane agrees that these series were probably produced in a period when Hokusai was still ‘placing primary emphasis on figures rather than on landscape’ (Lane 1978:176). Moreover, Lane suggests that the reason for Hokusai’s emphasis on figures and the rather detached quality of the landscapes is the fact that these scenes were products of the artist’s imagination, rather than being based on actual sketches and experience (Lane 1989:68). Hokusai did indeed travel along the Tōkaidō after the production of his Tōkaidō series and before his Fugaku 36 kei. Thus comparisons of the two series attribute the high quality of the second to the artist’s first-hand experience of the landscape. Before we rush to arrive to such conclusions however, we should bear in mind that Hokusai’s successful landscapes are not infrequently based on fictitious perceptions. An example is the Tōkaidō panorama of 1818 (see Chapter 2). Although this artwork was also produced after Hokusai’s trip, the depicted panorama presents a view of the Tōkaidō that Hokusai could never have seen with his own eyes, given the instruments and the technology of the era. Also, as mentioned above, Hokusai presented the notorious Yatsuhashi bridge in his Shokoku meikyō kiran print

162 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 34 ‘Odawara.’ From Utamaro, Bijin ichidai gojūsan tsugi (The lives of beautiful women along with the fifty-three stations) woodblock print series, 38.1×25.4 cm, c. 1795 (Courtesy Victoria & Albert Museum).

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 163

series. The vitality with which Hokusai presented a bridge that he had never seen (it did not survive until the Edo period) makes it clear that the source of such representations was imagination and legendary knowledge rather than perceptible reality. In Plate 12 we can see one of the fifty-nine prints from Hokusai’s unlabeled series that was later reproduced in the album Tōkaidō gojūsan eki kyōga (Comic drawings of the fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō) with poetical verses inscribed freely on its surface. This is a depiction of Shinagawa station, in which a female figure is engaged in making the seaweed sheets that Shinagawa was famous for. Similarly, the print of Kusatsu in the same series shows a figure engaged in cultivating silkworms. Despite the negative comments mentioned above with regard to the stylization of Hokusai’s figures in these early series, we should not fail to note a perception of human action that gradually moves away from the conventional poses of courtesans that we find in earlier ukiyo-e. Hiroshige’s Tōkaidō If Hokusai’s Tōkaidō prints were considered to be ‘rigid’ or ‘dry,’ Hiroshige’s Tōkaidō captivated the public and is considered the first Japanese artwork that shows a harmonious combination of landscape and figures. Hiroshige had also been influenced by the traditional Kanō school through his early tutor, fireman Okajima Rinsai (1791–1865), but lacked the manifold training of Hokusai. Hiroshige studied ukiyo-e under Utagawa Toyohiro, mentioned above for his early Tōkaidō series, and became a prominent member of the Utagawa family. Hiroshige traveled along the Tōkaidō in 1832, joining the convoy that was escorting the shōgun’s gift horses to the Emperor as an official of the fire brigade. This trip took place each year, starting on the first day of the eighth (lunar) month, celebrating the seasonal shift from summer to autumn. Presumably Hiroshige was invited to accompany the procession, but the reasons for his inclusion on this official mission remain obscure (Narazaki 1969:10). His position was that of a minor retainer and his duties appear to have included the sketching of certain ceremonies involved in the mission. Soon after his trip, Hiroshige published his first prints of the Tōkaidō. The first half of his first series was published in collaboration with Hōeidō and Tsuruya (among them, Okabe was exclusively published by Senkakudō) while the later half was published only by Hōeidō (Link 1991:15). The fifty-five prints of this series were sold separately at first, but on their completion in 1834 they were issued as a complete album with a preface and colophon. The introduction to the Hōeidō publication was written by the poet Yomo no Takisui: Hiroshige has sketched in detail not only incidents that he witnessed at the various stations along the way but also famous buildings, mountains, rivers, and trees, nor has he omitted the travelers whom he encountered. So vivid are his sketches that anyone who views the prints, even though he

164 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

may never have seen the Tōkaidō, will feel that he is actually on the road. Hōeidō has published the prints that they may be preserved for posterity. (Narazaki 1969:11) Critics have praised the ‘forceful union of temporal man and eternal nature’ in Hiroshige’s work (Lane 1978:177). According to Sebastian Izzard, while Hokusai’s design ‘descends into idiosyncratic viewpoints which tend to celebrate his own mastery of his medium rather than the landscapes themselves,’ Hiroshige appears to be less concerned with stylization, and shows a ‘natural sense of composition rather than any preconceived notions of design’ (Izzard 1983:10). For the early western art critic Fenollosa, with Hiroshige Japanese landscape changed from being the background to becoming the picture itself, ‘filling up the whole sheet with solid colour’ (Fenollosa 1901:50–51). Technically speaking, the visual effects that differentiated Hiroshige’s work from earlier productions can be summarized as follows: use of strong curves or diagonals, drawing of moving subjects that move towards or away from the viewer, contrasting scales of physical elements that loom at the horizon dwarfing the travelers, strong outlines, vivid colors and a lack of detail in the depiction of travelers (Cotton 1980:93–7). After the successful Hōeidō series, Hiroshige produced numerous print series and other formats on the Tōkaidō subject, largely capitalizing upon the success of his early series. Such are the gyōsho (named after the runningscript calligraphy used in the inscriptions), Tsutaya (named after its publisher), jinbutsu (literally ‘human figure’ which is the focus of the series) and vertical Tōkaidō series (because of the prints’ vertical format), various collaborations with other artists, guidebooks and picture-books, sugoroku games, fans, pornographic pictures and so on. REALISM AND ILLUSION IN HIROSHIGE’S TŌKAIDŌ

Hiroshige’s travel experience along the Tōkaidō has been evaluated by art critics as the main contribution to the vividness of his road-scenes. We should not underestimate, however, the influence of the traditional meisho-e and shiki-e (four-season paintings) on Hiroshige’s prints, which are often highly imaginative and sometimes have little to do with the visually observed reality. Though Hiroshige’s pictures are greatly inspired by this trip, his interest in landscape representation is artistic rather than informative. Much more than the mapmakers, whose work we studied earlier, Hiroshige felt free not to depict the Tōkaidō’s scenery accurately. There are numerous examples of Hiroshige’s Hōeidō series being influenced by previous representations of the Tōkaidō rather than by what he saw on his trip. For instance, the prints of Kanaya (Figure 35) and Shimada of his Hōeidō series have strong similarities with the two views of Ōi river in the guidebook Tōkaidō meisho zue (Figure 36). However, although both views of the Tōkaidō meisho zue are taken from the left side (as though they

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 165

Figure 35 ‘Ōigawa’ view of Kanaya. From Akisato Ritō, Tōkaidō meisho zue (Courtesy of the East Asian Library, University of California Berkeley).

were seen from Kyoto, which is the case of most of the prints in this book), Hiroshige’s Shimada is viewed from the side of Edo, the reverse of the conventional view. Thus the viewpoint is alternated in a manner not dissimilar to a cinematic technique. The figures in Hiroshige’s prints, though showing a greater freedom in comparison to the stylistic representation observed in meisho books, mix realistic and mythological characters that derive from legends for which the Tōkaidō was known. Examples of this can be seen in most of Hiroshige’s prints of Nissaka (Plate 14). Although these prints are named after the poststation, they actually illustrate the meisho Sayo no nakayama, famous for the ‘weeping-stone,’94 that had been depicted in numerous earlier guidebooks of the Tōkaidō road. Stereotypical views of the post-stations can be found in many of Hiroshige’s prints, such as the print of Kusatsu (Figure 37) that depicts the teahouse of Megawa famous for its rice-cake ubagamochi. The same view is commonly found in most guidebooks of the period, such as Ise sangū meisho zue (Figure 38) (Narazaki 1969:90). Such cases make clear that new meisho had been established by the end of the Edo period, places that were popular for reasons other than their being mentioned in classical poetry. It is true, however, that Hiroshige’s Hōeidō prints of the first half of the journey are not derivative and appear to be made from original sketches, as apparently there was more time for sketching at the beginning of the trip (Link 1991:16). Not only are influences from previous works to be found in Hiroshige’s Tōkaidō but also unrealistic or imaginary elements are not rare. Although Hiroshige’s trip took place in late summer, we find in his Hōeidō series scenes of

166 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 36 ‘Kanaya.’ From Hiroshige, Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō), Hōeidō (publ.), 1833–4, woodblock print, 24.5×36.9 cm (Courtesy of the Spencer Museum of Art).

different seasons, which reveal the influence of shiki-e, namely, the interest in the changes of the four seasons. Thus the prints of Hiroshige, although they compose a series, cannot be considered as a sequence running in chronological order. Snows in Kanbara are succeeded by summer views in Chiryū without any attention being paid to keeping a realistic seasonal succession. To be sure, this is a common technique in classical Japanese arts; for instance Bashō in his Oku no hosomichi ‘is required somehow to recall the autumn wind at Shirakawa no seki, although he has arrived in summer’ (Miner 1996:132). There are also frequent topographical distortions, as for example in his Hōeidō print of Shōno, which most art critics agree is a fictitious view that does not correspond to any actual setting. Similarly, as Izzard has noticed, the Hōeidō print of Hakone, which is drawn from Lake Ashi, presents a view of Mount Fuji, despite the fact that the mountain cannot be seen from that point (Izzard 1983:23). Hiroshige himself would not have disagreed with the fact that reality was not the only source of inspiration for his work. According to his own writings in Ehon tebikigusa (Instructions for drawing picture-books) ‘to describe a scenic view requires the artist to know how to proportion each of the parts that make up the view’ (Suzuki 1970:73; Link 1991:11), or in Tōkaidō fūkei ‘all things without taste and grace [should be] eliminated’ (Suzuki 1970:88; Link 1991: 11). In other words, as Howard Link reflects, ‘Hiroshige confronts us with a mood of nature, not its precise design’ (1991:11). Between late 1840 and early 1850 Hiroshige designed at least five harimaze series on the subject of the Tōkaidō. Harimaze combined a variety of different

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 167

Figure 37 ‘Kusatsu.’ From Hiroshige, Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō), Hōeidō (publ.) (Courtesy of the Spencer Museum of Art).

stations in one print, each of which is usually presented in diverse climatic conditions; and each of which is separately framed in fan-shape, snow-shape or rectangular formats. These distinct views were meant to be cut and pasted on to screens, among other things, for decoration. Hiroshige was a master at designing harimaze, varying not only the different subjects but also the style in which different parts were drawn. For instance, he often used a looser, more Shijō-like style than he used in his other prints (Kok 1984:43) and made references to yamatoe that are unusual in the rest of his work. In the cut-out of Hara we see depicted Princess Kaguya, the heroine of the famous tale of the bamboo cutter (Plate 21). The princess appears in a typical yamato-e posture, with her sleeve almost covering her mouth. In the cut-out of Okitsu of the same harimaze, the poet Yamabe no Akahito (?–736?) is viewing Mount Fuji from Tago Bay wearing the traditional courtier’s garb, and the typical lacquered hat that is characteristic of noblemen in yamato-e depictions (Boles and Addiss 1980:84–5). These works are not limited to the favorites of ukiyo-e, but are rather reconnected with the world of classical poetry. Collaborations, repetitions and imitations The Tōkaidō theme was central not only within the work of Hiroshige, but also within the broader body of work produced by the Utagawa school to which Hiroshige belonged. Within these works we can notice collaborations, imitations and cross-fertilizations that today would certainly be regarded as plagiarism, but

168 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 38 ‘Megawa.’ From Shitomi Kangetsu, Ise sangū meisho zue (Illustrated collection of famous places traveling to Ise), Hishiya Magobei (publ.), 1797, woodblock printed book (Courtesy of the East Asian Library, University of California Berkeley).

at the time were accepted or even favored. It goes without saying that during this period there were no copyright laws, and all artists were permitted to draw upon a stock of motifs that were considered to be common property. Successful pictures were immediately imitated, without plagiarism being considered as a fault. A major member of the Utagawa school and student of Toyokuni (1769– 1825), Kuniyoshi (1798–1861) also showed a fondness for the subject of the Tōkaidō. His style was initially influenced by the Utagawa school, but also by his own studies of Hokusai and western-style painting. Kuniyoshi’s talent was not limited to a single subject-matter, and he was quite successful in producing innovative landscape representations with distinct use of light. In the mid-1830s Kuniyoshi designed a large-size series of Tōkaidō prints entitled Tōkaidō gojūsan eki shilgo shuku meisho (Famous views of the fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō four or five at a time) (Figure 39). In these views, Kuniyoshi has combined a new approach to landscape prints with an earlier tradition of scrolls on the subject of traveling, showing the topographical relation between different stations and introducing a great innovation. Kuniyoshi has reduced the number of prints from the usual fifty-five to twelve, varying the number of stations within each image from three to six. As Amy Poster comments, these prints utilize western elements such as perspective, shading and foreshortening. The foreground action of the travelers is positioned to the right or left side of the picture, while the center ground is

Figure 39 The Tōkaidō from Narumi to Chiryū post-station. From Kuniyoshi, Tōkaidō gojūsan eki shilgo shuku meisho (Famous views of the fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō four or five at a time), Yokoye Series, c. 1830s, woodblock print, 24×37 cm (Courtesy of the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam).

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 169

170 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

used as ‘a space filler,’ by showing a lake, a riverbed, rice fields or clouds. Finally the background consists of mountain ridges, leaving a high horizon (Poster 1977:6). In this series we can note some stylistic exchanges since Hiroshige’s prints. The view of Hara with Mount Fuji looming in the print from Hara to Kanbara is almost the same as Hiroshige’s Hara of the Hōeidō series (Poster 1977:14). In the view from Narumi to Chiryū we have an example of the reverse. Here Kuniyoshi relates Narumi with the action of stencil fabricdying that Narumi was famous for; Kuniyoshi was particularly fond of this subject as he came from a family of silk dyers. In the right side of the foreground we see the newly dyed cloth hang from wooden frames drying in the wind, while workers are washing clothes in the river (Poster 1977:24). Twenty years later, coincidentally or not, Hiroshige’s vertical Narumi print of 1855 (Plate 13) feature a similar view of cloths hanging from wooden frames. Kuniyoshi, who was known for his satirical pictures of famous people turned into cats or other animals, produced in c. 1848 a picture entitled Sono mama jiguchi myōkaikō gojūsanbiki (Cats suggested as the fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō) (Figure 40) with a cat in a distinctive posture representing each Tōkaidō station. In this work Kuniyoshi uses rhyming word-plays for the names of the post-stations along the Tōkaidō. Next to each cat is a red cartouche with the name of the station represented and a bastardized version, which is a description of each cat, written in hiragana alongside, e.g. Chiryū/kiriyō (beauty) or Kuwawa/kuna (don’t touch your food) (Kok 1984:130). These puzzle-pictures are expressive of Edo-period oral culture, in which the text is meant to be read out loud, while priority is given to metre, sounds and wordpuns rather than the semantic content of the text (Miyamoto 2002:40). Kuniyoshi’s fondness for the subject of cats is also visible in his earlier work Tōkaidō gojūsan eki shilgo shuku meisho, where we see the inscription ‘Honorable Cat Association’ on a red lantern in the view from Hodogaya to Hiratsuka (Schaap 1998:192). Cats disguised as actors, misemono performers and courtesans in an era when the depiction of these subjects was prohibited was a vehicle for Kuniyoshi’s wit, humor and, most of all, social commentary. Finally, Kuniyoshi, who worked for numerous theatrical productions, illustrated parts of the 1835 and 1847 productions of gojūsan tsugi, a veritable saga of the various traditions and stories connected with the post-stations of the Tōkaidō road. The last was produced at the Ichimura theater and was the culminating triumph of the career of Onoe Kikugorō III (1784–1849), who took more than a dozen parts himself. Kuniyoshi illustrated his role as the cat-witch of Okabe (Robinson 1961: 18). Kunisada (1786–1864) was a famous artist of the Utagawa family who had also studied under the artist Toyokuni and in 1844 changed his name to Toyokuni III. Kunisada was known for his stylized yakusha (kabuki actors) and bijin works, which he combined with the ‘landscape with figures’ style. In the Tenpō era (1830–44), under the influence of Hiroshige, Kunisada published a series entitled Tōkaidō gojūsan no uchi (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō) (Plate 15). In

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 171

Figure 40 The Tōkaidō from Chiryū to Kyoto. From Kuniyoshi, Sono mama jiguchi myōkaikō gojūsanbiki (Cats suggested as the fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō), Ibaya Sensaburō (publ.), c. 1848, left part of a triptych, wood-block print, 25.4×24.0 cm (Courtesy of the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam).

172 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

the foreground of each view there is a large drawing of a bijin, one of Kunisada’s specialties, separated from the background landscape by a conventional cloud effect, characteristic of traditional Tosa painting. The pattern on the garments of the female figures resonates with the character of the place, as does the blue attire of the figure at the water-crossing of Arai with the color of the water. In the background of these prints there is a picture of each station, most of which are almost exact copies of Hiroshige’s Hōeidō series. As we see in Plates 15 and 16 of Arai, by Kunisada and Hiroshige respectively, Kunisada has only slightly altered Hiroshige’s scene; he has, however, changed the colors of the clothes of the men on the boat, so that they would fit into his new color composition. The cloud-effect is a device that both unites and separates two actually inconsistent views. Indeed, each section is drawn from a different perspective and, with the absence of the cloud device, they would be unconvincing as parts of a single view. Such a technique was used repeatedly by Kunisada and other artists in relating foreground figures to background topographies or other subjects. In some views, Kunisada followed his own design which, although is different from Hiroshige’s Hōeidō series, still presents a stereotypical view of each place. For instance the view of Ōtsu depicts the shop of Ōtsu-e that had been presented in numerous representations before Kunisada’s. According to Stewart, Kunisada attempted to make an apology to Hiroshige by mentioning in the prints that the work was an order, ‘To order, by the publisher,’ who was responsible for plagiarizing the latter’s work (Stewart 1979:95–6). In the same period, a series of the same composition and subject-matter was produced by the artist Keisai Eisen. This is Bijin Tōkaidō (Beauties along the Tōkaidō) published by Tsutaya in 1830– 44, including cosmetics advertisements, as a means of defraying the publishing cost (Kobayashi 1982:25).95 The popularity of the bijin may relate to the famous sites of prostitution along the Tōkaidō, but at the same time it also indicates the repositioning of traveling as an illusionist rather than a topographical affair. A later series with a similar structure by Kunisada (by now known as Toyokuni III), is the Yakusha mitate Tōkaidō (Actors of the fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō), published in 1852 in combination by Izutsuya, Iseya, Tsugiokaya and Sumiyoshiya. In the foreground there is a portrait of a kabuki actor, a subject that was Kunisada’s specialty, while the background presents revisions of Hiroshige’s landscapes. It is important to note that this series was produced in the period of the Tenpō reforms and the landscape background is intended to disguise theatrical prints as landscape ones. Due to the prohibitions the roles are named, but the names of the actors do not appear. However the informed audience of the Edo period would easily recognize the actors from the visual cues provided by Kunisada. Yakusha mitate Tōkaidō became a great success and led to the production of other series with a similar structure; foreground portraits of actors with background topographic views of Edo, Lake Biwa and so on. According to the promotional literature that preceded the series, Kunisada was inspired by the late Onoe Kikugorō III, who had walked the entire length of the Tōkaidō giving performances (Izzard 1993:173). In the picture ‘Igami-no Gonta’

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 173

(Plate 17), we see the actor Matsumoto Kōshirō V, known as ‘Hanadaka,’ literally ‘Big Nose,’ in the play Yoshitsune senbon zakura (The 1,000 cherry blossoms of Minamoto no Yoshitsune). This is his famous bad-hat role as the ghost of Gonta (Gonta was a hill located between Hodogaya and Totsuka, famous for a ghost that threatened travelers). These works do not present an innovation in the drawing of the landscape, despite the fact that Kunisada had traveled along the Tōkaidō in 1820 accompanying three leading actors of Edo on their tour to Kansai (Izzard 1993:25), neither do they depict travelers that Kunisada encountered during his trip. Rather, it is obvious that Kunisada’s prints are inhabited by the illusionist world of ukiyo-e, and this is precisely the charm of his work. ‘As if in compliment to this attention on the part of Kunisada,’ as Stewart put it, Hiroshige in 1848–52 designed a vertical series, entitled Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi zue, bijin Tōkaidō (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō, Tōkaidō with female beauties, Plate 19). In this series oblong landscape views occupy the upper third of the sheet, while the lower part is taken up with large figures, drawn in Kunisada’s distinct style (Stewart 1979:96). Women appear either as travelers, entertainers or engaged in local occupations (e.g. weaving in areas famous for their silk production), while the background is separated in a distinctively framed view, without however being a copy from the Hōeidō series, as in the prints of Kunisada. Here we see a female entertainer at the water-crossing of Arai, in which the blue color of the utensils resonates with the sea-water, a chromatic composition à la Kunisada. Frequent collaborations between artists who had previously copied each other is evidence that plagiarism was not frowned upon during this period. The two above-mentioned artists Hiroshige and Kunisada, who had been imitating and exchanging their drawing styles, participated in a collaboration, entitled Sōhitsu gojūsan tsugi (Fifty-three stations by double-brush) in 1854–5. In these prints the upper part consists of a Tōkaidō view drawn by Hiroshige, already famous for his landscapes, and the lower part of large figures, illustrative of legends, drawn by Kunisada who, as noticed above, was an expert in drawing figures. The figures are quite large overlapping the framed landscape views that are placed on the upper part of the print. In the view of Yoshida, Hiroshige has copied the landscape of his Hōeidō print of the same station (Figure 41). The three artists of the Utagawa school, Kunisada, Kuniyoshi and Hiroshige, collaborated in a series called Tōkaidō gojūsan tsui (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō by pairs) produced in 1844–8. Hiroshige drew twenty-two of the pictures, Kuniyoshi twenty and Utagawa Toyokuni III eleven. In those prints the artists related each station with a legend of the immediate or neighboring environment. The title is always written on the top of the picture in a black box with white letters, while next to it there are fan-shaped or snowball-shaped areas where the name of the station, together with a haiku or a picture are presented. In the lower two-thirds of the picture there is a scene related to the legend of the place. Not surprisingly, the print of Nissaka was designed by Kuniyoshi, whose work showed a fondness

174 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 41 ‘Yoshida.’ From Utagawa Toyokuni III and Hiroshige, Sōhitsu gojūsan tsugi (Fifty-three stations by double-brush), Maruya Kyūshirō (publ.), 1855, woodblock print, 36×24.6 cm (Courtesy of the Futagawa Post-Station Honjin Archives at Toyohashi).

for the supernatural; thus the print once again alludes to the ‘nightly weeping

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 175

rock’ of Sayo no Nakayama, but this time it is presented in a night view incarnating the ghost of the rock (Plate 18). By the end of the Edo period, the Tōkaidō had clearly become a pretext for the representation of various subjects far exceeding landscape themes. Tōkaidō meisho fūkei (The landscape of the famous places of the Tōkaidō), published in 1863 was a collaboration of sixteen artists, including Utagawa Toyokuni III, Utagawa Hiroshige II and Tsukioka Hōnen (1839–92). It consists of 162 prints that refer to the fourteenth shōgun Tokugawa Iemochi’s trip to Kyoto on February 3, 1862, with his large number of followers. In the print of Kanaya by Yoshimori (1830–84) (Plate 20), we see the shōgun’s procession as it crosses the Ōi River. Another procession is presented in the series Suehiro gojūsan tsugi (The fifty-three stations of Suehiro), published in 1865, which refers to the ‘Dai Ichi Chōshū Seibatsu’ of 1864. This was the bakufu’s punitive attack on Chōshū fief, because of its persistent hostility towards foreigners and the bakufu. It consists of fifty-five pictures, which are made in collaboration by numerous artists, including Hiroshige II, Tsukioka Hōnen and Utagawa Sadahide (1807–73). In these views, the artists’ attention is turned towards the new gadgetry that reflects the end of the Edo period, such as western ships, steam-boats and soldiers’ weaponry. For instance, in the print of Hodogaya, a western man is turning his telescope towards the shōgun himself (Takahashi 1955:106–7) an act of disrespect that would have been a reason for execution in the past.96 A series quite different from previous ones was produced in 1843 by the artist Raishū, also known as Yasuda Naoyoshi (active mid-nineteenth century) entitled Tōkaidō gojūsan eki (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō). This was made using the copperplate etching technique, and each view is labeled in Latin characters. Raishū was apparently influenced by rangaku scholars such as Shiba Kōkan and Aōdō Denzen (1748–1822) (Ono 1977:150). At the same time, the subject of the fifty-three stations appears in a variety of formats beyond the print medium.97 As the realm of traveling was associated in the collective imagination with lax ethics and increased possibilities for sexual adventures, it is not surprising that ukiyo-e artists used the Tōkaidō subject-matter as a format for producing pictures of itinerant sex. Kunisada who produced many pornographic works, produced two pornographic series on the subject, most probably around the time that the Tōkaidō gojūsan no uchi was published. One of them, composed of fifty-six small-size prints, is entitled Shunga gojūsan tsugi (Pornographic fifty-three stations) and it was published in 1835 (Hayashi 1989:178). In its wrapper there is a map of the road in which the stations are overlaid with places of note, selected for their possibility of sexual puns, such as the River Insui (semen), the temple of Ikezu kannon (can’t ejaculate) and so on (Screech 1999:272). The pictures are horizontal and depict a sexual act of a man with a courtesan, which covers almost the whole print sheet, with the locale appearing in an inset at the top right, in an abbreviated and schematized manner. The domination of the textiles that cover both lovers, rendering their bodies almost indistinguishable one from another, is usual in Kunisada’s pornographic work. The second series is entitled

176 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Gojūsan tsugi hana no miyakoji (Fifty-three stations of the flower road to the capital) and it was published in 1839 as an album by Kaito Sobō Kinseidō (Hayashi 1989:135). This series is based on a similar structure as the earlier one. As we saw earlier, in 1838 Kunisada also illustrated a pornographic text by Tamenaga Shunsui entitled Irokurabe hana no miyakoji (Comparisons of sex on the flowery road to the capital), which was published as a lavish album with multi-colored prints (Screech 1999:272). These are not the only pornographic print series on the subject of the Tōkaidō. A minor member of the Utagawa family and student of Kunisada, Kunimaro (active c. 1850–75) produced the Hizasuri nikki (Diary of slippy thighs) in 1855, a vertical-format pornographic series that follows the fifty-three stations itinerary and is based on a tripartite structure. In these prints the main illustration covers the lower two-thirds of the sheet and the upper part is divided into a framed entry of a pornographic text and an iconic entry that depicts the post-station in an abbreviated manner. In the print of Ōtsu (Figure 42), the illustration of the post-station on the upper right is accompanied by a poem that reads: ‘Long traveling road makes me depressed, but the idea of meeting you after the travel makes me happy.’ The text in the framed section on the left plays with the second component of the name Ōtsu, which means a large quantity of water or harbor, and the homophone words tsu that mean saliva (pronounced tsuba in contemporary Japanese) and orifice. The text reads: ‘There is a man at this station with a big penis and so without the use of saliva intercourse is not possible’ (Higashiōji 1984: 108). Thus by reading the word-pun the name Ōtsu is suddenly transformed from signifying the wellknown port-town into evoking the image of a great quantity of saliva or large female genitals. Julian Lee verifies this association in her reference to the Edo period’s Edo ingo (hidden-words), according to which when the informed audience of the Edo period looked at views of Ōtsu, they would visualize closeup views of female sexual organs (Lee 1977: 57–9). The large picture of Hizasuri nikki’s Ōtsu view presents a mother playing with her son, while a man is looking at her naked bottom. Hiroshige also contributed to the pornographic Tōkaidō series with his Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi neya no tama zusha (Bedrooms of the Tōkaidō’s fifty-three stations). Like the Kuniyoshi’s rembus-picture examined above (see Figure 40), such works apply the tradition of oral culture to visual expression. The readers are provided with a taste of the fun involved in solving a riddle, while overcoming the restrictions of spoken language (Miyamoto 2002:40). The supplementary function of text and image has been noted in most travel artifacts of the Edo period, and can be observed in many of the Tōkaidō prints examined in this chapter that were often followed by inscriptions such as kyōka poems. It is important to note, however, that the earlier free-hand writing on the surface of the prints that we see for instance in the Hōeidō series by Hiroshige is soon replaced by texts framed in distinct shapes on the prints’ surface, rather than being left freely floating as if filling the blank spaces. As we shall see in Meiji era visual production, titles and other inscriptions were soon pushed towards the

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 177

Figure 42 ‘Ōtsu.’ From Utagawa Kunimaro, Hizasuri nikki (Diary of slippery thighs), 1855, Woodblock print (Source: Higashiōji, 1984).

borders of the picture, as if to avoid disrupting the visual depiction and thus

178 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

marking the alien nature of the text within a pictorial means of representation. Multiple narratives in the Tōkaidō series By looking at the late Tōkaidō series, we can see that from the end of the Tenpō era, as soon as the restrictions became less severe, the use of the previously restricted subjects of yakusha and bijin re-appeared, often in combination with landscape views. These pictures, in which the figures dominate, may be characterized as figures-with-landscapes. In them, the combination of the two types of depiction, figures and landscapes, rarely constitutes a continuous spatial field and, despite the use of perspective in the construction of each view, its role in the pictorial composition of such prints as a whole does not succeed in establishing a unified field of vision centered upon the centrality of a viewing subject. Figures and landscapes should not be seen as two competing subjects, however. A peculiar association between figures and landscape perceptible in early ukiyo-e works can illuminate the subtext of these late figures-withlandscape pictures. In early ukiyo-e, landscape, rather than being a direct object of representation, is being hinted at in the design of screens, textiles and kimonos that open up frames of multiple spatial or temporal narratives. This is not surprising, if we consider that many ukiyo-e artists, as for instance Moronobu, started as embroiderers and thus paid great attention to the depictions of kimonos. In such views the patterns and motifs appearing in the textiles function as a means of narrating seasonal and historical subjects that are usually missing from the background. In a similar manner, the bodies employed at the foreground of these late Edo-period Tōkaidō series resonate with the setting of the landscapes seen at a distance, as in the print of Arai in Kunisada’s Tōkaidō gojūsan no uchi series. Resemblances and repetitions that have been noticed in the work of the artists discussed so far can be easily explained by the laws of the market that demanded the imitation of successful precedents. I would like to attempt to interpret such affinities by making an analogy between these visual works and the literary treatment of the meisho discussed in the Chapter 3. A close observation of the relation between the titles and the content of the fifty-three series would indicate that, although the titles of the separate prints are usually borrowed from the names of the post-stations, their content is not always a view of the stations proper. Rather a large number of the depicted spots derive from the stock of preexisting meisho. As we saw earlier, the route of the Tōkaidō included a large number of meisho, even before its fifty-three stations became a celebrated topic of Edo culture. The emphasis on meisho in the popular culture is rather puzzling. On the one hand, it may be seen as being under the influence of a broader nationalistic intent: the interest in meisho was revitalized in the Edo period through the influences of the movement of National Learning. For this school, history as expressed in language was identified as the reliable object of knowledge, capturing the continuity of Japan from ancient times and thus

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 179

distinguishing her from the dominant other, China. At the same time, meisho, having originated as a topic of imperial poetry, may indicate a sympathy for the Emperor as opposed to the political power of the shōgun. On the other hand, the popularization of traveling and the hedonistic ukiyo-e culture, predisposed meisho towards commodification and bodily affairs. Places equipped with famous red-light districts and amusements were now assigned as new meisho, indicating the empowerment of the lower classes, now in the position to satisfy their artistic taste and entertainment preferences. Thus in the series mentioned above we can notice a parallel between established themes of the past, such as Sayo no nakayama, Miho no matsubara and Tago no ura, as well as emerging meisho characteristic of the floating world culture, such as Mishima, Megawa, KanayaShimada (banks of the Ōi River) and so on. On the other hand, the ability of commoner audiences to recognize the interplay between established and new meisho provided them with status and empowerment, similar to that of commoner travelers who emulated cultured figures in order to transcend, even in an illusory way, their social standing. Not only linguistic but also visual meisho are repeated and replicated in the late Edo period leading to the creation of a stereotypical manner of representation that is based on a codified spatial perception. Although it is doubtful whether the referential aspects of the visual language employed in these prints are as conscious and elaborate as in the case of literature, they do indicate the persisting significance of space, and interest in space, of the Edo period, as well as the approval of an audience with high visual literacy that had the ability to decipher subtle nuances and codifications. Such instances of a newly formed stereotypification, different from that of earlier eras and more pluralistic, indicate that these pictures are the products of dynamic spatial conceptions that stem from both authoritative and popular resources which the artists of the floating world manipulated in a skilful manner. The print series of the Tōkaidō can be viewed as a mutation of the guidebook genre as both fragment the continuity of the itinerary into visually distinct units. If in the guidebooks this is brought about through the page layout, in the print series it occurs through the division of the series into separate prints. The role of each genre is different, however. While the guidebooks aimed at initiating the traveler into the cultural aspects of the open road, and thus reflect the historical, mythical or legendary time of the country (including the ability to impose new legends such as those of Yaji and Kita), the division of the series into fifty-three or fifty-five prints fulfills a double role. On the one hand, they correspond to the traveler’s physical experience of time, that marks the length of the journey through arrival at the post-stations, the anchor points of the trip. Post-stations were indeed the places where one could find rest and lodging and satisfy bodily demands, establishing a rhythm that structured the journey. We can estimate that an average traveler would go through four stations during one day’s traveling. The first would be the place from which one would set off in the morning, the second the place where he/she would lunch in the midday, the third a resting place, and the fourth the station where the traveler arrives at the end of the day

180 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

and pauses as night traveling was prohibited. The drawing of the post-stations frames distinct views of the landscape and produces memorable images (Nakamura 1990:48). On the other hand, the prints incorporate mythological and historical time as the subtext of each individual journey. The depicted images are subjects that derive from the playful ukiyo-e culture, such as kabuki actors and female beauties, or, as discussed earlier, meisho with old reputations or newly established ones. In this way, the realism of present time is supplemented by the unreal, supernatural or lapsed characteristics with which that each place is associated. These two elements construct the double-structure of the prints, which refer to both present and past, reality and illusion or memory. Lastly, prints, like guidebooks, incorporate text with image by often inscribing poems on their surface. In this way, a multi-layered frame-into-frame elaboration takes place, constantly changing the focus from past to present, from here to there, and from the surface to the depth of the picture. Recurring characteristics in Edo-period travel representations From the overall study of Edo-period representations of the Tōkaidō, it becomes obvious that maps, gazetteers, guidebooks and pictures often contain elements that distort geographical reality, giving priority to the symbolic order. This cannot be explained either in terms of functionality or in terms of ignorance of precise cartographic methods and techniques of realistic representation. Both the above were developed in the Edo period, and artists and map-makers had easy access to such productions which they could use as models if they wished to do so. The studied examples indicate that topographical truthfulness and geographical precision are not essential attributes of spatial representation, even when it refers to travel-related artifacts that function as ‘proto-traveling’ tools, in other words artifacts of practical value. The neglect of geographical orientation and sense of the whole that is observed in most of this material demonstrates a space perception that is related to topological or ‘movement-oriented’ space, in contrast to the ‘geometrical space’ of China or the west. Movement space is characterized by irregularity, indeterminacy and absence of a single system of reference and can be compared with the system of a subway network in which spatial components are observed successively. This is ‘induced by bending the movement path or by obstructing the line of vision; the observation of movement space, therefore, is always postulated on the viewer’s movement, either actual or intellectualized’ (Inoue 1985:147). The space perception of ‘movement-oriented space,’ within which certain qualities remain unchanged, is a concern of topology, the study of spatial qualities that remain constant despite formal changes. Along the same lines, for the geographer I.Suizu such a representational manner can be called ‘changing space’ and is different from the Euclidean principle of isotropy and homogeneity. It is based on the recognition of morphemes, minimum units that

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 181

are meaningful to human life and are related to each other through fixed construction patterns, analogical to that of language construction (parole, langue) (Suizu 1984:12). Elements such as temporality, multiple orientations, fragmentation and bending that we encountered in the representation of traveling in Edo Japan are techniques found in numerous Japanese arts such as Noh theater or landscape design. Nitschke compares the partiality and temporal dimension of Tōkaidō bunken ezu with that of a Japanese strolling garden, where, with the ‘sophisticated placing of the stones, our foot movements can be slowed down, speeded up, halted or turned in various directions’ (Nitschke 1993: 55). Such characteristics have been demonstrated in a number of literal and visual works on the Tōkaidō. Despite their differences in shape, emakimono, sugoroku, labyrinthine and diagrammatic road-maps, but also print-series and guidebooks, are all based on the prototypical dōchūki, and thus are topologically equivalent to each other, transferring a space perception which, in its simplest form, can be described as a long unfolding line. This line may be curved, or turned at right angles, or fragmented without change, and often incorporates diverse contents within or beyond the topographical subject-matter, functioning as a template. For instance Tōkaidōchū hizakurige scarcely offered direct descriptions of the landscape, while its extravagant episodes bear little relation to their actual setting. Late ukiyo-e artists used the pretext of the post-stations’ toponyms in order to introduce diverse subjects often loosely related to the topography, such as bijin and yakusha. In such representations the character of place is portrayed by allusions to illusionist or other-worldly elements that derive from legends, memories and desires, rather than by being faithful to the ‘real’ landscape, the land continuum that is being perceived directly by the sensory organs of the traveler. This partial experience of space obtains its significance not by resort to the real sensually experienced topography, but rather by its cultural connotations. This is very important, as much of the criticism of railway travel derives precisely from a comparison with pre-railway types of mobility which are found to be more natural, privileging a bodily subjective perception that contrasts with the automated mode of railway experience. Despite the significance that the body acquired in popular art of the Edo period, spatial representation is rarely based on the subjective, visual or sensual perception of the artist-traveler. As noticed earlier, even when landscape is depicted in pictorial forms (for example, in the landscapes with figures), it is still often viewed from selected codified spots, most of which are famous places, rather than views that derive from observation or direct experience. Thus the syntax of the above body of representations is that of ‘synecdoche’ and ‘asyndeton,’ no different from everyday expressions as depicted in accounts of spatial practices, examined by de Certeau.98 In them, a meisho stands for a post-station or a meibutsu for a locality. On the other hand, the links between different points of interest are suppressed and a selective imagination composes an itinerary elliptically, out of ‘conjunctive loci,’ ‘enlarged singularities and separate islands’

182 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

(de Certeau 1988:101)—an assemblage of post-stations and famous places that function as ‘islands’ of escape. In contrast to the above, a fraction of Edo-period representations of the Tōkaidō demonstrate a trend that diverges from privileging spaces due to their mythical or legendary subtext. If in earlier eras the relation was more on a symbolic level, associating for instance a seasonal setting with a specific flower blossom of symbolic dimensions (spring with sakura and thus ephemeral beauty and transitory human life), in the landscape-with-figure prints associations are often related to the agricultural or manufacturing production of the particular place, such as Nammi’s depictions of stencil fabric-dying or silkworm cultivation in Kusatsu. Such features have been observed in numerous landscape with figure prints, but also in late guidebooks or road-maps, in which we detected an emerging consciousness of place that derives from an empirically grasped landscape. With this, we can notice the passage from an ethereal, poetic symbolism to the aestheticization of production, an influence of certain epistemological tendencies that developed from the mid-Edo period on and escaped the scholarly realm to find popular expression. Such characteristics should be attributed not only to an increase of traveling that gave artists the opportunity to obtain direct experience of distant places, but also to a growing emphasis on practicality and empiricism, and a timely consciousness of Japan as distinct from the ‘others’ within the international environment of the late eighteenth century. On the other hand, while traveling within a popular cultural milieu became synonymous with an act of escape with either aesthetic or religious connotations, by the end of the Edo period the commercialization of travel and the organization of infrastructure paved the way for the regulation of traveling under new, normative procedures. During the subsequent Meiji era, the fusion of the borders between maps, gazetteers, guidebooks and pictures was eliminated, and the agents of representation operated within specific orbits, using languages of representation that were distinct from each other. Pictorial Tōkaidō in the Meiji era The westernization of the country and the new epistemological models that were introduced in the Meiji era had a major impact on the visual production of Japan. The body of work produced in the Meiji era is far from being uniform, however, and even farther from being radically new. In fact, many art historians consider Meiji art as derivative, as it often appears to be operating within a referential system of a ‘double otherness’; tradition vs. modernity on the one hand, and the dialectics of east vs. west on the other (Clark 1995:260; Guth 1996b:18). Moreover, in the Meiji era (1868–83), art was often used as a tool to express political ideas rather than artistic concerns. Specifically, in the early Meiji era, there was a tendency for both government and private initiatives to glorify the west, which led to the support of yōga (western-style painting) and the production of plentiful ukiyo-e on the topic of westernization. In the mid-Meiji

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 183

(1883–97), there was a radical shift in the type of art promoted by the government, which stemmed from an overall trend toward conservative nationalism, as well as a new notion of art education as subordinate to the service of the state. This shift is best reflected in the different curricula of art schools that were founded in each era. While the Kōbu Bijutsu Gakkō (Engineering College Art School), established in the early Meiji (precisely in 1876), stressed the need to teach western knowledge, two other schools that were established in the mid-Meiji, Kyōto-fu Gagakkō (Kyoto Prefectural Painting School) in 1886, and Tōkyō Bijutsu Gakkō (Tokyo School of Fine Arts) in 1889, emphasized native modes. Thus the priority of western lead-pencil drawing, which was perceived as an instrument for recording observable reality, was replaced by the use of ink and brush, which was seen as a means of expressing ideals and emotions. The influence of western critics was instrumental in this. The young American philosopher and art connoisseur Ernest Fenollosa (1853–1908) was extremely influential in his advice to the government to sponsor training in native styles. Thus nihonga (Japanese-style painting) was promoted as the leading art of the country until the end of the Meiji and even throughout the Taishō era (1912–26). By the late Meiji era (1898–1912) after China’s (1894–5) and Russia’s defeat (1904), Japan was in a period of strong, almost xenophobic nationalism. In art this was expressed by making copies of older works and an overall return to Japanese-style painting, traditional techniques and subjectmatter. In general, the abolition of established sources of patronage due to the impoverishment of the samurai class, the economic dislocation of the merchants and the weakening of Buddhist establishments after the Separation Edict of 1868, resulted in a general waning of art and crafts in the Meiji era (Baekeland 1980:14). Pictorial works that had the Tōkaidō as their subject matter were not left untouched by such concerns. In parallel, the configuration of new governmental or private agencies that dealt with traveling were in need of a distinct visual identity and demanded the production of commercial printed material that had the railway as their subject-matter. At the same time, as was the case in other countries, railway companies realized that the distribution of railway imagery to the public would not only lead to publicity and thus increased revenue, but would also ‘subdue the alarm felt by ordinary people at the noise, smoke, danger to life, and the very sight of something that apparently moved without natural cause’ (Rees 1980:23). In the early Meiji era, showcase projects of modernity that altered the realm of traveling became the main interest of artists and audiences alike. By the mid-Meiji, however, we should not fail to notice that the enthusiastic overtones of earlier times had subsided and were replaced by skepticism and sometimes nostalgia for Japan’s pre-modern past. We can identify five main institutions that encompassed the Meiji era’s visual art production on the subject of the Tōkaidō: (1) governmental agencies such as the railway authority, (2) private railway and tourism enterprises, (3) journalism, (4) commercial art production, including photography and the making of

184 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

postcards, and (5) the newly formed art societies that found in the railway a new subject-matter. Ukiyo-e and yōga were the most dominant styles. While ukiyo-e dealt with the phantasmagoria of the railway, yōga explored the new atmospheric conditions produced by the Meiji era’s innovations, such as illumination or steam, and was often preoccupied with the influence of the railway on the Japanese psyche. Yōga artists, following the suggestions of western teachers, such as the Italian painter Fontanesi (1818– 82) who taught at the Kōbu Bijutsu Gakkō, showed a renewed appreciation of the landscape in its own right rather than for its cultural connotations, as it had been the case with the meisho.99 Finally, Tōkaidō became the topic of a few nihonga works, primarily through the depiction of its distinct famous places rather than as a continuous traveling route. In all these types of works it becomes clear that the ties between image and text that characterized Edo period production are now restricted. As literature was limited to purely literary elements, the visual arts had to be composed of purely pictorial elements, keeping only their title as a textual semantic referent, which was almost always written in a distinct frame or in the margin of the pictures, rather than freely flowing upon the surface as in many Edo-period works. Recording reality through the lens of ukiyo-e The evocative character of ukiyo-e made it an ideal style for commercial art productions that were an indispensable component in the functioning of new transport enterprises and tourist services. Commercial production included posters or other promotional material that advertised tourist services, such as the new baggage transportation companies seen in Plate 25, as well as postcard-like representations of new sights that derived from the westernized realm of modern Japan. Their subject-matter covered new modes of transport that altered the urban and rural landscape of the country, railway stations built in styles and materials characteristic of western architecture, the technological feats of the era, such as tunnels and bridge constructions, and other western paraphernalia characteristic of the new era. At the same time, the new practices of swimming and mountaineering attracted the attention of artists and consumers alike as new western-modeled tourist activities. What unifies such material is first their style, which was in most cases a development of Edo-period ukiyo-e, and second, their enthusiastic treatment of the subject-matter, which consisted of icons characteristic of the new era. Ukiyoe schools that were established in the Edo period undertook most such commissions. Most of this material is made in the nishiki-e (brocade multicolored pictures) style, familiar from the Edo period, that belongs to the ukiyo-e genre but is different from earlier monochrome productions. The garish aniline dyes that were used instead of the softer traditional pigments of the Edo period differentiate Meiji-era prints from earlier productions. A type of print characteristic of Meiji-era production is the so-called aka-e (red-pictures) in which the color red dominates. Although the use of red was thought to be vulgar

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 185

and was avoided in the Edo period, in the Meiji it came to be regarded as a color favored by the foreigners, and thus it started to be used as a signifier of topics related with the west. We can see the abundant use of red in the woodblock print by Utagawa Yoshitora ‘Shibaguchi Shiodome bashi yori tetsudō kan ichiran no zu’ (Railway at a glance from Shiodome bridge) depicting Shinbashi station (Plate 24). Besides the presumably western appeal of the red color, we should not fail to notice its resonance with the Japanese flag and thus suspect that it has nationalist overtones. However the wit and vividness that was characteristic of Edo-period ukiyo-e, with the use of cropped images and frame-into-frame narrations, are not to be found in most of the prints that conform to what was vaguely perceived as western art, carrying the characteristics of symmetry and realism, and often based on pseudo-perspective compositions. Art production in the Meiji era was strongly affected by the recasting of observation as the most reliable tool of objectified knowledge. The process of observation was valorized as an indispensable component of the scientific methodology that was necessary for Japan’s modernization and progress.100 With these tendencies, the practice of museum exhibitions became an important means for transferring national knowledge through visual means, and certain techniques came to be considered of superior value. It is within this prism that the technique of perspective—often falsely regarded as a sign of realistic representation— obtained official recognition and was taught as a major course in academic fine arts establishments. It is safe to assert that western art in Japan was generally perceived as a skill which artists or scientists could master. Popular culture was also affected by such epistemological shifts. Accordingly, the subject-matter of ukiyo-e gradually changed to seemingly documenting realistic events, as there was no reason to employ allegorical representation or hidden languages as in the past, after the lifting of the Edo-period prohibitions against representing specific ‘dangerous’ subjects, such as yakusha and bijin. As John Clark has remarked, by 1830 ukiyo-e was already: semantically exhausted, and the increased technical and stylistic reworking of old themes no longer held metaphorical density. [Their] gestures had become metonymically fixed; the spectator now merely consumed the technical splendour in the density of production values or the grossness of the emotions appealed to. (Clark 1986:215) The visual literacy that characterized Edo-period citizenry was largely weakened, as the new popular visual vocabulary was limited to the reaffirmation of the visible as a source of information, and had only a secondary role as a commentary. But was the content of such representations always as realistic as the rhetorical configuration of the medium, and the surrounding literature, suggested? In fact, repetitions of already established motifs and re-creations of views created by the most reliable tool of photography were common, while, as

186 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 43 Kobayashi Kiyochika, Satta no Fuji—Ichigatsu chūjun gozen kuji utsusu (Mount Fuji from Satta pass—sketched at 9 a.m. in mid-January), 1880–1, 24.13×35.24 cm, woodblock print (Courtesy of the Santa Barbara Museum of Art, Gift of Mr and Mrs Roland A.Way).

we will discuss below, the role of the artist as a witness of the actual scene was often a fabrication, achieved through the use of certain ‘indexes’ that were taken as signifiers of realism. In Figures 43–6 and Plates 26–8 we can see a variety of pictures that depict the Satta pass (Satta tōge), famous from the Edo period. Satta pass was one of the meisho along the Tōkaidō that afforded a spectacular view of Mount Fuji. Until 1655, the road was extremely narrow and the travelers had to lean out over the edge of the cliff in order to get a better view of the panorama that included both the mountain and the bay. In 1655 a far less dangerous road was cut through the pass in order to provide a more convenient route for a visiting Korean delegation (Tokuriki 1993:32). Hiroshige had painted this view in the print of Yui, from a rather oblique viewpoint that included the view of Suruga Bay (Plate 26). In 1881, the Meiji-era artist Kobayashi Kiyochika (1847–1915), whose work will be discussed in more detail below, also painted this view entitled Satta no FujiIchigatsu chūjun gozen kuji utsusu (Mount Fuji from Satta pass—sketched at 9 a.m. in mid-January). In Kiyochika’s view the railway was not yet completed, and the only sign of modernization was the telegraph poles along the beach (Figure 43). The same view was depicted numerous times after the introduction of the railway was made possible with the opening of one of the first tunnels in Japan at Mount Satta, a major engineering work of the era. The retouched photograph in the postcard of Plate 27 entitled ‘Satta tōge no Fuji’ (Fuji from

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 187

Figure 44 Shimizu Ichirō, Tōkaidō Satta yamashita nokei (View of the Tōkaidō under Mount Satta), 1889, lithograph (Courtesy of the Tenri University Sankōkan Museum).

Satta pass) obviously resembles Hiroshige’s bird’s eye-view, featuring Mount Fuji semi-hidden by Mount Satta. This is an early example of a photograph being influenced by a famous woodblock print, something that can be seen frequently from the Taishō era to the present, as numerous photographers traveled along the Tōkaidō in order to compare Hiroshige’s prints with the views in their own times (Ando 1918; Kodama 1985). The opposite attitude is however more common in the Meiji era. The lithographs by Shimizu Ichirō Tōkaidō Satta yamashita nokei (View of the Tōkaidō under Mount Satta) of 1889 (Figure 44) and Kuwata Shōzaburō Tōkaidō tetsudō Okitsu kaihin shinkei (True view of Tōkaidō railway over coast of Okitsu) (Figure 45) are most probably based upon the photographic reproduction of Figure 46 entitled Tōkaidō Satta yama shita tetsudō (Tōkaidō railway under Mount Satta) in which the mountain is visible in its totality and the viewpoint is much lower than Hiroshige’s. Although in these lithographs the main topographical features and viewpoints remain unchanged, the addition of new iconographical elements and the careful elimination of others produce a diversity of nuances. Indeed the photograph, devoid of not only the steam-engine but also of the human element, is the bleakest in its depiction of the passage of the railroad along the coastline. In it, the few over turned boats on the coast may be

188 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 45 Kuwata Shōzaburō, Kitayama Tatsuo (printer), Tōkaidō tetsudō Okitsu kaihin shinkei (True view of Tōkaidō railway over the coast of Okitsu), Kuwata Shōzaburō (publ.), 1889, 28.2×40.6 cm, lithograph with hand-color on paper (Courtesy of the Kobe City Museum, Ikenaga Collection).

seen as signs of disruption of the fishermen’s work due to the railroad’s proximity with the coast. In the lithographs of Figures 44 and 45 such elements have been eliminated, and instead we see a view of a happy coexistence between locals and the railway. Shimizu’s view assumes an educative character as the two main figures are children of school age who presumably marvel at the passage of the steam-engine through the tunnel. In the other lithograph, which depicts a highly idealized view of the same spot, fishermen continue their work on the coast uninterrupted, as their boats are now turned upwards and some of them appear carrying fish in baskets. In both views, Mount Fuji has been retouched and, unlike its rather bare presence in the photograph, it appears in its familiar snow-capped attire. Also, it is important to note discrepancies in the location of the tunnel, which, if we are to believe the photographic record, is not located in the first bay as we face Mount Fuji—as seen in the two lithographs—but most probably in the second one. Fifteen years later, Kiyochika included one more view of Satta pass in his Nihon meishō zue (Famous sights of Japan) series, in which the location of the tunnel seems to be correct (Plate 28). Kiyochika, who probably did not have any direct experience of that spot after the tunnel construction, probably also consulted other representations of the railroad, while natural topography seems to be based on his own sketches from his previous trip.

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 189

Figure 46 Tōkaidō Satta yama shita tetsudō (Tōkaidō railway under Mount Satta), 1889, photograph (Courtesy of the Tenri University Sankōkan Museum).

My assumption that his depiction was not the outcome of an actual visit to the spot is strengthened by the exaggerated size of the telegraph poles, and also by their placement on the right side of the railway as we face Mount Fuji, the opposite of what we see in photographic records. Numerous such discrepancies between reality and representation have been identified in the ukiyo-e production of the Meiji era. For instance, steam-engines with square wheels have been noticed among early depictions of the railway. Such imprecisions are not limited to Japanese artists of the early railway era alone. Gareth Rees, in studying the early railway prints of Great Britain, has noticed similar occurrences. Many British artists were also unfamiliar with the subjectmatter of the railroad, thus: early prints should not be relied on as sources of technical information, especially when it comes to locomotives. Moreover, any attempt to draw a curving line receding from foreground to background required an ability to depict perspective which most of them lacked at that time. (Rees 1980:20) The same applies in the case of Japanese artists who attempted to depict the railway. Not only was the subject-matter unfamiliar to them, but the techniques required for its precise depiction needed specific skills that were not widely known.

190 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

The illustrations of Satta pass present not only a medium change from woodblocks prints the medium of the Edo period’s par excellence—to modern media such as photographs and lithographs, but also a change in semantics. If the Edo-period mode of representation utilized a code that rendered individual characteristics unimportant and celebrated an idealized version of the depicted scene, photography was the medium that established the modern predominance of visuality according to which things are meant to be ‘seen’ rather than to be ‘read.’ In the above-mentioned set of representations we see that there was a great resistance to accepting this new mode of representation. The individual features that are revealed through photography—bare Mount Fuji, boats turned downwards—are the first to be removed in further reproductions, which assumed an almost ‘corrective’ role bringing forth the ideal characteristics of the represented spot. Landscapes were thus still meant to be ‘read’ through the idealistic code of the Edo period, indicating that the Meiji-era public was not yet ready to accept modern visual prescriptions.101 The Tōkaidō in nihonga The discourse on nihonga took place in the late 1880s, especially in the Tokyo School of Fine Arts. The purpose was to create a type of art that could express the country’s newly founded national identity in contrast to what was identified as westernized art. Although nihonga, with its imitating of styles and subjectmatters of the past, may be regarded as derivative, if one disregards our contemporary notions of artistic originality, we may see nihonga as a living tradition of Japanese arts that continued uninterrupted from earlier times (Conant 1995:12). In the Meiji era, most painting schools of the past such as Tosa, Kanō and Rinpa declined mainly due to shortage of patronage, while the prosperity of Tokyo-based Nanga artists (literati painting or bunjinga) and the Kyoto-based Maruyama-Shijō school was less affected by the Meiji reforms. Not surprisingly, nihonga artists rarely select the Tōkaidō’s post-stations as their subject matter. For early Meiji-era thinkers, the Tōkaidō highway and the culture of the road were reminders of the country’s backwardness, rather than associated with national pride and prestige. However the collection of meisho that are found scattered along the highway and, as we remarked earlier, were related to the Emperor’s authority as well as the distinct tradition of Japan, continued to be a celebrated topic of representation by nihonga, and by other artists as well. Besides the celebrations of established topics, a few nihonga artists showed an interest in the transformations of the famous places through the forces of the modern era. For example, although most Kyoto-based nihonga artists were concerned with the depiction of the meisho around Kyoto and Ōmi, we should not neglect the interests of artists in the transmutation of established meisho. Kōno Bairei’s (1844–95), who was considered as one of the best artists in Kyoto, besides his flower and bird works, also selected modern subjects such as watermills and the new railroad station of Ōtsu (1877) (Conant 1995:21).

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 191

Traveling along the Tōkaidō as a whole, and the new customs associated with it, also attracted the interest of some nihonga artists. Kawai Gyokudō (1873– 1957), known as an artist who fused Kyoto and Tokyo styles, as well as eastern and western pictorial devices, in 1901 created a handscroll entitled Seifū ryōha (Bracing breezes, cool waves) (Plate 29) which depicts the temperate resort on the Shōnan shore along the Tōkaidō road, the coastal area that included Sagami Bay, Kamakura and Ōiso. In a combination of Kanō and Maruyama-Shijō styles, the artist recorded the pastimes of fellow vacationers, families who are seen playing, eating and bathing together. The painting also presents the newly imported Victorian morals, by showing fully-clothed women bathing in the sea. Gyokudō was known to take lengthy sketching tours in the countryside, a practice that marked his identity as an artist (Conant 1995:158). It is worth noting that, in later periods, the tour of the Tōkaidō was commonly undertaken by nihonga artists who individually or in groups set off to depict its fifty-three stations or other localities characteristic of the modern era.102 The Tōkaidō through western eyes Westerners who came to Japan as artists, teachers or collectors created opportunities for direct exchanges between Japanese and western arts and art markets. The western knowledge of techniques such as photography, lithography and oil-painting that foreign artists brought with them brought about a renewal in Japanese visual production. At the same time, newly established distinctions between art (bijutsu) and crafts (geijutsu), and literary and pictorial art products shaped modern art production. Some of the foreign artists found in the Tōkaidō a subject that was distinctively Japanese, while others saw the Tōkaidō as a subject reflective of the contrasts between pre-modern and modern Japan. For instance, in the oil-paintings of the British artist Charles Wirgman (1832–91), although they are drawn in a typically western manner, we can see meisho and scenes that are typical of the Tōkaidō’s post-stations.103 Wirgman, who was the correspondent for the Illustrated London News, had indeed travelled the Tōkaidō on foot from Nagasaki to Edo as soon as he arrived in Japan in 1861, and did so again in 1872, going from Tokyo to visit the second Kyoto exhibition. During his second trip the artist produced a series of pen and ink drawings, entitled Artistic and Gastronomic Rambles in Japan from Kioto to Tokyo by Tōkaidō (sic), obviously inspired by the tradition of meibutsu.104 Wirgman also produced humorous drawings on the subject of travel in Japan which were published in Japan Punch the first European magazine published in Japan, modeled on the English humorous magazine Punch. Japan Punch ran from 1862 to 1887. Initially it was woodblock printed, while after 1883 it adopted the technique of lithography (Meech-Pekarik 1986:180). The combination of words and images in the style named ponchi—considered as the forerunner of manga—was familiar to the Japanese from the oral Edo character of literary genres such as kusazoshi

192 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 47 ‘Déjeuner dans le train’ (Breakfast in the train). From Georges Bigot, Le Train de Tokio Kobé, Dessins Humouristiques de Georges Bigot (The railway from Tokyo to Kobe, Humorous sketches by Georges Bigot), copper-plate printed book, 1897 (Courtesy of Yokohama Archives of History).

and namazu-e, in which the text surrounded the image and filled the blanks of the picture (Miyamoto 2002:39). The French painter Georges Bigot (1860–1927), who stayed in Japan for eighteen years, used the subject of railway traveling along the Tōkaidō as a means of satirizing pre-modern and modern Japanese customs. Bigot, a graduate of École des Beaux Arts arrived in Japan in 1882 to study ukiyo-e in a period when the French interest in Japan had moved from an ethnographic curiosity to the perception of Japanese art as worth studying (Watanabe 1991:123).105 Bigot, like most foreigners, was immediately utilized by Meiji government and worked as an art instructor in the Army Cadet Academy in Tokyo, giving lessons in perspective drawing, military weapons, topographical drawings and diagrams (Shimizu 1986:150–1). Bigot was disappointed to encounter the impact of the ‘westernization and enlightenment’ movement in Japan, however, and his interest soon turned to the common culture, which he found contrasted with the official Japanese policy.106 In his illustrated book, Le Train de Tokio Kobé, Dessins humouristiques de Georges Bigot (The railway from Tokyo to Kobe, humorous sketches by Georges Bigot) published in 1899, Bigot is critical of the social and gender hierarchies of Japan (Figure 47). The book presents in a humorous manner incidents encountered in stations and trains that were surprising to a foreign traveler like him. This includes the Japanese habits of taking leave by bowing, taking off shoes while traveling, drinking and eating in the train and so on. The book also connects the railway with the new disciplinary order of Meiji Japan, depicting the ubiquitous presence of the police. This book is the first volume of a series entitled Nihon seikatsu no yūmoa (Humor of life in Japan); the

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 193

Figure 48 ‘View of Hokoni Village.’ From Felix Beato, Album, c. 1863–84, photographic book (Courtesy of Yokohama Archives of History).

other volumes carrying titles such as La Journée du soldat (A soldier’s day), La Journée d’une servante (A servant’s day) and so on. Interestingly enough, Bigot, who left France faced with the difficult future of a painter, threatened by the new trends of mechanical reproduction, such as lithography and daguerreotype, employed the copperplate (etching) technique to make his work instead of painting. Moreover, the style in which his sketches are drawn is that of caricature, a style that was popular in nineteenth-century Europe, rather than ukiyo-e, which French artists had interpreted as a form of ‘democratic realism’ and which could have been a suitable means of expressing the artist’s criticisms (Watanabe 1991:228). Thus we see that western artists in Japan worked under similar constraints to their Japanese counterparts, at a time when visual journalism was developing rapidly (Shimizu 1986:150–1). The Tōkaidō was also photographically reproduced by Felix Beato (1825– ?) a Venetian born in Corfu who lived in Japan during the period 1863–84107 and worked as an assistant to the photographer Robertson. Beato opened his own photo studio in Yokohama and collaborated with Wirgman in making photography trips to Kamakura, Mount Fuji and other celebrated spots. Beato published various collections of photographs of Japanese landscapes, cities and customs, in black and white or in hand-color. According to Satō, Beato’s photographs display some characteristics of Japanese prints and became the models of the

194 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 49 ‘Opening of the first railway in Japan: arrival of the Mikado.’ From Illustrated London News, vol. 21, December 1872, wood-engraved journal (Courtesy of the Kawasaki City Museum).

‘Yokohama-shashin’ genre. His assistant Kusakabe Kinbei (1841–1934) also made many photographs of street-scenes (Satō and Watanabe 1991:102–3). Beato published a book that included photographs of the Tōkaidō before the railway, named Album (Figure 48), where we can see views of post-stations and tree-lined parts of the road. Album comprised photographs on the right and texts written by the military officer James William Marrais on the left (Kawasaki-shi Shimin Museum 1994:89, 91). The author observed similarities between the Japanese and the British scenery, noticing however the absence of the romantic horse-carriage and its whistle that were characteristic of nineteenth-century Britain, as well as the gathering of street-beggars that frustrated travelers (Kawasaki-shi Shimin Museum 1994:91). For non-artist foreigners who lived in the international enclaves, Japan was a country they knew though events like the International Exhibition of 1862 in London and the broader nineteenth-century fascination with ‘things Japanese.’ Some of these foreigners left their own travel accounts with illustrations that recorded sites of interest as well as local customs. Many such accounts include sketches, photos or engravings of both natural scenes and street-scenes showing street-vendors and tattooed coolies. Such conditions—that, as already mentioned, the Meiji government wished to eliminate —captivated foreign

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 195

travelers by reaffirming their expectations of Japan as an exotic and rather primitive culture. Representations that take Japanese traveling routes as their subject-matter were often also found in the foreign press. The Illustrated London News (Figure 49) or Japan Punch were eager to report on travel conditions on the road and the opening of railway stations, especially as the involvement of foreign engineers was indispensable for the establishment of the railway in Japan. The subject of the Tōkaidō through the prism of modern art Despite operating within the framework of a modernizing Japan, none of the above-mentioned styles of Japanese artists may claim to be truly modern. In fact, any element of modernism that may be attributed to Edo period ukiyo-e, because of their ‘self-referential discursivity’ and ‘play between codes’ (Clark 1995:256), had lost its discursive capacity. As modern visual art, I consider the art in which the process of picturing becomes part of the subject, if not the subject of the painting, in agreement with John Clark’s assertion in his study of Asian modernism (Clark 1986:223).108 Yōga artists, as well as some artists who used printing in a new way, may be labeled as modern. Beyond the celebratory tone of ukiyo-e or the revival of Japanese tradition that we find in nihonga works, the employment of, not simply western but, specifically, modern representational styles gave the opportunity to these Meiji artists to visualize the new atmosphere of modern life. Illumination, steam, machinery, in combination with the melancholy of a deprived countryside captivated these artists, who intended to express a side of progress that went beyond the simple documentation or affirmation of what was widely perceived as ‘progress.’ The modernity of the artworks, however, was constituted not simply by the employment of a ‘modern’ subject-matter but precisely by the way the artists made their paintings or prints. The Tōkaidō has been rarely treated in its entirety in modern pictorial works of the Meiji era. Traveling along the Tōkaidō however provided material for representing the applications of technology upon the Japanese countryside and commenting on ways that the Japanese landscape was altered through such means. It is worth noticing that traveling as a source for artistic material was strongly recommended to Meiji artists who subscribed to yōga painting. For instance the artist Koyama Shōtarō’s (1857– 1916) group often went on sketching trips. According to their travel records the artists were unimpressed by the meisho and were more interested in pure nature and ordinary rural scenes. Their sketches of an ‘unspectacular’ countryside were nicknamed dōro sansui (roadscapes), as the composition is often dominated by a road which tapers into the background (Watanabe 1997:280–1). Kobayashi Kiyochika, of samurai origin, produced a great variety of prints that deal with subjects characteristic of the Meiji era. Kiyochika was trained in calligraphy, the Chinese classics, Japanese literature and the martial arts training essential to a member of the military class. Kawanabe Gyōsai (active 1831–89) and Charles Wirgman were possibly his teachers, while the influence of Bigot’s

196 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 50 Kobayashi Kiyochika, Shinbashi stenshon (Shinbashi station), Fukuda Kumajirō (publ.), 1881, woodblock print, 21.9×33 cm (Courtesy of the Shinagawa Historical Museum).

criticism of the modernization process of Japan are also obvious in his work (Meech-Pekarik 1986:194). Although most of Kiyochika’s work consists of woodblock prints, his style is quite different from the typical ukiyo-e production of the Meiji era and, at times, it shows a modernist inclination. One reason is Kiyochika’s involvement in printing, which gave him the ability to control not only the content but also the texture of his prints; another is his persisting interest in exploring the new light of the Meiji era. This is obvious in his print entitled Shinbashi (Figure 50), which represents not simply a modern building, but also a building in its most modern condition: its night view, when it is artificially illuminated. Kiyochika’s work demonstrates a broader interest in artificial illumination as a new subject-matter characteristic of Meiji Japan, but he also paid attention to recording the changes of natural light at different hours and seasons. Such preoccupations are perfectly in accordance with the ideas of the Impressionist movement, which flourished in nineteenth-century Europe, and according to which light is the generator of space and form. Despite his modern inclinations in terms of his artistic perspective, Kiyochika was critical of the condition of modernization in Japan, as it is clear in his caricatures published in Marumaru shinbun or humorous books of his era. As a young samurai, Kiyochika made a complete trip along the Tōkaidō in the retinue of the shōgun lemochi in the spring of 1865 and stayed in Kyoto for three years. In 1880 he took another trip along the Tōkaidō from Tokyo, which was the

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 197

place of his permanent residence, leaving records of it in his sketchbooks. This trip was not along the full length of the Tōkaidō but just as far as the Shizuoka and Hakone areas. Eleven prints produced later were based upon the sketches of this trip. Those prints do not comprise a series however, and each of them follows a different representational style (Smith 1988b:54). Among these prints seven are from Hakone and several depict Mount Fuji as viewed from different meisho locations, such as Miho no matsubara or Tago no ura. Although the railroad was not completed at the time, and Kiyochika had to travel on foot, waterwheels, rickshaws, electrical and telegraph poles appear in his prints as signifiers of modern Japan. As Henry Smith has commented, eight of those prints ‘bear an inscription of the month and the hour of the day when they were sketched…. This revealing documentation is often cited as evidence of Kiyochika’s commitment to prints as a precise record of his sketch experience’ (1988b: 54–6). However a close look at the sketchbook reveals a difference between the actual period of Kiyochika’s trip and the time of the year indicated on the prints. Although his trip was made in the October of 1880 there are prints indicating different periods (January, March, July, or generally spring). The precision of the time of the day, that is recorded at the border of the prints, might be of greater importance as it functions as a record of the light conditions, even though there are major discrepancies between the translation of the views from the sketchbook to the prints (for example the view of Mount Fuji from Abe River has been changed from a morning view to the sunset). Topographical discrepancies have been noted as well. Besides the inaccurate drawing of the telegraph poles in the print of Satta Pass noted earlier, Henry Smith has remarked that the bridge of Miho no matsubara and Tago no ura is also drawn at different positions (even though both prints were based on the same sketch), and also that Shinbashi station is based on a pre-existing photograph.109 As Henry Smith concludes, ‘what mattered to Kiyochika was not literal faithfulness to his sketch record…but rather persuading the viewer that a particular landscape had been caught at a particular moment’ (Smith 1988b:54–6). Although there is nothing particularly modern about the way the views of Mount Fuji have been drawn, what makes them appear ‘modern’ is the inscription of day and time, in other words the reframing of a traditional topic within a modernized mindset. Similar hesitations apply in the work of Kamei Takejirō (?–1879), a Meiji artist who traveled along the Tōkaidō before the establishment of the railway with the purpose of producing an artwork on the Tōkaidō. Whether Kamei had the intention of recording modern Japan, renovating the Tōkaidō subject or simply capitalizing on a previously successful topic is rather obscure. Kamei, being a student of Yokoyama Matsusaburō (1838– 84) at the national military academy (Harada 1974:27) not only had modern technical skills, but was also aware of the prescriptions of modern art. It is also known that Kamei had experience in using the technique of lithography as his elder brother had a lithographic printing factory (Ono 1967:122). According to Ono Tadashige, Kamei was invited by a painter, publisher and collector named Ninagawa, to

198 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

Figure 51 ‘Shinagawa eki.’ From Kamei Takejirō, Kaiko Tōkaidō gojūsan eki shinkei (True views of old Tōkaidō’s fifty-three stations), Ōyama Shūzō (publ.), 1892, lithograph, 230×350 cm (Courtesy of the Shinagawa Historical Museum).

travel along the highway and produce lithographic prints aimed at the foreign audience. The journey took place in 1887, but two years later Kamei died at a very young age (according to Ono, probably age twenty-three). Soon after his trip, however, Kamei produced a series of oil paintings which were exhibited three years after his death at the gallery of the Meiji Art Society (Meiji Bijutsu Viaiten). The work carried the neutral title Tōkaidō gojūsan eki (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō) (Ono 1967:120–2). Kamei’s oil paintings, and especially his seascapes in localities such as Ōtsu and Enshū Sea at Maisaka station, show a very skilful representation of nature painted with dramatic overtones. Kamei’s emphasis on weather, light and cloud conditions, and his avoidance of famous places are characteristic of the anti-meisho attitude that appears in early yōga works (Watanabe 1997:281), and is indeed symptomatic of a modern mindset. As Kamei did not manage to translate his paintings into lithographs, the transfer of the work into print was undertaken after his death by two other artists, Tokunaga Ryūshū and Machida Nobuzirō.110 The prints used ink and light watercolors and were published in 1891 in separate sheets by Ōyama Shūzō (Tōyōdō) and in 1892 as a book, followed by classical poems (Ono 1967:121). In Figure 51 we can see a snow view of a deserted Shinagawa port, a view that bears no trace of the post-station famous for its pleasure quarters in the Edo period. The title of the book with the lithographic pictures was Kaiko Tōkaidō gojūsan eki shinkei (True views of old Tōkaidō’s fifty-three stations). The

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 199

Preface, written in kanbun by the scholar of Chinese studies Yado Katsuyuki (1849–1920), was as follows: Yōga-style was used by Kamei in order to commemorate the old Tōkaidō’s scenery, yearn for the good old days. Ōyama Shūzō was the printer. Tokugawa established the Bakufu in Kantō and ordered about 300 daimyō to come to Edo during 280 years. Tōkaidō became very important and crowded. Tōkaidō is the crown of Japan. After Tokugawa ended and the Emperor moved to Tokyo, the daimyō stopped their processions and Japan changed. The railroad was built and it became very easy to travel along the Tōkaidō 53 stations. The travel is fast, passengers do not stay and miss the beautiful sceneries which are not seen. So Kamei wanted to make Tōkaidō memoir in order to remind the beautiful sceneries of old days, using the new skill of Western drawings and sketching the scenery very realistically. (Kamei 1892: Preface) It is doubtful whether the artist would have shared the aspirations of that Preface. Since Kamei did not have the experience of traveling along the Tōkaidō by rail— at least not in its entirety, as the railway was completed after his death—it is unlikely that he would have been as critical of the railway as the writer of the Preface speculates. It is also doubtful whether Kamei’s views present the ‘beautiful sceneries’ of old days. One may even claim that they present the decline of the post-stations and the fading culture of the road or, by simply looking at his oil paintings, that his only interest is in capturing the fleeting moment as it is expressed in weather and light conditions rather than in permanent topographical symbols. The rhetoric of realism as a superior form of artistic representation is also evident in the title shinkei or ‘true views’ which was given by the organizers of the exhibition to the artist’s work. This the rhetorical configuration that surrounded Kamei’s work aimed to convince the audience that the artworks in question really were modern. Without this, it would be difficult, from an artistically critical point of view, to assess whether such a work really can be classified as modern, especially when the most powerful aspects of Kamei’s oil-paintings have been almost totally eliminated in the lithographic reproductions that were accessible to the public. Influences and anachronisms: from the west to Japan, from Japan to the west The import of styles and notions from the west to Japan occurred in anachronistic ways, creating major contradictions with the Japanese epistemological framework. Western scientific optical devices (telescope, lenses, etc.) introduced in the Edo period were taken up in unorthodox ways. Lacking the necessary theoretical tools for appreciating the scientific origin of those devices, as Timon Screech (1996) has convincingly discussed, they were used as

200 THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD

gadgets for creating illusions, pleasure and wit, rather than as instruments of precision. Illusionist worlds, like these demonstrated in the freak-shows and recreational areas of the Edo period, became a reality in the Meiji era. If we recall the railway song of the Meiji era (Like a picture in the zoetrope views are changing. While seeing them we are passing dozens of kilometers), we notice that the railway reminded the Japanese of the optical machine, the zoetrope, that was imported to Japan in the Edo period. Such machines had been produced in the nineteenth century by western scientists through observations of phenomena based on motion. The motion of the railway and the industrial cogwheel were major sources of such observations (Crary 1990). Although Edo-period citizens did not yet know anything about the railway, they became familiar with devices that reflected its operation, such as the zoetrope, before the import of the actual steamengine. It is a paradox that when the real railway was introduced, in an anachronistic manner, it reminded the Japanese of the zoetrope, as if the invention of the zoetrope had preceded that of the railway. The above is just one example of anachronistic way in which western technologies and epistemologies arrived in Japan. What in the west had developed over more than three centuries (from the Renaissance to the nineteenth century) were imported to Japan in less than a century, and western scientific notions of the nineteenth century were paradoxically followed by ideals of the western Renaissance. With this, western epistemology was not only removed from its philosophical origin but also its internal development became obscure. Jonathan Crary has discussed extensively the major philosophical break that occurred between perspective and the camera obscura developed in the Renaissance, and the optical techniques of the nineteenth century. According to Crary, nineteenth-century theorists found for the first time new potentials of vision in the subjective ability of the eye.111 ‘Philosophical toys’ (such as the zoetrope, kaleidoscope, etc.) made clear both the fabricated and hallucinatory nature of image and the rupture between perception and its object. This was in great contrast with the objective vision that derived from the security of the inner self, as expressed by the camera obscura and the technique of central perspective. Ironically, as Karatani Kōjin has claimed, what was imported to Japan in the Meiji era was the Renaissance value of interiority, rather than the modern subjectification of the western nineteenth century. Japanese artists used western culture in order to suppress their own nineteenth century (namely, the early feudal part) that was particularly negated as having no relationship with meaning. Paradoxically: at the very moment when the avant-garde of the West was challenging the episteme of its own nineteenth century and looking to the non-West (especially to Japan) for a way out of its impasse, Japanese literature [culture in general] found itself inscribed within…a logocentric system. (Karatani 1989:264)112

PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION 201

It is an irony that the import of western classical techniques and the overall valorization of realism during the Meiji era coincided with the phenomenon of Japonisme in Europe, when ‘things Japanese’ and in particular the ukiyo-e prints played a key role in the evolution of western impressionism and, later on, modernism. The key points of such influences could be summarized as follows: planar quality of canvas as opposed to the ‘window view’ or trompe-l’oeil of western perspective, expansion of space and angle of sight, rejection of photographic fidelity and completeness, composition through multiple narrations of different scale, cropped images, rhythmic structure through patterning, lively outline. All these characteristics were abandoned in Meiji-era art production. The crisis that affected western art in the period 1860–1920 was largely overcome through a visual restructuring of the work of art influenced by the decorative principle and inspired by the study of ukiyo-e. Thus western artists celebrated the ‘arbitrary connections between elements borrowed from reality’ superseding Renaissance compositional conventions (Berger 1992:56). The appreciation of the ukiyo-e by the nineteenth-century Europeans is indicative of the diverse meanings a representational form may obtain when appropriated by an environment other than that of its production. While in Meiji Japan ukiyo-e was used in order to transfer customs and visions related with the western tradition, in Europe ukiyo-e was considered as the modern medium par excellence. Although the aspects of western culture favored by the officially endorsed modernity were these associated with realism and objectivity, western modernism of the same era was positioned against objectivity, and sought an escape from the ‘inner self.’ Having said that, we should not fail to note that modernism and modernity run in parallel but not always in agreement. Thus what was officially endorsed by the ideologues of Japanese modernity was not necessarily accepted by artists who subscribed to the modernist movement. This explains how a modern artist such as Kiyochika may show strong modernist artistic inclinations without this contradicting his criticism of Japanese modernity.

5 CONCLUSIONS AND OPENINGS The Tōkaidō as medium of national knowledge

The study of the representational material indicated that the notion of (traveling) space developed from a narrative entity, entwined with historical and mythological notions towards visual configurations that were based (or sometimes pretended to be based) on observation and measurability. The cultural landscape of the Edo period was gradually transformed by the emerging monetary economy that introduced processes of exchange value. Thus the Edoperiod landscape was consumed, on one hand, through legendary notions that were spread from the confines of an artistic elite to wider populations and, on the other, through corporeal pleasures enjoyed on the spot. At the same time, educated travelers, with combined interests in philosophy and naturalism, saw in traveling an opportunity to comprehend the relation between nature and humans, and to discern through it unified practices and morals. In the Meiji era and during Japan’s modernization process, ‘national land’ denoted not only historical and cultural notions, but also, and to an even greater extent, held a productive potential that could lead to prosperity and progress. Thus scientific ideals and analytical tools found wide applications expanding from sciences and technology to the arts. Meiji arts do indeed mirror their contemporary scientific methodologies and the obsession with increasing national productivity; Meiji arts also ‘discovered’ natural beauty in images of nature worked upon by the applications of modern technology, as well as in exploratory views of still unknown topographies. Such tendencies, having developed from the late Edo period found institutional foundation in the Meiji era and became crucial to the formation of the Japanese national identity. I identified as causes of these transformations Japan’s exposure to western scientific methodologies as a means of equalizing itself with the west and, even more, Japan’s growing awareness of the new international setting and its codification. This codification was based on the economic principles of modern capitalism and the modern categories of specialized, scientific disciplines and institutions. In the above study I also postulated that it is through inquiry into the positions adopted by the institutional bodies which authorize representation that we should undertake an investigation into representational changes, rather than through a stylistic analysis. Through the transfer of representational styles from one era to another, or from one country to another, forms and motifs of representation

THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD 203

acquire new meanings that are different from those initially invested in them. Indeed, as we saw in the above studies, Edo-period representational patterns continued to influence Meiji-era production. At the same time, however, they became appropriated by a modernist discourse nonexistent in Edo Japan that greatly altered their meanings—as they were consumed by new modern(ized) spectators whose concerns were different from those of their counterparts in the Edo period. Thus, although forms were repeated, in the process their meanings were altered through the diversity of the broader cultural frameworks that enveloped their production. In the previous chapters I also maintained that the configuration of traveling is in itself a means of representation. What traveling represents far exceeds the topographical or cultural connotations of the visited place. Rather, the book has indicated that geographical desires, at least in Edo and Meiji Japan, are based not only on what is visually or physically available, but even more on anticipations shaped prior to traveling. In the following, I will associate the changing meaning of space revealed by studies of the representation of travel in Edo and Meiji Japan with the broader epistemological environment of the two eras, along the lines of theorists such as Najita Tetsuo and Tessa Morris-Suzuki. With this I will argue that spatial notions —as configured through the discourses of traveling and representation—are inseparable from Japan’s evolving national identity. National knowledge and epistemology The space of the road is unavoidably tied up with the space of the nation; in the Edo period, however, the notion of Japan as a nation was not defined as it is in modern times. From the Edo period onwards, the development of the road infrastructure expanded the horizons of Japanese population, and if seen in parallel with its representation, it may be safely asserted that it figured as means of cognition of both local and trans-local matters that were unknown before. Until Edo Japan, people were less aware of the character of remote places, even within the territory of Japan. As Foard has described, ‘the masses of Japanese engaging in village agriculture before the Tokugawa period were perhaps only dimly aware of the cognitive region of Japan, for their functional region was severely limited’ (Foard 1982:247). Until the Edo period, the domain where one came from was almost equivalent to one’s own country. Outside of this realm there was the power of the shōgun, centered in Edo, and that of the Emperor, centered in Kamigata, while a number of religious and historical spots dotted Japan as monuments of the religious and national ties of Japan as a homeland. Until the end of the Edo period, the presence of the Emperor was not as important as it became in the Meiji era. As Meiji officials realized, in the Edo period ‘only the shogunate was known to the realm, and people were unaware that the imperial house existed’ (Gluck 1985:74). Under such conditions, and given the fact that local dialects were not only distinct but in some cases even unintelligible to each

204 CONCLUSIONS AND OPENINGS

other, people would hardly be aware of the notion of Japan as an allencompassing territory. The development of the highways that crossed different domains leading to ultimate symbolic destinations (Edo, Kyoto, Ise) became a means of strengthening the consciousness of Japan as a unified country. The highways connected previously isolated areas and became the carriers of national knowledge. Via the highways, products and cultural forms, western and Asian novelties, images of foreign ambassadors and lords of remote regions were spread throughout the country. Therefore, as ethnologists have shown, it is not surprising to find, even today, the same road-songs or similar myths in remote parts of Japan (Mayer 1968:xxiv, xxvi). In this sense, the highways were equivalent to contemporary media, spreading information and cultural modes. At the same time, the obligatory involvement of the surrounding villages in providing transport services encouraged contact between farmers and travelers from the outside world. In the Meiji era, the railway developed not only as a means for increasing national knowledge but also as a means of shaping national knowledge. The steam-engine and the western-modeled station-buildings became symbolic of modern Japan, which was still largely unknown to the inhabitants of the unmodernized countryside. Through the Meiji policy, traveling became an instrument of geographical learning, as we saw in the example of the railway songs that presented images of modernity on young Japanese. Similarly, railway maps transcribed an image of the new hierarchical division of the country within which each locality was assigned specific functions. Even the Emperor took advantage of the new transport system as a direct means of (re-)presenting his authority; in order for the restored imperial power to be re-established in the collective consciousness, one Meiji Emperor undertook 102 trips throughout the Japanese country in the forty-five years of his reign, in contrast with no more than three trips by his predecessors in the 260 years of Tokugawa regime (Gluck 1985:74). But what type of image did Japan as a nation or as a ‘realm’ hold in each of these periods? The common neglect of geography or even topography that we noticed in the study of the material discussed in the previous chapters, should not lead us believe that the notion of the nation, even in its ‘proto’ form, was disregarded. Even if the image of the country as a whole lacked a cohesive identity, the idea of the homeland was cultivated through historical and mythological narratives. Such notions are obvious in the epistemological questions of the Edo period, which formed the overall framework within which representation operated. During the Genroku era, a period of social and political disruptions such as famines, riots and merchants’ bankruptcies, it became apparent that the political and economic system of the Tokugawa needed to be reconsidered. What the Tokugawa had envisioned as ‘peace and tranquility in seclusion and agricultural self-sufficiency’ conflicted with the commercial revolution and the turbulent economic forces unleashed by it (Najita 1991:598). In response, Edo-period intellectuals sought to defuse such sociopolitical unrest

THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD 205

in reconsidering the foundations of Japan as a homeland. As Najita and MorrisSuzuki have argued, two distinct and often conflicting systems of thought undertook the task of responding to such pressures: one identified history as expressed in language and the text to be the reliable object of knowledge, and the other was based on the study and exploitation of the perceptual world of nature. Elements of both systems have been found reflected in the representations of the Edo period, but it was particularly the second that formed the base of Japan’s forthcoming modern ideology. Japan as history/Japan as nature Since the Genroku era, an increasing interest in what has been called the Ancient Way (kodō) appeared in Japanese intellectual circles. The National Learning Movement (kokugaku)113 was primarily a philological study of ancient language that, by looking at a distant, idealized epoch, searched in history and ancient texts for the rules that should govern the present. Historical learning was also considered necessary in order to secure what was at issue at the time: cultural autonomy from the ‘dominant other,’ which at this period was China. Motoori Norinaga (1730–1801) one of the major intellectuals of this movement attributed special significance to ancient words known as kotodama (‘word spirits’), which were believed to reside in people, things, or even words. Kotodama were viewed as ‘bridges between the ordinary world of human affairs and the supernatural realm of numinous phenomena’ (Nosco 1990:219). Similarly, an earlier figure Kamo no Mabuchi (1679–1769) had claimed that ancient verses embody the spirit of ancient men with ‘correct heart’ and carry normative value, thus are helpful for developing a good government (Nosco 1990:129–30). ‘Primordial history’ was a major force for defining or keeping the country together, through ideas of continuity through time and purity. Through such streams of thought Japan’s distinctive values, which could not be transferred to other societies, were stressed. The impact of this movement in the representations of the Tōkaidō is obvious in the numerous meisho references that derived from Japanese ancient or classical texts. Meisho, toponyms which came to have cultural significance due to their use in poetry, are similarly based on faith in the magical capacity of words, evoking nationally significant legends or events. The fact that those words or icons were often used as means of political satire, due to their association with imperial subjects, is indicative of the popular culture’s role in questioning the authority of the bakufu. A major transformation of the foundations of the Tokugawa thought came from considering nature as the source for developing principles of economy and morals—in other words as a reliable source of learning. This could be brought about only through clear and precise observation of the natural laws, a principle that greatly conflicted with the Tokugawa philosophy, according to which observing things close at hand was considered unreliable. Indeed for an

206 CONCLUSIONS AND OPENINGS

ideologue of the Tokugawa such as Ogyū Sorai (1666–1728), who was a keen advocate of historical study, ‘nature could not serve as a stable source of social norms precisely because it was beyond the grasp of the human intelligence, and the procedure of directly observing nature to deduce moral norms therefore flawed and arbitrary’ (Najita 1991:601–2). Contrary to such prevailing views, a speculative view of nature as a resource for gaining empirical knowledge emerged in the period of the Kyōhō reforms, which advocated the principle of practicality, and spread in mid-eighteenth-century Japan. As Morris-Suzuki postulates, central to that development was the concept of kaibutsu (‘opening up of nature’) which expanded far beyond the limits of agriculture, to include the making of textiles, pottery, metals, the building of ships and the manufacture of armaments. The evolving concept of kaibutsu implied that the most perfect nature was nature most thoroughly improved by human beings (Morris-Suzuki 1998:54). This concept was first emphasized by the neo-Confucian scholar Kaibara Ekiken, and it was also utilized by rangaku scholars, such as Hiraga Gennai (1729– 80) and Satō Nobuhiro (1769–1850).114 Morris-Suzuki has pointed out the line of thought from the Edo to the Meiji era, and the preparatory role of Edo-period intellectual pursuits for Japan’s passage into the modern world. By the middle of the Edo period, landscape representation started gradually to become liberated from the convention of the meisho. There was a broader environment that emphasized observation of nature as a new means of appreciation. Suzuki Bokushi (1770–1842), in his depiction of the snowy Hokuetsu region of 1842, carefully observed the weather, local customs, the shapes of snowflakes, types of snowshoe (Suzuki 1995:279), while Takashima Hokkai (1850–1931), a geology and forestry specialist, left travel sketches of landscapes based on scientific observations (Watanabe 1997:281). In the examination of the Tōkaidō material, this approach has been encountered not only in the work of rangaku scholars such as Shiba Kōkan, but also in Edoperiod works that depict people engaged in agricultural or manufacturing works. Such prints reveal that the landscape is no longer perceived in its aesthetic or poetic dimensions, but rather is appreciated as a field of productivity and action; interestingly enough, in the same period there is a notable emphasis on human productivity as well.115 Such perceptions became fundamental for the ideals of the nation-state, within which technological means of production were paramount. It was with these new technologies that meisho of the modern era became associated, without however escaping the stereotyping that characterized Edoperiod art production. Technology as expansion of nature The development of technological knowledge was Japan’s means for assuring its place in the modern world. Although Japanese technological development derived largely from borrowings of western expertise, we should not disregard

THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD 207

the fact that the development of manufacturing and regional industry of the Edo period was a fertile ground for Japan’s future development. Technology in Meiji Japan’s educational system was not simply a disciplinary division but the foundation of modern education. It is important to note that fine arts were initially established as a part of technical studies. As we saw in the previous chapters, observation, measurability and realism were promoted by both government and art circles. It is no coincidence that, from the late Edo period, the curriculum of Yōgakusho (Institute of Western Studies), established after Perry’s visit to Uraga in 1855, combined the study of precise, western-based representation, such as map-making and descriptive drawing, together with agriculture, metallurgy and mathematics, showing clearly that Japan’s land, besides being ‘the land of the gods,’ was a field of resources that had to be surveyed, yielded and exploited.116 In the study of Meiji-eras representations of the Tōkaidō, the appreciation of technology as an aesthetic and moral notion is evident. Railway lines, steam engines, industrial plants, tunnels and iron bridges became the subjects of national fascination and pride. The aestheticization of industry and the work ethic reflects the conviction of the Japanese that perfect nature is nature that has been worked upon rather than passively contemplated. Unlike our contemporary understanding of nature and technology as two conflicting notions, the study of the above material indicates that in Meiji Japan technology is not perceived as the opposite of nature. Rather, nature, in other words the national body, is precisely the resource of progress and prosperity, including both agriculture and technology. The study of the national body in its physical and symbolic dimension was undertaken by the discipline of geography in a way that was useful for the ideology of Meiji Japan. Geography as national ideology Technological progress in the early industrial era is inseparable from the exploitation of natural resources such as metals and minerals. Thus one of the first scientific disciplines that was fostered in the early Meiji era was the study of geology. The reason for this was the need for Japan to investigate the potentials of its own resources, which could be used for industrial development, and to minimize Japan’s dependence on others. The necessity for this had been earlier expressed by Hiraga Gennai. Hiraga was a supporter of exploring Japan’s natural resources, in order to revitalize regional economies, which could exploit their own resources for their economic benefit, advocating in parallel the economic independence of Japan from China (Morris-Suzuki 1998:45–6). The exploitation of natural resources is indeed paramount for establishing one country’s independence from others. In the long run, however, it may justify expansionist policies as a means of acquiring resources that are lacking within a country’s own national territory, as it indeed happened with Japan in the years following the Meiji restoration.

208 CONCLUSIONS AND OPENINGS

Before that, however, the establishment of Japan as a self-sustaining country was crucial for both political and ideological purposes. The passage of Japan from a ‘protonation-state’ to an imperialist modern state was realized not only through Meiji government policies, but also intellectual endeavors on the part of ideologues who held that the national land was unique and different from all others. As we saw in the writings of Shiga Shigetaka, geology was not only a means for developing Japan’s technical civilization, but also a rhetorical explanation of the country’s ‘unique’ topography, a basis of cultural determination. This makes it obvious that geography is not clearly distinguished from the study of geology; in fact, geography as a discipline was initially positioned between geology and the study of letters.117 Geographical learning was highly valued in the Meiji era and many thinkers saw geography as a means of expanding the horizons of knowledge towards the west. The Meiji ideologue Fukuzawa ranked the sciences in descending order of importance as follows: geography, physics, chemistry, arithmetic, and secondary, history, economics, and ethics (shūshin gaku).118 The dissemination of geographical knowledge was undertaken through a variety of forms, such as maps, geographical treatises, guidebooks and school songs, which imprinted the geographical image of Japan in the collective consciousness and propagated the hierarchies of the modern world. Western countries were presented as models of prosperity, while Asian countries appeared as negative examples of submission to the western powers. For example, Fukuzawa wrote in World Geography, a primary school textbook of 1869: [western countries’] industries are successful and their trade prosperous: their armies are strong and well-armed. They enjoy a peace of which they are proud. If we seek the source of all this prosperity, we find that it is the blossom on the branches of a tree, whose trunk is learning…. Let us take this path so that we might see the Western flower in our country. (Takeuchi 1987:7–8) On the same lines, Shiga wrote in derogatory terms about what he characterized as the ‘bleak landscape’ of the Yellow River in China, which is ‘nothing like the beautiful mountains and clean waters unique to Japan’ (Shiga 1995:48; in Gavin 2001:40), while he talked with contempt about the demoralization and apathy of the Kusaiean natives of the South Sea after their contact with the Europeans (in Gavin 2001:70). In contrast, he was impressed with the Fijians, who had chosen to become more westernized and to give up the ‘barbaric’ practices of the past, instead of becoming victims of westernization (Gavin 2001:72–3). A notion central to the discipline of geography as it developed in the Meiji era was that of national territoriality. In earlier times, the issue of territoriality was exclusively the concern of military and administrative authorities. Maps like Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu were meant to be used only by governmental authorities, while popular maps gave information of a practical or symbolic

THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD 209

nature. In the Meiji era, however, territoriality became a truly national affair that concerned both government and the masses. This was well expressed by an emphasis on the geographical outline of Japan and the demarcation of the country’s territory through the drawing of borderlines, not only in official maps but also in road-maps that were meant to be used by the public, which was not something that had happened in earlier eras. As Richard Okada has commented, ‘a nation never stands autonomous but only in relation to other nations, so that its borders do not demarcate its own borders alone but always inscribe a relation of difference from other borders’ (Okada 1997:92). Borderlines not only delineated Japan from its neighboring territories, but were reflective of Japan’s attempt to demarcate the borders between civilization and barbarism. According to Narita Ryūichi, the notion of barbarism in the Meiji era referred to areas outside the realm of civilization, namely Asian territories outside Japan, such as Taiwan, Micronesia and, later on, Manchuria, which in the western view were considered inferior and backward.119 The exclusion of barbarism from the territory of Japan suggests that in modern Japan, civilization and colonialism were closely connected. In the words of Narita (1992), ‘to postulate the existence, outside the nation-state, of regions cut off from civilization is to place oneself at the summit of civilization and to relegate those other strange places to a subordinate position.’ It is important to note that Japan’s image as a ‘modernizer’ (actually colonizer) of its neighbor territories was inseparable from its newly acquired means of technical civilization and its ability to establish railway lines in the colonized territories, at a time when the railway was seen as an indicator of civilization. Not surprisingly, studies of Japan’s colonies, Manchuria and Korea, were undertaken from 1907 by the ‘Bureau of Historical and Geographical Studies of Manchuria and Korea’ at the Tokyo Branch office of the ‘Southern Manchurian Railway Company,’ indicating the direct relations between the railways and militarist Japan (Han 1997:688). An increased awareness of the importance of Japan’s borderline is obvious in late Edo-period road-cartography. Although most road-maps of the Tokugawa period omit the overall shape of Japan, a change is observable from the early nineteenth century, with the new ‘conformal’ map category, which attempts to minimize distortion and emphasizes the geographical shape of the country as a whole. The international political conditions of the late Edo period necessitated the exhaustive recording of the national borders and the interior structure of the country. This can be seen in official expeditions, like the inspection tour of coastal defenses undertaken by the government official Matsudaira Sadanobu (1758–1829), in order to prepare for a possible attack from the Russians; he was accompanied by the artist Tani Bunchō (1763–1840) (Takeuchi 1998:328). During the same period, the astronomer Hayashi Shihei (1738–93) produced his Sangoku tsūran zusetsu (Illustrated outline of the three countries, 1785). Ac cording to Tessa Morris-Suzuki, this was the first attempt to define Japan and distinguish it clearly from the Ryūkyū and Ainu lands, which, as Shihei suggested, Japan should appropriate by colonization.120 In particular, Ezo, which

210 CONCLUSIONS AND OPENINGS

was populated by both Japanese and Ainu people, was initially considered as the realm of backwardness and was neglected in many early maps.121 It is no coincidence that Ezo begun appearing as Japanese territory when its population started to interact with the Russians in a way that the government perceived as dangerous at the turn of the nineteenth century (Morris-Suzuki 1998:23). Maps of the conformal category (that emphasized the outline of the country) became the norm of modern cartographic production so that today it is almost unthinkable to draw a map of Japan (as of any other nation-state) without its geographical outline. Thus a new emphasis on coastal sites in the railway maps of modern Japan betrays not only an increasing consciousness of borderlines, but even signs of future imperialism, just as Renaissance maps during the age of exploration included many more coastal sites and ports than places within the mainland. Recasting history as progress Although geographical knowledge was the favored discipline of the Meiji era, history was not disregarded; rather, it was reframed through the new ideal of progress. Throughout the Meiji era, Japan was on its way to achieving ‘full civilization’122 by gradually eliminating the remains of her uncivilized past. On the one hand, the Edo-period ephemeral locales, which were associated with the evils of non-productivity and a demoralizing culture were removed; on the other, Japanese cultural heritage was appropriated within the scheme of civilization. This meant that Japanese historical memory had to be cleansed of its impure remains and re-authorized through the ideals of modernity. According to Narita, the values of civilization (bunmei) were strongly associated with those of wealth, health and knowledge. Each of these values was fabricated in relation to its opposite, poverty, illness and ignorance; all of them attributes associated with aspects of Japan’s uncivilized past. Narita makes a distinction between the notion of barbarism—discussed above —and savagery. As barbarism became excluded from the realm of Japan, in the Meiji drive to incorporate diversity under state supervision, savagery was subsumed within Japan’s territory and was seen as a condition within or prior to civilization. Thus, savagery, contrary to the spatially located barbarism, was perceived as a timebased entity. Specifically, it appeared at times of festivity and is similar to ‘folk’ practices associated with a backward countryside or an inferior society (Narita 1992). Soon, however, despite its prior stigmatization, savagery moved on to another level. It became the object of a scholarly discipline, that of ethnography or folklore studies and of literary nostalgia (Ivy 1995:33), both of which are products of modernity that reveal the modern desire to ‘colonize’ and appropriate selective pre-modern traits.123 This is obvious not only in the work of Japanese ethnographers, but also in records left by foreign travelers to Japan. As Weston put it, by the beginning of the twentieth century ‘the Japan of picturesque romance is passing away and is being replaced by a land of materialism, which

THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD 211

however prosperous, powerful, and wealthy it may be, can no longer be the universally lovely fairyland that it was when we first knew it’ (Weston 1918:v). Foreigners who yearned for the exotic character of Japan acted as if their role was to approve particular scenes, objects and locales that, in their opinion, captured the native spirit of Japan, while disapproving of others that were considered to be indecent and primitive. The traditional Japanese house, temples, gardens and certain festivals were regarded as valuable and were accommodated within the overall scheme of progress. On the other hand, western travelers to Japan were shocked by the view of the almost naked coolies walking in the streets, and western art critics such as J.J.Jarves condemned the pornographic ukiyo-e drawings and animal-human figures of Hokusai’s manga as products of a ‘primitive nomad life’ or people ‘trained to delight in the false’ (Watanabe 1991: 159–60). Such views, though revealing the colonizing gaze of ‘Japanophile’ visitors, were however taken seriously by the Japanese in their attitude towards preservation and cultural heritage. Thus practices such as ecstatic dances, communal houses, practices of interim sexual encounters, all of which, coincidentally, were favored by Edo-era traveling conditions, were banned (Clark 1980:183). Highway scenes, which were associated with the realm of the social margins in the Edo period, are rare in Meiji representations. Whenever they are encountered, there is an obvious shift away from the concerns of the artists of Edo Japan. Suggestions of the licentious aspects of traveling or of its liberating effect from everyday social oppressions are almost eliminated, while an emphasis on the frustrations caused by migration, a condition that came hand in hand with modernity, was common. As soon as the ‘savage’ aspects of the Tōkaidō were brought into order by eradicating prostitution and street-related occupations, and forcing previously prosperous quarters to decay, the poststations of the Tōkaidō re-entered the realm of official endorsement, now surrounded by an aura of national nostalgia. Individuals or groups of artists in the Taishō era travelled along the Tōkaidō on foot or by car in order to enjoy the remains of Edo-period scenery, or trace the changes from Hiroshige’s times. Thus the representations of the Tōkaidō that were produced throughout the modernization period are based upon selective memories of the Japanese past, those that have been approved by the official narration of Japanese history. These are mainly the meisho, especially those established since the Classical era, which continue to be important cultural assets of Japan in an almost uninterrupted manner from earlier times. A major change, however, takes place in modern Japan. If traditionally meisho figured as predominantly conceptual sites, whose poetic associations artists and travelers were supposed to recall at a mental level, in the modern era such sites enter the realm of corporeality and are complemented by material markers, such as travel facilities and other tourist paraphernalia. As we observed in the previous chapters, such attitudes were initiated with the commodification tendencies of the Edo period, and the addition of new meisho with visual or physical attributes.

212 CONCLUSIONS AND OPENINGS

History as nostalgia, history as play Regional policies of modern Japan paved the way for the evolution of the Tōkaidō into the most industrialized, prosperous and populous region of the country. In the 1960s and 1970s this resulted in the development of an urban conglomeration expanding along the Pacific shore, characterized as the Tōkaidō Megalopolis or the Pacific belt. Throughout this process, the Tōkaidō’s scenery was greatly altered as it was transformed into a continuous zone which included areas of variable character, such as dense urban centers, expansive suburbs, industry and rural units knitted together with various means of infrastructure that were epitomized with the inauguration of the Tōkaidō Shinkansen (bullet-train) in 1964. The accelerating urban growth of the Tōkaidō region in the postwar era led to an expansive discourse that fluctuated between sentiments of national pride on one hand, and citizens’ disillusionment on the other. The reasons for the latter were mainly ecological destruction, regional inequality within and without the megalopolis, and a feeling of a loss of tradition, in other words, the cost that Japan had to pay for its technological progress. It is not surprising that it was within the megalopolis that the first broad-based citizens’ movements arose in favor of stricter environmental control and urban planning, leading to thorough revisions of the planning system in 1968 (Sorensen 2002:168). What is important is not only that the Japanese as a nation became wary of the cost of progress, but also that the Japanese as citizens started becoming aware of their power to influence political decisions, especially those concerning their immediate living environment. Such movements grew from a revival of chonaikai (neighborhood associations) to community-based planning— machizukuri (town-making)—in the 1980s and 1990s that carried strong implications of ‘community building.’ Within such environments the attention of Japanese cultural politics shifted from technology to culture, in other words from progress to tradition. According to Gluck in her examination of the international cultural events that took place in Japan from 1964 to 1970, this was officially confirmed with the Prime Minister Ōhira Masayoshi’s (1910–80) declaration of a new age of culture in 1979 (Asahi Shinbun, January 25, 1979; in Gluck 1993:72). After the mid-1960s, the search for cultural continuities had indeed been directed towards areas of the Japanese countryside that were left untouched by the ‘evils’ of industrialization, in order to discover striking remnants of a ‘purer, more pristine Japan’ (Ivy 1995:33). With this, the view of the Japanese periphery shifted from its being utilized as a field of extraction of natural and human resources—as had been the case in the modern era—to its becoming a source of tradition and culture. This did not have the connotations of a system of moral beliefs based on the valorization of agriculture as its highest value—similar to that of Tokugawa Japan. Rather, it was constituted as a means of place-consumption, that is to say tourism. Such tendencies were amplified by the discourse of furusato, or the lost home of contemporary Japanese, that became a dominant theme of postmodern cultural

THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD 213

politics in Japan. Having said that, I will continue with the examination of the most recent transformations of the Tōkaidō, that is the Tōkaidō Renaissance, a campaign that views the Tōkaidō highway not only as a cultural asset but also as an opportunity for cultivating postmodern identities. Tōkaidō Renaissance Tōkaidō Renaissance was initiated in 1991 in order to revitalize the remains of the old Tōkaidō highway that had been neglected since the early modernist schemes of the Meiji era. Local governments involved in the project were the cities of Nagoya and Kawasaki, and the prefectures of Shizuoka, Aichi and Mie. It is not surprising that neither of the Tōkaidō’s two ends— the Kantō and Kansai areas—were involved in the project. Most of the agents were based in Chūbu, a region that since the mid-1960s had shown signs of discontentment with the ‘corridor’-effects of the Tōkaidō megalopolis that favored the Tokyo metropolitan and Kansai areas.124 The labeling of the campaign by its organizers as a michi-zukuri (road-making) campaign alludes to the popularity of machizukuri for involving local citizens in urban-planning decisions. The campaign hoped to provide a new identity for areas that did not share the benefits of modernization; for example, towns that failed to have railway stations or became depopulated, thus retaining a ‘purity’ that the rest of the megalopolis lacked. In order to achieve this, the campaign emphasized the historical past of these areas as a means of enhancing local pride, and also as a means of drawing the tourist population from other regions. To be sure, there is little of the highway left for preservation; thus, it is more precise to talk about revitalization rather than about historic preservation. Despite the fact that Tōkaidō Renaissance aims at cultivating conditions of local autonomy, in juxtaposition to both the central government’s and Tokyo’s authority, its rhetorical strategies are modeled upon centrally located discourses that are omnipresent in contemporary Japan. Even the name of the campaign is heavily influenced by the successful ‘Tokyo Renaissance’ campaign that started in 1989 in order to celebrate the 400th anniversary of the city of Tokyo (Iwatake 2003). The rhetorical framework of the Tōkaidō Renaissance is along the lines of the persisting attention to the Edo period that characterizes post-1980s Japan. According to a wave of Edo studies that have appeared since then, the Edo period —now interpreted as an information- and consumption-based culture— paradoxically resonates with postmodernity. It is the preoccupation with Edo culture, the culture of Japan secluded from the west, which preceded modernization, that is expected to provide contemporary Japanese with a set of principles that will help them overcome the drawbacks of modernity in a truly Japanese manner. Thus postmodern Japanese society, built upon a ‘return’ to ‘tradition’ and ‘culture,’ appears as a next stage of civilization—practically elaborating the scheme that was provided by Fukuzawa in the Meiji era—and is now discussed by both politicians and intellectuals.125 Not surprisingly, Edo-

214 CONCLUSIONS AND OPENINGS

period Tōkaidō is overwhelmingly emphasized in the material of the campaign, which contains almost no reference to the time between the Edo and postwar eras. Traveling along the Tōkaidō highway is re-introduced as tabi, a word that evokes a romantic notion of pre-modern journey. Tabi is now presented as a means of self-realization (Ivy 1995:37), intersecting personal with national narratives. As it appears in the brochures of the campaign, the highway provides tourist possibilities, such as visits to museums or historical sites, together with an environment suitable for physical exercise, such as walking or climbing. With this, tabi is contrasted with the business-trip that is associated with Japan’s productive—mainly male—workforce; accordingly, the ideal consumers of the campaign, as is obvious in its promotional material, are mostly the female and elderly populations who have the time for such travels. Ironically however, the logo of the campaign consists of a cartoon version of Yaji and Kita, the two legendary heroes of Tōkaidōchū hizakurige, a novel that made traveling along the Tōkaidō famous as a means of satisfying the amorous fantasies of male travelers. Not only does the campaign show an excessive preference for the Edoperiod Tōkaidō, also the Edo-period historical narrative is oversimplified. For instance, figures of commoners and authorities appear in a smooth coexistence, concealing any social and cultural conflicts between them. Thus Yaji and Kita happily coexist with samurai and daimyō processions, with no hints of the antagonisms between different social classes throughout the Edo period. The contemporary celebration of the highway should not make us believe that what the Meiji era turned its back on has now been endorsed. As the previous chapters postulated, in Meiji Japan, the Edo-period highway was seen as harmful to the public morals. Today, the Meiji-era project proves its success as, 150 years later, all the ‘noxious’ odor of Edo chōnin culture has truly evaporated. Thus historic Tōkaidō has changed from being a worn-out academic subject and is reintroduced as a part of Japan’s ‘ludic space’; a spatial realm that includes tourist resorts and recreational playgrounds, within which historical notions are reduced to commodity icons and familiar consumption practices can flourish. The campaign capitalizes upon the vague collective memory of the Tōkaidō as the realm of leisure and play, populated by characters like Yaji and Kita. Nevertheless, as Lefebvre has postulated, leisure space can never succeed in becoming independent from the constraints of the governing capitalist culture. As a symbol of freedom, leisure space necessarily commands high exchange value. ‘It is sold at high prices…. It is reduced to visual attributes “holidays,” “exile,” “retreat”’ (Lefebvre 1976:82–4) There is not much material fabrication in the construction of ‘ludic’ Tōkaidō, except for the placement of historical and mile-markers.126 The Tōkaidō Renaissance campaign capitalizes mainly on representation: representation of Japan’s past and present, held together around intangible notions of continuity. Thus the terrain of the campaign is not only the Tōkaidō as a physical space, a road or a region, but rather the Tōkaidō as a ‘mental site.’ Not surprisingly, in the iconography of the campaign, ukiyo-e imagery prevails, combined with

THE TŌKAIDŌ ROAD 215

contemporary cartoon-like maps of the region that attempt to make the Tōkaidō appealing not only to distant populations, but also one may even claim equally to local populations, who appear to be treated as tourists-at-home. In these brochures, however, we will find nothing of the obscure and subversive character that, for instance, artists of the angura movement saw in ukiyo-e in the 1960s, not to mention the rich associative mechanisms of the ukiyo-e genre in Edo Japan. Similarly, the character of the performances that take place along the Tōkaidō draws no inspiration from the provocative, carnivalesque re-enactment of Edo period traveling that we see in a film like Ee-ja-naika by Imamura Shōhei (1981). Rather, a stereotypical postmodern iconography that identifies Japan with an eclectic mélange of Edo-period motifs and postwar accomplishments is what we see most, juxtaposing images of daimyō processions with high-tech infrastructure and figures of contemporary Japan dressed in Edo-period apparel (Plate 30). It is clear that modern, cartographic representation, with its allusions to science and objectification, as we saw it being configured at the dawn of Japan’s modern era, is largely abandoned in such promotional material. In the modern maps of Japan studied in Chapter 2, we observed how the partial spatial experience of the traveler was gradually eliminated, while totalized systems of spatial representation prevailed, not only in official cartography but also in maps addressed to the public. As if trying to reestablish the missing relation between general audience and cartography, that was until recently held to be specialized and inaccessible, the representation in such postmodern maps of Japan now becomes ‘easy’ (yasashii), smooth and playful. Postmodern Japanese depart on a trip along the Tōkaidō in order to visit their historical ‘other,’ the Edoite, a harmlessly frivolous subject, and also their ‘other’ self in ‘play’ and ‘nature.’ Neither Edo nor nature is evident along the route, unless one is in the specific mind-set that the Tōkaidō Renaissance campaign evokes. Does the campaign have the capacity to liberate the participants’ identities or does it simply lead to what MacCannell has named ‘social reproduction’ (MacCannell 1989:45)? Can it become a means of discovery or will it end as one more sterile tourist practice? Such questions are difficult to answer based only on a uni-directionally examined system of representation. As the study of the previous chapters has postulated, representation is not an end in itself but rather an open-ended process. It evokes lineages of responses and practices that alter its meaning in ways that artists and producers may never have imagined. Such responses may become public and shared, or may stay in the realm of the personal; they may also appear elsewhere, at locales other than those where they originated. In the previous chapters we followed the metaphorical road of the Tōkaidō in order to be transferred not only in place but also in time, from a distant era to the present. Throughout this book, it has become obvious that the Tōkaidō cannot be seen in isolation but unavoidably brings with it issues that much exceed its specific territoriality, covering broader national and international matters. In this, we observed how space, time, power and identity formation are always mutually

216 CONCLUSIONS AND OPENINGS

connected, and how traveling— despite its promised capacity for liberation—can hardly be discussed as an individual affair. Rather, it operates as a manifold project negotiated by a complex set of conflicted or synergetic agents—nations, governments, commercial enterprises, artists and ideologues, popular and mass cultures— each of which associates space with selected meanings, anticipating specific practices. If, until Edo Japan, space was comprehended more through its narrative rather than its physically grasped qualities, Japan’s passage to modernity was marked by the authorities’ attempts to monumentalize space and freeze it into—but also freeze into it—fixed symbolisms. This westernized view, however, did not last long in Japan. ‘The great Japanese cities have stories where other cities have monuments,’ writes Waley (2003:385). Not only in the case of the Tōkaidō, but throughout Japan’s territory, matter, that is to say architecture and urban structures, are constantly replaced by more profitable constructions, and thus hold no memories. Unavoidably, the site upon which Japan’s space is founded is the intangible site of representation. Not surprisingly, Japan’s postmodern campaigns show little attention to photography, representing place mostly through illustrations and graphics—media that accommodate the fictitious, the illusionary and the invisible. Thus place becomes once again an entity to be fantasized about rather than to be seen. Not unlike Edo Japan, it is primarily within such ‘landscapes of the mind’ that individual or collective identities are shaped. Whether wider populations will be able to take a more active role in shaping spatial representation is difficult to predict, especially considering the deeply rooted commercial basis of traveling in Japanese society since early modern times. As Japanese populations demand an increasing command over their immediate environment (indicated by machi-zukuri or chonaikai initiatives), we may be permitted to expect that their relation with more distant locales, such as tourist or historical sites, will also soon be questioned. The beaten tracks of the Tōkaidō, where the ordinary, the historical and the exotic intersect, through the divergent identities of local inhabitants, Japanese nationals and tourists, may become such terrains within which identities will be experienced in their complexity without excluding each other.

GLOSSARY

Units of measurement bu: unit of distance, equal to 3.03 mm chō: unit of distance, equal to 109 meters ken: unit of distance, equal to 1.7 meters koku: unit of volume, equal to 180.4 liters or 44.8 gallons ri: unit of distance, equal to 3.927 kilometers shaku: unit of distance, equal to 30.3 centimeters tsubo: unit of land measure, equal to c. 4×1 square meters Periodization of Japanese history Yamato Nara Heian Kamakura Muromachi Warring-states Period Azuchi Momoyama Edo Meiji Taishō Shōwa Heisei

645–712 712–94 794–1185 1185–1333 1333–1467 1467–1573 1573–1603 1603–1868 1868–1912 1912–26 1926–88 1988–

Ancient Medieval

Early modern Modern

Terms aka-e: ‘red picture’ annai: ‘plan inside,’ guide, advertisement, notification bijin: ‘beautiful people,’ favorite subject of ukiyo-e bakufu: Japan’s feudal government byōbu: folding screen, usually pairs of two hinged panels chōnin: townsman, merchant daimyō: feudal lord under the shōgun system, who ruled over holdings with a productive capacity of more than 10,000 koku of rice dō: a road, a region dōchūki: ‘itinerary,’ ‘road-record.’ e: picture

218 GLOSSARY

Edo: the administrative seat of the Tokugawa, later named Tokyo Edo (or Tokugawa) period: the period from 1603 to 1868 when the Tokugawa family held the shogunate ee-ja-nai-ka: ‘ain’t it hunky-dory,’ ecstatic condition of dances reminiscent of carnivals related with okage-mairi emakimono: illustrated horizontal handscroll, usually of narrative content Ezo: Hokkaido in the Edo period fūkei: ‘landscape,’ an idealistic genre of painting furusato: ‘native-place,’ discourse on modern Japan’s lost-home gesaku: humorous eighteenth-century literature Gokaidō: the system of the five highways established by the Tokugawa hatagoya: inns for commoners honjin: inns located at post-stations used by the daimyō -ji: budhist temple -jingū: Shintō shrine jinrikisha: horse-power street car also known as rickshaw or kuruma that was common in the Meiji era kabuki: popular drama of the Edo including singing and dancing, in which men played all roles kami: spirit, deity Kamigata: ‘the place where the Imperial Palace is located,’ the area around Kyoto and Osaka kana: the two phonetic syllabaries of the Japanese language: hiragana and katakana kanazōshi: ‘books written in kana’ of the Edo period kankō: tourism, sightseeing Kannon: Buddhist goddess of mercy, one of the most frequently represented Buddhist deities in East Asia Kanō school: hereditary school of painters of the fifteenth to nineteenth century specializing in Chinese-style ink-painting, patronized by the Tokugawa Kansai: the region around Kyoto and Osaka, including Ōmi, Yamashiro, Tanba, Tango, Izumi, Kawachi, Yamato, Kii, Ise, Iga, Tajima, Settsu, Harima, and Awaji province. Kantō: the seven provinces immediately to the east and north of the Hakone barrier including Hitachi, Shimotsuke, Kōzuke, Musashi, Shimōsa, Kazusa and Awa; the region where Edo belonged katakana: one of the two phonetic syllabaries of the Japanese language kenbutsu: sightseeing kikō: diary of a journey, composed of geographical units kō: league, co-fraternity kotodama: ‘word spirits,’ believed to reside in people, things, places or words kyōka: humorous poems of thirty-one syllables -mairi: to visit, worship at mandala: schematic type of painting, presenting the Buddhist world order Maruyama-Shijō: school of painting of the eighteenth-century Kyota, combining traditional art techniques and western principles meibutsu: ‘famous products’

GLOSSARY 219

Meiji period: 1868–1912, the period of Meiji emperor’s reign, initiated by the restoration of the Emperor’s authority and Japan’s opening to the west meisho: ‘famous places,’ places with poetic significance meisho-zue: ‘illustrated collection of famous places’ meishoki: ‘record of famous places’ mitate: ‘likened,’ a parody, transposition of traditional themes into modern framework monogatari: story, romance Namban: ‘southern barbarians’ (i.e. Portuguese and Spanish visitors to Japan in the sixteenth century) nanga: literati painting or bunjinga nihonga: ‘Japanese painting,’ utilizing traditional materials and methods in the modern period nikki: diary composed of time units nishiki-e: full-color prints, most common from 1664 onwards okage: thanks to okage-mairi: large pilgrimage to Ise originally taking place every sixty-first year palanquin (kago, norimono): conveyance for one person borne on the shoulders of men by means of poles rangaku: the study of western sciences through Dutch scholarship rickshaw: horse-power street cars also known as jinrikisha or kuruma, that were common in the Meiji era Rinpa: school of painting deriving from the Sōtatsu Kōrin decorative tradition ryokan: inn ryokō: travel sakariba: ‘the crowded places,’ public places frequented by people of all classes sakura: cherry trees, cherry blossoms samurai: military retainer, warrior officials of high status sankin kōtai: system of alternate residence in Edo according to which the daimyō had to travel annually or bi-annually to Edo where they kept luxurious mansions santo: the tripartite capital: Edo, Kyoto, Osaka shuku: post-station Shinkansen: the bullet train inaugurated in 1964 Shintō: ‘the way of gods,’ Japanese religion Shimabara: brothel quarters of Kyoto shōgun: military dictator and chief of government under Japan’s feudal system shogunate: military government shōka: ‘school-songs’ sukegō seido: system that obliged the surrounding of a post-station villages to provide various transportation services sugoroku: a dice game, similar to the western ‘snakes-and-ladders’ tabi: journey, travel, often used metaphorically Tōkaidō: ‘the Eastern sea road,’ connecting Tokyo and Kyoto ton’ya: the official coordinator of the post-stations

220 GLOSSARY

Tosa school: ancient school of painters working in the yamato-e tradition, revived from the sixteenth century and patronized by the imperial family ukiyo-e: ‘pictures of the floating world,’ products of the popular culture from the sixteenth to the nineteenth century utamakura: ‘poetic pillow,’ ornamental words or place-names waki-honjin: inns for the samurai followers of the daimyō yakusha: kabuki actors yamato-e: ‘Japanese pictures,’ style based on outline and flat color contrasted from the tenth century onwards with Chinese styles yōga: western-style painting of the modern era Yoshiwara: brothel quarters of Edo zu: map, diagram

NOTES

1 INTRODUCTION 1 Constructionist approaches initially based on the linguistic theory of Ferdinand de Saussure have developed into theories of structuralism, such as semiotics— put forward by authors such as Roland Barthes or Umberto Eco—and the discourse theory of Michel Foucault and his numerous followers, or more recently to the broader body of cultural studies developed by a lineage of authors such as Raymond Williams and Stuart Hall. 2 According to Kevin Lynch, the legibility of the city is based upon its edges, paths, nodes, districts and landmarks and their interrelation with the whole (Lynch 1960: 91–112). 3 For discussions on the fabrication of national identities in Japan see Harootunian (1988) and Gluck (1985, 1993). 4 Norberg-Schulz distinguishes the following vertical structure of existential space: geography or nation, landscape or region, city, street, home, things (NorbergSchulz 1971:27–33). 5 The Tōkaidō region included the lands (kuni) of Iga, Ise, Shima, Owari, Mikawa, Tōtōmi, Suruga, Kai, Izu, Sagami, Musashi, Awa, Kazusa, Shimosa and Hitachi. 6 The term ‘megalopolis’ was coined by the French geographer J.Gottmann, based on the study of the urban conglomeration of the US east coast. Japanese and western researchers (such as Catherine Nagashima, Doi Takashi, Tange Kenzō, Miyakawa Yasuo, Isomura Eiichi) have investigated whether the Tōkaidō fulfils the definition of the megalopolis.

2 INFRASTRUCTURE AND CARTOGRAPHY OF THE TŌKAIDŌ IN MACRO 7 The second part of this chapter, in an earlier version entitled ‘Cartographic Representations of the Tōkaidō from the Edo to Meiji Japan,’ won the honorable mention in the 1999 Walter W.Ristow Prize Competition in the History of Cartography and Map Librarianship, and was published in The Portolan, Washington Map Society, 47, Spring 2000, pp. 12–31.

222 NOTES

8 According to Vaporis, the main reasons for such negative perceptions are the bakufu’s prohibition of wheeled vehicles and the small number of bridges that existed in the Edo period. However, the first resulted in good road conditions (allowing communication free of any interruptions, such as carts tearing up the road, spilling their cargo or causing traffic accidents), while the second is either simply misinformation or, in some cases, a result of economic constraints (Vaporis 1994:11, 12). 9 Religious leaders provided alms, houses and food to travelers, planted trees along the highways, built distance-markers, constructed wells and bridges, and introduced the travelers to religious and secular sites (Nakano 1958–9:116–18; Bresler 1975: 45). 10 The distance between Nikkōkaidō’s post-stations was 1.33 ri, Ōshūkaidō’s 2.02 ri and Kōshūkaidō’s 1.08 ri. The distance between the Tōkaidō’s stations was long because of the frequent intermediate stages (Watanabe 1981:529). 11 Tōkaidō region had eleven barriers. Eight of them were in Sagami covering Edo, while Suruga—mostly consisting of bakufu territory—did not have any. Barriers of northern Kai province controlled movement between outer daimyō in Shinano and the northern Kantō (Vaporis 1994:105, 148–55). 12 At each post-station of the Tōkaidō they were required to keep 100 horses, on the Nakasendō fifty horses, and twenty-five on the Nikkōkaidō, Ōshūkaidō and Kōshūkaidō, numbers that were difficult to maintain (Vaporis 1994:58–9). 13 Communication arrangements had existed since ancient times. The bakufu established the ‘thrice-monthly express messenger system’ (sando hikyaku) and the ‘stage express messenger system’ (tsugi hikyaku). Intermediate stations (tsugitate) were established every 8 km, where horses were kept in readiness. Along the Tōkaidō there were twenty tsugitate. The courier system was organized as a network of express messengers (hikyaku), who carried official documents, letters and freight. The distance from Edo to Kyoto was covered in six days. An express, private system (haya hikyaku), named Santo hikyaku (three-metropolises express), developed as well, with only three and a half days required between Kyoto and Edo (Moriya 1990:106–10, 110–12). 14 The Tōkaidō’s post-stations were the following: Edo (Nihonbashi), Shinagawa, Kawasaki, Kanagawa, Hodogaya, Totsuka, Fujisawa, Hiratsuka, Ōiso, Odawara, Hakone, Mishima, Numazu, Hara, Yoshiwara, Kanbara, Yui, Okitsu, Ejiri, Fuchū, Mariko, Okabe, Fujieda, Shimada, Kanaya, Nissaka, Kakegawa, Fukuroi, Mitsuke, Hamamatsu, Maisaka, Arai, Shirasuka, Futakawa, Yoshida, Goyu, Akasaka, Fujikawa, Okazaki, Chiryū, Narumi, Miya, Kuwana, Yokkaichi, Ishiyakushi, Shōno, Kameyama, Seki, Sakanoshita, Tsuchiyama, Minakuchi, Ishibe, Kusatsu, Ōtsu, Kyoto (Sanjōbashi). 15 Nakasendō’s post-stations had an average of 1,165 inhabitants, Nikkōkaidō’s 2,265, Ōshūkaidō’s 1,186 and Kōshūkaidō’s 779 (Watanabe 1981:529). 16 Nakasendō or Kisokaidō, which also connected Kyoto and Edo, ran through an inner, longer route, that was known to be scenic but rough and with high concentration of rōnin (masterless samurai). 17 According to the bakufu’s survey of 1820, the assessed annual worth of Tōkaidō’s traffic volume was 12,000,000 koku, of Nakasendō 2,158,000 and of Ōshūkaidō 2, 858,000 (Tsukahira 1966:71).

NOTES 223

18 Early permission for railroad construction between Edo and Yokohama had been given by a governmental official to an American diplomat named A.L.C.Portman in the late Edo period. This decision was revoked by the Meiji government, which was determined that railroads had to be built by Japanese and not by foreigners (Tominaga 1953:219). 19 The number of foreign employees was raised from 300 in the early Meiji era to 6, 200 by 1898; 2,000 of them were employed in the technology field (Kōken Sekkei Ekiken Guruppu 1994:22). 20 For instance, the Scottish Henry Dyer (1848–1918) was appointed principal of the Engineering College which was established in Tokyo (later to become Tokyo University), where the architect Josiah Conder (1852–1920) and the geologist John Milne (1850–1913) also taught, among others (Cortazzi 1991:60–1). 21 The construction of Nakasendō railroad continued in 1892, as a part of Chūō line. 22 Jinsha was a truck on rails pushed by coolies characterized by Arthur Lloyd as ‘a cross between civilization and barbarism, and a fit emblem of Japan in the days of transition’ (Lloyd 1909:220–1). 23 The order specified that national highways should be at least 7 ken wide, of which 4 ken should be devoted to the roadbed and 3 ken to drainage ditches and rows of trees. Prefectural highways were to be between 4 and 5 ken wide, while the width of village roads remained unfixed (Shibusawa 1958:167–8). 24 This is based on the assertion that the guidebook explicates and expands the function of the (human) guide. According to the sociologist Eric Cohen, the role of the guide is both that of a leader-pathfinder, showing the way to travelers, and that of a mediator-mentor, initiating the traveler into the culture of the visiting place (Cohen 1985:5–29). 25 The first map of Japan was ordered in 1605 (Keichō era, 1596–1615) and was completed in 1639 at a scale of 1:280,000. A second map of Japan was based on measurements of the previous project but was compiled separately on an unknown date. The third was made in 1644 (Shōhō era, 1644–8), at a scale of 1:432,000, and was based on maps of the provinces drawn to a scale of 1:21,600. The fourth was made in 1697 (Genroku era, 1688–1704) and since it was considered to be inferior to the previous one, it was corrected in 1719 (Kyōhō era) by the mathematician Tatebe Katahiro (1664–1739), using high mountain peaks as points of reference, and was drawn to a scale of 1:21,600. The fifth was made in 1831 (Tenpō era, 1830–44) in 148 sheets. Besides the official projects, another epoch-making map of Japan was that compiled by Nagakubo Sekisui (1717– 1801) in 1799 at a scale of 1: 1,300,000, employing meridians and reducing decorative elements (Muroga 1973: 170–1; Unno 1987:388–9; Kawamura 1989:70). 26 Since the 1570s, domain maps had become standardized, distinguishing between main roads and by-ways by using red lines of varying thickness. Domain maps depicted all mile-markers with two small black dots running bilaterally along the road, and inns for the lords with a circle or a rectangle. Domain boundaries were indicated by different colors, a division that does not appear in the road-maps, and these were eventually abolished in the Genroku era. Unlike the maps produced for public circulation, the official kuni ezu, which the Tokugawa ordered from each province, were drawn in color with an intricate finish, to match the high status of commissioners (Kawamura 1989:71).

224 NOTES

27 Edo-period administrative maps were usually viewed on the floor by a group of people who were sitting around them. Thus, the lettering orientation varies on each side in order to be read easily. The indications north, south, east and west were either written in the margins of the maps or represented by the twelve signs of the eastern zodiac. Through another symbolic order, prominent structures and important topographical elements had to be positioned at the top of the picture. According to Namba, the Japanese inherited both the Chinese belief that the Pole Star was the center of the Universe, and the Yi Qing division of yin-north-earth and yang-south-heaven. Thus we can find maps that position north at the top, and maps with a southern orientation, as well as maps with an easterly and westerly orientation (Namba 1973:155; Suizu 1984:10). 28 Unno is using the term dōchūzu, which he translates as itineraries, in order to characterize the road-map category. 29 There were three such surveys of the Tōkaidō in the early Edo period. In 1634, Miyagi Kazunani and Akiyama Masashige produced a road-map after investigating the roads and lodgings from Edo to Kyoto in preparation for the visit of the shōgun lemitsu to the imperial court at Kyoto. In 1647, Matsuda Sadahei and Iikawa Naonobu were ordered to investigate and make a map of the roads, post-stations and bridges from Edo to Osaka (Unno 1987:401–2). In 1651, Hōjō Ujinaga (1609– 70) produced one more official road-map on behalf of the shogunate (Cortazzi 1983:33). 30 Scrolls were first developed between the Heian and Kamakura period and they functioned as narratives of historical or mythical subjects. Due to their length, they had to be viewed successively, like reading through the pages of a book. Screens and hanging scrolls, though the last afforded views at a glance, incorporated views that were sequential in time, such as seasonal transitions. 31 I am indebted to Earl Kinmonth (University of Sheffield) and Jeremy Philipps (University of Kanazawa) for elucidating the connotations of Dai Nihon. 32 There are many different opinions regarding the identity of the map-maker, whose name literally means ‘Far Near Road Point,’ and who also signed a precise map of Edo, Shinpan Edo kanbun zu (bunken) (Proportional map of Edo), drawn in 1657. Some researchers argue that the map-maker was a samurai from the Toyama domain named Fujii Hanchi (1628–?), who worked as a surveyor under Hōjō, or even that the word ‘Dōin’ means a kind of a mapmeasuring method (Kurimoto 1960a; Matsumoto 1977; Hasegawa 1993; Unno 1973:187). 33 This may have been an influence of early European road-maps. See for instance John Ogilby’s (1600–76) seventeenth-century Britannia map, where, for graphic convenience, the route has been converted into an almost straight line, neglecting the turning points. Instead, a type of compass is drawn at each curve. 34 The Tōkaidō occupies twenty-four volumes (originally thirteen rolls) out of the ninety-one volumes of the whole Gokaidō. 35 I am indebted to Henry D.Smith for pointing out the distortions in Hokusai’s print (personal communication, August 1998). 36 According to Nitschke, this is a mistaken belief based simply upon the appearance of a replica of Mount Fuji in this garden (Nitschke 1991:305). 37 Suizen-ji was built by the Kumamoto daimyō Hosokawa Tadatoshi (1586–1641) in 1632, but was subsequently dismantled and re-erected elsewhere. In its place

NOTES 225

38

39

40

41

Tadatoshi built a private villa and tea-house, and renamed the garden Jōju-en, the ‘park of accomplishing meaning’ (Nitschke 1991:304–5). Mass culture, as theorized by Adorno, arose together with industrial capitalism, for it is predicated on those technologies of material and social production that are entwined with large-scale production, dissemination and consumption. Popular culture in Japanese fluctuates between the terms ‘minshū bunka’ and ‘taishū bunka.’ Minshū means a good deal (shū) of ordinary people (min) and it is not widely used in Japan today, while the most commonly used taishū bunka connotes a large number (tai) of population or groups (shū) and is closer to the meaning of mass culture. According to Kogawa, this shows that in the Japanese context ‘popular culture’ is absorbed by ‘mass culture’ (Kogawa 1988:54; Ivy 1993:239–41). According to Williams, rikshaws were designed by the American ‘half cobbler and half missionary’ Jonathan Goble, who came to Japan with Perry’s expedition. Goble found it ‘tiresomely uncomfortable to be carried around in a kago— a Japanese type of sedan chair—and designed for himself an oversized perambulator drawn by one man.’ This apparatus was initially named jinrikisha (man-power carriage), which was then contracted to rikisha and later anglicized to ricksha or rickshaw. Within three years there were over 25,000 licensed jinrikisha (Williams 1972:111–12). Contrastingly, in the Edo period, travel fees depended upon the difficulty of the route, weather conditions and load. As discussed above, high-ranking travelers did not have to pay any fee, but it was a custom to offer large presents to inn-owners. It is interesting to point out that national borders in Edo Japan were not linearly defined; they were rather indicated via zones often controlled by more than one authority (Ronal 1992; Mitani 1997:296). Nevertheless, in the Edo period around the city of Edo the barriers were so close together that they almost composed a border line (Vaporis, 1994:106, 108).

3 TRAVELING PRACTICES AND LITERARY TŌKAIDŌ 42 The same can also be seen in other languages. The English word ‘travel’ shares its derivation with ‘travail,’ meaning labor pains and toil, from the Latin word ‘tripalium,’ which was an instrument of torture. The French word ‘travail’ has the same origin, meaning ‘work,’ ‘labor pains’ and ‘toil’ (Umesao 1995:7). 43 The poem-and-painting program of the meisho as seen in the construction of the imperial Saishō-shitennōin monastery in 1207 in Kyoto, embodied ‘an assertion of Imperial sovereignty and [Emperor’s] Gotoba’s (1180–1239; r. 1183–1198), personal authority, and an enactment of his relationship to the lands ruled— or once ruled—by him and by the Imperial House’ (Kamens 1997:169). The distribution of meisho images and poems within the monastery, and the obvious ordering of the sites from the center (Yatsushiro) to the periphery, shows a geopolitical interest in space according to which ‘the Emperor could briefly dwell among these images and texts’ as if they were under his absolute control. Saishōshitennōin had many meisho featuring subjects of the Tōkaidō, such as Hamana no hashi, Utsu no yama, Fuji no yama and Musashino (Kamens 1997: 169–178, 183).

226 NOTES

44 Kigo are a type of pattern language (kata) used in haiku, haikai and renga to evoke specific features of the seasons. Samples of words signifying spring are wakana tsumi (gathering wild shoots at the beginning of the year), ume (plum blossoms); words signifying summer are natsu kusa (grasses of summer), hototogisu (cuckoo), taki (waterfalls); words signifying autumn are bon (feast of lanterns on July 15), tsuki (autumn moon), kiku (chrysanthemum and festival day of September 9); words signifying winter are shigure (rains in early winter), yamazato (mountain hamlets), kōri-ike (frozen pond) (Ienaga 1973:49–51). 45 Chikusai and Tōkaidō meishoki mention the remaining piles of Yatsohashi. Tōkaidō meisho zue, on the other hand, provides a ‘realistic’ description of the scene, as a circle of hills, in the middle of which there is a basin, that, if fed by one or more streams, could conceivably have been a swamp, over which a series of bridges might have crossed. The illustration shows rice paddies where the swamp would have been. I am indebted to Lawrence Marceau (University of Delaware) for pointing out the descriptions of Yatsuhashi in Tōkaidō meishoki and Tōkaidō meisho zue (private communication January 2003; for Chikusai’s translation see Bresler 1975:269). 46 Hamana Bridge was built in 862 and was already destroyed by the time the Sarashina nikki (Sarashina diary) was written in the eleventh century (Kasuya 1997:94–5). 47 This is an example of a poetic mechanism based on word-associations (engo) that are evoked due to the literal meaning of place-names (Plutschow and Fukuda 1981:3–4). 48 According to the story, a fisherman landing on Mihono Matsubara finds a robe of feathers hanging on a pine-tree. He is about to carry it off as treasure when a beautiful fairy appears and implores him to restore it to her, because without it she cannot go to the moon, where she is one of the attendants on the thirty monarchs who rule that sphere. The fisherman at first refuses to do so, but she promises to dance for him one of the dances known only to the immortals. As she dances for him she flies, passing Mount Ashitaka and Mount Fuji until she is lost to view. 49 Liminality derives from the Latin word ‘limen’ (threshold) and is a term that Turner borrows from Arnold van Gennep. Gennep examined the ‘transition rites,’ which accompany every change of state, social position, or certain points in age. Communitas is an ‘unstructured or rudimentarily structured community’ of ‘equal individuals who submit together to the general authority of the ritual elders’ (Turner 1969:95–6, 1974:231–2). 50 For M.de Certeau the ‘tactics’ always depend on time—they are always on the watch for opportunities that must be seized ‘on the wing.’ They must constantly manipulate events in order to turn them into opportunities, victories of the ‘weak’ over the ‘strong,’ clever tricks, maneuvers. De Certeau contrasts the temporal character of the tactics with strategies which always spatialize, always assume a place as the proper basis of their application (de Certeau 1988:xix). 51 Prince Arthur of Connaught visited Japan in 1906 in order to deliver the Order of the Garter from King Edward VII to the Emperor. 52 Kihin-kai was formed to promote foreign tourism. Shibusawa Eiichi (1840– 1931) was the general secretary, assisted by Masuda Takashi (1848–1938), the head of Mitsui zaibatsu. Masuda was of the opinion that Paris flourished because of the successful system of the city for attracting foreign tourism, and firmly believed that tourist promotion was indispensable for Japan’s prosperity. JTB was founded by

NOTES 227

53

54

55

56

57

58

Kinoshita Yoshio (1874–1922) and assisted in commercial enterprises, such as the Imperial and Fujiya hotels and the Mitsukoshi and Takashimaya department stores (Nakagawa 1998:22–3). Hanshin Electric Railway was the first railway company which developed areas near its railway in 1903, and in 1906 and 1907 respectively established the Namo Hakka-en and Kōro-en amusement parks. Similarly, Minō Arima Electric Railway Company established a hot spring and later built an amusement park in Takarazuka, where the Takarazuka Girls’ Choir (forerunner of Takarazuka Opera Group) provided entertainment for visitors to the hot springs. In the Tokyo area, the Musashino Electric Railway Company cleared farmlands and forests to build Tamagawa-en, an amusement park and residential district in Musashino. Many railway companies followed this example (Ishimori 1995:20). In the early Edo period, kanazōshi was the main form of popular literature. Kanazōshi, literally books written in kana, were written by samurai, courtiers, priests and scholars to educate the lower classes. Most kanazōshi required a familiarity with only about 150 kana and a bare minimum of Chinese characters. Ukiyozōshi, meaning literally ‘the tales of the floating world,’ was a form established during the Genroku era, through the success of Ihara Saikaku’s (1642– 1693) book Kōshoku ichidai otoko (The life of a man who loved love), published in 1682. Ukiyozōshi writers were still people of status, while their readers were the new middle class consisting of chōnin and merchants. The novelty of this genre was that its themes derived from contemporary everyday life, incorporating values of the lower classes, and it did not try to edify the masses as was the case with kanazōshi. Gesaku literature expressed the spirit of playfulness—embodied in the phoneme ge. It instituted a mode of writing based on non-literary and vernacular speech and appeared from the second half of the eighteenth century in Japan’s urban centers, especially Edo. Examples are Sangū nikkichō (Diary of a pilgrimage to the great shrine) by Hara Genjirō (1833), Ise sangū dōchūki (Road record of a pilgrimage to the great shrine) by Kobari Yaichiemon (1842–3), Meisho koseki sankei oboechō (Memorandum of a pilgrimage to historic spots and famous places) by Mori Jizaemon (1807) and Ise sangū kondate dōchūki (Road record of travel and meals on a pilgrimage to Ise; anonymous, 1848) (Shinno 2002:462–3). Scholars have noticed disagreements between the descriptions of Bashō and those of his disciple Sora Kawai (1649–1710) during their journey, comparing Bashō’s Oku no hosomichi (Narrow road to the deep north) and Sora’s diary Sora Oku no hosomichi zuikō nikki (Sora’s accompanying dairy to the ‘Narrow road to the deep north’). A notable example is the day they visit Nikko (literally ‘sunlight’), which Sora described as a rainy day, contradicting Bashō’s description of a sunny day, probably sacrificing literal truth to poetic truth. This contradiction challenged the accepted image of Bashō as ‘a man who never told a lie’ (Keene 1989:3). Bakin was a descendant of a masterless samurai family, who became a writer after trying different professions such as those of a doctor, a Confucian scholar, a comic poet, a calligrapher, a fortuneteller and a comedian (Zolbrod 1967:23). I suppose that Kiryo manroku carried illustrations like Bakin’s other books. I did not have the chance to review this book in its original form so I cannot comment on its illustrations and their relation with the text.

228 NOTES

59 Wakan-sansai-zue was published in 1713 by the herbalist Terajima Ryōan. Despite Chinese influences, the author recorded local species and practices, differentiating them from those found in China. 60 Examples are Shokoku junran kaihō dōchūzue (Assorted treasure-book of sightseeing the roads of various provinces in Japan) published in 1852; Tetsudō senro Nippon dōchūki (Japanese railway map), published in 1898; Dai Nihon dōchūki taizen (Road-map of Great Japan), published in 1883. 61 Chikusai was a fictional quack doctor who has lost all his patients due to his indulgence in comic poetry. He travels together with his servant Niraminosuke. The first volume describes their travel via Nakasendō to Nagoya, where they reside for two years. The second volume describes their travel from Nagoya to Edo via the Tōkaidō. This book was republished numerous times with varied titles such as Chikusai azumakudari (Chikusai’s travel to the east), Chikusai hanashi (Chikusai’s stories), Chikusai shokoku monogatari (Chikusai’s stories in different provinces) etc. 62 The works of the painter Hishikawa Moronobu, the novelist Ihara Saikaku and the dramatist Chikamatsu Monzaemon (1653–1725), three of the main artists of the Genroku era, often employed traveling as their subject-matter. 63 A precedent was the list of the eighty-two meisho of Kyoto in the encyclopedia Shūgaishō attributed to Tōin Kinkata (1291–1360), 300 years before Edo period illustrated accounts. For more information see Fiévé (2003:153–71). 64 Kanagaki Robun was an author of gesaku literature, an ad-writer and publisher of the daily newspaper Kana yomi shinbun (Read in kana newspaper) published in the period 1875–80 in kana and thus addressed to a wider public. 65 The Satsuma clan’s participation was separate from the Tokugawa’s, as a declaration of their independence from the bakufu (Watanabe 1991:103). 66 The ratio of text and images in this book is as follows: volume 1–71 sheets, 31 illustrations; volume 2–82 sheets, 40 illustrations; volume 3–81 sheets, 33 illustrations; volume 4–70 sheets, 25 illustrations; volume 5–67 sheets, 28 illustrations; volume 6–78 sheets, 34 illustrations (Toda 1931:334). 67 I borrow this characterization from Fiévé in his classification of Kyoto meisho (Fiévé 2003:162). 68 According to Hyakunin isshu hitoyo-gatari (One hundred poems from one hundred poets), Saigyō was called to an audience by the Shogun Yoritomo (1147–99), who asked him about the path of poetry and archery. Saigyō claimed to know nothing special about the former and to have forgotten everything about the latter. Nonetheless, as he was leaving, Yoritomo gave him a silver cat, which Saigyō gave away to some children playing outside the mansion’s gate as he was leaving. I am grateful to Joshua Mostow (University of British Columbia) and Stephen Addiss (University of Richmond, Virginia) for advising me on the above myth. 69 Examples of guidebooks to Tokyo are Tokyo shiku meisho ichiran (Famous places of urban area of Tokyo at a glance), Tokyofū meishō zue (Assorted collection of famous sights of Tokyo prefecture), Tokyo meisho shashin-chō (Book with the famous places of Tokyo in photographs). 70 The first university to teach geography was Kyoto University in 1907, with Ogawa Takuji (1870–1941) as principal lecturer (Okada 1997:93). 71 The other two were the politician Tokutomi Sohō (1863–1957) and the novelist Shiba Shirō (1852–1922) (Kojima 1995:368; Gavin 2001:33).

NOTES 229

72 Parts of the book were published in Ajia (Asia) (vol. 3/1, 1893) and Nihonjin (The Japanese) (vol. 16, 1894) (Okada 1997:94). 73 Shiga’s views of natural elements such as rivers, lakes, islands and mist-shrouded landscapes are caught in the classical perception of Japanese poetry. Contrastingly, he mentions only a few classical poems about mountains (Takeuchi 1988: 39). 74 Critics have ascertained the influence of A.Geikie’s The Scenery of Scotland Viewed in Connection with its Physical Geology, published in 1865, on Shiga’s work (Minamoto 1975; Takeuchi 1988:39). 75 Shiga wrote the preface to the Weston’s book, The Playground of the Far East. Weston was the first honorary member of the Nihon Sangaku Kai, and was also the author of the book Mountaineering and Exploration in the Japanese Alps (1896) published by Murray. 76 Takeuchi is also an advocate of Shiga’s anti-militant views. In reading Shiga’s late writings as Shirarezaru kuniguni (Unfamiliar countries), Takeuchi suggests that despite Japan developing into a military and industrial power, Japanese faced racial discrimination that Shiga experienced first-hand in his overseas traveling. This made him cautious towards the official policy of his country and an advocate of arms reduction. In this text, Shiga describes an incident during his visit to South Africa in 1922, when as a Japanese he was refused dinner in a white establishment (Takeuchi 1988:40). 77 This is a rail song of a later series released in 1912. 78 Dodd differentiates between the word ‘den’en,’ countryside or pastoral space in the sense of ‘a land that has been physically worked agriculturally time after time,’ and the word inaka, ‘that carries associations of a rural backwater, the sort of place where country bumpkins live’ (Dodd 1993:5–6).

4 PERFORMANCE, VISUALITY AND IMAGINATION AT THE TŌKAIDŌ’S MICRO-SCALE 79 Ōiwa as a kajuku was not allowed to host tourists. Its facilities included shops, public baths, pawn shops, pubs and carpenters’ workshops. The sukegō of Futagawa included as many as 236 villages by 1868 (Kawasaki-shi shimin Museum 1994:34–5). 80 Walthall discusses incidents that took place at Nihonbashi during the riots of 1773 and 1787 (1994:412–15). 81 Henry Smith relates the urban formation of the contemporary stations to Edo period sakariba, ‘the nodal point of gathering.’ In present day Tokyo, the nodes are usually train stations, such as the great sub-centres of Shibuya, Shinjuku and Ikebukuro. The critical point is that they are determined not by conscious and coordinated planning, but in spontaneous response to the logic of transportation system and the marketplace. (Smith 1986b: 34)

230 NOTES

82 Major sakariba were Ryōgokubashi, a large bridge over the Sumida River famous for its entertainment facilities of rather ill-repute, the theatre districts and Yoshiwara pleasure quarters on the banks of Sumida River in Edo; the pleasure district Shijō in Kyoto on the banks of Kamo River; the pleasure district of Fuchū, which lay in direct proximity to the Abe River and others. It is no coincidence that most of these places were in proximity to water, an element of relaxation but also a symbol of the ‘other world.’ 83 The diary of the trip of an elephant entitled Zōshi (The story of an elephant) spread throughout Japan in 1729, while the elephant became a major attraction walking along the highways (Kawasaki-shi shimin Museum 1994:80–1). 84 Asobi was associated with the places of ‘social non-attachment’ or ‘unconnectedness’ (muen), such as temple courtyards, markets, river banks and bridges, where itinerant artisans gathered and women could find refuge from households. In the Edo period this function was mostly displaced into the pleasure quarters. The different types of play that defined the aesthetics of the Edo period combining the samurai’s idealism with the practicality of the merchants (sui, tsū and iki) resembled children’s play unconnected to the world of power. They followed strict etiquette (rules of dress, manners, speech) and were elevated to an art of living (Jinnai 1985:87–8; Harootunian 1991:24; Amino 1996). 85 Suten was the Japanized word for the English ‘station,’ written in katakana, while sho means ‘place.’ The term appeared even in official documents of the early Meiji era. Other words were stenshon or stensaba (Onno 1986:92). 86 The construction of Ginza (based on the model of Regent Street in London) was a part of the ‘Urban improvement plan for the modernization of Tokyo’ (Shikukaisei) under the umbrella of the ‘Rich and Poor Separation Idea’ (Ishizuka and Ishida 1988:8–9). 87 These are limited to the stretch from Edo to Hakone, as at this point the representation continues down the Izu peninsula (Frank Chance, personal communication, 2002). 88 Part of this scroll is reproduced in Takeuchi (1992:122). 89 Exceptions are six-fold screens of the Edo period, presumably made by official artists or at least for clients of higher echelons. One of the earliest works of the Tōkaidō was an unsigned six-fold screen of the late sixteenth century entitled ‘Travelers on the Tōkaidō highway’ executed in Kanō style. It presents minute details of travelers and their activities at the post-station of Okitsu such as partying, gameplaying and love-making, ‘in short all the pleasures of the road that would feature again in later Edo literature and art’ (Clark 2001:13). A screen of a similar type is presented in Plate 6 and is discussed under the map category. 90 There are varied opinions on the dating of this series. Takahashi identifies these prints as made in 1805 or 1806, Harold Stern gives the date of 1790, while the Victoria & Albert Museum gives the date as 1795 (Stern 1969:202; Takahashi 1976:67). 91 The print of Ōiso is reproduced in Narazaki (1975). 92 The school was established by Toyoharu (1734–1814), who developed the uki-e type of perspective pictures, combining elements of western and Japanese arts. 93 The Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi series of 1802 includes fifty-six small-size prints and was published by Iseya Rihei. Soon after, in 1804, Hokusai produced a second series of fifty-nine prints consisting of both small-size and long, horizontal prints

NOTES 231

94

95 96 97

98

99 100

101

that were later reproduced in an album entitled Hokusai kyōga: Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi eki (Hokusai’s comic drawings: The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō). A sixtyprint series entitled Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi ezukushi (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō, a pictorial compendium) was published in 1810 and also appeared later in an album format (Lane 1989:63–8, 283–5). Sayo no nakayama is a mountain pass between the town of Nissaka and Kakegawa, in Shizuoka prefecture. It is mentioned in waka poetry as one of the most difficult passes of the Tōkaidō, together with Hakone and Suzuka. It was famous for the ‘nightly weeping rock’ (yonaki ishi) and the ‘child-rearing-candy’ (kosodate ame), after a legend, according to which one faithful Buddhist woman who was pregnant was killed by a bandit while traveling to visit her husband. The kannon (Buddhist goddess of mercy) from nearby Kyūen-ji caused a stone by the side of the road to cry for help, which was heard by a priest (probably the kannon in disguise), who took the child from the woman’s womb and fed it with a candy. When the boy grew up he revenged his mother’s death. After that, the temple changed its name to Kosodate-bosatsu (child-rearing bosatsu) and the candy has been sold at a local teahouse as meibutsu. The stone was removed from the street in 1877 (Tokuriki 1993: 45; Kasuya 1997:86–7). Prints of Ōtsu and Hara stations from Keisai Eisen’s series can be seen in MeechPekarik (1986). The print of Hodogaya from Suehiro series can be seen in Takahashi (1955). It is worth mentioning a yukata with a blue-stenciled pattern of groups of figures illustrating the fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō from the late Edo era. It was exhibited in ‘The Great Japan Exhibition: Art of the Edo Period, 1600– 1868’ and can be viewed in the exhibition catalogue (Watson 1981). Synecdoche consists in naming a part instead of the whole which includes it. Thus ‘sail’ is taken for ‘ship’ in the expression ‘a fleet of fifty sails.’ Asyndeton is the suppression of linking words such as conjunctions and adverbs. ‘Synecdoche replaces totalities by fragments…makes more dense…. Asyndeton cuts out: it undoes continuity and undercuts its plausibility’ (de Certeau 1988:101). Fontanesi divided the treatment of the landscape into two types: meisho on the one hand and beautiful scenery on the other (Watanabe 1997:280). The importance of seeing (ganshi no chikara) was stressed by Japan’s statesmen, Sano Tsunetami (1822–1902) and Ōkubo Toshimichi (1830–1878), as the most effective method of recognition for the promotion of civilization and industrial development (Tomio 1997:726). Similarly, as Miya Mizuta Lippit asserts, the transformation from ‘reading’ to ‘seeing’ had a great influence on the subject of bijin. According to Sakuma Rika: The ‘bijin’ in ukiyo-e are depicted entirely according to an idealistic code (hikime kagibana [dashes for eyes and hooks for nose])…. Therefore the individual characteristics of models are unimportant. By comparison, photographic images do not utilize a code and directly depict the object. All individual characteristics are faithfully recorded and exposed. The introduction of this type of new technology must have changed the concept of the ‘bijin.’ That is to say, when ‘bijinga’ were succeeded by ‘bijin

232 NOTES

photographs’ the ‘bijin’ was transformed from something that was ‘read’ into something ‘seen.’ (Sakuma 1995:227–8, in Mizuta Lippit 2002b:18) 102 Such was the 1915 expedition of Imamura Shikō (1851–1918), Kosugi Hōan (1881– 1964), Shimomura Kanzan (1873–1930) and Yokoyama Taikan (1868– 1958) that had as its outcome the production of nine handscrolls on the topic of the fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō, and the woodblock series of the artist Kawase Hasui (1883– 1957) in 1931 entitled Tōkaidō fūkei senshū (Along the Tōkaidō highway) (Conant 1995:239–42 and Clark 2001:65). 103 Although Wirgman was not a professional artist, he painted with oil and water colors and trained some well-known Japanese artists, so that he is considered to be one of the founders of the western art in Japan. He taught at the Technical Art School and he was the teacher of Japanese painters Takahashi Yuichi (1828– 94) and Yoshimatsu Goseda (1855–1915) (Harada 1974:23). 104 These sketches have been presented for first time in the exhibition organized by Tomoko Satō and Toshio Watanabe, Japan and Britain, an Aesthetic Dialogue 1850–1930. Unfortunately I did not have the chance to attend the exhibition and the drawings which belong to Wirgman’s family are not reproduced in the exhibition catalogue (Satō and Watanabe 1991:137). 105 Bigot was acquainted with Japanese prints through the International Exhibition of 1878 in Paris and through his contact with the French artist Félix Régamey, author of Promenades Japanaises (1878). Bigot studied etching and was asked to help with the illustrations of a book called Nihon bijutsu by Louis Gonse. Bigot went on a journalist visa to Japan in 1880, in order to find material about the book and study ukiyo-e (Shimizu 1986:150–1). 106 Because of his interest in the Japanese low culture and his out-spoken antigovernment sentiments, Bigot attracted the attention of Japanese officials and was often harassed by the police (Meech-Pekarik 1986:194). 107 It is said that after leaving Japan Beato opened a furniture shop in Burma (Kawasaki-shi Shimin Museum 1994:89). 108 According to Clark, Japanese modernism is rooted in the late eighteenth-century Edo arts which were established as autonomous of other discourses of authority. Artworks, even of official Kanō painting, carried multiple stylistic references, and artists often exchanged their names and crossed freely between ateliers (Clark 1995: 255–6). 109 The photograph that served as a model showed a group of jinrikisha clustered to the left and similar plantings to the right. In his print Kiyochika merely added the figures and turned day into night, in the same way that he produced some of his portraits based on photographs, rather than drawing from reality (Horikoshi 1929: 172; Smith 1988b:45). 110 The artists were faithful to Kamei’s work, with the exception of the views of Kuwana and Yokkaichi (Ono 1967:121). 111 Since the mid-1820s, European experiments with after-images led to the invention of optical devices, which although produced for scientific observation were soon converted it into forms of popular entertainment. These devices were based on

NOTES 233

theories of ‘persistence of vision’ that derived mainly from observing mechanized railways or cog-wheels in motion (Crary 1990:107–9). 112 As Karatani suggests, ‘it was rather Westerners who noted that era’s specificity: Europeans of the mid-century, especially the Impressionists, were captivated by ‘things Japanese.’ Van Gogh writes in several letters that he wishes to see reality ‘as the Japanese do.’ These ‘Japanese,’ it would appear, are those of the nineteenth century, from the end of the Edo period. The Europeans found in ‘Japanism’ a way out of their own country: they discovered a world without a point of view (a subject), one indifferent to all meaning (Karatani 1989: 261–2).

5 CONCLUSIONS AND OPENINGS: THE TŌKAIDŌ AS MEDIUM OF NATIONAL KNOWLEDGE 113 This movement was supported by the daimyō of Mito, Tokugawa Mitsukuni (1628– 1700), who commissioned the Dai Nihon-shi (History of Great Japan). 114 Hiraga Gennai experimented with practices such as sheep farming, pottery and mining, and, against tradition, advocated the use of empirical knowledge for human welfare. Hiraga’s interest in developing local industry, and his search for advantageous locations close to major roadways and ports, was not far from the spirit of rationalization and industrialization of the coming Meiji era. Satō Nobuhiro (1769–1850) was an agricultural expert and political philosopher who had studied the astronomical theories of Copernicus (1473–1543) and Kepler (1571–1630). Satō was an advocate of the ‘development of products,’ through public works, the development of mining and forestry, experimentation with new crops and seeds, etc (Morris-Suzuki 1998:45–6, 49–51). 115 In his examination of erotic travel books of the late Edo period, Screech discovers a gradual reduction in homosexual representations in favor of heterosexual ones. Based on that, he postulates that while Edo was a nonproductive place, countryside was the place of production. The view that ‘Local people must produce’ is perfectly in accordance with the Tokugawa legislation that stressed the fundamental obligation of peasants to have a high birth rate, in order to safeguard increased productivity (Screech 1999:276). 116 Yōgakusho that was renamed Bansho Shirabesho (Institute for the Study of Western Documents) in 1856 and Kaisei Gakkō (Kaisei school) in 1860 instructed the sons of samurai in western scholarship and formed the nucleus of Tokyo University, established in 1877 (Harada 1974:17–18). 117 Although Tokyo Geographical Society was founded in 1879, the Department of Geography was founded at Tokyo University only in 1919. Until then geography was taught by historians and geologists (Takeuchi 1993:63–7). 118 These views were included in Fukuzawa’s 1876 plans for Keiō Gijuku (presentday Keiō University) (Miwa 1970:11–12). 119 This had not always been the case, however. A Japanese world map Bankoku sōzu (Chart of all the nations, 1640) reflects a Chinese world order. The map is oriented to the east and presents various ethnic groups wearing their national dress. Japanese samurai occupy the first place, followed by Chinese, Tartars, Taiwanese and a variety of peoples of Southeast Asian countries. Further down come Indians,

234 NOTES

120

121

122

123

124

125

126

several sorts of Europeans and, last, Americans and Africans. Thus, countries that in early seventeenth century were seen as almost equal to Japan, in the modern era were identified with the realm of barbarism (Morris-Suzuki 1998:14). Shihei’s cartographic record and his alarm over the Russian threat were disputed by Furukawa Koshōken, who put great faith in the defensive capabilities of Matsumae domain in southern Ezo. Koshōken’s opinion was adopted by the Tokugawa who punished Shihei for spreading controversial information (Yonemoto 2003:82–3). Official maps of Japan of the 1670s and the early eighteenth century included parts of Ezo as a part of Japan’s territory. In most popular maps, however (such as Ryūsen’s 1689 map, or Gyōki-style maps), Ezo appeared as a foreign country (Yonemoto 2003:13). The stages of civilization were as follows: first, the ‘primitive’ stage in which ‘neither dwellings nor supplies of food are stable’ and ‘man…cowers before the forces of nature’; next, the ‘semi-developed’ stage, where ‘daily necessities are not lacking, since agriculture has been started on a large scale,’ but where people only ‘know how to cultivate’ and not ‘how to improve’; and, finally, the stage of full civilization, where, on the basis of material abundance, ‘today’s wisdom overflows to create the plans of tomorrow’ (Fukuzawa 1973:13–14; Morris-Suzuki 1998:24). As Harootunian has claimed, it was after the Kantō earthquake in 1923 that ‘thinkers as Kuki Shūzō (1888–1941) and Yanagita Kunio dehistoricized the Tokugawa epoch in order to empower it with a metonymic capacity to stand in for the whole of the national life’ (Harootunian 1995). Since 1967, the region of Chūbu has demanded the strengthening of the axis perpendicular to the Tōkaidō, covering the area from Chūbu to Hokuriku on the Japan Sea. This is aimed at counterbalancing the ‘corridor’ effect of the Tōkaidō megalopolis, and promoting the financial and cultural autonomy of the region (Chūbu Regional Construction Bureau 1997). Among such intellectuals I consider architects and planners such as Tange Kenzō (1968, 1971), who advocated that Japan should enter a new cultural stage in the post-industrial era (projected in the year 2000), during which the ‘free-time system’ (‘space for dialogue between man and nature and the historical environment’) will be blended with daily life. A major emphasis of the campaign, however, is given to the establishment of facilities on the automotive highway (Traganou 2003b).

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Abbeele van den, G. (1980) ‘Sightseers: The Tourist as Theorist.’ Diacritics 10:2– 14. Addiss, S. (ed.) (1980) Tōkaidō: Adventures on the Road of Old Japan. Lawrence, Kans.: University of Kansas, Spencer Museum of Art. Akioka, T. (1955) Nihon chizushi (History of Japanese maps). Tokyo: Kawade Shobō. Akisato, R. (1928–9) Tōkaidō meisho zue (Illustrated collection of famous places of the Tōkaidō road). In Nihon zue zenshū, vol. 5. Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan (first published in 1797). Allinson, G.D. (1975) Japanese Urbanism, Industry and Politics in Kariya, 1872– 1972. Berkeley, Los Angeles, Calif. and London: University of California Press. Amino, Y. (1996) Muen. Kugai. Raku. Nihon chūsei no jiyū to heiwa (Muen. Kugai. Raku: Freedom and peace in medieval Japan). Tokyo: Heibonsha. Ando, H. (1918) Hiroshige ga gojūsantsugi genjō shashin Taishō Tōkaidō (Comparison of the fifty-three stations by Hiroshige with current state photographs in the Taishō era). Tokyo: Tōkōen. Aoki, E. (1988) ‘Socio-economic Transport Geography in Japan.’ Geographical Review of Japan 61 (Ser. B) (1):150–8. Aoki, E. (1994a) ‘Dawn of Japanese Railways.’ Japan Railway and Transport Review 1: 28–30. Aoki, E. (1994b) ‘Expansion of Railway Network.’ Japan Railway and Transport Review 2:34–7. Asō, I. (1943) Takizawa Bakin (Takizawa Bakin). Tokyo: Sanseidō. Baekeland, F. (1980) Imperial Japan: The Art of the Meiji Era, 1868–1912. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Beasley, W. (1972) The Meiji Restoration. Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press. Berger, K. (1992) Japonisme, from Whistler to Matisse. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Bird, I. (1973) Unbeaten Tracks in Japan: An Account of Travels in the Interior Including Visits to the Aborigines of Yezo and the Shrine of Nikko. Rutland, Vt., Tokyo: Charles E.Tuttle Company (first published in 1880). Bodart-Bailey, B.M. (ed. and trans.) (1999) Kaempfer’s Japan: Tokugawa Culture Observed. Honolulu, Hawai’i: Hawai’i University Press. Bodart-Bailey, B.M. (2003) ‘Urbanization and the Nature of the Tokugawa Hegemony.’ In Nicolas Fiévé and Paul Waley (eds) Japanese Capitals in Historical Perspective: Place, Power and Memory in Kyoto, Edo and Tokyo. London: RoutledgeCurzon, pp. 100–28. Boles, P. and Addiss, S. (1980) ‘Hiroshige’s Tōkaidō Prints in the Context of Yamato-e.’ In S.Addiss (ed.) Tōkaidō: Adventures on the Road of Old Japan . Lawrence, Kans.: University of Kansas, Spencer Museum of Art, pp. 74–89 Bresler, L. (1975) ‘The Origins of Popular Travel and Travel Literature in Japan.’ Unpublished PhD dissertation, Columbia University, New York.

236 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Canetti, E. (1960) Crowds and Power (trans. C.Stewart). New York: Continuum. Chamberlain, B.H. and Satow, E.M. (Sir) (1884) A Handbook for Travelers in Central and Northern Japan. London: John Murray (2nd edn). Chamberlain, B.H. and Satow, E.M. (Sir) (1898) A Handbook for Travelers in Japan. London: John Murray, New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons. Chamberlain, B.H. and Satow, E.M. (Sir) (1913) A Handbook for Travelers in Japan. London: John Murray (9th edn). Chance, F.L. (2001) ‘Tani Bunchō’s Views of Fuji from the Tōkaidō Highway’ (paper presented at the Group for Early Modern Cultural Studies Conference, Philadelphia, November). Chance, F.L. (2002) ‘Passing and Painting the Mountain: Tani Bunchō’s Views of Fuji from the Tōkaidō Highway’ (paper presented at the Center for Japanese Studies, University of Michigan, January 20). Chūbu, Regional Construction Bureau (1997) Guide to Chūbu Regional Construction Bureau. Nagoya: Chūbu Regional Construction Bureau. Clark, J. (1980) ‘Obscenity Deleted.’ In Essays on Japan and Cross-cultural Studies . Published by the author, pp. 163–73. Clark, J. (1986) ‘Modernity in Japanese Painting.’ Art History 9 (2):213–33. Clark, J. (1995) ‘Yōga in Japan: Model or Exception? Modernity in Japanese Art 1850– 1940s: An International Comparison.’ Art History 18 (2):253–85. Clark, T. (2001) 100 Views of Mt. Fuji. London: Weatherhill. Clifford, J. (1997) Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late Twentieth Century . Cambridge, Mass., London: Harvard University Press. Coaldrake, W.H. (1996) Architecture and Authority in Japan. London, New York: Routledge. Coaldrake, W.H. (2003) ‘Metaphors of the Metropolis: Architectural and Artistic Representations of the Identity of Edo.’ In N.Fiévé and P.Whaley (eds) Japanese Capitals in Historical Perspective: Place, Power and Memory in Kyoto, Edo and Tokyo. London: RoutledgeCurzon, pp. 129–49. Cohen, E. (1985) ‘The Tourist Guide: The Origins, Structure and Dynamics of a Role.’ Annals of Tourism Research 12:5–29. Cohn, J.R. (1998) Studies in the Comic Spirit in Modern Japanese Fiction. Cambridge, Mass. and London: Harvard University Asia Center, Harvard University Press. Cole, W. (1967) Kyōto in the Momoyama Peirod. Norman, Okla.: University of Oklahoma Press. Conant, E. (1995) Nihonga: Transcending the Past: Japanese-style Painting, 1868– 1968. St Louis, Mo.: St Louis Art Museum; Tokyo: Japan Foundation. Cortazzi, H. (1983) Isles of Gold: Antique Maps of Japan. New York, Tōkyo: Weatherhill. Cortazzi, H. (ed.) (1985) Mitford’s Japan: The Memoirs and Recollections, 1866– 1906, of Algernon Bertram Mitford, the First Lord Redesdale. Dover, NH and London: Athlone Press. Cortazzi, H. (1991) ‘The British in Japan in the Nineteenth Century.’ In T.Satō and T.Watanabe (eds) Japan and Britain: An Aesthetic Dialogue 1850–1930. London: Lund Humphries, pp. 55–65. Cotton, P. (1980) ‘Hiroshige’s Tōkaidō Prints in the Context of Yamato-e, the Traditional Painting of Japan.’ In S.Addiss (ed.) Tōkaidō: Adventures on the Road of Old Japan. Lawrence, Kans.: University of Kansas, Spencer Museum of Art, pp. 90–102.

BIBLIOGRAPHY 237

Crary, J. (1990) The Techniques of the Observer: On Vision and Modernity in the nineteenth Century. Cambridge, Mass., London: MIT Press. Dai 5 kai Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi Symposium Hōkokusho (1993) Kaidō shukuba yumezukuri (Dream-making of the post-stations of the road). Futagawa: Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi Symposium Kaisai Jikō iinkai, Futagawa Museum, Aichi Prefecture. Dale, P. (1988) The Myth of Japanese Uniqueness. London, New York and Oxford: Routledge, Nissan Institute for Japanese Studies. Davis, W. (1983) ‘Pilgrimage and World Renewal: A Study of Religion and Social Values in Tokugawa Japan (part 1).’ History of Religions 23 (2):97–116. Davis, W. (1984) ‘Pilgrimage and World Renewal: A Study of Religion and Social Values in Tokugawa Japan (part 2).’ History of Religions 23 (3):197–221. Davis, W. (1992) Japanese Religion and Society: Paradigms of Structure and Change . New York: State University of New York Press. de Certeau, M. (1988) The Practice of Everyday Life (trans. S.F.Rendall). Berkeley, Los Angeles, Calif. and London: University of California Press. Dodd, S.H. (1993) ‘An Embracing Vision: Representations of the Countryside in Early Twentieth-century Japanese Literature.’ Unpublished PhD Dissertation, Columbia University, New York. Elisonas, J. (1994) ‘Notorious Places.’ In J.McClain, J.Merriman and K.Ugawa (eds) Edo and Paris: Urban Life and the State in the Early Modern Era. Ithaca, NY and London: Cornell University Press, pp. 253–91. Embree, J.F. (1946) Suye Mura: A Japanese Village. Chicago, Ill.: University of Chicago Press. Ericson, S. (1996) The Sound of the Whistle: Railroads in Meiji Japan. Cambridge, Mass. and London: Harvard University Press. Fenollosa, E.F. (1901) An Outline of the History of Ukiyo-e. Tokyo: Bunshichi Kobayashi. Fiévé, N. (1992a) ‘The Urban Evolution of the City of Heiankyō: A Study of the Iconographic Sources 2.’ Japan Forum 4 (1):91–107. Fiévé, N. (1992b) ‘The Urban Evolution of the City of Heiankyō: A Study of the Iconographic Sources 2.’ Japan Forum 4 (2):285–304. Fiévé, N. (1996) L’Architecture et la ville du Japon ancien: Espace architectural de la ville de Kyōto et des residences shogunales aux XIV et XV siècles. Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose. Fiévé, N. (2003) ‘Kyoto’s Famous Places: Collective Memory and “Monuments” in the Tokugawa Period.’ In N.Fiévé and P.Waley (eds) Japanese Capitals in Historical Perspective: Place, Power and Memory in Kyoto, Edo and Tokyo. London: RoutledgeCurzon, pp. 153–71. Fiévé, N. and Waley, P. (eds) (2003) Japanese Capitals in Historical Perspective: Place, Power and Memory in Kyoto, Edo and Tokyo. London: RoutledgeCurzon. Finn, D. (1995) Meiji Revisited: The Sites of Victorian Japan. New York: Weatherhill. Foard, J.H. (1982) ‘Buddhism and Tradition in Japanese Pilgrimage.’ Journal of Asian Studies 41 (2):231–51. Forrer, M. (1992) Hokusai: Prints and Drawings. Munich: Prestel. Forrer, M. and Effert, F. (2000) The Court Journey to the Shōgun of Japan: From a Private Account by Jan Cock Blomhoff. Leiden: Hotei Publishing. French, C.L. (1974) Shiba Kōkan: Artist, Innovator, and Pioneer in the Westernization of Japan. New York, Tokyo: Weatherhill.

238 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Fruin, W.M. (1973) ‘Labor Migration in nineteenth-century Japan: A Study Based on Echizen han.’ Unpublished PhD Dissertation, Stanford University, Stanford, Calif. Fujii, J.A. (1997) ‘Networks of Modernity: Rail Transport and Modern Japanese Literature.’ Japan Railway and Transport Review 13:12–16. Fujimori, T. (1982) Meiji no Tōkyō keikaku (Planning of Tokyo in Meiji period). Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten. Fujimoto, T. (1927) The Nightside of Japan. London: T.Werner Laurie Ltd. Fujioka, K. (1982) Tōkaidō no keikan to henbō (Tōkaidō’s landscape and transformations). Tokyo: Kokin Shoin. Fujitani, T. (1973) Okagemairi to ‘ee-ja-nai-ka’ (‘Okagemairi’ and ‘ee-ja-nai-ka’). Tokyo: Iwanami Shinsho. Fujitani, T. (1981) Shintō shinkō to minshū tennō sei (Shintoism and the public emperor system). Kyoto: Horitsu Bunka Sha. Fukuzawa, Y. (1973) An Outline of a History of Civilization (trans. D.A.Dilworth and C.G.Hurst). Tokyo: Sophia University Press (first published in 1876). Gavin, M. (2001) Shiga Shigetaka (1863–1927): The Forgotten Enlightener. London: Curzon Press. Gentles, M. (1976) Masters of the Japanese Print: Moronobu to Utamaro. New York: Arno Press. Giddens, A. (1991) The Consequence of Modernity. Cambridge: Polity Press. Gluck, C. (1985) Japan’s Modern Myths: Ideology in the Late Meiji Period. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Gluck, C. (1993) ‘The Past in the Present.’ In Gordon Andrew (ed.) Postwar Japan as History. Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, pp. 64–98. Gordon, A. (ed.) (1993) Postwar Japan as History. Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press. Gottmann, J. (1961) Megalopolis: The Urbanised Northeastern Seaboard of the United States. New York: The Twentieth Century Fund. Graburn, N. (1977) ‘Tourism: The Sacred Journey.’ In V.Smith (ed.) Hosts and Guests: The Anthropology of Tourism. Philadelphia, Pa.: University of Pennsylvania Press, pp. 17–31. Graburn, N. (1983) To Pray, Pay, and Play: The Cultural Structure of Japanese Domestic Tourism. Aix-en-Provence: Centre des hautes études touristiques. Graham, P.J. (1980) ‘The Political and Economic Importance of the Tōkaidō.’ In S.Addiss (ed.) Tōkaidō: Adventures on the Road of Old Japan. Lawrence, Kans.: University of Kansas, Spencer Museum of Art, pp. 2–19. Guth, C. (1996a) Art of Edo Japan: The Artist and the City, 1615–1868. New York: Perspectives, Harry N.Abrams, Inc. Guth, C. (1996b) ‘Japan 1868–1945, Art, Architecture, and National Identity.’ Art Journal 55 (3):16–20. Hall, R.B. (1937) ‘Tōkaidō Road and Region.’ The Geographical Review 27 (3): 353–77. Hall, S. (1997a) ‘The Work of Representation.’ In S.Hall Representation: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices. London and Thousand Oaks, Calif., New Delhi: Sage Publications, pp. 13–74. Hall, S. (1997b) Representation: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices . London and Thousand Oaks, Calif., New Delhi: Sage Publications.

BIBLIOGRAPHY 239

Hall, S. (1997c) ‘Representation and the Media’ (videocassette). Lecture shot at the studios of the University of Westminster. Northampton, Mass.: Media Education Foundation. Han, S. (1997) ‘Colonial Subject as Other: An Analysis of Late Meiji Travelogues on Korea.’ In H.Hardacre and A.L.Kern (1997) New Directions in the Study if Meiji Japan. Leiden: Koninklijke, pp. 688–701. Hane, M. (1982) Peasants, Rebels and Outcasts: The Underside of Modern Japan. New York: Pantheon. Hanes, J. (1997) ‘Contesting Centralization: Space, Time and Hegemony in Meiji-Japan.’ In H.Hardacre and A.L.Kern (1997) New Directions in the Study of Meiji Japan. Leiden: Koninklijke, pp. 485–95. Harada, K. (1983) Meiji tetsudō monogatari (Tales of Meiji railroads). Tokyo: Chikuma Shobō. Harada, K. and Aoki, E. (1973) Nihon no tetsudō: hyaku nen no ayumi kara (Japanese railroads: A century of progress). Tokyo: Sanseidō. Harada, K. and Tamura, S. (eds) (1978) Meiji Taishō zushi, Tōkaidō, Dai 9 kan (Illustrated Books of Meiji and Taishō Era, Tōkaidō, vol. 9). Tokyo: Chikuma Shobō. Harada, M. (1974) Meiji Western Painting (trans. A.Murakata), Arts of Japan vol. 6. New York, Tokyo: Weatherhill, Shibundō. Hardacre, H. and Kern, A.L. (eds) (1997) New Directions in the Study of Meiji Japan. Leiden: Koninklijke. Harley, J.B. (1988) ‘Maps, Knowledge and Power.’ In D.Cosgrove and D.Stephen (eds) The Iconography of Landscape. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press , pp. 277–312. Harootunian, H.D. (1988) Things Seen and Unseen: Discourse and Ideology in Tollugowa Nativism. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Harootunian, H.D. (1992) ‘Cultural Politics in Tokugawa Japan.’ In D.Lawson (ed.) Undercurrents in the Floating World: Censorship and Japanese Prints. New York: The Asia Society Galleries, pp. 7–28. Harootunian, H.D. (1995) ‘Authenticating Custom.’ Paper presented at the Symposium ‘Identity and Canon-Japanese Modernisation Reconsidered: Trans-cultural Perspectives.’ Berlin: Japanese-German Center. Harvey, D. (1985) Consciousness and the Urban Experience: Studies in the History and Theory of Capitalist Urbanisation. Baltimore, Md.: Johns Hopkins University Press. Harvey, D. (1989) The Condition of Postmodernity: An Enquiry into the Origins of Cultural Change. Oxford and Cambridge, Mass.: Blackwell. Harvey, P.D.A. (1980) The History of Topographical Maps, Symbols, Pictures and Surveys. London: Thames & Hudson. Hasegawa, K. (1993) ‘Road Atlases in Early Modern Japan and Britain.’ In J.Sargent and R.R.Wiltshire (eds) Geographical Studies and Japan. Sandgate, Folkestone, Kent: Japan Library, pp. 15–24. Hasegawa, S. (1996) Ushinawareta keikan-Meisho ga kataru Edo jidai (The lost landscape: Edo period through famous places). Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan. Hayashi, Y. (1989) Utagawa Kunisada: Edo makura-eshi shūsei (Collection of pillowpainters of the Edo period). Tokyo: Kawade Shobō Shinsha. Hayashi, Y. (1993) Ehon kikō Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi (Travel record of pornographic publications on the Tōkaidō’s fifty-three stations). Tokyo: Kawade Shobō Shinsha.

240 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Higashiōji, T. (ed.) (1984) Hizasuri nikki: Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi erochikku kaido (Diary of slippy thighs: the fifty-three stations of erotic Tōkaidō). Coll. Ukiyo-e bijutsu meihinkan shiriizu (Series of masterpieces of ukiyo-e art), vol. 1. Tokyo: Gabundō. Honda, R. (1996) ‘Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu sakusei no kisochōsa’ (Base-research for the making of Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu). In Shizuoka-ken Chiikishi Kenkyūkai (ed.) Tōkaidō kōtsūshi no kenkyū (Research on the transportation history of the Tōkaidō). Osaka: Seibundō Shuppan, pp. 269–99. Horikoshi, S. (1929) Meiji shoki no yofū kenchiku (Western-style architecture in the early Meiji era). Tokyo: Maruzen. Huizinga, J. (1949) Homo Ludens. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Hur, Nam-lin (2002) ‘Korean Officials in the Land of the Kami: Diplomacy and the Prestige Economy, 1607–1811.’ In proceedings of the 1st World Congress of Korean Studies, Embracing the Other: the Interaction of Korea and Foreign Cultures. Songnam: The Academy of Korean Studies, pp. 82–93. Ichiko, N. and Yokoyama, S. (1979) Tōkaidō meishoki (Record of the famous places of the Tōkaidō), in Kinsei bungaku shiryō ruiju, kohan chishi hen (Reference material on modern literature, volumes on old topography), vol. 7. Tokyo: Benseisha. Ienaga, Saburō (1973) Painting in the Yamato Style. Tokyo: Heibonsha; New York: Weatherhill. Ihara, Saikaku (1978) Five Women who Loved Love (Kōshoku gonin onna shōkai). Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle Books (first published in 1686). Ike, N. (1955) ‘The Pattern of Railway Development in Japan.’ Far Eastern Quarterly 14:217–29. Imai, K. (ed.) (1976) Tōkaidō (Tōkaidō). Coll. Nihon no kochizu (Old Japanese maps). Tokyo: Kōdansha. Inoue, M. (1985) Space in Japanese Architecture. New York: Weatherhill. Ishii, M. (1952) Nihon tetsudō sōsetsu shiwa (An account of establishment of railroads in Japan). Tokyo: Hōei Daigaku Shuppankyoku. Ishimori, S. (1995) ‘Tourism and Religion: From the Perspective of Comparative Civilisation.’ Senri Ethnological Studies 38:11–24. Ishizuka, H. and Ishida, Y. (1988) Tōkyō the Metropolis of Japan and its Urban Development, Urban Growth and Planning. Tōkyō: Tōkyō Metropolitan University, Center for Urban Studies. Isomura, E. (1954) Shakai byōri gaku (Social pathology). Tokyo: Yūikaku Publishers. Isomura, E. (1955) ‘Dai-toshi ni okeru chiiki kōzō no bunseki’ (Analysis of regional structures in an urban city). Toshi Mondai (Urban Issues), November Issue. Itasaka, Y. (1993) Edo no tabi to bungaku (Edo period travel and literature). Tokyo: Perikansha. Itō, S.(ed.) (1995) Nihonjin no shizenkan (The idea of nature by the Japanese). Tokyo: Kawade Shobō Shinsha. Ivy, M. (1993) ‘Formations of Mass Culture.’ In A.Gordon (ed.) Postwar Japan as History. Berkeley, Los Angeles, Calif.: University of California Press, pp. 239–58. Ivy, M. (1995) Discourse of the Vanishing: Modernity, Phantasm, Japan. Chicago, Ill . and London: University of Chicago Press. Iwasaki, H. (1993) ‘The Literature of Wit and Humor in Late Eighteenth-century Edo.’ In D.Jenkins (ed.) The Floating World Revisited. Portland, Oreg.: Portland Art Museum, pp. 47–61.

BIBLIOGRAPHY 241

Iwatake, M. (2003) ‘From a Shogunal City to a Life City: Tokyo between Two Fin-desiècles.’ In N.Fiévé and P.Waley (eds) Japanese Capitals in Historical Perspective: Place, Power and Memory in Kyoto, Edo and Tokyo. London: RoutledgeCurzon, pp. 233–56. Izzard, S. (1983) Hiroshige: An Exhibition of Selected Prints and Illustrated Books . New York: The Ukiyo-e Society of America. Izzard, S. (1993) Kunisada’s World. New York: Japan Society. Jinnai, H. (1995) Tōkyo: A Spatial Anthropology. Berkeley, Los Angeles, Calif. and London: University of California Press. (First published 1985.) Jippensha, I. (1992) Shanks’ Mare (Dōchū hizakurige) (trans. T.Satchell). Tōkyō: Charles E.Tuttle (first published in 1802–4). Kaempfer, E. (1712) Amoenitatum exoticarum politico-physico-medicarum fasciuli V (Exotic titbits of political, physiological and medium nature, 5 vols). Lemgoviae: Typis ut impensis Henrici Wilhelmi Meyeri. Kaempfer, E. (1727) A History of Japan together with a Description of the Kingdom of Siam (trans. J.Scheuchzer). London: T.Woodward and C.Davis. Kaempfer, E. (1811) The History of Japan, in J.Pinkerton (ed.) Voyages and Travels in all Parts of the World, vol. 7. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme and Brown (first published in 1727). Kaigo, T. (1961–7) Nihon kyōkasho taikei, kindai-hen (Collections of school textbooks of Japan: the modern period). Tokyo: Kōdansha. Kamei, H. (1994) ‘Meiji Literature and the Transformations of Sensibility: A Case of Sensibilities and Nature.’ Paper presented at the Harvard Meiji Studies Conference , Cambridge, Mass., May 8, 1994. Kamei, T. (1892) Kaiko Tōkaidō gojūsan eki shinkei (True views of old Tōkaidō’s fiftythree stations). Tokyo: Tōyōdō. Kamens, E. (1997) Utamakura, Allusion, and Intertextuality in Traditional Japanese Poetry. New Haven, Conn. and London: Yale University Press. Kanzaki, N. (1995) ‘A Comparative Analysis of the Tourist Industry.’ Senri Ethnological Studies 38:39–49. Kaplan, C. (1996) Questions of Travel, Postmodern Discourse of Displacement . Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press. Karatani, K. (1989) ‘One Spirit, Two Nineteenth Centuries.’ In H.D.Harootunian and M.Miyoshi (eds) Postmodernism and Japan. wDurham, NC and London: Duke University Press, pp. 259–72. Karatani, K. (1994) Origins of Modern Japanese Literature. Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press. Kasuya, H. (1997) Tōkaidō meisho zue o yomu (Reading a collection of pictures of the famous places of the Tōkaidō). Tokyo: Tōkyōdō. Katō, H. (1959) Shisō no kagaku kenkyūkai (Society for the study of scientific thought). Rutland, Vt., Tokyo: Tuttle Co. Katō, K. (1977) ‘La Structure spatiale de Kyoto.’ Unpublished lecture given to École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, Paris. Katō, S. (1990) A History of Japanese Literature, vol. 2: The Years of Isolation. Tokyo, New York and London: Kōdansha International. Kawamura, H. (1989) ‘Kuni-ezu (provincial maps) compiled by the Tokugawa shogunate in Japan.’ Imago Mundi 41:70–5.

242 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Kawasaki-shi Shimin Museum (1994) Tōkaidō dokuhon, Tōkaidō ten kaisetsu zuroku (Tōkaidō reader, illustrated explanation of the Tōkaidō). Kawasaki: Kawasakishi Shimin Museum. Keene, D. (1955) Anthology of Japanese Literature. New York: Grove Press. Keene, D. (1989) Travelers of a Hundred Ages. New York: Henry Holt & Company. Keichū, and Sen’ichi, H. (eds) (1973) ‘Shōchi tokai hen (ikkan bon)’ (A miscellaneous compilation of comments on famous places). In Meisho kenkyū in Coll. Keichū zenshū (Complete works of Keichū), vol. 11. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, pp. 21–85. Kishi, T. (1974) Kanazōshi to Saikaku. Osaka: Seibundō. Kobayashi, T. (1982) Ukiyo-e. Tokyo, New York, San Francisco: Kōdansha International Ltd. Kōda, R. (1993) Ikkoku no shuto (One nation’s capital). Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten. Kodama, K. (1957) Kinsei shukueki seido no kenkyū (Research on the post-station system of Kinsei period). Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan. Kodama, K. (1960) Shukueki (Post-stations). Tokyo: Shibundō. Kodama, K. (1977) Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu (Comprehensive scaled map of the Tōkaidō). Tokyo: Bijutsu. Kodama, K. (1985) Tōkaidō gojūsan-tsugi: Hiroshige kara gendai made (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō: From Hiroshige to the modern era). Tokyo: Daiichi Hōki Shuppan. Kogawa, T. (1988) ‘New Trends in Japanese Popular Culture.’ In G.McGormack and Y.Sugimoto (eds) The Japanese Trajectory: Modernisation and Beyond. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, pp. 54–66. Kojima, U. (1955) ‘Nihon fūkeiron kaisetsu’ (Explanation of theory of the Japanese landscape). In S.Shiga Nihon fūkeiron (Theory of the Japanese landscape). Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, pp. 368–82. Kok, J.P.F. (1984) Hiroshige and the Utagawa School: Japanese Prints, c. 1810–1860 (Catalogue by C.van Rappard-Boon on the basis of research by M.Forrer, R.S.Keyes and K.Keyes-Mizushima). Amsterdam: Rijksmuseum. Kōken, Sekkei Ekiken Guruppu (1994) Eki no hanashi, Meiji kara Heisei made (Stations stories from Meiji to Heisei era). Tokyo: Kōtsū Kenkyū Kyōkai, Sumida Shōji. Kondō, I. (1952) Pageant of Japanese Art, Painting 1, vol. 1. Tokyo: Tōto Bunka Co. Kondō, I. (1965) The Fifty-three Stages of the Tōkaidō by Hiroshige. Honolulu, Hawai’i: The East-West Center Press. Konishi, J. (1984) A History of Japanese Literature, vol. 1: The Archaic and Ancient Ages. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Konishi, J. (1991) A History of Japanese Literature, vol. 3: High Middle Ages . Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Kunikida, D. (1976) Musashino, or, the Musashi Plain (trans. K.Saitō). Tokyo: Gaku Shobō (first published in 1898). Kurimoto, K. (1960a) Tōkaidō bunken ezu 1 (Proportional map of the Tōkaidō). Tokyo: Kohan Edozu Shūei Kankō Kai. Kurimoto, K. (1960b) Tōkaidō bunken ezu 2 (Proportional map of the Tōkaidō). Tokyo: Kohan Edozu Shūei Kankō Kai. Kurozumi, M. and Ooms, H. (1994) ‘Introduction to “The Nature of Early Tokugawa Confucianism”.’ Journal of Japanese Studies 20 (2):331–75. Lane, R. (1978) Images from the Floating World: The Japanese Print. New York: G.P.Putnam’s Sons.

BIBLIOGRAPHY 243

Lane, R. (1989) Hokusai: Life and Work. New York: Penguin Books. Lee, J. (1977) ‘The Origin and Development of Japanese Landscape Prints: A Study in the Synthesis of Eastern and Western Art.’ Unpublished PhD Dissertation, University of Washington. Lee, S., Cunningham, M.R. and Ulak, J.T. (1983) Reflections of Reality in Japanese Art. Cleveland, Ohio, and Bloomington , Ind.: Cleveland Museum of Art, and Indiana University Press. Lefebvre, H. (1976) The Survival of Capitalism. London: Allen & Unwin. Lefebvre, H. (1984) The Production of Space. Oxford, and Cambridge, Mass.: Blackwell. Lefebvre, H. (1991) The Production of Space (trans. D.Nicholson-Smith). Oxford: Blackwell. Link, H.A. (1991) ‘Speculation on Hiroshige’s Last Days,’ in H.Ando Prints by Utagawa Hiroshige in the James A. Michener Colelction, vol. 2. Honolulu: Honolulu Academy of Arts, pp. 11–13. Lloyd, A.M.A. (1909) Every-day Japan (Written after 25 Years’ Residence and Work in the Country). London, New York, Toronto, Melbourne: Cassell & Co. Limited. Low, M.F. (1996) ‘Japanese Science and Technology Before Perry: Stagnation or Development?’ Asia-Pacific Magazine 2:33–7. Lynch, K. (1960) The Image of the City. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Maeda, K. (1970) Chikusai monogatarishu (Complete works on stories of Chikusai). Tokyo: Koten Bunko. Marceau, L.E. (2001) ‘Hidden Treasures from Japan: Woodblock-printed Picturebooks and Albums.’ In The Floating World of Ukiyo-e, Shadows, Dreams and Substance. New York: Harry N.Abrams, Inc., pp. 81–113. Markus, A.L. (1985) ‘The Carnival of Edo: Misemono Spectacles from Contemporary Accounts.’ Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 45 (2):499–541. Maruyama, M. (1965) ‘Patterns of Individuation.’ In M.B.Jansen (ed.) Changing Japanese Attitudes toward Modernisation. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, pp. 489–531. Maruyama, Y. (1992) Jōhō to kōtsū (Information and traffic). In Nihon no kinsei (Japan in the early modern period), vol. 6. Tokyo: Chūō Kōronsha. Matsumoto, S. (1977) ‘Dōin and Tadataka: chizu no senkaku sha’ (Dōin and Tadataka: pioneers of map-making). In Nishimaki Kōzaburō (ed.), Kochizu sanpo Edo-Tōkaidō (Walking along the old maps of Edo and Tōkaidō), Coll. Taiyō vol. 1. Tōkyo: Heibonsha, Taiyō Collection 1, pp. 4–14. May, E. (1973) Das Tōkaidō meishoki von Asai Ryōi (The Tōkaidō meishoki by Asai Ryōi) Wiesbaden: O.Harrassowitz. Mayer, F.H. (ed.) (1968) The Yanagita Kunio Guide to the Japanese Folk Tale . Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana University Press. MacCannell, D. (1989) The Tourist: A New Theory of the Leisure Class . New York: Schocken Books (first published in 1976). McClain, J. (1994) ‘Edobashi, Power, Space and Popular Culture in Edo.’ In J.McClain, J.Merriman and K.Ugawa (eds) Edo and Paris: Urban Life and the State in the Early Modern Era. Ithaca, NY and London: Cornell University Press, pp. 105–31. McClain, J., Merriman, J. and Ugawa, K. (eds) (1994 ) Edo and Paris: Urban Life and the State in the Early Modern Era. Ithaca, NY and London: Cornell University Press. McCullough, H.C. (1986) Tales of Ise: Lyrical Episodes from Tenth-century Japan . Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press.

244 BIBLIOGRAPHY

McEwan, J. (1962) The Political Writings of Ogyū Sorai. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Meech-Pekarik, J. (1986) The World of the Meiji Print. New York and Tokyo: Weatherhill. Mertz, J.P. (1997) ‘Internalizing Social Difference: Kanagaki Robun’s Shanks’ Mare to the Western Seas.’ In H.Hardacre and A.L.Kern (1997) New Directions in the Study of Meiji Japan. Leiden: Koninklijke, pp. 219–28. Mezaki, T. (1985) ‘Aesthete-recluses during the Transition from Ancient to Medieval Japan.’ In Earl Miner (ed.) Principles of Classical Japanese Literature. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, pp. 150–80. Minamoto, S. (1975) ‘Shigetaka Shiga’s Geographical Works: A Bibliographic Survey.’ Library and Information Science 13. Miner, E. (ed.) (1985) Principles of Classical Japanese Literature. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Miner, E. (1996) Naming Properties. Ann Arbor, Mich.: University of Michigan Press. Minowa, Z. (1830) ‘Okage sangū Bunsei shin’i-ki’ (Description of Okage-pilgrimage in the Bunsei period). In Jingū sanpaiki taisei (Complete record of visit to Ise). Gifu: Seinō Insatsu. Mita, H. (1973) Yama no shisōshi (The history of the concept of the mountain). Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten. Mitani, H. (1997) ‘A Protonation-state and Its “Unforgettable Other”: Prerequisites for Meiji International Relations.’ In H.Hardacre and A.L.Kern (eds) New Directions in the Study if Meiji Japan. Leiden: Koninklijke, pp. 293–310. Miura, J. (1980) Keichō kenmoshō (Collection of stories told). In Coll. Edo Sōsho Kankōkai (ed.) Edo sōsho (Edo Series), vol. 2. Tokyo: Seishinsha. Miwa, K. (1970) Shiga Shigetaka (1863–1927): A Meiji Japanist’s View of and Actions in International Relations. Tokyo: Institute of International Relations, Research Papers, Sophia University. Miwa, S. (1994) ‘Kinsei no Tōkaiō watashi shiō’ (Tōkaiō in early modern Japan, my view). In Kawasaki-shi Shimin Museum, Tōkaidō dokuhon, Tōkaidō ten kaisetsu zuroku (Tōkaidō reader, illustrated explanation of the Tōkaidō). Kawasaki: Kawasaki-shi Shimin Museum, pp. 124–47. Miwa, S. (1994) ‘Kinsei no Tōkaidō watashi shikō’ (Tōkaidō in early modern Japan: my view). In Kawasaki-shi Shimin Museum, Tōkaidō dokuhon, Tōkaidō ten kaisetsu zuroku (Tōkaidō reader: illustrated explanation of the Tōkaidō). Kawasaki: Kawasaki-shi Shimin Museum, pp. 124–47. Miyakawa, Y. (1983) ‘Metamorphosis of the Capital and Evolution of the Urban System in Japan.’ Ekistics 299:110–22. Miyamoto, H. (2002) ‘The Formation of an Empire Genre—On the Origins of Manga.’ Review of Japanese Culture and Society 14:39–48. Mizuta Lippit, M. (2002a) ‘Introduction’ to special issue ‘Meiji Literature and the Artwork.’ Review of Japanese Culture and Society 14:i–vii. Mizuta Lippit, M. (2002b) ‘Reconfiguring Visuality: Literary Realism and Illustration in Meiji Japan.’ In special issue ‘Meiji Literature and the Artwork.’ Review of Japanese Culture and Society 14:9–24. Moriya, K. (1990) ‘Urban Networks and Information Networks.’ In Nakane Chie and Ōishi Shinzaburō (eds) Tokugawa Japan: The Social and Economic Antecedents of Modern Japan. Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press, pp. 97–123.

BIBLIOGRAPHY 245

Morris, I. (1989) As I Crossed a Bridge of Dreams. London: Penguin Books. Morris-Suzuki, T. (1998) Re-inventing Japan: Time, Space, Nation. New York and London: An East Gate Book, M.E.Sharpe. Morse, E. (1936) Japan Day by Day, 1877, 1878–79, 1882–83. Tokyo: Kōbunsha Publishing Co. Ltd. Mumford, L. (1934) Technics and Civilization. New York: Harcourt. Murata, K. (ed.) (1980) An Industrial Geography of Japan. New York: St Martin’s Press. Muroga, N. (1973) ‘The Development of Cartography in Japan.’ In M.Namba, Old Maps in Japan. Osaka: Sōgensha, pp. 158–76. Najita, T. (1989) ‘Culture and Technology in Postmodern Japan.’ In H.D. Harootunian and M.Miyoshi (eds) Postmodernism and Japan. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, pp. 3–21. Najita, T. (1991) ‘History and Nature in Eighteenth-century Tokugawa Thought.’ In J.W.Hall (ed.) The Cambridge History of Japan, vol 4: Early Modern Japan . Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 596–659. Nakagawa, K. (1985) Kanko no bunkashi (The cultural history of tourism). Tokyo: Chikuma Shobōo. Nakagawa, K. (1998) ‘Prewar Tourism Promotion by Japanese Government Railways.’ Japan Railway and Transport Review 15:22–7. Nakamura, Y. (1990) ‘Les resaux de transport en tant que system cognitif du territoire.’ Acta Geographia 65:42–8. Nakamura, Y. and Jippensha, I. (ed.) (1983 ) Tōkaidōchū Hizakurige. Tokyo: Shōgakkan (first published in 1975). Nakane, C. and Ōishi, S.(eds) (1990) Tokugawa Japan: The Social and Economic Antecedents of Modern Japan. Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press. Nakanishi, C. and Tamura, N. (1929) Tomimoto oyobi shinnai zenshū (Complete work of tomimoto and shinnai). Tokyo: Nihon Ongyoku Zenshū Kankōkai. Nakano, E. (1958–9) ‘Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi’ (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō). In Kōza Nihon Fuzoku shi (Lectures on the history of Japanese customs). Tokyo: Yūzankaku, pp. 113–38. Namba, M. (1973) ‘The Pleasure of Collecting Old Maps.’ In M.Namba, Old maps in Japan. Osaka: Sōgensha, pp. 146–57. Nan’yōjiji (current affairs in the South Seas) 3rd edition? (July 1889) SSZ3, (December 1927). Narazaki, M. (1969) Hiroshige: The Fifty-three Stations of the Tōkaidō. Tokyo and Palo Alto, Calif.: Kōdansha. Narazaki, M. (1975) The Japanese Print, Its Evolution and Essence. Tokyo and Palo Alto, Calif.: Kōdansha International. Narita, R. (1992) ‘Civilisation-savagery-barbarism: The Status of the Slum in Modern Japan.’ Lecture at Cornell University, November. Natsume, S. (1965) The Three-cornered World (Kusamakura) (trans. A.Turney). New York: G.P.Putnam’s Sons (first published in 1906). Natsume, S. (1969) The Wayfarer (Kōjin). Tokyo: Charles E.Tuttle (first published in 1912). Nenzi, L. (2000) ‘The Making of a Meisho: The Province of Sagami as a Preferred Travel Destination in Edo Period Japan.’ Paper presented at the session ‘The Culture of Travel in Early Modern Japan’ at the Association for Asian Studies Conference.

246 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Nishimaki, K. (ed.) (1977) Kochizu sanpo Edo-Tōkaidō (Walking along the old maps of Edo and Tōkaidō). Coll. Taiyō, vol. 1. Tokyo: Heibonsha. Nishiyama, M. (1963) Edo bunka to chihō bunka (Edo culture and regional culture). Coll. S.Ienaga, Iwanami kōza Nihon rekishi (Iwanami series on Japanese history), vol. 15. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten. Nishiyama, M. (1987) Edo bunkashi. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten. Nishizawa, S. (1991) Nihon kindai kayōshi (History of popular music in modern Japan), vol. 2. Tokyo: Ōfūsha. Nitschke, G. (1991) The Architecture of the Japanese Garden: Right Angle and Natural Form. Koln: Benedict Taschen. Nitschke, G. (1993) ‘Ma-Place, Space, Void.’ In From Shinto to Ando: Studies in Architectural Anthropology in Japan. Great Britain, London: Academy Editions, pp. 49–61. Norberg-Schulz, C. (1971) Existence, Space, Architecture. New York: Praeger. Norman, E.H. (1975) Origins of Modern Japanese State: Selected Writings of E.H. Norman. New York: Pantheon Books. Nosco, P. (1990) Remembering Paradise: Nativism and Nostalgia in Eighteenth-century Japan. Cambridge, Mass. and London: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University Press. Notehelfer, F.G. (1992) Japan through American Eyes: The Journal of Francis Hall, Kanagawa and Yokohama, 1859–1866. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Oda, H. (1976) Kōkoku Hyakunenshi (Hundred-year history of advertising). Tokyo: Sekai Shisō-sha. Ogawa, I. (1998) ‘History of Amusement Park Construction by Private Railway Companies in Japan.’ Japan Railway and Transport Review 15:28–34. Okada, R. (1997) ‘“Landscape” and the Nation-state: A Reading of Nihon Fūkei Ron.’ In H.Hardacre and A.L.Kern (eds) New Directions in the Study if Meiji Japan. Leiden: Koninklijke, pp. 90–107. Okada, T. (1979) ‘Practical Learning in the Chu Hsi School: Yamazaki Ansai and Kaibara Ekken.’ In Wm.T.De Bary and I.Bloom (eds) Principle and Practicality . New York: Columbia University Press, pp. 231–305. Okada, T. (1993) ‘Societal Contexts and Conceptualisation in the History of Geography in Modern Japan: Some Bibliographical Case Studies.’ Geographical Review of Japan 66 (Ser. B) (1): 1–17. Onno, K. (1986) ‘Eki monogatari’ (The story of the stations). In K.Onno and K.Hayashi (eds) Tetsudō to machi: Nagoya eki (Railway and towns: Nagoya station). Tokyo: Taishō Shuppan Co., pp. 91–3. Ono, T. (1967) Nihon no sekihanga (The Japanese lithography). Tokyo: Bijutsu Shuppansha. Ono, T. (1977) ‘Ezue no michi to chizu e no michi’ (Road to picture-maps and road to regular maps). In K.Nishimaki (ed.) Kochizu sanpo Edo-Tōkaidō (Walking along the old maps of Edo and Tōkaidō). Coll Taiyō., vol. 1. Tokyo: Heibonsha, pp. 147–50. Ōshima, N. (1966) Nihon no michi (The Japanese roads). Tokyo: Shibundō. Phillips, P.D. (1996) ‘Intersections of Modernity and Tradition: An Urban Planning History of Tokyo in the Early Meiji Period (1868–1888).’ Unpublished PhD Dissertation, University of Pennsylvania. Plutschow, H. and Fukuda, H. (1981) Four Japanese Travel Diaries of the Middle Ages. Ithaca, NY: Cornell East Asia Papers.

BIBLIOGRAPHY 247

Poster, A. (1977) Along the Tōkaidō: Twelve Views by Utagawa Kuniyoshi. Brooklyn, NY: The Brooklyn Museum, Department of Brooklyn Institute of Arts and Sciences (published for an exhibition, February 3–June 3, 1977). Pyle, K.B. (1969) The New Generation in Meiji Japan: Problems of Cultural Identity, 1885–1895. Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press. Rees, G. (1980) Early Railway Prints: A Social History of the Railways from 1825 to 1850. Oxford: Phaidon. Robertson, J. (1995) ‘Hegemonic Nostalgia, Tourism, and Nation-making in Japan.’ Senri Ethnological Studies 38:89–103. Robinson, B.W. (1961) Kuniyoshi. London: HMSO. Rojek, C. (1993) Ways of Escape: Modern Transformations in Leisure and Travel . London: Macmillan. Ronal, T. (1992) ‘Henbō suru sakoku gainen’ (Changing notions of ‘seclusion’). Kokusai kōryū 15 (3):22–31. Ryan, M.G. (1967) Ukigumo, Japan’s First Modern Novel. New York and London: Columbia University Press. Sakuma, R. (1995) ‘Shashin to josei—atarashii shikaku media notōjō to “miru/ mirareu” jibun no shutsugen.’ (Photography and Women—The Advent of New Visual Media and the Emergence of the “Looking/Looked At” self). In Onna to Otoko no jikū (Time-Space of Gender), vol. 5 of Nihan josei-shi Saikō (Redefining Japanese Women’s History), Tokyo: Fujiwara Shoten, pp. 227–8. Satō, S. (1987) Meijiki sakusei no chisekizu (Census map of the Meiji era). Tokyo: Kokon Shoin. Satō, T. (1990) ‘Tokugawa Villages and Agriculture.’ In C.Nakane and S.Ōishi (eds) Tokugawa Japan: The Social and Economic Antecedents of Modern Japan . Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press, pp. 37–80. Satō, T. and Watanabe, T. (eds) (1991) Japan and Britain: An Aesthetic Dialogue 1850– 1930. London: Lund Humphries. Schaap, R. (1998) Heroes and Ghosts: Japanese Prints by Kuniyoshi, 1797–1861. Leiden: Hotei Pub. Schivelbusch, W. (1979) The Railway Journey (trans. A.Hollo). New York: Urizen Books. Schulz, E. (2003) ‘The Past in Tokyo’s Future: Kōda Rohan’s Thoughts on Urban Reform and the New Citizen in Ikkoku no shuto (One nation’s capital).’ In N.Fiévé and P.Waley (eds) Japanese Capitals in Historical Perspective: Place, Power and Memory in Kyoto, Edo and Tokyo. London: RoutledgeCurzon, pp. 283–308. Screech, T. (1994) ‘The Meaning of Western Perspective in Edo Popular Culture.’ Archives of Asian Art 47:58–69. Screech, T. (1996) The Western Scientific Gaze and Popular Imagery in Later Edo Japan: The Lens within the Heart. New York: Cambridge University Press. Screech, T. (1999) Sex and the Floating World: Erotic Images in Japan 1700–1820. Honolulu, Hawai’i: University of Hawai’i Press. Seidensticker, E. (1983) Low City, High City: Tokyo from Edo to Earthquake. New York: Alfred A.Knopf Inc. Shibusawa, K. (1958) Japanese Life and Culture in the Meiji Era. Tokyo: Centenary Cultural Council Series, Ōbunsha. Shiga, S. (1955) Nihon fūkeiron (Theory of the Japanese landscape). Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten.

248 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Shiga, S. (1995) Shiga Shigetaka zensū (Complete works by Shiga Shigetaka). Tokyo: Nihon Tosho Sentaa. Shimizu, I. (1986) Bigot Nihon subyō shū (Collection of Bigot’s Japanese sketches). Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten. Shinagawa Kuritsu Shinagawa Rekishikan (2000) Tōkaidōchū kindai Hizakurige, Aruku tabi to tetsudō no tabi (Early modern shanks’ mare, trip on foot and trip by train). Exhibition catalogue. Shinagawa: Shinagawa-ku Kyōiku linkai. Shinno, T. (2002) ‘Journeys, Pilgrimages, Excursions, Religious Travels in the Early Modern Period’ (trans. L.Nenzi). Monumenta Nipponica 57 (4):2–48. Shizuoka-ken, Chiikishi Kenkyūkai (ed.) (1996) Tōkaidō kōtsūshi no kenkyū (Research on the transportation history of the Tōkaidō). Osaka: Seibundō Shuppan. Siebold, von F. (1982) Edo sanpo kikō (Account of a journey to Edo) (trans. M.Saitō). Tokyo: Heibonsha. Sladen, D. (1904) Queer Things about Japan. London: Anthony Treherne and Co. Ltd. Smith, H.D. (1978) ‘Tokyo as an Idea: An Exploration of Japanese Urban Thought until 1945.’ Journal of Japanese Studies 4 (1):45–80. Smith, H.D. (1986a) ‘City and Country in England and Japan: Rus in urbe vs. Kyō ni inaka ari.’ Senri Ethnological Studies 19:29–39. Smith, H.D. (1986b) ‘Sky and Water: The Deep Structures of Tokyo.’ In M.Friedman (ed.) Tokyo: Form and Spirit. New York: Walker Art Center, Minneapolis, Harry N.Abrams, Inc. Publishers, pp. 23–35. Smith, H.D. (1988a) ‘World without Walls: Kuwagata Keisai’s Panoramic Vision of Japan.’ In G.L.Bernstein and H.Fukui (eds) Japan and the World: Essays on Japanese History in Honour of Ishida Takeshi. Basingstoke: Macmillan and St Antony’s College, Oxford College, pp. 3–19. Smith, H.D. (1988b) Kiyochika, Artist of Meiji Japan. Santa Barbara, Calif.: Santa Barbara Museum of Art. Smith, H.D. (1997) ‘Hiroshige in History.’ In M.Forrer (ed.) Hiroshige: Prints and Drawings. London, Munich and New York: Royal Academy of Arts and PrestelVerlag, pp. 33–45. Smith, T. (1988) Native Sources of Japanese Industrialization 1750–1920. Berkeley, Calif . and London: University of California Press. Sorensen, A. (2002) The Making of Urban Japan: Cities and Planning from Edo to the Twenty-first Century. London, New York: Routledge. Stern, H. (1969) Master Prints of Japan, Ukiyo-e Hanga. New York: Harry N.Abrams, Inc. Publishers. Stewart, B. (1979) A Guide to Japanese Prints and their Subject Matter. New York: Dover Publications Inc. Suizu, I. (1984) ‘The Codes of Japanese Landscape—An Attempt to Topological Geography.’ Geographical Review of Japan 57 (Ser. B) (1):1–21. Suzuki, J. (1970) Hiroshige. Tokyo: Nihon Keizai Shimbunsha. Suzuki, S. (1995) ‘Nihon kindai bungaku ni miru shizenkan-sono hensen no gaiyō’ (The concept of nature in modern Japanese literature—an outline of its transformations). In S.Itō (ed.) Nihonjin no shizenkan (The idea of nature by the Japanese). Tokyo: Kawade Shobō Shinsha, pp. 371–94. Taeuber, I.B. (1958) The Population of Japan. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Takada, M. (1995) ‘The City and its Model: A Civilisation’s Mechanism for Selfexpression as the Object of Tourism.’ Senri Ethnological Studies 38:105–24.

BIBLIOGRAPHY 249

Takahashi, S. (1955) The Evolution of Ukiyo-e: The Artistic, Economic and Social Significance of Japanese Woodblock Prints. Yokohama: H.Yamagara. Takahashi, S. (1976) Tōkaidō gojuusantsugi (The fifty-three stations of the Tōkaidō). Coll. Ukiyo-e taikei (Outline ofukiyo-e), vol. 14. Tokyo: Shūeisha. Takeda, T. (1990) ‘Hiroshige’s harimaze-e published by Yamaguchi-ya “Picture of Tōkaidō’s 53 Stations.”’ Ukiyo-e Art: A Journal of the Japan Ukiyo-e Society 23. Takeuchi, K. (1987) ‘How Japan Learned about the Outside World: The Views of other Countries Incorporated in Japanese School Textbooks, 1868–1986.’ Hitotsubashi Journal of Social Studies 19:1–13. Takeuchi, K. (1988) ‘Landscape, Language and Nationalism in Meiji Japan.’ Hitotsubashi Journal of Social Studies 20:35–40. Takeuchi, K. (1993) ‘The Decline and Survival of Academic Geography: Publications in the Early Stages of Academic Geography in Japan (1907–1945).’ Hitotsubashi Journal of Social Studies 25:63–81. Takeuchi, M. (1989) ‘“True” Views: Taiga’s Shinkeizu and the Evolution of Literati Painting Theory in Japan.’ Journal of Asian Studies 48 (1):3–26. Takeuchi, M. (1992) Taiga’s True Views: The Language of Landscape Painting in Eighteenth-century Japan. Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press. Takeuchi, M. (1998) ‘City, Country, Travel and Vision in Edo Cultural Landscapes, in Edo Art in Japan, 1615–1868.’ In Edo Art in Japan 1615–1868. Washington: National Gallery of Art, pp. 261–281 (also notes on plates in ‘Travel and Landscape: Catalogue 141–190,’ pp. 283–337). Takizawa, B. (1913–15) Kiryo manroku (A leisurely account of a curious trip). Coll. Yuhodo Bunko , vol. 2. Tokyo: Yūhōdō Shoten. Tange, K. (1968) ‘Images of the Future Environment.’ Ekistics 25 (150): 289–94. Tange, K. (1971) ‘Lineage of Urban Design.’ Japan Architect 178:15–50. Taniuchi, T. (1984) ‘Japanese Urban Development and the Railway Network, 1880– 1980.’ Geographical Review of Japan 57 (Ser. B) (2):111–23. Thompson, E.P. (1967) ‘Time, Work-discipline, and Industrial Capitalism.’ Past and Present 38:56–97. Toby, R.P. (1984) State and Diplomacy in Early Modern Japan. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Toby, R.P. (1986) ‘Carnival of the Aliens: Korean Embassies in Edo Period Art and Popular Culture,’ in Monumenta Nipponica 41 (4):415–56. Toda, K. (1931) Descriptive Catalogue of Japanese and Chinese Illustrated Books in the Ryerson Library of the Art Institute of Chicago. Chicago, Ill.: The Art Institute of Chicago. Tokuriki, T. (1993) Tōkaidō (Tōkaidō). Osaka: Hoikusha. Tominaga, Y. (1953) Kōtsū ni okeru shihon shugi no hatten (The development of capitalsim and communications). Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten. Tomio, K. (1997) ‘Visions of Modern Space: Expositions and Museums in Meiji Japan.’ In H.Hardacre and A.L.Kern (eds) New Directions in the Study if Meiji Japan. Leiden: Koninklijke, pp. 719–33. Toyohashi-shi Futagawa Juku Honjin Shiryōkan (1992) Tenji annai (Exhibition catalogue). Toyohashi: Toyohashi-shi Futagawa Juku Honjin Shiryōkan. Toyohashi-shi Futagawa Shuku Honjin Shiryōkan (1995) San’en no Tōkaidō: Ukiyo-e ni egakareta (Spread over three regions, Aichi, Shizuoka and Nagano: pictures of the floating world). Toyohashi: Futagawa Shuku Honjin Shiryōkan.

250 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Toyohashi-shi Futagawa Shuku Honjin Shiryōkan (1997a) Dōchu emaki ten (Book of road-maps in scroll-paintings). Toyohashi: Toyohashi Shi Futagawa Shuku Honjin Shiryōkan. Toyohashi-shi Futagawa Shuku Honjin Shiryōkan (1997b) Zu ten: egakareta daimyō gyōretsu (Exhibition of images of daimyō processions: daimyō processions depicted). Toyohashi: Toyohashi Shi Futagawa Shuku Honjin Shiryōkan. Traganou, J. (1997) ‘The Tōkaidō-scenes from Edo to Meiji Eras.’ Japan Railway and Transport Review 13:17–27. Traganou, J. (1999) ‘Transit et espace public au Japon: le cas de la gare de Nagoya.’ (Transportation and public space in Japan: the case of Nagoya station). In J.Isaac (ed.) Villes en gares (Cities in stations). Paris: L’Aube, pp. 171–90. Traganou, J. (2000) ‘Cartographic Representations of the Tōkaidō from the Edo to Meiji Japan,’ The Portolan (Washington Map Society) 47:12–31. Traganou, J. (2002) ‘Displacing Mt Fuji,’ L’Architecture d’aujourd’hui 338:92–7. Traganou, J. (2003a) ‘The Transit Destinations of Japanese Public Space: The Case of Nagoya Station.’ In D.Colin and W.Bond (eds) Suburbanising the Masses: Public Transportation and Urban Development in Historical Perspective. Aldershot: Ashgate, pp. 287–314. Traganou, J. (2003b) ‘Tōkaidō Megalopolis und Tōkaidō Renaissance’ Kulturrevolution 44:107–12. Traganou, J. (2003c) ‘Representing Mobility in Edo and Meiji Japan.’ In N.Fiévé and P.Waley (eds) Japanese Capitals in Historical Perspective: Place, Power and Memory in Kyoto, Edo and Tokyo. London: RoutledgeCurzon, pp. 283–308. Tsukahira, T.G. (1966) Feudal Control in Tokugawa Japan: The Sankin kōtai System . Cambridge, Mass.: East Asian Research Center, Harvard University Press. Turner, V. (1969) The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-structure. Chicago Ill.:, Aldine Publishing Co. Turner, V. (1974) Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors. Ithaca, NY, and London: Cornell University Press. Turner, V. and Turner, E. (1978) Image of Pilgrimage in Christian Culture. New York: Columbia University Press. Uchimura, K. (1955) ‘Shiga Shigetaka fūkei ron.’ In S.Shiga, Nihon fūkeiron (Theory of the Japanese landscape). Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten (first published in Rikugō Zasshi 168, Dec. 15, 1894). Ueno, T. (ed.) (1985) Tōkaidō: ima to mukashi (Tōkaidō: now and then). Tenri: Tenri Daigaku Shuppanbu, Tenri Daigaku Fuzoku Tenri Sankōkan Kōtsū Bunka Shiryōshitsu. Ueno, T. (ed.) (1993) Meiji tetsudō monogatari (The story of Meiji railways). Tenri: Tenri Daigaku Shuppanbu, Tenri Daigaku Fuzoku, Tenri Sankōkan Kōtsū Bunka Shiryōshitsu. Ueno, T. and Nakai, S. (eds) (1997) Tōkaidō tabi dōchū (Travel maps of the Tōkaidō). Tenri: Tenri Daigaku Shuppanbu, Tenri Daigaku Fuzoku Tenri Sankōkan Kōtsū Bunka Shiryōshitsu. Ueda, M. (1985) ‘The Taxonomy of Sequence: Basic Patterns of Structure in Premodern Japanese Literature.’ In E.Miner (ed.) Principles of Classical Japanese Literature. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, pp. 63–105. Ueda, M. (1991) Bashō and his Interpreters: Selected Hokku with Commentary . Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press.

BIBLIOGRAPHY 251

Umemura, M. (1961) ‘Rōdōryoku no kyōkyū kōzō to kyōkyū kakaku.’ In Shinohara, M. and Funahashi, N. (eds), Nihon-gata chingin kōzō no kenkyū. Tokyo: Tokyo rōdō hōgaku kenkyū. Umesao, T. (1995) ‘Keynote Address: Tourism as a Phenomenon of Civilization.’ Senri Ethnological Studies 38:1–9. Unno, K. (1973) ‘Notes to the Plates.’ In M.Namba (ed.) Old Maps in Japan . Osaka: Sōgensha. Unno, K. (1987) ‘Cartography in Japan.’ In Cartography in the Traditional East and Southeast Asian Societies. Coll. J.B.Harley (ed.) History of Cartography, vol. 2, pp. 346–455. Vaporis, C.N. (1994) Breaking Barriers: Travel and the State in Early Modern Japan. Cambridge, Mass. and London: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University Press. Vaporis, C.N. (1995) ‘The Early Modern Origins of Japanese Tourism.’ Senri Ethnographical Studies 38:25–38. Vaporis, C.N. (1997) ‘To Edo and Back: Alternate Attendance and Japanese Culture in the Early Modern Period.’ Journal of Japanese Studies 23 (1):25–67. Waley, P. (1984) Tokyo Now and Then: An Explorer’s Guide. New York, Tokyo: Weatherhill. Waley, P. (2003) ‘Power, Memory and Place.’ In N.Fiévé and P.Waley (eds) Japanese Capitals in Historical Perspective: Place, Power and Memory Kyoto, Edo and Tokyo. London: RoutledgeCurzon, pp. 385–91. Walthall, A. (1986) Social Protest and Popular Culture in Eighteenth-century Japan. Tuscon, Ariz.: University of Arizona Press. Walthall, A. (1994) ‘Edo Riots.’ In J.McClain, J.Merriman and K.Ugawa (eds) Edo and Paris: Urban Life and the State in the Early Modern Era. Ithaca, NY and London: Cornell University Press, pp. 407–28. Watanabe, A. (1980) ‘An Outline of the Development of Cartography in Japan.’ In Cartography in Japan. Tokyo: Japanese Organizing Committee of the 10th International Conference of the International Cartographic Conference, pp. 1–9. Watanabe, K. (1981) ‘Tōkaidō no Shukueki’ (The post-stations of the Tōkaidō). In T.Toyoda, T.Harada and Y.Kazuhiko (eds) Kōza Nihon no hōken toshi (Lectures on Japanese feudal cities), vol. 3. Tokyo: Bunichi Sōgō Shuppan, pp. 527–44. Watanabe, T. (1991) High Victorian Japonisme. Bern, New York: P.Lang, Swiss Asian Studies, Research Studies, vol. 10. Watanabe, T. (ed.) (1997) Ruskin in Japan 1890–1940: Nature for Art, Art for Life . London: Exhibition Committee. Watson, W. (1981) The Great Japan Exhibition: Art of the Edo period, 1600–1868 . London: Royal Academy of Arts. Watsuji, T. (1961) Fūdo, Climate and Culture: A Philosophical Study. Tokyo: Yūshōdō Co. Ltd. (first published in 1935). Wattenberg, U. (1990) ‘Maps and Map Collecting in Japan.’ In Yu-Ying Brown (ed.) Japanese Studies: Papers Presented at a Colloquium at the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, 14–16 September 1988. London: British Library, pp. 53–65. Weston, W. (1918) The Playground of the Far East. London: John Murray. Williams, H.S. (1972) Tales of the Foreign Settlements in Japan. Rutland, Vt.: C.E.Tuttle Co.

252 BIBLIOGRAPHY

Williams, R. (1989) ‘Metropolitan Perceptions and the Emergence of Modernism.’ In The Politics of Modernism: Against the New Conformists. London: Verso, pp. 37–48. Yanagita, K. (1957) Japanese Manners and Customs in the Meiji Era. Tokyo: Ōbunsha, Centenary Culture Series. Yano, T. (1970–82) Ukiyo no Arisama (The state of this transient world). Coll. Nihon Shomin Seikatsu Shiryō Shūsei (Compilation of records of common people’s life in Japan), vol. 11. Tokyo: San’ichi Shobō. Yee, C.D.K (1987) ‘Chinese Cartography among the Arts: Objectivity, Subjectivity, Representation.’ In Cartography in the Traditional East and Southeast Asian Societies. Coll. J.B.Harley (ed.) History of Cartography, vol. 2, pp. 128–69. Yonemoto, M. (2003) Mapping Early Modern Japan: Space, Place, and Culture in the Tokugawa Period, 1603–1868. Berkeley, Los Angeles, Calif. and London: University of California Press. Yoshida, T. (1971) Ukiyo-e jiten (Dictionary of ukiyo-e), vol. 3. Tokyo: Gabundō. Yoshida, T. (1981) ‘The Stranger as God: The Place of the Outsider in Japanese Folk Religion.’ Ethnology 20:87–99. Yoshimi, S. (1987) Toshi no doramaturugi: Tōkyō sakariba no shakaishi (The dramaturgie of the city: the social history of Tokyo’s sakariba). Tokyo: Kobundō. Yuasa, N. (1968) Bashō: The Narrow Road to the Deep North and Other Travel Sketches. Baltimore, Md.: Penguin Books. Zolbrod, L.M. (1967) Takizawa Bakin (Takizawa Bakin). New York: Twayne Publishers Inc.

INDEX

Abe river 15, 17, 203, 236 (n. 82) Abekawa-chō 108, 109 Abutsu-ni 96 Africa 121, 235 (n. 76), 239 (n. 119) ai no shuku 14 Aichi 23, 91, 124, 153, 219 Ainu 129, 216 aka-e 52, 190 Akasaka 72, 82, 104 Akisato Ritō 110, 111 (fig. 23), 114, 115, 117 (fig. 24), 118 (fig. 25), 118 (fig. 26), 170 (fig. 35) Akiyama Masashige 230 (n. 29) Album 199, 199 (fig. 48) alternate residence see sankin kōtai Ama no Hashidate 97 amusement parks 89, 233 (n. 53) ancient way see kodō Angura 221 Aōdō Denzen 180 Aomori 21 Aoshima 117 Arai 15, 17, 177, 183, pl. 16, pl. 19 Ariwara Narihira azuma kudari no zu 157, pl. 10 Artistic and gastronomic rambles 197 Asai Ryōi 103, 107 (fig. 19), 108 Asakusa 90, 139 Ashi lake 172 Ashigara 21 asobi 148, 236 (n. 84) Atago 44 Atami 22, 85, 128 Atsuta 17, 21, 23, 153 Atsuta dai jingo 116 Atsuta meishō 154, pl. 23

Azuma-kō 76 Azuma-kudari: Fujinoyama 157 Azumaotoko Itchō 113 Bakin 70, 97–9, 104, 234 (n. 57–8) bakufu 80, 148, 180, 204, 212, 229 (n. 11), 229 (n. 17), 234 (n. 65); infrastructure 6, 11, 16, 38, 40, 63, 228 (n. 8), 229 (n. 13); and maps 36, 40 (fig. 8), 42; pilgrimage 68, 73, 74; sankin kōtai 76–7 Bankoku kōkai 120 Bankoku Sōzu 23 (n. 119) Bansho Shirabesho 239 (n. 116) barrier 14–15, 59, 65, 88, 96; abolition of barriers 19; barriers marked in maps 61; Hakone 88; pilgrimage 73 Bashō 70, 96–9, 104, 139, 172, 234 (n. 56) Beato, F. 198–9, 199 (fig. 48), 238 (n. 107) Bigot, G. 197–8, 198 (fig. 47), 201, 238 (n. 105), 238 (n. 106) bijin 126, 165, 175, 177, 183, 186, 199; in the Meiji era 237–8 (n. 101) Bijin ichidai gojūsan tsugi 165, 166 (fig. 34) Bird, I. 22, 126, 129 Biwa lake 20, 21, 136, 177 Biwa plain 21 Bridgens, R.P. 150 British: landscape 131;

253

254 INDEX

railway 126 brothels 75, 81, 98, 149; see also prostitutes Brunton, R.H. 19 Buddhism 46, 87 buddhist: arts 156; beliefs 29; festivities 84; people 14, 66, 69, 94, 237 (n. 94); temples 116 bullet train 218, 227; see also Shinkansen Bungei chiri Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi 122 byōbu 43, 47, pl. 6 castle 12, 27; castle town 11–12, 17–18, 23, 33, 38, 40; see also jōka-machi Chamberlain, Basil Hall 127–8 chaya 14 chihōzu 27 Chikamatsu Monzaemon 234 (n. 62) Chikusai 96, 103, 106, 232 (n. 45), 234 (n. 61) Chikusai monogatari 106 Chikusai shokoku monogatari 106, 107 (fig. 20), 234 (n. 61) Chikusai tōka 103, 104, 108, 115 China 68, 79, 100, 132, 186; Hokusai 45, 46; iconography 157; Japan’s other 184, 211, 214, 234 (n. 59); war with Japan 130, 188 Chinese: ethos 80; Hokusai 167; iconography 45, 46, 156, 225, 227; maps 26–7, 31; language and studies 66, 112, 131, 201, 204 Chiri kyōiku tetsudō shōka 135–9 Chirigaku kōgi 131 Chiryū 71, 171, 174 (fig. 39), 175, fig, 40, 229 (n. 14)

chonaikai 218, 223 chōnin 154, 221, 224, 233 (n. 54) Chūbu 219, 240 (n. 124) Chūgokukaidō 14 Chūkyō 13 city maps see toshizu co-fraternities 35, 76, 226 Conder, J. 153, 229 (n. 20) conformal maps 29, 33, 58, 216 copperplate 198, fig. 12, fig, 13; see also etching Dai Ichi Chōshū Seibatsu 180 Dai Nihon dōchūki taizen 234 (n. 60) Dai Nihon kunijunro meisai ki 35, pl. 2 Dai Nihon-shi 239 (n. 113) Dai Nihon Tetsudō senro zenzu 54, 56 (fig. 14), 60 (fig. 15) daimyō 12–13, 73, 92, 153, 160, 225, 226, 227, 229 (n. 11); Hosokawa Narishige 47; Hosokawa Tadatoshi 231 (n. 37); of Owari 78; representation 36, 38, 48, 156–7, 220– 2; sankin kōtai 13, 41, 76–82, 98, 204–5; Tokugawa Mitsukuni 239 (n. 113); wives of 15–18; see also lords; see also Numazu Mizuno Dewanokami Daizōho Nihon dōchū kōteiki 31, 34 (fig. 5) Dazaifu 12 Deshima 81 diaries 92–3, 132; before the Edo period 67, 70, 94, 94; in the Edo period 96–101, 104, 119, 181; in the Meiji era 121–2, 143; by ordinary travelers 76, 95–6 distance-markers 229 (n. 9); see also ichirizuka Dōchū hizakurige 106–15, 119, 163, 186, 220, 110 (fig. 21), 111 (fig. 22) Dōchūki 101–3, 102 (fig. 18), 132, 163 dōchūki 27–9, 31, 35, 38, 43, 95, 102 (fig. 18), 103, 105, 163, 186, 225;

INDEX 255

in the Meiji 92–3, 122 dōchūzu 27–8, 101, 230 (n. 28), 234 (n. 60) domain maps see kuni ezu dōro sansui 201 Dutch 17; embassy 81–2 Dutch scholarship 27; see also rangaku Dyer, H. 229 (n. 20) Ebina Meishi 132 Edo (city) 11, 18, 22, 35, 38, 40, 46, 68, 71, 232 (n. 11); centralization in 63; and foreign processions 80, 156–7, 204; and sakariba 146–7; and sankin kōtai 13, 76–7; travel to and from 96–8, 103–4, 113, 126, 145, 148, 197 Edo banashi 71 Edoingo 113, 181 Edo meisho zue 15 Edo meishoki 71 Edo suzume 71 ee-ja-nai-ka 74, 87, 225 Ehon Tebikigusa 172 Ejiri 229 (n. 14) emaki 29, 31, 36, 40, 82, 156, 163, 186, 225; see also handscroll Emperor 12, 35, 71, 74, 81, 84, 116, 168, 209, 210; and landscape representation 46, 69, 162, 84, 196; see also tycoon Emperor Gotoba 232 (n. 43) Emperor Kōkaku 80 Emperor Kōmei 18 Emperor Meiji 150, 210, Enoshima 72, 76, 85, 87–8, 129 Ensai shū 158 erotic 113, 182 (fig. 42); see also pornography etching 61, 121, 132, 180, 191, 238 (n. 105) execution sites 65

Ezo 31, 120, 216, 239 (n. 120), 240 (n. 121) fairy’s feather-robe 71, 141, 232 (n. 48) famous places 10, 46, 113, 157, 187; in Hizakurige 112; in Kaidōki 94; of Kyoto 103, 114; in Nihonga 189; see also meisho famous products 122; see also meibutsu Far East 22, 150 Fenollosa, E. 169, 188 Fontanesi, A. 189, 237 (n. 99) foreign employees see oyatoi gaikokujin Fuchū 12, 40 (fig. 8), 41, 82, 105, 108, 265, 236 (n. 82) Fugaku 36 kei 165 Fuji mountain 46, 71, 233 (n. 43), 231 (n. 36), 233 (n. 48); literary works 96, 98, 122, 128, 131–3, 136, 138; maps 38, 44–5, 51, 61–3; pictures 100, 100 (fig. 17), 157–8, 162, 173, 175, 191–5, 192 (fig. 43), 198, 202–3, pl. 27 Fuji river 71, 138 Fujichū Rochū 110 Fujieda 117, 229 (n. 14) Fujii Hanchi 231 (n. 32) Fujisawa 72, 229 (n. 14) Fujiwara no Akisuke 71 Fujiwara no Tameaki 71 Fujiya hotel 88, 128, 233 (n. 52) Fukae Roshū 158 Fukuroi 229 (n. 14) Fukuzawa Yukichi 130–1, 214, 220, 239 (n. 118) Furukawa Koshōken 97, 130, 239 (n. 120) furusato 140, 219, 225 Fusō Kan (Misugi Yosugi) 120 Futakawa 229 (n. 14) Furuichi 75–6, 149 Ganyūdō 138 gazetteer 28, 92, 119, 185, 188

256 INDEX

Gazu Saiyūdan 99, 100 (fig. 17) geisha 67, 147; quarters 154–5 Genroku era 4, 39, 77, 210–11; cultural production during 103, 233 (n. 54); domain maps 230 n. 26; map of Japan 230 (n. 25) Geographical Railway Maps 52, 54–7, 62– 3 geography 4–5, 8, 11, 210, 228 (n. 4); in modern era 47, 57–8, 62–3, 124, 131, 133–5, 213–15, 235 (n. 70), 239 (n. 117) geology 132–3, 212–14, 235 (n. 74) gesaku 92, 112, 120, 233 (n. 54), 234 (n. 64) giboshi 51 Ginza 90, 127, 150, 152, 154–5, 236 (n. 86) Gion 115, 147 Go kinai 14 Goble Johnathan 231 (n. 39) Gojōbashi 110, 111 (fig. 22), 111 (fig. 23) Gojūsan tsugi hana no miyakoji 181 Gojūsan tsugi meisho zue 175, pl. 13 Gojūsantsugi zōri nikki 122 Gokaidō 14, 27, 40–1, 225, 231 (n. 34) Gokaidō sono hoka bunken mitori nobe ezu 40 Gonse, L. 238 (n. 105) Gotenba 21 Goyu 72 guidebooks: and dōchūki 28, 92; fictional 103–14; illustrated 114–19; maps (comparison with) 25–6, 57 (M), 93–4, 101, 186; in the Meiji 48, 119–27, 188, 214; and observation 187; and pictures 163, 171, 184–6; for pilgrimage 75; to Tokyo 235 (n. 69); western 127–30 Gyōki maps 29 gyōretsu emaki 156, pl. 7 gyōsho 169

haikai 104, 232 (n. 44) Haikara dōchū hizakurige no uta 112, 136 haiku 39, 101–2, 122, 139, 180 Hakone 21–2, 133, 141, 162, 229 (n. 14), 232 (n. 44); barrier 15; in literary and visual works 98–9, 167, 172, 202; meibutsu of 72, 82; Mount Hakone Railway 88, 128; pass 116; and tourism 85, 87–8, 117, 128–9 Hall, F. 18, 46, 67, 78, 149 Hamamatsu 229 (n. 14) Hamana lake 15, 51 Hamana no hashi 71, 116, 137, 232 (n. 43), 232 (n. 46) Handbook for Travelers in Central and Northern Japan 127 handscroll 47, 158, 160–2, 161 (fig. 33), pl. 29, 238 (n. 102) Hanshin 13 Hara 37 (fig. 6), 37 (fig. 7), 38, 82, 115, 117, 173, 175, pl. 21 Hara Genjirō 234 (n. 55) Hara Zaisei 115 harimaze 172–3, pl. 21 hasamibako 78 hatagoya 16, 146 Hayashi Razan 97, 104–5 Hayashi Shihei 216, 239 (n. 120) Heian period 12, 14–15, 21, 66, 94–5, 224, 231 (n. 30) Heian shrine 151 heikō chokusen-shiki 29 Heishin kikō 104–5 Hibata Sekko 132 Hikone 23 Hiraga Gennai 212, 239 (n. 114) Hiratsuka 175, 229 (n. 14) Hirokōji 153 Hiroshige 1, 110, 112, 168–73, 181, 183, pl. 13, pl. 14, pl. 19, pl. 21; Hōeidō series 163, 168–9, 170 (fig. 36), 171–2, 171 (fig. 37), 175, 177–8, 183, 191, 194, pl. 16, pl. 26; modern works after 194, 218; and pilgrimage 72–3, pl. 9;

INDEX 257

and Utagawa school 173, 175, 177–8, 179 (fig. 41), pl. 18 Hiroshige II 44, 180 Hiroshige III 121 (fig. 27), 123 Hishikawa Moronobu 36, 37 (fig. 6), 38, 102, 234 (n. 62) Hizasuri nikki 181, 182 (fig. 42) Hodogaya 72, 167, 175, 178, 180, pl. 17, 237 (n. 96), 229 (n. 14) Hōjō Ujinaga 36, 231 (n. 29) Hokkaido 31, 61, 129; see also Ezo Hokurikudō 14 Hokusai 46, 115, 160, 160 (fig. 32), 173, 217; Tōkaidō print series 165–8, pl. 12; Tōkaidō meisho ichiran 31, 43–5, pl. 4 Honjin 16, 41, 146 Hosoda Eisui 109 Hosokawa family 46, 161 Hosokawa Narishige 47, 160, 162 Hosokawa Tadatoshi 231 (n. 37) hot springs 75, 87, 89, 233 (n. 53) Hyōgo 13 Ichida Genzō 136 Ichikochi Dōin 36, 37 (fig. 6), 231 (n. 32) ichirizuka 14 Ie 140 Igami-no Gonta 178 likawa Naonobu 231 (n. 29) Ikkei see Shōjo Shōsai Illustrated guidebook of Owari 124–6, 125 (fig. 29), 125 (fig. 30) Illustrated London news 197, 200, 200 (fig. 49) Imamura Shikō 238 (n. 102) Imamura Shōhei 221 Inō Tadataka 47 International Exhibitions: London in 1862 199; Paris in 1867 115; Paris in 1878 238 (n. 105) Ionushi 67 Iris and Bridge 159, 159 (fig. 31) Irokurabe hana no miyakoji 113 Ise 65, 75–6, 122, 210, 225, 228 (n. 5);

-odori 74 Ise bay 12, 15 Ise monogatari 71, 157–8 Ise shrine 24, 73, 87, 97, 106, 122, 149 Ise sangū dōchū hitori annai 75, 122, 123 (fig. 28), 134 Ise sangū dōchūki 234 (n. 55) Ise sangū kondate dōchūki 234 (n. 55) Ise sangū meisho zue 116, 171 Isekaidō 14 Iseya Rihei 237 (n. 93) Ishibe 21, 229 (n. 14) Ishida Yūtei 115 Itō Gingetsu 122 Itō Hirobumi 20, 154 Izu 133, 228 (n. 5) Izumo 65, 108 Japan; Colonies 83, 127, 215; maps (whole country) 230 (n. 25) see also Nihon sōzu Japan punch 197, 200 Japan Tourist Bureau 83, 233 (n. 52) Jiji shinpō 130 jinrikisha 51, 128, 129, 231 (n. 39), 238 (n. 109); see also rickshaw jinrikisha trams (jinsha tetsudō) 22, 22, 129 Jinshin kikō 97 Jippensha Ikku 106–14, 110 (fig. 21), 111 (fig. 22), 163 jitsugaku 97; see also practicality Jōju-en see Suizen-ji jōka-machi 11 kabuki 106, 164, 175, 177, 185 Kaempfer, E. 17, 65, 67, 72–3, 82 Kagawa Toyohiko 143 Kaibara Ekiken 97, 212 kaibutsu 212 Kaidōki 94 Kaiko Tōkaidō gojūsan eki shinkei 204, 204 (fig. 51) Kaisei Gakkō 239 (n. 116)

258 INDEX

kajuku 16, 146, 235 (n. 79) Kakegawa 158, 229 (n. 14) Kamakura 12, 35, 72, 76, 85, 87–8, 94, 116, 129, 196, 198 Kamakura monogatari 103 Kamakura period 12, 65, 67, 69, 162, 231 (n. 30) Kamei Takejirō 203–5, 204 (fig. 51), 238 (n. 110) Kameyama 229 (n. 14) Kamo no Chōmei 96 Kamo no Mabuchi 211 Kana yomi shinbun 234 (n. 64) Kanagaki Robun 110, 120, 121 (fig. 27), 234 (n. 64) Kanagawa 78–9, 88, 115, 127, 138, 148, 229 (n. 14) Kanaya 17, 116, 161 (fig. 33), 169, 170, 170 (fig. 35), 170 (fig. 36), 180, 184, pl. 20 kanazōshi 92, 103, 105, 233 (n. 54) Kanbara 37 (fig. 7), 171, 175, pl. 21, 229 (n. 14) Kanō school 156–7, 168, 196, 236 (n. 89), 238 (n. 108) Kanō Tan’yū 162 Kanō Tunenobu pl. 10 Kanō Yūsen 165 Kansai 89, 136, 151, 178, 219 Kantō plain 11, 124, 157, 204, 219, 229 (n. 11), 240 (n. 123) Kariya 23 Katsukawa Shunshō 165 Katsura Tarō 154 Kawai Gyokudō 196, pl. 29 Kawanabe Gyōsai 201 Kawasaki 17, 137, 219, 229 (n. 14) Kawase Hasui 238 (n. 102) Kazusa 94, 139, 225, 228 (n. 5) Keichū 70 Kiechū hizasurige 113 Keihin 13 Keisai Eisen 35, 177, pl. 3 kigo 69, 232 (n. 44) Kihin-kai 83, 233 (n. 52) kikō 69, 94; Nozarashi kikō 96; Jinshin kikō 97;

Heishin kikō 104–5 Kinoshita Yoshio 233 (n. 52) Kin’yō wakashū 71 Kisōji anken ezu 93 (fig. 16), 236 Kisokaidō 4, 14, 45, 163, 229 (n. 16); see also Nakasendō Kita 106, 108, 109, 112–13, 120, 137, 165, 185, 220–1 Kitagawa Utamaro 164–5, 166 (fig. 34) Kitahachi see Kita Kitao Masayoshi 115, 117 (fig. 24); see also Kuwagata Keisai kō 76, 122; see also co-fraternities Kobayashi Kiyochika 191, 192 (fig. 43), 194, 201–3, 202 (fig. 50), 207, pl. 28, 238 (n. 109) Kobe 6, 13, 20, 21, 83, 127, 136, 197 Kōbu Bijutsu Gakkō 188 Kōcha no yoru 140 Kōda Rohan 90 kodō 211 Koikawa Shōzan 113 Kojiki 11, 80 Kojima Yahei 101, 102 (fig. 18) Kōjin 141 Kokinshū 69 kokumin no tomo 129 Kōno Bairei 196 Konpira 72–3 Korea 12, 31, 80, 157, 215; Korean embassies 79–82, 191 Kōrin 156 Kōshūkaidō 14, 229 (n. 11), 229 (n. 12), 229 (n. 15) Kosodate-bosatsu 237 (n. 94) Kosugi Hōan 238 (n. 102) kotodama 69, 211 Koyama Shōtarō 201 Kōyo tanshōzu 106, 160 Kōzu 21, 89, 133 Kuga Katsunan 131 Kumano 65, 67 Kume Kunitake 19, 124 Kumo no taema amayo no tsuki 98 Kunaji-kannon 100 kuni ezu 27, 230 (n. 26) Kunikida Doppo 143

INDEX 259

Kunimaro 181, 182 (fig. 42) Kunisada 113, 175–81, 183, pl. 15, pl. 17, pl. 18 Kunitora Kumezō 44 Kuniyoshi 173–81, 174 (fig. 39), 176 (fig. 40), p. 18 Kusakabe Kinbei 199 Kusamakura 6 Kusatsu 21, 75, 167, 171, 171 (fig. 37), 187, 239, 229 (n. 14) Kuwagata Keisai 43, 45 Kuwagata Shōi 31, 43, 44 (fig. 8) Kuwana 17, 21, 82, 85, 102–3, 117, 118 (fig. 26), 229 (n. 14), 238 (n. 110) Kuwata Shōzaburō 192 (fig. 45), 194 Kyō warabe 103 Kyōfu 142 Kyōhō reforms 97, 212 Kyōiku Tōkaidō tetsudō sugoroku 51, pl. 22 Kyoto 4, 12–13, 15, 23, 49, 49 (fig. 10), 67, 74, 153, 158, 162, 169, 176 (fig. 40), 202, 210, 225, 226–7, 229 (n. 13), 229 (n. 14), 229 (n. 16), 232 (n. 43), 234 (n. 63), 235 (n. 67); artists of 196, 156; and guidebooks 103–4, 110, 114–16, 119; and diaries 94, 99; and maps 29, 31, 44, 48, 52, 101, 230 (n. 29); in Meiji era 20, 21, 24, 83, 85, 90, 7; in contemporary era 6, 13, 24; and the railway 150–1, 136–27; sakariba of 146–7, 236 (n. 82); screens of 43, 47; shoguns’ visits 4, 18, 180; see also Miyako; station 150, 153; University 235 (n. 70) Kyōto Ōtsu kan kisha jikoku 49, 49 (fig. 10) Kyōto-fu Gagakkō 188 Kyūen-ji 237 (n. 94) landscape with figures 114, 163–4, 175, 187 Lefebvre, H. 3, 8, 59, 61–3, 145, 221

Le train de Tokio Kobé 197, 198 (fig. 47) lithograph 49, 125 (fig. 29), 192 (fig. 44), 192 (fig. 45), 194–5, 197, 198, 203–5, 204 (fig. 51), pl. 23, pl. 25 Lloyd, A. 128–9, 246 lord(s) 14, 46, 77–8, 210, 230 (n. 26) Lubbock, J. 131, 135 Machida Nobuzirō 204 machi-zukuri 219, 223 mairi see pilgrimage Maisaka 17, 203, 229 (n. 14) Maizuru Park 85 Man’yōshū 66, 69, 71 Manchuria 83, 215 mandala 29, 31, 43 manga 115, 197, 217 Manjirō Nakahama 19 Mariko 71–2, 101–2, 105, 109, 229 (n. 14) Maruyama Ōju 115 Maruyama Ōkyo 115, 156, 158, 196 Mamyama-Shijō 156, 158, 196 Masaru Inoue 20 Masuda Takashi 232 (n. 52) Matsuda Sadahei 230 (n. 29) Matsudaira Sadanobu 216 Matsumoto Kōshirō V 178 Matsumoto Ryōjun 88 Matsushima 45, 97 megalopolis 5–6, 11, 218–19, 228 (n. 6), 249 (n. 124); see also Tōkaidō Megalopolis Megawa 75, 171, 172 (fig. 38), 184 Meibutsu 72, 75, 116–17, 119, 148, 187, 226; in Hayashi Razan’s diary 104; in Hiroshige 165; in the Meiji era 51, 86, 136, 197; in Tōkaidō meishoki 105; in Tōkaidō saiken ō ezu 44; see also famous products Meiji Art Society 203 meisho 1, 46, 92, 129, 232 (n. 43), pl. 3, 4, 13, 20, 28, 111 (fig. 23), 117 (fig. 24), 118 (fig. 25), 118 (fig. 26), 170 (fig. 35), 172 (fig. 38), 174 (fig. 39); and aesthetes 68–72;

260 INDEX

along the Tōkaidō 71, 157; classification 115–19; in Edo era’s works 39, 43–4, 46, 71, 104, 109, 114–19, 156, 158, 169, 185, 232 (n. 45); and Hiroshige 169–71; of Kyoto 234 (n. 63), 235 (n. 67); in the Meiji era 62, 120, 191, 201, 213, 218; in Meiji works 124, 134, 136 141, 143, 196–7, 202, 204; modernization of 162, 164, 212; Mount Fuji 38–9, 157; and National Learning 184, 211; and ordinary travelers 68, 75–6, 95; relation between literary and visual meisho 183–4; in Tōkaidō Renaissance 226; of Tokyo 235 (n. 69); for westerners 128–9, 189, 237 (n. 99); see also famous places, Ise sangū meisho zue, Miyako meisho zue, Miyako rinsen meisho zue; nadokoro, Nihon meisho no e; Settsu meisho zue, Tōkaidō gojūsan eki shilgo shuku meisho; Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi meisho koseki; Tōkaidō meisho fūkei, Tōkaidō meisho ichiran messengers 22, 72, 229 (n. 13) Midoriha Yamahito 136 Miho no matsubara 71, 128, 141, 157, 184, 202–3 Mikawa 23, 134, 158–60, 160 (fig. 32), 228 (n. 5) Mikawa no Yatsuhashi no kozu 159 Milne John 229 (n. 20) Min’yusha 129 Minakuchi 102, 102 (fig. 18), 104, 106, 107 (fig. 19), 229 (n. 14) Minamoto no Yoritomo 74 minato-machi 17 Minō 253 Minō way 21 Minobu 138 Minōkaidō 14; see also Minō way Misemono 147–8, 175

Mishima 17, 21, 117, 167, 118 (fig. 25), 184, 229 (n. 14) Mitford Algernon Bertram 65, 83, 128, 149 Mitōkaidō 14 Mitsui 124, 233 (n. 52) Mitsuke 229 (n. 14) Miya 82, 99, 153, 229 (n. 14) Miyagi Kazunani 230 (n. 29) Miyake Setsurei 131 Miyako 17 Miyako meisho zue 110, 111 (fig. 23) Miyako rinsen meisho zue 114 Miyanoshita 88, 128 Miyato Munetarō 124, 125 (fig. 29), 125 (fig. 30) Mokuami 104 monzen-machi 17 Morel Edmund 120 Mount Fuji and the Tōkaidō highway 158, pl. 11 Motoori Norinaga 211 Muromachi 12, 14, 72 Musashino no Fuji 157 nadokoro 68 Naemura Chiri 96 Nagai Kafū 140–1 Nagakubo Sekisui 230 (n. 25) Nagasaki 29, 81, 99, 148, 197 Nagoya 6, 12–13, 23–4, 74, 85, 87, 91, 106, 219; in representation 98–9, 124, 107 (fig. 20) Nagoya meishō 154 Nagoya station 124, 125 (fig. 29), 151, 153–4 Naikoku Tsūun Gaisha 22, 118 (fig. 25) Nakamura Rakuten 122 Nakamura Tetsugai 158, pl. 11 Nakasendō 29, 40, 229 (n. 12), 229 (n. 15), 229 (n. 16), 229 (n. 17), 234 (n. 61); and sankin kōtai 17–18, 20; and the railway 21, 230 (n. 21) Namamugi 18 Naniwa-kō 76 Nankaidō 14 Nara 83, 85, 90

INDEX 261

Nara period 66 Narihira (Ariwara no) 71, 157, pl. 10 Narihira azuma kudari 157 Narumi 174 (fig. 39), 175 National Learning 184, 211 Natsume Sōseki 6, 141–2, 153 Nihon fūkeiron 57, 130–6 Nihon meisho no e 43 Nihon meisho zue 194 Nihon Sangaku Kai 134, 235 (n. 75) Nihon sankei 97 Nihon shoki 11, 71, 80 Nihon sōzu 27 Nihonbashi 14, 16, 146–7, 154; representation in the Edo period 44, 46, 102, 111–16, 117 (fig. 24); representation in the Meiji era 51, 57 nihonga 47, 188–9, 195–6, 201 Nijō castle 44 Nijō station 151 nikki 94–5 Nikkōkaidō 14, (n. 11), 229 (n. 12), 229 (n. 15) Niraminosuke 234 (n. 61) Nissaka 169, 180, pl. 14, pl. 18, 229 (n. 14), 237 (n. 94), Niwa Tōkei 110, 115 nukemairi 72–3 Nōbi plain 11, 13 Nōin 69–70 Nōin utamakura 70–1 Numazu 21, 138, 141 Numazu Mizuno Dewanokami 78, 157 Numazu Mizuno Dewanokami gonyūbu 78, pl. 7 Nyuu Tōkaidō pl. 30 Oda Nobunaga 12 Odawara 17, 98, 117, 141, 148, 165, 166 (fig. 34), 229 (n. 14); in the Meiji era 21–3, 88, 141 Ogata Kenzan 159 Ogata Kōrin 127–9, 159 (fig. 31) Ogawa Takuji 235 (n. 70) Ogilby John 231 (n. 33) Ogyū Sorai 68, 212 Ōhira Masayoshi 219

Ōi river 15, 17, 38, 116, 133 (Shiga); in Edo period’s pictures 161 (fig. 33), 169, 180, 184, 170 (fig. 35) Ōigawa Kanaya zaka no chōbō 160, 161 (fig. 33) Ōiso: in the Edo period 21, 229 (n. 14), 237 (n. 91), 237 (n. 95); in the Meiji era 88–9, 138, 196, 203 Okabe 71, 101, 109, 168, 175, 229 (n. 14) okage-mairi 73–4, 87, 225 Okajima Rinsai 168 Okazaki 12, 17,23, 117, 148,229 (n. 14) Okitsu 82, 173, pl. 21, 229 (n. 14), 236 (n. 89); in the Meiji era 128, 192 (fig. 45), 194 Oku no hosomichi 139, 172, 234 (n. 56); river 17 Ōkubo Toshimichi 237 (n. 100) Ōkuma Shigenobu 20 Okumura Masanobu 157 Ōmi 110, 133–4, 165, 196 Ōmori 137 Ōno Umewaka 136 Onoe Kikugorō III 175, 178 Opperhoofd 81 Osaka: in the Edo period 12–13, 17, 22, 80, 98, 110, 115, 225–6, 231 (n. 29); in the modern era 4, 6, 20, 24, 136–9, 152; barrier 15; bay 12; mount 48; plain 12; station 153 Ōshūkaidō 14, 229 (n. 11), 229 (n. 12), 229 (n. 15) Ōtsu: in the Edo period 160, 156, 177; in the Meiji era 21, 48, 196 Ōtsu-e 156, 177; from Hizasuri nikki 181, 182 (fig. 42); Kyōto Ōtsu kan kasha jikoku oyobi chinginhyō 48–9, fig. 10 Ōwada Takeki 136 Owari 78, 99, 125 (fig. 29), 125 (fig. 30), 134, 228 (n. 5)

262 INDEX

Ōyama Shūzō 204, 204 (fig. 51) Ōyama 38, 51, 76 oyatoi gaikokujin 20 Parkes, H. 19 Perry Commodore 19, 213, 231 (n. 39) pilgrimage 5–6, 14, 66–7, 94, 67; in the Edo period 68, 72–7, 79, 95, 149, 234 (n. 55); in Edo cultural production 35, 61, 106, 108; in the Meiji era 87–8 Playground of the Far East 129, 235 (n. 75) pleasure quarters 85, 95, 147, 154, 236 (n. 84); Abekawa 109; Odawara 165; Shimabara 104; Sinagawa 204; Shinbashi 154; Suruga 98; see also brothels, geisha quarters, prostitutes, Yoshiwara, Shimabara Ponchi 197 pornography 112, 169, 180–1, 217 port 17, 24, 81, 120, 138, 181; Yokkaichi 13; Shinagawa 204 port-cities see minato-machi Portman, A.L.C. 229 (n. 18) post-station 17, 21, 23, 146, 229 (n. 10), 229 (n. 12). 229 (n. 14), 229 (n. 15), 229 (n. 16); abolition 149; construction code 78; in Edo guidebooks 101, 106, 113, 116– 17; in Edo maps 28, 31, in Tōkaidō bunken ezu 36, 38–9, 41, 43, 231 (n. 29), 236 (n. 89); in Edo pictures 171, 175, 181, 184–5; in Meiji maps 51, 59, 61; in Meiji pictures 196–7, 199, 204; and the railway 23, 87, 152; as sakariba 147–9; and symbolic value 155; and meisho 187;

in western guide books 128 practicality (principle of) 97, 99, 104 Prince Arthur of Connaught 233 (n. 51) Princess Kaguya 173 processions: daimyō 9, 38, 76–9, 128, 205, 220–1, pl. 7; foreign 18, 79–82, 148; hand-scrolls 156–7; Meiji 87; shogunal 18, 168, 180 prostitutes 72, 81, 98–9, 106, 117, 147–8, pl. 23; prostitute quarters 154; prostitution 75, 109, 148, 152–3, 177, 217 Ptolemy 58 railway; charts 52–4, 57, 58, 59 62; manias 21; maps 48, 51–2, 54–8, 56 (fig. 14), 60 (fig. 15), 61, 62–3, 210, 216, 234 (n. 60); songs 57, 135–9, 210 railway lines: Chūō 230 (n. 21); Hanshin 233 (n. 53); Kansai 151; Kyushu 136; Mikawa 23; Minō Arima 233 (n. 53); Mount Hakone 88; Musashino 233 (n. 53); Odawara 88; San’yō 136; Tōhoku 136; Yokosuka 89; see also Tōkaidō railway railway station 19, 23, 150–5, 200; architecture 84, 149; in railway maps 51–2, 122; in ukiyo-e 190; see also Kyoto station, Nagoya station, Nijō station, Osaka station, Shinbashi station; hotels at 87 Raishū 180

INDEX 263

Rakuami 104–6 Rakuchū rakugai zu byōbu 43 rangaku 27, 97, 99, 101, 119, 156, 164–5, 180, 212, 239 (n. 114) Régamey, F. 238 (n. 105) renga 105, 232 (n. 44) Richardson, C.L. 18 rickshaw 122, 127, 153, 202 Rikuun Moto Gaisha 22 Rinpa style 156, 158–9, 196 road maps 7, 9, 26, 60 (fig. 15), 186–7, 215, 230 (n. 29), 234 (n. 60); comparison with domain maps 230 (n. 26); comparison with guidebooks 25–6, 163; comparison with pictures 25; and dōchūkilzu 92–3, 101, 230 (n. 28); in the Edo period 27–35, 63–4; European road maps 231 (n. 33); and Hizakurige 112; in the Meiji 48–52, 57–9; panorama 43–7; Tōkaidō bunken ezu 36–39; Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu 39–43 Rokugō 133 Rokumeikan 153 rōnin 74, 229 (n. 16) Ruskin, J. 134–5, 143 Russia 87, 188 Russians 216 Russo-Japanese war 89–90, 131 Ryōgokubashi 147, 236 (n. 82) Ryūkyū 61, 216 Ryūkyū embassies 79–80 Saga 19–20 Sagami 76, 133, 138, 196, 238 (n. 5), 229 (n. 11) Saigoku 73 Saigyō 69–70, 96, 116, 235 (n. 68) Saikaidō 14 Saikaku 233 (n. 54) Saishō-shitennōin 232 (n. 43) Saiyū nikki 99 Saiyū ryodan 99–100 Sakanoshita 229 (n. 14)

sakariba 10, 146–9, 236 (n. 81), 236 (n. 82) Sakawa river 17 San’indō 14 San’yōdō 12, 14 sando hikyaku 22, 229 (n. 13) Sangoku tsūran zusetsu 216 Sanjō 16, 46, 115, 116, 147, 229 (n. 14) sankin kōtai 13, 17, 29, 67, 68, 76–9, 90, 156, 162, 226 (Gls) Sannō matsuri 116 Sannomiya International Settlement 127 Sano Tsunetami 237 (n. 100) sansuiga 160 Santo Kyōden 98 santo 13 Santo-kō 76 Sarashina nikki 94, 232 (n. 46) Sasajima stenshon 151 Satō Nobuhiro 212 Satō Tengai 136 Satow Ernest Mason 127 Satsuma 18, 79–80, 115, 156 Satta 157, 159, 191, 194–5, 203 Satta no Fuji 191, 192 (fig. 43) Satta tōge 194, pl. 28 Satta tōge no Fuji 194, pl. 27 Sawa Nobuyoshi 20 Sayo no nakayama 171, 180, 237 (n. 94) school songs see shōka Seifū ryōha 196, pl. 29 Seki 229 (n. 14) Sekigahara 21 Sengakuji of Takanawa 137 Sensōji 85 Sesshū 96, 100–1 Seta 15 Seto 21 Settsu meisho zue 110 Shiba Shirō 235 (n. 71) Shibaguchi Shiodome bashi 190, pl. 24 Shibusawa Eiichi 233 (n. 52) Shiga 15 Shiga Shigetaka 57, 130–5, 139, 214–15, 235 (n. 73), 235 (n. 74), 235 (n. 75), 235 (n. 76) Shikibu no uta aito jō musen ryokō 136 shiki-e 43, 133, 169, 171

264 INDEX

Shikoku 12, 73 Shikoku 88 temple circuit 73 Shimabara 104 Shimada 17, 116, 169, 184, 229 (n. 14) Shimazaki Tōson 140, 143 Shimizu Ichirō 192 (fig. 44), 194 Shimomura Kanzan 238 (n. 102) Shin sen, Nihon ryokō binran 50 (fig. 11) Shinagawa 65, 82, 139, 160, 167, 204, 204 (fig. 51), pl. 12, 229 (n. 14); and prostitution 72 (prost), 148–9, 152; and railway 21, 86 Shinbashi station 51, 84, 90, 154–5; in literary works 135, 141, 145, 152; in visual representations 2, 150, 201, 202 (fig. 50), 203, pl. 24 Shinkansen 6, 218 shinkeizu 162; see also true views Shinshūishū 71 Shintō 14, 46, 65, 75, 87, 116, 122 Shirai Naokata 115 Shirarezaru kuniguni 225 (n. 76) Shirasuka 229 (n. 14) Shizuoka 12, 113, 128, 202, 219; famous places at 71, 237 (n. 94) Shōgun 13–14, 19, 168, 184, 209; Iemochi 18, 44, 180, 202; Ieyasu 12, 18; and map production 36, 41, 231 (n. 29); and processions 77, 80–2, 156–7 Shogunate 36–7, 68–9, 79, 104, 212 Shōjo Shōsai 121 shōka 135–9 Shokoku junran kaihō dōchūzue 234 (n. 60) Shokoku meikyō kiran 33, 160, 160 (fig. 32), 167 Shokoku yūjo seri banzuke 148 Shōno 104, 172, 229 (n. 14) Shōtei Kinsui 43, 44 (fig. 8) shuku see post-station Shunga gojūsan tsugi 180 Shūzenji 141 Sino-Japanese war 130; see also China;

war Sōgi 70, 91 Sōhitsu gojūsan tsugi 178, 182 (fig. 42) someii 117 Sono mama jiguchi myōkaikō 175, 176 (fig. 40) Sora Kawai 234 (n. 56) strategies 8, 76, 220, 233 (n. 50) Suehiro gojūsan tsugi 180, 237 (n. 96) sugoroku: in the Edo period 35, 45, 58, 110, 163, 169, 186, pl. 3; in the Meiji era 48, 51–2, pl. 22 Suizen-ji 46, 231 (n. 37) sukegō seido 16 Sumiyoshi Jokei 157 Sumiyoshiya 177 Sunpu 12, 18, 40 (fig. 8), 113; see also Fuchū and Shizuoka Suruga 98, 100, 100 (fig. 17), 128, 158, 228 (n. 5), 229 (n. 11); bay 128, 191; plain 45, 133 Suzuki Bokushi 212 tabi 66, 220 tabi no uta 66, 69 Tabimakura gojūsan tsugi 113 tactics 75, 97, 233 (n. 50) Tago no ura 71, 157, 167, 184, 202–3 Taika reform 16 Taishō period 188, 194, 218 Takahashi Seichirō 167 Takahashi Yuichi 238 (n. 104) Takashima Hokkai 212 Takashima Kaemon 19 Tamenaga Shunsui 113, 181 Tani Bunchō 47, 156, 158, 160–2, 161 (fig. 33), 216 Tanna tunnel 128 Tatebe Katahiro 230 (n. 25) Tawaraya Sōtatsu 158 tea houses see chaya teizenzu maps see Japan maps and Nihon sōzu temple-cities see monzen-machi Tenpō reforms 164, 177

INDEX 265

Tenryū river 17, 133 Terajima Ryōan 234 (n. 59) Tetsudō senro chinsen ritei 53 (fig. 12) Tetsudō senro Nippon dōchūki 234 (n. 60) Tetsuuma shōka 136 timetable 52, 53 (fig. 12), 59, 84 Toho ryokō 122 tōjin gyōretsu see foreign missions Tōkaidō bunken ezu 29, 36–9, 37 (fig. 7), 57, 93, 102, 186; comparison with Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu 41–3 Tōkaidō bunken nobe ezu 36, 39–41, 40 (fig. 8), 41–3, 215 Tōkaidō fūkei 72, 172, pl. 9 Tōkaidō fūkei senshō 238 (n. 102) Tōkaidō gojūsan eki 180 Tōkaidō gojūsan eki kyōga 167 Tōkaidō gojūsan eki shilgo shuku meisho 173–5, 174 (fig. 39), 180 Tōkaidō gojūsan no uchi 175, 180, 183, pl. 15 Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi meisho koseki ruiki dōchū sugoroku 35, pl. 3 Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi neya no tama zusha 181 Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi no ichiran 44 Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi zue, bijin Tōkaidō 178, pl. 19 Tōkaidō gojūsan tsugi: Hiroshige’s Hōeidō series 1, 163, 170 (fig. 36), 171 (fig. 37), pl. 14, pl. 16, pl. 26; Hiroshige’s Reisho series pl. 14; Hokusai’s 237 (n. 93); Toyohiro’s 165 Tōkaidō gojūsan tsui 178, pl. 18 Tōkaidō harimaze zue 173, pl. 21 Tōkaidō; highway 1, 6, 16–19, 153, 158, pl. 11, fig. 1, 236 (n. 89), 238 (n. 102); in the Meiji 139, 161, 196; and the railway 20–1; and Shitamachi 154; and Tōkaidō Renaissance 210, 219–20 Tōkaidō kaidō zu byōbu 228, pl. 6 Tōkaidō kōmoku bunken no zu 36–8, 37 (fig. 6)

Tōkaidō Megalopolis 6, 218–19, 249 (n. 124) Tōkaidō meisho fūkei 180, pl. 20 Tōkaidō meisho ichiran 43, 45, pl. 4 Tōkaidō meisho zue 43–4, 46, 114–19, 169, 117 (fig. 24), 118 (fig. 25), 118 (fig. 26), 170 (fig. 35), 232 (n. 25) Tōkaidō meishoki 103–6, 109, 115, 107 (fig. 19), 232 (n. 45) Tōkaidō michiyuki no zu 31, 32 (fig. 3) Tōkaidō railway 1, 21–2, 51, 55 (fig. 13), 59, 127–8, 130, fig. 1; see also Tōkaidō tetsudō Tōkaidō Renaissance 6, 219–23, pl. 30 Tōkaidō saiken ō ezu 43, 44 (fig. 9) Tōkaidō Satta Yama shita tetsudō 193 (fig. 46), 194 Tōkaidō Satta yamashita nokei 192 (fig. 44), 194 Tōkaidō shōkei 160–2, 161 (fig. 33) Tōkaidō tetsudō 51, 55 (fig. 13), 54, 192 (fig. 45), 194, pl. 22 Tōkaidō Tetsudō Okitsu kaihin 144, 192 (fig. 45), 194 Tōkaidō tetsudō ryokō hitori annai 54, 55 (fig. 13) Tokugawa: Hidetada 18; Iemitsu 18, 230 (n. 29); Iemochi 18, 44, 180, 202; Ieyasu 12, 18, 104; Mitsukuni 239 (n. 113) Tokunaga Ryūshū 204 Tokutomi Sohō 235 (n. 71) Tokyo 22–4, 63, 89, 90, 124, 127, 152; and the emperor 202, 205; foreign artists 196–7; guidebooks of 124, 236 (n. 69); immigrants to 23, 90–1, 140; and literary works 133, 135–7, 140; and maps 51, 52, 61; and modern tourism 128; parks 233 (n. 53); post-war 6, 13, 219, 220; and the railway 19, 20, 21, 22, 83, 87– 9, 153, 198 (fig. 47), 215; sakariba of 236 (n. 81); slums and poor of 149, 154, 236 (n. 86)

266 INDEX

Tokyo bay 12, 21 Tōkyō Bijutsu Gakkō 188; see also Tokyo School of Fine Arts Tokyo Chamber of Commerce and Industry 83 Tokyo Geographical Society 239 (n. 118) Tokyo Renaissance 220 Tokyo School of Fine Arts 195 Tokyo University 229 (n. 20). 239 (n. 117), 239 (n. 118) Tomiyama Dōya 103, 107 (fig. 20) ton’ya 15, 36, 40–1, 146 tororojiru 72 Tosa 155, 157, 177, 196 Tosa Mitsusada 115 Tōsandō 14 Tosa-Sumiyoshi 156 toshizu 27 Tōtōmi 99, 134, 228 (n. 5) Totsugen 115 Totsuka 178, pl. 17, 229 (n. 14) Toyoham 237 (n. 92) Toyokuni 173 Toyokuni III 175, 177–80, 179 (fig. 41), pl. 17; see also Kunisada Toyotomi Hideyoshi 12, 14, 80 Tōzai kairiku no zu 29, 30 (fig. 2) travel; account see kikō; diaries see diaries; packages 76 traveling poems see tabi no uta true views 204–5, fig, 51; see also shinkeizu Tsuchiyama 102, 229 (n. 14) Tsugiokaya 177 Tsukioka Hōnen 180 Tsukushi michi no ki 70 Tsurezuregusa 96 Tsuruga 20 Tsurumi 138 Tsuruya 168 Tsuta no hosomichi 71, 105, 158 tycoon 77–8 ubagamochi 75, 175

Uchimura Kanzō 135 uirō 117 Ukiyo no arisama 149 ukiyo-e 28, 119, 200, 202, 221; in books 39, 104–6, 113, 115; and maps 35–6, 38, 43; in the Meiji era 188–91, 195, 197–8, 201, 207, 217, 237 (n. 101), 238 (n. 105); and meisho 157, 184; pictures 100, 155, 162–5, 167–8, 173, 178, 180, 183, 185–6 ukiyozōshi 92, 233 (n. 54) Umezawa 167 Unbeaten tracks in Japan 129 Uraga 213 Ushibuse 138 Utagawa 165, 168, 173–81; Sadahide 180; Toyohiro 98, 164–5, 168; Yoshiiku 110, 121, 121 (fig. 27); Yoshitora 44, 150, 190, pl. 24 utamakura 69–71, 94, 105, 137, 157 Utsu no yama 71, 105, 109, 232 (n. 43) Victorian 88, 129, 196 View of Hokoni Village 199, 199 (fig. 48) Von Siebold, F. 17 waka 69, 104, 116, 133, 158, 237 (n. 94) Wakan-sansai-zue 100, 234 (n. 59) waki-honjin 16 Warring-states Period 12 Western: art 169, 190–1, 196, 198, 207, 217, 238 (n. 103); calendar 84; cartography 58; guidebooks 127–30; maps 51; painting 47, 51; sciences 27, 99; hotels 86, 88 westernization 1, 131, 150, 188, 197, 215 Weston, W. 129, 217, 235 (n. 75) Willman, O. 17

INDEX 267

Wirgman, C. 197–8, 201, 238 (n. 103), 238 (n. 104) word-puns 113, 175, 180 Yaji 106, 108–10, 3, 165, 185; in Seiyō dōchū hizakurige 120; in Tōkaidō Renaissance 220–1; in Yaji Kita 112 Yajirōbei see Yaji yakimochi 72 yakusha 175, 183, 186, 191 Yakusha mitate Tōkaidō 177, pl. 17 Yamabe no Akahito 173 Yamada 76 Yamaguchi Sōken 115 Yamakita 137 Yamashina 15 Yamato 69, 114, 225 Yamato pilgrimage 61 Yamato-e 173, 227 Yasuda Naoyoshi 180 Yatsuhashi 71, 158–9, 160 (fig. 32), 167 Yedo Mail 22 yōga 47, 143, 188–9, 210, 204 Yōgakusho 213, 239 (n. 116) Yokkaichi 13, 85, 229 (n. 14), 238 (n. 110) Yokohama 13, 13, 18, 44, 84, 147, 149, 198–9; and railway 19–22 , 61, 84, 86, 138, 150, 229 (n. 18) Yokohama-shashin 199 Yokoyama Kendō 122 Yokoyama Matsusaburō 203 Yokoyama Taikan 238 (n. 102) Yomo no Takisui 168 Yoritomo 74, 235 (n. 68) Yosa Buson 70 Yoshida 17, 72, 148, 178, 179 (fig. 41), 229 (n. 14) Yoshida Kenkō 96 Yoshimatsu Goseda 238 (n. 103) Yoshimori 180, pl. 20 Yoshitsune Senbon Zakura 178 Yoshiwara; in Edo 85, 91, 104, 109, 148, 236 (n. 82);

post-station 37 (fig. 7), 158, 162, pl. 21, 229 (n. 14) Yui 191, pl. 21, pl. 26, 37 (fig. 7), 229 (n. 14) Yumoto 129 Yūsen 165 Yuwata 85 Zenkōji 73 zoetrope 139, 206 Zōki 67, 70 Zōshi 236 (n. 83)