The Case of the Sharaku Murders (13 page)

“Not that I don't doubt your interpretation for a moment, Ryohei, but how do you explain
Ukiyo-e Ruiko
's claim his work was unpopular?” asked Saeko curiously.

“You mean about his work being ‘too true to life' and his career lasting ‘less than a year' and all that? Those things were written years after Sharaku had come and gone. By then I don't think anyone knew the real reason why Sharaku stopped painting. Plus, when someone rockets to stardom overnight people either love him or hate him. It usually takes years for an artist's reputation to settle down. You can't establish a reputation in just ten months. People go on about how ‘the documents say this' and ‘the documents say that,' as though it were holy writ! Remember, originally
Ukiyo-e Ruiko
was just someone's personal notebook; it wasn't published in book form until much later. Now, if it
had
been published—let's say at least a few hundred copies—and lots of people had read it,
then
maybe I could take what it says at face value. But I think all it proves is that there were people at the time who hated Sharaku's work.

“On the other hand, the writer Shikitei Samba talks about Sharaku as a great artist. And in one of Jippensha Ikku's books there's an illustration of a child flying a kite decorated with a picture by Sharaku. I don't think Ikku just made that up. If Sharaku's pictures appeared on toys he
really
must
have been popular; kids know what they like when they see it. When you think about it, there is something
manga
-esque about Sharaku's style, so maybe children were a big part of his fan-base. Maybe adults couldn't stand seeing his work slapped on all sorts of merchandise and were relieved when he suddenly disappeared. That would explain the criticism of Sharaku's work in
Ukiyo-e Ruiko
and why Tsutaya didn't have him do erotica or pictures of courtesans: that's not what kids were interested in. Just like the pop duo Pink Lady didn't sing adult songs because they were essentially a teenybopper band.”

“I doubt Sharaku would appreciate getting lumped together with Pink Lady!” exclaimed Saeko laughing. “Anyhow, that's a pretty bold thesis you've got there.” She breathed out deeply, clearly impressed.

“Well, I could never write that in a scholarly article,” said Ryohei. “But there's other evidence Sharaku was a big hit at the time. If you examine his work closely, you'll notice the same picture often appears again and again, only the colors of the clothes have been changed or the lines are slightly different. This is especially true of his earlier work, printed with mica. I haven't actually studied this myself, but Segi Shin'ichi, who proposed the Sharaku workshop hypothesis, has counted seven or eight versions of one print alone. You know, the famous one of the actor Ichikawa Ebizo playing the role of Takemura Sadanoshin which the post office put on a stamp. Scholars refer to these as either ‘subsequent imprints' or ‘variants'—what we call a ‘reprinting' in the trade now. If Sharaku was as unpopular as people say, these simply wouldn't exist.”

“Why's that?”

“You see, with woodblock prints, a publisher would order an initial print run of about two hundred copies. If those sold well, a second print run would be ordered using the same blocks. Depending on what dyes the printer had ready for use—or if the publisher wanted to save money by using cheaper dyes—the colors might be changed. That's a ‘subsequent imprint.' With each reprinting the blocks cracked a little bit until eventually they were unusable. Minor cracks could be filled in, but if the cracks were deep or spread across the entire surface, a new block had to be cut. That means the lines of the picture will be a little bit thicker or thinner in places, or slightly out of position. Since these later reprintings were made from an entirely different block than the original, scholars call them ‘variants.' Now, there are seven or eight color versions of Sharaku's print of Takemura Sadanoshin, which means—”

“There were seven or eight printings,” said Saeko, finishing his sentence.

“Exactly. Besides Sharaku, I can only think of a few other artists whose work went through so many reprintings. In short, Sharaku was big—really big. It shouldn't be surprising that people wrote nasty things about him, simply out of spite,” concluded Ryohei.

“Which means,” said Saeko, with a dazed look on her face, “we have to look at the problem of Sharaku's identity in a completely different way.”

“Correct. Sharaku
wanted
to remain anonymous. He needed an escape route in case his work was a flop—like a writer who uses a penname. Long ago there were even singers who debuted on stage wearing a mask; if they were a hit they'd always remove the mask at the end of the show. Everyone wants to be famous—it's failure they're afraid of. Therefore, we can rule out Hokusai, Choki, Kiyomasa, and Toyokuni—who weren't well known at that time—plus the Sharaku workshop and the ‘Apprentice of Iizuka Toyo' hypotheses. If any of them had been Sharaku we would know about it because it would have been a huge boost to their careers, so you can be sure they would have owned up to it. Likewise, we can eliminate Kyoden, Sogai, Buncho, Hoitsu, and Okyo because they were already successful. If Sharaku had been a flop they would have kept quiet, but he wasn't. There's no shame in being famous. You also have to consider Tsutaya's nature. If he'd been able to get Kyoden or any of the others to work for him, he certainly wouldn't have concealed the fact. No, there seem to be only two possible explanations for why Tsutaya would have been so secretive about Sharaku's identity: either there was no point in revealing his real name because he wasn't someone anyone had heard of, or else for some reason the consequences of doing so were so serious Tsutaya could have been put out of business. Sharaku's work didn't break any laws or anything, so even if someone very respectable like Hoitsu or Sogai was behind it, they had no reason to remain anonymous.”

“I see,” agreed Saeko. “You make it sound so simple, Ryohei.”

“But this line of argument doesn't work if Tsutaya or Ubasoku was Sharaku. In Tsutaya's case, the more successful Sharaku became the greater the disadvantages of revealing the truth; the public would quickly lose interest in Sharaku if they found out he was really just a merchant with no formal artistic training. Plus, from a business perspective it was better for Tsutaya if Sharaku's identity remained a mystery. As for Ubasoku… well, he's a more difficult case; we only have one book of his to go on.”

“But Ryohei, can't you eliminate him the same way you ruled out Hokusai, Choki, and the other up-and-coming artists?”

“No. The thing is, Hokusai and Choki were active for years, decades even, after Sharaku disappeared. If either of them was Sharaku, why didn't they exploit his fame? But we don't know what happened to Ubasoku. Maybe he died—and Sharaku along with him—in which case he couldn't have exploited Sharaku's fame even if he'd wanted to.”

“Okay. But what about the possibility you mentioned earlier: that Ubasoku was really Kitao Shigenobu?”

“It's very likely,” agreed Ryohei. “But it doesn't necessarily follow from that that Shigemasa was Sharaku. If scholars operated on assumptions there wouldn't be any point in doing research. Without facts capable of convincing a third party, Ubasoku will just have to remain Ubasoku. That's only fair.”

“I see what you mean,” conceded Saeko. “But then his identity's a mystery and there's nothing we do about it. Personally, Ryohei, if you believe Shigemasa was Ubasoku, that's good enough for me…”

“If only everyone were like you, Saeko,” Ryohei said with a rueful smile. “But if you consider Tsutaya's personality, it seems unlikely Ubasoku was Sharaku.”

“So he'll just have to remain Ubasoku?”

“I'm afraid so. Look, Ubasoku illustrated just one book for Tsutaya in the spring of 1793. After that, nothing. If Tsutaya thought Ubasoku's talent was worth exploiting commercially, why would he have waited a full year-and-a-half before publishing him as Sharaku? Isn't that odd? Tsutaya was the top publisher in Edo. Why didn't he ask Ubasoku to illustrate more books for him? One could argue Tsutaya was nurturing Ubasoku, having decided to publish him as Sharaku, but that theory doesn't hold water. It's generally accepted the emergence of Toyokuni in 1793 was the impetus for Tsutaya to publish Sharaku's work. So why would he allow himself to fall so far behind Toyokuni by waiting eighteen months if he already had Ubasoku under his wing? In other words, one has to conclude Tsutaya was never all that impressed with Ubasoku.”

“And Tsutaya didn't bet on artists he didn't think had talent, right? But was Ubasoku a good illustrator?”

“One of the best. There's no way he could have failed to impress Tsutaya. That's why some people think he was Shigemasa. Shigemasa illustrated over forty books for Tsutaya. Plus, like Ubasoku, he lived in Negishi at the time. But Shigemasa was a leading figure in ukiyo-e circles. Not only was he Kyoden's teacher but he also had a huge influence on Utamaro and Hokusai. Without some particularly compelling reason, the chances he was Sharaku are pretty small. Tsutaya might have let him illustrate one book under the name Ubasoku, but he never would have agreed to publish over a hundred prints by Shigemasa under an assumed name.”

As Saeko remained silent, Ryohei said, “Now, this probably has nothing to do with Sharaku's identity, but it's interesting Shigemasa's name should come up. Let's see, now… If we also include Kokan, who was overshadowed by Choki…” Ryohei opened his notebook and started to sketch something.

Staring at the notebook, Saeko asked, “What's that?”

“A diagram of the relationships between various literati of the period. A line indicates a close link: a teacher and an apprentice, for example, or close friends. The box in the middle is Shigemasa. Shigemasa studied Danrin poetry with Sogai and illustrated several collections of his work. Adding Shigemasa makes the diagram complete. Plus, if you assume Shigemasa was Ubasoku, this covers just about all the possible candidates for Sharaku.”

Saeko looked at the diagram.

Tsutaya ------ Kyoden-------[?]--------Sogai
Buncho-------Hoitsu------Hokusai
So Shiseki-------Gennai------Kokan

“Hoitsu moved to within a stone's throw of Shigemasa's house in Negishi, though not until much later,” explained Ryohei. “It might just have been a coincidence, but this diagram suggests there was more to it. This was Tsutaya's circle, so to speak. Even if they didn't have direct contact with one another, I think they regarded each other as associates.”

Saeko waited for Ryohei to continue.

He went on, “If one of these individuals was Sharaku, it'd be natural to assume the others knew about it.”

“One would think so,” said Saeko.

“But none of them ever mentions Sharaku—not even once. Kyoden wrote a postscript to
Ukiyo-e Ruiko
but says nothing about Sharaku in it. Were they all sworn to secrecy or something? Was it that big a deal? It makes an intriguing mystery, but is it realistic? That's why I'm basically not all that interested in the question of Sharaku's identity.”

Saeko laughed. “You seem pretty interested to me!”

“All I've done is summarize the existing research for my own benefit. After all, as an art historian working on ukiyo-e it's not a question I can avoid. But after reading all the scholarly literature on the subject, I was forced to conclude Sharaku was just Sharaku, some second-rate artist no one paid much attention to. Tsutaya used his business savvy to turn him into a big sensation. Then for some reason, after ten months, it all came to an end. Sharaku stopped making woodblock prints. My guess is he died. That's it—end of mystery.”

“So basically,” said Saeko, “you agree with Professor Nishijima!”

“Not at all. The professor's view is it doesn't matter who Sharaku was. He could be Hoitsu or Tsutaya for all he cares. It wouldn't alter his appraisal of Sharaku's work. That's not
my
position. I don't think Sharaku was any of the candidates who have been proposed but instead some unknown artist. That's completely different.”

“Doesn't that leave us right back where we started? Maybe Sharaku really
was
a Noh actor from Awa? It would explain why he was unknown. After all, there must be some basis for that old claim.”

“But there's no evidence Saito Jurobei painted anything or even that such a person ever existed. The sole ‘basis' for the claim is
Ukiyo-e Ruiko
,
which is only a copy of an old manuscript. Unless some heretofore unknown painting by Saito-slash-Sharaku emerges—which seems unlikely—that line of inquiry seems hopeless.”

“That means Sharaku was someone no one's thought of before. But if he was some obscure artist, won't it be extremely hard to track him down? And there I was thinking we'd be able to link him to Shoei just like that,” said Saeko with a sigh. “That's looking pretty unlikely now.”

“Actually, I think the possibility is extremely good,” responded Ryohei. “First, Shoei was unknown. Second, we have evidence he painted, well enough to have been Sharaku. Third, since he knew Kokan he had a connection—however tenuous—to Tsutaya. Fourth, his pseudonym suggests an association with ukiyo-e. Fifth, in the 1790s he left Edo and returned to Akita. He meets all the criteria. And here's the most crucial piece of evidence: in at least one instance, he refers to himself as Sharaku.”