Hokusai let his wife speak, and, after a long silence, told her that he had no illusions about the poverty that awaited them, but he would not stand for the greed of a stranger who treated them with so little respect, adding: “I prefer poverty to having someone walk all over me.” The captain, when he heard of the doctor’s behaviour, sent his interpreter with the money and bought the two scrolls ordered by the doctor. Hokusai continued to sell some of his drawings to the Dutch, until he was banned from selling details of the intimate lives of the Japanese people to foreigners.
The 300 rios in gold paid to Hokusai by Dutch Captain Isbert Hemmel, for the four makimonos on Japanese life, were certainly the largest payment the painter had ever obtained for his works. In fact, his book illustrations – the artist’s principal revenue – were poorly remunerated by editors, even at the time when the artist enjoyed his greatest celebrity. One can take as evidence this fragment from a letter sent from Uraga in 1836 to the editor, Kobayashi: “I am sending you three and a half pages of ‘Poetry of the Tang Epoch’. Of the forty-two mommes (one rio = 60 mommes) that I have earned, keep one and a half mommes that I owe you; please give the rest, forty and one half mommes to the courier.”
This story also shows the great poverty in which the artist lived, even into his old age. Thus, we also know that Hokusai borrowed miserable sums to pay for his daily needs from fruit sellers and fishmongers. Also, a request the painter made of an editor to borrow one rio, pleading with him to pay this meagre amount in the smallest change possible in order to pay his petty debts to his neighbourhood merchants. Also attesting to this poverty is another letter in which Hokusai complains of having only one robe to keep his seventy-six-year-old body warm during a harsh winter. The artist lived all his life in deep poverty because of the low prices paid in Japan by editors to artists, because of his independent spirit, in the name of which he would only accept work that he liked, and also because of the debts that he had to pay for his son, Tominosuke, and his grandson, by his daughter Omiyo. Moreover, he had a certain vanity about his poverty.
Women on the Beach at Enoshima (Enoshima shunbō), excerpt from the series The Silky Branches of the Willow (Yanagi no ito), 1797.
Nishiki-e, 25.4 × 38 cm.
The British Museum, London.
In 1834, Hokusai sent the following letter to his three editors, Kobayashi, Hanabusa, and Kakumaruya: “As I am travelling, I do not have the time to write to you individually, and am sending to the three of you this one letter that I hope you will all read in turn. I do not doubt that you would like to grant an old man the requests that he makes of you, and I hope that your families are all doing well. As for your old man, he is still the same, the strength of his brush continues to build, and to, more than ever, exercise care. When he is one hundred years old, he will become one of the true artists.” The old painter signed at length, “old Hokusai, the crazy old artist, the beggar priest,” but his letter is, in so many words, entirely in this postscript: “For the book of ‘Warriors’ [undoubtedly Ehon Sakigake, ‘The Heroes of China and Japan‘, printed and engraved by Yegawa], I hope that the three of you will give it to Yegawa Tomekiti. As for the price, arrange that directly with him. The reason I am adamant that the woodcuts be by Yegawa is that, while both the Hokusai Manga and the ‘Poetry’ are certainly two well-engraved works, they are far from the perfection of the three volumes of ‘Mount Fuji’ that he engraved. Now, if my drawings are cut by a good engraver, that will encourage me to work, and if the book is a success, that is also to our advantage because it will bring you greater profit. Because I recommend Yegawa to you so highly, do not think that it is to earn a commission: what I seek is clean execution, and that would be a satisfaction you could give to a poor old man who has not much farther to go (here the painter drew himself, as an old man walking supported by two brushes instead of crutches). As for ‘The Life of Çakyamouni’ (Shakuson Ilidaïki Zuye, an illustrated novel published in 1839), Souzanbô promised me to have it engraved by Yegawa, and I drew it based on this choice: the curly hair of the Indians being very difficult to engrave, even the forms of the bodies, and there is absolutely no one but Yegawa who can execute this work. Hanabusa, after his visit some time ago, told me, when he ordered the ‘Warriors’ from me, that he would not leave me unoccupied and I remind him of his good word. You ordered from my daughter an illustration of the ‘Hundred Poets’, but I would rather illustrate this book, which I will undertake myself after having finished the ‘Warriors’. As for the price, we will come to an agreement, as for a poet. But however, can we agree in advance that it will be Yegawa who will engrave the book?” The letter ends with a sketch in which he salutes his editors.
Village near a Bridge, excerpt from the series “Ritual Dances for Boys” (Otoko Tōka), 1798.
Nishiki-e, 20.6 × 36 cm.
Musée national des Arts asiatiques – Guimet, Paris.
Act I, excerpt from the illustrated book Chūshingura, c. 1798.
Nishiki-e, 22 × 32.7 cm.
The British Museum, London.
Dawn of a New Year, 1798.
Nishiki-e, 22.5 × 16.3 cm.
The British Museum, London.
Another letter from Hokusai was sent to editor Kobayashi, dated 1835: “I did not ask about you, but I am happy to know that you are in good health. As for myself, I saw the delinquent, the incorrigible who will always fall back on me. Since then, I have had to ask for the advice of friends and family. Finally, I found a respondent (someone who would take responsibility for watching over him). We will make him manage a fish store, and we have also found him a wife who will arrive here in two or three days. But all that is still at my expense. It is due to these obstacles that I am behind in illustrating the Suïkoden and Toshisen (Tang poetry), for which I have only started the sketches. I will, however, send you some drawings and in that case, I am counting on…” Here, the painter drew a hand holding a silver coin.
Another letter, undated, was sent to the editor, Kobayashi: “With the clear tones of India ink, I delete all the vignetting. Since, while done all by itself with the tip of the brush, for the painter, the worker printing the plates could at least make 200 vignetted copies: beyond that number is impossible. For the light ink tone, make it as light as possible: the trend towards dark tones makes the print hard on the eyes. Tell the worker that the light ink tone should be the same as that of scallop soup, which is to say very light; now, for the medium ink tone, if it is printed too lightly, it will take away the power of the tint, and you need to tell the print worker that the medium tint must have a thick texture, somewhat like bean soup. In any case, I will examine the proofs, but at present, I recommend these details because I want to have my drawings cooked well.”
Artisan’s Workshop near Mount Fuji, 1798.
Nishiki-e, 22 × 31.2 cm.
Private collection.
A last letter by Hokusai, written at the beginning of the year, 1836, was sent to the editor Kobayashi from Uraga. This letter, written about New Year’s Day, has, as a header, a sketch in which the painter, in official garb, between two fir branches, is taking a deep bow. “There are several doors at which I must express my wishes for the New Year, so I will return another day, and goodbye, goodbye… But, until then, concerning the drawings to be engraved, please discuss the details with Yegawa. However, a bit later you will find a recommendation for the other woodcutters. Thank you for your frequent loans. I think that by the beginning of the second month of the year, I
