英語訳
**[Right Folio]**
Since the Shin-Yoshiwara licensed quarter had been destroyed by fire, permission was granted for teahouses (*yujo-ya*) to operate temporary premises (*karitaku*) at twenty-four locations. Here we record only the names of those towns.
**Asakusa:** Higashi-Nakamachi, Nishi-Nakamachi, Hanakawado-chō, Yamanoshuku-chō, Kinryūzan-shita, Kawara-chō, Shōten-chō, Minami-Umamichi-chō, Ta-machi, Sanya-chō, Imado-chō, and others.
**Fukagawa:** Eitaiji Monzen-Nakamachi, Yamamoto-chō, Higashi-Nakamachi, Tsukuda-chō, Matsumura-chō (same ward), Tokiwa-chō, Ofunakura-mae-chō, Hachiman Otabisho Monzen, Hachirōbei Yashiki, Matsui-chō, and others.
**Honjo:** Kaneno-shita, Irie-chō, Nagasaki-chō, Rikushaku Yashiki, Tokishō Yashiki, and others.
Of these, Asakusa's Nishi-Nakamachi, Imado-chō, Sanya-chō, and Ta-machi saw no establishments relocate there. In the first month of the following Year of the Dragon, all the remaining locations opened their shops and flourished enormously. Truly, this is a cause for gratitude toward the benevolent governance of our peaceful realm.
Now, among those who relocated to temporary premises in Yamanoshuku-chō was a courtesan named Mayuzumi (childhood name: Kane), employed at the Sanotsuchio establishment in Edo-chō 2-chōme. She had been separated from her parents at the age of seven. As she grew, she became gentle in nature and remarkably beautiful in appearance. Since the Year of the Ox just passed, she had been working as a courtesan, yet she had always kept in her heart the wish to find her parents. In the midst of the sorrows brought by this earthquake — anxious thoughts of "where might they be now?" — she donated more than twelve hundred large *yukihira* cooking pots to six relief shelters set up by the authorities. For this, she was awarded two silver coins as a reward from the government. It was said that she had done so out of her longing to be reunited with her true parents.
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**[Left Folio]**
### Ichinaka Nanjūrō
#### The Uirou-Seller's Monologue
Ladies and gentlemen, those of you who know of what I stirred up in the Kamigata region (*kami-gata*, the Kyoto–Osaka area) earlier may already be aware. Beginning with Edo, I caused an uproar throughout a twenty-*ri* radius — fields and plains turned all of one color, the whole town was thrown into left-and-right disorder, storehouses and earthen walls were greatly damaged. Nothing like this was ever heard of in foreign lands, and it is a rare confusion even in our own country. Awarded the name "*Uirō Dōtenkou*" (the Heaven-Moving Uirō), this crumbling has now spread throughout the world, sending people out into the main streets, laying down straw rice bales and charcoal sacks, propping up folding screens and sliding doors — and as the assembled crowd, believing the rumors, comes dashing outside, the masters flee to the right and the maids and servants to the left, camping out in all eight directions. Eight-ridged rooftops, hall-style buildings, gable-ends, eaves — all came crashing down magnificently.
Now, the first marvelous thing about this crumbling is that it costs not a single coin: barefoot, you flee outdoors, plant a pole in the yard or an empty lot, stretch out a straw mat, and "Here we go, here we go, here we go — the shaking has come!" — clutching raw rice and rice grain, rice bins askew (*ibitsu*), parents clasping children and children clasping parents, parent and child alike, spending the long night under the open blue sky.
On a rainy day like today, it is no exaggeration — something like forty or fifty thousand households stepped outside all at once, town after town…