Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

The editor of a certain women's magazine frequently visited my hermitage and persistently requested that I write popular fiction for them.
The very notion of 'popular' appears deceptively simple yet proves maddeningly elusive.
Whether what I alone regard as popular would indeed be affirmed by the public remained yet unknown.
The meaning of 'popular' must surely change with the times.
Senryū and dodoitsu were popular literature in the Edo period.
However today this was not so.
If one were to thoroughly interpret the passages discussed in *Suehirogana* today one could easily obtain a Doctor of Letters degree.
In days of old courtesans' artless letters often concluded with proper epistolary flourishes appending dodoitsu verses at the end yet I heard that in Taisho-era correspondence they now inscribed children's ditties and tanka poems to proclaim their carnal agonies.
Therefore if one wished to compose popular fiction that would please today's men and women before taking brush in hand one had first to attain thorough understanding of contemporary social realities.
To attain thorough understanding of social realities one needed insight comparable to Mito Kōmon and experience rivaling Tōyama Saemon-no-jō.
Therein how could the composition of popular fiction ever have been an easy task?

People each had their preferences.
There were non-drinkers.
There were heavy drinkers.
Among heavy drinkers existed those who wept, those who laughed, and those who raged.
Yet there existed no lack of something uniformly preferred by both non-drinkers and heavy drinkers alike.
Lewd matters were precisely that thing.
People today dubbed this 'sexual demands'.
Just as rickshaw pullers called crossroads 'cross streets' and geisha referred to their gesture dances as 'dance performances'.
There was not a single aspect of contemporary people's language that did not resemble journalists' rhetoric.

It was detestable.

The very essence of popular fiction already lay in carnal desires and licentious affairs.
If that were indeed the case, then those who would take up the brush to write popular fiction—setting aside lewd matters—what else could they possibly depict?
*The Tale of Genji* stood as the origin of Japan's erotic literature.
In the West there existed Boccaccio's *The Decameron* and Queen Marguerite's *Heptameron*, among others.
In China there were works such as *The Unofficial Biography of Zhao Feiyan* and *Miscellaneous Secret Affairs*.
In recent times, works like *Dream of the Red Chamber* and *The Plum in the Golden Vase* all stirred base desires in their readers.

Views on obscene books also changed with time.
There existed works that the ancients had frowned upon and deemed obscene which modern people did not necessarily consider as such.
What modern people judged harmful to society—whether these would truly prove so in the future remained unknowable.
Though gentlemen of the Kyōhō-Genbun era had heard Miyakoji's jōruri as music of Sangai and Bokujō, Taisho connoisseurs stroked their chins and deemed it worthy of savoring for its classical elegance.
This was undoubtedly a consequence wrought by the shifting tides of time.

In the summer of Taisho Kigai (1923), there was one called Ms. Nani—a female journalist.
Evading her husband’s notice, she carried on an illicit affair with a certain novelist; when their tryst neared exposure, the adulterous pair—at a loss for recourse—took refuge in a remote mountain cottage, where after days of wanton indulgence, they ultimately strangled themselves in mutual embrace.
Days later, when people first became aware through the stench wafting for miles, the corpses had already putrefied beyond distinction of gender—eyeballs and hair having fallen out, with maggots swarming in clouds—or so the story goes.
Contemporary talents and beauties extol this affair, thereby enshrining it as an unparalleled romance of our age.
Upon hearing their explanation—that it was because they had transcended morality and fully satisfied their instincts.
When the kyōgen playwright Kawatake Mokuami created his drama *Ukai no Kagarihi*, he had a pack of wolves devour the flesh of an adulteress hiding in a mountain wayside shrine, causing her death.
His intention lay in promoting virtue and punishing vice.
Judging by this, one may say that concepts of morality and aesthetics drift with time, much as yearly fashions differ.

Ah, the people of Taisho already spoke of adulterous double suicides as auspicious tales of a prosperous age.
At such a time, for me alone to cover my ears and declare vulgar language intolerable would have been a profound return to popular fiction's original purpose.
For anyone who would take up the brush to write popular fiction, this was not what they should do—this needed no debate.
I now intended to purchase a geisha's undergarment by setting forth the shameful deeds of my life—substituting them for popular fiction—to voraciously seek funds from selling my writings.
If this old and frail man could still manage to keep pace with the times in such fashion, what greater fortune could there have been?

I was just eighteen years of age when I dallied with a household maidservant.
Yanagidaru states: "The young master worships at night and scolds by day." Indeed, this captures a true-to-life scene.
The following year I frequented the small lattice windows of Dokuhara, and within three years had come to know every unlicensed pleasure quarter in the city—from the Eastern Brothels and Minami-Shina to Kōeki and Itabashi.
At twenty-four, when I journeyed overseas, I crossed halberds with women from various nations across the five continents, achieving unparalleled feats.
Yet still not satisfied, I secretly lamented and said: "Miyamoto Musashi vanquished wild beasts."
When Westerners are starved of carnal pleasures, there are those among them who violate sheep.
I have yet to attain such depths there.
At thirty I returned home, and since then for over ten years here, not a single day has passed without pursuing pleasures and seeking laughter.
I brought courtesans into my home on multiple occasions.
I operated taverns on two occasions.
I expelled my wife and took her back again—three women in total.
This year, as my advancing years already approach forty-eight, I’ve for the first time felt the stirrings of mortality rise within me.
The book *Sōsōshi* states: "Since this is truly a world of passion, one should by all means play and amuse oneself."
Though they say human life spans but fifty years, from forty onward, play becomes truly difficult.
If one were to live carelessly without a single concern until seventeen or eighteen, the net remainder would amount to about twenty-two years.
Even that, if one spends half of it sleeping, becomes a mere eleven years.
"Since there exists no one who could devote themselves entirely to this pursuit, even should one play well, you must realize that in this human world spanning fifty years at most, one cannot truly indulge for even a full ten."
Ah, when I awaken from midnight dreams and reflect upon my over forty years of life—though possessing a willow's fragile nature yet having indulged twice as much as others—perhaps because I've always harbored a heart resigned to Heaven's will, I did not once entertain wicked notions like slaughtering innocent Koreans during this autumn's Great Earthquake.
Even in fire-scene earnings should one never neglect armoring oneself in rubber, then need one fear no calamity of the tengu's proud nose collapsing; with these aged eyes that still grope for lice beneath the lamp, I yet retain the vigor to discourse on contemporary matters.
Though it's said that fox and tanuki spirits often made our house their dwelling, what tremendous fortune that this never led to ruin—nowadays, I should perhaps call it more mysterious than any sorceress's magic that my person remains safe and sound.

II

Those born in the Year of the Rabbit under the Four Green of the Nine Stars were said to possess a fickle nature prone to quick satiation. Some called it an obsessive temperament that burns brightly but briefly. I myself am fundamentally a man of this year and star. Perhaps owing to this celestial alignment, no woman ever remained with me beyond half a year. Typically around the third month—though unrelated to seasonal blossoms—the shifting weather patterns seemed to mirror shifts in affection's hue.

Yet this pattern emerged only in hindsight; never did I consciously set expiration dates of seasons or half-seasons from the start. When first smitten, a man naturally envisions eternity with his chosen woman—but the instant she perceives this devotion, she transforms into a capricious sovereign who might spare or destroy him at whim through her self-indulgent whims.

It was precisely at this juncture that women's innate flaws crystallized in masculine perception. Initially suppressing even sneezes in her lover's presence while maintaining impeccable coiffure and dress, she remained oblivious to how sleep-muttered nonsense and nocturnal teeth-grinding eroded his ardor. Should he voice even minor reproach, she'd construe it as heartless abandonment, thereafter brandishing jealousy's horns at every provocation.

Jealousy remains the vice women must most rigorously curb. Restrain that green-eyed demoness, and men shall tolerate all other shortcomings—the virtue of a jealousy-checked simpleton far surpasses that of a brilliant termagant stewing in envy's vapors.

Observing jealousy's varied manifestations across circumstances and constitutions reveals its kinship to masculine resentment—both laying bare character through resultant actions. The ritual of temple-pasted paper charms while sipping ceremonial sake required at least kouta ballad literacy, while midnight straw-doll nailings demanded such antiquated extravagance as pure white robes and triple-soled clogs.

A woman clutching her man's lapel at the latticework screen while wailing constituted timeless lowbrow theater—harmless gossip fodder across eras. But when fastidiousness extended from haori cords to necktie knots—culminating in pocket-raiding scent inspections—such brazen vulgarity repelled utterly.

Certain wives stored kimono and hair ornaments in locked chests while formally petitioning divorce whenever slighted. Others fled to relatives' homes at every squabble. Leave any such woman neglected three days, however, and she'd inevitably return contrite—mirroring those customers who vowed never to return yet reappeared that very night.

Women who hung thin sashes from lintels at midnight or wandered aimlessly by the wellside—all waited for someone to come restrain them, no different from Old Man Jinsuke waving his sleeves and clamoring about returning home.
Though there existed those who secretly imbibed sulfuric acid, morphine, or rat poison unknown to others, this stemmed not merely from lovesick passion but rather marked the final outcome of being cast aside after lining a man's pockets—one must understand that beyond mere lust lay substantial financial entanglements.
How pitiful yet dreadful to be lured by a woman's treasures.
Thus when these new women—intoxicated by newspaper polemics—sought money through chastity violation lawsuits only to become lawyers' prey, theirs was an error born of avarice rather than affection.
Indeed, such women were generally either hardened country transplants or daughters of petty urban merchants—you'd find none among true Edo natives.
In my younger days when employed at Keio Gijuku in Mita, I wed a merchant's daughter whose family kept respectable shops behind Yushima Seido; when divorce arose, her kin demanded five hundred yen, which I duly furnished.
As Tokyo too holds such cases, I record them here for reference.
Regarding prostitutes' severance payments thereafter, that shall be separately noted.
Though society deems prostitutes rapacious creatures, in truth they proved refreshingly direct when settling separation terms—provided agreements were clear—whereas amateurs more often made men dance for trifling sums.
One should recall the ancients' adage: even a morsel may scorch your cheeks.

III

Women's jealousy remains forgivable.
Men's jealousy marks the pitiable pinnacle of audacity.
At its root, jealousy stems from deluded self-interest - a heart steeped in envy transforms resentment into wrath, fermenting vengeful malice.
It embodies boorishness perfected.
While we might excuse hot-blooded youths, when men in their prime resort to blade-filled double suicides, such acts defy reason and surpass all comprehension.
In all creation, nothing remains eternal.
Day follows night; seasons shift between cold and warmth - these are nature's transformations.
Without preparing for change beforehand, how could one ever manage their affairs or stem life's ceaseless flow?
What greater folly than sharing a pillow nightly yet remaining oblivious to one's woman's heart - growing sated only to resent her, then rage from that resentment?
Before resenting another, one should feel shame for their own lack of foresight; yet men stubbornly pursue departing women through layers of lingering attachment, obstinately trying to bare their true feelings and force repentance - conduct revealing utter imprudence.
The bond between men and women forms not through lectures on morality, but through fleeting whims of the heart. Thus do appeals to duty or sentiment prove futile when seeking to reclaim an estranged lover.
When I reflect how even kouta lyrics speak of strangers met but once, all these encounters reveal themselves as momentary connections.
If one considers even a brief joyful dream virtue itself - whom would they resent? What would they mourn?

Being by nature fickle, my jealous fixations were consequently weak; and as those fixations were weak, I felt no compulsion to forcibly coax reluctant partners. That said, lacking the vanity to pretentiously clear my throat and claim I couldn't dine without formal place settings, I would first test the waters and take what came easily. Taking what came easily meant both abandoning and being abandoned became matters resigned to fortune's whim—this had been my chosen path for years. Those who frequently called this approach "buying rags" from their eight-move-ahead vantage weren't entirely without reason. "Buying rags" refers to money wasted on bargain hunting. Though equivalent to "a hundred losses from saving a penny," this remained ultimately an inference drawn after observing results. What person doesn't desire perfection? Yet should a petty soul clasp a jewel, flaws must emerge. If considering that mirror-gazing self-awareness preserves one's being, can we truly claim rag-buying always brings hundredfold loss? Fussing over clouded skies while wearing one's finest silks would dampen cherry-blossom revelry. Strolling heedless of dusk's approach suits best with hitched-up everyday hems. Thus in youth when I frequented Yoshiwara and Suzaki, I never learned that folly of keeping vigil with quarter-topping courtesans, instead making my specialty those two ranks lower for carefree sport. Paradoxically, those with intriguing skin-textures and bed-skills dwelled precisely two ranks down. Yet this world's patrons generally select women by local repute, deeming it honor to purchase newspaper-voted beauties—the sort who'd believe all PhDs make skilled doctors and trust any pastry stamped "Imperial Household Agency-approved." This title-obsessing custom has of course existed since antiquity—but why its recent exacerbation? Drawing first-rate/second-rate distinctions among Shinbashi geisha remains barely tolerable, but what fallacy insists on artist rankings in literary critiques! Indeed, such delusions particularly entrap country-bred writers—precisely those rural scribblers who fret over reputation and zealously self-promote, even compulsively listing publications on New Year cards.

When I returned from the West, the pernicious trend of self-promotion in literary circles had not yet reached today’s extremes; however, from around Taisho 4 and 5 onward, not only the literary world but society’s entire climate underwent a complete transformation.
Geishas too, like writers and painters, increasingly devoted themselves to self-promotion; even their dance and shamisen rehearsals came to be taken to theaters, expositions, and other public venues, with them considering having their performances reviewed in newspapers as the highest honor.
This deplorable trend arose in part from the instigation of dance and music instructors; these teachers, borrowing geishas’ names to establish their own schools, came to regard having their students’ practice sessions reviewed in newspapers as the ultimate mark of their school’s prestige.
When the customs of the pleasure quarters reached such a state of exploiting newspapers solely for self-promotion, there remained neither refinement nor spirit.
If the Edo-derived customs of refinement and spirit disappeared, then shamisen players became no different from advertising-house orchestras, and geishas were reduced to mere common prostitutes—or rather, they became what one might call living public toilets.
With few diseases and cheap fees, the common prostitute’s duties were fully accomplished.
There, from around Meiji 41-42 (1908-1909) to Taisho 3-4 (1914-1915), unlicensed courtesans nested in great numbers beneath Asakusa’s Twelve-Story Tower and around Nihonbashi’s Hamacho and Kakiokamachi districts, causing geishas and licensed prostitutes to lose all their luster.
When considering how much purchasing a geisha cost in those days, the minimum was set at one yen for the meeting room fee, two yen total for the geisha’s gratuity and pillow money, twenty-five sen per hour for her time, and thirty sen for the maid’s gratuity.
In Shinbashi as well, there were quite a few small meeting houses in the back alleys where one could play at this level.
In Kagurazaka Fujimicho and Yotsuya areas, there were geishas who would untie their sashes for one yen; however, they were geishas in name only, their underrobes being cheap merino.
However, the shirakubi of Hamacho—those commonly called high-class—were not inferior to Yamanote geishas in attire and appearance; with meeting room fees at one yen, standard women ranging from fifty to sixty sen up to top-tier ones capped at one yen, they took no separate gratuity for maids.
I heard this was because the meeting houses took four bu from the women’s fees.
If staying overnight, geisha required twelve hourly fees alone from eleven at night until morning as standard practice; yet in Hamacho, two yen sufficed for the women.
In this manner, the diversions of Hamacho cost less than half of purchasing geisha yet faced no rejections, thus proliferating abundantly; eventually, complaints arose from the geisha association who secretly petitioned the authorities through backchannels, leading to Chief Nishikubo of that time issuing orders to his uniformed subordinates around April 1916, whereupon they vigorously rounded up the unlicensed courtesans throughout the city.
Afterward, the vicinity of Hamacho Kakiokamachi saw the disappearance of shirakubi courtesans of distinction, while the dens of vice that had existed around Shiba Shinmei precincts and Yanagihara Kundai Yashiki since the Bakumatsu Restoration were swiftly swept away—involuntarily calling to mind even the bygone Tenpo Tora year of 1842.
In exchange, from this time onward, the prostitution by Yamanote geishas increasingly took on the form of open toleration, developing into a trend where their registry explicitly listed the rates for pillow money.

First, I must now recount the rise and fall of the city's pleasure districts through reflection on my years of firsthand experience.

IV

Around Meiji 30 (1897), I was living off my parents in our house in Kojimachi Ichibancho. When I exited the gate and went down the slope, the brothels of Fujimicho had sacred lanterns hanging under their eaves. The sacred lanterns refer to those lanterns inscribed with courtesans’ names. Through daily commutes to school, I soon memorized the names on the lanterns; eavesdropping on women’s conversations by lattice doors, I would keenly catch and remember their personal names, then cross-reference these with the sacred lanterns’ inscriptions. Thus without ever visiting them, I came to know with precocious clarity—which establishment’s Miss Such-and-such corresponded to which geisha of what qualities.

One day at a barber’s I frequented nearby, there was a young man five or six years my senior—the shop’s apprentice. With the old master away at a relative’s memorial service that day, he was holding forth about Shinjuku when the glass door clattered open and a coquettish voice cried, “Brother!”

In the front mirror appeared a girl of seventeen or eighteen, her hair pinned with a large flat silver hairpin. She wore a Hachijō haori over indigo tabi socks, her round face—not particularly fine-featured but flushed at the cheeks from chilblains—framed by a soiled half-collar of Chinese crepe dusted with white powder. To strangers she might have passed for an archery range girl, but I already knew her through the sacred lanterns as Ko-shima of Surugaya house, this district’s geisha.

Perching on the upper threshold behind an Osaka latticework partition, she plucked a brass-stemmed pipe from scattered copies of the Miyako Shimbun and asked, “Brother—did you get that pirate print? I’ve come for it.” Swinging mud-spattered geta-clad legs as she puffed her cheeks at her mirror reflection, she looked paradoxically childlike.

Later when I questioned the apprentice about her, he called her some sort of stepsister—an answer so evasive it left me uneasy. Discreet inquiries at a nearby tobacco shop revealed she’d worked as a half-trained geisha in Utsunomiya and Takasaki before mysteriously returning last year and leaving again.

At the Ninai-Fudo festival and Sanbancho variety halls where our eyes kept meeting across crowds, she once flashed me a sudden smile that left me scarlet-faced. By next day I could bear it no longer—summoning her from Nan’an soba shop’s second floor near Yokocho Inari shrine. She came straightaway: “My—if you weren’t drinking, you should’ve called through a tea house!”

“Isn’t this more discreet?” came her humble counsel.

Fujimicho’s courtesan culture had already grown this brazen twenty years prior.

When indeed did its brothels first emerge? Before Restoration days when Kudan slope’s summit still served as riding grounds? Fujimicho then held only samurai residences—those dubious female instructors confined to Kōjimachi Sanchōme’s backstreets.

Suita Dōshi’s 1883 *Tokyo Gijō* mentions Kōjimachi without specifics. The 1885 *Tokyo Ryūkō Saikinki* lists under Fujimicho’s geisha section merely five names: Koharu, Kogiku, Kotoku, Kosuzu, Nagakichi.

When I first began frequenting this area, there were already twenty to thirty courtesan houses counted in Fujimicho and fifteen or sixteen could be enumerated in Sanbancho.
The meeting houses that were in Fujimicho—such as Kiku no Ie, Umetsuki, Juzuru (later Sagami-ke), Tokiwagi, and Suzumura—still remain in my memory.
In Sanbancho, I remember only the name Kyūyū-tei, having forgotten all others.
Among the restaurants was Mangen.
It was a place where disciples of Kōyō Konami would occasionally hold banquets.
The eel restaurant Owada had installed private booths, but after an army accountant and geisha committed forced double suicide there, the establishment closed its doors.
The Uogiku that thrives today along the tram line was at that time merely a fish shop providing prepared meals.
On Sanbancho’s main street, adjacent to a beef restaurant called Daishūrō, there were small restaurants and Uokiyo.
The literati painters of the Kōjibō faction once competed to court Okiyo, daughter of Uokiyo.
It remains unknown into whose hands she ultimately fell.
Later, I saw that Okiyo had undergone a semi-formal coming-of-age ceremony and was operating a meeting house in Sanbancho.
At that time, there was also a Western-style restaurant called Kaikaitei on the slope behind the British Embassy in Gobancho, and the coquettish fame of its daughter Otomi spread through the neighborhood along with the lowing of cows from the expansive Sakamoto Ranch nearby—a tranquility now recalled as unimaginable within the capital.
Beyond the riding grounds of Shōkonsha stood the Ryukyu Mansion.
The Ryukyuans wore short-sleeved kimonos with obi tied at the front, their men styling hair with long hairpins; as they strolled parasol in hand, one naturally felt the days themselves grow long.
Since Korea had not yet perished, its embassy too was located in Shimo-Nibancho; people would point behind their backs at women who frequented these two locations and made improper displays of splendor, spreading rumors that once tainted by the poison of Ryukyu or Korea, one would inevitably become entangled in grave troubles.
In an alley near Ninai-Fudo, there stood a house that presented a somewhat elegant appearance, its shopfront hung with a Saikyo zenzai lantern and adorned with bush clover sleeve fences and stone lanterns.
There resided a girl of twenty-one or twenty-two years—fair-skinned yet with mortar-shaped hips, her short and corpulent figure inherently disagreeable to behold—who stood rumored to be a kept woman of Ryukyuans. Though she dressed in Western-style bun and purple crepe haori while claiming attendance at moon lute lessons, this proved but crimson falsehood; in truth, during the Ryukyu Mansion's idle hours, she plied her trade at high-class inns near Nishikicho. Not that I actually trailed to verify this.
Years passed, and around Meiji 41 (1908), when I was guided by friends and ascended to a small meeting house near Gotokuan—a poultry restaurant in Hamacho 2-chome—I suddenly noticed a maid bringing up flowers: undeniably that very woman who frequented the Ryukyu Mansion. What a strange coincidence.
Through this woman’s accounts, I came to know no small amount about Hamacho’s circumstances.

It was as follows.

V

Around Meiji 41-42 (1908-1909), in the vicinity of Hamacho 2-chome 13-banchi known as Rizoku Fudo Shindo, there were fourteen or fifteen houses that operated as fronts for unlicensed prostitutes while calling themselves geisha agencies. The women would wait for maids' summons along gutter planks from neighborhood teahouses, then proceed to banquet rooms dressed in Western-style buns with black crepe haori or traditional chignons paired with Oshima small-sleeved kimonos. Among them existed those whose appearance and demeanor appeared not entirely disagreeable even in daylight—hence they came to be called high-class without anyone particularly decreeing it. Making every effort to maintain amateurish appearances—a skill at which they excelled—they would shrink into corners of banquet rooms until maids came to prepare them downstairs, unable to lift their faces and answering queries with words that seemed stuck in their mouths when spoken to. What began virginal soon revealed itself as a riddle showing the fleeing hare's endgame. I had already mentioned the matter of not paying three yen for seat fees and other charges. Passing through Hamacho and crossing Kamakagashi before Meiji-za theater, one found unlicensed brothels abundantly interspersed among geisha houses of the Yoshicho Association. These were distinguished from Hamacho women by being called Kakiokamachi—a district whose character stood decidedly lower than Hamacho's, such that Hamacho residents looked down on this riverside area much as Shinbashi geishas disdained Karasumori. When visiting Tokyo's unlicensed brothels at that time, one found five or six two-story houses on reclaimed land at Aioicho near Honjo's Tatekawa entrance, where they openly hung sacred lanterns at night and rhythmically called "Chyoito-chyoito" to customers. In alleys beside Nakasu Masagozu theater too, renowned sake shops and archery halls stood row upon row—their high-waisted lattice doors bearing small shop names as they beckoned passersby—a bustle matching Yanagihara's magistrate district, Shiba Shinmei shrine, or Asakusa Park's Okuyama. In Yamate area, seven or eight famed sake shops had existed in the depression of Yotsuya Tsunomori's geisha district but were soon cleared away. Within small teahouses at Shitaya Ike no Hata, Yushima Tenjin's precincts, and around Kyobashi Tsukiji—though none knew their recruitment sources—there existed four or five houses each specializing in amateurs. The House of Tama behind Kyobashi Ward Office stood renowned in this trade. In the alley before Kamigataya—a hanafuda card shop in Ginza 2-chome—there was a meeting house called Kikusui; rumor held that maids from nearby poultry and beef shops brought customers there after bathhouse visits.

In the depression behind Aoyama Sanrentai adjacent to the cemetery too, Daruma tea houses had emerged since around Meiji 42-43 (1909-1910), while in the backstreets near Akasaka Shinmachi's geisha houses, shirakubi had imperceptibly gathered and settled, tugging at sleeves—both these locations ceased leaving traces of their enchantresses after Taisho 5 (1916).
Shitaya Satakegahara, Nezu, Iriya, Shiba Atagoshita, Koishikawa Yanagicho, Waseda Tsurumakicho—I had heard of all these places through stories, but as I never found the leisure to personally investigate them thoroughly, I shall not record them here.
Regarding the customs of unlicensed prostitutes in late Meiji Tokyo that were recorded in works by renowned authors, we must consider Ms. Ichiyō’s masterpiece *Troubled Waters*—which depicted the manners of Hongō Maruyama—as foremost among them.
“Troubled Waters” is a work from Meiji 28.
One passage states: “She sits at the shopfront, tapping the dirt floor with the backs of her clogs—her eyebrows plucked to make twenty look seven or ten years older, face slathered in white powder, lips like a man-eating dog’s maw rendering even crimson rouge repulsive.”
The one called O-riki possessed a medium build with shoulders tapered like fresh-cut straw against the crispness of her washed hair arranged in the traditional Ōshimada chignon; though only her neck bore powder, she brazenly exposed her naturally fair skin down to the breastline, puffing away at a long-stemmed pipe with one knee rakishly raised—a discourtesy none thought to censure.
In a boldly patterned summer kimono with an obi of black satin and some imitation material—the scarlet flat braid visible at her back making clear without words her local elder-sister style [...] The shop was a two-story structure with a two-ken frontage, sacred lanterns hanging from the eaves above an auspicious salt pile, shelves lined with numerous empty bottles or whatnot purporting to be premium sake, and even something resembling a counter.
From the kitchen came the intermittent clamor of charcoal braziers being vigorously fanned, while the proprietress herself attending to simmering pots and steaming bowls seemed only natural—especially when viewing the signboard out front that had been so meticulously inscribed with ‘Fine Cuisine.’”
From this account, we can see that O-riki’s makeup—with powder applied only at the neck while her face boasted a natural fairness—compared to the heavy cosmetics worn by women of today’s Taisho 13 era (1924), would scarcely be recognized as that of a courtesan.
Now, around Meiji 32-33 (1899-1900), Gotō Chūgai’s novel *Matsuba Kanzashi* depicted the archery ranges of Asakusa Park.
By Meiji 43-44 (1910-1911), Masamune Hakuchō came to depict Hamachō’s unlicensed brothels, and I seem to recall that Oguri Fūyō wrote a novel concerning barmaids near Tsurumakichō—though I cannot recall its name now.
I must await future consideration for now.
Why is it that while novels depicting geishas since mid-Meiji have become as numerous as oxen laden with books, those chronicling the shirakubi of the underworld remain as scarce as morning stars?
If one writes penetratingly about geishas’ inner workings, they are called connoisseurs; whereas should they be said to know nothing beyond shirakubi matters, literary people appear to feel somewhat awkward.

VI

As the stars shift and things transform, human sentiments too change accordingly.
To revere Yoshiwara courtesans as bodhisattvas of song and dance was a relic of the Edo period.
To have rejoiced in viewing geishas as embodiments of refined elegance and spirited vitality had already become like yesterday’s dream.
When the Shintomicho theater stage opened in Meiji 5, the grand spectacle of singing courtesans lining both hanamichi runways to deliver encomiums became a scene long recounted by the capital’s residents.
Throughout the forty-odd years of the Meiji era, it was deemed a social truth that no banquet, garden party, or gathering of people could be enlivened without geishas’ presence.
When the year turned, there were New Year’s banquets; as it drew to a close, year-end celebrations arose.
Whenever a friend traveled, there was a farewell banquet.
Whenever someone returned, there was a welcoming gathering.
When a gathering was held and sake served, geisha inevitably appeared.
When geisha appeared and struck up the introductory piece, the guests, once drunk, inevitably performed their party tricks.
If someone happened not to perform, the entire gathering pressed them to do so.
Thus did those wishing to enter society and mingle with others secretly frequent variety halls in their daily lives, listening to leaf songs and dodoitsu to prepare themselves for navigating these challenges in the future.
Just as those attending Western-style banquets in today’s Taisho era—though one knew not where they learned it—seemed to have mastered something called table speeches.
The hidden talents displayed at banquets of yore were foolish yet comical, innocent of sin.
“You truly have such a lovely voice.”
To have been praised by a geisha as “one who cannot be left in obscurity” became the honor of my life.
As for the table speeches today’s young gentlemen so relished, their ostentatious displays of eloquence and wit were utterly absurd.
If one wished to deliver an after-dinner speech to aid digestion during a large meal, the American custom of table prayers would still have been more bearable.
Regardless of whether customs and trends were old or new, there was nothing as utterly bothersome as banquets.
The same sake drunk became an entirely different matter when shared with two or three intimate friends at a tranquil teahouse—where even the maid’s announcement “The night watchman’s clappers signal it’s time to extinguish fires” felt regrettably premature—compared to the scene in a hundred-mat banquet hall choked with dust and smoke from drunken guests and geishas restlessly rising and sitting, where beneath hazy lamplight one could not even discern faces; here, you all had to sit covering your ears against my shouts while staring at dried-fish-like grilled dishes, enduring this world’s burdensome obligations.

Mr. Koda Rohan had vehemently denounced the foolishness of banquets and declared banquet wine to be toxic poison, yet people's hearts remained varied.
There existed vulgar sorts who attended banquets calculating in their hearts that these gatherings would ultimately prove more economical bargains than dining at restaurants with small groups and calling geisha.
There were also schemers who persistently demanded business card exchanges with plans to exploit others' names in future endeavors.
Like looters at fire scenes, such people would court geisha not for looks or talents but target women who seemed financially approachable, flattering their way in regardless of age—this being their usual practice.
Among newspaper company sales staff and small company representatives were said to be many of this scheming type.
Thus when established geisha in Shinbashi found themselves too frequently summoned by customers using seductive tactics without proper caution, they would tactfully return courtesies from their side to avoid future troubles.
Indeed, Shinbashi courtesans—once disparaged by connoisseurs thirty years prior as 'on-call geishas'—now found themselves intimidated by their clients' cunning, a reversal leaving one aghast at public morality's degradation beyond measure.

VII

I myself am at a loss when what needs to be said persistently tends to stray into byways.
As previously noted, it was at the Kotobuki meeting house in Fujimicho where I first witnessed a geisha undoing her obi—the total bill for everything amounting to no more than three yen.
At that time, the term hansuke [low-ranking prostitute] remained in circulation, and there were even those who made grand displays of requesting audiences with Takenouchi over mere one-yen matters.
Examining the printed guidebooks sold at the picture bookshop across from Ebisu’s alley in Nakanochō of Shin-Yoshiwara revealed that women at major establishments charged one yen and twenty sen as their fee, with none exceeding this amount.
From this we may extrapolate the general standard.
Now I too, growing self-conscious about being derided as an earthy uptown provincial confined to Fujimicho, seized my chance when Ko-mitsu—a geisha from Kobusho Koma’s house—dropped hints during a banquet at Kanda Renjakuchō’s Kinseirō. Slipping out ahead of others, I went to the riverside boat inn Komatsuya in Sotokanda Sakumachō as she directed, waiting in its storehouse-style parlor for a woman’s arrival.
This occurred around Meiji 32-33 [1899-1900].
At that time, “voluntary retirement” still sounded novel—indeed, some believed it referred solely to Nikurishinpō reporters ransacking Yoshiwara’s small latticed quarters—and thus geisha houses lacked both national guilds and so-called “designated operating districts.”
In those days, geishas venturing out on winter nights to areas like Mukōjima would sometimes don Okoso hoods.
They attached looped threads to the square crepe’s corners and wore them draped over their earlobes.
Their kosode bore many spirited patterns of thread-woven stripes.
Geishas wore collared everyday kimonos with obi invariably tied in hikikage style and front aprons secured, donning black crepe haori bearing five family crests to attend vaudeville theaters barefoot.
Woolen shawls had already fallen out of fashion, replaced by Azuma coats.
They folded silk handkerchiefs into triangles, wrapping them around their necks to mask mouths while wearing gold-rimmed pale-tinted spectacles.
Men similarly sported silk handkerchiefs and dark glasses with velvet hunting caps, Ōshima-patterned tube-sleeved haori over Ichiraku or fūtsū-ori kimonos, broad obi sashes completing their attire.
Gold signet rings adorned their little fingers as they fastened black habutae aprons and clacked along in leather-soled sandals.
This constituted the pretentious air of men affecting dandyism.
Timing geishas’ returns from engagements, they’d call out beyond latticed doors in sacred lantern light before sitting across long braziers to share drinks—considered life’s supreme pleasure.

As I had already stated that works documenting brothel customs were as numerous as oxen laden with books, I omitted them here.
Should curious individuals examine the works listed at left, the transition of Meiji-era pleasure quarter customs would naturally reveal itself.

Yanagibashi New Chronicles - Two Volumes - Published Meiji 7 (1874) by Narushima Ryūhoku

Willow Quarters String Courtesans in Their Prime: A Compendium - One Volume - Illustrated by Matsumoto Shigekiyo - Compiled by Suigetsutei

Shinbashi Miscellany, Two Volumes, Published November 30, Meiji 11 (1878) by Matsumoto Mannen

*Tokyo Shin Hanjōki* (Tokyo New Prosperity Chronicles), Six Volumes, Published April 1874 by Hattori Seiichi

*Tōkyō Kijō* (Tokyo Courtesan Sentiments), Three Volumes, Published October 1883 by Suita Dōshi

Flower Willow Affairs, Three Volumes, Published in December of Meiji 13 [1880] by Suita Dōshi

Shinbashi Geigi Review, First Volume, Published in September 1881 by Nakamura Goen

Tōkyō Suisho (Tokyo Refined Writings), First Volume, Published in May 1881 by Nozaki Shigeo

Ginkai Shōshi (Silver Street Chronicles), First Volume, Published in February of Meiji 15 [1882] by Sabaneko with Preface by Narushima Ryūhoku

Geisha and Courtesans Review, One Volume, Published in August 1885 by Suida Dōjin

A Connoisseur's Essential Guide, One Volume, Published in April 1884 by Hanagasa Bunkyō II with Preface by Itō Kyōtō

Hermitage Beauty Zen, One Volume, Published in November of Meiji 17 (1884) by Miki Aika

Eastern Capital Hermitage Romance, One Volume, Published in December of Meiji 15 (1882) by Miki Aika

Eastern Capital Hermitage Reminiscences, One Volume, Published in August of Meiji 16 (1883) by Miki Aika

Tokyo Sightseeing Chronicle, One Volume, Published in October 1888 by Takegai Koji (Harada Shin'ichi)

Tokyo Ryūkō Saikinki (Detailed Record of Tokyo Trends), Published in July of Meiji 18 [1885]

The Detailed Chronicles of String Courtesans in Their Prime at the Time, Meiji 3 (1870) edition by Ryūkō Dōjin

Yanagibashi Geisha Directory; Publication Date Unknown

The Complete Chronicles of Kitazato Courtesans in Their Prime, Volumes 1 and 2, Published in December of Meiji 14 [1881] by Sakushū Sanshi Ōkubo Tsunekichi with Preface by Miki Aika

Ryūzan Hokushi (Dragon Mountain North Chronicle), Two Volumes, Published December 4, Meiji 12 [1879], also known as Kakyō Shunshi (Flower Quarter Spring Chronicle), Reviewed by Hattori Seiichi, Written by Kuwano Eigi

Courtesan's Essentials: One Volume || Published in Meiji 17 [1884] || Original Work by Miki Aika, Supplemented by Gichōshi

Shinbashi Eight Views: Geisha's Essentials: One Volume || Published in Meiji 17 [1884] || Original Work by Miki Aika, Supplemented by Gichōshi

Nihonbashi Ukina Kagi (日本橋浮名歌妓), One Volume || Published in Meiji 17 [1884] || By Yamada Shundō || Reviewed by Itō Kyōtō

Tōkyō Geigi Hyōbanroku (東京芸妓評判録), First Volume || Published in Meiji 37 [1904] || Author Unknown

Yoshiwara: One Volume (Published February 1891; Preface by Seie of Daimonrō, Verses by Kinryū of Kakuwaianrō, Poetry by Yakumo of Inamotoro, Eight Verses by Rōhachi of Matsu no Ie, and Other Prefaces; Illustrations by Toshihide)

Taiheiraku Courtesans' Lecture (Published February 24, 1891; Preface by Takao of Hachimanrō, Preface by Kawakami Sobun, Notes by Kōyū Sanjin; Featuring Courtesan Teko Tsuru's Lecture)

Eastern Capital's Famous Courtesans: Published in Taisho 6 [1917], Co-edited by Kawajiri Seitan and Okamura Kikō

These are but a few examples of what I have personally witnessed.
Yamada Shundō’s *Nihonbashi Ukina Kagi* novelized the full account of Hinokimachi geisha Kano-ya Utayoshi’s lovers’ suicide by dagger with Yasubei—the adopted son of Nakabashi Chinese goods merchant Yoshida-ya—an incident which, occurring in close succession to the September Meiji 13 [1880] suicide involving Shin-Yoshiwara’s Shinagawarō prostitute Moriito and Home Ministry clerk Toyosaka Tani, remained a topic of public discussion for many years.
The affair of Shinagawarō Moriito was serialized in the *Yukise Newspaper* under titles such as *"The Lovers' Suicide Mound,"* written with jōruri-style embellishments.
There was also a woodblock-printed chapbook titled *Flowers in Full Bloom at the Northern Quarter*, authored by one Shuntei Fumihiko.
Taking these materials, Ihara Seien had written a serial novel for the *Miyako Shimbun* around Meiji 32-33 [1899-1900], which the Ii Troupe’s shishi actors then adapted into a play performed at the Akasaka Tameike Engiza Theatre.
Among lovers' suicides from the Meiji era that were adapted into novels and plays, there were likely only about these two.
I have heard that Hirotsu Ryūrō's novel *Imado Shinjū* was based on an incident at Nakamairō in Kyōmachi 2-chōme, but as its literary style seems to strenuously avoid becoming documentary realism, this should be considered an exception.
While public gossip is said to fade in seventy-five days, only tales of lovers' suicides endure through generations—this being ultimately due to the power of novels and plays. There is no need to cite Chikamatsu Monzaemon's jōruri as an example.
In the spring of Meiji 45 [1912], the geisha known as Sei Nakamura-ya Kameyo of Shinbashi Shingura Shinmachi, resentful of actor Nakamura Matagorō, drank sulfuric acid and died.
However, as there were no enthusiasts to commit such matters to novels for posterity, even the rumors that took monstrous form soon vanished into oblivion.

With the advent of the Taisho era came such tragedies as actress Matsui Osuma’s hanging suicide, newly ennobled Yoshikawa’s daughter Okama’s elopement, and Dr. Hamada’s daughter Oei’s self-destruction—all passionate entanglements that ruined their lives, brought grief to parents and siblings, and disgraced friends’ names, matters well known to contemporaries.
Since Dr. Hamada’s daughter Oei met her end by ingesting the rodenticide called Neko-irazu, it is said that even now, there remains no shortage of reckless young men and women who—overwhelmed by their troubles—purchase this very poison.
Neko-irazu was none other than what we once called Iwami Ginzan.
Ever since the incident in Meiji 3 when a woman called Okinu of Saruwaka-cho killed her moneylender’s master with this poison, the name Iwami Ginzan long remained on people’s lips; but as the world changed, that name too eventually altered.
In days of yore, those ballad-singers who donned woven sedge hats and wandered chanting tales of lovers’ suicides—now reduced to singing festival ditties on shrine-fair nights—herein lies yet another instance where substance persists unchanged while names alone differ.
As for a student-like man playing violin and singing in a vulgar tone—though I know not whether this should be called such-and-such melody—there exist instances where listening reveals his songs use base language to tersely recount events.
Future historians must examine this and deem it material for social history.

Ah, how sorrowful, how sorrowful,
My beloved gone before me,
Now there remains none with whom I might speak.
Reflecting now, even garments slip through my fingers,
Awaiting impatiently the curtain's descent,
Backstage stifled sobs.
Most pitiful Miss Sumako.
Beloved Shimamura Hōgetsu's,
Following your traces on this death-bound journey.

This was merely an incidental transcription of phrases preserved in my memory.
Even street ballads inherently possess their authors.
Silently plagiarizing others' writings after the manner of textbook compilers of that time showed poor decorum.
Therefore I shall briefly state my reason for arbitrarily selecting and recording those fragments here.

VIII

Reminiscence stands as the supreme solace for the aged.
In autumn of Meiji 41 [1908], when I had returned from the West, the Thursday Club literati—resolved to hold a celebratory banquet in my honor—after much deliberation this way and that, each assuming disguises gathered at Ueno Station; thence we wandered through Asakusa's environs and determined to spend the night.

It was mid-September.
Since it was broad daylight rather than cherry blossom season, those who disliked costumes due to their status or profession were made to pay a five-yen fine in addition to membership fees and offer apologies.
Yet when observing those gathered at Ueno Station's waiting room at four that afternoon—beginning with Chairman Iwaya Sazanami—not one of the fifteen members paid fines; all had disguised themselves as rickshaw pullers, milkmen, craftsmen and peddlers.
Among them, Iwaya Sazanami—wearing a striped summer kimono over suspiciously light haori, white tabi socks with setta sandals, and black glasses—could have been mistaken for a brothel accountant.
Ōta Nangaku sported a bowler hat bearing five cotton family crests, kogura fabric hakama trousers, and a Red Cross Society emblem dangling from his chest.
These two achieved the most convincing disguises.
The group of fifteen walked through Asakusa Park before entering Matsubaya—a Senzoku 1-chōme inn catering to provincial merchants—for dinner; afterward some visited archery-range taverns, others watched ball-balancing Genji-bushi dances, while still others caroused through Yoshiwara Kozukahara's brothels before returning to Matsubaya for the night.
As those fearing unclean bedding would incur additional fines if staying elsewhere, all returned to pass the night there; come morning after breakfast, they fortuitously summoned Benikan—who'd come playing shamisen outside—tipped her generously to perform various arts, then departed to cross Takeya Ferry together. Walking along Sumida River's embankment where cherry petals swirled downriver, they rested at Hyakkaen Garden before reaching Uehan at Mokuboji Temple for sake-fueled poetry composition.
Uehan at Mokuboji Temple—then operating as combined restaurant-inn—had hosted many overnight guests with geisha companions until purchased by a company two years later and converted into a club; thereafter red skirts no longer fluttered through temple grounds, nor remained anyone who might recall Hakunyo-tei's verse about "dusky rains over wild grasses" when viewing Umewaka-zuka's willows.
At five o'clock when dusk approached, Kanegafuchi Spinning Company's factory whistle would split eardrums while threatening to shake leaves from trees.
That scene of glimpsing licensed quarter lights through Masaki Inari's grove while hastening across Hashiba's ferry at misty twilight had already become nostalgic lore by Meiji 41 [1908].
By Kototoi's banks stood famed restaurant Nakano Uehan which transformed into rendezvous-style establishment with mirrored "Couples' Bath" at Taisho's start—until lovers' suicide during bathing drove customers away and brought demolition.
Near Akiba Shrine lingered teahouse Arima Onsen with lodgings until Taisho 5-6 [1916-1917], I recall.
In Mukōjima such teahouses maintained enduring prosperity—auspiciously preserving clam soup's timeless flavor.
When snow-viewing from Tsukiji in Taisho 8 spring [1919], I visited one such establishment where clam soup matched memories from ten years prior; perfectly warm rolled omelet and Shibata Zeshin's clam-patterned scroll in alcove remain unforgettable.
Akiba geisha formed separate guild from Mimegari Embankment counterparts around Taisho's inception.
When obi-untied dexterous techniques grew popular only to be banned then revived among old Mimegari associates.

This would likely be around Taisho 7 or 8 (1918-1919), I suppose? With the advent of the Taisho era, newly risen geisha districts in the capital area were by no means limited to one or two locations. Azabu Ajiro-cho, Koishikawa Hakusan, Shibuya Arakiyama, Kameido Tenjin—these had all become established presences before one knew it, while places like Negishi Goyō no Matsu, Komagome Shinmei-cho, Sugamo Kōshinzuka, Ōsaki Gotanda, and Nakano-mura Arai's Yakushi found me past forty with aging legs scarcely able to muster the vigor for such wanderings. Permitting geisha districts in newly developed towns and villages was said to promote local prosperity—precisely like policies sending immigrants to reclaim remote barren lands. To fill rice fields in the capital’s suburbs, recklessly fell trees, build rental houses to create towns—one should not have needed to officially recognize prostitutes to pursue prosperity—yet most of what contemporaries cheerfully called "development strategies" belonged precisely to this category. The ever-increasing numbers of literary magazines and prostitutes were such that even those who were not moralists could not witness this without feeling a chill in their hearts. Snorting and hunching their shoulders, men from Yamanote would sneak off to small meeting houses; to pass time while awaiting low-class prostitutes, they took up brushes on chabudai tables.

At this time—in the still-chilly spring following the Great Earthquake, upon the second floor of a barrack—Kinfu Sanjin set down his brush.