the pillow book 
by sei shonagon  



THE PILLOW BOOK
SEI SHŌNAGON (?966–?1017) was a gentlewoman in the court of Empress
Teishi, in what is now Kyoto, Japan. The Pillow Book is her ‘journal’ of
anecdotes and observations based on her life at court. It was probably
completed in the first years of the eleventh century.
MEREDITH MCKINNEY gained a Ph.D. in medieval Japanese literature from
the Australian National University in Canberra, where she presently
teaches in the Japan Centre. She lived and taught in Japan for twenty
years, and now lives near Braidwood, New South Wales. Her other
published translations include Ravine and Other Stories by Furui
Yoshikichi (1997) and The Tale of Saigyō (1998).
S E I S H Ō N A G O N
The Pillow Book
Translated with Notes by MEREDITH MCKINNEY
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This translation first published in Penguin Classics 2006
1
Copyright © Meredith McKinney, 2006
All rights reserved
The moral right of the translator has been asserted
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject
to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent,
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EISBN : 978–0–141–90694–2
Contents
Acknowledgements
Chronology
Introduction
Further Reading
Note on the Translation
THE PILLOW BOOK
Appendix 1 Places
Appendix 2 People and Where They Appear
Appendix 3 Time
Appendix 4 Glossary of General Terms
Appendix 5 Court Ranks, Titles and Bureaucracy
Appendix 6 Clothes and Colour Glossary
Notes
Acknowledgements
I would first like to thank The Australian National University’s Japan
Centre, where I was able to work on this translation as a Visiting Fellow
from 2002 to 2005. I also wish to thank the Australian Government’s
Asialink programme, which enabled me to spend three precious months
in Japan during 2005 while I completed the translation.
Friends have been invaluable to me throughout this time, both in their
warm support and in their immensely helpful reading and comments on
some or all of the translation at various stages. I am particularly grateful
to dear friends Timoshenko Aslanides, Nicola Bowery, Julian Davies,
David Farrah, Stephanie L’Heureux and Simon Patton, as well as to
Naomi Fukumori for her long-distance professional help and comments.
I also owe a deep debt of gratitude to Royall and Susan Tyler, who
have helped and supported me in countless ways throughout this
undertaking, and most particularly to Susan, whose meticulous and
deeply informed editorial assistance has been of immense value to me.
My gratitude to Sugai Minoru for his illustrations, taken from details
found in various early scrolls, and to Shōgakukan Publishing Company
for making them available.
Finally, I would like to thank Penguin Classics editor Lindeth Vasey for
her wonderfully friendly and sensitive editorial assistance throughout
this project.
Chronology
Main background events are included. Names are given in the
Japanese order, family name first.
966? Sei Shōnagon born. Father Kiyohara Motosuke, mother’s name
unknown.
967 Emperor Murakami, Ichijō’s grandfather, dies. Interregnum for two
years.
969 Enyū(b. 959), Ichijō’s father, succeeds to the throne.
975 Princess Senshi (964–1035) becomes Kamo High Priestess (until
1031).
977 Fujiwara Teishi born. Father Fujiwara Michitaka (b. 953), mother
Takashina Kishi (d. 996).
978 Fujiwara Senshi (962–1001), daughter of Fujiwara Kaneie, becomes
Empress of Emperor Enyū.
980 Ichijō born. Father Emperor Enyū, mother Fujiwara Senshi.
984 Emperor Enyū retires and takes Buddhist orders. Succeeded by Kazan
(968–1008), eldest son of Emperor Reizei.
986 Emperor Kazan retires and takes Buddhist orders. Succeeded by
Ichijō.
990 Teishi becomes High Consort to Emperor Ichijō. Fujiwara Kaneie,
Michitaka’s father, becomes Chancellor.
991 Retired Emperor Enyū dies; Empress Dowager, Fujiwara Senshi, takes
the tonsure.
993 Fujiwara Michitaka becomes Chancellor. ? Sei Shōnagon becomes a
gentlewoman in Teishi’s court.
994? Fujiwara Korechika (974–1010), Michitaka’s son, presents Empress
Teishi with the paper Sei Shōnagon will use for her Pillow Book.
995 Chancellor Fujiwara Michitaka dies. Michitaka’s brother and rival,
Fujiwara Michinaga (966–1027), increases his power.
996 Teishi’s brothers Korechika and Takaie (979–1044) attack Retired
Emperor Kazan; they are arrested and forced to leave the capital. ?
Governor of Ise Minamoto Tsunefusa visits Sei Shōnagon and discovers
and circulates the early draft of The Pillow Book. Teishi gives birth to a
daughter, Princess Shūshi.
997 Korechika and Takaie are allowed to return to the capital.
999 Major fire at Imperial Palace. Teishi gives birth to a son, Prince
Atsuyasu.
1000 Michinaga’s daughter Shōshi becomes High Consort to Emperor
Ichijō, replacing Teishi in his favour. Teishi gives birth to a daughter,
Princess Kyōshi, and dies two days later. Sei Shōnagon leaves the court.
1011 Emperor Ichijō dies. Succeeded by Sanjō.
1017 Last reference to Sei Shōnagon.
Introduction
A thousand years ago, in a world in many ways unimaginably different
from ours, a lady at the imperial court of Japan settled herself in front of
a precious bundle of paper and began to write the extraordinary work
later called Makura no sōshi, known to English readers as The Pillow
Book. In it she wrote about her world, in a voice so vividly alive that we
find ourselves in the presence of a woman we recognize as we would a
friend.
The world Sei Shōnagon lived in and wrote for was the intimate world
of the court – instantly recognizable to her and her audience, but so
opaque to us that often we have only her words to guide us. As we read
her apparently crazy quilt of vignettes and opinions and anecdotes, we
find ourselves deep inside this world, and feel her responses along our
own nerves. But the modern reader’s compelling sense of intimacy with
Sei Shōnagon and her world, which is one of the great achievements of
her writing, is of course based on an illusion. We do not know that
world, and before we enter it with her it is best to learn a little about it.
SEI SHŌNAGON AND THE BACKGROUND
TO HER WORLD
Sei ShŌnagon lived at the height of the Heian period. ‘Heian’ roughly
translates as ‘peace and tranquility’, and nicely expresses the nature of
this long, sunny period in Japanese history, stretching from 794 to 1186,
when Japanese culture flowered and came into its own. This flowering
grew from the fertilizing contact of the native culture with that of China,
but by Sei Shōnagon’s time the direct impact of that powerful foreign
civilization had largely been absorbed and contact with China had
virtually ceased, although its culture was still a potent presence in
civilized Japanese life.
The city in which Sei Shōnagon lived, Heian-kyō (present-day Kyoto),
was usually known simply as ‘the capital’. Around and beyond, in wider
Japan, lay the provinces, which for those people in Heian-kyō
constituted a kind of outer darkness against which the cultured life of
their capital glowed the more brightly. At the glowing centre of this
world was the Emperor and his court. Heian-kyō was modelled on the
Chinese capital Ch’ang-an, with a large imperial palace in the north of
the city and a grid of streets to the east, west and south of it. The walled
palace-grounds were in turn divided into the outer imperial palace,
which held the buildings of the governmental bureaucracy, and, within
another wall, the smaller inner complex of gallery-connected buildings
that housed the Emperor and his various consorts, as well as some
administrative buildings. (See ‘The Inner Palace’ in Appendix 1.)
This world – of the capital, more specifically of the inner palace area,
and most particularly of the household of Empress Teishi where Sei
Shōnagon served as gentlewoman – is that of The Pillow Book. Small
though it may seem from our perspective, it was all the world to Sei
Shōnagon, and in this she epitomizes the experience of the women and
the men who served at the imperial court. Culture and civilization were
synonymous with court life, and the closer one was to the Emperor the
closer one was to its essence.
Sei Shōnagon was born into what she would have considered the
periphery of this world. Her father was a Provincial Governor, a post
given to middle-ranking courtiers but far from prestigious in the world
of the court, where the requirement to live in the provinces was
perceived as a kind of cultural exile. In fact, Governors often contrived
to spend a good deal of time in the capital, and there is no record of Sei
Shōnagon ever having experienced provincial life. Certainly the only
experiences that mattered to her were exclusively to do with life in
Heian-kyō.
Verifiable facts about Sei Shōnagon are sparse, and information about
her life depends overwhelmingly on her own record in The Pillow Book.
Even her name is puzzling. ‘Sei’ is a shorthand reference to her family
name of Kiyohara (sei being an alternative reading of the character for
kiyo), while ‘Shōnagon’ is the name of a bureaucratic post, translated
here as ‘Junior Counsellor’ (See Appendix 5 on ranks and titles). Names
were far more changeable and context-dependent than in our modern
world, and at court it was traditional to name a gentlewoman by the title
of a male relative, though no one has managed to trace definitively the
‘Junior Counsellor’ from whom Sei Shōnagon derives her name.
Tradition has it that her original personal name was Nagiko.*
Balancing a variety of historical evidence, scholars suggest that Sei
Shōnagon may have been born around 966, and the last apparently
historical reference to her is around 1017. She seems to have been
‘married’ (although that word only inadequately conveys the fluid
nature of marital arrangements at this time)
1
to Tachibana Norimitsu
(dates unknown), one of the courtiers who appears in The Pillow Book,
though in a rather unimpressive role. (See Appendix 2 for a summary of
Norimitsu’s appearances and that of other major characters.) We can
gather that the marriage did not last, and there is certainly no suggestion
of husband or children in The Pillow Book, although references found in
other works of the period indicate that she had at least one child.
Thus Sei Shōnagon’s story essentially begins and ends with her
relationship with Empress Teishi (977–1000). She seems to have entered
Teishi’s court as a gentlewoman in either the spring or autumn of 993.
She would have been in her late twenties, considerably older than most
newly employed gentlewomen, and around ten years older than the
Empress. Her service at court presumably came to an end with Teishi’s
death seven years later.
2 Of Sei Shōnagon’s subsequent life nothing is
known, although tradition states that she degenerated in her final years
into a poverty-stricken and unhappy crone. However, tradition may only
be serving her what it considered her just desserts.
HISTORICAL BACKGROUND
Although Teishi is here designated as ‘Empress’, her position was never
as secure as that title implies. When Sei Shōnagon entered her service,
Teishi was Emperor Ichijō’s first Empress (chūgū), a position she had
held since soon after her powerful father Fujiwara Michitaka had
arranged their marriage when she was fourteen and Ichijō eleven years
old. Other consorts also lived in the various residences around Ichijō’s
Seiryōden residence, however, and each of them had powerful family
backing, on which their status at court largely depended.
Throughout most of Japanese history, the Emperor himself, for all his
prestige, has been effectively powerless. During the Heian period, the
real power lay in the hands of the great Fujiwara family. The court was
largely composed of Fujiwara men, and members of the family’s main
branch held the top positions in the court hierarchy. One of their chief
aims was to provide from their own immediate family the woman who
would become the mother of the future Emperor, and to this end there
was perpetual rivalry and jockeying to place their daughters
advantageously at court. Thus Teishi’s position rested precariously on
the continued power of her father Michitaka, for all that Emperor Ichijō
seems genuinely to have preferred her above his other consorts.
In The Pillow Book we meet Michitaka as the jovial Regent who so
delighted Sei Shōnagon with his jokes and banter, a man revelling in his
power and the resultant prestige of his family. His beloved daughter
Teishi was Empress, her younger sister Genshi had recently become wife
of the Crown Prince, his eldest son Korechika was in place to take over
the reins of power in his turn, and his other children were likewise in
positions of suitable prestige. His brother and rival, Michinaga, was as
yet only a peripheral threat. But less than two years later, in 995,
Michitaka died after a few months of illness. His brother Michikane
became Regent, but when he died in an epidemic a mere seven days
later, Michinaga at last attained his goal. His days of power extended
until his death in 1027; his glittering career may have played a part in
the portrait of the ‘Shining Prince’ in The Tale of Genji (Genji
monogatari), that most famous of Heian tales, written when he was at the
height of his glory.
For Teishi, Michitaka’s death was more than a personal sorrow
because her position at court was now deeply insecure. It was further
undermined when her chief protector, her brother Korechika, was
disgraced and effectively exiled with their younger brother Takaie in
996, after a peculiar incident in which they attacked Retired Emperor
Kazan, under the (probably mistaken) impression that he was secretly
courting a lady who was at the time Korechika’s lover. Michinaga’s
machinations may well have been behind this event, and it certainly
played into his hands. Though Korechika was allowed to return from the
provinces early in 997, his power had been permanently undermined,
and with it Teishi’s position at court. In 1000, Michinaga established his
ten-year-old daughter Shōshi as the first Empress. Teishi, still at court
but her position now threatened on all sides, died at the end of the year,
two days after childbirth.
CULTURAL BACKGROUND
Although Sei Shōnagon was profoundly affected by these events, they
are almost entirely absent from her Pillow Book. Her gaze is
determinedly, almost perversely, fixed on the delights to be found in
court life; if sorrow momentarily clouds her sky, it is there only to
provide the backdrop for some delightful event that relieves it with
laughter. Although the history is essential for an understanding of the
background to the world she writes about, we will most sympathetically
read The Pillow Book if we allow ourselves temporarily to forget the grim
facts. What Sei Shōnagon wants her reader to experience is the delicious
pleasures of life at court, so it is to the details of that life that we should
now turn.
Teishi and her gentlewomen inhabited a world that was largely
screened from the world around it. Within the building where they spent
their days and nights, the Empress herself was ensconced in the large
Inner Chamber, and much of the comings and goings of life around her
were conducted in the wide aisle area that surrounded this central room
on all sides. (See ‘The Main House’ in Appendix 1.) Although the word
‘palace’ is often used to describe buildings such as those Teishi and the
Emperor inhabited in the inner palace grounds, there was no palatial
glitter about these simple wooden buildings. The only walled room was
a sort of storeroom-cum-occasional-bedroom that made up one portion
of the Inner Chamber; for the rest, ‘rooms’ were temporary constructions
usually made of portable standing screens and standing curtains. Reed
blinds and sliding panels were generally all that divided the Inner
Chamber from the surrounding aisle, which was a step lower. The
gentlewomen had their apartments along the side or back aisle, though
the flimsy nature of the partitions meant that privacy was partial at best.
Beyond the aisle, divided off by blinds and shutters and another step
lower, a narrow veranda surrounded the building. (For definitions of
general terminology, see Appendix 4.)
It was to the veranda that a gentleman would come to call on a
gentlewoman, or a messenger present himself with a message for the
Empress. These visitors from the outer world were received by the
gentlewomen, obscured by lowered blinds or standing curtains, behind
which they would sit and converse more or less invisibly, or receive the
message (written or oral) and deliver it to the Empress within. It was
only when they could be sure of being unobserved that the ladies would
venture out to sit on the veranda or wander in the garden beyond.
Barely a breath of the politics that seethed in the larger world of the
palace is apparent in the picture Sei Shōnagon presents. Among the men,
advancement in rank and title was the focus of constant rivalry. Sei
Shōnagon and her friends were fascinated, though passive, observers of
this struggle, and connoisseurs of its finer details, but they would have
been surprised at the suggestion that they should want the powers and
freedoms allowed to men: their tiny world was for them its own
completely adequate centre.
The confined life of the women at court was only relieved by the
intense pleasure of occasional expeditions. The highlights were viewing
the splendid procession for the annual Kamo Festival (see Appendix 4),
and the imperial processions when the Emperor left the palace, but
religious events such as the popular Salvation Lotus Discourses could
also cause great excitement, as Section 32 so vividly depicts. Even for
such excursions, however, high-ranking ladies always remained hidden
from view within their carriages, and observed the world through the
haze of fine reed blinds.
Far from dulling the senses, however, this dimly lit and circumscribed
world in fact vivified the perceptions of its inhabitants. Sei Shōnagon’s
writing revels in the nuances of sound and scent – the soft tap of a lid
placed on a kettle, the faint susurration of fire tongs gently stirring ash
in a brazier, or the lingering scent from someone’s incense-impregnated
clothes resonate with peculiar intensity. Visual awareness is also acute;
the glint of firelight on a metal clasp or the glow of a glossed-silk robe
receives loving attention.
This is perhaps to be expected, in a dark interior lit largely by an
occasional oil lamp or brazier fire, or pale daylight filtered through fine
blinds. What is unexpected and astonishing, however, is the vivid and
detailed visual awareness of clothes. A figure some distance away, in a
poorly illuminated room, will be recalled years later with an enthralled
description of the details of clothing, colour and fabric. It is undoubtedly
the case that Sei Shōnagon was particularly finely attuned to and
observant of such matters, as her fellow-gentlewomen point out, perhaps
rather wryly, in Section 78 after hearing a breathless report from her on
a courtier’s splendid attire, but other writing of the time makes it clear
that she was not unusual in her fascination with clothes. The question of
what people wore was highly complex and of utmost importance for
both men and women at court (see Appendix 6); Sei Shōnagon’s fine
judgements reveal the degree to which clothing mattered in an
estimation of others. Facial features, body type – such merely physical
attributes are barely mentioned in describing a person’s appearance. A
man or a woman is the clothes he or she wears.
This heightened awareness of taste and aesthetic sensibility is
everywhere apparent in the court culture that Sei Shōnagon so lovingly
documented, and nowhere more so than in relations between women
and men. Senior courtiers constantly came calling on gentlewomen, and
elegant repartee was the essence of conversations that could apparently
continue for hours between the gentleman on his cushion on the veranda
and the gentlewoman ensconced behind her blind or curtain close by.
The only men who could breach the curtain’s boundary were family
members, or lovers. Sei Shōnagon seems to have had several lovers
during her period at court, a situation probably not uncommon for
gentlewomen, but although she recorded her close relationships with
these men, there is never a hint of any physicality in her descriptions. As
with clothes, so with love – taste and sensibility, rather than the merely
physical, are the focus of interest and awareness.
Nothing revealed a person’s degree of sensibility more clearly than the
art of poetry. It would seem from reading The Pillow Book that poetic
allusion was woven into every elegant conversation, and almost any
occasion could be turned to the purposes of poetic composition. Anyone
who hoped to be admired and accepted had to be deeply knowledgeable
about the poetic canon, particularly the poems contained in the classic
poetry collections such as Kokinshū, and able to weave apposite allusions
to them into her or his own occasional poetry. Wittily nuanced
messages, generally containing a poem, flew constantly between
members of the court and sometimes beyond; these in turn required a
suitable extempore poem in response, written in an elegant hand on
paper carefully chosen for appropriateness of colour and quality, in
every aspect of which one’s sensibility and character would be displayed
for intense scrutiny. Although such exchanges of poetry were common
throughout the court, by long tradition it was the romantic relationship
that quintessentially embodied the essence of poetic exchange. A man
could fall in love with a woman on the evidence of little more than her
poems; a woman could decide to sever relations with a man if he
demonstrated poetic obtuseness, as Sei Shōnagon several times describes
herself doing in The Pillow Book.
Sei Shōnagon was a masterful practitioner of the art of witty repartee
and poetic exchange, and revelled in recording her finest moments. She
also frequently described how nervous poetic composition made her, and
with so much at stake this is not surprising. She had the added burden,
however, of coming from a family with a high reputation for poetic
composition. Her own skills were clearly in the field of clever social
verse; it was more serious composition, for poetry contests or in response
to an occasion such as the excursion in Section 94 to hear the first call of
the hototogisu (a small cuckoo whose sweet lilting call was a poetic
harbinger of early summer), that she found intimidating.
She was perfectly happy to be the one who intimidated with poetry on
other occasions, however, and The Pillow Book abounds in tales of
various hapless gentlemen’s defeat at her hands. She evidently had an
astonishingly quick mind, and could cap any allusion that came her way.
The situations that caused her most difficulty were those involving
allusions from Chinese poetry: not because she was ignorant of it, but
rather because it was considered unseemly for a woman to betray any
knowledge of it. The Chinese language belonged to the sphere of men:
their public and official writing, of both prose and poetry, was
conducted in Chinese, and their education was largely devoted to the
Chinese classics. Other sources make it clear that it was in fact not
unusual for an intelligent woman to gain some surreptitious knowledge
of these classics – and indeed the scenes in The Pillow Book in which men
are heard chanting Chinese poetry show that women were frequently
exposed to it – but it was generally frowned on for a woman to flaunt
this knowledge. Sei Shōnagon, typically, knew far more than most, and
the gentlemen knew she did, and enjoyed seeing her negotiate the
difficult challenge of cleverly responding to a Chinese allusion in a
suitably roundabout way.
From the above it may seem that Sei Shōnagon’s primary social focus
was men, and men certainly are the principal players in many of the
episodes she related. But the real emotional focus of her life at court was
the Empress she served. For all Sei Shōnagon’s clear-eyed and acerbic
observations on those with whom she came in contact, her vision of Her
Majesty was perpetually glazed with something close to adoration.
Teishi was by all accounts an enchantingly lively and beautiful young
woman, yet even so Sei Shōnagon’s worshipful attitude towards her
strikes most modern readers as excessive. But we must remember that
the Heian court was far from alone in its adulation of emperors and
empresses; this kind of adoration, which may appear to us merely
sycophantic, was for many centuries and in many lands the norm.
Teishi evidently took pleasure in Sei Shōnagon’s company, if we can
trust The Pillow Book accounts, and certainly enjoyed teasing her, at
times a little cruelly, by pretending to test her love. But Sei Shōnagon
was in fact a precious asset for Teishi, someone whose fine taste and
brilliant wit brought honour to her in a world that placed high value on
the reputation of one’s salon. When Sei Shōnagon delights everyone
with a particularly adroit and ingenious response to a poetic challenge
Teishi has posed, a gentlewoman admiringly remarks, ‘You epitomize
the sort of person who belongs in this court’ (Section 279). This was
undoubtedly true, and it should be the first thing kept in mind in turning
to the question of the origins and purposes of The Pillow Book.
WHAT IS THE PILLOW BOOK?
The final section [S29] provides its own explanation for how The Pillow
Book came into being. There Sei Shōnagon gives us this rather cryptic
scene:
Palace Minister Korechika one day presented to the Empress a
bundle of paper. ‘What do you think we could write on this?’ Her
Majesty inquired. ‘They are copying Records of the Historian over at
His Majesty’s court.’
‘This should be a “pillow”, then,’ I suggested.
‘Very well, it’s yours,’ declared Her Majesty, and she handed it over
to me.
Unfortunately, precisely what Sei Shōnagon intended by her reference to
a ‘pillow’ (makura)
3 has never been satisfactorily explained. We can
probably dismiss the idea that she meant it literally. References to
‘makura’ in other works of the period suggest that she may have been
requesting to keep the paper by her pillow for private jottings – she
asserts several times that her writing was never intended for public view,
although there is a strong whiff of false humility in these disclaimers.
Still, paper was a precious commodity, and this was a gift to Her
Majesty, who evidently wished it to be used for some purpose that might
equal or rival the work going on at the Emperor’s court, where they
were making a copy of one of the great Chinese classics. Besides, having
read this far, we will know that it is probable Sei Shōnagon was being
witty. Various puns have been suggested,
4 but a conclusive explanation
remains elusive. The one thing that is clear is that it was as a result of
Sei Shōnagon’s suggestion that Teishi gave her the bundle of paper
which became the bound book (sōshi) later known to the world as
Makura no sōshi (literally ‘Pillow Book’).
5
Perhaps we can combine several interpretations and imagine Sei
Shōnagon taking away her pile of paper to keep by her pillow and write,
in the form of private jottings and as if purely for her own
entertainment, a work that would redound to the credit of Teishi’s court
– a work conveying the brilliant wit, exquisite taste and sheer
‘delightfulness’ for which that court had become known and which Sei
Shōnagon was felt to epitomize. If this was her aim, she certainly
fulfilled it.
The question of when and why the book was written is rather more
complex than this, however. Scholars have used the reference to
Korechika’s court title in this scene to date the gift of paper to between
994 and 996. In the same section, Sei Shōnagon also describes how her
work was disconcertingly revealed to the world when she put out a mat
for the visiting Governor of Ise, Tsunefusa, and discovered too late that
her precious ‘bound book’ was sitting on the mat (though no matter how
ill-lit the room, it is rather unlikely that Sei Shōnagon wouldn’t have
been aware of what was on that mat she apparently guilelessly offered).
Tsunefusa held the post of Governor between 995 and 997, which we
might expect to give us a rough guide to when The Pillow Book was
completed. But whatever Tsunefusa triumphantly made off with and
passed around was not the whole work we have today; it contains
numerous scenes and references datable to after 997, the latest of them
(Sections 6, 222 and 273) belonging to the period immediately before
Teishi’s death in 1000. Scattered asides elsewhere in the book also
reveal that at least in some sections Sei Shōnagon was aware of an
audience, one that had begged her ‘not to leave anything out’, but that
was nevertheless likely to be offended by some of what she included. All
this suggests that an early version of the work, circulated by Tsunefusa,
met with gratifying success, and at the encouragement of her eager
readers she continued to add to it for the rest of her time at court and
quite possibly beyond.
One of the most striking aspects of The Pillow Book as we have it is
that it is an extraordinary jumble: some sections are brief while others
can be many pages long; there are lists, personal reminiscences and
anecdotes, and the author’s own thoughts and opinions on all manner of
topics, while sections seem to be snatches of scenes for a romantic tale.
Sometimes some or all of these flow in and out of each other within a
single section. Was there once perhaps more order in the work that
subsequently became irrevocably tangled and confused? Since no
manuscript of The Pillow Book survives from earlier than the thirteenth
century, and that version differs from others known from later references
to have existed before that date, we cannot know. Scholars still argue
over its earliest form, a problem that is further complicated by the
existence of four different versions of the work.
6
One argument suggests that the original impulse for the work can be
traced to the lists scattered throughout it. They take various forms, but
in the simplest, consisting largely of strings of names or objects
belonging to a given category, Sei Shōnagon’s interest is almost
exclusively to do with their appearance in or association with poetry.
Given the importance of poetic allusion in her world, such a
compendium would have been of great interest to her readers, in a way
it cannot be for us. Perhaps what Sei Shōnagon originally set out to do
was create a kind of handbook of poetic references, in the manner of
others already in existence?
The famous first section can certainly be read in this way: as a
prescriptive list of the times of day that poetically most embody the
subjective essence of the various seasons. However, although the second
section seems to set out to continue this form, Sei Shōnagon rapidly slips
into personal anecdote and extended description, liberally laced with
pithy comments, until at the end of this section she seems to have
abandoned the projected list altogether. The fact is that Sei Shōnagon’s
personality is irrepressible, and seldom suffers for long the strict confines
of a list; again and again, she cannot resist adding personal comments
and asides that sometimes lead off into anecdotes or lengthy opinions in
which her list is apparently quite forgotten. It is easy to imagine that her
readers would have enjoyed these interjections of direct and personal
writing, finding to their delight that their world was being documented
for them in intimate and exquisite detail. We cannot tell whether the
lists scattered throughout the work constitute its original material or
were intended to be a kind of backbone, but in the Pillow Book we have
today it is Sei Shōnagon’s own voice that predominates.
Nevertheless, we should keep in mind that those lists, which could
read as a quirky, personal cataloguing of names and things based on
highly individual taste, may well have been intended essentially as
catalogues of shared taste, responses and knowledge. In the world of the
Heian court, as in other conservative societies and periods, the essential
role of taste and opinion was to affirm one’s identity with others, and
individual variation was often looked at askance – a fact to which Sei
Shōnagon often reveals herself to be very sensitive. The conflicting
claims of individuality and group are always present, of course, and Sei
Shōnagon’s personality was sufficiently strong to cause her to suffer
from them. Yet much that might seem to us simply personal and
individual in her writing is really the articulation of her world and its
values.
This point is relevant when we consider the key word okashi, which is
woven throughout her work as a strong motif. Perhaps the best English
translation is the earlier meaning of ‘amusing’: that which entertains,
intrigues, delights, pleases and beguiles. Since ‘amusing’ is now a rather
chilly and old-fashioned word, however, I have chosen the more spirited
‘delightful’ in my translation. English will tolerate far less repetition
than classical Japanese, so I have frequently substituted other words
with similar meanings, such as ‘charming’ or ‘lovely’, and there are of
course instances where ‘delightful’ does not convey the exact nuance
intended. But even so, the reader may notice that ‘delightful’ occurs
with great regularity; this is deliberate, since it is important to convey
something of the nature of this crucial word’s constant, central presence
in the work.
There can be no question that when Sei Shōnagon declared an
experience or thing to be okashi it was a response of genuine feeling, but
she did so knowing that her readers would understand precisely what
she meant, and smile in agreement. Okashi is much more than a matter
of merely private and transient responsiveness. It is in essence a kind of
aesthetic response, one that can be cultivated and honed, which delights
itself by its awareness of the frisson of pleasure that an object or moment
produces, and whose pleasure is compounded by the knowledge that it
would be shared by others of cultured sensibility. Sei Shōnagon was
writing not only for but, in an important sense, on behalf of her audience
at court as she noted, described and discussed the myriad things that
engaged her interest, and the okashi sensibility is the unifying theme
behind her jumble of apparently random jottings. She does indeed
epitomize the sensibility of Teishi’s court, and in documenting her own
responses to the world she was producing a kind of exposition of that
sensibility.
Sei Shōnagon would never have considered her task in these bald
terms, of course, if indeed she considered it at all, and there certainly
would have been no talk of ‘an okashi aesthetic’ at the court. Yet she
clearly was intent on documenting her world through its lens. Even
where the word itself is absent from what she writes, we feel its presence
as the constant tenor, as much in her discussion of what fails to delight
as in the record of what does. And when we consider the sorrowful and
increasingly tragic events that began to overwhelm Teishi and her court
a mere two years after Sei Shōnagon arrived, we must be astonished that
out of this could have come a work that not only resolutely refuses to
acknowledge these sorrows, but that largely refuses to acknowledge
sorrow itself, and gives us in its place a world of exquisite delight.
It may well be, as some recent scholars
7 have suggested, that Sei
Shōnagon was consciously setting out to present Teishi’s court as forever
bathed in the rosy glow of okashi as an antidote to the historical facts
and as a way of salvaging Teishi’s sad tale for posterity – and it is
certainly true that the wild chronological confusion in the ordering of
anecdotes creates a floating portrait of the court detached from time and
history (although the author included details that would easily identify
the date of some episodes for a reader familiar with her world). As we
read, we are always deep inside the moment of experience that comes to
us off the page; Sei Shōnagon seems intent on presenting these moments
simply for their own sake, not as part of some larger story that we will
return to after these present pleasures or irritations have been savoured.
This effect is far stronger for a reader of the work in its original
Japanese than for English language readers, for whom an awareness of
time as past or present is woven deep into the structure of our language.
The language in which Sei Shōnagon wrote was capable of using verb
inflections to indicate nuances that make English verb tenses seem
clumsy; but a writer did not on the other hand need to specify any time
relationship at all, unless she particularly wished to. A narration of a
past event could make use of a verb inflection indicating personal
reminiscence, for instance, but it could, and often did, dispense with this
and simply proceed in a time-neutral verb form. This characteristic of
the language is perfect for Sei Shōnagon’s purposes. Although there are
occasions when a sudden past inflection will ground a scene inside
personal reminiscence, by and large the world she gives us is, quite
literally, timeless.
This produces some peculiar and intriguing results. In most
consecutive writing, context is usually enough to give the reader the
necessary information about time, but Sei Shōnagon’s writing is
anything but consecutive. She will often launch into a new scene
without any orienting context except perhaps some thematic or
tangential connection with the previous scene, and we find ourselves
inside it without any idea of whether it is describing something that she
herself once experienced, or that people of sensibility may well
experience, or that we are experiencing through the medium of a
romanticized scene from a tale. As we read on, we may come across a
verb inflection or some other information that answers the question, but
often we finish none the wiser, or confused by a description that seems
to slip freely between reminiscence and a floating projection of the
imagination. This detachment is exacerbated by the fact that the
classical Japanese language does not need, and very seldom has, a
specified subject to the verb. Is it I, or you, or we, or perhaps she, who is
experiencing this? The question will often seem irrelevant, for in many
passages, it is enough that the experience exists as we read, and that by
reading we too experience it.
8
In The Pillow Book, we seem to enter a
kind of entranced historical present in which we will often find ourselves
experiencing the moment as Sei Shōnagon herself does, but we are more
generally the receptive consciousness of an anonymous lady at the Heian
court.
LITERARY BACKGROUND
What traditions of writing did Sei Shōnagon draw on when she chose
the form her ‘pillow’ would take? Over at the Emperor’s court, they
were busy reinforcing the male literary tradition by laboriously copying
a Chinese classic. What could a woman, who was barred from this
tradition, produce that might in some way match that officially
sanctioned endeavour?
Although when men wrote Japanese poetry they used the phonetic
script that had evolved for writing the language (hiragana), this script,
and the spoken native language, were largely the domain of women’s
reading and writing. In the long, dragging hours when there was nothing
much to do, the women would sit together and listen to a reading of one
of the many tales written in this script that were then in circulation
among the ladies (as well as some rather shame-faced gentlemen) in the
better households. Almost all these tales have been lost to us, but they
were evidently largely romantic and sentimental, and were inclined to
idealized scenes of splendid men, exquisite ladies and affecting
circumstances. They were frequently accompanied by illustrations,
which the audience would gaze at as the words they heard brought the
scene to life.
It seems that these tales, though intended for a female audience, were
in fact largely written (anonymously) by men. But there was nothing to
prevent a woman creating one – indeed, in the decade following Teishi’s
death, this tradition would attain magnificent heights in the work of
another court gentlewoman, Murasaki Shikibu, in The Tale of Genji. We
might expect that Sei Shōnagon likewise would have tried her hand at
writing a tale; certainly, the influence both of these romantic tales and of
their illustrations is pervasive in The Pillow Book, and the atmosphere of
their world colours her perceptions and responses in fascinating ways.
Her prose itself, a form of written Japanese sometimes referred to as
‘women’s writing’ that had evolved relatively recently, and largely
through the medium of tales and letters, is necessarily imbued with the
language of the tales. There are even a few sections in The Pillow Book
that seem to be little scenes from a romantic tale, and once she appears
to begin one in earnest (Section 294). But Sei Shōnagon was too
interested in the real world and its foibles to be able to sustain a
romantic sensibility for long. Her forte was close observation and
personal comment; if she set out to describe the ideal lover, she ended
up providing a hilarious portrait of his mortifying real-life counterpart.
The romantic tale was not the genre for her.
The other possibility for ‘women’s writing’ in prose was the ‘diary’ or
private journal that recorded personal experiences and thoughts,
ostensibly purely for one’s own purposes. Men wrote diaries (nikki) too,
but they were largely dry notations in Chinese of date and event. Women
took the diary form and made it a looser, more subjective and
psychologically penetrating record of lived experience. Unlike the tales,
these diaries were not read for popular entertainment, but they were an
accepted genre of writing that Sei Shōnagon clearly drew on in her
descriptions of incidents she had experienced and witnessed. The diaries
were the realistic antithesis of the romantic tales. Those that have come
down to us, the earliest of which is Kagerōnikki (completed c. 975), give
us a very different world from that of the tales, one in which we read of
the sorrows of women condemned to wait and yearn for the visits of a
fickle husband or lover, or of the frictions and everyday events that
make up so much of life. Their finely nuanced introversion creates a
style of writing that Sei Shōnagon’s brisk extroversion would have had
no truck with. If she was going to write anything resembling a personal
journal, she would have to do it in a very different way.
What she came up with was, in fact, so different that it is quite unlike
anything known to have come before it. Scholars have pointed to the
long tradition of compendiums and catalogues that Sei Shōnagon had to
draw on when she conceived her lists, but if this is indeed how she
began, she very quickly transformed it into something much more
personal and flamboyantly alive. The Heian women’s diary form
produced masterful examples of the kind of introspection that is perhaps
a worldwide characteristic of women’s writing; but what Sei Shōnagon
produced was an extended, ebullient conversation with somebody else –
with her audience. She so engages us because she engages with us, we
meet her eye across a thousand years. Perhaps it is the letter form that
Sei Shōnagon’s overall style comes closest to – the random flow of
anecdotes and opinions and thoughts, apparently dashed off extempore,
veering impulsively from one comment or story to another, each new
turn touched off by some random association or tangential connection,
or perhaps by nothing at all. The bewildering shifts of tone and content,
the rich mix of the elegant and refined with the down-to-earth and
acerbic, produce an effect of spontaneity and intimacy that draws the
reader into a warm complicity, even when we find ourselves appalled at
her frequent snobbery and occasional cruelty.
The literary judgements of posterity, however, generally come down
on the side of the serious. The Heian women writers who are still praised
are those who evolved and expressed the sombre sensibility later
identified as aware, a feeling-tone in which responsiveness to the moving
nature of the phenomenal world derives from a recognition of its
transience. While The Pillow Book is always mentioned in any list of the
great Heian period classics, attention then often moves on to the Tale of
Genji, or to the more pensive and melancholy diaries. Sei Shōnagon’s
apparent frivolity has sometimes tended to condemn her to the margins.
The difficulty for the serious-minded and scholarly who are the
arbiters of literary taste is really not just with The Pillow Book, its
‘shallow’ aesthetic and ‘erratic’ spontaneity. Sei Shōnagon herself seems
to irritate. The earliest example is in the diary of the author of The Tale
of Genji, the somewhat morose and withdrawn Murasaki Shikibu, who
was a gentlewoman in the court of the Empress who had supplanted
Teishi:
Sei Shōnagon… was dreadfully conceited. She thought herself so
clever and littered her writings with Chinese characters; but if you
examined them closely, they left a great deal to be desired. Those
who think of themselves as being superior to everyone else in this
way will inevitably suffer and come to a bad end, and people who
have become so precious that they go out of their way to try and be
sensitive in the most unpromising situations, trying to capture every
moment of interest, however slight, are bound to look ridiculous
and superficial. How can the future turn out well for them?
9
Sei Shōnagon had long since left the court when these words were
written, but this sour judgement shows that she still rankled for
Murasaki. Similar opinions have continued to be expressed down the
centuries, and modern scholars (men) have often been equally irritated
by her. She has been dismissed by some as a mere chatterbox of a
woman, and The Pillow Book considered to be nothing more than a silly
gentlewoman’s idle thoughts spilling themselves haphazardly on to the
page. It is common in Japan to contrast her with Murasaki Shikibu, and
those who side with Sei Shōnagon in this perceived rivalry are often
characterized as vacuous and frivolous.
Given this criticism, it is all the more impressive that The Pillow Book
has always been accorded important status as a classic. Its fascination
and odd genius are undeniable, and there have been and are many
scholars happy to give it the attention it richly deserves, just as there
will surely always be new readers who rediscover its delights.
NOTES
1. Marriage customs were complex. In Sei Shōnagon’s world, it was
usual for a husband to come and go from his wife’s family home
where she remained living, at least during the early years of the
marriage. Male monogamy often was not strictly practised, and many
marriages seem to have been rather tenuous arrangements. See also
Section 2, note 4.
2. I follow the custom of giving dates without the fine calculations
necessary to adjust to the lunar calendar used in Japan then. Teishi’s
death occurred in the twelfth month of 1000, which approximates to
February 1001 in our Julian calendar. For an explanation of the
Japanese calendar, see Appendix 3.
3. The word ‘pillow’ (makura) carries certain overtones in classical
Japanese, but they are not to do with the erotic. Rather, the word
has a poetic resonance, appearing in literary expressions such as
makurakotoba (‘pillow word’, a word that conventionally
accompanies a certain word or phrase in early poetry) or utamakura
(‘poem pillow’, a word or image codified for a specific poetic use).
Some scholars argue that such connotations are important in
understanding the intentions behind The Pillow Book.
4. The most plausible is a pun in which the name of Records of the
Historian (Shiki) is treated as homophonous with the word shiki
meaning something, such as bedding, that is laid out. Sei Shōnagon
would thus be proposing that if the Emperor’s court is ‘laying out
bedding’, Teishi’s court should cap this by providing the ‘pillow’.
5. Sei Shōnagon does not seem to have called it this herself. The work
went by a variety of names until the present name became the
established one around the mid-sixteenth century. The name
apparently derives from the scene in Section [S29] quoted above.
6. Two of these, known as the Sakaibon and the Maedakebon,
variously group passages in the same general style (lists, anecdotes
and ‘essays’) separately. These are now considered to be a later
ordering of the earlier random order, preserved in different forms
and with some differences in content in the other two texts, the
Nōinbon and the Sankanbon. (See ‘Note on the Translation’ for
further discussion of these texts.)
7. Mitamura Masako is foremost among these scholars.
8. In an attempt to convey some of this effect, I have frequently chosen
to translate passages or whole sections in the present tense, and
made that anonymous experiencing subject ‘you’. This felicitously
both speaks directly to the individual ‘you’ of the reader and draws
the reader into the company of the general ‘you’ (which would be
more formally expressed as ‘one’), so has the benefit of creating
something close to the kind of complicitness with the reader that Sei
Shōnagon’s Japanese produces. However, I have given the past tense
to the many scenes that clearly mark themselves as narration of
specific past events.
9. The Diary of Lady Murasaki, trans. Richard Bowring (Penguin
Classics, 1996), p. 54.
Further Reading
Very little has been written in English on The Pillow Book. The most
important studies are:
Fukumori, Naomi, ‘Re-visioning History: The Diary-Type Passages in Sei
Shōnagon’s Makura no sōshi’, Journal of the Association of Teachers of
Japanese 31:1 (April 1997), pp. 1–44.
—, ‘Sei Shōnagon, the Ese/Essayist: Delineating Differences in Makura no
sōshi’, Ga/Zoku Dynamics in Japanese Literature, Proceedings from the
MAJLS (Midwest Association for Japanese Literary Studies) Fifth Annual
Meeting 3 (Summer 1997), pp. 66–88.
Morris, Mark, ‘Sei Shōnagon’s Poetic Catalogues’, Harvard Journal of
Asiatic Studies 40:1 (June 1980), pp. 5–54.
For a broader reading in mid-Heian literature, the following translations
and their usefully detailed introductions are suggested:
Anonymous, A Tale of Flowering Fortunes, trans. W. H. and H. C.
McCullough, 2 vols. (Stanford University Press, 1980).
Anonymous, Tales of Yamato: A Tenth Century Poem Tale, trans. Mildred M.
Tahara (University of Hawaii Press, 1980).
Izumi Shikibu, The Izumi Shikibu Diary, trans. E. Cranston (Penguin
Classics, 1969).
The Kagerō Diary, trans. Sonja Arntzen (University of Michigan, Center for
Japanese Studies, 1997). Earlier translated by E. Seidensticker as The
Gossamer Years: The Diary of a Noblewoman of Heian Japan (Tuttle,
1964). The author is known only as the mother of Fujiwara Michitsuna.
Murasaki Shikibu, The Diary of Lady Murasaki, trans. Richard Bowring
(Penguin Classics, 1996).
—, The Tale of Genji, trans. Royall Tyler, 2 vols. (Viking, 2001). Earlier
translated by E. Seidensticker (Alfred A. Knopf, 1976).
Lady Sarashina, As I Crossed a Bridge of Dreams, trans. Ivan Morris
(Penguin Classics, 1971).
Other useful background information on the period can be found in:
Dalby, Liza, Kimono (Vintage, 2001), Chapter 7 (‘The Cultured Nature of
Heian Colors’).
Morris, Ivan, The World of the Shining Prince (Kōdansha International,
1994).
For more academic works that discuss the literature of the period,
particularly The Tale of Genji:
Bowring, Richard, ‘The Female Hand in Heian Japan: A First Reading’, in
The Female Autograph: Theory and Practice of Autobiography from the
Tenth to the Twentieth Century, ed. Donna C. Stanton (University of
Chicago Press, 1987), pp. 49–56.
Childs, Margaret H., ‘The Value of Vulnerability: Sexual Coercion and the
Nature of Love in Japanese Court Literature’, Journal of Asian Studies
58:4 (November 1999), pp. 1059–79.
Field, Norma, The Splendor of Longing in the ‘Tale of Genji’ (Princeton
University Press, 1987).
Mostow, Joshua S., At the House of Gathered Leaves: Shorter Biographical and
Autobiographical Narratives from Japanese Court Literature (University of
Hawaii Press, 2004).
Okada, Richard, Figures of Resistance: Language, Poetry and Narrating in ‘The
Tale of Genji’ and Other Mid-Heian Texts (Duke University Press, 1991).
Sarra, Edith, Fictions of Femininity: Literary Inventions of Gender in Japanese
Court Women’s Memoirs (Stanford University Press, 1999).
Shirane, Haruo, The Bridge of Dreams: A Poetics of the ‘Tale of Genji’
(Stanford University Press, 1987).
Note on the Translation
A text of this age can be expected to present transcription and
manuscript problems, and The Pillow Book certainly does so. Four major
variant forms of the work exist, and there may well have been more. The
version used here is known as Sankanbon, now generally agreed to
preserve at least something approximating the work’s original form,
although it is quite likely that words, sentences, and perhaps even whole
sections have been added or removed or otherwise tampered with by
subsequent copyists. The Sankanbon text, whose earliest extant copy
dates from 1228, traditionally includes a ‘supplementary’ group of
sections that was apparently included in the text proper in a previous
version of it, no longer extant. The other main contender is known as
Nōinbon,
1 which contains much the same material but frequently in
different order, omits some passages found in Sankanbon and adds
others. The issue of the relationship of the four variants is complex, and
is further confused by the problem of how and in what stages Sei
Shōnagon might have composed the work (see Introduction, p. xxii).
My translation is based on the 1997 annotated edition of the
Sankanbon text edited by Matsuo Satoshi and Nagai Kazuko and
published by Shōgakukan, although I have taken into account the
annotations and interpretations provided by other editions as need
arose.
2 There are numerous places in the text where scholarly
interpretations of meaning differ, and here I choose my way among the
various possibilities. Occasionally, the Nōinbon text seems to preserve
the more natural meaning, and there I momentarily desert the
Sankanbon text for the sake of clarity; these are always acknowledged in
the Notes.
The translation of the poetry presents a particular, virtually
insurmountable, problem. The traditional Japanese poetic form (waka) is
syllabic rather than metrical in rhythm, has no rhyme, uses no line
division and largely depends for its effect on subtleties of pervasive
poetic allusion and other linguistic devices that are untranslatable and
require copious notes for a foreign reader (and even for a modern
Japanese one). Thus almost no element of a poem can be carried across
into English beyond the bare denotative meanings of its words, which
generally has the effect of making the poem sound mindlessly simple,
stark, or just plain pointless. In order to create at least some semblance
of what English readers feel to be poetry, I have followed translation
tradition and divided the poem into five lines, corresponding to the
syllabic 5–7–5–7–7 demarcations of the original waka. Where feasible, I
preserve something close to that syllable count, although counting
syllables in English is a mental and not an aural exercise; however,
where strict syllabic count produces a rhythm that interferes with aural
pleasure, I frequently allow a modified iambic to stretch the syllable
number into something that sounds more natural to the English reader’s
ear. Translating the words presents its own problems, particularly as the
point of Sei Shōnagon’s poetry generally lies in clever punning.
Sometimes there is a way to slip the pun directly or indirectly into
English, but for the most part I can only follow the imagery while trying
to suggest through choice of language where the pun would lie, and
hope that at least a little of the poem’s interest is thereby preserved.
Readers are referred to the Notes for fuller explanations of how the wit
works.
The early manuscripts of The Pillow Book show that Sei Shōnagon’s text
was a more or less continuous one, without section divisions. This
creates a very different and much more extraordinary reading experience
than the subsequent clerical snipping into individual sections allows.
With some reluctance, I have followed modern practice by retaining the
traditional section divisions, with numbers for ease of reference, and
highlighting the opening words of each section in lieu of a title. (For the
supplementary sections, see p. 250.) However, readers are encouraged to
ignore these divisions as they read, for by doing so they will often be
pleased to discover the subtle, tangential connections that flow
backwards and forwards across and among sections that at first appear
to be isolated entities.
An asterisk following the section number indicates that general
information useful for understanding the section is provided at this point
in the Notes. Where a date for the scene described in the section is
known or able to be conjectured from internal evidence, it has been
given in brackets after the section ‘title’ in the Notes. The reader is also
referred to the appendices for unfamiliar terms not found in the Notes –
including general terms, ranks and titles, colours and religious festivals –
and to the list of the main characters appearing in the text (Appendix 2).
The Pillow Book is written in a language that became the epitome of
classical beauty for subsequent ages, which have always looked back to
the glories of Heian culture with reverent nostalgia. However, when Sei
Shōnagon was writing it had none of this aura, and seems to have been a
written language that had in many ways not yet distinguished itself from
everyday spoken Japanese. Sei Shōnagon’s Pillow Book speaks with a
direct and vivid voice, and I attempt to convey this. I will have
succeeded if readers can feel, as they read, the pleasure of her company.
NOTES
1. Ivan Morris, in his translation of The Pillow Book (1967), chose to
base his work largely on the Nōinbon text, and the Penguin Classics
edition of his translation (1971) omits many of the list sections as
well as other sections deemed too obscure for the general reader.
2. Chief among them are the 1991 edition, ed. Watanabe Minoru,
published as Number 25 of the Shin Nihon Koten Bungaku Taikei
series, and the two-volume 1977 edition, ed. Hagitani Boku,
published as Numbers 11 and 12 in the Shinchō Nihon Koten Shūsei
series.
The Pillow Book
[1]* In spring, the dawn – when the slowly paling mountain rim is tinged
with red, and wisps of faintly crimson-purple cloud float in the sky.
In summer, the night – moonlit nights, of course, but also at the dark
of the moon, it’s beautiful when fireflies are dancing everywhere in a
mazy flight. And it’s delightful too to see just one or two fly through the
darkness, glowing softly. Rain falling on a summer night is also lovely.
In autumn, the evening – the blazing sun has sunk very close to the
mountain rim, and now even the crows,
1
in threes and fours or twos
and threes, hurrying to their roost, are a moving sight. Still more
enchanting is the sight of a string of wild geese in the distant sky, very
tiny. And oh how inexpressible, when the sun has sunk, to hear in the
growing darkness the wind, and the song of autumn insects.
In winter, the early morning – if snow is falling, of course, it’s
unutterably delightful, but it’s perfect too if there’s a pure white frost, or
even just when it’s very cold, and they hasten to build up the fires in the
braziers and carry in fresh charcoal. But it’s unpleasant, as the day
draws on and the air grows warmer, how the brazier fire dies down to
white ash.
[2]* Times of year – The first month; the third, fourth and fifth months;
the seventh, eighth and ninth; the eleventh and twelfth – in fact every
month according to its season, the year round, is delightful.
On the first day of the year, the sky is gloriously fresh and spring mists
hang in the air. It’s quite special and delightful the way people
everywhere have taken particular care over their clothing and makeup,
and go about exchanging New Year felicitations.
On the seventh day, people pluck the new shoots of herbs
1
that have
sprung up in the patches of bare earth amidst the snow – they’re
wonderfully green and fresh, and it’s charming just what a fuss is made
over these herbs, which normally aren’t to be seen at such close
quarters. Those of good family who live outside the palace brighten up
their carriages and set off to see the Parading of the Blue Roans. It’s fun
2 how, when the carriages are pulled over the big ground beam of the
central palace gate, all the ladies’ heads are jolted together so that your
hair combs tumble out and can easily break if you aren’t careful, and
everybody laughs. I remember seeing a large group of senior courtiers
and others standing about near the Left Gate Watch guardhouse, gaily
snatching the attendants’ bows and twanging them to startle the horses –
also, peeping through the carriage blinds and delightedly glimpsing
groundswomen and other serving ladies coming and going near one of
the lattice fences further in. Witnessing such a scene, of course you sigh
and wonder just what sort of people they must be, to manage to be so at
ease in the ‘nine-fold palace’. But when I actually saw them at such close
quarters at the palace, the attendants’ faces were all dark and blotchy
where their white powder hadn’t covered the skin properly, precisely
like black patches of earth showing through where snow has half melted
– a truly horrible sight. The horses’ rearing and lunging was quite
terrifying, so I retreated to the depths of the carriage, where I could no
longer really see.
On the eighth day, there’s a special thrill in the noise of all the
carriages hurtling about as everyone who’s received a promotion does
the rounds to exchange felicitations.
On the fifteenth day, the day of the full moon, a delightful scene
always takes place in the houses of the nobility after the festival food is
served. Both the senior and junior gentlewomen of the house go about
looking for a chance to strike each other with gruel sticks,
3 constantly
glancing behind them to make sure they aren’t hit themselves. It’s
marvellous fun when someone manages somehow to get in a strike, and
everyone bursts into delighted peals of laughter – though you can
certainly see why the poor victim herself feels upset.
A young man has recently begun to call on his new wife.
4 Now it’s
time for him to set off for the palace, and lurking in the background
peeping out is one of her gentlewomen, gleefully self-important and
struggling to contain herself till he leaves. The gentlewomen who are
sitting gathered around the girl all smile, realizing perfectly well what’s
going on, but she secretly motions them to stay quiet. Meanwhile, the
girl sits there innocently, seeming to have noticed nothing. Then up
comes the gentlewoman, with some excuse such as ‘I’ll just pick this up’,
darts over and strikes her and runs off, while everyone collapses in
laughter. The young man doesn’t take it amiss but smiles amiably, and
as for the girl, it’s quite charming to see that though she doesn’t seem
particularly surprised, she is nevertheless blushing slightly.
The gentlewomen strike each other too, and I gather men even get
struck sometimes. It’s also amusing to witness someone for some reason
lose her temper and burst into tears, and roundly abuse whoever has
struck her. Even the more exalted people in the palace join in the day’s
fun.
There’s a charming scene in the palace at the time of the Spring
Appointments List. It’s snowing and everything’s icy, and men of the
fourth and fifth ranks are walking about holding their letters requesting
promotion. The youthful, high-spirited ones inspire you with confidence
in them, but there are also old white-haired fellows who go around
confiding in people, in hopes that this will improve their chances. They
approach some gentlewoman and obliviously set about singing their own
praises to her, and they can have no idea that some of the younger
gentlewomen are busy imitating them and laughing behind their back.
‘Do please mention me favourably to the Emperor or Empress,’ they
implore us – and it’s a fine thing if they actually gain the post they want,
but really most pathetic when they fail.
The third day of the third month is full of the soft sunshine of spring.
Now is the time when the peach trees begin to bloom, and of course the
willows too are particularly lovely at this time. It’s charming to see the
buds still cocooned in their sheaths like silkworms – but on the other
hand, once the leaves have opened they’re rather unpleasant.
If you break off a branch of splendidly flowering cherry and arrange it
in a large flower vase, the effect is delightful. And it’s particularly
charming if a gentleman, be it one of Her Majesty’s brothers or a normal
guest, is seated nearby engaged in conversation, wearing a cloak in the
cherry-blossom combination with undersleeves displayed.
And how delightful it all is at the time of the Festival
5
in the fourth
month! The court nobles and senior courtiers in the festival procession
are only distinguishable by the different degrees of colour of their formal
cloaks, and the robes beneath are all of a uniform white, which produces
a lovely effect of coolness. The leaves of the trees have not yet reached
their full summer abundance but are still a fresh young green, and the
sky’s clarity, untouched by either the mists of spring or autumn’s fogs,
fills you with inexplicable pleasure. And when it clouds a little in the
evening or at night, how unbearably lovely then to hear from far in the
distance the muted call of a hototogisu, sounding so faint you almost
doubt your ears.
It’s delightful, as the day of the Festival approaches, to see the
attendants going to and fro carrying tight rolls of dark leaf-green or
lavender fabric,
6 wrapped lightly in just a touch of paper. Patterning
effects such as graded dye and dapple dye strike you as unusually
beautiful at this time.
The little girls who will be in the procession are also enchanting.
They’ve already washed their hair and done it nicely, but they may still
be wearing their everyday threadbare and rumpled clothes, and they trot
around full of excited anticipation, crying ‘Rethread my high clogs for
me!’ or ‘Sew up the soles of my shoes!’ But for all their boisterous
posturing and prancing, once they’re dressed up in their festival finery
they suddenly begin parading about with great solemnity, like selfimportant priests at the head of some dignified procession, no doubt
starting to feel thoroughly nervous. It’s also touching to see, in the
festival procession, a parent or aunt or perhaps an
Cloak
older sister accompanying the little girls and carefully tending their
clothing as they walk.
When you see a man who’s set his heart on becoming Chamberlain,
but who’s in no position to achieve his goal just yet, dressed specially in
the Chamberlain’s green formal cloak
7
for the day of the Festival, you
wish for his sake he didn’t have to take it off again. It’s a pity that it
isn’t damask like the real one, however.
[3] Though it’s the same it sounds different – The language of priests.
Men’s language. Women’s language.
Commoners always use too many words when they speak.
[4]* It breaks my heart to think of parents sending a beloved son into the
priesthood. Poor priests, they’re not the unfeeling lumps of wood that
people take them for. They’re despised for eating that dreadful monastic
food, and their sleeping arrangements are no better. A young priest must
naturally be full of curiosity, and how could he resist the forbidden urge
to peep into a room, especially if there’s a woman in there? But this is
criticized as disgraceful too.
Exorcist priests
1 have an even harder life. If they ever nod off,
exhausted from their long labours, people complain that they do nothing
but sleep. How constrained and miserable this must make them feel!
Well, this is how things used to be, anyway. These days, in fact, priests
lead a much easier life.
[5]* When the Empress moved to the home of Senior Steward Narimasa, he
had his east gate specially upgraded to a four-pillared one, through
which her palanquin was carried when she arrived. We gentlewomen
were to have our carriages driven in through the north gate, and since
we knew there would be no guards in place there yet, and were blithely
assuming that the carriages would be drawn right up to the veranda
where we could disembark in private, those of us whose hair was a mess
didn’t really bother to make ourselves look presentable. But the gate
turned out to be too small for our palm-leaf carriages to pass through, so
they ended up laying down the usual matting from the gate and we had
to get down and walk after all. It was all very distressing and infuriating,
but it couldn’t be helped. And to add to our exasperation, the area round
the guardhouse was lined with senior courtiers and lower-ranking men
who stood there watching us go by.
When I reported these events to Her Majesty, she smiled and said,
‘And do you also imagine no one is going to see you in here? How could
you all be so careless?’
‘But everyone in here is quite used to seeing us,’ I replied, ‘and I
should think some of them would actually be more surprised if we went
out of our way to make ourselves neat and pretty. Anyway,’ I went on,
turning to the others who were present, ‘how on earth can a fine place
like this have a gate that carriages can’t pass through? I intend to poke
some fun at the Senior Steward about it when he comes in.’
No sooner had I spoken than Narimasa indeed arrived. ‘Please pass
these to Her Majesty,’ he said, handing her inkstone and some other
objects through to me.
‘Well, what a shocking man you are!’ I said to him. ‘Why should you
go and make such a narrow gate for your house?’
He laughed and replied, ‘I make my gate to fit my station in life.’
‘But think of that man who once made his gate especially grand and
tall,’
1
I said.
‘Good heavens, how astonishing!’ he exclaimed. ‘You must be
referring to Yu Dingguo. If I weren’t a seasoned scholar myself, I would
have no hope of understanding this reference. But I happen to have
spent some time straying upon these paths, so this much at least I can
manage to follow.’
‘As to “paths”, that path of yours isn’t up to much, either,’ I replied.
‘They laid down straw matting for us, but we kept tumbling into the
holes underneath, and it all caused quite a fuss.’
‘It must have been due to the recent rain,’ he said quickly, and added,
‘Well well, you’ll come back at me with something else if I’m not
careful. I’ll take my leave’, and off he went.
‘What was that about?’ Her Majesty inquired. ‘Narimasa seemed quite
terrified of you.’
‘Oh it was nothing, I was only talking about the fact that the carriages
couldn’t get in,’ I replied vaguely, and returned to my room.
I was sharing a room with some younger gentlewomen, and as we
were all quite tired we went straight off to sleep without a moment’s
thought. We were in the eastern wing, and there was no lock on the
sliding panel at the northern end of our west aisle apartments, but we’d
failed to look into the matter. Being the master of the house, Narimasa
was well aware of the way things were set up, and he opened the door.
‘May I come in? May I come in?’ he repeated over and over, in an oddly
husky and penetrating voice. I woke and looked in that direction. The
light of the tall lamp was clearly visible behind the standing curtain. He
had opened the sliding panel about six inches. How marvellous! I was
further fascinated when it dawned on me that this man, who would
normally never so
‘He had opened the sliding panel about six inches’
much as dream of this sort of lascivious behaviour, was suddenly so
recklessly giving way to impulse out of excitement at Her Majesty’s
presence in his house.
I nudged awake the lady next to me. ‘Look over there,’ I said.
‘Someone unusual has apparently turned up.’
She raised her head to look, and burst out laughing.
‘Who is it?’ I called. ‘You’re making yourself quite conspicuous!’
‘No no, don’t misunderstand, I’m here in my capacity as master of the
house,’ came his voice. ‘I have something to discuss with you.’
‘It was the gate I was talking about,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t asking you to
make the door any wider!’
‘Yes precisely, that’s what I’m here to discuss,’ said he. ‘May I come
in? Please might I come in?’
‘How disgusting, of course you can’t!’ called my companion with a
laugh.
‘Oh, there’s a young lady in there!’ he exclaimed, whereupon he
closed the sliding panel and retreated. After he’d gone we fell about
laughing. If he was going to open the door in the first place, he should
have come right on in! Who’s going to say ‘I don’t see why not’ when a
man asks if he may enter? It was wonderfully funny.
The next morning, I went to Her Majesty and told her the story. ‘I’ve
never heard of him doing such a thing,’ she said with a laugh. ‘He must
have been attracted by that conversation last night. Poor fellow, I
imagine you made him feel a complete fool.’
Then there was the occasion when Her Majesty was giving instructions
for the making of formal wear for the little page girls who attended on
the young princess. ‘What colour should their “akomé gowns”
2 be?’
inquired Narimasa, and naturally we all laughed at him yet again.
Then talk turned to the subject of the princess’s meals. ‘I imagine the
usual style of serving would not look very good,’ he said. ‘It would be
best to serve it on a leetle
3
serving tray and a leetle standing tray.’
‘Yes,’ said I. ‘That would make it all the more suitable for the girls in
those “akomeé gowns” to serve to her, wouldn’t it!’
‘Now now,’ Her Majesty reprimanded me, ‘you shouldn’t go making
fun of him like everyone else does. The poor man is thoroughly in
earnest.’ I was most touched.
On another occasion, when I was quite preoccupied with other
matters, a servant came with the message that the Senior Steward ‘had
something urgent to impart’.
‘I wonder what he’ll say this time,’ Her Majesty delighted me by
remarking, ‘to get himself laughed at yet again. Go and hear what he has
to tell you,’ she continued, so I left what I was doing and went.
‘I told the Counsellor
4 about that conversation we had the other night
on the matter of the gate,’ said Narimasa. ‘My brother was most
intrigued, and told me he would like to choose an appropriate moment
to talk with you at leisure and hear what you had to say.’ And that was
all. I was on tenterhooks at the thought that he might bring up the
events of the other night, but he only said, ‘I shall come along to your
room presently for a quiet talk’, and left.
I went back and reported to Her Majesty. ‘So what was it about?’ she
inquired. When I told the story, one of the gentlewomen said with a
laugh, ‘That’s no reason to send word specially and call you out like
that. He could have waited till you were in one of the outer rooms
5 or
in your own quarters.’
I was most impressed when Her Majesty remarked, ‘I imagine he
thought you would be as pleased as he was, that someone he puts such
store by should praise you.’
[6] The Emperor’s cat had received the fifth rank, and was given the
appropriate title-name ‘Myōbu’. It was a charming creature, and the
Emperor was quite devoted to it.
One day its carer, Muma no Myōbu,
1
found it lying basking on the
veranda. ‘How vulgar!’ she scolded. ‘Back you come inside.’ But the cat
continued to lie there asleep in the sun, so she decided to give it a fright.
‘Okinamaro!’ she cried to the dog. ‘Here, boy! Come and get Myōbu!’
The foolish dog couldn’t believe its ears, and came rushing over,
whereupon the terrified cat fled inside through the blind.
The Emperor was at that time in the Breakfast Room, and he
witnessed this event with astonishment. He tucked the cat into the
bosom of his robe, and summoned his men. When the Chamberlains
Tadataka and Narinaka appeared, the Emperor ordered them, ‘Give
Okinamaro a thorough beating and banish him to Dog Island!
2 Be quick
about it!’
Everyone gathered and a noisy hunt ensued. The Emperor went on to
chastise Muma no Myōbu, declaring that he would replace her as
Myōbu’s carer as she was completely untrustworthy, and thenceforth she
no longer appeared in his presence. Meanwhile, they rounded up the
dog, and had the guards drive it out.
We all pitied the poor thing. ‘Oh dear,’ we said, ‘and to think how he
used to swagger about the place as if he owned it.’
‘Remember how on the third of the third month the Secretary
Controller decked him out with a garland of willow and a peach-flower
comb, and tied a branch of cherry blossom on his back? Who’d have
guessed then that he’d meet with such a fate?’
‘And the way he always attended Her Majesty at meal times. How
we’ll miss him!’
Then around noon three or four days later, we heard a dog howling
dreadfully. What dog could be howling on and on like this? we
wondered, and as we listened dogs gathered from everywhere to see
what was afoot. One of the cleaning women came running in. ‘Oh, it’s
dreadful! Two of the Chamberlains are beating the dog! It’s bound to
die! His Majesty banished it, but apparently it came back, so they’re
teaching it a lesson.’
Alas, poor creature! It was Okinamaro. ‘It’s Tadataka and Sanefusa
doing it,’ someone said.
We sent someone to stop them, but at that point the dog finally ceased
its howling. ‘It’s dead,’ came the report, ‘so they’ve thrown it outside
the guardhouse.’
That evening as we were sorrowing over poor Okinamaro, up
staggered a miserable trembling creature, terribly swollen and looking
quite wretched. Can it be Okinamaro? we wondered. What other dog
could be wandering around at this hour in such a state?
We called his name, but he didn’t respond. ‘It’s him,’ some of us
declared, while others maintained that it wasn’t, till Her Majesty said,
‘Send for Ukon. She would recognize him.’ We duly did so, and when
she came Her Majesty showed her the dog and asked if it was indeed
Okinamaro.
‘There’s certainly a likeness,’ replied Ukon, ‘but this dog looks simply
revolting. And you only have to say his name and Okinamaro bounds
happily up, but this dog doesn’t respond at all. It must be a different
dog. And they did say they’d killed him and thrown out the corpse,
didn’t they? How could he have survived after two men had beaten him
like that?’ This moved Her Majesty to fresh sorrow.
It grew dark. We gave the dog some food, but it didn’t eat it, so we
decided that it was indeed a different dog and left it at that.
The next morning, Her Majesty had performed her ablutions and had
her hair combed, and I was holding the mirror for her to check that all
was in order when I spied the dog, still there, crouching at the foot of a
pillar. Seeing it I said aloud to myself, ‘Oh poor Okinamaro, what a
terrible beating he got yesterday! It’s so sad to think he must be dead. I
wonder what he’ll be reborn as next time. How dreadful he must have
felt!’
At this the dog began to tremble, and tears simply poured from its
eyes. How extraordinary! I realized it was indeed Okinamaro! It was
pitiful to recall how he’d avoided revealing himself the night before, but
at the same time the whole thing struck me as quite marvellous. I set
down the mirror and said, ‘So you’re Okinamaro, are you?’ and he threw
himself on the ground, whimpering and weeping.
Her Majesty laughed with relief, and sent for Ukon and told her the
story. There was a great deal of laughter over it all, and the Emperor
heard and came in to see what was happening. He laughed too, and
observed, ‘Isn’t it odd to think a dog would have such fine feelings.’ His
gentlewomen also heard of it and gathered round, and this time when
we called the dog he got up and came.
‘His poor face is all swollen!’ I cried. ‘I do wish I could do something
for it.’
‘Now you’re wearing your heart on your sleeve,’ everyone teased me.
Tadataka heard from the Table Room, and sent saying, ‘Is it really
him? I must come and have a look.’
‘Oh dear no, how awful!’ I declared. ‘Tell him it’s not Okinamaro at
all!’
‘He’s bound to be found out sooner or later,’ came Tadataka’s reply.
‘You can’t go on hiding him forever.’
Well, in due course Okinamaro was pardoned, and everything
returned to normal. Now has there ever been such a delightful and
moving moment as when Okinamaro began to tremble and weep at
those pitying words of mine? Humans may cry when someone speaks to
them sympathetically – but a dog?
[7] The first day of the year and the third day of the third month should
have glorious weather.
The fifth day of the fifth month is best when the weather is overcast
all day.
The seventh day of the seventh month should also be cloudy, but the
evening sky should be clear, with a brilliant moon and the stars clear
and bright.
It’s charming when a light rain begins to fall around daybreak on the
ninth day of the ninth month, and there should be plenty of dew on the
chrysanthemums, so that the cotton wadding that covers them is
thoroughly wet, and it brings out the flowers’ scent that imbues it. The
rain ceases in the early morning, but it should remain overcast, and
continue to threaten rain at any moment.
[8]* The Offering of Official Thanks after new ranks are conferred is
wonderfully entertaining. There they stand, facing the Emperor, with the
long trains of their court robes trailing out behind them. Then they
perform their thanks and dance, with marvellous flair and vigour.
[9]* The eastern side of the Temporary Palace is referred to as ‘the
northern guardhouse’. There was a towering pear tree there, and we all
used to wonder how tall it might be.
On one occasion, Acting Captain Narinobu remarked jokingly,
‘Wouldn’t it be fun to cut it down and present the entire thing to that
giant Bishop Jōchōto use as a branch fan.’
1
The Bishop was later promoted to Head Abbot at Yamashina Temple,
2
and on the day of the Offering of Official Thanks, the
High clogs
Acting Captain was with the Palace Guards at the head of the procession.
Bishop Jōchōwas wearing very high clogs for the occasion, and looked
quite monstrously tall. After he’d gone, I said to the Acting Captain,
‘Why didn’t you get him to carry that branch fan of yours for the
occasion?’
‘You certainly have a long memory, don’t you?’ he responded with a
laugh.
Whoever said, ‘A long robe is short on Bishop Jōchō and a short robe
is long on Sukuse no Kimi’ put it beautifully.
[10]* Mountains – Ogura Mountain. Mount Kase. Mount Mikasa. Mount
Konokure. Mount Iritachi. Mount Wasurezu. Sue no Matsu Mountain.
Mount Katasari – I wonder how it stands aside?
1 Mount Itsuhata. Mount
Kaeru. Mount Nochise. Asakura Mountain – I like the line ‘now looks
askance at me’.
2 Mount Ōhire is special too. It must be because it
reminds me of the dancers at the Kamo and Yahata Provisional Festivals.
3
Mount Miwa has great appeal. So do Tamuke Mountain, Mount
Machikane, Tamasaka Mountain and Mount Miminashi.
[11] Markets – Tatsu Market in Nara. Sato Market. Tsuba Market in
Kashihara – it gives me a special feeling to think that the reason all the
pilgrims to Hase Temple stop over here, among all the markets in the
region, must be that it has some particular connection to the bodhisattva
Kannon. Then there are Ofusa Market, Shikama Market and Asuka
Market.
[12] Peaks – Yuzuruha Peak, Amida Peak and Iyataka Peak.
[13] Plains – Mika Plain, Ashita Plain and Sono Plain.
[14] River pools – Kashiko Pool. I wonder what hidden depths someone
saw in its heart, to give it such a name.
1 And Nairiso Pool – who told
whom not to enter,
2
I wonder? Green Pool is interesting too. You could
use it to make the Chamberlain’s special green clothes. There is also
Kakure Pool and Ina Pool.
[15] Bodies of water – Lake Biwa is special. Also Yosa Bay and Kawafuchi
Bay.
[16] Imperial tombs – Ugurusu Tomb, Kashiwagi Tomb, Ame Tomb.
[17] Ferry crossings – Shikasuga Crossing, Korizuma Crossing, Mizuhashi
Crossing.
[18]* Large buildings – Tamatsukuri.
[19] Residences – The Konoe Gate. Nijō and Ichijō are also very fine.
Mikai. The Somedono Palace. Segai. The Sugahara Mansion. Renzei-in,
Kan-in and Suzaku-in. The Ono Palace. Kōbai. Agata Well. Take Sanjō.
Kohachijō. Koichijō.
[20]* The sliding panels that close off the north-east corner of the
Seiryōden, at the northern end of the aisle, are painted with scenes of
rough seas, and terrifying creatures with long arms and legs.
1 We have a
fine time complaining about how we hate coming face to face with them
whenever we open the door from the Empress’s room.
On this particular day, a large green porcelain vase had been placed at
the foot of the nearby veranda railing, with a mass of absolutely
gorgeous branches of flowering cherry, five feet long or more, arranged
in it with the flowers spilling out over the railing. His Excellency
Korechika, the Grand Counsellor, arrived around noon. He was wearing
a rather soft and supple cloak in the cherry-blossom combination, over
deep violet gathered trousers of heavy brocade and white under-robes,
and he had arranged the sleeves of his wonderfully glowing deep scarletpurple damask cloak for display. The Emperor was present, so His
Excellency placed himself on the narrow veranda outside the door to
converse.
Inside the blinds, we gentlewomen sat with our cherry-blossom
combination Chinese jackets worn draped loosely back from the
shoulders. Our robes were a fine blend of wisteria and kerria-yellow and
other seasonal combinations, the sleeves all spilling out on display below
the blinds that hung from the little half-panel shutters.
Cbinese jacket, worn over robes
Suddenly, from the direction of the Imperial Day Chamber came the
loud pounding of the attendants’ feet as they arrived to deliver His
Majesty’s meal. The sound of the cry ‘Make way!’ reverberating through
the scene of this gloriously serene spring day was utterly delightful.
Then the Chamberlain arrived to report that he had delivered the last
tray and the meal was in place, and His Majesty departed by the central
door.
Korechika saw His Majesty on his way along the corridor, then
returned to seat himself by the vase of blossoms once more. Her Majesty
now moved aside her standing curtain and came out to the edge of the
threshold near him to talk, and all those present were simply overcome
with the sheer splendour of the scene. At this point Korechika languidly
intoned the lines from the old poem:
‘The months and years may pass,
but let this remain unchanging
as Mount Mimuro…’
2
– and most enchanting it was, for seeing her splendour we did indeed
long for Her Majesty to continue just like this for a thousand years.
No sooner had those in charge of serving the Emperor’s meal called
the men to remove the trays than His Majesty returned.
Her Majesty now turned to me and asked me to grind some ink, but I
was so agog at the scene before me that I could barely manage to keep
the inkstick steady in its holder. Then Her Majesty proceeded to fold a
piece of white paper, and said to us, ‘Now I want each of you to write
here the first ancient poem that springs to mind.’
I turned for help to the Grand Counsellor, who was sitting just outside.
‘What on earth can I write?’ I begged him, but he only pushed the paper
back to me, saying, ‘Quick, write something down yourself for Her
Majesty. It’s not a man’s place to give advice here.’
Her Majesty provided us with the inkstone. ‘Come on, come on,’ she
scolded, ‘don’t waste time racking your brains. Just quickly jot down
any ancient poem that comes to you on the spur of the moment. Even
something hackneyed will do.’ I’ve no idea why we should have felt so
daunted by the task, but we all found ourselves blushing deeply, and our
minds went quite blank. Despite their protestations, some of the senior
gentlewomen managed to produce two or three poems on spring themes
such as blossoms and so forth, and then my turn came. I wrote down the
poem:
With the passing years
My years grow old upon me
yet when I see
this lovely flower of spring
this lovely flower of spring
I forget age and time.
3
but I changed ‘flower of spring’ to ‘your face, my lady’.
Her Majesty ran her eye over the poems, remarking, ‘I just wanted to
discover what was in your hearts.’
‘In the time of Retired Emperor Enyū,’
4
she went on, ‘His Majesty
ordered the senior courtiers each to write a poem in a bound notebook,
but it proved fearfully difficult, and some of them begged to be excused
from the task. The Emperor reassured them that it didn’t matter whether
their calligraphy was skilful or otherwise, nor whether the poem was
appropriate to the occasion, and finally after a great deal of trouble they
all managed to produce something. Our present Regent,
5 who was
Captain Third Rank at the time, wrote the following poem:
“As the tide that swells
in Izumo’s Always Bay
so always and always
oh how my heart swells and fills
deep with love to think of you.”
6
but he changed the last line to read “deep with trust in you, my lord”,
and His Majesty was full of praise for him.’
When I heard this, I felt a sudden sweat break out all over me. I do
think, though, that that poem of mine isn’t the sort of thing a young
person could have come up with.
7 Even people who can usually turn
out a fine poem found themselves for some reason at a loss that day, and
several made mistakes in their writing.
There was also the occasion when Her Majesty placed a bound book of
Kokinshū poems in front of her, and proceeded to read out the opening
lines of various poems and ask us to complete them. Why on earth did
we keep stumbling over the answers, even for poems we’d engraved on
our memories day in and day out? Saishō only managed about ten.
Others could produce only five or six, and really, you’d think they could
simply have admitted that they couldn’t recall them. But no, they kept
agonizing over the task. ‘But we can’t be so rude as to refuse point-blank
to answer,’ they wailed, ‘when Her Majesty has been so good as to put
the question to us’, which I found rather amusing.
Her Majesty then read out the complete poem for each of those that
nobody had been able to answer, marking them with a bookmark, and
everyone groaned, ‘Oh of course I knew that one! Why am I being so
stupid today?’ Some of us had copied out the Kokinshū many times, and
should really have known it all by heart.
‘As I’m sure you are all aware,’ Her Majesty began, ‘the lady known as
the Senyōden Consort,
8 High Consort in the reign of Emperor
Murakami, was the daughter of the Minister of the Left, of the Smaller
Palace of the First Ward. When she was still a girl, her father gave her
the following advice: “First, you must study calligraphy. Next, you must
determine to outshine everyone in your skill on the seven-stringed kin.
And you must also make it your study to commit to memory all the
poems in the twenty volumes of the Kokinshū.”
‘Now the Emperor had learned of this, so one day, when he was kept
from his usual duties by an abstinence, he took a copy of the Kokinshū to
the High Consort’s quarters, and set up a standing curtain between them.
She found this unusual behaviour rather odd, and when he opened a
book and began asking her to recite the poem that so-and-so had written
on such-and-such a date and occasion, she was intrigued to realize what
he was up to – though on the other hand, she would also have been
dreadfully nervous that there might be some which she would forget or
misquote. He called in two or three of his gentlewomen who were wellversed in poetry, and had them extract the answers from her, and keep
count of her mistakes with go counters. It must have been a wonderful
scene to witness. I do envy them all, even the people who were merely
serving on this occasion.
‘Well, he pressed her to go on answering, and she went through them
making not a single mistake, though she cleverly gave just enough of
each poem to show she knew it, and didn’t try to complete them. His
Majesty decided he would call a halt just as soon as she made a mistake,
and as she went on and on he even began to get rather irritated, but they
reached the tenth volume and still she hadn’t made a single slip. “This
has been quite futile,” he finally declared, and he put a marker in the
book and retired to another room to sleep. All very wonderful it was.
‘When he awoke many hours later, he decided that it would never do
to leave the matter hanging, and moreover it had better be done that
day, since she might refresh her memory with another copy of the work
if he left it till tomorrow. So he produced the remaining ten volumes,
had the lamps lit and proceeded to work his way through the rest of the
poems until long into the night. But she never made a single mistake.
‘Meanwhile, word was sent to her father that the Emperor had
returned to her quarters and that the test was continuing. The Minister
flew into a panic with worry that she might fail the test; he ordered
numerous sutras to be said for her,
9 while he placed himself facing the
direction of the palace and spent the entire night in heartfelt prayer.
Altogether a fascinating and moving story,’ Her Majesty remarked in
conclusion.
His Majesty too heard the tale with admiration. ‘I wouldn’t be able to
manage more than three or four volumes myself,’ he remarked.
‘In the old days, even the most inconsequential people were
impressive. You don’t hear such stories these days, do you,’ everyone
agreed, and all the Empress’s gentlewomen, and those who served the
Emperor and were permitted to visit the Empress’s quarters, gathered
round and began talking. It was indeed a scene to fill the heart with ease
and delight.
[21] Women without prospect, who lead dull earnest lives and rejoice in
their petty little pseudo-pleasures, I find quite depressing and despicable.
People of any standing ought to give their daughters a taste of society.
They should show them the world and let them become familiar with its
ways, by serving as attendants at the palace or other such positions.
I can’t bear men who consider women who serve at court to be
frivolous and unseemly. Though mind you, one can see why they would.
From His Majesty the Emperor, whose name can barely be spoken for
reverence, to the court nobles and senior courtiers, not to mention
people of the fourth and fifth rank of course, there would be very few
men who don’t catch sight of us at some point. And have you ever heard
tell of a lady who served at court shyly hiding herself from her own
servants or others who came from her house, let alone palace maids,
latrine cleaners, and general dolts and nobodies? A gentleman wouldn’t
come across as many people as we gentlewomen do – though probably
they do while they’re at court, it’s true.
I can see why a lady who has served at court could be considered less
than suitably refined when she’s later installed as someone’s wife and is
treated with due respect. But surely there’s considerable honour in being
called Chief Gentlewoman, and sometimes going to the palace and
taking part in festival processions.
And she’s in a still finer position once she’s left court service and
settled down at home. If her husband is a Provincial Governor and the
family is chosen to provide one of the Gosechi dancers, she won’t make
a fool of herself with the kind of stupid, boorish questions that country
people ask. Now that really is refinement, surely.
[22] Dispiriting things – A dog howling in the middle of the day. The sight
in spring of a trap for catching winter fish. Robes in the plum-pink
combination, when it’s now the third or fourth month. An ox keeper
whose ox has died. A birthing hut where the baby has died. A square
brazier or a hearth with no fire lit in it. A scholar whose wife has a
string of daughters.
1
A household that doesn’t treat you hospitably, though you’re there
because of a directional taboo – this is particularly dispiriting if it
happens to be at one of the season changes.
A letter from the provinces that arrives without any accompanying
gift. You might say the same for a letter sent from inside the capital, but
this would contain plenty of things you wanted to hear about and
interesting news, which makes it a very fine thing to receive in fact.
You’ve taken special care to send off a beautiful, carefully written
letter, and you’re eagerly awaiting the reply – time passes, it seems
awfully long in coming, and then finally your own elegantly folded or
knotted letter is brought back, now horribly soiled and crumpled and
with no sign remaining of the brush stroke that sealed it. ‘There was no
one in’, you’re told, or ‘They couldn’t accept it on account of an
abstinence.’ This is dreadfully dispiriting.
A carriage is sent off to fetch someone you’re sure is going to come.
You wait, and finally there’s the sound of the carriage returning. ‘It must
be her,’ you think, and everyone in the house goes out to see – but the
driver is already dragging the carriage back into its shed. He drops the
shafts with a noisy clatter. ‘What happened?’ you ask. ‘She’s going
somewhere else today, so she won’t be coming,’ he replies offhandedly,
then he hauls out the harness and off he goes.
It’s also very dispiriting when a man stops coming to visit his wife at
her home. It’s a great shame if he’s gone off with a lady of good family
who serves at court, and the wife sits moping at home, feeling ashamed
and humiliated.
A little child’s nurse has gone out, promising that she won’t be long.
You do your best to keep the child entertained and comforted, but when
you send word saying ‘please hurry’, back comes a message to the effect
that she won’t be able to return this evening. This is not just dispiriting,
it’s downright hateful.
It’s even more dispiriting for a man when a woman fails to visit him.
2
And when the night has grown late at his house and suddenly he hears a
subdued knock at the gate, and with beating heart he sends to find out
who it is, only to have the servant return and announce the name of
some other, boring person, well the word ‘dispiriting’ doesn’t begin to
cover it.
An exorcist priest comes to quell a spirit that has possessed a member
of the household. With a confident air he hands the medium the rosary
and the other paraphernalia to induce possession, and sets about his
incantations in a high, strained, cicada-like chant. But there’s no sign of
the spirit shifting, and the medium fails to be possessed by the Guardian
Deity.
3 Everyone who’s gathered to pray, men and women both, begins
to find this rather odd. The exorcist chants on until the change of watch
two hours later, when he finally stops, exhausted. ‘Get up,’ he says to
the medium as he retrieves the rosary. ‘The spirit just won’t budge’, and
running his hand back from his forehead over his bald head he declares,
‘Oh dear, the exorcism was quite futile.’ Whereupon he lets out a yawn,
leans back against some nearby object and falls asleep. It’s truly awful
for him when someone not especially important comes over to him,
though he’s feeling dreadfully sleepy, and prods him awake and forces
him into a conversation.
Then there’s the house of a man who has failed to receive a post in the
recent Appointments List. Word had it that he was certain to get one this
year, and all his former retainers, who have scattered far and wide or are
now living off in the country side somewhere, have gathered at his
house in anticipation. His courtyard is crammed with the coming and
going of their carriages and the tangle of their shafts; if he sets off on an
excursion they all jostle to accompany him; and they eat, drink and
clamour their way through the days as they wait
4 – but as the last day
dawns, there’s still no knock at the gate. ‘How odd,’ they think, and as
they sit straining to catch the sound, they hear the cries of the outriders
as the court nobles emerge from the palace at the close of the
Appointments ceremonies. The underlings who have spent a chilly night
shivering outside the palace waiting to hear the news come trudging
back dejectedly, and no one can even bring himself to ask them what
happened. When some outsider inquires, ‘What appointment did your
master receive?’ they always reply evasively, ‘Oh, he’s the former
Governor of So-and-so.’
All those who really rely on him feel quite devastated. As morning
comes, a few among the people who’ve been packed in together waiting
begin to creep stealthily away. Those who’ve been many years in his
service, however, can’t bring themselves to leave his side so lightly. It’s
terribly touching to see them weaving solemnly about as they pace the
room, hopefully counting on their fingers the Provincial Governorships
due to come to the end of their term the following year.
There are also those times when you send someone a poem you’re
rather pleased with, and fail to receive one in reply. Of course there’s no
more to be done about it if it’s to a man you care for.
5 Even so, you do
lose respect for someone who doesn’t produce any response to your
tasteful seasonal references. It also dampens the spirit when you’re
leading a heady life in the swim of things and you receive some boring
little old-fashioned poem that reeks of the longueurs of the writer, whose
time hangs heavy on her hands.
You have a particularly fine fan intended for some ceremonial event,
and you hand this precious thing to a person who you trust will treat it
well, but when the day arrives it comes back to you with something
quite unforeseen painted on it.
6
A messenger delivers a congratulatory birth gift or a farewell present,
and isn’t given any gift in repayment. Messengers should always be
given something, such as decorative herbal balls or New Year haremallets, even if they’re only delivering some object of no permanent use.
If he receives something when he’s not expecting to, he will feel
thoroughly pleased that he made the delivery. However, it’s particularly
dispiriting when he’s come feeling sure he’ll receive something for this
errand, and his excited hopes are dashed.
A house where four or five years have passed since they brought in a
husband but there’s still been no joyous birth celebration is most
depressing.
A couple has already produced numerous children, all now adult, and
indeed of an age at which there could even be grandchildren crawling
about, yet the two parents are indulging in a ‘daytime nap’.
7
It’s
dispiriting for the children who witness this, with nowhere to turn while
their parents are off behind closed doors.
The purificatory hot bath that you have to get up to take on New
Year’s Eve is not merely dispiriting, it’s downright irritating.
Rain all day on New Year’s Eve. Perhaps this is what’s meant by the
expression ‘a single day of purificatory abstinence’.
8
[23] Occasions that induce half-heartedness – The religious services on
days of Buddhist fasting. Preparations for something still far in the
future. Long periods of seclusion at a temple.
[24] Things people despise – A crumbling earth wall.
1 People who have a
reputation for being exceptionally good-natured.
[25] Infuriating things – A guest who arrives when you have something
urgent to do, and stays talking for ages. If it’s someone you don’t have
much respect for, you can simply send them away and tell them to come
back later, but if it’s a person with whom you feel you must stand on
ceremony, it’s an infuriating situation.
A hair has got on to your inkstone and you find yourself grinding it in
with the inkstick. Also, the grating sound when a bit of stone gets
ground in with the ink.
Someone suddenly falls ill, and an exorcist is sent for. They don’t find
him in the usual place, and a tedious amount of time is spent waiting
while they go around in search of him. Finally they manage to locate
him, and with great relief you set him to performing the exorcism rites –
however, the recent exertions of exorcising some other possessing spirit
seem to have worn him out, for no sooner does he sit down and start in
on the chanting than his voice grows drowsy. This is utterly infuriating.
A very ordinary person, who beams inanely as she prattles on and on.
People who sit warming themselves at a brazier, stretching their hands
out over it and endlessly turning them this way and that. Now have you
ever come across a young person acting in this unattractive fashion? But
it seems that as they get older, people will even start propping their feet
up to warm them on the edge of the brazier, and rubbing them together
as they talk. When they come to visit, such people will first fan the area
where they intend to sit, to sweep away any dust; then when they do
settle down they can’t sit still but keep shifting about on their haunches;
and they also tuck their hunting costume in under their knees.
1 You
might think that such men are all unspeakably lowly types, but I’ve even
heard of people of considerable status who do such things – men such as
the Commissioner of Ceremonial, for instance.
It’s also quite disgusting to witness men getting noisy and boisterous
in their cups, groping round inside their mouth with a finger or wiping
their whiskers if they have them, and forcing the saké cup on others. ‘Go
on, have another!’ they’ll cry, and they wriggle and squirm and wag
their heads, and pull down the corners of their mouths in a grimace, and
generally perform just like a child singing ‘Going to See the Governor’.
2
I’ve seen even truly great men behave in this way, and I must say I find
it most offputting.
I also really hate the way some people go about envying others,
bemoaning their own lot in life, demanding to be let in on every trivial
little thing, being venomous about someone who won’t tell them what
they want to know, and passing on their own dramatized version of
some snippet of rumour they’ve heard, while making out that they knew
it all along.
Reed blinds
A baby who cries when you’re trying to hear something. A flock of
crows clamouring raucously, all flying around chaotically with noisily
flapping wings. A dog that discovers a clandestine lover as he comes
creeping in, and barks.
A man you’ve had to conceal in some unsatisfactory hiding place, who
then begins to snore. Or, a man comes on a secret visit wearing a
particularly tall lacquered cap, and of course as he scuttles in hastily he
manages to knock it against something with a loud bump. I also hate it
when a rough reed blind catches on the head as someone passes
underneath, and makes that scratchy noise. And if someone lowers the
weighted bottom of one of the fine reed blinds
3
too roughly, you can
clearly hear the knock as it falls – if you raise it carefully as you go
through, it won’t make a sound. It’s also ridiculous the way people will
push open a wooden sliding door so roughly. Surely it wouldn’t make
that clatter if they’d lift it a little as they push. Sliding panel doors will
also make a distinct rattling noise if you open them clumsily.
You’ve just settled sleepily into bed when a mosquito announces itself
with that thin little wail, and starts flying round your face. It’s horrible
how you can feel the soft wind of its tiny wings.
People who go about in a carriage with squeaky wheels are very
irritating. It makes you wonder irately if they’re deaf. And if you find
yourself riding in one you’ve borrowed from someone, you even begin to
loathe its owner.
Someone who butts in when you’re talking and smugly provides the
ending herself. Indeed anyone who butts in, be they child or adult, is
most infuriating.
It’s also very annoying when you’ve made a fuss over some children
who have come on a passing visit, and gone out of your way to give
them things they’ll like, and now they’ve come to expect this treatment
and start constantly turning up and running around knocking things
over.
I hate it when, either at home or at the palace, someone comes calling
whom you’d rather not see and you pretend to be asleep, but then a
well-meaning member of the household comes along and shakes you
awake with a look of disapproval at how you’ve dozed off.
Some newcomer steps in and starts interfering and lecturing the old
hands as if she knows it all. This is quite infuriating.
A man you’re in a relationship with speaks admiringly of some woman
who was once his lover. This rankles even if the affair is now safely in
the past, and you can imagine how much more enraging it would be if
she were actually a current lover of his. Still, there are also some
situations in which it doesn’t really bother you.
A person who says something auspicious if they sneeze.
4
In general,
anyone other than the master of a household who sneezes loudly is
irritating.
Fleas are also infuriating things. They dance about under your clothes
so vigorously that you almost expect them to raise your skirts with their
leaping.
A chorus of dogs howling on and on is quite hair-raisingly horrible.
And I hate people who don’t close a door that they’ve opened to go in
or out.
[26]* Things that make your heart beat fast – A sparrow with nestlings.
Going past a place where tiny children are playing. Lighting some fine
incense and then lying down alone to sleep. Looking into a Chinese
mirror that’s a little clouded. A fine gentleman pulls up in his carriage
and sends in some request.
To wash your hair, apply your makeup and put on clothes that are
well-scented with incense. Even if you’re somewhere where no one
special will see you, you still feel a heady sense of pleasure inside.
On a night when you’re waiting for someone to come, there’s a
sudden gust of rain and something rattles in the wind, making your
heart suddenly beat faster.
[27] Things that make you feel nostalgic – A dried sprig of aoi. Things
children use in doll play. Coming across a torn scrap of lavender-or
grape-coloured fabric crumpled between the pages of a bound book. On
a rainy day when time hangs heavy, searching out an old letter that
touched you deeply at the time you received it. Last year’s summer fan.
[28] Things that make you feel cheerful – A well-executed picture done in
the female style,
1 with lots of beautifully written accompanying text
around it.
An ox carriage crammed with ladies on their way back from some
viewing expedition,
2
sleeves tumbling out in profusion, with a great
crowd of carriage boys running with it, skilfully guiding the ox as the
carriage hurtles along.
Something written in very delicate strokes with just the tip of an
almost impossibly thick brush, on a lovely, clean white sheet of
Michinoku paper. Beautiful glossed silk threads tied together in a
bundle. A game of dice-matching
3
in which there are lots of matches. A
particularly eloquent Yin-Yang master whom you’ve called in goes down
to the dry river-bed and proceeds to rid you of a curse.
4 Water drunk
when you’ve woken in the night.
It’s wonderfully cheering and satisfying if a guest, a person you’re not
particularly intimate with, comes visiting when you’re feeling bored –
someone in the know about things, well aware of both the public and
private sides of life, who sits there chatting and recounting stories of
various strange and interesting and unpleasant things that have been
happening, but without going on annoyingly.
You go to a shrine or a Buddhist temple to ask for some prayer of
yours
5
to be read at the altar, and the shrine priest or temple monk
recites it beautifully clearly and fluently, far better than you were
expecting.
[29]* A palm-leaf carriage should move at a sedate pace. It looks bad if
it’s hurrying. A basketwork carriage, on the other hand, should move at
a smart pace. It’s fun when people catch a glimpse of it as it flashes past
their gateway, and as they see the outrunners hurry by in its wake they
are left wondering who it might have been. It’s most unimpressive to see
one dawdling along taking its time.
Palm-leaf carriage
[30]* A priest who gives a sermon should be handsome. After all, you’re
most aware of the profundity of his teaching if you’re gazing at his face
as he speaks. If your eyes drift elsewhere you tend to forget what you’ve
just heard, so an unattractive face has the effect of making you feel quite
sinful. But I’ll write no further on this subject. I may have written glibly
enough about sinful matters of this sort in my younger days, but at my
age the idea of sin has become quite frightening.
I must say, however, from my own sinful point of view, it seems quite
uncalled-for to go around as some do, vaunting their religious piety and
rushing to be the first to be seated wherever a sermon is being preached.
An ex-Chamberlain
1 never used to take up the vanguard of imperial
processions, and once he retired from the post you’d no longer see him
about the palace. These days things are apparently different. The socalled ‘Chamberlain fifth-ranker’ is actually kept in reasonably busy
service, but privately he must nevertheless miss the prestige of his
former post and feel at a loss how to fill his days, so once he tries going
to these places and hears a few sermons he’ll no doubt develop a taste
for it and start to go along on a regular basis.
You’ll find him turning up there with his summer under-robe
prominently displayed beneath his cloak even in baking summer
weather, and the hems of his pale lavender or blue-grey gathered
trousers loose and trodden. He has an abstinence tag attached to his
lacquered cap, and he no doubt intends to draw attention to the fact that
although it’s an abstinence day and he shouldn’t leave the house, this
doesn’t apply to him since his outing is of a pious nature. He chats with
the officiating priest, even goes so far as to help oversee the positioning
of the ladies’ carriages, and is generally completely at home in the
situation. When some old crony of his whom he hasn’t seen recently
turns up, he’s consumed with curiosity. Over he goes, and they settle
down together and proceed to talk and nod and launch into interesting
stories, spreading out their fans and putting them to their mouths when
they laugh, groping at their ornately decorated rosaries and fiddling with
them as they talk, craning to look here and there, praising and criticizing
the carriages, discussing how other priests did things this way or that in
other Lotus Discourses and sutra dedication services they’ve been to, and
so on and so forth – and not listening to a word of the actual sermon
they’re attending. Indeed they would have heard it all so often before
that they’d gain nothing from it anyway.
And then there’s another type. The preacher has already seated
himself when after a while up rolls a carriage, accompanied by only a
couple of outriders. It draws to a halt, and the passengers step out –
three or four slender young men, dressed perhaps in hunting costume or
in cloaks more delicately gauzy than a cicada’s wing, gathered trousers
and gossamer silk shifts, and accompanied by a similar number of
attendants. Those already seated move themselves along a little to make
way for them when they enter. They seat themselves by a pillar near the
preacher’s dais and set about softly rubbing their rosaries as they listen
to the sermon, and the preacher, who no doubt feels rather honoured to
have them there, throws himself with fresh vigour into the task of
putting his message across. The young men, however, far from casting
themselves extravagantly to the floor as they listen, instead decide to
leave after a decent amount of time has passed, and as they go they
throw glances in the direction of the women’s carriages and comment to
each other, and you’d love to know what it was they were saying. It’s
funny how you find yourself watching them as they depart, interestedly
identifying the ones you know, and speculating on the identity of those
you don’t.
Some people really take things to extremes, though. If someone
mentions having been to a Lotus Discourse or other such event, another
will say, ‘And was so and so there?’ and the reply is always, ‘Of course.
How could he not be?’ Mind you, I’m not saying one should never show
up at these places. After all, even women of low standing will apparently
listen to sermons with great concentration. Actually, when I first started
attending sermons, I never saw women going about here and there on
foot to them. Occasionally you would find women in travelling attire,
elegantly made up, but they were out as part of another excursion to
some temple or shrine. You didn’t often hear of women attending
sermons and the like in this costume, though. If the ladies who went to
sermons in those days had lived long enough to see the way things are
today, I can just imagine how they would have criticized and
condemned.
[31] While I was visiting Bodai Temple to hear the Salvation Lotus
Discourses,
1
I received a message saying, ‘Hurry back. I’m feeling very
bored and lonely.’ I replied by writing on the back of a lotus leaf:
You long for my return,
but I long only to be drenched
with Lotus dews of Truth –
how should I leave this and go back
to that unhappy other world?
2
Indeed the sermons were so deeply moving that I felt an urge to stay on
at the temple forever, forgetting, like Sōchū
3
in the old story, the
impatience of those waiting at home.
[32]* The place known as Koshirakawa is the home of the Koichijō
Commander,
1 and I remember an occasion when the court nobles held a
set of Salvation Lotus Discourses here under his auspices. Everyone
treated it as a very special event, and we were warned that late carriages
wouldn’t be able to find room to stand, so we rose like the dew at
daybreak. The place was indeed crammed. The carriages were drawn
right up on top of each other as close as possible, shafts overlapping, and
the sermon would probably have been somewhat audible at least for the
first three rows.
2
It was towards the middle of the sixth month, and the
heat was unbelievable. The only way to induce any sense of delicious
coolness was to rest your eyes on the lotuses in the pond.
Apart from the Ministers of the Left and Right, all the court nobles
were present. The younger ones were dressed in lavender gathered
trousers and cloaks, with light-blue summer under-robes visible beneath,
while those a little older created a wonderfully cool impression in bluegrey gathered trousers and white skirted trousers. Consultant Sukemasa
3
and the others were all looking very youthful, and the whole scene was
utterly awe-inspiring and delightful. The blinds around the aisle room
had been raised right up, and the court nobles were seated just beyond
in a long row above the threshold, facing inward. Next in line
4 behind
them were the senior courtiers and younger court nobles, in marvellous
ceremonial hunting costumes and cloaks. Many of them were wandering
about rather than simply remaining seated, which was great fun to
observe. Second of the Watch Sanekata and Adviser Chōmei,
5 being
members of the household, were coming and going about the place
rather more freely. Those who were still very young also looked quite
enchanting.
When the sun had risen a little higher, Captain Third Rank Michitaka
(as our Regent then was) walked in, dressed in a Chinese-style cloak of
lavender silk gauze, with lavender brocade gathered trousers over deep
maroon under-trousers, and a shift of brilliant stiff white silk beneath the
cloak. Now you’d imagine that in the midst of that assembly of light,
cool clothing these clothes would produce a sense of stifling heat, but in
fact he looked absolutely splendid. The ribs of people’s fans were
variously lacquered or of magnolia wood, but the fans themselves were
all of red paper, so the combined effect of them was precisely like a field
of blooming pinks.
Before the priest had mounted the sermon dais, meal-stands were
brought in, and everyone seemed to be served a meal of some kind,
though we couldn’t make out what. Counsellor Yoshichika
6 was looking
even finer than usual, in fact simply marvellous. There he was, in the
midst of these gorgeous colours, such dazzling sheens of summer underrobes that there was no choosing among them for beauty, and he was
simplicity itself in his single cloak. He kept looking across towards the
ladies’ carriages, and sending messages over to them. No one who saw
him could have failed to find him delightful.
He watched as one of the carriages that arrived late was drawn in near
the pond for lack of room, and then he turned to Sanekata and asked
him to call someone who could reliably carry a message. Sanekata chose
someone and led him over to Yoshichika, who conferred with those
around him about what message to send; I didn’t hear the words they
finally decided on, however.
Yoshichika watched with a smile as the messenger approached the
carriage with ostentatious solemnity. From what I could make out, he
went to the rear and delivered his message, and he then stood waiting
quite a while to receive her reply.
‘She’ll be composing a poem I should think,’ Yoshichika said with a
smile, and he turned teasingly to Sanekata and went on, ‘you must
prepare an answering one for her.’ Everyone, including the older men
and the court nobles, sat looking in the direction of the carriage, eagerly
waiting to hear her reply. It was really very funny the way even the
bystanders all had their eyes fixed on it.
Finally, the messenger began to walk back towards the expectant
audience, having apparently been given her message, but at this point
the lady suddenly thrust her fan out through the carriage blind and
waved him back to her again. Judging from the gesture, you could only
conclude that she’d realized she’d made some mistake in the poem’s
wording, but I must say I couldn’t help thinking that if it had taken all
this time for the poem to emerge in the first place, there should be no
reason to be changing it now.
Everyone watched his approach in high anticipation. ‘Well, what did
she say? What did she say?’ people cried. But they had to wait to hear
her response while the messenger first presented himself to Yoshichika,
since it was he who had employed him on the errand, and there
proceeded to relay his message in a most pompous and painstaking
manner.
‘Oh hurry up and say it!’ Michitaka broke in impatiently. ‘You’ll ruin
the reply if you recite it with such a ridiculous amount of poetic feeling’,
and I heard the man say, ‘I wouldn’t be ruining it more than it ruins
itself.’
The Fujiwara Grand Counsellor
7 was craning in their direction,
particularly eager to hear what it was. I think he asked what she’d said,
and Michitaka replied, ‘Well, our “straight tree” seems to have got
rather bent.’
8 The Grand Counsellor burst out laughing, setting off a
ripple of laughter throughout the gathering as well, which would
certainly have carried to the lady’s carriage.
‘What did the poem originally say before she called you back?’
inquired Yoshichika. ‘Can this really be the improved version?’
‘I stood there waiting so long that I decided she wasn’t going to reply,
but then as I was setting off to return she called me back,’ the messenger
replied.
‘Whose carriage is it, does anyone know?’ Yoshichika asked curiously,
and he was just deciding to try sending a poem this time to see what
would happen, when the preacher ascended the dais. With that,
everyone fell silent and turned their attention to him, and while no one
was looking, the lady’s carriage quietly slipped away.
As I recall, the inner blinds of the carriage looked brand new, and the
lady’s sleeves revealed scarlet unlined gowns, and a figured lavender
Chinese jacket worn over an outer gown of maroon silk gauze, while
from the back of the carriage hung her expansively displayed indigoprint train. Who can she have been? But good heavens, I do feel that her
reply was perfectly fine in fact, much better than some half-baked
response.
Seihan, who delivered the morning discourse, was an absolutely
glowing presence on the dais, quite wonderful to witness. What with the
enervating heat, and the fact that there was work I’d left half done and
had to complete that day, I’d decided to stay only a little while to listen
and then go home – but when it came to the point, there were such
overlapping waves of carriage shafts piled one upon the other that there
was no way of extricating myself. Then I decided I must somehow get
out as soon as the morning discourse was over, and when I passed on
this message to the carriages behind they promptly pulled out to make
way for me, presumably delighted at the prospect of thereby getting a
bit closer to the dais themselves. Seeing me causing this commotion,
many of the men, including some elderly court nobles, sniggered quite
loudly in derision, and when I turned a deaf ear and didn’t deign to
respond but simply squeezed my way out, Counsellor Yoshichika gave a
laugh and remarked, ‘Well, well, “they do well to depart”’, which was
wonderfully clever. But I didn’t pay this any heed either and merely
continued to make my way out, quite flustered with the heat, simply
responding with a parting shot that said, ‘Surely you too can be counted
among that five thousand.’
9
There was one carriage that was present from the beginning of the
Discourses to the end of the last day. No one ever saw anyone approach
it; it just sat there, astonishingly still, for all the world as if it were some
carriage in a picture. Yoshichika declared that the lady must be
marvellously pious and refined, and wondered what manner of person
she was and how he could manage to meet her, but when the Fujiwara
Grand Counsellor heard this he said, ‘What’s so marvellous about her?
She strikes me as quite creepy and ghastly’, which was very funny.
How sad it was when Counsellor Yoshichika suddenly took the tonsure
towards the end of that month. It is the way of the world that the
flowering blossoms should fall and scatter, but Yoshichika passed from
his brief glory even before ‘the dew fell on him’.
10
[33]* In the seventh month, when the heat is dreadful, everything in the
building is kept open all through the night, and it’s delightful to wake on
moonlit nights and lie there looking out. Dark nights too are delightful,
and as for the sight of the moon at dawn, words cannot describe the
loveliness.
Picture her lying there, on a fresh new mat
1 placed near the outer
edge of the gleaming wooden aisle-room floor, the low standing curtain
pushed to the back of the room in a quite unseemly way.
2
It should
normally be placed at the outer edge, but perhaps she’s concerned about
being seen from within.
Her lover must have already left. She is lying asleep, a robe drawn up
over her head
3 – it is pale greyish-violet with deep violet inner lining,
the outer surface a little faded, or perhaps it is a stiffish robe of rich
gleaming damask. Beneath this, she is wearing a clove-tan or yellow
gossamer-silk shift, and the long strings of her unlined scarlet skirted
trousers trailing undone from below the hem of her clothing tell us that
she must have fallen asleep with trousers still untied after her lover
departed. The soft luxury of hair that lies piled in waves beside her
speaks of its wonderful length.
Nearby is a gentleman,
4 dressed in lavender gathered trousers, a
hunting costume of almost invisibly pale clove-tan, and a white
gosssamer-silk shift, glossy from what could be a crimson summer underrobe glowing through from beneath. He has slipped back his mistdrenched cloak from his shoulders, and his lacquered cap is pulled
awkwardly down over sidelocks that are somewhat bushy and tangled
from the night’s escapade, lending him a negligent air. He is on his way
home, his mind distracted as he goes with thoughts of the next-morning
letter he will send before the dew is gone from the morning glory,
5 and
wistfully he hums ‘the ferns in the flax field’
6 – but as he is passing he
has noticed the woman’s open lattice shutter and paused to lift a corner
of the blind and peep in, intrigued to think of the man who must have
recently left her side, surely the night’s dew so moving for him too. He
stands there at the edge, gazing, and at the head of her pillow he spies a
magnolia-wood summer fan, papered in violet, lying open, and glimpses
too beside the standing screen a scattering of thinly folded Michinoku
paper, perhaps of a subtly glowing azure or crimson.
Sensing his presence, she looks out from beneath her cloak, and sees
him sitting there smiling, propped against the threshold. He is not
someone she need be particularly ashamed to be seen by, but neither
does she feel inclined to be overly familiar with him, and she is vexed
that he’s seen her like this.
‘Someone special must be behind this sleeping late,’ he says, and he
insinuates himself halfway in through the blind; to which she responds,
‘I’m merely sleeping off my irritation at one who leaves before the dew
is gone.’
Well, there’s no need to write the amusing details of all they say, but
still, the picture of these two exchanging their idle banter is surely not
without its charm. He stretches out his fan to draw hers towards him
from where it lies above her pillow, leaning forward as he does so, but
her heart lurches at the thought that he might be about to overstep the
bounds and come too close, and she huddles away from him. He picks
up the fan and inspects it, flirtatiously exclaiming how stand-offish she is
being, and he goes on chiding and teasing her in this vein as the sky
grows lighter, the first sounds of people’s voices reach them, and at last
the sun is on the very verge of rising.
When the dawn mists begin to part, he finally grows concerned at the
lateness of that next-morning letter he’d been in such a hurry to
compose. Meanwhile, the man who had earlier left her side has already
written and sent his letter, attaching it to a branch of bush clover,
7 and
the messenger is hovering nearby, unable to deliver it. The paper is
heavily perfumed with incense, a delightful scent. This has all become
very awkward, and the gentleman finally departs, no doubt entertained
to find himself wondering if another man has similarly been visiting the
woman whose bed he earlier left himself.
[34] Flowering trees – The best among blossoms is the red plum, whether
light or dark in colour. As for the cherry, the blossoms should be on
slender branches, the petals large and the leaves deeply coloured.
Wisteria blossoms are particularly impressive when they hang long
and graceful, with richly coloured flowers.
Around the time of the new moon at the end of the fourth month or
early in the fifth, the sight of the orange tree’s very white blossoms set
amongst the deep green of the leaves, seen in early morning rain, is
extraordinarily moving. With its brilliant glowing fruit, like balls of gold
nestled among the flowers, it’s quite as impressive as a flowering cherry
drenched with the dews of dawn. You need only recall its close
association with the hototogisu
1 and there is really no need to sing its
praises further.
The blossoms of the pear tree are generally considered to be horrid
things, and they aren’t brought into people’s proximity, nor even used in
some passing way such as attached to letters. The pear is used as a
comparison when referring to the sight of an unattractive face, and truly
the whole appearance, including the colour of the leaves, lacks beauty
and appeal – yet the pear blossom is held in the highest esteem in China,
and appears in Chinese poetry, so there must be something to it after all.
And indeed, if you take a careful and sympathetic look at it, you may
notice that just at the tips of the petals there is the barest hint of a rather
lovely lustre. Yes, when you recall that the weeping face of the beauty
Yang Guifei, when she met the Emperor’s messenger, is compared in the
poem to the pear,
2 where it says she is like ‘a spray of pear blossom,
swathed in the spring rain’, you realize that this is after all a rather
special flower; in fact it’s really quite marvellous and incomparable.
The flowers of the paulownia, being purple,
3 are particularly
delightful. The great size of its leaves is most unpleasant – but after all,
this tree shouldn’t be spoken of in the same breath as other trees, for it
has quite a different air about it by virtue of being the only tree in which
that fabulous bird of Chinese fame chooses to perch.
4 And how could it
be spoken of in common terms, since its wood is made into stringed
instruments and gives forth all those wonderful sounds? It’s an
absolutely marvellous tree, in fact.
The melia is an ugly tree, but its flowers are lovely. They have an
unusual, sere sort of blossom, and I do like the way they’re always in
bloom for the fifth day of the fifth month.
5
[35]* Ponds – Katsumata Pond. Iware Pond.
Nieno Pond – it was marvellous to see seemingly endless flocks of
water birds rising noisily from this pond, when we passed it on our
pilgrimage to Hase.
Waterless Pond – this is a strange one. When I asked someone why it
was given such an odd name, they said it was because all the water dries
up in years when unusually heavy rains can be expected in the fifth
month, while it fills with water in spring when the year promises to be
very dry. I wanted to point out that the name is all very well when you
consider how it dries up, but surely it also fills with water at other times,
so it seems a very one-sided name to give it.
Sarusawa Pond is a very special place, because the Emperor paid it a
formal visit when he heard how one of the Palace Maidens had drowned
herself there.
1 Thinking of Hitomaro’s marvellous words ‘her hair
tangled as in sleep’, there is really nothing I can add.
One also wonders what was in the mind of the person who gave the
place called ‘Divine Presence Pond’ that name.
Then there’s God Pond. And in the case of Sayama Pond, one naturally
thinks of the interesting association of the water plant known as burr
reed, because of the poem.
2
There’s also Koinuma Pond. And Hara Pond is interesting because of
the song about it which goes ‘Oh do not cut the jewelled weeds’.
3
[36] Seasonal palace festivals – Of the five seasonal palace festivals, none
is better than the fifth month’s. I love the way the scents of sweet flag
and wormwood blend on this day, and another striking thing about the
day is the way everywhere, from the ‘nine-fold palace’ to the houses of
unmentionably common folk, people compete to spread their roof thick
with all the sweet flag and wormwood they can lay hands on. After all,
when has this ever been known to happen in any other festival?
The sky is generally heavy with cloud. The Bureau of Clothing sends
across to the Empress’s palace the little decorative herbal balls that are
hung for this festival, with a colourful array of braided threads dangling
from them, and we put them up on the pillars to the left and right of Her
Majesty’s curtained dais in the Inner Chamber. We tie them up in place
of the chrysanthemums that have been hanging there, wrapped in plain
gossamer-silk cloth, ever since the Chrysanthemum Festival in the ninth
month, which we now throw away. I wonder if in fact the herbal balls in
turn shouldn’t stay up till the next Chrysanthemum Festival, but in
reality the coloured threads all get pulled off before long and used for
tying things.
Her Majesty is served special festival food, and the younger girls put
sweet-flag herbal balls at their waists, and special sweet-flag abstinence
charms in their hair, and tie delightful little sprigs of seasonal plants on
to long sweet-flag stems with dappled cord and attach them to their
Chinese jackets or over-robes. Of course I can’t claim there’s anything
rare and special about all this, still it’s most delightful. After all, the
cherry blossom blooms every year, but does anyone find it the less lovely
for that?
It’s also rather fun to watch how all the little lower-class girls who
play outside do their best to deck themselves out as smartly as they can,
and go about constantly looking at their own clothes and comparing
them with others’, absolutely bursting with pride in their sweet-flag
decorations, till one of the guards’ children comes along and playfully
tugs them off, and they dissolve in tears. And then there’s the delightful
custom of finely wrapping a spray of purple melia flowers around purple
paper, or a sweet-flag leaf around leaf-green paper, or in the case of
white paper a white sweet-flag root. And the sight of a lovely long
sweet-flag root enclosed with a letter gives a wonderfully elegant feel.
It’s also quite charming to see women huddled intimately together
sharing the letters they’ve just received, as they discuss how to respond.
Those who are involved in exchanges with a young lady or with
someone in high places write particularly careful and elegant letters on
this day. Indeed the whole day, down to the way the hototogisu gives its
signature cry as it flies past in the gathering twilight, is utterly
wonderful.
[37]* Trees that have no flowers – The maple, the Judas tree, the white
pine.
The Chinese hawthorn seems a rather unrefined tree, but it startles
with its richly-coloured red leaves showing so unseasonably in the midst
of the astonishing green, at a time when all the flowering trees have
shed their blossom and everything is a uniform spring green.
Nothing need be said on the subject of the spindle tree.
It’s not really worth including here, but the clinging vine is a quite
pitiable plant. The sakaki is very lovely in the shrine dances of the
Provisional Festivals.
1 Many are the trees in this world, but this one is
very special for having been born to be offered to the gods.
Even in large stands of camphor trees, no other tree is mixed with
them. It’s quite creepy to imagine how all that thick dark growth must
feel, but when you think of the way its ‘thousand branches’ are used in
poetry to refer to the thousand tangled feelings of a lover’s heart, it’s
rather fascinating, and you wonder who first counted the branches to
come up with that expression.
The cypress doesn’t grow near human habitation, but the song’s words
‘this palace with its many roofbeams’ make it rather interesting. It’s also
touching to recall how it supposedly imitates the sound of the rain in the
fifth month.
2 The maple has a pretty way of sending out little fresh
leaves with reddened tips, all spreading in the same direction, and its
frail flowers that look like dried insects are also sweet.
You neither see nor hear of the asuwa cypress hereabouts, but the
branches of it apparently brought back by people who have been on the
Mitake pilgrimage look terribly coarse, and you wouldn’t want to touch
them. Still, I do wonder why someone gave it such a foolish promise of a
name.
3
It makes me dearly wish to know who this person was trying to
convince.
The privet is not a tree that should be considered alongside others, but
its tiny delicate leaves are nice.
The melia. The mountain orange. The mountain pear.
The chinquipin is interesting because it’s the only one of all the
evergreens that is spoken of in poetry as never changing its leaves.
The white oak is the least familiar of all the trees that grow deep in
the mountains. It only comes to people’s attention when the formal
cloaks of the second and third ranks are being dyed, and even then it’s
only the leaves that are considered, so it can’t be treated in any way as
an interesting or wonderful tree, but it’s deeply moving to be reminded
of Hitomaro’s poem – about how this tree becomes difficult to
distinguish in the heaped snow that falls ‘nowhere and everywhere’, and
the god Susanoo’s sojourn in the land of Izumo.
4
Whether it be plants, trees, birds or insects, I can never be insensible
to anything that on some occasion or other I have heard about and
remembered because it moved or fascinated me.
The leaves of the yuzuriha are glossy and hang in dense clusters, and it
has very showy red stems, which make it rather vulgar but interesting.
It’s quite invisible for most of the year, but it’s moving to consider how
on the last day of the year it comes into its own, if it’s true that its leaves
are used for holding the food of the dead. On the other hand, it’s
apparently also used in serving the ‘tooth-hardening’ food of New Year,
which prolongs life. And then there’s the poem from who knows how
long ago, ‘when autumn reddens the yuzuriha’,
5 which gives such a
feeling of security.
The oak is a wonderful tree, and it’s awe-inspiring to know that
there’s a god in it who protects its leaves. I find it fascinating that the
various officers of the Gate Watch are given its name.
6
It’s nothing to look at, but the hemp-palm has a Chinese feel that
makes it look out of place in the gardens of common people.
[38] Birds – Although it comes from another land, the parrot is a very
touching bird. It apparently mimics things people say. Then there’s the
hototogisu, the water-rail, the snipe, the oystercatcher, the siskin and the
flycatcher.
The mountain dove is a very pure-hearted and touching bird– they say
it can be comforted by showing it a mirror when it’s longing for its
mate. It’s heart-breaking to imagine how they feel when they sleep
separated for the night by a ravine.
The crane is a most ostentatious-looking bird, but there’s a
magnificence in the way its cry reaches the very heavens.
1
The red-headed sparrow, the male grosbeak and the wren.
The heron looks quite horrible. The look in its eye is unpleasant, and
indeed there’s absolutely nothing lovable about it, but on the other hand
it’s charming to recall how they vie with each other ‘and will not sleep
alone’.
2
Among the water birds, the mandarin duck is very touching in the
way, for instance, the pair will change places on cold nights to brush the
frost from each other’s wings.
3 The plover too is a very interesting bird.
The uguisu is made out to be a wonderful bird in Chinese poetry, and
both its voice and its appearance are really so enchanting that it’s very
unseemly of it not to sing inside the grounds of our ‘nine-fold palace’.
4
People did tell me this was so but I couldn’t believe it, yet during my ten
years in the palace I did indeed never once hear it. This despite the fact
that the palace is near bamboo groves and there are red plums, which
would make it a fine place for an uguisu to come and go. Yet if you go
out, you’ll hear one singing fit to burst in a nondescript plum tree in
some lowly garden. It doesn’t sing at night, so it’s obviously rather a
sleepyhead, but there’s no correcting this fault now, I’m afraid. In
summer and right through to the end of autumn it maunders on and on
in a wavery old voice,
5 and lower sorts of people change its name to
‘flycatcher’, which I find quite unfortunate and ludicrous. Though mind
you, I probably wouldn’t feel so outraged if it was some everyday bird
like the sparrow. No doubt I feel this way because the uguisu is so wellloved for the fact that it sings in spring – after all, it appears in Japanese
and Chinese poetry with the charming association of ‘the changing of
the year’. How delightful it would be if it only sang in spring. Yet surely,
in the world of humans, no one goes out of their way to run down a
person who hasn’t really made it in the world, or whose reputation is
already on the wane. And no one would pause to savour the sight or the
sound of some boring bird such as a kite or a crow. So really, it’s
precisely because the uguisu is supposed to be such a marvellous bird
that one’s perversely more aware of its failings.
You’ve gone to watch the Return of the High Priestess after the Kamo
Festival,
6 and when you draw up your carriage by Urin’in or Chisokuin
Temples, you hear a hototogisu singing with all the irrepressible feeling
of this special occasion – then lo and behold, from deep in the high trees
an uguisu joins in, in beautifully skilful imitation. It’s marvellous to hear
them chorusing away together.
No words can suffice to express all the delights of the hototogisu. But
though it will draw attention to itself by singing very self-importantly, it
then has an annoying way of lurking deep among the leaves of a deutzia
or orange tree and making itself virtually invisible.
You wake during the brief nights of the rainy season and lie there
waiting, determined to be the first to hear the bird – then suddenly your
heart is utterly transported with delight, as that dear, exquisite voice
comes ringing through the darkness.
Everything that cries in the night is wonderful. With the exception, of
course, of babies.
[39] Refined and elegant things – A girl’s over-robe of white on white over
pale violet-grey. The eggs of the spot-billed duck. Shaved ice with a
sweet syrup, served in a shiny new metal bowl. A crystal rosary. Wisteria
flowers. Snow on plum blossoms. An adorable little child eating
strawberries.
[40] Insects – The bell cricket. The cicada. Butterflies. Crickets.
Grasshoppers. Water-weed shrimps. Mayflies. Fireflies.
The bagworm is a very touching creature. It’s a demon’s child, and the
mother fears it must have the same terrible nature as its parent, so she
dresses it in ragged clothes and tells it to wait until she returns for it
when the autumn wind blows. The poor little thing doesn’t realize that
its mother has deserted it, and when it hears the autumn winds begin in
the eighth month, it sets up a pitiable little tremulous cry for her.
1
The snap-beetle is also touching. Though it’s a mere insect, it has
apparently dedicated itself to the Buddhist Way, for it continually
touches its forehead to the ground in prayer as it walks along. It’s
fascinating the way you find it wandering about in astonishingly dark
places, making that clicking sound.
Nothing is more unlovely than a fly, and it properly belongs in the list
of infuriating things. Flies aren’t big enough to make them worth
bothering to hate, but just the way they settle all over everything in
autumn, and their damp little feet when they land on your face… And I
hate the way the word is used in people’s names.
2
Summer insects
3 are quite enchanting things. I love the way they’ll
fly round above a book when you’ve drawn the lamp up close to look at
some tale. Ants are rather horrible, but they’re wonderfully light
creatures, and it’s intriguing to see one running about over the surface of
the water.
[41]* In the seventh month when the wind blows hard and the rain is
beating down, and your fan lies forgotten because of the sudden coolness
in the air, it’s delightful to take a midday nap snuggled up under a
lightly padded kimono that gives off a faint whiff of perspiration.
[42]* Unsuitable things – Snow falling on the houses of the common
people. Moonlight shining into such houses is also a great shame. So is
meeting with a plain roofless ox cart on a moonlit night, or seeing a cart
of this sort being drawn by an auburn-coloured ox.
1
An ageing woman who is pregnant. It’s disgusting when she has a
young husband, and even worse when she’s in a temper over his going
off to another woman.
An old man who’s nodding off, or a heavily bearded old fellow
popping nuts into his mouth. A toothless crone screwing up her face as
she eats sour plums.
A commoner wearing crimson skirted trousers.
2 These days you seem
to see them wherever you look.
The sight of the Deputy of the Gate Watch on night patrol. It’s also
unpleasant to see him dressed in informal hunting costume. That official
red cloak that so frightens people is a fearsomely pretentious thing. He’s
roundly despised, too, if anyone catches sight of him loitering near the
ladies’ quarters. ‘There could be someone suspicious in here,’ he
blusters, as he steps inside and settles down. And the way he’ll sling his
skirted trousers over the room’s incense-perfumed standing curtain is
simply beyond belief.
3
It looks terrible when a handsome nobleman is a Board of Censors
Officer. It was most unfortunate, for example, when Captain Yorisada
4
held the position.
[43] A lot of us are gathered in the Long Room,
1
indulging in some rather
rowdy chatter, when a fine-looking young fellow or a servant lad to the
Palace Guard Captains comes by, carrying a handsome bundle or sack of
clothes, with perhaps a trouser cord peeping out, or bow and arrow and
lance for some ceremony. ‘Who is it for?’ we ask, and the nice ones will
pause and sit briefly and announce the name before they go on their
way, but I do hate it when someone puts on a snooty or embarrassed air
and replies gruffly, ‘I’ve no idea’, or simply goes off without a word.
[44]* No menial position could be finer than that of the palace
groundswomen. Of all the various types of maids, they are the most
enviable – indeed I’d love to try giving girls of good birth a turn at the
position. They’re particularly impressive, of course, if they’re young and
pretty and take care to dress well, but those a little older, who know the
ropes and go about their business in a straightforward manner, also look
perfect in the role. Wouldn’t it be fun to have a sweet-faced one of one’s
own, and send her out dressed up in finery appropriate to the various
occasions, with the latest in formal trains and Chinese jackets.
[45] Among the serving men’s positions, the gentleman’s escort guard is
the finest. Even a thoroughly grand and distinguished-looking nobleman
is nothing without his escort guard in tow. The post of Controller is
generally considered a wonderful thing, but their formal train-robe is
short and they have no escort guard, which greatly undermines the
impressive effect.
[46]* Secretary Controller Yukinari was standing by the lattice fence in front
of the west side of the Office of the Empress’s Household, engaged in
long conversation with one of the ladies within, so to tease him I butted
in and demanded to know who was out there.
‘It’s only me, the Controller,’ said he.
‘And what might you be talking about in this intimate fashion?’ I said.
‘If the Major Controller happens along, she’ll turn her attentions to him,
you know.’
He had a good laugh at that. ‘Now who’s been telling you such
things?’ he said. ‘As a matter of fact, I was just begging her to do no
such thing.’
Yukinari doesn’t put on airs or go out of his way to impress, so people
take him simply at face value, but I know the deeper side of him. I’ve
remarked to Her Majesty that he’s somebody out of the ordinary, and
she too is aware of this. He often quotes that old Chinese saying
1
to me:
‘a woman will make her face up for the sake of one who loves her, while
a man will die for the sake of one who understands him’, which shows
how well he knows me too.
He and I speak of each other as ‘inseparable as the willow of Tōtōmi’.
2 Because he’s plain-spoken, and doesn’t mince his words in criticizing
things, the younger ladies are very nasty about him. ‘He’s so horribly
difficult to get on with,’ they say. ‘He doesn’t sing songs or take pleasure
in things the way other people do. He’s such a bore!’
And indeed, Yukinari doesn’t flirt with the ladies. ‘Even if her eyes
slope up and her eyebrows grow up her forehead and her nose spreads
sideways, if she has a pretty mouth, and is nice and rounded under the
chin and around the neck, and doesn’t have a bad voice, I could love
her. Though mind you, I do find a really horrible face depressing,’ he
says – so all the ladies with pointy chins or who are generally unlovely
have turned against him quite ridiculously, and even speak ill of him to
Her Majesty.
I was the first person he employed to take messages to Her Majesty,
and whenever he wants to communicate with her he calls on me even
now. If I’m in my room he will summon me, or come and see me, and if
I’m back in my own home he’ll send a letter, or even come himself.
‘If you’re returning to the palace late,’ he says, ‘just send a message
relaying what I have to say.’
‘You could have someone else at the palace pass it on,’ I say to him,
but he won’t hear of it.
‘They say that “in all you do it is wise to use what is to hand, and not
revert to habit”,’ I jokingly admonish him.
He just replies, ‘It’s the way I am.’ Then he adds, “‘The human heart
can undergo no change.”’
‘Well, if that’s the case,’ say I wonderingly, ‘what can it mean when
they say “one should never hesitate to correct an error”?’
3
He laughs heartily at this, and says, ‘You know, people have been
talking about how well we get on. Why be shy, when we can talk as
familiarly as this together? Come on, do show me your face.’
4
‘But I’m terribly ugly,’ I say, ‘and you did say you couldn’t love a
really horrible face, so I can’t possibly show it to you.’
‘Yes, I see your point,’ he says solemnly. ‘Well, if that’s the case,
please don’t show me.’
And indeed from then on, whenever he could naturally have caught a
glimpse of me he would shield his face. So he really meant it, I thought,
he wasn’t putting it on!
Towards the end of the third month, it had become so warm that the
thick winter cloaks were getting uncomfortable to wear, so men had
taken to wearing only the formal cloak,
5 and some had pared down
their formal wear to the minimal night-service wear. It was around this
time that Shikibu and I happened to be sleeping in the little aisle near
the Empress’s chamber, when towards sunrise the inner door was slid
open and out came Their Majesties together. We had no time to get up
before they appeared, and scrambled to our knees in disarray, which
amused them greatly. We managed to fling over us an odd combination
of Chinese jacket over long girl’s over-robe. They came across to the
jumbled pile of nightclothes where we huddled, and peeped out to watch
the comings and goings of the guardhouse outside. The senior courtiers
were completely unaware of their presence, and a few came quite close
and spoke to us.
‘Don’t give our presence away,’ His Majesty whispered with a smile.
Finally they departed. ‘Come along the two of you,’ they said, but we
declined, declaring that we must first make up our faces.
After they’d left, Shikibu and I were sitting discussing the splendid
visit, when I caught a glimpse of a dark shape beside the southern door,
in the gap where the edge of the blind was caught over the standing
curtain’s rail. I concluded it must be Noritaka,
6 and didn’t bother to
look further but simply went on chatting about this and that. Then a
beaming face appeared around the curtain. Still I assumed it was
Noritaka, but when I looked at last I saw that the face belonged to a
different man. I burst into startled laughter, and he quickly drew the
curtain over to hide his face, at which point I realized it was actually
Secretary Controller Yukinari – the very man who’d been going out of
his way not to see me all this time! I was most chagrined. Shikibu had
been facing me with her back to him, so it was only my face he’d seen.
He then emerged from behind the curtain, announcing smugly, ‘Now
I’ve gazed to my heart’s content.’
‘I didn’t take any notice because I thought you were Noritaka,’ I said.
‘Why have you been staring like this, when you said you wouldn’t look
at me?’
‘They say it’s rare to catch sight of a woman’s face after sleep,’ he
replied, ‘so I decided to peek into a lady’s chamber, and then I came
along here on the off chance that I’d manage
Standing curtains
to see you too. You didn’t realize I’d been here since Their Majesties
were in the room, did you?’ And with that he lifted the blind and, well,
it would seem that in he came…
[47] Horses – In horses, very black ones with just a little white
somewhere are special. Also those with chestnut markings, speckled
greys, strawberry roans with very white manes and tails – the expression
‘wand paper-white’
1
is indeed an appropriate one here.
Black horses with four white feet are also charming.
[48] Oxen – An ox should have a tiny splash of white on its forehead,
and the underbelly, legs and tail should all be white.
[49] Cats – Cats should be completely black except for the belly, which
should be very white.
[50] Carriage runners
1 and escort guards should be trim, slightly on the
thin side. This is how serving men in general ought to be, especially
when they’re young. Very fat ones look as though they’re half-asleep on
their feet.
[51] Page boys – To be properly impressive and delightful, a page boy
should be small, and have very neat hair, with a slight glint to it, and a
crisp hairline. He should have a pretty voice, and speak decorously and
politely.
[52] Ox handlers
1 – An ox handler should be big and well-built and
clever-looking, with rather wild hair and a red face.
[53]* The nightly roll call of the senior courtiers is a very fine thing. I’m
also intrigued by the fact that when the Chamberlain who gives the roll
call is in attendance upon His Majesty, he calls the senior courtiers to
him and performs it there rather than at the Privy Chamber, as is the
normal custom. We ladies place ourselves at the eastern edge of Her
Majesty’s quarters and strain our ears to listen for the hammering
footsteps of the men as they come tumbling out, and a lady will feel that
familiar, sudden clutch of the heart as she hears the name of someone
particularly dear to her. But imagine what thoughts go through her head
when it’s the name of a man who no longer bothers even to let her know
he exists. It’s fun the way we all discuss the men’s voices, and pass
judgement on how attractive or otherwise each one sounds.
When the senior courtiers’ call is finished, the guards twang their
bows and emerge with a great clattering of shoes to gather in the palace
garden for their roll call. The Chamberlain stamps loudly on the wooden
floor, then seats himself in what is called the ‘raised-heels position’ in
the north-east corner by the railing, facing the Emperor with his back to
the guards, and proceeds to cry ‘Is so-and-so present?’ It’s wonderfully
entertaining. Then they respond in their various voices, some strong and
loud, others small. If a certain number aren’t present, it’s the rule not to
perform a roll call. This is announced to the Emperor, and the custom is
that the Chamberlain must inquire the reason, and when he’s heard their
explanation he then departs. But some of the nobles once pointed out to
Masahiro
1
that he’d omitted to do this, and as a result he completely
lost his temper and gave everyone a great tongue lashing, so that even
the guards ended up laughing at him.
Masahiro once left his shoes on the ledge where the Emperor’s food is
placed.
2 There was a terrible fuss when they were found, and he
innocently joined in the general excitement. The serving women and the
others all went around exclaiming, ‘Whose shoes can they possibly be?’
Then Masahiro suddenly realized they were his, and caused a hilarious
uproar by impulsively declaring, ‘Good gracious, I do believe the filthy
things are mine!’
[54] It’s disgusting when a well-bred young man casually calls out the name
of some low-ranking woman he’s visiting, in a way that reveals his
intimacy with her. It’s much more impressive if he pretends not to have
it quite right, even though in fact he knows her name perfectly well. If
he’s visiting the apartments of women in palace service, he should really
enlist a groundsman to call her – though of course this is not a good idea
at night – and if it’s some other place then he should employ one of his
retainers. After all, everyone will recognize him if it’s his own voice.
However, there can be no objection if it’s someone inconsequential, or
a young girl.
1
[55] Young people and babies should be plump. Provincial Governors and
suchlike people who have some authority should also be on the portly
side.
[56] Little children waving quaint toy bows or sticks about in play are
wonderfully cute. It makes me want to stop the carriage and scoop them
up and gaze my fill. And what a delightful whiff of incense from their
clothes
1
lingers in the air as the carriage goes on its way again.
[57]* The central gate of a grand house lies open, and a new palm-leaf
carriage, all fresh and shiny, with lovely, glowing maroon-coloured inner
blinds, is parked there resting on its shafts, creating a wonderful picture.
The effect is beautifully enhanced by the sight of fifth-and sixth-ranking
men milling about, the ends of their train-robes tucked up into their
belts, some carrying their fans resting lightly on their fresh white batons,
and escort guards, formally attired and equipped with ceremonial
quivers, coming and going in the throng. It’s also charming to see a
pretty young serving girl emerge from the house and inquire whether
Lord So-and-so’s men are present.
[58] Waterfalls – Otonashi Falls. Furu Falls. It’s moving to recall that the
Cloistered Emperor once paid a visit there.
1
Nachi Falls. I gather these are in Kumano.
2
I find the thought of them
very moving.
Todoroki Falls. They must indeed thunder
3 quite fearfully.
[59] Rivers – Asuka River. It’s moving to wonder how its deeps and
shallows can shift as the poem says.
1
ōi River, Otonashi River, Nanase River. Mimito River – I enjoy
wondering just what sound its quick ear caught.
2
Tamahoshi River, Hosotani River.
Itsunuki River and Sawada River are reminiscent of old saibara songs.
Natori River – I’d like to know just what sort of ‘name’ it had.
3
Yoshino River. The Plain of Amano River – I love that poem of
Narihira’s where he ‘begs shelter from the Heavenly Weaving Maid’.
4
[60] I do wish men, when they’re taking their leave from a lady at dawn,
wouldn’t insist on adjusting their clothes to a nicety, or fussily tying
their lacquered cap securely into place. After all, who would laugh at a
man or criticize him if they happened to catch sight of him on his way
home from an assignation in fearful disarray, with his cloak or hunting
costume all awry?
One does want a lover’s dawn departure to be tasteful. There he lies,
reluctant to move, so that she has to press him to rise. ‘Come on, it’s
past dawn,’ she urges. ‘How shocking you are!’ and his sighs reassure
her that he really hasn’t yet had his fill of
‘he draws her out to the double doors’
love, and is sunk in gloom at the thought that he must leave. He sits up,
but rather than proceeding to put on his gathered trousers he instead
snuggles up to her and whispers a few more words from the night’s
intimacies; then there’s a bit more vague activity, and somehow in the
process his belt turns out to have been tied. Now he raises the lattice
shutter and draws her out with him to the double doors, where he finally
slips away, leaving her with assurances that he’ll spend the day longing
for their next meeting. She sits there watching as his figure disappears,
filled with delightful memories.
Then there’s the man who suddenly remembers he has someone else
to call on, leaps up briskly and starts flapping about getting himself
ready to depart. There’s a rustle and a swish as he fastens the waiststrings of his trousers, then he rolls up the sleeves of his cloak or hunting
costume and thrusts his arms in, tugs the belt good and tight, and next
there’s the sound of him kneeling down and settling his lacquered cap
on his head, with a sharp tug to the strings to tighten the knot firmly.
He’s left his fan and wad of folded paper by the pillow overnight, and
naturally the paper’s all got scattered so now he must conduct a search
for it – but the darkness prevents him from seeing, so there he is, noisily
patting around here and there on the floor, muttering ‘Where is it?
Where’s it got to?’ till at last he finds it all. Now he flips open the fan
and flaps it boisterously, tucks the paper into the bosom of his clothes,
and with a brief ‘Well, I’ll be off then’, out he goes.
[61] Bridges – Asamutsu Bridge. Nagara Bridge. Amahiko Bridge.
Hamana Bridge. Hitotsu Bridge. Utatane Bridge. The Ship Bridge of
Sano. Horie Bridge. Kasasagi Bridge. Yamasuge Bridge. The Floating
Bridge of Otsu. The One-Plank Bridge – the idea of it makes the heart
shrink, but I like hearing its name.
[62]* Villages – Ōsaka. Nagame. Izame. Hitozuma. Tanome. Yūhi.
Tsumatori – it’s fun to wonder whether he’s had his wife stolen or he’s
stolen someone else’s.
1 Fushimi. Asagao.
[63]* Plants – Sweet flag. Water oat. The aoi is delightful. It’s wonderful
that it’s been used as a sacred hair decoration since the age of the gods,
and the appearance of the plant itself is charming too.
The water plantain has an interesting name.
1
I imagine a stuck-up
person with her nose in the air.
The water burr and the beach radish. Moss. Herbs that sprout between
drifts of snow. The rock ivy. The wood sorrel is lovely because of the
woven-cloth patterns that are based on it.
Rootless plants – they are indeed precarious things, when you think
how they grow right on the edges of cliffs. The itsumade creeper is also a
precarious and touching thing, for it grows in places even more likely to
crumble than a cliff edge.
2
It’s disheartening to think that it probably
wouldn’t grow on a solid plastered wall.
The kotonashi plant is interesting because it suggests someone
accomplishing something they decide to do.
The shinobu fern is very touching. I also like wayside grasses
3 and
blady grass, and I particularly like wormwood. Mountain sedge, creeping
fern, mountain indigo, beach mulberry, kudzu vine, bamboo grass,
woody vine, shepherd’s purse and rice seedlings. The asaji reed is also
charming.
Lotus leaves are more marvellous than any other plant. The lotus is a
symbol of the Buddhist truth – the flowers are used as offerings to the
Buddha, and the seeds are strung into rosaries that have the power to
help you attain paradise if you pray with them. It’s also delightful to see
its bright red flowers floating in a green pond at a season when other
plants aren’t flowering. You also find it described in a Chinese poem.
4
The rose mallow – the way it bends to follow the sun makes one feel it
has more intelligence than a mere plant. The sashimo wormwood. The
leafy creeper. The dew plant – though I don’t care for the way its colour
fades so easily.
5
[64] Flowering plants – The carnation pink. The one from China of
course, but the native pink is also splendid. The yellow valerian and the
balloon flower.
The morning glory. Pampas grass. Chrysanthemums. Wild violets. The
gentian – the way it branches is unfortunate, but I love how it appears in
its brilliant colour when all the other flowers have withered in the frost.
Also the kamatsuka, though it doesn’t look important enough to be
worthy of particular attention, is very sweet. Its name is somehow
unpleasant, however. It’s written with characters meaning ‘wild geese
arriving’.
1
The kanihi – the flower isn’t very richly coloured, but I like the way it
looks a lot like a wisteria flower, and blooms in both spring and autumn.
The bush clover – I love the sight of those graceful stems with their
deeply coloured flowers, weighted with the dew, drooping so languidly
in ample sprays. It also has a special feel to it because of the idea that
the stag seeks it out.
2
The double kerria.
The moonflower is similar to the morning glory, and when we speak
of the two together
3
it suggests that the flower is indeed a charming one
– but it’s a great pity about the plant’s long gourd pods. Why was it born
like that, I wonder? If only they were more the size of a lanternflower’s
pods, at the very least. Still, the name itself is certainly lovely.
The shimotsuke rose. The flower of the water reed.
People complain that it’s very odd not to include plume grass here.
4
It’s plume grass that gives to all the autumn fields their particular
loveliness. Can anything be more beautiful than those rusty red grass
heads, so richly coloured, trailing low with the weight of the morning
dew? But there’s nothing worth looking at about them once autumn has
ended. After the last of the profusion of colourful flowers has died and
scattered, it continues to stand there, flimsily upright till the end of
winter, swaying about in the wind, oblivious to the wild disarray of its
white hair, for all the world like some aged crone still dreaming of her
past glories. One can only feel touched by the sorrow of it, owing to this
unfortunate image that it so brings to mind.
[65] Poetic anthologies – The Manyōshū. The Kokinshū.
[66]* Topics of poetry – The capital. The kudzu vine. The water burr.
Horses. Hail.
[67] Disturbing things – The mother of a monk who’s embarked on the
twelve-year mountain retreat.
1
The retainers who accompany their master on a visit to some
unfamiliar place on a moonless night – to avoid being seen, they don’t
light a fire but just sit there in a row, waiting uneasily in the darkness
for him to reappear.
You give a new servant, whom you don’t really know and trust yet,
some precious thing to take to someone, and then she’s late returning.
A child who’s still too young to talk throws his little head back and
bursts into tears, and won’t let anyone pick him up and comfort him.
[68] Things that can’t be compared – Summer and winter. Night and day.
Rainy days and sunny days. Laughter and anger. Old age and youth.
White and black. People you love and those you hate. The man you love
and the same man once you’ve lost all feeling for him seem like two
completely different people. Fire and water. Fat people and thin people.
People with long hair and those with short hair.
The noisy commotion when crows roosting together are suddenly
disturbed by something during the night. The way they tumble off their
perches, and flap awkwardly about from branch to branch, squawking
sleepily, makes them seem utterly different from daytime crows.
[69] Summer provides the most delightful setting for a secret assignation.
The nights are so very short that dawn breaks before you’ve slept.
Everything has been left open all night, and there’s a lovely cool feel to
the expansive view. The lovers still have a little more they must say to
each other. As they sit there murmuring endearments, they’re startled
into a sudden panicky sensation of exposure by the loud caw of a passing
crow – a delightful moment.
Another delightful moment is in winter, on a fiercely cold night when
you’re lying there listening, snuggled far down under the bedclothes,
and the sound of a temple bell comes to you, with such a deep and
distant reverberation that it seems to be emerging from somewhere
buried. And the way a cock will crow first with its beak still hidden
under its wing, in a muffled cry that sounds deep in the far distance, but
with the growing light its cry will seem to move closer – that’s also
lovely.
[70] A man comes calling, perhaps for some intimate conversation, or
maybe he’s simply turned up when there’s a large gathering of ladies
talking together behind the screens, so he settles down and joins them.
Time passes, and still he shows no sign of going home. The man or youth
who’s accompanied him peers anxiously in from time to time, muttering
glumly, ‘I’ll be waiting till the very axe rots
1 at this rate.’ He heaves a
great yawn, and says aloud, apparently on the innocent assumption that
no one will overhear, ‘Oh me, oh my, the sorrows and sufferings I go
through! Will the night never end?’ This is bad enough under normal
circumstances, but of course it’s quite horrible when the gentleman is
there to call on the woman he loves. Not that you care one way or the
other about this person himself, but his words cast a sudden pall over
your impression of the gentleman who’s seemed so engaging till now.
Attendants waiting by a lattice fence
Or perhaps, instead of coming out with it so blatantly, he’ll merely
produce loud sighs and groans, appealing to your sympathies on the
‘stays seething deep below’
2 principle.
It’s also horrible to overhear someone waiting beyond the lattice fence
remark, ‘It looks like rain.’
The attendants of the truly top people are not of this sort, and those of
nobles and suchlike people are also quite good. But the men who
accompany anyone below this level are all like this. People really should
be careful to choose someone of good character from among their many
retainers to accompany them.
[71] Rare things – A son-in-law who’s praised by his wife’s father.
Likewise, a wife who’s loved by her mother-in-law.
A pair of silver tweezers that can actually pull out hairs properly.
A retainer who doesn’t speak ill of his master.
A person who is without a single quirk. Someone who’s superior in
both appearance and character, and who’s remained utterly blameless
throughout his long dealings with the world.
You never find an instance of two people living together who continue
to be overawed by each other’s excellence and always treat each other
with scrupulous care and respect, so such a relationship is obviously a
great rarity.
Copying out a tale or a volume of poems without smearing any ink on
the book you’re copying from. If you’re copying it from some beautiful
bound book, you try to take immense care, but somehow you always
manage to get ink on it.
Two women, let alone a man and a woman, who vow themselves to
each other forever, and actually manage to remain on good terms to the
end.
[72]* Our apartments in the Long Room are a marvellous place. With the
upper shutters raised, there’s a good breeze, and it’s wonderfully cool in
summer. It’s also delightful in winter when snow or hail comes blowing
in. The rooms are small, and it’s rather a problem when there are
children around, but at least when they’re ensconced behind a screen
they can’t laugh loudly and generally make a noise,
1 as they do in other
rooms. I like the way we have to be constantly alert during the daytime,
and we certainly can’t relax at night either.
Among the continual sounds of people walking past all night, one
person’s footsteps halt, and as soon as she hears that single finger
knocking she knows immediately who it is. He knocks for quite a long
time, and there’s not a sound from within, but at last it begins to gall her
that he may by now be concluding she’s gone to sleep, so she shifts
slightly to let the rustle of clothes alert him. If it’s winter she might give
a light tap with the fire tongs, a secretive little sound to prevent drawing
anyone else’s attention, but when he goes right on knocking she finally
says something – and often enough someone else has overheard, and
comes slipping quietly over to listen.
It can also happen that, say, a number of voices are intoning Chinese
or Japanese poetry. There’s no knock, but when you open the door you
discover a group of quite unexpected men hovering outside.
2
It’s rather
delightful if there’s no room for them all to come in and sit, and they
continue to stand around till dawn breaks. There’s a brightly-coloured
standing curtain, with the ladies’ hems layered there on show beneath it,
and there are young noblemen, cloaks gaping at the back,
3 and
Chamberlains of the sixth rank in their special green. Unable to come
and lean at the sliding door, they stand there with their backs to the
wall, sleeves folded politely in front of them. It makes a most charming
scene.
Another very lovely picture – seen from outside, a man dressed in
richly-coloured gathered trousers and bright cloak, with multi-coloured
layers of under-robes beautifully displayed, sits leaning half into the
room, pressing in against the dividing blind. He draws towards him a
beautiful inkstone and writes something, or borrows a mirror and adjusts
his appearance. All of this is delightful to observe. Or again, a three-foot
standing curtain has been set up inside the blind, but there’s a small gap
below the blind’s lintel cloth and the top of the curtain, and it’s pleasing
to see how well their two faces are aligned as they talk to each other
from their opposite sides, she sitting inside and he standing without.
4
If
one of them were shorter or taller, there would no doubt be problems,
but in most cases it seems to work out well.
These apartments are also a marvellous place at the time of the music
and dance rehearsals in preparation for the Provisional Festival.
5 The
officials from the Office of Grounds lead the way through the garden,
chins well tucked in, holding aloft the long pine torches whose leaping
flames threaten to brush things as they pass beneath them, while the
musicians follow, playing wonderfully on their flutes, and it all strikes
you as very special. The young nobles, in full civil dress for the occasion,
pause and chat with the ladies, and the sound of their voices, together
with the hushed cries as each one’s attendant softly cries the way for his
master, mingles with the music to produce a strange and most intriguing
blend of sound.
We sit there with the shutters open waiting for them to return from
their rehearsal, and now we hear the young nobles singing ‘Oh let us
pluck the rice flowers’,
6
in rather finer form than before. Some dourlooking fellows bustle along straight past us. We all laugh, and someone
says, ‘Not so fast. As they say, “Why do you hasten thus to relinquish
this night?”’
7 but they rush grimly on, almost falling over themselves to
get away, as if they imagined someone was hot on their tail to seize
them.
[73]* When Her Majesty was in residence in the Office of the Empress’s
Household, we all found the view of the garden grove, sunk in its aura of
depth and antiquity, and the rather intimidating towering roofs,
wonderfully impressive. The Inner Chamber was said to be haunted, so a
room was set up on the south side and Her Majesty was ensconced there
with her curtained dais, while we ladies waited on her from the
secondary aisle room. It was always a great event to hear the senior
courtiers and nobles coming past us with their criers, on their way from
the Palace Guards gate to the Left Gate Watch Office – the cries for the
senior courtiers were much shorter, so we took to referring to them as
‘the greater cries and the lesser cries’. Because we heard them so often
we got to know the individual voices, and we had fun picking them out.
‘That’s so-and-so,’ we’d say, and then someone else might say, ‘No it
isn’t’, so we’d send a servant to check, and if we were right we’d cry, ‘I
told you so!’
One moonlit dawn of thick mist, some of us ladies went out walking in
the garden. Her Majesty heard us and rose too, and then all the ladies
came out with her, and the dawn brightened around us as we wandered
the garden together. ‘Let’s go and see the Gate Watch Office!’ I
suggested, and others enthusiastically joined me, but when we set off we
suddenly heard the voices of a large number of senior courtiers chanting
that Chinese poem about the voice of autumn
1 – so we rushed back and
hurried inside, and conversed with them from there. Several were
impressed that we’d been moon-viewing, and set about composing
poems for the occasion.
Indeed, visits from senior courtiers never ceased day or night there.
Even the young nobles would make a point of dropping by whenever
they were at court and had no particular business to attend to.
[74] Things later regretted – Someone takes it into her head that she
wants to serve at court, then once she’s there, does nothing but grumble
and mope.
An adopted child who turns out to have an ugly face.
Against his will, the parents bring a reluctant young man in as son-inlaw – then they complain because he doesn’t live up to expectations.
[75] Things that look enjoyable – The ‘hare-wand priest’.
1
The conductor of the sacred kagura music.
The person who carries the thing like a banner in the kagura
procession.
2
[76]* The day after the Litany of Buddha Names, the hell-painting screens
are taken to the Empress’s quarters, and His Majesty gives her a viewing
of them. They are truly the most ghastly things. On this particular
occasion, Her Majesty kept urging us to look but I simply couldn’t bear
to – sheer horror overcame me, and I curled up and hid in a small room
nearby.
It was raining hard that day, and time hung heavy on everyone’s
hands, so His Majesty summoned some of the senior courtiers to the
Empress’s quarters for a musical entertainment. Junior Counsellor
Michitaka was wonderful on the biwa. Narimasa on the thirteen-stringed
koto, Yukiyoshi on the flute and Captain Tsunefusa on the shō, played
charmingly too.
When they had performed a piece, and the biwa had ceased to play,
Grand Counsellor Korechika recited,
‘The sound of the biwa ceased, yet still she would not speak.’
1
At this, I emerged from my hiding place, and everyone laughed and
declared, ‘Sin and hellfire may scare her, but she can’t resist delights
such as these!’
[77]* When Secretary Captain Tadanobu heard certain baseless and
ridiculous rumours that were circulating concerning me, he set about
abusing my name quite horribly. I heard that he’d been saying in the
Privy Chamber that he wondered how he could ever have regarded me
as a decent person. I was very distressed and ashamed, but I laughed it
off, saying, ‘It would be a different matter if all this were actually true,
but as things stand he’s bound to learn the truth sooner or later and
change his mind.’
Not long after this, however, Tadanobu happened to hear my voice as
he was passing the Black Door, and he shielded his face with his sleeve
and wouldn’t so much as glance in my direction. Oh how he hated me.
So I in turn chose never to look his way and simply to remain silent, and
thus things continued till the end of the second month.
It was pouring with rain, and we were all bored. Tadanobu, who was
secluded in the palace as part of an imperial abstinence,
1 apparently
declared, ‘I must admit it’s a shame that things are so frosty between her
and me. I think I’ll say something to her.’
This was reported to me, but all I replied was, ‘I’ll believe it when I
see it!’I spent the day in my room, and when I went to Her Majesty’s
apartments that night, she had already retired.
The gentlewomen were gathered in the room beyond the threshold,
where they had drawn up a lamp and were playing a writing game.
2
‘Oh good!’ they cried when they saw me. ‘Come and join us!’ – but I just
wasn’t in the mood, and it seemed a bit pointless to have come. I sat
down by the square brazier, but they all gathered round and began
chatting.
Then suddenly a maid appeared, and loudly announced the arrival of a
messenger for me.
‘That’s odd. What messenger can this be, arriving out of the blue like
this?’I wondered, and sent to inquire. It turned out to be one of the
groundsmen, who insisted that he was instructed to give the message to
me personally, so out I went. ‘The Secretary Captain asks that you be
given this,’he said, handing me a letter. ‘Please be quick to reply.’
‘Considering how he hates me, I wonder what he can have written?’ I
thought, but it wouldn’t do to look right away, so I told the man to be
off and that I would send a reply later, and I tucked the letter away and
went back inside.
But as I sat listening to the ongoing conversation, back he came. ‘The
Secretary Captain has said that if there’s no reply I’m to bring back his
letter. Do be quick,’said he.
This is just like something out of one of the old tales, I thought wryly.
I looked at the letter, and found it to be written very beautifully, on thin
blue paper. There was nothing in it to justify my nervousness. He had
written the line from Bo Juyi,
3
‘You are there in the flowering capital,
beneath the Council Chamber’s brocade curtains’, and added, ‘How
should it end, tell me?’
‘What on earth shall I do?’ I wondered. ‘If Her Majesty were here I’d
most certainly show this to her. It would look bad to parade the fact that
I know the next line by writing it in my poor Chinese characters.’
I barely had time to turn the problem over in my mind before the
messenger was distracting me again with his urgings to be quick, so I
seized a piece of dead charcoal from the brazier and simply wrote at the
end of his letter, in Japanese script,
Who will come visiting this grass-thatched hut?
The messenger duly carried it off, but there was no response.
We all went to bed, and the first thing next morning I went back to my
room. Not long after I arrived, the Minamoto Captain
4 was heard crying
in grandiose tones, ‘Is “Grass-thatched Hut” present?’
‘How extraordinary,’ I said. ‘Why should you think anyone with such
a depressing name might be here? Now if you’d asked for “Jewelled
Palace”,
5 you might have got an answer.’
‘Ah good. So you were in your room after all,’ he said. ‘I was just
going to go to ask after you at Her Majesty’s quarters’, and he proceeded
to relay to me the events of the previous evening, becoming increasingly
shamefaced as the story progressed. ‘A number of smart young fellows,
including the sixth-rank Chamberlains, got together in Tadanobu’s nightwatch room last night, and there was all manner of discussion and
reminiscence about various people. In the midst of this, Tadanobu
admitted that since he and you had broken off all relations he just hadn’t
felt right about it. “I’ve been waiting vainly in hopes that she might send
word of some sort,” he said, “and I just hate the way she seems to shrug
the whole thing off without a thought, and simply ignores me. Why
don’t we test her once and for all tonight?”
‘So everyone put their heads together and sent along that message,
and when the messenger came back announcing that you’d gone inside
saying you weren’t going to read it just yet, Tadanobu sent the man back
with a flea in his ear. “Tie her down and don’t let her get out of it this
time,” he ordered, “and if she doesn’t produce something then bring
back the original letter”, and off he had to go again, at the height of the
downpour. No sooner had he gone than he was back again. “Here you
are,” says he, and hands over the message. Tadanobu saw it was his own
letter. “So she sent it back!” he said, but as he spoke he looked more
closely, and the next instant he cried, “Oh! How extraordinary!
Whatever’s this?” Everyone gathered round to look, and made a great
fuss. “What a clever rogue she is!” we said. “No, you really can’t give
her up.”
‘We then set about trying to add the first three lines of your poem,
everyone urging me to take on the challenge, and we racked our brains
over the task till it grew so late we finally had to give up. We decided it
would make a fine tale for future telling, at any rate,’ he concluded.
‘Your name has now become “Grass-thatched Hut”,’ he added, and off
he hastened.
I was just remarking how awful it was to think of going down in
history with such a dreadful name attached to me, when Assistant to
Palace Repairs Norimitsu arrived. ‘I’ve just been looking for you at Her
Majesty’s quarters, to express my heartfelt joy at the wonderful news!’
he declared breathlessly.
‘What news is this?’ I said. ‘I haven’t heard of any new appointments
being announced. What post have you been given?’
‘No no, I could barely wait till morning to come and congratulate you
on the wonderful thing that happened last night. There couldn’t be a
greater honour!’ Then he proceeded to tell me the same story all over
again from the beginning. ‘Tadanobu said that he was prepared to
dismiss all thought of you from his mind, depending on your response.
Everyone got together and came up with something to send you, and
actually it was a very good thing that the messenger came back emptyhanded the first time. When he did bring the message back, I was in a
sweat to know what it was, since it struck me that if your response
wasn’t up to par that would reflect badly on me as “elder brother” as
well. But of course it was anything but, in fact it was excellent, and
everyone was full of praise. “Come over here, brother,” they urged.
“Come and hear this!”
‘I was privately thrilled, but I only protested, “I’m in no position to
appreciate these poetic refinements,
6 you know.”
‘“You don’t need to tell us what you think, or even make sense of it,”
they insisted. “It’s just so that you can spread the word about it.”
‘This was rather mortifying for your poor brother, of course, but I
finally joined in, and we were at it long into the night, lamenting how
impossible it was to find a way to complete the poem. “Actually, there’s
no particular reason why we should reply in this fashion, you know,”
some began to claim after a while, and everyone agreed that it would
look very bad if we sent something unimpressive, so it all petered out in
defeat.
‘This is a most wonderful thing for us both, don’t you think? Far more
cause for celebration than receiving some trifling post in the new
Appointments List!’
When I contemplated how innocent I’d been of this full-scale
involvement in the plot, it made me nervous all over again to think how
easily I could have disgraced myself. And I hadn’t realized that this
‘sister – brother’ relationship was known to even the Emperor, and that
the senior courtiers would call him this rather than refer to him by his
post!
While we were talking, a message came from Her Majesty summoning
me immediately, so I went and presented myself. She too wanted to talk
about the incident. It seems His Majesty had laughed about it and told
her the story. ‘All the gentlemen have written your reply on their fans,’
she informed me. I was amazed, and could only wonder what had
possessed me to make me produce such a brilliant response.
Anyway, after that Tadanobu no longer raised that shielding sleeve
when we met, and seems to have quite changed his mind about me.
[78]* The following year, towards the end of the second month, Her Majesty
moved to the Office of the Empress’s Household. I didn’t accompany her
on the move, but stayed behind temporarily in the Mumetsubo.
1 The
next day, there was a letter from Secretary Captain Tadanobu. ‘I made a
pilgrimage to Kurama last night,’ it read, ‘but owing to a directional
taboo this evening,
2
I’m returning by a different route. I should be back
before daybreak, and I have something I must say to you, so please be
ready to let me in and don’t make me keep knocking when I arrive.’
However, the Mistress of the Imperial Wardrobe sent to inquire why I
was staying alone in my room like this, and asked me to come and sleep
there, so that is where I spent the night.
3
When I returned to my own room, after a lengthy sleep, the maid told
me that there’d been a tremendous knocking the night before. ‘I finally
got up and answered it,’ she went on, ‘and he said, “So she’s with Her
Ladyship, is she? Well, please pass on my message.” However, I
informed him that there was no point since you certainly wouldn’t get
up, and went back to bed.’
I found her stupidity and inconsiderateness most annoying, but no
sooner had she told me her tale than someone from the Office of
Grounds arrived with another message from the Secretary Captain,
saying he had to leave at once, but first he had something he must tell
me. I sent the man off with the message that I had matters to see to at
Her Ladyship’s, and I would meet him there. I was worried that if he
came to my apartment he’d open the door, so I went to a room off the
eastern aisle of the Mumetsubo and raised the half-panel shutter,
instructing him to come there.
Along he duly came, looking magnificent. He wore a gorgeous damask
cloak in the cherry-blossom combination, with an immaculate lustre to
its inner lining, and his gathered trousers of rich, dark grape colour were
woven through with a dazzling pattern of tangled wisteria vine. The
scarlet colour and glossed silk effect of the inner robe positively shone,
and layer upon layer of very pale violet-grey and other colours were
visible beneath the cloak. The way he seated himself on the narrow
veranda, with one foot hanging from its edge as he leaned in slightly
towards the blind, made him look the absolute epitome of some splendid
figure in a picture, or in the sort of marvellous scene you find described
in a romance.
The plum trees before the Mumetsubo, white on the west side and red
on the east, were just beginning to shed their blossoms, but they were
still lovely, and what with all this and the glorious soft sunlight that lit
the scene, I longed for someone to witness it.
It would have been rather more impressive, however, if the lady inside
the screen making her replies to the gentleman beyond had been a
young girl, her hair beautifully smooth and flowing luxuriantly down all
about her, the way they describe it in the tales. But alas, I was an ageing
woman well past her prime, hair not even my own,
4 and frizzled and
coming adrift here and there, in mourning clothes that were a far cry
from the usual lovely colours, a light grey so pale it was as good as
colourless, over various indistinguishable layers, all utterly drab and
unflattering. What’s more, as Her Majesty was not present I was only in
simple court robes, without even a formal train. It all rather ruined the
elegance of the scene.
‘I’m on my way to the Office of the Empress’s Household,’ he said.
‘Do you have any message? When will you be going there?’ and so on;
and then he laughingly proceeded to tell me how last night before
daybreak he’d come to call on his way back from the west of the city in
the bright moonlight, certain I’d be waiting for him whatever the time,
since he’d told me he was coming, but when he knocked at my room the
maid finally appeared bleary-eyed and gave him a disconcertingly curt
response. ‘I was thoroughly put off,’ he went on. ‘Whatever induced you
to leave such a person there to deal with me?’ I could well imagine his
feelings, and I felt both sorry for him and entertained by the story.
After a little time, he left. Anyone looking in and seeing him there
would have wondered just who might be the fair maiden inside who was
engaging his attention, while if they’d observed the scene from behind
me they’d never have imagined from my appearance that the man
beyond the blinds could be so splendid.
When it grew dark, I went to attend Her Majesty. There were a great
many gentlewomen gathered around her, including some from His
Majesty’s entourage, and everyone was arguing over what they did and
didn’t like about various tales, weighing them up and criticizing their
weaknesses. Her Majesty also joined in, giving her own opinion on the
relative merits of the two heroes Suzushi and Nakatada.
The ladies turned to me when I arrived. ‘What do you think?’ they
cried. ‘Give us a quick answer. Her Majesty is making a strong case
against Nakatada’s humble upbringing.’
‘Dear me no,’ I replied. ‘I admit Suzushi played the kin brilliantly
enough to bring a heavenly being down to listen, but he was incredibly
dull. And was he the one who gained the hand of the Emperor’s
daughter?’
5
‘There you are!’ cried the Nakatada supporters, happy to discover
their side was strengthened.
‘But no more of this talk of the men in the old tales,’ said Her Majesty.
‘If only you’d seen Tadanobu when he came today, I imagine you would
have been beside yourself over how splendid he looked.’
‘Yes, it’s quite true,’ several ladies chimed in. ‘He really did look even
more marvellous than usual.’
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘that is precisely what I came to tell you about, Your
Majesty, but this talk of tales distracted me.’ And I proceeded to describe
what had happened.
‘Well, we all saw him,’ they said, laughing, ‘but who else took in such
detail, down to the very threads and stitches?’ Then they all went on
chattering about the things he’d said. ‘He told us what a marvellously
desolate place the west of the city was, the garden walls all old and
moss-covered, and how he found himself wishing he had a companion to
savour it with him. Then Saishō cleverly inquired, “And were ‘the tiles
pine-smothered’?” and he was most impressed, and replied by intoning,
“Though it lies some little distance from the city’s western gate.”’
6
It
was great fun to hear them so full of talk of him.
[79] When one’s returned home on a visit and a senior courtier or someone
of the sort comes to call, it would seem that there’s gossip and criticism.
I don’t let this annoy me, since after all I’m not exactly renowned for my
modesty and prudence. And anyway, how am I simply to announce that
I’m not at home to people who come calling day or night, and send them
away again shamefaced? People will come visiting, even if they really
aren’t so very intimate with you. Anyway, on this occasion, because of
all the fuss I decided not to let it be generally known where I was, and
only told a few people such as Captain of the Left Tsunefusa and
Narimasa.
Officer of the Left Gate Watch Norimitsu came visiting, and in the
course of our talk he told me that the day before, the Captain Consultant
1 had doggedly questioned him about where I was hiding. ‘Surely you
must know where your own “sister” is. Tell me!’ he’d apparently
demanded, and when Norimitsu insisted that he had no idea, the Captain
Consultant had actively tried to pressure him into confessing. ‘I felt
terrible having to assert something that wasn’t true,’ he said to me. ‘I
could barely suppress a smile. Tsunefusa was sitting there looking all
innocence, and I was terrified that I’d burst out laughing if our gaze met
even for an instant, so I tried to cover the moment by seizing some
seaweed from a nearby table and desperately chewing away at it. People
must have found it rather odd to see me suddenly devouring this stuff
for no apparent reason. But anyway, thanks to that seaweed I cleverly
avoided letting the cat out of the bag. If I’d laughed it would have
ruined everything. I did enjoy the way he really seemed to believe I had
no idea where you were.’
‘Well, do be sure you don’t tell him,’ I said when I heard this, and so
the days passed without his calling.
Very late one night, there was a fierce drumming on the gate. ‘What’s
this?’ I thought when I heard it. ‘Why beat on the gate so loudly in this
inconsiderate fashion, though it’s quite close enough to hear a normal
knock?’ When I sent to inquire, I learned it was one of the guards. He
had brought a letter, and said he’d come from Officer Norimitsu.
Everyone was asleep, so I drew up a lamp and read it. ‘Tomorrow is
the final day of the Great Sutra Readings, so the Captain Consultant is
confined to the palace for the imperial abstinence. He is most persistent
in begging me to tell him your whereabouts, and I am at my wit’s end. I
really cannot keep the information from him any longer. Should I tell
him? What do you think? I will follow your advice.’
I wrote no reply, but simply wrapped a small piece of seaweed in a
sheet of paper and sent it.
Norimitsu came later. ‘The Captain Consultant spent the night
berating me,’ he said, ‘and dragging me about to all sorts of impossible
places. He really did give me a tongue-lashing. I had a terrible time of it.
Look, why on earth didn’t you tell me what to do? You only sent some
ridiculous piece of seaweed wrapped in paper. What an extraordinary
thing to receive! Who would send such a crazy packet to anyone? There
must have been some mistake.’
The man is quite clueless! I thought. I was so disgusted I simply
couldn’t bear the sight of him. I said nothing, and only wrote on the
edge of a piece of paper that happened to be by the inkstone:
The silent seaweed
said that you must never tell
the secret dwelling place
of the diving fisher girl
concealed in these hidden depths.
2
and passed this to him.
‘Dear me, have you written a poem? I refuse to read it!’ he exclaimed,
and he flipped it back to me with his fan and fled.
And so it was that this relationship, once so close and mutually
supportive, for no real reason began to turn a little sour. Then a letter
came from him. ‘Though things may have gone wrong between us, still I
would wish that you remember the loving vows we made, and when we
meet out in the world that you would look on me as one who has been
your brother.’
Norimitsu often used to say, ‘If a woman chooses to love me, she
should never press poems on me. Any woman who does this is no friend
of mine. The day you decide you’ve had enough and you want to break
off relations is the day you should send me a poem.’
So in reply to his message, I sent this poem.
Brother and Sister Hills
have crumbled, and between them
have crumbled, and between them
Yoshino River flows no more–
so I can no longer see you
even as ‘he that used to be’.
3
Whether he read it or not I do not know, but no reply ever came.
Later, Norimitsu was promoted to Deputy Governor of Tōtōmi,
4 and
the relationship ended in hostility.
[80] Things that create the appearance of deep emotion – The sound of your
voice when you’re constantly blowing your runny nose as you talk.
Plucking your eyebrows.
[81]* After our visit to the Guard Office, I went back to my home, and had
spent some time there when a letter came informing me that Her
Majesty wished me to come at once. At the edge of the page, the writer
1
had added a personal message from Her Majesty which said, ‘I can’t get
out of my mind the image of you ahead of me when we went to the
Guard Office that night. Whatever made you set off so nonchalantly in
that old-fashioned get-up? No doubt you thought you looked wonderful.’
I replied with a humble acknowledgement of Her Majesty’s summons,
and added the private message, ‘How could I not think I looked
wonderful? Why, it seemed to me that even Her Majesty saw me as “a
heavenly maiden hovering”.’
No sooner was this sent than back came the reply. ‘Her Majesty
wonders how you could damage your darling Nakatada’s reputation
2
like that? You must lay everything aside and come at once. If you don’t,
she will absolutely hate you.’
‘Any hatred at all would be bad enough,’ I replied, ‘but with that
word “absolutely” I am prepared to sacrifice life and limb to do as
commanded’, and I went back to the court.
[82]* Once when Her Majesty was in residence in the Office of the
Empress’s Household, a Continuous Sutra Reading
1
took place in the
western aisle. A scroll of the Buddha’s image was set up, and of course
the monks were seated as usual.
Two days into the ceremony, we heard below the veranda a queer
voice saying, ‘Would there be any distribution of the offerings
2
for me?’
and a monk was heard to reply, ‘Come come, what can you be thinking?
The ceremony’s not over yet.’
Wondering who this person was, I went over to have a look, and
discovered the voice belonged to a nun well past her prime, dressed in
horribly grimy clothes and looking like a little monkey.
‘What is it she wants?’ I asked.
At this, she replied herself in a carefully affected tone, ‘I am a disciple
of the Buddha, come to ask for the altar offerings, and these monks are
refusing to give them to me.’
Her voice was remarkably bright and elegant for a beggar. What a pity
someone like her should have sunk to this, I thought, yet at the same
time I couldn’t help feeling there was something unpleasantly
pretentious and flamboyant about her, given her circumstances.
‘So altar offerings are the only thing you’ll eat, are they? This is
wonderfully pious of you,’ I remarked.
She was reading me carefully. ‘No one’s saying I won’t eat other
things,’ she said slyly. ‘It’s because there’s nothing else that I’m asking
for offerings.’
I put together some snacks and rice cakes and gave the bundle to her,
whereupon she became extremely friendly, and began to chatter about
all manner of things.
Some young gentlewomen then came out, and all set about
questioning the woman about where she lived, and whether she had a
man, and children. She produced such entertaining replies, elaborating
them with jokes and suchlike, that everyone kept drawing her out with
endless questions, such as whether she sang and danced, until she set
about singing,
‘Who oh who shall I sleep with tonight?
I think I’ll sleep with “Hitachi no Suke”
for I love the silk touch of her skin in bed…’
with much more besides. She also sang,
‘The peak of Man Mountain stands proud in fame.
Its scarlet tip has quite a name!’
3
waving her head about as she sang in a manner that was utterly
grotesque. The ladies all laughed in disgust and cried, ‘Away with you!
Away with you!’
‘Poor thing,’ I said. ‘What shall we give her?’
At this point Her Majesty intervened. ‘You’ve been making the woman
act in a way that I’ve really found very difficult to have to overhear. I
simply had to block my ears. Give her this gown
4 and send her on her
way immediately.’
‘Here’s a generous gift from Her Majesty. Your own gown’s filthy, so
make yourself nice and clean with this one,’ we said, and tossed the
gown to her. She abased herself in thanks, and then lo and behold she
proceeded to drape the gown over her shoulder and perform a dance!
5
She really was disgusting, so we all withdrew inside again and left her to
it.
This apparently gave her a taste for visiting, because after this she was
often to be seen wandering about drawing attention to herself. We took
to calling her ‘Hitachi no Suke’, after her song. Far from wearing the
nice clean gown, she still went about in her filthy one, which made us
wonder with considerable annoyance what she’d done with the one we
gave her.
One day Ukon paid us a visit, and Her Majesty told her about the
woman. ‘They have tamed her and more or less installed her. She’s
always coming around now,’ she said, and she had Kohyōe take up the
tale and give an imitation of Hitachi no Suke.
‘I’d love to see her,’ said Ukon, laughing. ‘Do show her to me. You all
seem to be great fans of hers. I promise I won’t entice her away from
you.’
A little later, another much more refined beggar nun turned up at the
palace. We called her over and questioned her in the same way, and
were touched by how shamefaced and piteous she was. Her Majesty gave
her a gown, and she abased herself in thanks and retreated, overcome
with tears of joy. This was all very well, but Hitachi no Suke happened
to come along and catch sight of her as she was leaving. After that,
Hitachi no Suke didn’t show up again for a long time, and none of us
would have given her a second thought I’m sure.
Towards the middle of the twelfth month there was a great fall of snow.
The maids collected a large mound of it on the veranda, so then we
ladies decided we should have a real snow mountain built out in the
garden. We summoned the servants and set them all to work under Her
Majesty’s orders. The groundsmen who had come in to clean got
involved as well, and together they all set about creating an absolutely
towering snow mountain. Some of the senior officials from the Empress’s
Office also gathered to give advice and enjoy the scene. The original
three or four groundsmen had soon swelled to around twenty. Her
Majesty even sent to ask the servants who were at home to come and
help, informing them that everyone involved would receive three days’
extra pay, and the same amount would be deducted from all those who
didn’t come; some who heard this came running hastily to join in,
though the message couldn’t reach those whose homes were more
distant.
When the construction was finally completed, the officials from the
Empress’s Office were summoned and each was given two large bundles
of silk rolls. These they spread out on the veranda, and everyone in turn
came and took a roll, bowed and tucked it into his belt, and retired. The
senior courtiers, who were dressed in informal hunting costume for the
job instead of their usual formal cloaks, remained behind.
‘How long do you think it will last?’ Her Majesty asked everyone. One
guessed ten days, another suggested a little longer. Everyone gave
opinions ranging over a week or two.
‘What do you think?’ Her Majesty then asked me.
‘I think it will stay there until beyond the tenth day of the first
month,’ I replied.
Even Her Majesty thought this highly unlikely, and all the ladies were
unanimous in declaring that it couldn’t last beyond the end of the year
at the very latest.
‘Oh dear,’ I thought privately, ‘I’ve probably overestimated. I suppose
it can’t really last as long as that. I should have said something like the
first day of the new year instead’ – but I decided that even if I turned out
to be wrong, I should stand by what I said, and I stubbornly continued to
argue my case.
On the twentieth day it rained, but there was no sign of the snow
mountain melting away. All that happened was that it lost a little of its
height. I was beside myself with fervent prayers to the Kannon of White
Mountain
6
to preserve it from melting.
On the day when the snow mountain was made, the Aide of
Ceremonial Tadataka came to call. I put out a cushion for him, and
during our talk he remarked, ‘You know, there’s not a place in the
palace that hasn’t built a snow mountain today. His Majesty has ordered
one made in his garden, and they’re busy making them in the Crown
Prince’s residence and in the Kōkiden and Kyōgokudono
7 as well.’
I then had someone nearby convey to him the following poem.
Our singular snow mountain
we thought was so uniquely ours
has multiplied abroad
and become merely commonplace
as the common snow that falls.
He sat tilting his head admiringly over it for a while, then he finally
said, ‘It would be merely flippant of me to attempt to sully this
marvellous poem with one in response. I shall simply tell the tale of it to
everyone when we’re gathered before His Majesty’, and he rose and
departed. I must say this diffidence struck me as rather odd, in someone
with his reputation for being a great poetry-lover.
When I told Her Majesty, she remarked, ‘He must certainly have been
deeply impressed with it.’
As the month drew to a close, the snow mountain seemed to have
shrunk a little, but it still remained very high. One day around midday
we’d gone out to sit on the veranda, when Hitachi no Suke suddenly
appeared again.
‘Why are you back?’ we asked. ‘We haven’t seen you here for ages.’
‘Well, the fact is I met with a misfortune,’ she replied.
‘What was it?’ we asked.
‘I shall tell you my thoughts at the time in question,’ she said, and
then she proceeded to recite, in ponderously drawn-out tones,
‘Alas I am awash
with envy at the gifts whose burden
weights her till she limps–
who is that “deep-sea fisher girl”
to whom so many things are given?’
8
and with that she gave a nasty laugh. When no one deigned to look in
her direction, she clambered on to the snow mountain and walked about
for some time before she finally left.
After she had gone we sent word to Ukon telling her what had
happened, and she made us laugh all over again when she replied, ‘Why
didn’t you get someone to accompany her and bring her over here?
What a shame! She must have climbed the snow mountain and walked
round like that because you were ignoring her.’
The year ended without any change to our snow mountain. On the
night of the first day of the new year, there was a great fall of snow.
Excellent! I thought. There’ll be a fresh pile of snow for the mountain
– but then Her Majesty decided that this wasn’t fair. ‘We must brush off
the new snow and leave the original heap as it was,’ she declared.
Next morning when I went to my room very early, the chief retainer of
the Office of the Empress’s Household arrived, shivering with cold. On
the sleeve of his night-watch cloak, which was a deep, almost citron-leaf
green, he held something wrapped in green paper, attached to a sprig of
pine needles.
‘Who is this from?’ I inquired, and when he replied that it came from
the Kamo High Priestess, I was filled with sudden delighted awe, and
took it and carried it straight back to Her Majesty.
Her Majesty was still asleep when I arrived, and in order to get in I
tugged a go-board table over to the lattice shutter facing her curtained
dais, and stood on it while I struggled to raise the shutter. It was
extremely heavy, and because I was only lifting one end of it, it grated
against the next one, which woke Her Majesty.
‘Why on earth are you doing that?’ she inquired.
‘A message from the Kamo High Priestess has arrived,’ I replied. ‘I
simply had to get the shutter open so you would have it as early as
possible.’
‘Well, this certainly is early,’ she said, getting up. She opened the
package, and found two hare-mallets, the heads wrapped in imitation of
hare-wands, decorated prettily with sprigs of mountain orange, creeping
fern and mountain sedge. But there was no letter.
‘I can’t believe there would be no message,’ said Her Majesty,
searching, and then she discovered on one of the little pieces of paper
that wrapped the mallet heads the following poem.
When I went searching
the mountain for the echoing ring
of the woodsman’s axe
I found the tree he cut was for
the festive hare-wands of this day.
9
A delightful poem, and delightful too was the scene of Her Majesty
composing her reply. In all her letters and replies to the High Priestess,
you could see just how much trouble she took from the number of
problems she had with her writing. To the man who had brought the
message she gave a white-weave shift, and another of maroon which was
I think in the plum combination, and it was lovely to see him making his
way back through the snowy landscape with the robes over his shoulder.
It’s only a pity that I never discovered what Her Majesty wrote in reply.
As for the snow mountain, it showed no sign of melting away but
continued to stand there, just as if it really was Koshi’s famous snowy
mountain.
10
It now looked quite black with dirt, and was not a sight to
please the eye, but I nevertheless felt elated at the thought of being
proved right, and prayed that it could somehow be made to survive until
the middle of the month. Everyone declared that it couldn’t last beyond
the end of the first week, and we were all waiting anxiously to witness
the final outcome, when it was suddenly decided on the third day that
Her Majesty would return to the imperial palace. I was terribly
disappointed at the thought that I’d have to leave without ever knowing
the moment of my mountain’s final end, and others also said it was a
great shame to have to leave now. Her Majesty agreed, and indeed I’d
very much wanted her to witness that my guess had been right. But we
had to leave and that was that.
There was great upheaval for the move, with Her Majesty’s effects and
all the other things being carried out, and in the midst of this I managed
to call over to the veranda one of the gardeners who was living under a
lean-to roof he had set up against the garden wall, and have a
confidential word with him. ‘You must take great care of this snow
mountain, and make sure no children climb on it and destroy it. Keep a
firm watch on it until the fifteenth. If it lasts till then, Her Majesty
intends to reward you with a special gift, and you’ll get high praise from
me personally as well,’ I said, and to persuade him further I heaped on
him various leftovers, fruit and so on, though this would have enraged
the kitchen maids and servants, who disliked him.
All this made him beam with pleasure. ‘That’s very easily done,’ he
assured me. ‘I’ll guard it carefully. The children will be sure to try and
climb it.’
‘You must forbid it,’ I warned him, ‘and if there’s anyone who won’t
obey then let me know.’
I accompanied Her Majesty on her move to the palace, and stayed
there until the seventh day, when I went home.
I was so anxious about my snow mountain while I was at the palace
that I was constantly sending servants of various sorts, from the toilet
cleaner to the head housekeeper, to keep the gardener up to the mark.
On the seventh day I even sent along some of the leftovers from the
Festival of Young Herbs feast, and everyone laughed at the tale of how
reverently he’d received them.
Once I was back home the snow mountain continued to obsess me,
and the first thing I did every morning was send someone over, just to
keep him reminded of how very important it was. On the tenth day I was
delighted to hear that enough still remained to last until the fifteenth.
Day and night my constant stream of messengers continued, but then on
the night of the thirteenth
11
there was a terrific downpour of rain. I was
beside myself, convinced that this would finally finish off my mountain.
All that night I stayed up, lamenting that it couldn’t possibly last another
day or two. Those around me laughed and declared that I really had lost
my mind. When one of our party left I leapt up and tried to rouse the
servants, and flew into a rage when they refused to get up, but finally
one emerged and I sent her off to bring a report.
‘It’s down to the size of a round cushion,’ she reported. ‘The gardener
has looked after it most assiduously, and he hasn’t let the children near
it. He says it should last till tomorrow morning, and he’s looking
forward to his reward.’ I was absolutely thrilled. I could hardly wait till
the next day, when I decided I would compose a suitable poem and send
it to Her Majesty with a container full of the snow. The anticipation was
becoming quite unbearable.
The next morning I got up while it was still dark. I gave one of the
servants a box and sent her off with the order to choose the whitest of
the snow to put in it, and be careful to scrape away any that was dirty.
But she was no sooner gone than back she came, dangling the empty
container, to report that the last of the snow mountain had already
disappeared. I was devastated. The clever poem that I had laboured and
groaned over, and that I’d looked forward to being on everyone’s lips,
was to my horror suddenly quite worthless.
‘How on earth could this have happened?’ I said miserably. ‘There
was all that snow still there yesterday, and it’s disappeared overnight!’
‘The gardener was wringing his hands in despair,’ replied the maid.
‘He said that it was there until late last night, and he’d been so looking
forward to getting his reward.’
In the midst of all the fuss, word arrived from Her Majesty, inquiring
whether there was any snow left today. Thoroughly mortified, I replied,
‘Please tell Her Majesty that I consider it a great victory that it was still
there until yesterday evening, despite the fact that everyone predicted it
couldn’t last beyond the end of the year. But after all, my prediction
would have been altogether too impressive if the snow had remained
until the very day I guessed. During the night some spiteful person must
have destroyed the last of it.’
This was the first subject I raised in Her Majesty’s presence when I
went back to the palace on the twentieth. I related to her how appalled
I’d been to see the maid return with the empty container dangling from
her hand – like the wandering performer’s act with the empty lid, when
he came on announcing ‘the Buddha’s thrown his body off Snow
Mountain and all that’s left is his hat’
12 – and I went on to explain how
I’d planned to make a miniature snow mountain in the lid and send a
poem with it, written exquisitely on white paper. Her Majesty laughed a
great deal at my story, as did everyone else present.
‘I fear I’ve committed a grave sin by destroying something you had so
set your heart on,’ Her Majesty then told me. ‘To tell the truth, on the
night of the fourteenth I sent some retainers there to remove it. When I
read your message, I thought you were wonderfully clever to have
guessed something like this had happened.’
The fellow 13 apparently emerged wringing his hands and pleading,
but he was told that it was an order from the Empress, and was
forbidden to tell anyone from my place about it, on pain of having his
house destroyed. They threw all the snow away near the south wall of
the Left Palace Guards Office, and I gather they reported that it was
packed down very hard, and there was a great deal of it. Her Majesty
admitted that it would actually have lasted through even as far as the
twentieth, and would no doubt have received some added snow from the
first snowfall of the spring, too. Then she went on to relate that His
Majesty had also heard about it, and had remarked to the senior
courtiers that a great deal of thought had obviously gone into this
contest of ours. ‘Well then,’ she said in conclusion, ‘tell us the poem
you’d prepared. After all, I’ve made my confession, and as you can see,
you actually won your bet.’
The ladies added their voices to Her Majesty’s request, but I replied
sulkily, ‘I don’t see why I should be expected to turn around and tell you
my poem, after the depressing things I’ve just heard’– and in truth I was
by this time feeling thoroughly miserable.
At this point His Majesty arrived, and he said to me teasingly, ‘I’ve
always believed you were a favourite with Her Majesty, but I must say
this has made me wonder.’ This only served to depress me even more
deeply, and by now I was close to tears.
‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ I moaned, ‘life’s so hard! And to think how
overjoyed I was, too, about the snow that fell after we’d built the
mountain, and then Her Majesty decided it shouldn’t count, and ordered
it removed.’
Then His Majesty smiled and remarked, ‘I suppose she just didn’t want
to see you win.’
[83] Splendid things – Chinese brocade. Ornamental swords. Tinted
Buddhist images.
1 Long, richly coloured clusters of wisteria blossom
hanging from a pine tree.
A Chamberlain of the sixth rank. He’s a quite splendid sight in those
special green robes he’s allowed to wear, and he can wear damask,
which even a high-ranking young nobleman is forbidden. Subordinate
officials in the Chamberlain’s office, or children from some lowerranking family who are serving in the house of someone of the fourth or
fifth rank, look quite inconsequential at the time, but if they become
Chamberlains they undergo an astonishing transformation. When they
appear as bearer of an imperial pronouncement, or present the imperial
gifts of sweet chestnuts and so forth at one of the great ministerial
banquets,
2
from the magnificent way they’re received you’d think they
were heavenly beings descended to earth!
If a Chamberlain is delivering a message from the Emperor to a
household whose daughter is Empress, or has been chosen to become
Empress in the future, even the gentlewoman who puts out his cushion
when she receives the letter on her lady’s behalf will take scrupulous
care over how she presents her sleeve as she slips it out from beneath
the blind; and from all the attention that’s lavished on him generally,
you’d never think he was a man you’d been used to seeing around every
day. He’s even more impressive if he combines his role with that of Gate
Watch Guard, in which case he’ll have a long formal train sweeping
along behind him. The head of the household personally offers him a
Saké cup, which you’d imagine must fill him with a secret delight. And
where he would once have been abasing himself reverently before the
young gentlemen of the household, there he is now taking his place by
their side, though there’s still a hint of deference in his dealings with
them.
Indeed you feel downright envious of him, to see him in such close
personal contact with the Emperor at night. It’s such a pity if he dresses
poorly and wears boring colours during those precious three or four
years when he’s in such constant intimate service on the Emperor. As the
time of the Appointments List approaches and his period as Chamberlain
is drawing to an end, he should already be dreading the loss of his
special status more than death itself, and it really is such a shame that in
fact his only concern is to secure his next posting and take up a vacant
position among the Provincial Governors.
3
In the old days,
Chamberlains would already be lamenting the end of their service from
the spring or summer of the year before it was due to finish, but these
days they just rush to compete for their next position.
A man of scholarly accomplishment is inexpressibly splendid. Though
he may be of dreadfully lowly rank and no joy to look at, he fills you
with awe and envy at the way he can spend time in the presence of
those at the very highest levels, as their tutor,
4 and be called on by
them for scholarly consultations. It’s also splendid to see him praised for
his preparation of a dedicatory prayer, or a memorial presented to the
throne, or some preface to poetry.
A learned priest is also, needless to say, a splendid thing.
An Empress taking part in an imperial procession during daylight
hours.
A formal expedition by the Regent, or his official pilgrimage to Kasuga
Shrine.
5
Grape-coloured figured silk. Violet is a splendid colour wherever it’s
found – in flowers, in fabric or in paper.
Snow lying thick in a garden.
The Regent.
The water iris is rather less fine than other violet-coloured flowers.
The reason the sight of a sixth-rank Chamberlain on night watch is so
delightful is because of the violet in his clothes.
6
[84] Things of elegant beauty – A slim, handsome young gentleman of
noble birth wearing court dress.
A pretty girl dressed somewhat casually, without the stiff formal
skirted trousers, in a rather loosely stitched girl’s over-robe; she’s sitting
at the veranda railing, shielding her face with her fan, and from her
sleeve hangs a herb bag or a hare-mallet, its long coloured strings
dangling.
A bound book of fine paper.
A letter on fine green paper, tied to a sprig of willow covered in little
leaf buds.
A three-layer fan.
1 A five-layer fan is too thick, and the base looks
ugly.
Long stems of sweet flag, laid elegantly on a cypress-bark roof
2
that’s
neither too new nor too old, are wonderfully fresh and green to the eye.
The drapes of a standing curtain in the wood-grain pattern, glimpsed
beneath a blind, very glossy, with the curtain cords lifting in the breeze,
is a lovely sight. Thin white cord. A brightly-coloured lintel cloth.
A charming cat with a white tag on her red collar walking along by
the railing of the veranda beyond the blinds, trailing her long leash
behind her, is also a lovely and very elegant sight.
The Sweet Flag Chamberlains who distribute the sweet flag for the
Sweet Flag Festival.
3 They wear sweet flag garlands in their hair, and
they also wear the special decorative shoulder and waist sashes, rather
similar to the red abstinence cords of
Herbal ball
the First Fruits Festival,
4
though not as brightly coloured. They make a
marvellously elegant picture as they move along passing out the herbal
balls to the line of waiting princes and nobles. It’s also wonderful to
watch these men then proceed to attach the herbal ball to their waist
and perform a ceremonial dance and obeisance of thanks.
A knotted letter of violet paper, with a long cluster of wisteria blossom
attached.
The young gentlemen who take part in the Lesser Abstinence
5 at the
time of the First Fruits Festival are also extremely elegant.
[85]* When Her Majesty provided the Gosechi dancers, she sent twelve
lady attendants. We’d heard that in other places it was considered wrong
to provide the attendants from the households of the High Consort or
one of the other imperial wives. However, for some reason Her Majesty
chose ten gentlewomen from her own entourage; the other two were
sisters, one from the Empress Dowager’s household and one from the
Shigeisa’s.
On the night of the Day of the Dragon,
1
she had the dancers and their
attendants dressed in the special indigo-design Chinese jackets and girls’
over-robes, a plan she didn’t reveal to her own ladies, let alone to others.
The clothes were brought in after dark, when everyone else had already
changed into their formal wear. The red cords
2 were very prettily tied
with ends trailing, and the figures on the beautifully glossed white robes
were hand-drawn rather than stencilled. It was most unusual to be
wearing this robe over the figured Chinese jacket, and the little girl
attendants in particular looked perhaps the most charming of all. Even
the serving ladies
3 appeared in these clothes, and the court nobles and
senior courtiers were most intrigued to see them. ‘Ladies of the Lesser
Abstinence’ was the name they gave them, and the young gentlemen of
the Lesser Abstinence sat outside the blinds conversing with them.
Her Majesty declared that it was very odd to dismantle the Gosechi
retiring rooms before the final day of the festival was over, so that
everything inside was visible, and decreed that they should be left
pristine and in place until the last night. Therefore, everything was left
as it was so that no one was discommoded – the gaps in the standing
curtains were drawn together, and the ladies’ sleeves were on display as
usual.
One of the ladies, Kohyōe, remarked that her red cord had come
undone and she wanted help to retie it, whereupon Captain Sanekata
came over to where she sat and set it to rights for her, which was rather
suggestive. He then proceeded to recite:
‘A wintry indifference
freezes the well’s blue waters
to a knot of ice.
How might I melt that cord
and loosen its icy knot?’
4
She didn’t respond, perhaps because her youth and the very public
situation made it rather difficult for her. The ladies sitting nearby also
simply sat there, saying nothing.
5 One of the men from the Empress’s
Office, who was waiting with interest to catch the reply, could no longer
stand it after a while. He made his way over discreetly to where the
ladies were seated and apparently asked in a whisper why nothing was
forthcoming. I was sitting four people away from Kohyōe, so even if I’d
been able to come up with some response it would have been difficult to
say it, and besides, how could you offer some merely average poem in
reply to one by Sanekata, who was so famous for his poetic skills? Still, I
thought, it’s no good being bashful and hesitant when it comes to poetic
composition. Where does that ever get you? Though your poem might
not be so very wonderful, the important thing is that it must be
something you come out with on the spur of the moment. And besides, I
felt sorry for the fellow from the Empress’s Office, who was pacing about
snapping his fingers in vexation at the lack of poem.
So I sent the following poem via one of the ladies, Ben no Omoto.
The cord’s knot is loose
as ice on the water’s surface.
It finds itself undone
by the warm sunlight of a garland
of festive fern leaves in the hair.
6
But Ben no Omoto was quite overwhelmed by it all, and couldn’t
manage to get the poem out, so the Captain could barely hear it, and
had to lean forward and say, ‘What was that? What did she say?’ She did
her best to recite it grandly and make it sound truly impressive, but
unfortunately she tended to stammer when nervous, and so the Captain
never did manage to hear my poem properly – which was a relief to me
really, since it saved me the embarrassment of having my poor poem
exposed after all.
Some of those present decided they were feeling a bit indisposed so
they wouldn’t accompany the dancers to the hall, but on Her Majesty’s
insistence we all went, which created an unusually great throng of
people. One of the dancers was daughter of Chief Equerry Sukemasa; her
mother was the fourth daughter of the Somedono Minister of
Ceremonial’s sister. She was a very charming little girl of twelve. For
once, none of the dancers had to be carried out
7 on the last night.
Instead, at the end of the dances, there was a rather enchanting
procession in which the dancers led the way from the Jijūden, via the
east veranda of the Seiryōden, and proceeded to Her Majesty’s
apartments.
[86] Another elegant sight is of a handsome serving man walking past
bearing a ceremonial narrow-bladed sword with a flat-weave ceremonial
cord attached.
1
[87]* At the time of the Gosechi Festival somehow everything in the
palace, even the people you see every day, becomes simply delightful.
There’s the unusual sight of the bits of coloured fabric that the
groundswomen wear in their ceremonial hair combs, rather like
abstinence tags. When they seat themselves along the arched bridgeway
1
from the Senyōden, the dapple-dye pattern on the ribbons that bind up
their hair stands out beautifully, and the whole effect is somehow quite
marvellous. It’s perfectly understandable that the serving women and
those who attend the dancers should find it all a splendid honour.
Then there’s the fine sight of the newly appointed fifth-rank
gentlemen, who parade with wicker baskets of wild indigo and climbing
fern. To witness the senior courtiers, their cloaks pulled back off one
shoulder so that a sleeve trails, walk past the Gosechi apartments
beating time with their fans and other objects as they sing ‘messengers
in waves come swelling our rank’,
2
is enough to quicken the heart of
even the most seasoned among us. You can also get a terrible fright
sometimes, hearing them all suddenly roar with laughter.
Among the special clothing worn for the event, the scarlet glossed-silk
train-robe worn by the Chamberlain in charge of proceedings is the most
marvellous of all. Cushions are placed for seating, but no one manages to
make use of them – instead they’re single-mindedly intent on passing
judgement on the appearance of the seated ladies who are displaying
their sleeves from behind the blinds.
On this occasion, the Chamberlain in charge became dreadfully stern
and officious on the first night,
3 and barred the door to everyone except
the ladies in charge of the hairdressing and two of the girl attendants.
He grew really quite offensive, and when some of the courtiers pleaded
with him to make an exception just for one more, he stubbornly refused,
on the grounds that it would only make everyone else envy her. The
twenty lady attendants from Her Majesty’s, however, simply ignored
him, pushed open the door and went bustling gaily in, and it was very
funny to see him stand there gaping in astonishment, muttering, ‘Good
gracious me, what’s the world coming to!’ The rest of the attendants all
followed their lead and pressed in, and the expression on the
Chamberlain’s face was now one of absolute outrage. The Emperor was
also present at the time, and he must have found it quite entertaining to
witness all this.
The sight of a dancer’s face lit by the glow of a nearby lamp as she
dozes is also most enchanting.
4
[88]* One day His Majesty brought along a biwa called ‘Nameless’, which
we ladies could examine and try out. I didn’t attempt to play it,
however, but only stroked the strings. ‘What was its name again?’ I
innocently inquired, and Her Majesty replied, ‘Oh, it’s not important
enough to have a name’, which I thought was really a quite wonderful
answer. The Shigeisa and others also came to pay a visit, and as they
were talking she happened to remark that she had in her possession a
very interesting shō, which she’d received from their late father.
‘Oh, do give it to me!’ said her brother Bishop Ryūen. ‘I have a very
fine kin which I’d be happy to exchange for it.’ The Shigeisa took no
notice of this and simply went on talking about something else, but
Ryūen kept repeating his request, pestering her for an answer, until
finally Her Majesty turned to him and said, ‘She obviously doesn’t
intend to replace the “Irreplaceable”.’ This was just the most marvellous
thing to say, but unfortunately Ryūen hadn’t heard of this shō of His
Majesty’s, and he simply continued to glower and sulk.
I seem to remember that this happened during the time when Her
Majesty was in the Office of the Empress’s Household. ‘Irreplaceable’
was the name of one of the shō in His Majesty’s collection.
In fact the names of all the stringed and wind instruments in His
Majesty’s collection are fascinating. There’s ‘Above Mystery’, ‘Pastured
Horse’, ‘Water Sluice’, ‘Wei River Bridge’ and ‘Nameless’. Then, among
the Japanese koto there’s ‘Decayed Wood Knot’, ‘Salt Kiln’ and ‘Two
Openings’. There’s also ‘Water Dragon’, ‘Little Water Dragon’, ‘Priest
Uda’, ‘Hammer’, ‘Two Leaves’ and so on – I’ve heard so many names,
but have forgotten the others. The Secretary Captain always used to
speak of really fine instruments as ‘worthy of the Giyōden’s top drawer’.
1
[89] I remember an occasion before the blinds of Her Majesty’s apartment
when the senior courtiers spent the whole day playing the koto and the
flute. When evening came and the lamps were produced, one was lit
near where Her Majesty was seated; as the lattice shutters hadn’t yet
been lowered, she was clearly visible through the open door, so she
raised her biwa and held it vertically to shield herself from view. There
she sat, in a scarlet robe with quite indescribably lovely gowns and
starched robes beneath, in layer upon layer, and it was thrilling too to
see how her sleeves fell over the rich glossy black of the biwa as she held
it, and the sharp contrast of her wonderfully white forehead, clearly
visible at the side of the shielding instrument.
I went over to one of the ladies and remarked, ‘The maiden who “half
hides her face” could not have looked as splendid as this. After all, she
was only a commoner, wasn’t she?’ The lady then made her way
through the packed crowd and repeated this to Her Majesty, who
laughed and cleverly responded, ‘And does she then understand his
feelings on “parting”?’
1
[90] Infuriating things – Thinking of one or two changes in the wording
after you’ve sent a message to someone, or written and sent off a reply
to someone’s message.
Having hurriedly sewn something, you’re rather pleased with how
nicely you’ve done it – but then when you come to pull out the needle,
you find that you forgot to knot the thread when you began. It’s also
infuriating to discover you’ve sewn something inside out.
I remember an occasion while Her Majesty was staying in the
Southern Residence,
1 when she announced that some clothes were
urgently needed, and ordered us all to set to and sew them then and
there. She handed out the pieces of robe, and we all gathered at the
front of the building and started work, each on her separate piece. We
looked quite crazed, everyone sewing away furiously to see who could
do the most, each of us seated on her own and all facing in different
directions. Nurse Myōbu raced through her sewing and put down the
finished work. However, just as she was in the act of tying off the thread
she realized that she’d stitched one of the sleeve pieces together the
wrong way round. She flung it down in a panic and rose to her feet, but
when her piece was put together with the back section the mistake was
discovered. We made great fun of her for this, and told her she had to
hurry and re-do it, but she wouldn’t hear of it. ‘Why should I re-sew it
just because I find I’ve sewed it up wrongly?’ she demanded. ‘If it’s
figured cloth or something then you can tell what’s back and front, and
it would be fair to make anyone who hadn’t looked re-sew it in that
case, but this is unpatterned cloth, so there was no way of telling. Why
should I re-sew this! Get someone who hasn’t done any of the sewing to
fix it.’
‘Well, we can’t just leave things at that, can we,’ said Gen Shōnagon
and Chūnagon, and they drew up the pieces and grimly set about doing
the necessary re-sewing. It was most entertaining to observe how Nurse
Myōbu sat there staring balefully at them as they worked.
You’ve just had some lovely bush clover or plume grass planted and
are admiring it when some fellows arrive carrying a long box and a
couple of spades, set about brazenly digging away at it, and carry it off.
This is both depressing and infuriating. They wouldn’t dream of doing
this if someone of standing were present, but though you do your utmost
to stop them, they simply ignore your orders. ‘We’re just taking a little,’
they assure you, and off they go, which infuriates beyond words.
It’s also most infuriating for those concerned when a servant from
some grand establishment arrives at the residence of someone such as a
Provincial Governor and addresses everyone with an offhand rudeness,
obviously feeling he can get away with it where such lowly folk are
concerned.
‘some fellows arrive carrying a long box’
You’ve received a letter you’re anxious to read, and someone snatches
it from you and retreats to the garden, where he stands reading it.
Infuriated and miserable, you pursue him as far as the blinds, but there
you have to stop.
2 As you stand there watching while he reads, you’re
almost overwhelmed by the frustrated urge to dash out and retrieve it.
3
[91] Things it’s frustrating and embarrassing to witness – A guest has
arrived and you’re sitting talking when people inside begin a
conversation of a confidential nature, and you have to sit there hearing
it, powerless to stop them.
Similarly, your lover becomes terribly drunk, and starts coming out
with confidential things when he can be overheard.
Someone starts talking about another person, unaware that he’s sitting
within earshot. This is very embarrassing, even if the person concerned
is a mere servant and not someone of consequence.
Witnessing the serving men in the place you’re visiting overnight
being playful and silly.
Someone insists on telling you about some horrid little child, carried
away with her own infatuation with the creature, imitating its voice as
she gushes about the cute and winning things it says.
A person of no learning, making ostentatious use of famous names in
front of someone truly learned.
It’s also painfully embarrassing to have to stand by and hear someone
proudly reciting to others a poem of theirs that isn’t really much good,
or bragging about the praise they’ve received for it.
[92] Startling and disconcerting things – The way you feel when an
ornamental comb that you’re in the process of polishing happens to
bump against something and suddenly snaps.
An ox cart that’s overturned. You’ve assumed that something of such
enormous bulk must of course be thoroughly stable, and you’re simply
stunned to see it lying there, and deeply disconcerted.
Someone bluntly saying things that are embarrassing and unpleasant
for the other person.
It’s horribly startling and disconcerting to stay up all night waiting,
certain that someone will come, then finally begin to give up thought of
him as dawn breaks, and drift off to sleep – only to wake with a start
when a crow caws suddenly just outside, and discover that it’s broad
daylight.
Someone with a letter that’s to be delivered elsewhere shows it to a
person who shouldn’t see it.
Someone pins you down and commences laying down the law about
something that means absolutely nothing to you, without your being
able to get a word in edgeways.
Spilling something is always very startling and disconcerting.
[93] Regrettable things – When a dark rain falls instead of snow for the
Gosechi Festival or the Litany of Buddha Names.
When an imperial abstinence turns out to coincide with one of the
Palace Festivals. You’ve all been busy preparing for and looking forward
to the event, and suddenly this obstruction brings everything to a halt.
It’s a great pity when there’s a musical gathering, or some other such
thing you want someone to see, and you send to have them come, but
they don’t arrive.
A like-minded company of women or men
1
sets off together from the
palace to visit a temple or some other place. The sleeves spill tastefully
out from their carriage, scrupulously, even overscrupulously, arranged –
so much so that someone of taste might find the effect if anything a bit
repellent – and then, to everyone’s deep chagrin, you don’t meet with a
single horse or carriage bearing anyone who could appreciate the effect.
It’s quite extraordinary how, from sheer vexation, you find yourself
longing for even some passing commoner to have the sensibility to
appreciate the scene, and later spread the word.
[94]* At the time of the Abstinence and Prayer
1 of the fifth month, when
Her Majesty was residing at the Office of the Empress’s Household, the
space between the pillars in front of the Retreat Room was made over
for use as a prayer area, which gave it quite a special feel.
It had been overcast and tending to rain since the first day of the
month. Some of us were sitting about at a loose end, when I came up
with the suggestion that it would be fun to go off on an expedition to
hear the hototogisu. The others immediately leapt at the idea, so the
outing was organized.
Someone said that the hototogisu could be heard at that place called
Something Point beyond the Kamo Shrine, with a name a bit like the
bridge of the Tanabata story but not as pleasant.
2 Someone else,
however, maintained that it wasn’t hototogisu but cicadas.
3
Anyway, we decided to go there. On the morning of the fifth day we
ordered one of the officials to prepare a carriage. Since it was raining,
we decided no one would object if we had it brought round to the steps
for us via the northern guard gate, and four of us duly got in. The others
were filled with envy and demanded that another carriage be ordered for
them, but Her Majesty wouldn’t hear of it, and off we went, heartlessly
ignoring all their pleas.
There was a noisy crowd of people up by the Riding Ground.
4
‘What’s
going on?’ we asked, and were informed that it was the main event of
the mounted archery competitions. ‘Please be so good as to stay and
observe a little,’ they urged us, so we halted the carriage to watch.
We were told that everyone was there, from the Captain of the Left
Palace Guards down, but there was no sign of them. Various low-ranking
officials were standing here and there or wandering about. ‘How boring,’
we said. ‘Quick, let’s move on’, and we went smartly on our way.
The scene along the road we travelled was delightfully reminiscent of
the Kamo Festival. The house of Lord Akinobu
5
lay along this way, and
we decided to take the opportunity to have a look at it, so we drew up
our carriage and alighted. It was in the rustic style, bare and simple, and
there was a deliberately old-fashioned air about it, with its standing
screens illustrated with horses, its sliding doors of wicker-weave and its
burr-reed blinds. The building itself, too, had a provisional feel to it. It
was long and narrow, rather like a corridor, quite lacking in depth
though charming for all that. And as for the hototogisu, they were indeed
calling back and forth, so loudly in fact that they made almost too much
of a din for comfort. We did feel sorry then that Her Majesty wasn’t
there to hear them, nor the others who’d so wanted to come with us.
Our host declared that since we were in the country we must see some
country things. He produced a bundle of something called ‘rice heads’,
and called in some girls from nearby houses, lowly folk but quite neat
and presentable, and got five or six of them to thresh the rice for us. Two
of them also demonstrated some unfamiliar machine that revolved,
6
singing as they worked it. We laughed with pleasure at how new and
strange everything was, and all these distractions quite dispelled any
thought of composing our hototogisu poems.
Food was provided for us on meal-stands such as you see in Chinese
paintings, but none of us was inclined to eat. ‘It’s rough country fare, I
grant you,’ Lord Akinobu said apologetically, ‘but I’ve found that
visitors from the capital generally tend to clamour for dishes of this and
that till the host is longing to escape. It’s most uncharacteristic for guests
to fail to touch their food like this’, and he coaxed us along by pointing
out that he himself had plucked the little fern shoots we were served.
‘But how can we eat lined up here like so many maids before the
table?’ I teased him – to which he replied, ‘If that’s the case, you should
take the dishes down off the stands. Ladies of your station would be used
to the face-down pose,
7 no doubt.’
In the midst of all this jollity and hospitality, a servant came in to
report that it had begun to rain, and we hastened back to the carriage.
‘Now’s the time to compose our poems,’ someone suggested, but I said,
‘Oh, we might as well wait till we’re on the road’, and we all climbed in.
Noticing masses of white deutzia blossom along the way, we got our
men to pick great sprays of it, and threaded all the blinds and sides of
the carriage with flowers, and thatched the roof and ridgepole with long
stems of it, till the whole carriage looked just like a hedge of flowering
deutzia attached to an ox. The men were full of laughter as they helped
each other poke more sprays in here and there, with cries of ‘There’s a
gap here!’ ‘And here’s another!’
We were hoping to meet some people along the way, but to our great
disappointment all we came across was the odd worthless commoner
and a lowly priest or two.
‘We really can’t end the expedition like this,’ I said as we were
nearing the palace. ‘We must at least make sure the story of this carriage
of ours gets told’, so we stopped at the Ichijō mansion and sent a
messenger to ask if Adviser Kiminobu
8 was there, and to say that we’d
just returned from hearing the hototogisu.
‘I am on my way,’ came his reply. ‘Please wait, dear ladies.’ The
messenger added that he’d been lounging informally in the retainers’
quarters, but had leapt up and was hastening into his gathered trousers
to greet us.
We decided it wasn’t really worth waiting, and off we went again –
but as we were heading towards the Tsuchi Gate,
9 Kiminobu came
dashing up behind us crying ‘Wait! Wait!’, having somehow scrambled
into his court clothes and still fastening his waist sash as he ran down
the road. With him came three or four retainers, rushing along in bare
feet.
‘Quick!’ we cried, urging our carriage as fast as it could go, but just as
we reached the gate he arrived beside us, gasping heavily.
He roared with laughter at the sight of our carriage. ‘This doesn’t look
like anything you’d find mere mortals riding in!’ he exclaimed. ‘Please
come out and show yourselves.’ The others who’d arrived with him were
all highly amused too.
‘Where are your poems? Come on, let’s hear them,’ he then
demanded.
‘Wait till we’ve told them to Her Majesty,’ we replied, and as we
spoke it suddenly began to rain in earnest.
‘It’s times like this,’ Kiminobu complained, ‘when I particularly resent
the fact that for some reason they built this gate without a roof, unlike
all the others. But how can I go home now?’ he continued. ‘My only
thought when I came running was whether I could catch you. I didn’t
pause to wonder about who might see me. Still, I can’t go any further
looking like this…’
‘Oh come on,’ we cried. ‘Come to the palace!’
‘But how can I, wearing my lacquered cap?’
10
‘Send someone to fetch your formal wear, then,’ we suggested.
It now began to absolutely pour, and our men, who had no rain-hats
to shelter under, urged the ox along into the palace grounds as fast as it
would go. Resigning himself, Kiminobu opened the umbrella that had
been fetched from home for him, and turned and made his slow and
dejected way back to the Ichijō mansion, turning constantly to look
behind him as he went – a very different sight from when he had
arrived. It was charming to watch him trailing mournfully along, in his
hand a token spray of deutzia blossom plucked from our carriage.
When we arrived back, Her Majesty asked what we’d seen. Everyone
who’d wanted to come with us listened to our tale with expressions of
envy and woe, but they all laughed when we got to the story of how
Adviser Kiminobu had run along pursuing us down IchijōAvenue.
‘Well then, what of your poems?’ Her Majesty inquired, and when we
confessed our story, she said, ‘This is a great shame. How will it be when
the senior courtiers ask to hear what you composed, and you have
nothing at all of interest to show them? If only you’d made your poems
then and there, when you heard the hototogisu. You were obviously too
constrained by wanting to create something pedantically correct. Well,
you must compose them now. I quite despair of you all!’
This was all perfectly true, and we felt miserable. We were busy
discussing what our poems should be, when a poem on the theme of his
token spray of deutzia blossom arrived from Adviser Kiminobu, written
on thin paper coloured in the deutzia combination – I can’t now recall
the poem. This required an immediate reply, so we sent someone to
fetch an inkstone from our rooms.
‘Here, just use this and write your reply quickly,’ Her Majesty said,
passing us paper and writing implements on the lid of her own writing
box.
‘Saishō, you must write it,’ I said. ‘No, it has to be you,’ said she, and
as we were negotiating back and forth, the sky suddenly grew dark and
the rain began to pour down, and then there was a terrific clap of
thunder. We were beside ourselves with terror, and rushed about
lowering the shutters, and so all thought of composing a reply quite
slipped our minds.
The thunder continued for a very long time, and by the time the storm
was finally drawing to its end, it was dark. No sooner had we at last sat
down to see to the reply to Kiminobu’s poem than a number of people,
including some court nobles, arrived to ask how we’d fared with the
thunderstorm, so we moved out to the western aisle room to talk with
them, and the poem was again forgotten. Then finally one of the others
declared that it was the person to whom the poem was addressed who
should make the reply, and there the matter ended. It was all very
depressing – today really did seem a day of bad karma for poetry.
‘Well then, let’s not even let it be known that we went off like that on
the expedition today,’ we decided with a laugh.
‘Surely all of you who went could manage to create something
together,’ said Her Majesty, looking charmingly cross. ‘Or is it that
you’re simply not inclined even to try?’
‘But the whole thing has become a bore by now,’ I replied. ‘Good
heavens, how can it be a bore!’ exclaimed Her Majesty, but the matter
was nevertheless left at that.
*
Two days later, we were discussing the excursion when Her Majesty
overheard Saishō asking me, ‘What did you think of those little fern
shoots that he said he’d plucked himself?’
‘So that’s the sort of thing you recall, is it?’ she said with a laugh, and
seizing a stray piece of paper that was lying nearby, she wrote,
It was the little fern shoots
that I longingly recalled.
‘Now make the first part of the poem,’ she instructed me. I was
delighted, and wrote,
I went in search
of the hototogisu’s song
but rather than that voice…
‘Well, you have a fine nerve I must say!’ said Her Majesty with a smile
when she saw it. ‘Why do you make this a poem on the subject of the
hototogisu, only to belittle it like this?’
Embarrassed, I threw myself into my self-defence. ‘But it was never
my intention to write this poem in the first place!’ I declared. ‘Whenever
there’s an occasion when people are composing, and Your Majesty
instructs me to make a poem, my only impulse is to flee. Not that I don’t
understand the rules of syllable count, or that I make winter poems in
spring, or write about plum blossom or cherry blossom in autumn, or
anything of that sort. But after all, I come from a line of people with a
name for good poetry, so I’d like it to be said that my poems are a bit
better than the average. When I compose something, I want people to
say later, “This was a particularly impressive poem composed on that
occasion – just what you’d expect, considering her forebears.” It’s an
offence to my late father’s name, to fancy myself as a poet and put
myself forward to make some plausible-sounding poem, when in fact
what I write has nothing special to recommend it at all.’
Her Majesty smiled and replied, ‘Well, if that’s how you feel, we shall
leave it up to you, and not demand that you compose anything.’
‘This is a huge relief to me,’ I replied gratefully. ‘I won’t worry myself
over composing any more, then.’
This conversation took place at the time of the Three Worms Night.
11
Palace Minister Korechika was engrossed in making elaborate plans for
the event. Late that night, a poetry topic was announced, and we ladies
were asked to compose on it. Tension was thick in the air as everyone
set about the agonizing business of bringing forth a poem, but I
meanwhile settled down near Her Majesty and engaged her in
conversation on quite different matters. Observing this, His Excellency
Korechika said tersely, ‘Why aren’t you over there with everyone else
composing your poem? Here, take the topic and set to work’, and he
handed it to me.
‘The reason I’m not thinking of my poem,’ I calmly replied, ‘is that
Her Majesty has told me that I don’t need to, so I have chosen not to
compose one.’
‘This is very peculiar,’ His Excellency said. Turning to Her Majesty he
continued, ‘Can this be true? Why did you say this to her? It’s unheard
of!’ To me he said firmly, ‘Well, I don’t know about other occasions, but
on this occasion you must compose something.’
For all his scolding, however, I paid him not the slightest notice.
Everyone had finished their poems, and they were in the process of
being weighed and judged, when Her Majesty jotted down a quick note
and tossed it to me. It said,
And is it then
the child of Motosuke
who sits tonight
choosing to hold herself aloof
from the poetic gathering?
I was utterly delighted by it, and burst into laughter, which caused His
Excellency to exclaim, ‘What’s this? What’s this?’
I replied with:
‘It is only because
I am the child of that great man –
If this were not so
I would have been the very first
to provide my poem tonight.’
‘Indeed,’ I added to Her Majesty, ‘if it weren’t for the humility I feel, a
thousand verses would spring from my lips.’
[95] It was while we were in the Office of the Empress’s Household, a
brilliantly moonlit night close to the full moon of the eighth month.
Ukon had been asked to play the biwa. Her Majesty was seated near the
edge of the aisle. The other ladies were chatting and laughing, but I sat
in silence, leaning against an aisle pillar.
‘Why so quiet?’ inquired Her Majesty. ‘Say something. You’re looking
too forlorn.’ ‘I’m simply immersing myself in the spirit of the
moonlight,’
1
I replied. ‘Beautifully put,’ remarked Her Majesty.
[96] There was a large and distinguished gathering at Her Majesty’s, of
various family members, nobles and senior courtiers. I was sitting
leaning against an aisle pillar talking to some of the ladies, when Her
Majesty tossed me a note. Opening it, I read, ‘Should I love you, or
should I not? How would it be if you were not loved above others?’
This was a reference to something I had said in passing in Her
Majesty’s hearing. ‘I absolutely must be first in someone’s heart,’ I’d
declared. ‘If not, I’d prefer to be loathed and treated like dirt. I’d rather
die than be second or third in a person’s affections. It’s first or nothing,
for me.’ Hearing me, some of the ladies had joked, ‘She’s Lady Lotus
Sutra – there can be no other Law.’
I wrote a response to Her Majesty with the writing implements she
provided, which said in part, ‘Of the nine paths to Paradise, I would
happily take even the lowest.’
1
‘This won’t do at all,’ declared Her Majesty when she received it.
‘You’ve completely lost your nerve! You should stand by what you say.’
‘But it all depends on whom I’m talking about,’ I said.
‘That is just the problem,’ she replied. ‘You should wish to be loved
first by the one whom you hold first in your own heart.’
It was a delightful thing to say.
[97] The Counsellor
1 paid a visit, and presented Her Majesty with a fan.
‘I’ve come by some excellent fan ribs,’ he said, ‘and I was intending to
have them papered and give the fan to you, but I couldn’t use any old
paper for the task, so I’m still searching.’
‘What sort of ribs can they be?’ Her Majesty inquired.
His voice rose in excitement. ‘They’re just wonderful! People say
they’ve never seen such ribs, and truly, they’re not the sort of thing
anyone’s ever laid eyes on!’
I was seated nearby during this exchange, and at this point I
remarked, ‘Well then, they can’t be fan ribs, they must be the ribs of a
jellyfish.’
2
‘That’s very good,’ said the Counsellor with a laugh. ‘Let’s have it that
I’m the one who said that.’
Stories of this kind really belong in the ‘Things it’s frustrating and
embarrassing to witness’ section. I’ve only added it here because people
have begged me not to leave anything out.
[98] One wet day during the endless rains, Her Majesty received a visit
from Aide of Ceremonials Nobutsune,
1 who was bearing a message from
the Emperor. Noticing how he’d pushed back the cushion that was set
out for him as usual, and was sitting oddly far away, I teased him by
saying, ‘So who else have you brought along?’
He laughed. ‘If I sit on the cushion after coming through this rain, I’ll
leave horrible dirty footprints on it,’ he replied.
‘Oh well,’ I said, ‘let’s say it’s your footman
2
then.’
‘Now you can’t claim that as your own joke,’ he said. ‘If I hadn’t
mentioned leaving footprints, you wouldn’t have been able to say it,
would you!’ and he kept on repeating this, which I found very amusing.
‘This reminds me,’ I said to him, ‘of the famous Enutaki, the servant of
the former Empress. When Fujiwara Tokikara, who died while he was
Governor of Mino province, was Chamberlain, he went one day to the
servants’ quarters and said, “So this is the Enutaki they all speak of!
Why don’t you look like your name?”
“‘Sir,” she replied, “what I look like depends, as your own name
suggests, on when you look.”
3 Even the nobles and senior courtiers
relayed this tale with great amusement, and everyone declared that one
would be hard pressed to come up with such a fine response, even if you
could make your choice of names for the exchange. And indeed, the tale
is told to this very day.’
‘Well, that’s another instance of a witticism that “depends on the
moment”, isn’t it,’ joked Nobutsune. ‘In fact the same thing goes for
good poetry in Chinese or Japanese too – its success simply depends on
the subject you’re presented with.’
‘Yes, that’s no doubt true,’ I said agreeably. ‘Well then, I’ll propose a
subject for you, and let’s hear your poem.’
‘A fine idea!’ he gamely replied.
‘And while we’re about it, why don’t I provide you with lots of
subjects,’ I went on.
While we were continuing in this vein, Her Majesty’s reply to the
Emperor’s message was brought out, and Nobutsune seized his chance.
‘This is beginning to scare me,’ he declared. ‘It’s time I made my
escape’, and away he went.
‘He’s run away like this in order to hide the fact that his Chinese and
Japanese calligraphy is dreadful, and he’s afraid people will make fun of
him,’ remarked one of the ladies, and we all laughed.
When he was head of the Crafts Workshop, Nobutsune sent someone a
draught drawing of something they were making, with a letter saying,
‘This is the way it should look.’ When I happened upon it, I was
astonished at how truly appalling his calligraphy was, and added a note
to his letter that said, ‘If this is an example of the way it’s going to look,
it will certainly look very peculiar.’ When his letter was duly delivered
to the Privy Chamber, everyone got a great laugh out of it, and
Nobutsune was incensed with me.
[99]* There could be no more splendid celebrations conceivable than those
around the time when the Shigeisa entered the court of the Crown
Prince. She moved to his residence on the tenth day of the first month,
and though there ensued quite a flurry of letters between her and Her
Majesty, they hadn’t yet met in person
1 when word came that she
would be paying a visit soon after the tenth day of the following month.
Her Majesty’s quarters were polished and prepared with even more care
than usual, and we gentlewomen were all tense with excitement at the
prospect.
The Shigeisa arrived in the middle of the night, not long before dawn
broke, and His Excellency the Regent and his wife arrived in a single
carriage just before daybreak.
A small room in the eastern aisle of the Tōkaden had been carefully
prepared to receive her. The shutters were raised very early that
morning. On the south side of the room Her Majesty had ordered a fourfoot-long screen to be set up, running east– west, and she sat before this.
The room was furnished with
Screen
mats and cushions for seating, and a brazier. A great crowd of us
gentlewomen was gathered, seated to the south behind the standing
screen or in front of the curtained dais.
While I was doing Her Majesty’s hair before everyone arrived, she
inquired whether I’d caught a glimpse of the Shigeisa yet.
‘How might I have done that?’ I replied. ‘All I’ve seen is a quick
glimpse of her back on the day her carriage arrived at the palace.’
‘Well then, you should position yourself by the pillar behind the
screen, and sneak a look from behind me. She’s very lovely,’ said Her
Majesty. I was filled with happy anticipation at this, and deeply
impatient for the moment to arrive.
Her Majesty wore two plum-pink cloaks, one a heavy brocade and the
other with a raised brocade pattern, draped over three scarlet robes of
glossed silk. ‘Plum-pink is really best when set off with deep purple,’ she
remarked. ‘It’s a pity I can’t wear it. No doubt at this stage of the season
it would be better not to wear plum-pink, but on the other hand I think a
colour such as spring-shoot green would be awful.
2 Does this go with
the scarlet, do you think?’ Despite these concerns, she looked utterly
splendid. All the colours she wore were particularly lovely, and
beautifully set off her glowing complexion; I was filled with longing to
see this other grand lady, who would surely look just as splendid as she.
When the moment arrived for Her Majesty to slide forward on her
knees and enter the room, I established myself up against the screen and
peeped in. Some of the other gentlewomen muttered in a voice intended
to be overheard, ‘That’s no way to behave! She’s bound to get into
trouble!’ – which I must say amused me. The sliding panels were wide
open, so I could see perfectly.
His Excellency’s wife wore several layers of white over two robes of
stiff glossed scarlet, and a formal train in the style of a gentlewoman
3
over this ensemble, but as she was seated further in, on the inner side of
the room, facing east, I couldn’t make out much more than this.
The Shigeisa was further to the northern end of the room, facing south
towards me. She was dressed in layer upon layer of gowns in lighter and
darker shades of plum-pink, with over this a rich damask gown. Her
formal over-robe was of a reddish maroon figured silk, and the
uppermost layer was a heavy brocade in spring-shoot green, which
produced a beautifully youthful impression. I was deeply impressed with
the way she sat throughout with her fan shielding her face, and I must
say I found her utterly splendid and wonderful.
His Excellency the Regent was seated facing in towards me, his back
to an outer pillar. He wore a pale violet-grey cloak and gathered trousers
of spring-shoot green figured silk, with layers of scarlet robes beneath,
and the neck-cord of his cloak was fastened in the formal manner. He
was indulging in his usual joking banter, and beaming at the fineness of
the occasion.
While the Shigeisa looked like a glorious picture, sitting there so
quietly, Her Majesty was in contrast thoroughly relaxed, her somewhat
more mature face set off to glowing perfection by the scarlet she wore,
and really there was no one who could compare with her.
Water was brought in for the washing of hands,
4 with two little girls
and four servants bringing the water for the Shigeisa via the Senyōden
and Jōganden. There were about six of the Shigeisa’s gentlewomen
seated along the gallery at this end of the Chinese roof section
5 – the
rest had returned after accompanying the Shigeisa, as the gallery was too
narrow to accommodate them all. It was a truly elegant sight to see the
little girls, dressed in wonderful over-robes of cherry blossom over
spring-shoot green, plum-pink and so on, long sleeves trailing, receiving
the water and passing it on. Nearby sat Shōshō, daughter of Chief
Equerry Sukemasa, and Saishō, daughter of the Kitano Consultant, the
sleeves of their figured-silk Chinese jackets spilling from beneath the
blinds behind which they were seated.
I was drinking all this in with delight, when the turn came for Her
Majesty’s water to be presented. This too was a charming scene – the
serving lady on duty who took the water from the servant wore a green
train, the robe shaded deeper at the sleeves, with Chinese jacket, and
formal cords at waist and shoulder, and her face was powdered very
white. It was all performed most ceremonially, and was delightfully
Chinese in its effect.
Then it was time for the meal, and the lady in charge of hairdressing
appeared, to put up Her Majesty’s hair,
6
followed by the Lady
Chamberlains, also with their hair up, who entered carrying the food. At
this point, they set about folding back the separating standing screen
from behind which I’d been peeping. I felt as if I was being stripped of a
magic cloak of invisibility. Bereft, and longing to see more, I hastily
moved further round, to a new position between the blind and the
standing curtain, and continued to peep from behind a pillar.
However, my sleeves and train were now all left trailing outside the
blind, and His Excellency soon caught sight of them. ‘Who’s that,
watching from behind that blind there?’ he demanded.
‘It must be Shōnagon,’ replied Her Majesty, ‘wanting to see the
proceedings.’
‘Dear me, how embarrassing!’ he exclaimed. ‘She’s an old
acquaintance of mine, and I hate the idea of her thinking what terrible
daughters I have.’ He was fairly bursting with pride as he spoke.
Food was now served to the Shigeisa, and meanwhile His Excellency
continued to tease. ‘I’m filled with envy!’ he declared. ‘Both you ladies
have been given all your food. Hurry and eat what you can, and then
pass this old fella and his old lady the scraps please.’ He continued this
jesting all day, in fact.
After a while, Grand Counsellor Korechika and Captain Third Rank
Takaie arrived, leading Korechika’s little son Matsugimi, and His
Excellency scooped up the charming little boy delightedly, and settled
him on to his knee.
The narrow veranda was quite overflowing with the jumble of the
men’s ceremonial trains. The Grand Counsellor was a most handsome
and impressive figure, while the Captain gave the impression of being
highly talented and resourceful – indeed both were so splendid that I
was struck, as I gazed, by how wonderful must be the karma of Her
Ladyship their mother, not to mention of course His Excellency himself.
‘Take a straw cushion,’ His Excellency urged Korechika, but he
departed quickly, with the explanation that he must be on his way to the
Palace Guards Office.
Somewhat later, one of the Aides of Ceremonial arrived bearing a
message from His Majesty, and was given a seat on a cushion in the
room to the north of the table storage room. Her Majesty composed her
reply very swiftly, and he was no sooner gone and his cushion about to
be withdrawn than Lieutenant Chikayori arrived with a message from
the Crown Prince for the Shigeisa. Since the veranda of the bridgeway
was rather narrow, a separate cushion was placed for him on the main
veranda further in.
The letter was brought in, and His Excellency, Her Ladyship and Her
Majesty perused it in turn. When the Shigeisa couldn’t manage to
produce a quick reply despite their urging, His Excellency said teasingly,
‘I suppose you aren’t writing anything because I’m here watching. I
gather that on other occasions you can send off streams of letters’, and
she blushed slightly and gave a quite marvellous, embarrassed little
smile.
‘Come on, do be quick!’ scolded her mother, and at last the Consort
turned herself sideways and set about writing something. Her Ladyship
went over and helped her to complete it, which seemed to cause her
even greater embarrassment.
Her Majesty had a formal over-robe of figured spring-shoot green and
skirted trousers put out as a gift for the messenger. Takaie took them
and draped them on the Lieutenant’s shoulder,
7 and he put a hand on
them and departed, looking rather strained beneath their weight.
Everyone listened in enchantment to the charming things little
Matsugimi was saying. ‘It would be no bad thing if you were to pass him
off as your own on occasion,’ His Excellency remarked to Her Majesty,
which reminded us all uneasily of the fact that she had yet to produce a
son.
Around the Hour of the Sheep, there came the announcement that
they were rolling out the mat
8
for His Majesty’s visit. In no time he
arrived, with a fine swish of silks, and Her Majesty withdrew. Since both
of them now retired to the curtained dais,
9 all the gentlewomen also
withdrew and made their way with a great rustling to the southern aisle.
There were a great
‘the mat for His Majesty’s visit’
many senior courtiers gathered about the gallery there.
His Excellency called one of the servants of Her Majesty’s household to
him and ordered that they should be provided with enough saké to get
them drunk, along with snacks to accompany it. And indeed they all did
get drunk, and there was apparently great fun on both sides as they
proceeded to bandy words with the gentlewomen.
Their Majesties rose around sunset. Grand Counsellor Yamanoi was
called in to assist with His Majesty’s robe change, and he departed. He
made a splendid figure, in cherry-blossom cloak and scarlet robes, all
aglow in the evening light – but here awe halts my hand. Although the
Grand Counsellor was not a full brother, he was on very good terms with
Her Majesty’s family. He was even more refined and handsome than
Grand Counsellor Korechika, his half brother, and I must say it was a
great shame that people spoke so ill of him. The two Grand Counsellors,
together with the Captain and the Director of the Court Repository,
10
accompanied His Majesty back to his residence.
Muma no Naishi later arrived bearing a message from the Emperor to
say that Her Majesty’s presence was required there that evening.
‘Oh dear, I really can’t tonight,’ Her Majesty grumbled, but her father
heard this and berated her roundly. ‘How shocking of you!’ he declared.
‘You must go at once.’ What with constant messages now coming from
the Crown Prince to summon the Shigeisa as well, there was quite a
hubbub of activity. More gentlewomen from the Emperor’s court arrived
to urge her to make haste and come, and the Crown Prince had
meanwhile sent Jijū on a similar mission.
There was now a wonderful scene where everyone conferred. ‘Surely
the Shigeisa should be the first to depart,’ Her Majesty said to her father.
‘But why should I be the first to go?’ the Shigeisa demurred, which
Her Majesty countered by offering to see her off personally.
Finally it was decided that the one with farther to go should leave
first, and the Shigeisa departed. When His Excellency and the others had
returned from bearing her company, Her Majesty in turn departed for
the Emperor’s palace. We were recalling His Excellency’s jokes as we
made our way back from accompanying her, and we all fell about
laughing so much that we were in danger of tumbling off the temporary
bridgeway.
11
[100] A branch of plum from which the blossoms had fallen arrived one day
from the Privy Chamber, with the message: ‘What do you make of this?’
My response was simply, ‘The flowers have already scattered.’
1
When they learned of my reply, a large group of senior courtiers who
were seated in the Black Door room set about chanting this poem. His
Majesty happened to overhear, and remarked, ‘This is a better response
than merely writing a good poem. She’s made a fine answer.’
[101] Around the end of the second month a terrific wind blew up, the sky
grew quite black, and a little snow had begun to swirl down, when one
of the groundsmen appeared at the Black Door and called me over.
When I approached, he produced a letter, saying, ‘This is from
Consultant Kintō.’
1
On a piece of notepaper he had written:
There is about this day
some tiny touch of spring.
2
It did indeed well express the feel of the day, and I set about racking
my brains over how to add the earlier lines to complete the poem.
‘Who is there to hear it?’
3
I inquired, and he told me the names. They
were all poets fit to shame me, and I was in agony for fear of sending
something inferior, particularly since the recipient was the great Kintō
himself. I longed to be able to show it to Her Majesty for advice, but His
Majesty was present and they were secluded together.
Meanwhile, the messenger was urging me to make a swift reply. And
indeed it would make a bad poem even worse to take too long in
sending it, so I threw caution to the winds and wrote in a trembling
hand:
The tumbling snow
so like spring’s tumbling petals
falls from a chilly sky.
As I handed him the poem, I wondered miserably what they’d make of
it. While I did long to hear their opinion, on the other hand I felt I’d
rather not know if they were rude about my response. But later, the
Captain of the Left Gate Watch
4
(who at that time held the post of
Captain of the Palace Guards) told me the only reaction was that
Consultant Toshikata had suggested I should be promoted to High
Gentlewoman, so I was greatly relieved.
[102] Things with far to go – The work of twisting up the long cord of a
hanpi jacket.
1
Someone crossing the Ōsaka Barrier just beyond the capital, setting
out for distant Michinoku.
A newborn child, at the start of the long journey to adulthood.
[103] Masahiro is a great laughing-stock. I wonder how his parents must
feel when they hear all the hilarity at their son’s expense. People will
call over some long-standing attendant of his and tease him. ‘Why on
earth are you in such a fellow’s service?’ they’ll say. ‘How does it feel?’
He comes from a household where they prepare their clothes beautifully,
and seeing him wearing those wonderfully coloured train-robes and
elegant cloaks, so much finer than everyone else’s, people sigh and say,
‘If only they were on someone else instead of Masahiro!’
What’s more, he can say the most peculiar things.
There was the occasion when he ordered two men to go to his home to
fetch the clothes for his night watch. ‘I can do that by myself,’ one of the
men replied.
‘Don’t be crazy,’ said Masahiro. ‘How is one person going to carry the
load of two? Can you put two measures into a one-measure pot?’
No one had any idea what he was talking about, and we were all in
fits of laughter.
Then there was the time when a messenger was demanding a quick
reply to his message. Masahiro got quite upset. ‘The man’s driving me
mad with his fretting,’ he declared. ‘What’s he up to, tossing his beans in
the oven like this?
1 Now who’s stolen the brush and ink from the Privy
Chamber, just when I need them? You could understand someone
making off with them if they were food and drink…’ – and everyone
laughed at him again.
When the Empress Dowager was ill, Masahiro was sent to inquire after
her, and on his return people asked him who’d been present at the time.
He gave the names of four or five people, and when someone asked if
there had been anyone else, he said, ‘Well, there were a few sleepers as
well.’ This was odd
Standing lamp
enough, but the fact that people actually laughed at it was also rather
odd.
Once when no one was about, he came along and said to me, ‘Excuse
me, I’d like to say something. People have been saying you’re the person
I should tell.’
‘What is it?’ I asked, and went over to the standing curtain to
converse. ‘Well, there’s this person who was trying to say “bring your
body closer”, and instead of “body” he said “your bodily appendages”!’
2 Of course he got laughed at again then.
Another time, on the second night of the Conferring of Ranks,
Masahiro was in charge of the lamp-lighting, and he was filling a
standing lamp with oil. He put his foot on the oilcloth it stood on, which
was covered in fresh sticky oil, so that his sock stuck firmly, and when
he set off to walk away, the lamp came down with a crash. Dragging the
cloth along like that, it was as though terra firma literally trembled at
his tread.
3
Nobody sits down to table in the Privy Chamber until the
Chamberlains have seated themselves. However, on one famous occasion
Masahiro had sneaked a handful of beans, and when someone pulled
aside the low standing screen nearby, there he was crouching behind it,
busily eating them. Everyone laughed uproariously.
[104] Things that are distressing to see – Someone wearing a robe with the
back seam hitched over to one side, or with the collar falling back to
reveal the nape of the neck.
A woman who emerges with a child slung on her back to greet a
special visitor.
A priest acting as Yin-Yang master, who conducts his purification
ceremony with that little white paper cap stuck on his forehead.
1
I do hate the sight of some swarthy, slovenly-looking woman with a
hairpiece, lying about in broad daylight with a scrawny man with hair
sprouting from his face.
2 What kind of a picture do they think they
make, lounging there for all to see? Of course this is not to say they
should stay sitting upright all night for fear people will find them
disgusting – no one can see them when it’s dark, and besides, everyone
else indulges in the same thing at night. The decent thing to do is to get
up early once it’s morning. No doubt it doesn’t look quite as bad for
people of high station to take daytime naps in summer, but anyone less
than attractive will emerge from a nap with a face all greasy and bloated
with sleep, and sometimes even a squashed cheek. How dreary for two
such people to have to look each other in the face when they get up!
It’s most distressing to see someone thin and swarthy dressed in a seethrough gossamer-silk shift.
[105] Things that are hard to say – It’s very difficult to give someone’s
message from beginning to end without slipping up, when it includes
long stretches of some high-ranking person’s words.
1
The reply to a rather overawing person who’s sent you a gift. Some
young person who’s only just reached adulthood asks you an unnerving
question about something you find it difficult to talk about in front of
her.
[106]* Barrier gates – Ōsaka Barrier. The barrier at Suma. The barrier at
Suzuka. Kikuta, Shirakawa and Koromo Barriers.
It seems to me that the barriers of Tadakoe and Habakari are
completely different from each other.
Yokohashiri Barrier. The barriers at Kiyomi and Mirume.
Yomoyomo Barrier – one longs to know just what the person thought
better of.
1 Perhaps the idea was that they thought ‘don’t come’, as in
the name of Nakoso Barrier. It would be a miserable thing if this was
applied to the lovers’ meeting of Ōsaka Barrier.
[107] Forests – Ukita Forest. Ueki Forest. Iwase Forest. Tachikiki
1
Forest.
[108] Plains – Ashita Plain. Awazu Plain. Shino Plain. Sono Plain.
[109] Around the end of the fourth month, we went on a pilgrimage to the
temple at Hase. Our carriage was loaded on to a ferry at the famous
Yodo Crossing en route, and as we crossed the river we noticed what
looked like quite short stems of sweet flag and reeds growing in the
water nearby, but when we had them picked they turned out to be
extremely long. It was fascinating to see boats loaded with reeds ferrying
to and fro across the river. It looked precisely like the scene of that line
from the song, ‘cut from Takase Pool’.
1
On our return when we arrived back here on the third day, we saw a
most delightful scene, such as one finds painted on screens – a light rain
was falling, and there were men and children out in the water gathering
sweet flag,
2
the men wearing very small sedge rain-hats, their clothes
tucked up high above their long shanks.
[110] Common things that suddenly sound special – An ox cart on the first
day of the year.
1 Also the cock’s crow on that day. Someone clearing his
throat at dawn – and of course the sound of music at dawn too.
[111] Things that lose by being painted – Pinks. Sweet flag. Cherry
blossom. Men and women described in tales as looking splendid.
[112] Things that gain by being painted – Pine trees. Autumn fields.
Mountain villages. Mountain paths.
[113] Winter is best when it’s fearfully cold, while summer is most
summer-like when it’s impossibly hot.
[114] Moving things – A child dressed in mourning for a parent.
A young man of good birth, engaged in rigorous preparations for
undergoing the Mitake austerities.
1
It’s terribly moving to think of him
secreting himself away in a room alone and performing the dawn
devotions, his forehead pressed to the floor. One imagines someone close
to him, waking in a nearby room and hearing him at his prayers. While
he’s away on the rigorous austerities she waits quietly, fearful for his
safety, and how wonderful when he returns to her safe and sound. It
rather lowers the tone of things if he wears his lacquered cap, however.
I’ve heard that even very exalted people dress in extremely shabby
clothing when they perform the Mitake austerities.
It seems that Deputy of the Right Gate Watch, one Nobutaka,
2 once
declared that he found this ridiculous. ‘What’s wrong with wearing nice
clean clothes for the austerities?’ he demanded. ‘I really can’t imagine
that the deity has stipulated one must go dressed in rags.’ And so he set
off, at the end of the third month, dressed in deep violet gathered
trousers, white overcloak and extremely gaudy kerria-yellow robes. He
took with him his son Takamitsu, Deputy Officer of Grounds, who wore
a green overcloak over scarlet robes, and short hunting trousers in an
elaborate print pattern. The men who came back from Mitake at the
time, as well as those who were there with him, were all astonished at
the sight, and averred that no one dressed like this had ever been seen
on the mountain before. He returned on the first day of the fourth
month, and on the tenth day of the sixth month he was promoted to
Governor of Chikuzen Province – which just goes to show, everyone
said, that he’d been perfectly right in what he said. This story isn’t
related to the topic of ‘moving things’, I’ve just added it because of the
connection with the Mitake austerities.
It’s very moving to see a good-looking young man or woman dressed
in deep black.
3
The voice of the autumn cricket, around the end of the ninth month or
the beginning of the tenth, so frail and tentative that you scarcely know
whether you hear it or not. A mother hen crouched low over her chicks.
Dew glinting like multi-coloured jewels on the grasses in the garden in
late autumn. Waking at dusk or dawn and hearing the wind rustling the
bamboo. Anything you hear when you wake at night.
A mountain village in snow.
A young couple who love each other but who can’t be together as they
long to be because someone is preventing it.
4
[115]* It’s delightful to be on retreat at a temple over the New Year when
it’s terribly cold and there’s a feeling of snow in the freezing air. On the
other hand, it ruins the mood of the occasion if the skies are instead
heavy with the threat of rain.
You’ve come on pilgrimage to the temple at Kiyomizu, say, intending
to seclude yourself in one of the private seclusion rooms; the carriage is
drawn up to the foot of the long stairs leading up to the temple, and
while the room is being prepared, you observe the young monks, dressed
only in little waist-robes
1 and wearing those high clogs they wear,
trotting perfectly nonchalantly up and down the steep stairway,
murmuring scraps of sutra or chanting the four-word verses of the Kusha
Sutra
2 as they go. It’s a scene that goes perfectly with the place. Though
the climb up the stairway feels most precarious, and when you have to
do it yourself you keep to the side and cling to the railing, it’s intriguing
to see how these young monks seem to treat it just as if it were a flat,
boarded path.
A monk goes over to a carriage and announces, ‘The rooms are ready.
Please come along’; shoes are fetched, and the ladies are helped to
descend. Some have their long hems tucked up, while others appear all
decked out in train and Chinese jacket. It’s delightfully reminiscent of
the palace, to see people shuffling along in lacquered leather shoes or
short boots as they enter the hall.
The women are accompanied by children and by a group of young
men who have the run of the temple inside and out, who are instructing
the women on where to take care as they go – ‘There’s a step down
here’, ‘It goes up a bit there’, and so on. Some rude folk, heaven knows
who, press up close to the ladies or try to push in front of them. ‘Hold
back there!’ they’re told. ‘That’s no way to behave. There are ladies of
quality present!’ But while the more sensitive will take the point and
retreat, there are others who pay no notice and simply push in to be the
first to reach the sacred image
3 and worship there.
It’s most unpleasant to have to pass in front of the rows of kneeling
pilgrims as you make your way to your room, but that glimpse of the
inner sanctum beyond the lattice screen has filled you with a feeling of
reverence, and with your freshly kindled faith you wonder how you
could have let such a long time pass before your pilgrimage here.
The lamps that burn in front of the sacred image are not the usual
ones, but those that people offer as dedicatory lamps for the inner
sanctum. They burn quite terrifyingly fiercely, and the sight of the
sacred image glittering in their light overwhelms you with reverence.
The priests gathered on the dedication platform before the altar keep
raising aloft the dedicatory petitions of the pilgrims, swaying slightly as
they intone the accompanying vows and prayers. Such an incessant
drone of voices fills the hall that it’s impossible to distinguish any
individual prayer, yet the straining voices of the priests still manage to
carry clearly above all the surrounding noise, and you’ll suddenly catch
an occasional phrase – ‘one thousand lamps offered with the humble
prayers of So-and-so’, or the like. As you perform your obeisance before
the image, the worshipper’s sash draped over your shoulder, a monk
approaches with a few words and presents a sprig of star anise leaves,
4
and the scent of it fills you with reverence and delight.
A priest comes over to you from the other side of the dividing lattice
screen and engages you in conversation. He tells you that he’s presented
your petitions to Kannon most satisfactorily, and asks how many days
you’re staying, mentioning the names of some others who are also in
retreat here. Then he disappears, and you’re brought a brazier, snacks, a
water scoop into which hand-washing water is poured, and a little
handleless bucket to hold the water. Finally, monks appear and
announce which rooms your attendants are to lodge in, and as they’re
called they rise in turn and go off.
It’s a comforting feeling to think, as you hear the bell rung for the
sutra recitation to begin, that it’s also ringing on your behalf. Next door
you can hear a man, someone of quite high birth it seems, chanting and
praying, and to judge from the way he sounds as he discreetly prostrates
himself and rises, you have the impression that he’s someone of
considerable sensibility. He continues this throughout the night without
pause for sleep, and you find it most moving to think of him there, so
ardently engaged in his austerities. When he does break off from his
prayers it’s to chant sutras, at a decently moderate volume, and this too
you find touching and inspiring. You rather long to be able to speak to
him, and the way he tearfully blows his nose from time to time, though
not at all loudly or unpleasantly, sets you to wondering just what it is
that’s weighing on his mind, and wishing you could somehow help his
prayers to be answered.
Back then, if you were staying at the temple for some days you had a
certain amount of leisure during the day. The male attendants, the
serving girls and the little girls would go off to the priests’ quarters, and
we remained idling away the hours in our rooms, from time to time
startled by the sudden loud blowing of a conch horn
5 close by.
Some gentleman, accompanied by an attendant holding his beautifully
folded dedicatory prayer for him, lays down his sutra offerings and calls
out for a temple attendant, his voice echoing about the surrounding
mountains quite dazzlingly.
The sutra bell now sounds with an increased urgency, and as you’re
wondering who this dedication might be for, you hear the priest speak
the name of some exalted person and continue, in an impressively potent
voice, ‘For the safe delivery of her child’ – and you find yourself
impulsively drawn to worry and pray on her behalf.
This is the sort of thing that happens when you’re there on any normal
occasion. If it’s at New Year, though, the place is simply an uproar of
noisy activity. You have no hope of pursuing your own practice, you’re
too busy watching the endless melee of people coming to the temple to
offer up prayers for this and that.
Those who arrive as it’s growing dark will be here to spend time in
seclusion at the temple. The young monks move smartly to and fro,
managing to carry in impossibly large standing screens, and laying down
mats, till before you know it they’ve set up little temporary rooms,
swishing blinds up into place over the lattice of the inner sanctum,
6 all
with impressive aplomb. It looks so simple, watching them do it. With a
rustle of silk a number of ladies now arrive, and hearing the refined
voice of a rather elderly lady speaking in lowered tones, you guess that
some of the women will be returning home, having seen their mistress
here, for she’s apparently instructing them to be careful about certain
matters there, to make sure no fires occur and so forth. You’re also
enchanted to hear the sweet voice of a boy of seven or eight, speaking to
the servants in an authoritative tone, and then there’s the most
endearing sound of a small child of about three, who’s just woken and
gives a timid little cough. He calls the name of his nurse, then he says
‘Mama’, and you long to know who the mother might be.
The priests keep up a great clamour of sutra chanting throughout the
night, so that you get no sleep. After the predawn service you manage to
doze off, when suddenly you’re jolted awake again by the sound of fierce
and awe-inspiring chanting. The voice, which is reciting the special sutra
of the temple, belongs to a man who seems to be a mountain ascetic, and
not a particularly impressive-looking one, who’s spread his straw coat
out to sit on as he chants. It’s most moving to hear him.
Then there’s the interesting scene of one of the day visitors, evidently
quite a personage, who’s dressed in cotton-padded blue-grey gathered
trousers and multiple layers of white robes, with a couple of young men
who are apparently his sons, wearing most charming ceremonial outfits.
Some youths are accompanying them, and they’re quite hemmed in by
numerous retainers. They have set up a temporary enclosure of standing
screens, and seem to be performing a few perfunctory obeisances to the
altar.
You always wonder who it is if you don’t recognize them, and it’s fun
to try to identify the ones you think you do recognize. The young men
will tend to hang about near the ladies’ quarters, and not so much as
glance in the direction of the sacred image. They’ll call the temple
superintendent out and discuss something with him in lowered voices,
and you can surmise that they’re people of considerable standing.
It’s also fun to undertake a temple seclusion around the end of the
second month and the beginning of the third, at the time when the
blossoms are at their height. Along comes a group of two or three finelooking young men, who have the air of being heads of their respective
households. Their overcloaks in the cherry-blossom or willow
combinations are most attractive, and the way they’ve tied the furl of
their gathered trousers up high above the ankle is most distinguished.
They’re accompanied by attendants carrying beautifully decorated lunch
boxes, who set the scene off to perfection, and the young retainers are
dressed in plum-pink or spring-shoot green hunting costumes, variously
coloured robes and skirted trousers in a printed pattern. It’s delightful to
witness them beating the prayer gong,
7 with slender youths evidently of
good retainer families in tow holding branches of cherry blossom. One of
them is someone you recognize, but he has no means of guessing your
presence there. It’s amusing to overhear another lady murmur longingly,
‘Oh, I do wish there was some way to give him a sign’, from the sheer
frustration of watching someone pass by and go on his way without
being aware of her.
It really feels rather pointless to stay at temples like this, or indeed to
go anywhere unusual, if the only people with you are your own
attendants. You do need to ask along one or two others, or if possible
more – people of the same standing as yourself, with whom you get on
well and with whom you can discuss all the things that take your fancy
or that you find unpleasant. There may well be some among your own
attendants who don’t disappoint in conversation, but the problem is that
they’re people you see every day. Men must feel the same way, since
they make a point of inviting others along when they go off on
expeditions.
[116] Deeply irritating things – A man who sets off alone in his carriage to
see an event such as the Kamo Festival or the purification ceremony that
precedes it, something that the men all love to go to. What sort of
crassness is this? Surely he should invite along some other young men
who’d love the chance to go, even if they aren’t of particularly high
birth. There he sits, oblivious, a vague, solitary figure dimly seen behind
the blinds of his carriage, gazing intently at the proceedings. How
boorishly mean-spirited and horrid, you think at the sight of him.
Rain on the day when you’re to go out for some special event or a
temple pilgrimage.
Happening to hear one of the people in your service complaining that
you don’t like her, and someone else is your favourite of the moment.
Someone you don’t particularly care for, who jumps to ridiculous
conclusions and gets upset about nothing, and generally behaves with
irritating self-importance.
[117] Miserable-looking things – Someone travelling along the road at a
listless pace, in a dowdy carriage hitched to a wretched-looking ox, at
the height of a hot late summer afternoon in the sixth or seventh month.
A carriage with its rain cover
1
in place, on a fine day.
A poorly dressed woman of the lower classes with a baby strapped to
her back, on a very cold or very hot day.
An aged beggar.
A dingy-looking wooden shack, weathered dark with age, standing in
the rain. Also, an outrider riding a little pony in pouring rain. It’s not
quite so bad in winter, but in summer his gown and train-robe stick
together miserably.
[118] Things that look stiflingly hot – The hunting costume of a chief
escort guard.
1 A heavy patchwork surplice. A Lieutenant of the Guards
on duty to oversee the imperial games.
2
An extremely fat person with a great deal of hair.
A high priest performing prayers and incantations through the midday
hours in the sixth or seventh month.
[119]* Embarrassing things – The heart of a man.
1
A night-priest
2 who’s a light sleeper.
Who knows when there might not be a thief hiding in some secret
place nearby and watching? Oblivious to him, someone chooses a
moment under cover of darkness to steal something lying about. The
thief would find it most amusing to witness another with the same urge
as himself.
The night-priest is a rather embarrassing person in general, for he
eagerly takes in all the things that the younger gentlewomen tend to say
about other people when they get together – the gossip and the funny
stories, the maligning and the carping. ‘Come come, that’s quite
enough!’ the older ladies near Her Majesty will scold them, but they take
no notice of this, and on and on they chatter, until at last they settle
down to sleep in an unmannerly way. This is very embarrassing, when
you consider the night-priest who overhears it all.
I must say I’m ashamed for any woman who’s taken in by some man
who is privately thinking, ‘How depressing! She’s not at all what I hoped
she’d be. She’s full of irritating faults’, but when he’s with her will fawn
and flatter and convince her to trust him. This is particularly true of
someone who has a reputation for the dashing nature of his love affairs –
such a lover will certainly never act in a way that would suggest to the
woman that he’s lacking in feelings for her. And then there’s the man
who doesn’t keep his criticisms to himself, but will speak his mind about
one woman’s faults to another woman, and do the same about her when
he’s with the first, while she never suspects that he slanders her in the
same way to the other, and assumes that his confiding these criticisms to
her can only mean that she’s the one he really loves. I must say, if ever I
do come across a man who seems to feel for me at all, I immediately
assume he’s actually quite shallow-hearted, so I have no need to expose
myself to potential embarrassment.
I really do find it astonishing the way a man will fail to be in the
slightest bit affected by the moving nature of a woman’s deep
unhappiness, when he considers abandoning her. Yet how glibly he’ll
criticize the actions of others! And then there’s the man who takes
advantage of a lady at court who has no one to protect her interests,
wins her over, and when she falls pregnant, repudiates the affair
completely.
[120] Awkward and pointless things – A large ship left beached by the
tide. A great tree that’s blown over in the wind, and lies there on its side
with its roots in the air.
An inconsequential little man strutting about scolding a retainer.
In the grip of foolish jealousy, a wife takes herself off and goes into
hiding from her husband, certain that he’ll come looking for her – but
he’s in no mind to do so, and goes about his business with brazen
indifference, so she must face the fact that she can’t stay away from
home indefinitely, and finally decides to return of her own accord.
[121] Prayers and incantations – The Nara style is best. Their
performance of the protection mantras
1
is wonderfully elegant and aweinspiring.
[122] Awkward and embarrassing things – Going confidently out to greet a
visitor on the assumption that it’s for you, when he’s in fact called to see
a different person. It’s even worse when he’s brought along a gift as
well.
You happen to say something rude about someone, and a child who
overhears it repeats your words in front of the person concerned.
Someone tells you an affecting story, tears streaming as she speaks –
but though you can well understand how moving it is as you listen, not a
tear emerges from your eyes. This is terribly awkward. You make a
tearful face and do your best to look sad and moved, but quite without
success. On the other hand, if you see or hear something wonderful, you
can find yourself overwhelmed with tears.
On the way back
1
from the imperial procession to the Hachiman Shrine,
His Majesty’s palanquin was drawn up at a point beyond the viewing
stand
2 erected for Her Imperial Highness the Empress Dowager, and his
greetings were presented to her. This was so moving and marvellous to
witness that tears absolutely poured down my face, washing off all my
make-up and making me look quite dreadful. It was delightful to see
Consultant Captain Tadanobu approaching the viewing stand bearing His
Majesty’s message. He was accompanied only by four retainers, dressed
in splendid ceremonial costume, together with some slender attendants
to hold his horse, whose faces were made up white. It was thrilling to
see the Captain come thundering down the beautiful wide expanse of
Nijō Avenue on his magnificent horse, then dismount at a little distance
and proceed to the viewing stand on foot to present the message through
one of the nearby blinds. And I can’t even begin to describe just how
impressive it was to witness him receive her reply, return with it and
present it to His Majesty. I could barely contain the urge to jump with
delight, imagining with just what feelings Her Imperial Highness must be
watching her son go by. This is the sort of occasion when I can’t stop
crying, to everyone’s great amusement. Even for us lesser people, it’s a
wonderful thing to witness one’s own child doing well in the world, so I
was filled with awe to imagine Her Imperial Highness’s exalted
emotions.
[123]* The Regent was to emerge from the Black Door, and we ladies were
all gathered in a tight crush to welcome him. ‘Well, well,’ he declared as
he made his way through, ‘what a fine collection of beauties we have
here! How you all must be laughing, to see this old fellow.’ The ladies by
the door raised the doorway blind, displaying their multi-coloured layers
of sleeve as they did so, and Acting Grand Counsellor Korechika fetched
his father’s shoes and helped him on with them. He did look marvellous,
so weighty and dignified and finely dressed, and with his train flowing
out behind him, his presence bulked impressively large. ‘Ah, what a fine
moment,’ I thought, ‘for the Regent to have his shoes presented to him
by the Grand Counsellor, his own son!’
Grand Counsellor Yamanoi and others of lesser rank who were not
closely related lined the courtyard from the Fujitsubo wall all the way to
the front of the Tōkaden,
1
their black trains spilling out behind them.
The Regent, looking wonderfully slender and elegant, paused to adjust
his ceremonial sword. By the door stood Commissioner Michinaga, and it
seemed to me that he would be unlikely to bow before his brother, but
as the Regent came forward he did in fact abruptly sink to his knees.
What a scene it was! What past action, I wondered with awe, might have
led to the good fortune of attaining such present glory.
That day happened to be a day of abstinence for Chūnagon, and she
was pursuing her devotions most piously. ‘Here,’ I said, ‘lend us that
rosary of yours, so we can win our way to glory too with some prayers’,
and everyone gathered round her laughing. But for all our joking, the
Regent really was most glorious. When Her Majesty heard of my remark,
she said with a smile, ‘It seems to me that one would do far better to
become a buddha than a regent’, which was a wonderful response, I
thought.
When I kept mentioning to Her Majesty how Commissioner Michinaga
had bowed before the Regent, she smilingly teased me by referring to
him as ‘that perennial favourite of yours’. If she could have lived to
witness the greatness he later attained, she would have realized how
right I was to find him so impressive.
[124] It’s beautiful the way the water drops hang so thick and dripping on
the garden plants after a night of rain in the ninth month, when the
morning sun shines fresh and dazzling on them. Where the rain clings in
the spider webs that hang in the open weave of a screening fence or
draped on the eaves, it forms the most moving and beautiful strings of
white pearly drops.
I also love the way, when the sun has risen higher, the bush clover, all
bowed down beneath the weight of the drops, will shed its dew, and a
branch will suddenly spring up though no hand has touched it. And I
also find it fascinating that things like this can utterly fail to delight
others.
[125] When we gathered the herbs on the sixth day of the first month, the
day before the Festival of Young Herbs, there was a happy bustle as
everyone spread them out. The children had brought in some plants I’d
never seen before.
‘What do you call that one?’ I asked.
At first they were stumped for a reply. They looked at each other in
silent bewilderment, hoping for inspiration, then finally one of them
said, ‘It’s called the No-ears plant.’
1
‘Oh yes,’ said I laughing, ‘it would be, wouldn’t it. No ears for hearing
questions, just like you.’
Someone had also picked a dear little freshly-opened wild
chrysanthemum flower, and I longed to recite this poem to them:
Though you pinch and pluck
these little earless ones, alas
the poor things cannot hear.
Among them the only ‘ear’ belongs
to the bright chrysanthemum.
2
But I knew this would go right past their little ears too.
[126]* In the second month, an event called The Selection is held in the
Office of State, but I don’t know quite what it is. It’s probably the event
where they display the pictures of Confucius. Odd-shaped rice cakes
called sōmeé
1 are offered on earthenware plates to Their Majesties.
Well, one day a groundskeeper brought me a gift of what looked like a
picture of some sort, wrapped in white paper and attached to a sprig of
beautifully flowering plum. It came from Secretary Controller Yukinari. I
opened it eagerly, expecting a picture, and there instead I discovered
two heitan cakes,
2
side by side and neatly wrapped. With this was an
official straight-folded letter, some kind of formal communication, which
said in stiff language:
For Presentation:
One packet heitan cakes
hereby presented in accordance with precedent.
From: The Master of the Household To: The Junior Counsellor
with the date appended, and signed ‘Mimana Nariyuki’.
3 At the end of
the letter, in the most delightful handwriting, was added: ‘The abovesigned humble servant would like to make an appearance in person, but
it would appear that he refrains from doing so in daylight hours owing
to his ugly appearance.’
4
I took it along and showed it to Her Majesty. ‘What splendid writing!’
she exclaimed, and taking it in her hand she went on to praise the witty
way he’d composed it.
‘How should I respond?’ I wondered aloud. ‘Should I give the
messenger who brought it some gift? I do wish there was someone who
knew about this kind of protocol.’
5
Overhearing me, Her Majesty remarked, ‘I just heard Korenaka’s
voice.
6 Why not call him over and ask him’, so I went to the edge of the
room and told one of the servants that I wished to speak with the
Minister of the Left.
He arrived looking terribly smart and proper.
7
‘Oh no, I’m afraid this
is a merely personal matter,’ I told him, and I proceeded to ask what if
anything should be given to the messenger in a case where a certain
Controller has sent this particular thing to a Junior Counsellor.
‘Nothing is given,’ he replied. ‘He simply takes it and eats it. Why do
you ask? Might you perhaps have received something from someone in
the Office of State?’
‘Good gracious no, how could you imagine that!’ I replied.
In response I wrote on beautiful red thin paper, ‘Such handsome cakes
they look, but it looks most “unhandsome” of that servant not to present
them himself’,
8 and I sent it to him attached to a lovely spray of red
plum blossom.
He appeared in no time, announcing, ‘The humble servant is at your
service!’ When I went out to meet him, he said admiringly, ‘I would
have expected the person who received that to respond with some halfbaked poem, but your reply was brilliant. A woman who fancies herself
as a poet generally leaps at the chance to compose, but I much prefer
someone who doesn’t behave like that. For the likes of me, a person who
loves to reply with a poem comes across as actually having a much
poorer sensibility than someone who doesn’t.’
We ended the conversation by my saying with a laugh that he must be
talking about Norimitsu. I later heard from someone that Yukinari had
repeated this story when a lot of people were gathered in His Majesty’s
presence, and His Majesty had said that I had spoken very cleverly.
It’s very unseemly of me to boast like this, I know, but on the other
hand I do think it’s an entertaining story.
[127]* One day someone idly said, ‘I wonder why the baton held by a
man who’s just begun to serve in the sixth rank is made from a piece of
wood from the south-east corner of the wall surrounding the Office of
the Empress’s Household? You’d think something from the east or the
west wall would serve just as well.’ Then we began to come up with
various other idle questions.
‘It’s most peculiar how some clothes have such weird names,’
someone else said. ‘Take the case of the name “thin-long”, for instance.
Or why is a “sweat-garment”
1 called that?’
Others came up with other examples. ‘And what about “long-bottom”,
2
those things young boys wear?’ ‘And why “Chinese jacket”? It should
be called a “short-jacket”, surely.’
‘But that’s because it’s worn by people in China,’ someone else
pointed out.
‘It’s reasonable to call an overgown and overtrousers by those names,’
said another. “Underlayer” is a good name too.’
‘And “wide-mouth”,
3
there’s another reasonable one. The hem
openings are wider than the trousers are long, aren’t they?’
‘But “hakama” is a very boring name.’
‘And why do we have the name “sew-and-pull”?
4
It would be better
to call them “leg clothes”, or even “sacks”, surely.’
And on they all went, criticizing everything they could think of, till I
finally said, ‘Now come on, that’s enough noise. I don’t intend to say
any more on the subject. Do go to sleep.’
In response to this, the voice of the night-priest nearby suddenly broke
in, rather angrily, ‘No no, that’s a very bad idea. Do keep talking all
night, ladies.’
This was not only very entertaining, but also gave us a terrible start.
[128] After the late Regent’s death, Her Majesty had religious services for
his soul performed on the tenth day of each month, and in the ninth
month these took place at the Office of the Empress’s Household. A great
crowd of court nobles and senior courtiers attended. Seihan was the
preacher, and his sermon was so sad and affecting that all the young
people were apparently weeping, though one wouldn’t have expected
them yet to have a very deep sense of the sorrows of worldly transience.
After the service the saké went round, and the men proceeded to
recite Chinese verses. Secretary Captain Tadanobu’s strong-voiced
recitation of the poem:
Once more the moon comes round to autumn
but where is he gone who loved it then?
1
was wonderfully appropriate. How did he manage to come up with such
a perfect poem for the occasion, I wonder?
I left the proceedings, and made my way through to where Her
Majesty was sitting. I met her as she was coming out. ‘That was
marvellous,’ she declared. ‘He must surely have prepared that poem
especially for today’s proceedings.’
‘I left off watching to come and say that very thing to Your Majesty
myself,’ I said. ‘I do think it was quite wonderful.’
‘Yes, I’m not surprised that you think so,’ was her teasing reply.
2
Tadanobu often made a point of calling me out to meet him, and
whenever we met he would start on his complaints. ‘Why can we never
really get close?’ he would say. ‘I know you don’t dislike me, so I find it
very strange. Such a long-standing acquaintance as ours surely can’t
simply end without intimacy. Come the time when I’m no longer at the
palace night and day, what will I take away with me as a memory of our
relationship?’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ I replied. ‘There’d be no difficulty in our getting
together. But if we did, I wouldn’t be able any longer to sing your
praises to others, and that would be a great shame. How can we afford
to become too close, when it’s my role to praise you to Her Majesty? So
please just love me from a distance. I’d be too embarrassed and
conscience-stricken to say anything good about you if we were lovers.’
‘But why is that? I know people who praise their lovers more than
they seem to deserve.’
‘Well, that’s all very well, but I happen to hate that sort of thing. I
can’t stand people, men or women, who adore their lovers, and are
always taking their side and praising them, and get upset when anyone
refers to some little fault of theirs,’ I replied.
‘Oh, you’re hopeless!’ said he, which amused me greatly.
[129] One evening, Secretary Controller Yukinari visited the Office of the
Empress’s Household, and stayed talking far into the night. He finally
left as dawn was approaching, remarking that he must return by the
Hour of the Ox,
1
since he was obliged to stay at the palace all that day
owing to an imperial abstinence.
The next day he sent a wonderful and very lengthy message on several
pieces of official paper from the Chamberlain’s Office, saying, ‘My heart
is still full of regrets for yesterday. I thought to stay till dawn speaking
with you of things past, but the cock’s crow hastened me early on my
way.’
In reply I wrote, ‘That cock you say you heard so late last night, could
it have been the false cock of Lord Mengchang?’
2
‘They say,’ wrote
Yukinari in return, ‘that Lord Mengchang’s cock opened the Kanko
barrier gate and thus allowed his three thousand followers finally to
escape – but the barrier gate in my case was the lover’s barrier gate of
Ōsaka.’
3
So I sent back the following:
That innocent guard
hearing the night’s deceptive call
opened and let them through –
but, my friend, this lover’s gate
will fall for no such ruse.
‘There’s a vigilant guard at this gate,’ I added.
And again came a reply:
The gate of Ōsaka
can be all too easily crossed
by those who aspire –
surely it lies open waiting
whether the cock’s crow sounds or not.
The first of his letters came into the hands of Bishop Ryūen, who was
quite overawed by it,
4 and the others I gave to Her Majesty. Anyway,
Yukinari’s ōsaka poem was too much for me, and I couldn’t manage a
reply, though this was very bad form.
Yukinari later told me that all the senior courtiers had seen my poem.
‘Well,’ said I sarcastically, ‘this is a clear sign of how much you really
care for me. After all, there’s no point in having something wonderful if
you don’t share it, for others to pass around and talk about, is there –
while I, on the other hand, hid your letters firmly away and didn’t
breathe a word of them to anyone, for fear of such ugly things getting
spread abroad. This shows a consideration for you that’s quite on a par
with yours for me.’
‘I must say, I find that it’s this deep perceptiveness of yours that sets
you off from others,’ Yukinari replied with a laugh. ‘And there I was,
assuming you’d respond like most women would, and simply say
something like “That was very shallow and frivolous of you.”’
‘Whatever do you mean? I was intending to compliment you,’ I said.
‘But I’m deeply touched and thrilled that you should want to hide my
letters,’ he replied. ‘I would have been mortified if you hadn’t. Do please
continue to do so, I beg you.’
Some time later, when Captain Tsunefusa visited, he said, ‘Are you
aware that the Secretary Controller has been praising you to the skies?
He’s been telling us all about your exchanges the other day. I must say I
was delighted to hear another person praising someone I’m so fond of
myself.’ He was most amusingly earnest about it.
‘Well, this is wonderful news on two counts,’ I said. ‘One is that he’s
been praising me, and the other is that I’m numbered among those you
care for.’
‘Good heavens, you seem as delighted as if this was some fresh and
unusual piece of news!’ said he.
[130] One dark, moonless night in the fifth month, there was a sudden loud
commotion of voices outside crying, ‘Is someone in attendance there?’
‘Go out and see who can be making this extraordinary fuss,’ Her
Majesty instructed me.
So out I went. ‘Who is it, clamouring and carrying on in this fashion?’
I inquired.
There was no reply, but the blind was silently raised and with a rustle
there emerged from beneath it – a branch of bamboo.
‘Well, well,’ I said. ‘So it’s “this gentleman”,
1
is it?’
Hearing me, the senior courtiers beyond the blind – His Highness the
Minister of Ceremonial’s son Captain Yorisada, a sixth-rank Chamberlain
and a few others – declared in astonishment that they must take the
story straight back to the Privy Chamber, and off they went.
Only Secretary Controller Yukinari stayed behind. ‘Now what can
have got into them?’ he said. ‘What happened was that we took a branch
of bamboo from the garden of the Seiryōden, with the idea of composing
poems on the subject. Then someone suggested we’d do just as well to
go to the Office of the Empress’s Household and call out the ladies to
take part, so that’s what we did. And now the poor things have rushed
off, because you were so ready with that name! How is it that you can
say things like that, the sort of thing most people wouldn’t know? Who
taught you?’
‘But I had no idea that was the name of the bamboo,’ I protested.
‘They must have thought me terribly rude.’
‘No, of course, how could you know?’ said he with a touch of sarcasm.
We stayed there talking about other more serious matters, and after a
little time the senior courtiers reappeared and joined us, chanting the
line ‘He planted it and called it “this gentleman”.’
‘I was very puzzled at the way you went off like that, when we hadn’t
managed to achieve what we’d planned to come here for,’ the Secretary
Controller said to them.
‘Well, we couldn’t possibly have come up with an answer to her,’ they
replied. ‘A bad response would have made us look even worse’, and they
went on to tell how this story had had a fine reception in the Privy
Chamber, and His Majesty had heard of it and enjoyed it as well. The
Secretary Controller then fell in with them in chanting the poem over
and over. A great deal of fun was had, and everyone stayed till dawn,
engaged in various conversations. Even after they’d left, they could still
be heard chanting the poem, till they entered the Left Gate Watch
guardhouse.
Next morning, Shōnagon no Myōbu came hastening over bearing a
letter to Her Majesty from the Emperor, and while she was about it she
told Her Majesty the story of my response. I was summoned from my
apartment, and asked if this had indeed happened.
‘I know nothing about it,’ I replied. ‘I was quite unaware of such a
thing. This must have been some story that Lord Yukinari made up.’
‘Well, whether he made it up or not…’ said Her Majesty with a smile.
It’s quite delightful the way Her Majesty takes such pleasure on behalf
of whomever it is that the senior courtiers are reported to have praised.
[131]* When the year of mourning for Retired Emperor Enyū’s death was
over, everyone left off wearing their mourning clothes. It was a most
moving time, and everybody both in the palace and beyond was filled
with sad memories of the Retired Emperor. One day when it was raining
heavily, a hefty lad bundled up in a straw raincoat that made him look
like a basket-worm appeared at the apartments of Her Ladyship
Tōsanmi. He proffered a straight-folded letter on a presentation stick
1 of
white wood, and asked that it be given to her.
‘Who is it from?’ her gentlewomen inquired. ‘Her Ladyship is
observing an abstinence today and tomorrow, and her shutters are
down’, and they received the letter over the top of the lower shutter.
2
They informed Her Ladyship about it, but she firmly declined to read it
that day on account of the abstinence, so it was left as it was, attached to
the top of the lower shutter.
Next morning, Her Ladyship washed her hands and inquired, ‘Now
what became of that Record of the Readings that came yesterday?’ and
she asked someone to fetch it. Bowing reverently, she proceeded to open
it, and was bemused to discover that it was written on a thick page of
white-backed walnut-brown paper.
3 Opening further, she found written
in a priest’s quirky handwriting the following:
These deep-dyed clothes
coloured with the unchanging oak
I wear in memory –
there in the city, have you changed
and your fresh leaves forgot him?
4
She was terribly shocked and disturbed. Whoever could have done this?
Could it be the Abbot of Ninnaji? But no, surely he’d never do such a
thing. It must be the Fujiwara Grand Counsellor,
5
since he was Master
of the late Emperor’s household. She felt deeply anxious and perturbed,
and longed to get word of this to the Emperor and Empress as soon as
possible, but she was obliged to contain her impatience and remain
cloistered for another day under strict abstinence orders.
The morning after, she sent a poem in reply to the Grand Counsellor,
who courteously responded in turn. Taking the two messages she’d
received, Her Ladyship then hastened to the palace and, in His Majesty’s
presence, told Her Majesty the story. Her Majesty innocently ran her eye
over the poems, and remarked, ‘This doesn’t look like the Grand
Counsellor’s writing to me. I should say it’s a priest’s hand,’ adding very
seriously, ‘one can only imagine it’s the doing of some demon from the
past.’
6
Well then, who could it be? Was there someone among the court
nobles or priests who would enjoy this sort of trick? Her Ladyship
suspiciously began to go through possible names.
At this point His Majesty broke in, saying with a playful smile, ‘That
paper looks very like paper I’ve seen around here’, and he produced
another sheet of it from the small cabinet nearby and held it out for her
to see.
‘Oh, how dreadful!’ cried Her Ladyship. ‘Tell me how this has
happened. Oh, my poor head! I must hear the explanation right this
minute!’ Her face was wreathed in smiles as she set about bewailing and
reproaching him.
His Majesty proceeded to confess the details, telling her that the
‘demon’ lad who had gone there as messenger was in the service of one
of the maids from the Table Room, and he thought it was Kohyōe who
had organized it by talking him into carrying the letter. Her Majesty was
laughing too, and now Her Ladyship shook her, crying with an
exasperated laugh, ‘Why did you set me up like this? And there I was
believing it was a Record of Readings, washing my hands carefully and
prostrating myself in front of it!’ Her look of happy pride
7 as she
berated them was utterly charming.
The story was also told in His Majesty’s Table Room to much laughter.
Her Ladyship returned to her apartments, and asked for the lad who’d
delivered the letter to be found. When he arrived he was shown to the
gentlewoman who’d taken it in, who vouched that he did indeed appear
to be the messenger, and Her Ladyship then set about questioning him
over who had written it and who had given it to him. However, he
simply grinned foolishly and scampered away, without saying a word.
As for the Grand Counsellor, he got a thorough laugh out of the story
when he heard it later.
[132] Occasions when the time drags by – An abstinence that you must
observe away from home. A game of sugoroku when you can’t manage to
get your pieces off the board. The house of someone who’s failed to get a
promotion in the Appointments List. And of course the worst of all is
simply a day of heavy rain.
[133] Things that relieve such occasions – A game of go or sugoroku. Tales.
A child of three or four chattering entertainingly, or a very young child
talking. Snacks of fruit and nuts.
When a man turns up who has a talent for being amusing and clever,
you’ll always ask him in even though you’re under abstinence
restrictions.
[134] Worthless things – Someone who’s both ugly and unpleasant.
Clothing starch that’s gone bad
1 – I know an awful lot of people hate
this, but that’s no reason why I shouldn’t note it here.
And why should I avoid mentioning here the fire tongs that are burned
in the post-funeral fire?
2 After all, these are things that exist in the
world. I never intended this book to be seen by others, so I’ve written
whatever came into my mind, without worrying about whether people
would find it strange or unpleasant.
3
[135]* Things that are truly splendid – For things that are truly splendid,
nothing excels the two Provisional Festivals. The Rehearsal of
Performance is also wonderfully entertaining.
It’s spring, a glorious day of soft warm skies. Members of the
Housekeeping Office have spread mats in the Seiryōden courtyard, and
here the imperial envoys sit, facing north, while the dancers sit facing
towards the Emperor
1
(though my memory may be mistaken here).
It’s impressive to watch the men from the Chamberlain’s Office bring
the high trays for the banquet and place them before all the seats. It’s
only at this courtyard performance that the dancers’ musicians can come
and go in the presence of the Emperor. The court nobles and senior
courtiers all take turns with the celebratory Saké cup, and finish by
drinking a round from a spiral-shell cup before they stand, at which
point the leftover-gatherers emerge – these are offputting enough to
witness when they’re men, but in the case of this imperial event even
women appear. They suddenly come scampering out from the guard’s
fire hut, which you’ve assumed till that moment to be empty, and start
scrabbling for the food, but the ones who try to grab all they can get
keep spilling it, and they lose out to those who make a swift grab and
then turn and run. It’s most entertaining to watch them making clever
use of the handy fire hut as a store for their booty.
No sooner have the Chamberlains’ Office men removed the mats than
officials from the Office of Grounds emerge, each with a broom, and
proceed to sweep the sand smooth. Then from in front of the Shōkyōden
there comes the sound of flutes and rhythmic clappers. You wait with
bated breath for the musicians to appear – and now here they come,
stepping out from beside the fence round the stand of bamboo, to the
strains of ‘Udohyō’,
2 and as you hear the koto plucking the
accompaniment you feel you’ll simply burst with delight. Two dancers
step up for the first dance, matching sleeve with sleeve most beautifully,
and stand to the west facing the imperial presence. They’re followed by
the other dancers, who come forward one after another, stepping in time
to the music. Their hands move ceaselessly, adjusting the ties of their
hanpi jackets, their headgear, the neckbands of their cloaks, etc., and
they dance and sing ‘Mount Koma’
3 and other songs. It’s all absolutely
splendid. When they form the great circle at the end of that dance cycle
you feel you could keep watching the dances all day and never tire of
them. You’re filled with regret that the cycle is ending, and eager for the
next dancers to begin. And now the strings of the koto are raked, and in
no time at all the dancers come stepping out from behind the bamboo.
What a truly wonderful moment. The glossy sheen of their softened-silk
robes, the way their long formal trains weave and twine about each
other as they dance this way and that – but no, if I say any more it will
only destroy the magic.
This is the final dance, and no doubt that’s why you feel particularly
bereft when it draws to a close. As the nobles and others all get up and
file out after the dancers, you’re filled with a frustrated longing for
more, but this is assuaged in the case of the Provisional Kamo Festival by
the Returning Dance.
4 There’s a most moving and marvellous
atmosphere then, with the slender ribbons of smoke rising from the
courtyard watch-fires and the wonderful wavering pure notes of the
kagura flute lifting high, and the voices of the singers. It’s piercingly
cold, the glossed silk of your robes is icy against the skin and your hand
as it clutches the fan is chilled, but you notice none of this. I like the
way the head dancer takes a terrific pleasure in performing the longdrawn-out call that summons the comic entertainers for the interlude.
If I’m back at home, I can only see the dancers as the procession
passes by, but often this isn’t enough for me, and I go to the shrine to
watch as well.
The carriage has been drawn up under the great cedars. The smoke
from the torches trails among the trees, and in the flickering firelight the
cords of the dancers’ hanpi jackets and the glossy silk of their robes glow
far more impressively even than during the day. What with the thrilling
way the dancers make the bridge thunder with their stamps and sing in
chorus as they dance, and the murmur of the stream blending with the
sound of the flutes, the gods too must surely find it all quite wonderful.
There’s a story about a man called the Secretary Captain,
5 who took
such pride in being one of the dancers each year that after he died his
ghost began to haunt the area under the shrine bridge. This story filled
me with terror, and made me determined not to follow his example and
become too attached to anything – but I’m afraid I simply can’t give up
my attachment to these splendid events.
On one occasion, His Majesty heard how we complained at feeling so
let down at the end of the Yahata Provisional Festival because there’s no
Returning Dance. ‘Why is it they don’t come back and dance again?’ we
said to each other. ‘That would be great fun. It’s awful to watch it all
end with the dancers receiving their gifts and leaving one by one from
the back of the line.’
‘Then I shall have them dance,’ declared His Majesty.
‘Oh, truly?’ we cried. ‘That would be just marvellous!’ Overjoyed, we
then gathered round Her Majesty, reporting his words to her and
begging her to make sure he kept his promise.
And indeed they did come back and dance that year, and we were
absolutely thrilled. The unfortunate dancers were thrown into a terrible
state by the unexpected imperial summons to return, and became quite
beside themselves in the mad flurry to prepare. And what a scene it was
to see the ladies who were down in their rooms come rushing back to
the Seiryōden in a great fluster for the performance. We had a fine laugh
as we watched them come hurrying in, some with their trains caught up
on their heads,
6 without any thought of the retainers and courtiers who
were observing them.
[136]* After the Regent had departed this life, certain events were set in
train in the world. There was considerable upheaval and commotion,
and Her Majesty left the palace and moved to the Konijō mansion.
Things felt rather difficult for me at this time, so I retired to my home
for a lengthy period. But I remained deeply uneasy over how matters
stood with Her Majesty, and in fact I wouldn’t have been able to sustain
the estrangement for very long.
One day Captain of the Right Tsunefusa came to call, and he reported
to me as follows. ‘I paid a visit to Her Majesty today, and I must say I
was deeply moved by it. The gentlewomen were all still carefully
maintaining formal court dress, with trains and Chinese jackets to match
the season. I peeped in past the edge of a blind, and there I saw eight or
nine ladies sitting in a row, wearing fallen-leaf ochre Chinese jackets,
pale violet-grey trains and robes in aster or bush-clover combinations, all
very lovely. The garden was deep in grass, but when I asked why it
hadn’t been cleared, Her Majesty replied through Saishō that she
expressly wished to see the dew on it,
1 which I found most touching.
The ladies all said how miserable they were that you’d retired to your
home. “No matter what’s occurred,” they said, “Her Majesty feels that
she must surely be here with her now that she’s living in such a place –
but she won’t listen.” I had the impression that they intended I should
pass this on to you. Why not try returning? It’s a very moving place. And
there are lovely peonies
2 by the balcony,’ he added.
‘Well, I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘I wasn’t liked, and I didn’t like it…’
‘Plainly spoken,’ he said with a laugh.
In fact, Her Majesty had never given me real cause to be concerned
over how she felt about me. It was the others around her who were
getting together and saying I was in league with the Minister of the Left.
Whenever they saw me come from my room they’d suddenly stop
talking. I’d never been spurned like that before, and I hated it. That’s
why I chose to ignore Her Majesty’s repeated summons to return.
Besides, everyone around her would be saying I was on the other side,
and there’d be all sorts of baseless rumours about me.
Then Her Majesty’s summons ceased. As the days passed I sank deeper
into dejection, till at last one day one of the serving ladies brought a
letter for me. ‘Her Majesty gave this to me secretly via Saishō,’ she
whispered, ridiculously conspiratorial about it even here.
This must mean Her Majesty herself had written the message rather
than simply relayed it through another, I thought excitedly, and I
opened it with pounding heart. The page was empty – all I found
enclosed was a single kerria petal, on which was inscribed the following:
‘and never rises into words’.
3
All my long unhappiness at the break between us was swept away by
this wonderful message. Observing my joy, the serving lady said, ‘I hear
that Her Majesty is constantly recalling you in the course of
conversation, and all her ladies are also mystified at how long you’re
staying away. Why don’t you go back?’ Then she rose, saying she was
just going to make another visit nearby, and would return again before
long.
After she’d left, I settled down to compose my reply, but I simply
couldn’t recall the beginning of the poem Her Majesty had used. ‘How
extraordinary!’ I muttered to myself. ‘There can’t be anyone who doesn’t
know an old poem like that! I’ve almost got it, but it just won’t come.
What on earth can I do?’
Hearing me, a young serving girl sitting nearby prompted me by
saying, ‘It’s “Greater the feeling / that in the waters of the heart…”’
Now how could I have forgotten that? It was most amusing to find
myself instructed by my own serving girl.
Not long after I’d sent my reply, I returned. Still feeling quite unsure
of my reception, I was much more tentative than usual, and when I first
went before Her Majesty I could only peep timidly out from behind the
standing curtain, but she laughed and said teasingly, ‘Is that someone
new to service I see there?’
‘I don’t care for that poem I used,’ she said to me, ‘but I do think it
was perfect for my purposes at the time. I simply couldn’t rest easy until
I’d run you to ground.’ She really didn’t seem at all changed towards
me.
She laughed greatly when I told her how the serving girl had quoted
to me the lines I needed. ‘Yes, that does happen,’ she said. ‘It’s all too
easy to forget an over-familiar old poem we’ve ceased to have any
respect for.’ Then she proceeded to tell the following story.
‘This reminds me,’ she said, ‘of a famous game of Riddles.
4 One of the
people involved, a man of considerable skill and experience in these
matters and who was in a position to be impartial, offered to be the first
to pose a riddle for the Left team. “Leave this one to me,” he said, and
they happily did so, firm in the faith that he would come up with
something good. Well, they all set about making their riddles, and when
it came time to select the best for the contest he firmly instructed them
to ask no questions but simply to leave matters to him. “See how
confident I am?” he said. “You can be sure you won’t regret it”, and
they did indeed see his point. And so the day drew to a close. They
asked him to reveal his riddle, just in case someone else had come up
with the same thing, but this only upset him. “If that’s how you feel, I’ll
have no more to do with it. You can count me out,” he replied huffily, so
when the day arrived they were still none the wiser, and feeling rather
anxious.
‘Well, the men and women all gathered to sit on their two sides, and
there were rows upon rows of witnesses for the event. The man in the
First Left place was looking so smug and well-prepared that those on
both sides found themselves waiting with bated breath to hear the riddle
he’d produce. “What am I?” he began, in a provokingly confident voice,
and then he continued, “A bow drawn in the heavens.”
5
‘Those on the opposing team were absolutely delighted at this, while
the Left side were quite enraged, and the thought flashed through their
minds that the loathsome fellow was actually working for the other team
and had set out purposely to make them lose.
‘The speaker from the Right burst out laughing. “Oh, dear me,” he
chuckled, “this is ridiculous!” and then he went on sarcastically, with a
comical smirk, “Hmm, I just can’t guess…”
‘No sooner had the words left his mouth, than the man from the Left
promptly claimed a score for his side. The opposing contestant tried to
argue the case. “But this is absurd!” he cried. “Everyone knows the
answer to this riddle! It’s quite out of order to claim a score!”
“‘How can you assert you didn’t lose,” responded the man from the
Left, “when you clearly said you had no idea of the answer?” – and he
went on to argue his way through each ensuing riddle to claim a win for
his team as well.
‘Well, it’s all very well to admit you don’t know when you really can’t
recall something everyone knows perfectly well, but you can imagine
how everyone on the Right berated him later for saying such a thing in
this case.’
‘They certainly would have been angry,’ I agreed, laughing. ‘What an
unfortunate way to answer! And how awful it must have felt for
everyone on the Left, when they heard that riddle!’
Though it was a rather different situation from my own, Her Majesty
no doubt intended this story as another example of saying you don’t
know something that everyone knows perfectly well but has forgotten.
[137] It’s towards the middle of the first month. Heavy black clouds are
darkening the sky, but through them the sunlight flashes intensely. The
barren field beside the house of some lowly folk is a tumble of untended
earth, and in it stands a healthy young peach tree, thick with little
branchlets. One side still holds its green leaves, while the other is
covered in rich, glossy, rust-red leaves that shine in the sunlight, and in
the tree is clambering a beautifully slender youth, hunting costume
rather torn but hair well-kempt. A little boy, his hems hitched high and
shins bare above his short boots, stands beneath the tree. ‘Cut me one
for a bat!’ he begs the lad.
Now three or four little girls with pretty hair come along, in ragged
akomeé gowns and limp skirted trousers but with nice robes beneath.
‘Cut us some sticks for good hare-mallets!’ they cry. ‘Our mistress wants
them.’ The boy cuts some sticks and throws them down, and the children
under the tree all scramble for them, some pausing to look up and cry,
‘Lots for me!’
And now a man in black skirted trousers comes running up and asks
the boy for sticks, and when he refuses the man shakes the tree
dangerously, and the boy clings there like a monkey, protesting loudly.
A charming scene!
You can see similar scenes when the plums ripen.
[138] A good-looking man has spent the day engrossed in playing sugoroku,
and now as night draws in he seems still intent on playing, for he lights
a low standing lamp and turns up the wick to shine brightly. His
antagonist is earnestly praying
Playing sugoroku
over the dice instead of slipping them promptly into the dicing cup, and
our man stands the dicing cup on the board as he waits. The neck-band
of his hunting costume has ridden up till it rubs his face, and his other
hand goes up to push it back into place. He tosses his head irritably to
reposition the flap of his limp lacquered cap while he continues to gaze
impatiently at his opponent, and you can see he’s thinking, ‘Whatever
curse you try to put on my dice, I’m still going to beat you, my friend.’
How delightfully arrogant he looks!
[139] It’s also amusing to see someone of high standing playing go against
a social inferior. He lounges there relaxed, the ties of his robe loosened,
casually scooping up the pieces and putting them on the board, while
the man of lesser rank sits a little back from the board, maintaining a
carefully respectful posture, and when he leans forward to play he’ll
politely raise his other hand to draw back the hanging flap of his sleeve.
[140] Alarming-looking things – Thorny acorn husks. A hairy yam that’s
been baked. The prickly water lily. Water chestnuts.
1 The sight of a man
with a lot of hair, drying it after washing.
[141] Things that look fresh and pure – Earthenware cups.
1 Shiny new
metal bowls. Rushes to be used for making mats. The transparent light in
water as you pour it into something.
[142] Distasteful-looking things – The baton of an Aide of Ceremonial. A
bad hairline in black hair. A new screen lined with simple cloth.
1 One
that’s already old and discoloured is so beneath notice that it doesn’t
bother you any more. I’m speaking here of some new one with, say, a
colourful picture of flowering cherries painted on it with white and red
pigments.
A cabinet with sliding doors. A fat priest. Real Izumo matting.
2
[143] Things that make the heart lurch with anxiety – Watching a horserace. Twisting up a paper hair-binding cord.
1
When a parent looks out of sorts, and remarks that they’re not feeling
well. This particularly worries you to distraction when you’ve been
hearing panicky tales of plague sweeping the land. Also, a little child
who can’t yet talk, who simply cries and cries, refusing to drink from the
breast or even to be comforted when the nurse picks it up and holds it.
Your heart naturally lurches when you hear the voice of your secret
lover in an unexpected place, but the same thing happens even when
you hear someone else talking about him. It also lurches when someone
you really detest arrives for a visit.
Indeed the heart is a creature amazingly prone to lurching. It even
lurches in sympathy with another woman when the next-morning letter
from a man who stayed with her for the first time the night before is late
in arriving.
[144] Endearingly lovely things – A baby’s face painted on a gourd. A
sparrow coming fluttering down to the nest when her babies are
cheeping for her.
A little child of two or three is crawling rapidly along when his keen
eye suddenly notices some tiny worthless thing lying nearby. He picks it
up in his pretty little fingers, and shows it to the adults. This is very
endearing to see. It’s also endearing when a child with a shoulder-length
‘nun’s cut’ hairstyle
1
that’s falling into her eyes doesn’t brush it away
but instead tilts her head to tip it aside as she examines something.
A very young son of a noble family walking about dressed up in
ceremonial costume. An enchanting little child who falls asleep in your
arms while you’re holding and playing with it is terribly endearing.
Things children use in doll play. A tiny lotus leaf that’s been picked
from a pond. A tiny aoi leaf. In fact, absolutely anything that’s tiny is
endearing.
A very white, plump child of around two, who comes crawling out
wearing a lavender silk-gauze robe with the sleeves hitched back, or a
child walking about in a short robe that looks more long sleeves than
robe. All these are endearing. And it’s very endearing when a boy of
eight or ten reads something aloud in his childish voice.
It’s also enchanting to see a pretty little white chick, its lanky legs
looking like legs poking out from under a short robe, cheeping loudly as
it runs and pauses here and there around someone’s feet. Likewise, all
scenes of chicks running about with the mother hen. The eggs of a spotbilled duck. A green-glass pot.
[145] Times when someone’s presence produces foolish excitement – A
mother who’s pampering and praising her spoilt child, who is actually
nothing out of the ordinary.
The little introductory cough you give when you’re about to address
someone who overawes you.
A child of four or five from a neighbouring place is playing up and
annoying people, throwing things about and damaging them. You seize
him to prevent him from behaving so wilfully, but then his mother
arrives and the boy, emboldened by her presence, starts tugging at her
sleeve and whining, ‘Show me that, mama! Let me see it!’ His mother is
deep in conversation with the adults and doesn’t pay him any attention,
so the child then goes and pulls the thing out himself for a look, and
starts creating havoc. This is quite infuriating. However, the mother
doesn’t take it from him and put it out of his reach and scold him, but
only smiles and says mildly, ‘Don’t do that, dear’ or ‘Don’t you break it
now’– at which point you begin to loathe her as well. It’s unbearably
frustrating to have to sit there biting your tongue.
[146] Things with terrifying names – River deeps. Mountain caves. ‘Scaleboard’ walls. Iron. Clods. Thunder – not just the name, but the thing
itself is extremely terrifying. Gales. Ominous clouds. Comets. ‘Armumbrella’ rain.
1 The wilds.
Robbery is terrifying in every way. Violent monks are very terrifying
indeed. So are kanamochi. Living spirit possession. The snake berry.
Devil fern. Devil vine. Thorn bushes. Chinese bamboo. Roasted charcoal.
A bull-demon.
2 Anchors – the sight of one is more terrifying than the
name.
[147]* Things that look ordinary but become extraordinary when written –
Strawberries. The dew plant. The prickly water lily. Spiders. Chestnuts.
1
Doctors of literature. Postgraduate students. Acting Master of the
Empress Dowager’s Palace. The arbutus tree.
People write the name ‘knotweed’ with characters meaning ‘tiger’s
staff’. A tiger doesn’t look as though it would need a staff!
[148] Repulsive things – The back of a piece of sewing. Hairless baby
mice tumbled out of their nest. The seams of a leather robe before the
lining’s been added.
1 The inside of a cat’s ear. A rather dirty place in
darkness.
A very ordinary woman looking after lots of children. The way a man
must feel when his wife, who he’s not really very fond of, is ill for a long
time.
[149]* Occasions when something inconsequential has its day – Daikon
radishes at New Year. The Imperial Attendant ladies during an imperial
procession. The ladies from the Palace Gates Office, at the time of the
imperial accession. Lady Chamberlains in the Bamboo Breaking
ceremonies
1 at the end of the sixth and twelfth months.
The Master of Solemnities at the Great Sutra Readings of the second
and eighth months. How splendid he is in his red ecclesiastical robes,
solemnly intoning the names of all the monks!
The people who decorate the hall for the imperial Litany of Buddha
Names or the Great Sutra Readings. Escorts from the Palace Guards at
the time of the Kasuga Festival. The foodtaster on the third day of the
new year.
2 The priests who present the hare-mallets to the Emperor.
The ladies who do up the dancers’ hair for the Gosechi dances rehearsal
night. The Palace Maidens who serve at the imperial table during the
five Palace Festivals.
[150] People who look as though things are difficult for them – The nurse of
an infant who cries during the night. A man with two lovers, both of
whom are jealous. An exorcist who’s struggling to defeat a stubborn
spirit. His incantations ought to begin taking effect very promptly, but in
this instance things are going differently, and he looks quite agonized as
he prays frantically on, desperate not to become a laughing-stock.
A woman who’s adored by a man who’s prone to groundless
suspicions.
Someone who wields power and influence in the household of one of
the great men can’t have an easy life, but it must be nice nevertheless.
Someone who’s constantly irritable.
[151] People who seem enviable – You set about learning to recite a sutra,
stumbling along, going endlessly over the same places and constantly
forgetting bits. When you hear the same words tripping smoothly off the
tongue of others – not only the priests, but other men and women – you
wonder enviously if you’ll ever be able to perform it like that.
You’re feeling ill and miserable, and you witness people going by
laughing and joking together, apparently without a care in the world.
How you envy them!
You have an urge to go on a pilgrimage to Inari Shrine,
1 and as
you’re laboriously gasping your way up the steep mountainside to the
middle shrine, you’re filled with admiration to see others who’ve
obviously started behind you go climbing straight up without the least
effort; when you arrive, there they stand, already at their worship.
Once, on the day of the shrine festival in the second month, I set off
for the pilgrimage at sunrise, but hurry though I might it was already
mid-morning by the time I’d reached the halfway point along the
mountain path. It grew really quite hot as the morning drew on, and
feeling by then thoroughly wretched, I paused for a while, tearfully
wondering why on earth I had to choose such a hot day to come, when
another day would have made it all so much easier. As I sat there, I
overheard a woman of forty or more, not even dressed in travelling wear
but simply with her robes tucked up, remarking to someone she’d met
on the path as she descended, ‘I’m performing seven pilgrimage circuits.
I’ve already completed three, and it’ll be no trouble to do the remaining
four. I should be off the mountain again by early afternoon.’ It wouldn’t
have struck me as anything worth noticing in another situation, but at
the time how I longed to be her!
I thoroughly envy anyone – man, woman or priest – who has fine
children. Also people with lovely long, smooth hair with beautiful ends.
And I very much envy great people when I see how everyone reveres
them and attends to their every need. And people who write in a
beautiful hand and are good at poetry, who are called on for every
occasion.
You’d think that when some fine lady who’s surrounded by a bevy of
gentlewomen plans to send a message to someone of particular
distinction, she could safely assume that none of her ladies would write
it in some dreadful chicken scrawl.
2 But no, she sends especially for one
among them who happens to be back in her room at the time, and offers
her own inkstone for the task. How I envy that lady! Once a
gentlewoman has been in service for a long time, even if her writing is
little better than a beginner’s copybook level, in normal situations she’ll
be able to produce something appropriate enough – but now the
occasion is a special one, a letter to a court noble, for instance, or in
response to a request that someone’s daughter be permitted to enter
service there. Her mistress prepares things for the task with scrupulous
care, beginning with a painstaking selection of the paper to be used, and
meanwhile the other ladies gather round and jokingly declare how they
envy her the task.
If you’re learning one of the woodwind or stringed instruments, just as
with calligraphy, while you’re still in the beginning stages you wonder
when you’ll ever become as good as others.
The nurse of the Emperor or the Crown Prince. Also, gentlewomen in
the Emperor’s household, who have the freedom to come and go in the
households of the various imperial wives.
3
[152] Things whose outcome you long to know – When one of the various
forms of tie-dyeing, such as roll dye or dapple-dye, is in process.
1
When someone’s just had a child, you long to know whether it’s a boy
or a girl. This is particularly the case when the parents are of high birth,
but you still long to know even when it’s some ordinary person or
someone of low birth.
The morning following the announcements of the Appointments List.
Even if no one you know is likely to be given a new appointment, you’re
still dying to hear who got what.
[153] Occasions for anxious waiting – You’ve sent some fabric to someone
for urgent sewing, and now you sit impatiently expecting it back at any
moment, gazing anxiously in the direction you sent it.
Someone’s expecting a child, but the due date has come and gone and
there’s still no sign of the birth beginning.
When you receive a letter from a distant man you care for, how
nervously you struggle to open the tight seal on it!
You set off late to see a festival, and alas the procession has already
begun. You glimpse the white batons of the policemen who are clearing
the way ahead of the procession, and while your carriage is being
manoeuvred into a closer position in the crowd, you’re filled with
despair at the thought of what you’ll be missing, and long to be able
simply to get out and walk.
A person has called whom you would prefer didn’t know you were
there, and you’ve told one of the ladies what she should say to him,
while you wait anxiously in the background, hoping the strategy will
work.
It’s the fiftieth or hundredth day since the birth of an anxiously
awaited child, and now you find yourself feeling apprehensive over what
will become of him in life.
Trying to thread a needle to do an urgent bit of sewing, when it’s
already beginning to grow dark. It’s bad enough when you’re attempting
to do it yourself; it’s still worse if you’ve asked someone else to do it for
you while you hold the needle for her, to indicate where you think the
eye is, and she’s too flustered to be able to get the thread through. ‘Oh,
never mind,’ you say, ‘you needn’t bother’, but she appears mystified
that she can’t do it, and simply refuses to give up. By this point, you’re
not only anxious, you’re downright angry as well.
You’re in a hurry to set off for somewhere, and someone says, ‘I just
have to go to such-and-such a place first, I’ll send the carriage back for
you before long’, and you wait for it with mounting irritation. How
disappointed you are when you’ve heard a carriage coming down the
main street and think with joy, ‘There it is!’, only to have it disappear in
a different direction. And you quite despair if you’re waiting to go off to
see a festival, and overhear someone remarking, ‘The procession will
have begun by now.’
A baby has been born, and time passes but still no afterbirth appears.
You’re setting off to see a festival, or on a temple pilgrimage, and the
carriage has called in at the home of someone who’s to join the
expedition. It’s drawn up waiting at the house, but she’s taking her time
to appear, and you feel so exasperated as you wait that you long simply
to leave her behind and be on your way immediately.
It takes an awfully long time to get roasted charcoal to light, which is
very irritating when you need it in a hurry.
You become very anxious when you have to make a quick response to
someone’s poem, and you can’t come up with anything. If it’s a lover
there’s no particular need to hurry to send a reply, but there are times
when circumstances make it necessary. And if it’s some exchange with a
lady, nothing special, and you feel you can just dash something off,
that’s precisely when you’re inclined to make an unfortunate blunder.
When you’re not feeling well, or when you’re afraid of something,
how anxiously you wait for the night to end!
[154]* When Her Majesty was in mourning for the previous Regent, she was
required to leave the palace at the time of the Great Purification at the
end of the sixth month. However, the Office of the Empress’s Household
happened to be in a forbidden direction at the time, so she moved
instead to the Aitadokoro, which belonged to the Council of State.
Our first night there was hot and extraordinarily dark, and we spent it
feeling cramped and rather anxious as we waited for the dawn. The
following morning we took a look at the building. It was in the Chinese
style, very flat, with a low tiled roof, and altogether quite unusuallooking. Instead of the customary lattice shutters, it was enclosed only
by blinds. It was such a strange and charming place that we ladies went
out into the garden to entertain ourselves in the unusual surroundings.
There we found a massed planting of day lilies, with a rough woven
fence. It was most effective to have such a vivid array of nodding flower
clusters in the garden of a formal place such as this.
The Timekeeping Office was just across the way, and we were
intrigued at the unusually close sound of the watch-drum.
1 About
twenty of the younger ladies went across and climbed up a staircase into
the high watchtower to investigate. Watching them from our building,
their climbing figures all in light-grey trains and Chinese jackets, with
unlined summer gowns of the same light-grey and scarlet skirted
trousers, they looked, if not exactly like heavenly beings, at least like
creatures that had descended from the sky. It was amusing to see the one
who’d helped the others climb by supporting them from below and so
couldn’t join them up there herself, standing below gazing enviously up
at them, though she too was young enough to be able to climb.
They also went across to the guard office of the Left Gate Watch, and
apparently some of them were misbehaving there, tumbling about and
creating a great racket. People sternly castigated them, telling them it
was most inappropriate to go climbing on to the chairs that the court
nobles sit on and damaging the officials’ benches, but they paid no heed
to this.
The Aitadokoro was incredibly hot, perhaps owing to the extreme age
of the building and the fact that the roof was tiled, and at night we slept
out on the veranda, beyond the blinds. What’s more, because it was so
old, the place was plagued by creatures known as centipedes
2 which
kept dropping from the ceiling all day long, and also great wasps’ nests
where the wasps gathered and clung, which was all quite terrifying.
Senior courtiers would call by every day, and when someone
overheard one of them who’d remained there talking till dawn, he
amused us greatly by intoning in mock recitation:
Who ever would have thought
to see these Council Chambers now
the haunt of nightly trysts?
3
Even when autumn came, the place wasn’t of the kind to be cooled by
so much as the ‘one-side breeze’
4 of the old poem, yet sure enough the
autumn insects still sang there in season. Her Majesty was to return to
her own quarters on the eighth day, so the Tanabata festival of the
seventh was spent here in the Aitadokoro, and we seemed to have an
unusually close view of the proceedings, probably because the place was
relatively less spacious.
5
One day, Consultant Captain Tadanobu came visiting, along with others
including Captain Nobukata and Junior Counsellor Michikata. A number
of us went out to talk to them, and in the midst of conversation I
casually asked, ‘What do you plan for tomorrow?’ Without a moment’s
hesitation for thought, Tadanobu replied, ‘This time it will be the fourth
month and the world of humans.’
6 This was wonderfully amusing. It’s
impressive enough when somebody can recall something from some time
ago and cleverly refer to it later, but men generally forget more than
women do in this regard. People tend to have a poor memory even for
their own past poems, let alone others’, so Tadanobu’s reply was
particularly delightful. Naturally enough, neither the ladies inside the
blinds nor the men outside had any idea what he was referring to.
This is the story – on the first day of the fourth month that year, a
great many senior courtiers were standing about by the fourth northwest door of the Long Room in the Palace. Gradually they began to slip
away, until the only men left were Secretary Captain Tadanobu, Captain
Nobukata and one of the Chamberlains. They were talking of this and
that, and entertaining themselves by reciting sutras and poetry, till one
of them remarked, ‘It’s past dawn. Let’s go back.’ Thereupon Tadanobu
intoned, ‘Dew is the tears of lovers who part at dawn’,
7 and Nobukata
happily joined him in the song.
‘You’re very beforehand with your Tanabata, aren’t you!’ I remarked.
This displeased them thoroughly. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, I was simply
saying what came into my mind on the spur of the moment about a
dawn parting,’ Tadanobu complained. ‘You have to constantly watch
what you say around here, or you land in terrible trouble’, and they
went on in the same vein, with many a chuckle over it. ‘Don’t tell
anyone about this, will you,’ Tadanobu finished by admonishing me. ‘I’d
be bound to be laughed at.’
It had by now grown quite light, and finally off he went, his parting
words being, ‘It’s time the ugly old Kazuraki god gave up and left.’
Well, ever since then I’d been dying to bring this up again when
Tanabata came round. However, Tadanobu had since been promoted to
Consultant, so I was worried that I couldn’t be sure of seeing him at that
particular time; I was planning to send him a letter through one of the
groundskeepers, but then to my delight he turned up right at Tanabata.
Pondering how best to make my move, I decided that if I directly
mentioned that night he’d be sure to realize what I was up to, whereas if
I suddenly slipped in a glancing reference he’d probably be left
scratching his head in puzzlement. That would be the moment for me to
introduce the subject. I was truly delighted when he picked up on my
reference
8 without an instant’s hesitation.
I’d spent these months so eager for the day to arrive that it even
struck me that, whimsical connoisseur though I know I am in these
matters, this was carrying whimsy rather far – so how did Tadanobu
come to be apparently as prepared as I was? Nobukata, on the other
hand, who had been quite as put out as Tadanobu at the time, heard our
little exchange without comprehending a thing. It was only when
Tadanobu reminded him by saying, ‘Don’t you remember how we were
scolded that morning?’ that he laughed and said, ‘Oh yes, of course, of
course!’– which was hardly very impressive, I thought.
Another example of this is the conversations I had with Tadanobu
where we’d use the terms of a game of go to talk about courtship – if a
man and a woman were becoming intim ate we’d refer to it as ‘he’s
played a leading stone on her’, or ‘it’s into the final stones’, or ‘he’ll be
rallying his stones’ and so on, which of course other people couldn’t be
expected to understand. Tadanobu and I would talk in this mutually
understood code, and Nobukata would hang around trying to follow,
saying, ‘Eh, what does that mean?’ He got quite upset when I wouldn’t
tell him, and demanded that Tadanobu explain, so in the end, because
they were good friends, he obligingly did so.
‘They’ve got to the point where they’re breaking up the board’
9
meant that the lovers had finally become one. Anyway, Nobukata was
now dying to let me know that he was in on our secret language. One
day he said to me, ‘Do you have a go board here? I’d like a round of go
with you. How about those stones of yours, eh? Will you lay them down
for me? My game’s as strong as Tadanobu’s, you know. Don’t make any
distinctions between us in this.’
‘But if I did this sort of thing, surely I’d be “playing a round”,’
10
I
replied. He reported this to Tadanobu, who told me he was delighted
with what I’d said. I do enjoy people who remember things that have
happened.
When Tadanobu became Secretary Captain, I remarked in His
Majesty’s presence how wonderfully well he recited Chinese poetry.
‘Who else can recite “Magistrate Hsaio of K’uai-chi passed by the ancient
shrine”?’
11
I went on. ‘I wish he could continue to visit us a little longer
before he’s promoted. It’s a great shame.’
His Majesty laughed greatly at this, and delighted me by replying,
‘Well, I shall tell him you said so and I won’t promote him after all,
then.’
But he was promoted nevertheless, and I was very lonely. Nobukata,
meanwhile, had decided that he was quite as good as Tadanobu, and
went about preening himself on his elegant accomplishments. One day I
was talking about Tadanobu, and happened to say, ‘No one recites the
poem “He had not yet reached the time of his thirties”
12
like he does.’
‘Why shouldn’t I be as good as him?’ responded Nobukata. ‘I’ll show
you I’m even better,’ and he proceeded to intone it.
‘Well, yes, that’s not too bad I suppose,’ said I.
‘Oh dear!’ he exclaimed. ‘I really must learn to recite like him.’
‘There’s just something so enchanting about the way he does the bit
that goes “the time of his thirties”,’ I went on, and at this he walked off
laughing bitterly.
Well, it seems that he proceeded to call Tadanobu over from the Gate
Watch Office, told him what I’d said and asked him to show him how to
recite the piece, which he did with an obliging laugh. I was quite
unaware of this. Nobukata then turned up outside my apartment and
gave an extremely good imitation of Tadanobu’s recitation. Intrigued, I
inquired, ‘Who’s that?’ You could hear that he was beaming from ear to
ear as he replied, ‘Let me tell you something marvellous’, and proceeded
to relate to me how he’d called Tadanobu from the Watch Office the day
before and got him to teach him how to do it. ‘And now it really does
seem I sound like him,’ he finished, ‘since you asked in such a sweet
voice just now who was reciting.’
I was amused that he’d gone to all the trouble of learning Tadanobu’s
style, and from then on he had only to recite this poem and I’d go out
and talk to him. ‘I’m deeply obliged to the Secretary Captain for this,’
he’d say. ‘I should bow and pray in his direction.’ If I was in my
apartment and decided to put him off by sending a message saying I was
attending on Her Majesty, he only needed to start on the poem and I’d
confess I was actually there. Her Majesty laughed when I told her all
this.
One day, when there was an imperial abstinence, I received a letter
delivered by Mitsu-somebody, one of the clerks in the Right Gate Watch
Guards, written on folded paper. ‘I was intending to visit,’ it said, ‘but
owing to the imperial abstinence… May I “He had not yet reached the
time of his thirties” later?’
In reply I wrote, ‘I believe that time has already passed for you, even
if you haven’t yet reached the time at which Zhu Maichen admonished
his wife.’
13
This upset Nobukata all over again. He told the story to His Majesty,
who later said to me when he called on Her Majesty, ‘However do you
come to know such things? Nobukata was lamenting that you really
managed to hit home there, since it’s perfectly true, he was thirty-nine
when he admonished his wife.’
When I learned that Nobukata had told all this to His Majesty, I
decided that he really must be a bit mad.
[155] The name ‘Kōkiden’ referred to the High Consort, daughter of the
Kan’in Commander of the Left.
1
In her service was a lady called Sakyō,
the daughter of the lady commonly known as ‘Lie-down’,
2 and people
were joking that Captain Nobukata was courting her.
Well, Nobukata had called round one day when Her Majesty was at
the Office of the Empress’s Household, and was sitting there
complaining to us. ‘It falls to me to attend on Her Majesty for the night
watch from time to time,’ he said, ‘but I must say I’ve been remiss in my
duties because you ladies don’t treat me in the appropriate fashion. I’d
give very loyal service if only I were provided with a night-watch room.’
‘Yes indeed, we can see that,’ said everyone soothingly, but I broke in
and remarked, ‘Yes, people do like to have somewhere they can relax
and lie down, don’t they. You apparently avail yourself of just such a
thing quite often.’
‘I’m not speaking to you any more!’ he declared, in a terrific huff.
‘I’ve taken you for a friend, but you’re obviously just accepting all those
old rumours people have spread about me.’
‘Good heavens, how odd you are!’ I exclaimed innocently. ‘Whatever
can I have said? I can’t see that there was anything for you to take
offence at.’
I tugged at the lady next to me to support my case. ‘She’s said nothing
offensive about you,’ she chimed in, ‘so why are you so hot under the
collar? It just shows there must be something going on here after all’,
and she gave a loud laugh.
‘She’s put you up to that!’ declared Nobukata, deeply outraged.
‘Truly, I’m not saying any such thing,’ I repeated. ‘Why, even hearing
it from others would make me angry’, and I withdrew.
But in a later conversation he began again. ‘You’ve made false and
shameful insinuations about me,’ he said bitterly. ‘You must have picked
this up and repeated it because all the senior courtiers are laughing
about it.’
‘Well, if that’s the case,’ said I briskly, ‘it makes no sense that it’s only
me you’re blaming.’
And that was the end of relations between us.
[156] Things now useless that recall a glorious past – A fine embroideryedged mat
1
that’s become threadbare.
A screen painted in the Chinese style, that’s now turned dark and
discoloured and developed a scarred surface.
A painter with poor eyesight.
A switch of false hair seven or eight feet long, that’s now fading and
taking on a reddish tinge.
Grape-coloured fabric when the ash dye has turned.
2
A man who was a great lover in his day but is now old and decrepit.
A tasteful house whose garden trees have been destroyed by fire. The
pond is still there, but it’s now uncared for and thick with pond weed.
[157] Situations you have a feeling will turn out badly – A son-in-law who
has a fickle nature and tends to neglect his wife, and who now hasn’t
visited her for some time.
Someone given to lying nevertheless makes himself out to be capable
and dependable, and is given an important task to undertake.
A boat with sails raised high in a strong wind. Someone in their
seventies or eighties who’s been ill for some days now.
[158] Sutra readings – Continuous Sutra Readings
1 are particularly
moving.
[159] Things that are near yet far – The Miyanobe Festival. Relationships
between siblings or relatives who don’t like each other.
The winding path up to Kurama Temple.
1
The first day of the new year, seen from the last day of the old.
[160] Things that are far yet near – Paradise.
The course of a boat.
1
Relations between men and women.
[161] Wells – Horikane Well. Tama Well.
It’s interesting that Hashiri Well is at Ōsaka.
I wonder why the mountain well
1 came to be used as an example of
shallowness.
I like the way Asuka Well
2
is praised as being ‘chill of water’.
Chinuki Well. ShōshōWell.
3 Sakura Well. Kisakimachi Well.
[162]* Plains – Saga, of course. Also the plains of Inami, Kata, Tobihi,
Shimeshi and Kasuga. Sōke Plain is somehow interesting too. One
wonders why they gave it such a name.
The plains of Miyagi, Awazu, Ono and Murasaki.
[163] Court nobles – Commanders of the Left and Right. Master of the
Household of the Crown Prince. Acting Counsellor and Acting Grand
Counsellor. Consultant Captain. Captain Third Rank.
[164]* Nobles – Secretary Captain. Secretary Controller. Acting Captain.
Junior Lieutenant Fourth Rank. Chamberlain Controller. Adviser Fourth
Rank. Chamberlain Junior Counsellor. Chamberlain Second of the
Watch.
[165] Acting Provincial Governors – Acting Governors of Kai, Echigo,
Chikugo and Awa provinces.
1
[166]* Commissioners – Ceremonials Commissioner. Left and Right Gate
Watch Commissioners.
[167] Priests – Fifth-ranking priests. Palace priests.
[168] Ladies – High Gentlewoman. Chief Gentlewoman.
[169] Sixth-rank Chamberlains – The post of Sixth-rank Chamberlain is
not one that anyone should aspire to.
1
Once he’s promoted to Acting Provincial Governor or some other fifthranking title, he gets himself a cramped wooden-roofed house; adds a
nice little, new, board fence; puts a carriage in the carriage house; plants
a few foot-high bushes near the front of the house; and ties his ox there
to feed on the grass. It’s all thoroughly contemptible.
There’s something so depressingly staid and unambitious about the
way he keeps his courtyard meticulously swept, puts up flashy Iyo blinds
hung on purple leather thongs all round the house and cloth-lined
sliding doors, and gives strict instructions each night to bar his precious
gate against intruders.
What he should do is make use of someone else’s house – his parents’
or father-in-law’s is the obvious choice, but it could be an uncle’s or
brother’s house if the owner happens to be away, or the empty house of
some Provincial Governor he’s got to know well and who happens to be
away on his provincial duties, or, failing that, one of the many imperial
or princely houses. He should borrow such a place and bide his time
there until he’s promoted to a better position, when he can go looking
for some fine place to make his own.
[170]* A place where a lady lives alone, in a badly dilapidated dwelling
surrounded by a crumbling earth wall, the garden pond full of water
weed, and the courtyard, if not literally overrun with wormwood, at any
rate with patches of green weeds showing here and there through the
gravel, is a truly forlorn and moving sight. There’s nothing more
boringly unromantic than a place where the lady has got down to
business and had everything repaired and smartened up, meticulously
locks her gate each evening and generally keeps the place run in
punctilious fashion.
[171] The home of a lady in court service should ideally have both parents
living there. Visitors constantly come and go, from the inner rooms
comes a babble of voices, and outside can be heard a busy sound of
horses, but there’s no harm in all this noise and commotion.
But picture a different kind of household. A particular guest of yours
drops in for a passing visit, either privately or publicly, saying ‘I hadn’t
realized that you were back home’, or ‘When will you be returning to
the palace?’ – after all, how could a man who cared for you not come
along to pay you a call? But how very annoying it is to be aware that the
members of the household who have the gate opened for him are
thinking, ‘What a racket! And such cheek, to stay on into the night like
this!’
‘Is the main gate closed?’ comes a voice, and the rather disgruntled
voice of a servant responds, ‘No, there’s still a guest here.’
‘Well, close it up as soon as he’s gone then,’ comes the reply. ‘There
are a lot of thieves about lately. And be careful about fire.’ This is most
dispiriting to have to hear, and what’s worse the guest is overhearing it
too.
The man’s retainers, not at all inconvenienced by his lengthy visit,
will no doubt be laughing at the servant who keeps poking his head out
to see whether the guest is leaving yet. How he berates them when he
catches the retainers mimicking him!
Even if the man doesn’t come right out with his feelings, still the very
fact that he’s paying a visit must mean that he cares for you.
Nevertheless, if he’s an earnest sort of fellow he might say with a smile
at this point, ‘It’s late. They seem to be anxious to close the gate’, and
make his departure. If he really feels strongly about you, though, a man
will stay on till the dawn, ignoring all your urgings that he should go.
The night watchman makes frequent appearances to check if he’s still
there, and when dawn is about to break he declares in horrified tones so
that the guest will overhear, ‘How dreadful, the gate has been left open
all night!’ and he proceeds to lock it, though by now it’s dawn and the
action is quite pointless. This really is infuriating behaviour.
Things are difficult enough if it’s your own parents’ house, but if
they’re not your own parents then you worry terribly about what they
think of his visit, and the same can no doubt be said of a situation in
which it’s the house of a brother you don’t get on with particularly well.
On the other hand, it’s charming when, be it night time or dawn,
undue care hasn’t been taken over the gate, and various ladies in service
in the household of one of the princes, or from the palace or one of the
great houses, appear together to greet the visitor.
1 The lattice shutters
are left raised, everyone sits talking right through the winter night till
first light, and after the guest has left they linger there to watch his
departing figure. It’s even finer if there’s a moon in the dawn sky. After
he’s left, playing on his flute as he goes, the ladies don’t go off to sleep
straight away but savour the experience together. It’s lovely if everyone
finally drifts off to sleep amid desultory talk of this person and that, and
the poems people have composed.
[172]* One day in the ninth month, at a certain place, a gentleman who,
though not exactly a court noble, was renowned at that time as a man of
marvellous charm, taste and sensibility, pays a visit to Lady Someone.
Dawn is breaking, thick mists diffuse the light of a glorious moon, and
he bends all his powers to the task of producing words that will leave
her heart aglow with memories of their night together. Ah, now he
departs – she sits on and on, gazing into the distance after him. A scene
of inexpressibly resonant beauty.
He makes as if to go on his way, but surreptitiously turns and retraces
his steps to secrete himself by the lattice fence. Seeing her deep
reluctance to rise and leave, he bethinks himself to say something
further to her of what is in his heart, but now he hears her murmur
softly to herself the lines:
‘though there in the dawn sky
the moon hangs bright’.
1
The woman he gazes at in secret is bending forward, so that her hair
falls away from her head and hangs perhaps six inches before her face. It
glows there like a candle, borrowing added light from the moonlight,
and in astonishment at the sight the man chooses this moment to slip
quietly away.
2
This was a tale that someone told.
[173] It’s quite delightful when the snow is falling, not thick on the ground,
but softly, to lie as a thin cover.
It’s also delightful on an evening when the snow lies piled high, and
two or three congenial friends settle down together around a brazier
near the veranda to talk of this and that. Darkness descends as their
conversation continues, but no lamp is lit nearby, and the light from the
high-heaped snow beyond shines wonderfully white, while they sit idly
stirring the ash in the brazier with the fire tongs as they talk on together,
of moving and entertaining matters.
Just as they’re beginning to feel that the night must be growing late,
they hear shod footsteps approaching. Startled, they peer out, and find
that it’s a man who sometimes arrives like this, unannounced, at just
such times.
‘I’ve been imagining how you’d be enjoying the snow today,’ he says,
‘but I was held up with one thing and another, and ended by spending
the day elsewhere.’ No doubt he’s alluding to the poem ‘The man who
comes to call today’.
1
They talk of the day’s happenings, and move from there to speak of all
manner of other things.
They’ve put out a straw cushion for him, and he sits there on the
veranda with one foot dangling over the edge, while they all talk on
together, neither the man nor the ladies within showing any signs of
tiring of the conversation, until the temple bell sounds for dawn. Just as
the light is about to break he prepares to leave, and as he does so he
most charmingly recites ‘snow lay thick upon certain mountains’.
2
If they’d been by themselves, the ladies wouldn’t really have been
able to stay up like this talking till dawn, and after he’s gone they speak
together of how much more delightful it was to have him there with
them, and how charming and elegant he is.
[174] Once, during the reign of the former Emperor Murakami, there was a
great fall of snow. The moon was bright. His Majesty heaped snow in a
bowl, stood a spray of flowering plum in it and gave it to the Lady
Chamberlain, Hyōe, saying, ‘See what poem you can compose on this.’
Her response was to recite the words of the Chinese poem, ‘At times of
snow, moonlight and blossom’,
1
for which he praised her very highly.
‘There’s nothing unusual in producing a poem,’ he said, ‘but it’s far
more difficult to say something that is so precisely apt for the occasion.’
There’s also the interesting story about the occasion when His Majesty
was keeping company with this same Hyōe, and happened to pause at
the empty Privy Chamber, where he noticed smoke rising from one of
the wooden braziers. He asked her to go and investigate, and when she
returned she recited to him:
‘When I went to look
I saw the fishermen who row
upon the ocean depths
had snared themselves a frog and now
were scorching home with it.’
2
It was a frog that had leapt into the brazier and been scorched.
[175]* The lady known as Miare no Seji once made for the Emperor a
delightful little five-inch doll representing a child of a noble family, with
hair bound in the boys’ mizura style,
1 and dressed beautifully in formal
court robes. Under the clothes she wrote the name ‘Prince Tomoakira’,
and the Emperor was utterly delighted when she had it presented to him.
[176] When I first went into court service, everything seemed to
overwhelm me with confusion and embarrassment, and there were times
when I could barely hold back my tears. I attended Her Majesty each
night, behind her low standing curtain, and she would bring out pictures
and so on to show me, but I was so hopelessly nervous that I could
scarcely even stretch out a hand to take them. She described what was in
each picture, asked what I thought was happening and generally tried to
set me at ease with her talk. I had to bend to see them by the light of the
oil lamp that stood on a standing tray,
1 and I was painfully aware of
how the details of my hair would show up even more clearly than in the
daylight hours. It was a fearfully cold time of year, and the glimpse of
her hands emerging from the wonderful, glowing pale plum-pink sleeves
filled me with deep awe. I remember gazing at them in astonishment,
still fresh from home and new to all I saw, and thinking, ‘I never knew
someone so marvellous could exist!’
When dawn arrived that first day, I hastily prepared to return to my
room, and Her Majesty gently teased me by remarking, ‘Even the god of
Kazuraki wouldn’t be in quite such a hurry to hide himself away!’ I kept
my head low, fearful of exposing myself to her in profile, and didn’t dare
raise the lattice shutters. The servants who’d entered gave the order that
the shutters be opened, but Her Majesty forbade it, and they smiled
knowingly and went out again. Her Majesty then detained me with
questions and talk for quite a while longer, till finally she said, ‘You
must be wanting to go back to your room. Off you go then, and be sure
to return as soon as evening comes.’
No sooner had I slid away on my knees and hidden myself from view
than they threw open the shutters, and there beyond, snow was falling.
There’s a lattice fence close to the front of the Tōkaden, which makes
the garden rather small. It’s quite delightful in snow. During the course
of the day Her Majesty sent several messages urging me to come to her
again before evening. ‘You needn’t fear being too visible,’ she added.
‘The snowy weather will see to that.’
The head of my room 2 also scolded me for my shyness. ‘This is most
unseemly,’ she said. ‘Do you intend to go on cowering in your room like
this? Her Majesty is showing how she feels about you by choosing to
allow you into her company so astonishingly easily, you know.’ Thus
urged along on every side, I miserably did as required and presented
myself, though I was feeling quite beside myself with shyness and
unhappiness.
Snow lay piled high on the roofs of the little fire huts, a strange and
lovely sight. Near Her Majesty, there was a good fire alight in the usual
square brazier, but no one was bothering to sit there. A senior
gentlewoman was in attendance to see to Her Majesty’s needs, seated
close by her, and she herself was seated before a round incense-wood
brazier decorated with an inlay design of pears. Beyond the pillars, a
crowd of ladies was sitting packed close together round a long brazier,
their Chinese jackets informally slipped back from the shoulders, and I
was filled with envy to witness their easy nonchalance. I watched as
they carried messages to and fro, stood or sat, came and went, without a
trace of diffidence, chatting and smiling and laughing together, and was
overcome just to imagine that I might ever one day be able to mingle
with them like that. There seemed to be a group of three or four further
back, gathered together looking at pictures.
Before long, there came the high cry of a retainer clearing the way. ‘It
sounds as if His Excellency
3
is on his way here,’ people said, and they
began to tidy up the various things left lying about. I was longing to
return to my room, but I couldn’t get myself out of the way at such short
notice, so I simply withdrew somewhat deeper into the room – yet some
curiosity must have made me still peep out from an opening in the
standing curtain.
But it was Grand Counsellor Korechika who arrived, his cloak and
violet gathered trousers glowing most beautifully in the light from the
snow. He settled himself at the foot of a pillar. ‘I’ve been kept away by
an abstinence these last two days,’ he said, ‘but with this heavy snowfall
I decided to call and see how you were.’
‘I feared that “the path is gone”, with all this snow,’ came Her
Majesty’s reply. ‘How did you get here?’
He smiled. ‘Are you “truly moved”
4
to see me, then?’ he inquired.
Could there be anything more splendid? I wondered. As I listened in awe
to their elegant exchange, I marvelled that there must surely be nothing
more wonderful. It seemed to me precisely like a scene from those tales
where the storyteller gives her imagination free rein and describes it all
in the most extravagant terms.
Her Majesty was dressed in layers of white with a scarlet Chinese
damask over-robe, and the vision of her there, her flowing hair black
against the scarlet, felt utterly dream-like, the kind of sight I’d seen
depicted in paintings but never before in reality.
The Grand Counsellor now set about chatting and joking with the
ladies. Listening to them responding to his banter without the least sign
of embarrassment, and contradicting and arguing with him when he
asserted something false, I couldn’t believe my ears, and I felt an
astonished blush creeping irrepressibly over my face. He proceeded to
take some nuts, and hospitably offered some to Her Majesty as well.
Then he must have asked who was behind the curtain, and the ladies’
replies seemed to have whetted his interest, for he stood, and when I
expected him to move in another direction he instead came over to
where I was hiding, seated himself very close and proceeded to talk to
me. He asked me about various things he’d heard concerning the time
before I came to court, and whether they were true or not, and it all felt
quite unreal to me to find myself so astonishingly close to him, when
even from a distance the sight of him had filled me with awe and
confusion. How could I possibly answer, sitting there wracked with
embarrassment as I was, soaked in a nervous sweat at my shameful
impudence and folly in daring to presume I could serve at court? – I,
who had always hastened to draw the inner blinds and spread my fan as
a shield in case my form was somehow discernible from outside, if his
glance had so much as strayed in the direction of my carriage as he rode
with His Majesty in some procession I’d gone to watch.
The Grand Counsellor now went so far as to take away the prudent fan
with which I was shielding myself from his gaze. In my desperation, I
longed to shake my side-locks forward in an attempt to cover my face,
knowing full well how unseemly this would appear to him. I cowered
there, agonizingly aware that my consternation was quite exposed to his
gaze. Surely he would now rise and leave me alone! But instead he sat
turning the fan over in his hands and talking a while longer, asking me
who had commissioned the painting on it, while I pressed the sleeve of
my Chinese jacket against my bowed face so hard that I must surely
have rubbed off great patches of powder, leaving me with a
humiliatingly mottled complexion.
Her Majesty apparently understood what agony the Grand Counsellor
was subjecting me to by so cruelly lingering on talking like this, for she
interrupted him. ‘Here,’ she said to him, ‘look at this and tell me who
you think wrote it.’
‘Let me see it over here,’ he replied, but she insisted that he come to
her.
‘But this lady has seized me and won’t let me go,’ he joked. This was
wonderfully modish of him, but I writhed at how inappropriate it
seemed in relation to someone as unworthy as I.
Her Majesty now drew out a bound notebook with samples of people’s
free calligraphic style,
5 and they looked at it together.
‘Yes, whose can it be?’ said the Grand Counsellor. ‘We must show it to
this lady here. I’m sure she can recognize the hand of all our present-day
writers’, and he carried on saying extraordinary things of this nature,
doing his best to induce me to respond.
As if matters weren’t distressing enough already with only the Grand
Counsellor present, there now came a voice announcing the arrival of
another visitor, and a second similarly dressed figure appeared. This
man was rather more glamorous and ebullient than the Grand
Counsellor, and he made everyone laugh with his joking and buffoonery.
The ladies responded with tales of the doings of this or that senior
courtier, and hearing all this I felt as if I was witnessing angels or
creatures descended to earth from some higher plane – though later
when I’d grown used to court service I realized how little this was the
case in fact! All those gentlewomen you witness with such awe will have
felt much as you do when they first arrived, and once you begin to really
understand such things, you naturally come to take court life much more
for granted.
On another occasion, while talking to me of this and that, Her Majesty
suddenly said, ‘Are you very fond of me?’
‘How could I not be?’ I answered, but just as I spoke there came a
loud sneeze from the Table Room, and Her Majesty immediately said,
‘Oh alas, I see you’ve lied to me!
6 Ah well, so be it’, and she withdrew.
Mortified, I thought to myself, ‘But how could I be lying? Surely my
feelings for Her Majesty are anything but average, in fact. This is absurd!
It’s the sneeze that lied, not me’, and I went on to wonder who could
have done this horrible thing to me. ‘After all,’ I thought, ‘no one
welcomes a sneeze, and people generally do their best to suppress it
when they feel one coming on. How infuriating of her to have sneezed at
precisely this moment!’ But I was still new to court life, and the night
drew to a close without my finding a way to answer Her Majesty’s
accusation. Dawn came, and I returned to my room, but no sooner had I
arrived there than there came a message, written in an elegant hand on
pale-green thin paper. Opening it, I read:
How could I have known,
how might I have discovered that
you did not speak the truth,
were it not for heaven’s Tadasu
who judges between true and false?
‘This is how Her Majesty feels’,
7
the lady who scripted it had added at
the end.
I was caught between delight and dismay, and filled again with a
fierce resentment at whoever had sneezed the night before.
We may judge a flower
by the strength or weakness of its hue –
but that red nose bloomed false.
And so my flowering heart withers alone
to find itself in misjudged misery.
8
‘Please take this to Her Majesty to lift her spirits,’ I said, and added, ‘The
god of divination knows all. I stand in great awe of him…’
9
After she’d left with my message, a fresh wave of unhappiness
descended on me, and I continued to wonder miserably why the woman
had to sneeze at that of all moments.
[177] People who feel smug – The first person to sneeze at new year.
People of quality don’t follow this superstition, it’s only the lower
classes.
The look on someone’s face when he’s succeeded in getting his son
appointed Chamberlain at a time when there’s fierce competition for the
post. Also, someone who’s been given the governorship of the year’s top
province in the Appointments List. When people congratulate him and
say, ‘What a splendid posting to receive!’ how smug he is as he replies,
‘No no, far from it. I gather it’s an extraordinarily run-down place.’
A man who’s been chosen as son-in-law from among a large and
fiercely competitive group of suitors will no doubt feel very pleased with
himself.
A Provincial Governor who’s been promoted to Consultant seems
much more inclined to consider himself important and splendid than
someone equivalent who’s from a noble family.
1
[178]* Nothing is more splendid than rank. How different a man is when
he’s called Commissioner or Adviser and can be snubbed with impunity,
from the same man once he’s become Counsellor, Grand Counsellor or
Minister, when he’s held in awe and can throw his weight around! The
same thing seems to hold further down the ranks too, with Provincial
Governors and suchlike. Those who’ve done duty in a number of
provinces, and become Deputy, or fourth or third rank, are apparently
treated with considerable respect by the court nobles.
Women, on the other hand, are much less impressive. Certainly an
imperial nurse who attains third rank or the title High Gentlewoman is
of considerable importance, but she’s already past her best, and what’s
so good about it after all? And most women never even get so far. It
seems that a lady who goes into the provinces as a Governor’s wife is
envied as having achieved the epitome of prestige by normal standards.
But surely much more impressive is someone from an average family
who becomes the wife of a court noble, or a court noble’s daughter who
becomes an Empress.
However, it’s a most impressive thing to watch a young man’s rise.
As for priests, what’s so wonderful in going about bearing this or that
priestly title? Even a handsome priest who performs the sutras
magnificently isn’t really taken seriously by the ladies who make a fuss
over him. Still, nothing can compare to the extraordinary awe and
reverence given to someone who’s become Bishop or Archbishop – it’s as
though the Buddha himself had appeared on earth!
[179] Awe-inspiring things – No one fills you with more awe than the
husband of a nurse. This goes without saying if she’s the nurse of an
Emperor or prince, of course, but even if she’s attached to one of the
lesser households of the high-ranking, or that of a Provincial Governor,
her husband is treated by those around him with the respect accorded to
the household in question, so he begins to put on fine airs and consider
himself to have the backing of the master of the house. He acts for all
the world as if the child were his very own, which is all very well if it’s a
girl, but when it’s a boy he’ll attach himself to the child like a limpet
and serve his every need, and if anyone dares to cross the boy he’ll leap
to the attack, and go about slandering the man to others. Villain though
he is, no one will dare to gainsay him or come right out and complain,
so he continues to have his way, and bosses everyone around in an
incredibly high-handed fashion.
But he doesn’t come out of it quite so well if the child is still an infant.
As the nurse will be sleeping next to the mother, her husband has to
sleep alone in his own room – and if he goes off to see another woman,
there’ll be a tremendous fuss about his infidelity. He may demand that
his wife comes and sleeps with him rather than beside the mother, in
which case the unfortunate woman will find herself on a cold winter’s
night hastily having to reach for her clothes and rush to the child when
the mother calls her urgently. This is so in the finer houses as well, and
indeed there are a great many more problems besides.
[180]* Illnesses – Internal illnesses. Illnesses caused by spirits.1 Beriberi.
Also, the feeling that you somehow just can’t face any food.
It’s engaging to witness some very attractive young lady of eighteen or
nineteen, with a beautiful sleek head of hair hanging the length of her
back, wonderfully thick at the ends, a lovely plump figure and very pale
face, who is suffering from a terrible toothache. She sits there, hand
pressed to her bright red cheek, quite unaware that her side-locks are all
sodden from weeping.
Or another picture – it’s some time in the eighth month, and we see a
lady dressed in a flowing white shift and handsome skirted trousers with
an exquisite robe in the aster combination draped over her, lying
languishing with some internal illness. A large number of gentlewomen
who are friends of hers have come to visit, and beyond the blinds there’s
also quite a gathering of young nobles. ‘Oh dear, poor thing,’ someone
says in a carefully casual tone. ‘Does it often get bad like this?’
Meanwhile (the perfect touch) the man who loves her feels his heart
breaking with pity. How affecting she is as she sits up to vomit, sleek
long hair tied back from her face.
His Majesty hears of her illness and is kind enough to send a priest to
chant for her, someone with a fine voice, who settles down nearby
behind a screen that’s drawn across for him. It’s a rather cramped space,
and the ladies crowded in to visit are clearly visible to the priest as they
sit listening to the sutras. One can only think that he’s surely courting
karmic retribution, to let his eyes keep drifting their way as he chants.
[181] It’s delightful to see someone who’s a great ladies’ man, and is
pursuing numerous love affairs, arriving home at dawn from who knows
what night-time tryst. Sleepy though you can see he feels, he
nevertheless sits down and draws the inkstone up to write his nextmorning letter to her. See how carefully he grinds the ink to a fine
consistency, and how tenderly he bends to the task of writing, not
merely dashing off whatever springs to mind but putting himself heart
and soul into what he writes.
He’s wearing kerria-yellow or scarlet over layers of white gown, and
as he finishes the letter his gaze lingers on the
‘to write his next-morning letter to her’
crumpled sleeve of his white shift.
1 He doesn’t just give his letter to the
serving woman nearby, but takes the trouble to stand up and go over to
call a young member of the guards or one of his retainers who’s suited to
the task, and hands it to him with whispered instructions. After the man
has left he sits on there, lost in thought, softly murmuring to himself
some appropriate bit of the sutras until he’s ushered inside to avail
himself of the washbasin and morning gruel that’s been prepared. But
even as he walks in, he pauses to lean at his desk and read a little. It’s
enchanting to witness him come across a particularly good passage, and
raise his voice to recite it aloud.
He washes his hands, slips into a cloak and sets about reciting by heart
the sixth volume of the Lotus Sutra.
2 This is all most impressive – but
then the messenger reappears (no doubt the lady lives somewhere
nearby) and signals his arrival, and our gentleman abruptly ceases
chanting and turns his eager thoughts to the contents of her reply… an
amusing scene, for surely he’s actually courting karmic retribution by
this lapse!
[182] It’s the middle of a fiercely hot day, and you’re finding it impossible
to stay cool – your fan only moves the warm air about, and you keep
dipping your hands in ice water and moaning about the heat. And then
someone brings you a message written on brilliant red thin paper,
attached to a flowering Chinese pink, also bright crimson – and you
sense how hot he must have felt as he wrote it, and how much you must
mean to him, and find yourself unconsciously laying down the fan (that
was anyway proving so useless even when plied while the other hand
soaked in ice water), your complaints suddenly forgotten.
[183] The floorboards of the southern or perhaps the eastern aisle are
polished to a reflective shine, and a lovely fresh new mat has been
placed on them. When the three-foot standing curtain, with its
marvellously cool-looking drapes, is pushed aside, it glides surprisingly
far along the shiny floor – and there, near where it comes to rest, a lady
is reclining. She wears a white gossamer-silk shift with scarlet skirted
trousers, and a purple robe, still fairly well starched, is draped over her
as sleep-wear.
A light burns in the lamp that hangs from the eave. Farther off, at
about two pillars’ distance, the blind has been raised high, and two
gentlewomen and several little girls are seated leaning against the
threshold, or lying stretched out beside a lowered blind. A coal burns
deep in the ash of the incense burner, and the faint scent of incense that
wafts from it deepens the feeling of tranquility and refinement.
The night is already well advanced when there comes a stealthy tap at
the gate, and a knowing gentlewoman slips over and solemnly and
stealthily ushers him in to where the lady waits, keeping a keen eye out
to make sure he isn’t discovered as she does so – a scene made to
delight.
Another charming scene: he and the lady are sitting talking together.
A particularly fine-sounding and elegant biwa lies there beside them, and
in the occasional pauses of their conversation he plucks at it very softly
with the tips of his fingers.
[184] It’s enchanting to overhear, from a house that lies close to a main
thoroughfare, someone go past in a carriage, blinds raised to enjoy the
dawn moon, reciting in a fine voice as he goes the line: ‘The wanderer
sojourns on beneath a waning moon.’
1
It’s also lovely to hear a passerby
do this if he’s on horseback.
Staying in such a place, you may also hear the sound of a saddle’s
mudguards flapping as a horse passes. Intrigued to know who it might
be, you lay down whatever you’re doing and go to look – only to
discover some perfectly boring person going by. This is most annoying.
[185] Things that prove disillusioning – Nothing in all the world could be
worse than a man or a woman who turns out to use words vulgarly. I
wonder what the strange quality is in a single word that can make it
vulgar or tasteful – though of course the person making this judgement
isn’t necessarily so very splendid herself! And if that’s the case, how can
one judge what’s good and what’s not? Well, I don’t know about others,
I simply go by my own feelings in the matter.
It’s actually not a bad thing to use vulgar or unseemly words
intentionally, knowing them for what they are. What’s astonishing is
when someone produces a word from their private store without pausing
to consider its nature. I also hate it when someone who should know
better, an older person or a man, affects a rustic way of speaking. It’s
only natural that any young person should want to simply sink through
the floor with embarrassment, when they witness an adult unashamedly
using wrong or bad language.
You instantly sound dreadful if, instead of saying ‘I’m going to do it’
or ‘I’m going to say it’ or ‘I’m going to do this or that’, you drop the ‘to’
and instead say ‘I’m gonna say it’ or ‘I’m gonna go home’.
1 And of
course this is even more the case if you write it. If the author of a tale
uses poor language it makes you quite despair, and you find yourself
squirming with embarrassment for the writer as well. Then there are the
people I’ve heard say ‘a single cawidge’ instead of ‘a single carriage’,
and everyone seems to pronounce ‘look for’ as ‘lek for’ these days.
2
[186] It’s very unseemly for a man who’s visiting a gentlewoman to eat
while with her. Any lady who provides him with food is also despicable.
Naturally, if the lady who loves him comes sweetly offering him food,
he’s going to eat it – after all, he can hardly clamp his mouth shut and
turn his face away as if he loathed the very thought!
Personally, even if a man is terribly drunk and ends up having to
spend the night, I won’t feed him so much as a dish of warmed-over rice.
It wouldn’t matter to me if he decided I was heartless and unfeeling, and
never called again. Of course you can’t do much about it if you’re at
home and food is produced for him from the northern quarters
1 –
though even this is far from desirable.
[187] Winds – Storm winds. The soft wind of the third month that
carries in gentle gusts of rain at evening.
The wind mixed with rain that blows in the eighth and ninth months
is a very moving thing. When the wind is howling and blowing the rain
gusts sideways, it’s delightful to take down summer’s padded robe from
the stand where it’s been airing, and lay over it a gossamer-silk shift to
sleep under
1 – delightful, too, to find yourself wondering at the fact that
it’s suddenly so cool, when it had earlier been so stiflingly hot that you
longed to throw off even this gossamer shift.
And I love it when you open the lattice shutters or double doors at
daybreak, and a sudden gust of stormy wind stings your face.
Around the end of the ninth month or in the tenth month, the sky
darkens and a howling wind blows up, which spills the yellow leaves
from the trees in flurries – a forlorn and touching sight. The leaves of
cherry trees and elms are particularly quick to blow off.
Places that have a garden full of trees are marvellous around the tenth
month.
[188] The day after a typhoon is extremely moving, and full of interest.
The lattice and open-weave fences around the garden have been left in a
shambles, and the various garden plants are in a miserable state. Great
trees have been blown over, and branches ripped off; it gives you quite a
shock to discover them lying there across the bush clover and valerian.
Leaves are carefully lodged in all the little spaces of the lattice weave,
such a delicate effect that you can’t imagine it was the doing of that wild
wind.
And now a splendid sight – a most elegant and beautiful lady, wearing
a dark purple robe with a sheen muted by wear, and a brocaded formal
over-robe of autumn-leaf ochre, or a thin weave, now appears, having
only just risen after a night made sleepless by the clamour of the wind.
She emerges a little distance from the Inner Chamber on her knees, the
hair hanging about her shoulders somewhat puffed and disarrayed by
the wind. She gazes with evident emotion at the garden, and reveals her
fine sensibility by reciting the poem, ‘I see why the word “storm”.’
1
Meanwhile another, a girl of seventeen or eighteen, no longer little but
not yet truly adult, stands pressed against the blind, watching enviously
as a group of girls and young women works here and there in the garden
to gather up the plants that have been uprooted by the wind, and prop
up others. We see her from behind, an enchanting figure in badly-worn
gossamer-silk shift and re-dyed, faded azure robe with over it a pale
violet-grey night-robe, her gleaming hair, in beautiful array, hidden
beneath her robe, down the length of her back, with its prettily fluffed
ends like plume grass peeping out below the robe, between the full folds
of her skirted trousers.
[189]* Elegantly intriguing things – It’s delightful to hear, through a wall
or partition of some sort, the sound of someone, no mere gentlewoman,
softly and elegantly clap her hands for service. Then, still separated from
view behind, perhaps, a sliding door, you hear a youthful voice respond,
and the swish of silk as someone arrives. It must be time for a meal to be
served, for now come the jumbled sounds of chopsticks and spoons, and
then the ear is arrested by the sudden metallic clink of a pouring-pot’s
handle falling sideways and knocking against the pot.
Hair tossed back, but not roughly, over a robe that’s been beaten to a
fine gloss, so that you can only guess at its splendid length.
1
It’s marvellous to see a beautifully appointed room, where no lamp
has been lit and the place is illuminated instead by the light of a brightly
burning fire in the square brazier – you can just make out the cords of
the curtains around the curtained dais glimmering softly. The metal
clasps that hold the raised blinds in place at the lintel cloth and trefoil
cords
2 also gleam brightly. A beautifully arranged brazier with fire
burning, its rim swept clean of ash, the firelight revealing the painting
on its inner surface, is a most delightful sight. As also is a brightly
gleaming pair of fire tongs, propped at an angle in the brazier.
Another scene of fascinating elegance – it’s very late at night, Her
Majesty has retired to her chamber, everyone is asleep and outside a
lady is sitting talking with a senior courtier. From within comes the
frequent sound of go stones dropping into the box. Delightful too to hear
the soft sound of fire tongs being gently pushed into the ash of the
brazier, and sense from this the presence of someone who isn’t yet
asleep.
A person who stays up late is always elegantly intriguing. You wake in
the night to lie there listening through the partition, and realize from the
sounds that someone is still up. You can’t hear what is said, but you
catch the sound of a man’s soft laugh, and you long to know what
they’re saying together.
Another scene – Her Majesty has not yet retired. Her ladies are
attending her, and the High Gentlewoman or perhaps some other senior
gentlewoman from the Emperor’s residence, someone who adds
formality to the occasion, is also present. People are seated near Her
Majesty, engaged in conversation. The lamp is extinguished, but fine
details of the scene are illuminated by the light of the fire that burns in
the long brazier.
A lady new to the court, someone not of particularly impressive
background but who the young gentlemen would naturally consider an
object of elegant interest, is attending Her Majesty rather late at night.
There’s something attractively intimate in the sound of her silk robes as
she enters and approaches Her Majesty on her knees. Her Majesty speaks
quietly to her, and she shrinks like a child and responds in a barely
audible voice. The whole feel of the scene is very quiet. It’s also very
elegant the way, when the gentlewomen are gathered seated here and
there in the room talking, you hear the silk rustle of people as they leave
or enter and, though it’s only a soft sound, you can guess who each one
would be.
Some gentleman of intimidating rank has come visiting the rooms one
evening. Your own lamp is extinguished, but light from nearby
penetrates from above the intervening screen, faintly illuminating the
objects in the room. Since he’s someone she would never sit so close to
in daylight hours, she bashfully draws over a low standing curtain and
lies close beside it, head bent over, though even so he would surely be
able to judge her hair. His cloak and gathered trousers are draped over
the standing curtain – something of suitably high rank, of course,
although the special olive-green of a Chamberlain of the sixth rank
would be just about acceptable. However, if it’s one of those deep green
cloaks of a normal sixth-ranker, you’d feel inclined to take it and roll it
into a ball and consign it to the far reaches of the room, so that when it
comes time for him to leave at dawn he’ll be dismayed to discover he
can’t lay hands on it.
It’s also quite delightful, in summer or winter, to take a quick peep
from the corridor, where you guess someone’s sleeping behind a
standing curtain from the clothes draped over one end of it.
The scent of incense is a most elegantly intriguing thing. I well
remember the truly wonderful scent that wafted from Captain Tadanobu
as he sat leaning by the blind of the Little Door
3 of Her Majesty’s room
one day during the long rains of the fifth month. The blend was so subtle
there was no distinguishing its ingredients. Of course it’s natural that
scent is enhanced by the moisture of a rainy day, but one couldn’t help
remarking on it even so. It was no wonder that the younger ladies were
so deeply impressed at the way it lingered until the following day in the
blind he’d been leaning against.
Rather than stringing along a large crowd of retainers of varying
heights, none of whom looks particularly smart or impressive, it’s far
more refined for a gentleman to go about in a beautifully gleaming
carriage that he’s had for only a little while, with ox drivers dressed with
appropriate smartness, who can barely keep up with the spirited ox as it
rushes along ahead of them.
What really does catch the attention with its elegant suggestiveness is
the sight of a slender retainer dressed in graded-dye skirted trousers in
lavender or some such colour, with upper robes of something
appropriate – glossed silk, kerria-yellow – and shiny shoes, running
along close to the axle as the carriage travels.
[190]* Islands – Yaso and Uki Islands.
1 Taware
2
Island. E Island.
Matsugaura and Toyora Islands. Magaki Island.
[191] Beaches – Udo Beach. Naga Beach. Fukiage Beach. Uchiide Beach.
Moroyose Beach. Chisato
1 Beach – one imagines it as very large.
[192] Bays – Ou Bay. Shiogama Bay. Korizuma Bay.
1 Nadaka Bay.
[193]* Woods – Ueki Wood. Ihata Wood. Kogarashi Wood. Utatane
Wood. Iwase Wood. Ōaraki Wood. Tareso Wood. Kurubeki Wood.
Tachigiki
1 Wood.
Yokotate Wood is very odd to the ear. Why should it be called a wood,
when there’s only one tree?
2
[194]* Temples – The temples of Tsubosaka and Kasagi. Hōrin Temple.
It’s moving to think that Ryōzen is the dwelling place of the Buddha.
1
The temples of Ishiyama, Kohata and Shiga.
[195] Sutras – The Lotus Sutra, of course. Also the Fugen Jugan, the Senju,
the Zuigu, the KongōHanya and the Yakushi Sutras, and the second
volume of the Nin’ō Sutra.
[196]* Buddhas – Nyoirin. Senju. All six Kannons.
1 Yakushi. Shaka.
Miroku. Jizō. Monju. Fudō Myōō. Fugen.
2
[197]* Chinese writings – Monju. Monzen. Shinbu. Shiki and Goteihongi.
1
Prayers and petitions to the Buddha. Memorials to the Emperor. The
promotion requests that Doctors of Literature write for people.
[198]* Tales – Sumiyoshi.
1 The Tale of the Hollow Tree.
2
Changing Residence. Yielding Up the Country is an unpleasant tale.
The Sunken Log. The Lady Who Waited for the Moon. The Mumetsubo
Captain. Encouragement in Faith. The Pine Branch. In The Tale of Komano,
the part where the hero finds the old fan and sets off with it is
interesting.
The Envious Captain. I don’t like the part where he gets Lady Saishō
with child and asks for a robe as keepsake. Also The Katano Minor
Captain.
[199] Darani incantations are best when performed at daybreak. Sutras
are best at twilight.
[200] Musical performances are best at night, when you can’t see people’s
faces.
[201] Games – The smallbow. Go. Court kickball
1
is enjoyable, though
you couldn’t call it elegant.
[202]* Dances – The Suruga Dance. ‘Motomego’ is delightful. The
swords used in ‘Taiheiraku’ are horrible, but it’s a wonderful dance. It’s
also fascinating to hear that in China opponents used to face off in this
dance.
The Bird Dance.
1
In the Batō Dance, the dancer tosses his hair about. The
‘Motomego’
expression of his eyes and face is terrifying, but the music is wonderful.
In the Crouch Dance the two performers dance with knees low to the
ground.
2
The Lion Dance.
3
[203] Plucked instruments – The biwa. The best pieces are ‘Fukō’, ‘Ōshiki’
and the fast section of ‘Sogō’. Also the piece called ‘The Song of the
Uguisu’.
The thirteen-string koto is very splendid. Its best piece is ‘Sōfuren’.
[204] Wind Instruments – The transverse flute is utterly delightful. It’s
lovely when you hear it played from a distance and the sound gradually
approaches. Also when the sound begins nearby and then moves into the
far distance, becoming very very faint.
Whether he’s in a carriage, or on foot, or on horseback, a man can
always have his flute tucked away in the breast of his robe, quite hidden
from view. There really is nothing more marvellous. Hearing a tune
that’s familiar to you is wonderful as well. And it’s delightful to discover
beside your pillow at daybreak the handsome flute that your lover has
inadvertently left behind him. When you wrap it up to be returned with
the man who’s been sent to fetch it, it looks just like one of those official
straight-folded letters.
It’s delightful to catch the sound of a shō as you sit in your carriage on
a night of bright moonlight. It’s a cumbersome-looking instrument, and
looks very awkward to play – and as for the face of the player!
1 Though
mind you, the transverse flute player can also look rather odd,
depending on who the player is.
The little hichiriki is very hard on the ear. The autumn insect its sound
most resembles is the shrill giant cricket, and you certainly don’t want to
hear it from close by. It’s even worse when it’s played badly. At that
point during the Provisional Festivals when the musicians are still
hidden, waiting to appear before the Emperor, when someone is playing
beautifully on the flute and you’re lost in delight at the sound, and
suddenly the hichiriki breaks in to accompany it, such a feeling runs
through everyone that you imagine even the most elegant heads of hair
must be standing on end. It’s wonderful when the musicians then begin
to step out into the open, in time to the flute and the koto.
[205] Spectacles – The Provisional Festivals. Imperial progresses. The
procession for the Return of the Kamo High Priestess on the day after the
Kamo Festival. The procession of the heads of state to the Kamo Shrine
the day before the Festival.
It’s quite inexpressibly delightful on the day of the Provisional Kamo
Festival when the sky is overcast and chilly, and a light snow is drifting
down on to the indigo-printed cloaks and artificial flowers in the hair of
the people in the procession. The black scabbards and broad spotted
sheaths
1 of the dancers’ swords stand out starkly, and the cords of their
hanpi jackets that dangle there so beautifully rubbed and glossy, and the
glimpse of gleaming glossed cloth that emerges almost like a flash of ice
from among the folds of their blue-and-white-printed skirted trousers, all
are simply marvellous. You wish there were a few more people in the
procession, but after all, the imperial envoys actually aren’t always very
distinguished, and there’s no pleasure to be had from looking at boring
old Provincial Governors and so forth – although it’s a pretty sight when
people’s faces are hidden by the wisteria sprays in their hair.
When the procession has passed by and you turn to watch it moving
on, the impression is rather spoiled when you see the dancers’ musicians
in their vulgar willow-combination robes and kerria-flower hair
decorations, but it’s delightful the way they beat loudly on the horses’
mudguards and sing ‘As the shrine priests will bind their robes’.
2
And what can compare with an imperial progress? When you see the
Emperor travelling past in his palanquin, you lose all sense of the fact
that you spend your everyday life in close service in his palace; you’re
overcome with awe and veneration, and the various ladies in the
procession, whom you normally wouldn’t look twice at, and even the
Imperial Attendant ladies, all seem extraordinarily exalted and
marvellous. The Captains and Lieutenants who are the Rope Escorts
3 are
also delightful.
The Commanders of the Palace Guards are particularly wonderful.
Indeed the Palace Guards Office in general is a delightful thing.
Most incomparably splendid of all must have been the imperial
progress of the fifth month. It’s a great pity that it no longer occurs. You
hear people’s tales of it, and try to imagine the scene, but just what can
it really have been like? Sweet flag is spread everywhere on that day,
and even the usual places look especially wonderful, so imagine how the
Butokuden
4 and the temporary grandstands for the procession must
have looked, all spread with the leaves; everyone wore sweet flag in
their hair, and the most beautiful of the Lady Chamberlains who
distribute the sweet flag was chosen to help His Majesty bestow herbal
balls on the assembled people, which they ceremonially received and
attached to their waists. How wonderful it must all have been! The Ebisu
Residence Move and the shooting of the wormwood arrows
5 would also
have been farcical and fun. As the imperial palanquin returned, dancers
pranced before it performing lion and dog dances,
6 and just imagine
what a moment it would have been, when a hototogisu’s call chimed in
incomparably to add the perfect seasonal touch!
Imperial progresses are certainly a wonderful thing, but still, it’s a
shame that there are no carriages crammed with handsome nobles
driving gaily up and down the road
7 on these occasions. It’s always so
thrilling when such a carriage works its way through the crowd and
finds a place near yours at other events.
The procession for the Return of the Kamo High Priestess is a most
delightful thing. Everything has been cleaned and prepared the day
before, and the First Avenue lies wide and gleaming, ready for the
procession. The sun’s rays are hot, and dazzling when they penetrate the
carriage, so you shield your face with your fan and adjust your position
to avoid them as you sit there uncomfortably waiting on and on, the
perspiration oozing and dripping. Everyone has hurried out to get here
early, and on the carriages parked near Urin’in and Chisokuin, sprays of
aoi and laurel flutter in the breeze. The sun is out, but the sky is
nevertheless quite overcast, and you’re moved and thrilled to hear the
hototogisu – you’ve been waking up each morning and waiting, yearning
to hear this song, and now here they are, calling to and fro all around as
if they’re everywhere. Then an uguisu cheekily sets off singing its wavery
old song in brave imitation, which is annoying but rather delightful too.
You see a group of men in red hunting costume coming from the
direction of the Upper Shrine. ‘Has the procession begun yet?’ you ask,
and they reply, ‘No, and who knows when it will’, and on they go,
carrying the empty palanquin back.
8 You’re impressed and awestruck to
think that this is what the priestess herself rides in, and appalled that
such lowly people could serve in such close proximity to her.
Despite what they’ve said, in fact it’s no time before her return.
Everything about the attendant ladies, from their fans to their dark leafgreen robes, looks delightful, and the way the men from the
Chamberlain’s Office are clothed, in green formal cloak over layers of
white gowns with just a touch of white hem tucked into the belt,
produces such an illusion of being near a hedge of white deutzia flowers
that you almost expect a hototogisu to be hidden there.
9 All those crazy
young nobles who yesterday were crammed into a single carriage, with
their matching lavender formal cloaks and gathered trousers or hunting
costumes all in disarray and the blinds off their carriage, are now
decorously dressed in formal attire, each in his own lonely carriage, on
their way to the public banquet as accompanying guests, with charming
young page boys seated behind them.
No sooner has the procession passed than a sort of hysteria takes over,
with everyone pushing to get out ahead of the others in a most
dangerous and frightening fashion. You thrust out your fan and order
your men not to be in such a hurry, but they take no notice, so you
resign yourself to getting the carriage out to somewhere with a bit of
space where you finally insist it be drawn to a halt; the men are of
course most resentful of this, but the way they now turn to watch the
carriages coming behind is rather entertaining. It’s particularly
delightful if the next carriage to emerge is one bearing some unknown
man, and when your two carriages finally go their separate ways he
quotes the poem about clouds ‘parted by the mountain peak’.
10
Sometimes, you’re still so fascinated by the procession that you follow
along to watch it right up to the gates of the High Priestess’s shrine.
To avoid the great melee caused by the carriages of the High
Priestess’s attendants and the rest all setting off for home, you decide to
return by a different route, and find yourself in an area that’s movingly
reminiscent of some mountain village – there sure enough is a deutzia
hedge, in reality a very wild and unkempt thing with lots of nasty
branches poking out into the road. You have the men break off some
sprays where the flowers are still more or less in bud rather than fully
opened, and attach them here and there to the carriage, a charming
replacement for yesterday’s now sadly wilting laurel branches. And it’s
fun too to wonder how you’ll ever get through the narrow lane ahead,
only to find as you approach it that it’s possible after all.
[206] Around the fifth month it’s great fun to make an excursion to a
mountain village.
In swampy ground, the grass and water together form a single wide
swathe of green to the eye, with the surface a beguiling luxuriance of
grasses, but if you take your time and travel its length, it’s delightful
how the unexpected water beneath, though not deep, will burst forth
under the weight of a human tread.
1
As you go on your way, the various hedges to left and right will thrust
an occasional branch into the carriage, and you quickly try to snap one
off as you pass, lamenting the way it’s gone again before you can seize
it. And then there’s the lovely moment when some wormwood gets
caught and crushed by the carriage wheel, whose turning then carries it
round and up, right to where you’re sitting.
[207] When it’s fearfully hot, it’s a deliciously cooling sight to witness,
just at that point in the cool of the evening when the dusk has begun to
blur the shapes of things, a passing carriage, perhaps that of some
gentleman with outriders ahead, or even just some everyday carriage
going by with the blinds up at the rear and one or two men inside. You
particularly regret watching it disappear if it’s accompanied by the
sound of a biwa or a flute being played. It’s really very odd how the
sudden unfamiliar smell of the ox’s leather crupper can nevertheless
strike you as rather pleasant.
It’s also lovely, on a dark moonless night, to catch the smell of smoke
from the pine torch being carried up ahead, that penetrates the whole
carriage.
[208] On the evening of the fourth day of the fifth month,
1
it’s delightful to
see the men in their red robes walking along carrying over both
shoulders great sheafs of beautifully cut green sweet-flag leaves.
[209] On the way to the Kamo Shrine, women are out planting the rice
fields – a large group of them are standing there singing as they work,
wearing hats that look just like newly-made serving trays. They walk
backwards doubled over, doing something invisible with their hands.
You watch them, fascinated to learn what they’re up to, and then you’re
distressed to catch the words of the song and realize that they’re actually
singing something very rude about the dear hototogisu :
‘Yah! You there!
Hototogisu !
It’s your chanting
sets us planting!’
1
they sing, and hearing it reminds you to wonder just who could have
said ‘Hototogisu, / oh please do not sing so loud.’
2
I really do hate those
awful people who claim the uguisu is better than the hototogisu, just like
those who say horrible things about Nakatada’s childhood.
3
[210]* At the end of the eighth month, I went on a pilgrimage to Uzumasa.
On the way, I came upon a noisy crowd of people gathered by a paddy
field looking at the ripe rice heads, and realized it must be the harvest.
How recently it was
that they took up the young rice plants
1
says the poem, and truly time had passed all too swiftly, and look what
had now become of those seedlings of the visit to the Kamo Shrine. Now
instead of women it was men working in the fields, gripping the green
stems with their rich red ears of grain and cutting them. It looked so
easy, the way they sliced the base with some sort of tool, that I felt I’d
like to try it myself. I was intrigued at how for some reason they spread
the ears on the ground and squatted over them in a row, and also by the
little huts in the fields.
2
[211] Soon after the twentieth day of the ninth month, on a pilgrimage to
Hase,
1
I stayed along the way in a very rough and simple lodging house.
I was quite exhausted, and fell into a deep sleep.
Late that night, I woke and was deeply moved at the sight of the
moonlight shining in through a window and casting its white light over
the bedclothes of the sleeping forms around me. This is precisely the sort
of moment when people compose poems.
[212] Setting off to climb the slope up to Kiyomizu and suchlike temples,
it’s delightful to find oneself deeply moved by the scent of burning
firewood.
1
[213] The sweet flag leaves from the fifth month remain through autumn
and winter.
1 They’re all white and withered and scruffy-looking, but if
you pull one down and snap it, it gives off the most delightful lingering
scent.
[214] A well-scented robe that’s been left on the scenting frame
1
for two
or three days before you remember and open it up, will release a wave
of incense scent much more wonderful than that of incense that’s
presently burning.
[215] On a bright moonlit night, when your carriage is crossing a stream,
it’s lovely the way the water will spray up in shining drops at the ox’s
tread, like shattered crystal.
[216] Things that should be big – Houses. Provisions bags.
1 Priests. Fruit
and nuts. Oxen. Pine trees. Inksticks.
If a man in someone’s service has small eyes, he looks too feminine.
On the other hand, great glaring eyes
2 are terrifying.
Braziers. Winter cherries.
3 The flowers of the kerria. Cherry blossom
petals.
[217] Things that should be small
1 – Thread for sewing something in a
hurry. The hair of women of the lower classes. The voice of someone’s
daughter. Lampstands.
[218] Things that a house should have – An elbow-shaped corridor.
1
Spiral-weave straw cushions. Low standing curtains. Large serving girls.
Good-quality lady attendants. Retainers’ quarters. Serving trays. Small
and medium-sized meal-stands. Legged screens. Oharaki and kakiban.
2
Nicely decorated provisions bags. Chinese-style umbrellas. A cabinet
with drawers. Saké kettles and pots.
[219] On your way somewhere, if you come across a slender, fine-looking
fellow hurrying along the road with an official straight-folded letter, you
do wonder where he can be off to.
Or you come across a good-looking young girl, her akomeé gown
subdued in colour and hanging rather limply, lacquered high clogs nice
and shiny but their base all smeared with mud, carrying some large
parcel wrapped in white paper, or volumes of bound books piled in a lid,
1 and you long to call her over and see what she has there.
As for the servant you see and call over as she’s passing near the gate,
who rudely refuses to answer and simply goes on her way, well, you may
easily judge the quality of the person who’s employed her.
[220] It irritates me more than anything to see some poorly-decked-out
person, off on an excursion in a miserable carriage. Mind you, it’s
perfectly suitable if it’s a sermon she’s gone to hear, since she’s there to
rid herself of her sins – though even then it’s hard to bear the sight of
someone who takes this to extremes. As for the Kamo Festival and such
occasions, you can only wish she hadn’t come along to watch. There she
is, no inner blinds on her carriage, and a mere sleeve of a white shift
draped out. You, meanwhile, have gone to endless trouble over your
inner blinds in anticipation of this event, and are there in something you
dare to hope will pass muster with the others, and if you notice another
carriage that’s finer than your own, you despairingly wonder why you
ever bothered coming – so one can only wonder how on earth this
woman must be feeling, at the sight of everyone else in their finery.
You’ve turned up early, having chivvied the men along in order to get
a good place, and you’re waiting in the carriage, now sitting, now
standing, to try to cope with the stifling heat. At last seven or eight
carriages appear one after the other from the direction of the High
Priestess’s shrine, bearing senior courtiers, gentlemen from the
Chamberlain’s Office, Controllers, Junior Counsellors and so forth, on
their way to the High Priestess’s Banquet, and you realize with joy that
the procession is ready to set off.
It’s also great fun to park your carriage in front of the viewing stands
to watch. Some of the senior courtiers will send messages over to you.
Outriders from the Chamberlain’s Office draw their horses up to the foot
of the stand to be treated to a dish of rice gruel, and it’s fun to watch
how a senior courtier who’s recognized the son of someone he knows
will send a servant down from the stands to hold the mount’s bridle
while the rider eats. On the other hand, you feel rather sorry for the
others in the procession who don’t receive so much as a glance.
I also love it when the High Priestess’s palanquin passes and all the
carriages lower their shafts to the ground in homage, and then as soon as
it’s gone by the men rush to lift them back on to their stands again.
Someone has parked their carriage in front of another. There are
strong demands that they move it, but the men stand their ground
rebelliously, claiming there’s no reason why they shouldn’t park there,
so, since communication has broken down, the lady resorts to dealing
directly with the carriage’s occupant through messages. This is great fun
to watch. Then there’s the marvellous occasion when some high-ranking
carriage arrives with numerous attendant carriages in tow, though the
place is already crammed full. You wonder where on earth they can be
put, but the outriders are already leaping off their horses and wading in,
thrusting other carriages out of the way and managing to squeeze even
the attendant carriages into place. How disconsolate the poor displaced
carriages look, as they’re hitched to their oxen and go swaying off in
search of a new space to park. The more splendid-looking carriages
aren’t pushed aside in the same way, however. There are also people
whose carriage may look magnificent, but in fact they’re always calling
over some low-ranking nobody and inviting him up for a better view of
the procession.
[221] I heard people saying there’d been a man in the Long Room who had
no business being there. He’d been seen emerging at first light and going
off with his umbrella up. As I listened, it dawned on me that the
rumours were actually about me. Well, he may not be a senior courtier, I
thought to myself, but he’s not someone who should be so simply
dismissed after all. I was musing on how odd the whole rumour was,
when someone came with a message from Her Majesty, requesting an
immediate reply. I wondered what it could be, and when I opened it
there was a picture of a large umbrella with a hand holding it, but no
figure of a person, and below this the words:
Dawn had lit the mountain’s edge
and morning had arrived… 1
How marvellous she is, I thought, even in foolish little matters such as
this; yet I was also appalled that this unpleasant and embarrassing
rumour should have reached Her Majesty’s ears, as I’d so hoped it
wouldn’t. Nevertheless, the situation was an entertaining one, so on
another piece of paper I drew pouring rain, and underneath wrote:
… did not fall, and yet
my name has turned to mud.
‘That umbrella has left me “in wet clothes”,’ I added.
Her Majesty proceeded to relay this story, with much laughter, to
Ukon.
[222]* When Her Majesty was in the SanjōPalace, a palanquin full of
sweet flags arrived on the fifth day,
1 and festive herbal balls were
presented. The Mistress of the Imperial Wardrobe, together with the
younger gentlewomen, made herbal balls and tied them on to the clothes
of the little Prince and Princess.
2 More delightful herbal balls arrived
from elsewhere as well, together with some green-wheat cakes. I laid
these on thin green paper in the lid of an elegant inkstone box and
presented them to Her Majesty with the words, ‘These came from across
the fence.’
3
Her Majesty tore a strip from the edge of my letter and wrote in reply
the following splendid poem:
While all about me
is filled with busy fluttering –
flowers and butterflies –
the only one who truly knows
my heart today is you, my friend.
[223] When Nurse Taifu went off to Hyōga, among the fans that Her
Majesty gave her
1 was one which depicted on one side a large group of
country villas on a glorious sunny day, and on the other, a palace in the
capital with the rain pouring down around it. She had added in her own
hand:
Face to the bright sun
as you will be when you have gone
to sunny Hyōga,
turn and remember how our tears will fall
as ceaseless rain here in the capital.
2
It was wonderfully moving. She must have found it terribly hard to leave
the service of such a splendid person.
[224] Once when I was in retreat at Kiyomizu Temple, Her Majesty
specially sent a messenger to me with a letter written in flowing script
on red-tinted Chinese paper:
1
Dusk’s temple bell
tolls one by one its long slow notes
under the mountain –
surely each stroke counts for you
the loving thoughts that fill my heart.
‘Yet still you stay away!’ she added.
I’d forgotten to bring with me any paper that would be suitable for a
reply, so I wrote my response on a violet lotus petal.
2
[225]* Posting Stations – Nashihara, and the posting station at
Mochizuki.
I find it very moving to make a list of mountain posting stations, since
I’ve heard such affecting things about them, and had such moving
experiences at them myself.
[226] Shrines –Furu Shrine.Ikuta Shrine. Sacred resting shrines.
1
Hanafuchi Shrine. It’s interesting to wonder whether there really is a
sacred power in the cedar at the Cedar Shrine, as the poem says.
2 The
god of Kotonomama sounds as though it would indeed answer prayers.
You have to feel sorry for a god who is said to ‘answer each and every
prayer’.
3
Aritōshi Shrine is fascinating because this is the god to whom
Tsurayuki composed his poem when the god had caused his horse to fall
ill.
4
I don’t know whether the following story is true or not, but they say
this is the reason for the shrine’s name.
Once upon a time there lived an Emperor who cared only for young
people, and killed everyone once they turned forty. People fled and went
into hiding in distant lands, and no one over forty was left in the capital.
There was at that time a Captain, a brilliant and popular man, whose
parents were both nearing seventy years of age. The parents were in
terror for their lives, seeing that even people as young as forty were
forbidden in the capital. But the Captain was a man of great filial piety.
He declared that he couldn’t bear not to see them at least once a day, so
rather than send them to live in a distant land he instead secretly dug a
hole in the earth under his house, where he built a room. There he
settled them, calling in constantly to see that all was well, and he gave
out to the court and to the people at large that they had disappeared.
Why should it have mattered to the Emperor as long as they stayed
shut up in the house, I wonder? What a horrible age it must have been.
The parents can’t have been from the upper echelons, with a Captain as
a son.
5 He was a very wise man, this Captain, a man of great
knowledge, and though he was young he had a fine reputation and a
most penetrating mind, so it seems the Emperor held him in the highest
regard.
Now the Emperor of China was trying to get the better of this Emperor
and seize his country, and he kept menacing him by engaging him in
disputes and tests of knowledge. One day, he sent him a piece of planed
wood about two feet long, beautifully sleek and shiny and rounded at
the edges, with the question, ‘Which is the base and which is the head?’
There was no way of telling the answer to this, and the Emperor was
greatly perplexed, but the Captain, feeling sorry for him in his quandary,
secretly took the problem to his old father. ‘All His Majesty needs to do
is go to a swift-flowing river, stand on the bank and throw the wood in
sideways. The end that turns and heads downstream will be the top,’ his
father instructed. The Captain then went to the Emperor and, pretending
that the idea was his own, offered to carry out the plan. So he and his
companions went and threw the wood into the river as instructed; they
indicated the end that had turned downstream as the top, and sent it
back to China, and apparently it was indeed correct.
On another occasion the Chinese Emperor sent two snakes of exactly
the same length, roughly two feet long, with the question, ‘Which is
male and which is female?’ This too was impossible to judge. Our
Captain then went again to his father and asked what to do. ‘Line them
up,’ said his father, ‘and put a straight stick against their tails. The one
that doesn’t move its tail will be the female.’ The Captain went back to
the palace and did just this, and sure enough one moved its tail and one
didn’t, so they were marked accordingly and sent back.
A long time passed, and then the Chinese Emperor sent a tiny twisted
jewel which had seven curves and a central hole running through it, and
an opening at the two ends. ‘Thread this and return it to me,’ was the
instruction. ‘We can all do this here.’ All the court nobles and senior
courtiers, and everybody else as well, declared that even the cleverest
craftsman would be defeated by this task. So the Captain went again to
his father and told him the problem. ‘Catch two large ants,’ the old man
said, ‘tie a thin thread round their abdomens, then attach a slightly
thicker thread to this. Then smear the other end of the jewel with
honey.’ The Captain passed this advice on to the Emperor, then followed
the instructions, and when the ants were put into the hole they smelt the
honey, and emerged from the other end in no time. When the threaded
jewel was sent back to the Chinese Emperor, he acknowledged that
Japan was indeed a clever country, and never did such things again.
The Emperor was deeply impressed with the Captain’s sagacity, and
inquired what he could do for him or what rank he wished to receive as
a reward. The Captain replied, ‘I wish for no rank or title. I only beg that
my old parents who have hidden themselves away be discovered and
allowed to live in the capital again.’
‘Nothing could be simpler,’ the Emperor replied, and he forthwith
decreed that they could return. When all the other aged parents learned
of this, they too were overjoyed. The Emperor elevated the Captain to
court noble and made him Minister.
The father seems to have become the god of Aritōshi, for I’ve heard
tell that once when someone was worshipping at that shrine, the god
appeared at night and spoke the following poem:
Is there any man
who does not understand that I,
Aritōshi’s god,
sent the two ants into the hole
and the thread through the twisted jewel?
[227] The Ichijō Palace went by the name of ‘The Temporary Palace’. The
Emperor resided in the Seiryōden,
1 and Her Majesty was in the building
to the north of this. To east and west were connecting covered
bridgeways which were used by the Emperor and Empress in crossing
between buildings, and in front was a charming garden, with plants and
a woven bamboo fence.
Around the twentieth day of the second month, on a balmy spring day
of brilliant sunshine, His Majesty was playing his flute in the western
aisle of the bridgeway. With him was the Minister of War, Takatō, who
was His Majesty’s flute tutor, and they were playing together over and
over the tune known as ‘Takasago’.
2 The expression ‘absolutely
splendid’ is altogether too commonplace and inadequate to convey the
scene. It truly was marvellous to hear Takatō playing his flute to
demonstrate various musical matters. We ladies had gathered to watch
the scene from behind the blinds, and we felt not a trace of ‘Plucking
Wild Parsley’ sorrows as we gazed.
3
On another occasion, His Majesty played the tune of the Suketada
song. This man Suketada was Secretary in the Office of Carpentry and
became a Chamberlain, a very uncouth and unpleasant man, and the
senior courtiers and gentlewomen nicknamed him ‘Mr Rough-andReady’, and made a song about him, which went:
He doesn’t beat about the bush.
The reason’s plain to see,
for he hails from the backwoods
of provincial Owari.
This was because his mother was the daughter of Kanetoki of Owari
Province. I happened to be in attendance when His Majesty began to
play this tune, and I urged him to play it louder. ‘Suketada won’t be able
to hear it,’ I pointed out.
‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ replied His Majesty. ‘Would he realize
what it was if he did hear it?’ and though he usually played only quietly,
on this occasion he came across to Her Majesty’s rooms and played it at
full volume, with the remark, ‘He’s not here, after all, so I can play to
my heart’s content.’ It was all very splendid.
[228] Among the people who show you what it must be like to be reborn
as a heavenly being, there’s the gentlewoman in ordinary service who
becomes an imperial wet-nurse. She no longer wears the usual Chinese
jacket, or for that matter a formal train; she sleeps beside Her Majesty,
and is at home in the imperial bedchamber; she calls on the other ladies
to send messages down to her own rooms, or deliver letters for her – in
fact there’s no end to the list of special privileges she enjoys.
It’s also a splendid thing for a lowly official in the Chamberlains’
Office to become a Chamberlain. In last year’s Provisional Festival in the
eleventh month he was merely a bearer of the koto, and seemed
completely inconsequential, but now here he is, going about in the
company of the young nobles, and he fills you with admiration. Other
people who become Chamberlain don’t at all give the same impression.
[229] It’s lovely to see, on a day when the snow lies thick on the ground
and still it keeps snowing, a group of fresh-faced and youthful men of
the fourth or fifth rank, coming along through the snowy landscape.
Their beautifully coloured formal cloaks bear the mark of the leather
from their stone belts, and are tucked up at the waist in the style of a
night-guard. They wear violet gathered trousers whose colour glows all
the more vibrantly against the snow, and the akomeé gowns beneath
their cloaks, scarlet or brilliant kerria-yellow, show at the sleeves. They
carry Chinese umbrellas, held at a slight angle against the strong wind
and slanting snow, and on their feet they wear deep leather shoes or
short boots, covered to the leggings in pure white snow.
[230] It’s also charming to witness, very early in the morning when you
open the sliding door of the Long Room, a senior courtier who’s just
emerged from the long side passage by the Imperial Bathroom, at the
end of his night duty. His crumpled cloak and gathered trousers are
dreadfully old and worn, and as he makes his way towards the northern
guardhouse he’s busily tucking in trailing bits of various-coloured
clothing. Realizing that he’s about to pass in front of your open door, he
pulls the long tail of his lacquered cap round to hide his face as he goes.
Sliding door
[231] Hills – Funa Hill.
1 Kata Hill. It’s delightful that the song’s bamboo
grass grows on Tomo Hill.
2 Katahira Hill. Hitomi Hill.
[232] Things that fall – Snow. Hail. Sleet is unpleasant, but it’s lovely
when it falls mingled with white snowflakes.
Snow is splendid on a cypress bark roof, particularly when it’s just on
the point of melting. It’s also delightful when just a little has fallen, and
it lies nestled in all the joins between the roof tiles, emphasizing their
lovely black curves.
For autumn showers and hail, a shingle roof is best. Frost is also good
on shingles, and in gardens.
[233] Kinds of sun – The setting sun. Just after it’s set, it’s very moving
to see how a reddish light lingers along the rim of the mountains, with
pale yellow clouds trailing in the sky above.
[234] Kinds of moon – The dawn moon, rising thin over the rim of the
eastern mountains, is very moving.
[235] Stars – The Pleiades. Altair. The evening star. Shooting stars have
a certain interest.
1 They’d be even finer if it weren’t for their tail.
[236] Clouds – White, violet and black clouds are lovely. Also rain clouds
on windy days. It’s also delightful to see the way at dawn the dark night
clouds will gradually disappear as the sky whitens. There’s a Chinese
poem that describes something like ‘the colours that depart with
morning’.
1
A wispy cloud lying across the face of a very bright moon is moving.
[237] Things that create a disturbance – A sudden shower of sparks. Crows
on the rooftop eating the offering portion of a monk’s morning meal.
1
The crowd that goes to Kiyomizu Temple on the eighteenth day of the
month for the retreat.
2
A number of people have gathered at a house as darkness comes on
but before the lamps are lit. There’s even more disturbance when the
master returns from some distant place such as the provinces.
News arrives that a fire has broken out nearby. In the instance I’m
thinking of, however, the fire didn’t take hold.
[238] Slovenly-looking things – Serving women with their hair tied up for
work. The rear view of a man wearing a stone belt in Chinese paintings.
The behaviour of holy men.
1
[239] People of rough speech – The man who recites the prayers in the
Miyanobe festival.
Boatmen.
The thunder guards.
Wrestlers.
[240] People who are smug and cocky – Present-day three-year-olds.
The woman who’s brought in to pray for a child’s health or to
massage someone’s painful belly.
1 She asks for the materials she needs
for her invocations, then proceeds to make the necessary articles, setting
up a great stack of folded paper, then attempting to cut through it with a
knife so blunt that it would have trouble cutting even a single sheet. But
no, she maintains this is the one she must use, and she shoves and hacks
away with her mouth twisted with effort. Then she splits open a length
of bamboo with some toothed object,
2 attaches the paper strips to it
with a deeply reverent air and proceeds to wave this about and pray –
altogether a fine show of being knowing and smug. Throughout all this,
she keeps up her chatter: ‘The son of Prince So-and-so,’ says she, or ‘The
little master of the So-and-so residence, was taken fearfully ill, but I
managed to root it out and rid him of the problem completely, and they
gave me a fine reward for the job. They’d called in this person and that
person, but they’d had no success. They still call on me to this day. A
wonderful support, they are…’ and so forth, with such an unpleasant
expression on her face, too.
The female head of some lowly house.
Fools – the cocky ones who presume to instruct those who really do
know.
[241] Things that just keep passing by – A boat with its sail up. People’s
age.
Spring. Summer. Autumn. Winter.
[242] Things that no one notices – All the inauspicious days.
The ageing of people’s mothers.
[243]* I particularly despise people who express themselves poorly in writing.
How horrible it is to read language that rides roughshod over manners
and social conventions. It’s also very poor to be over-polite with people
who should rightly be treated less formally. It’s bad enough to receive
poorly written letters oneself, and just as disgraceful when they’re sent
to others.
Generally speaking, even when you hear someone use language in this
sort of slovenly way when talking face to face, you wince and wonder to
yourself how they can say such things, and it’s even more appalling
when it’s directed to someone eminent. Though when it’s some country
bumpkin who’s speaking like this, it’s actually funny, and therefore
quite appropriate to them.
It’s very bad to speak poorly to the master of the household. It’s also
wrong for a retainer to refer to his master in front of a guest with
expressions such as ‘he is gracious enough to’ or ‘he kindly said’. As a
general rule, when you hear this kind of over-respectful expression you
wish you could change it to something neutrally polite.
1
In such a
situation, if I say to someone whom I’m able to rebuke, ‘Dear me, how
unpleasant you sound! Why is your language so crude?’, both the person
spoken to and those who hear will laugh. I suppose it’s because I react
like this that some people criticize me for making too much of an issue
of such things – no doubt it does look rather ill-mannered of me, in fact.
It’s awful to hear people referring to senior courtiers, Consultants and
so forth by simply using their name, quite without any respect, but on
the other hand in the case of, say, a woman who serves a gentlewoman,
if somebody chooses not to call her straightforwardly by name but refers
to her as ‘madam’ and so forth, she’ll be thrilled at this rare courtesy,
and praise the speaker extravagantly.
You should refer to senior courtiers and court nobles simply by the
title of their post, unless speaking in front of someone exalted. And how
can people use informal language to refer to themselves, when speaking
among themselves but within earshot of the Emperor or Empress? Surely
you should have the respect to avoid such language in front of Their
Majesties, and there can be no reason why you shouldn’t.
[244] Horrid filthy things – Slugs. The tip of a broom used to sweep some
shabby wooden floor. The bowls in the Privy Chamber.
1
[245] Terrifying things – Thunder at night. A thief breaking into a nearby
house. If it’s your own place he’s broken into, you’re too beside yourself
to know what’s happening.
A fire nearby is also terrifying.
[246] Things that give you confidence – Healing incantations performed
with a large number of accompanying priests, when you’re ill.
To be comforted when you’re feeling low, by someone you truly love.
[247] A son-in-law is brought in
1 after elaborate preparations, but in no
time he’s ceased to base himself at home with his new wife. He must
surely feel a pang of guilt whenever he comes across his father-in-law.
One young man, who married into the household of a man at the
height of his fame and fortune, was never very diligent in calling on his
new wife, and ceased coming altogether after a mere month. He was
roundly condemned on every front, and some people such as the girl’s
nurse went so far as to curse him outright. Then in the New Year he was
made a Chamberlain. I’m sure he was aware that people were discussing
him, and saying how astonished everyone was at how he could have
managed this, ‘considering how matters stand with the family’.
In the sixth month of that year, everyone gathered to attend the Lotus
Discourses that a certain person was dedicating, and there was this sonin-law the Chamberlain, dazzlingly attired in damask skirted trousers,
black hanpi jacket and so forth, seated so close to the carriage of his
neglected wife that his jacket cord might well have snagged on the
tailpiece of her carriage.
2 All the people in the other carriages who
knew the details of the situation were thinking, ‘Poor thing, how must
she be feeling to see him there?’, and others who weren’t present at the
time also later declared themselves astonished at his nerve in blithely
sitting so close to her like that.
It does seem that men don’t have much sympathy for others, or
understanding of how they’re feeling.
[248] Being disliked by others is really a most distressing thing. How
crazy would you have to be, to accept calmly the fact that you’re
probably the sort of person nobody likes? But it’s a terribly sad fact that,
both in the palace and among parents and siblings, there are those who
are loved and those who aren’t.
Not only among the upper crust but even in lowly families, when a
child is the apple of his parents’ eye then everyone will pay him
particular attention and be particularly devoted to his needs. Of course if
he’s actually someone who’s worthy of this kind of attention it seems
quite natural, and no one pauses to question it. But it’s very moving to
see a parent’s love for a child, even if he’s actually nothing out of the
ordinary, and consider that it’s precisely because they’re a parent that
they feel like this.
Yes, there’s nothing more wonderful than to be well-loved, not only
by parents but by the one you serve and by all those you have close
dealings with in life.
[249] Men have most peculiar and unlikely feelings. How extraordinary it is
to see a man abandon a truly lovely woman in favour of some
unpleasant one. A man who’s constantly in and out of the palace, or the
son of a fine household, can surely take his pick, and select a charming
girl. And if he loves someone, even if she’s someone too exalted to be
within his reach, a man must put his life absolutely on the line and
devote himself heart and soul to her.
A man will apparently fix his sights on someone’s daughter or a girl
he’s not yet caught a glimpse of, if he hears good things said of her. Still,
I wonder why men will fall for a woman who from a woman’s point of
view seems quite unattractive?
It’s simply astonishing and outrageous when a beautiful, charming and
sensitive girl sends a chiding letter, elegantly penned and with a most
touching poem – yet though the man responds with suitable gallantry,
he keeps his distance and won’t go near her. To think that he can turn
his back on this girl who’s obviously grieving so piteously, and abandon
her for another! Everyone who witnesses this can only be distressed by
it, yet the man himself is not in the least perturbed.
[250] Nothing is more wonderful than sympathy – in a man of course, but
also in a woman. It may be only some passing remark, it may not be
anything particularly deeply felt, but to hear that someone has said of a
sad situation, ‘How sad for her’, or of some touching circumstance, ‘I do
wonder how she must be feeling’, makes you much gladder than hearing
it said directly face to face. I always long to find a way to let such a
person know that I’ve learned of their sympathetic response.
You don’t feel particularly surprised and moved, of course, in the case
of someone whom you can rely on to feel for you or visit you at such
times. But if someone unexpected responds to the tale of your sorrows
with reassuring words, it fills you with pleasure. It’s such a simple thing
to do, yet so rare.
It’s unusual to find someone, either man or woman, who’s overall
both tender-hearted and truly talented – though actually there must be
many such people around.
[251] I really can’t understand people who get angry when they hear gossip
about others. How can you not discuss other people? Apart from your
own concerns, what can be more beguiling to talk about and criticize
than other people? But, sadly, it seems it’s wrong to discuss others, not
to mention the fact that the person who’s talked about can get to hear of
it and be outraged.
Of course if it’s someone you have a close bond with, you pause and
consider the pain you might cause, and choose to keep your criticism to
yourself – though if it weren’t someone close to you you’d no doubt go
ahead and say it, and have a laugh at their expense.
[252] The thing about someone’s face that’s particularly fine always makes
you think, ‘Ah, how delightful! How special!’ no matter how many times
you see it. Pictures, on the other hand, cease to attract the eye if you see
them a number of times. The painting on a screen that stands close by,
for example, may be absolutely marvellous, but you never pay it any
attention. But people’s appearance really is endlessly attractive. How
your eye is drawn to the one good point in a face whose ‘furnishing’ is
otherwise unattractive! It’s a great pity to find yourself feeling much the
same way about some feature that’s ugly.
[253] Old-fashioned people put on their gathered trousers in a very timeconsuming and awkward way. They pull the front panel up against their
stomach and proceed first of all to tuck all the layers of robe in under it,
leaving the back strings dangling till they’ve got the front completely
straight and tidy, then they bend forward to reach for the back panel,
groping behind them with both hands. They look like monkeys with
their arms tied behind their backs, standing there fumbling about with
the strings like that. You can’t imagine how they could ever get dressed
and out the door in time for any urgent appointment.
[254] Once, towards the middle of the tenth month when the moon was
very bright, fifteen or sixteen of us decided to go for a walk to enjoy the
moonlight. We wore deep purple robes over our gowns for the occasion,
with the hems folded back, but Chūnagon had put on a stiff scarlet robe,
and her hair was drawn round in front, under her chin. She looked just
like some newly created stupa. ‘Dolly’,
1
the young ladies called her. She
had no idea they were laughing at her behind her back.
[255] Captain Narinobu was wonderful at distinguishing people’s voices. It’s
impossible for most people to identify the voice of another person in the
same establishment unless you’re used to hearing her, and men are even
worse at identifying voices or handwriting. But Captain Narinobu could
very cleverly pick out any voice, from even the softest murmur.
[256] No one had sharper ears than the Minister of the Treasury.
1 He
truly could have heard the fall of a mosquito’s eyelash. When we
gentlewomen were living in the western aisle of the Office of the
Empress’s Household, I was speaking in his presence to Minister of the
Left Michinaga’s adopted son Narinobu, the newly appointed Captain,
when one of the ladies beside me whispered, ‘Say something to him
about that matter of the fan painting.’
‘Wait till the gentleman yonder leaves,’ I murmured to her very
quietly, so quietly that she herself couldn’t catch what I said, and bent
closer saying, ‘What was that?’
But though he was sitting quite far from us, the Minister of the
Treasury exclaimed, ‘That’s terrible! If you say that, I’ll stay put here for
the day!’ I was astonished at how on earth he’d managed to hear me.
[257] Things that give you pleasure – You’ve read the first volume of a
tale you hadn’t come across before, and are longing to go on with it –
then you find the other volume. The rest of it can sometimes turn out to
be disappointing, however.
Piecing back together a letter that someone has torn up and thrown
away, and finding that you can read line after line of it.
It’s extremely pleasing when you’ve had a puzzling dream which fills
you with fear at what it may portend, and then you have it interpreted
and it turns out to be quite harmless.
1
It’s also wonderfully pleasing when you’re in a large company of
people in the presence of someone great, and she’s talking, either about
something in the past or on a matter she’s only just heard about, some
topic of the moment, and as she speaks it’s you she singles out to look
at.
Then there’s the pleasing moment when you’ve heard that someone
who matters a lot to you and who’s far from you – perhaps in some
distant place, or even simply elsewhere in the capital – has been taken
ill, and you’re worrying and wringing your hands over the uncertainty,
when news arrives that the illness has taken a turn for the better.
Someone you love is praised by others, and some high-ranking person
comments that his talents are ‘not inconsiderable’.
When a poem that you’ve composed for some event, or in an exchange
of poems, is talked of by everyone and noted down when they hear it.
This hasn’t yet happened to me personally, but I can imagine how it
would feel.
It’s very pleasing when someone you don’t know well mentions an old
poem or story that you haven’t heard of, and then it comes up again in
conversation with someone else. If you come across it later in something
you’re reading, there’s the delightful moment when you cry, ‘Oh is that
where it comes from!’, and you enjoy recalling the person’s mention of
it.
Managing to lay hands on some Michinoku or any good quality paper.
You feel very pleased with yourself when a person who rather
overawes you asks you to supply the beginning or end of some bit of
poem they quote, and you suddenly recall it. It so often happens that as
soon as anyone asks you, even something you know perfectly well goes
clean out of your head.
Finding something you need in a hurry.
How could you fail to feel pleased when you win at a matching game,
2 or some other kind of competition?
Managing to get the better of someone who’s full of themselves and
overconfident. This is even more pleasing if it’s a man, rather than one
of your own circle of gentlewomen. It’s fun to be constantly on your
guard because you’re expecting him to try to get even with you, and it’s
also fun to have been fooled into relaxing your guard over time, as he
continues to act quite unconcerned and pretend nothing’s happened.
When someone you don’t like meets with some misfortune, you’re
pleased even though you know this is wicked of you.
You’ve sent out your robes to be freshly glossed for some event, and
are holding your breath to see how they come out, when they’re
delivered looking absolutely beautiful. A comb that’s come up
delightfully with polishing is also pleasing. There are a lot of other
things of this sort too.
It’s very pleasing when you’ve finally recovered from a nasty illness
that’s plagued you day in, day out for months. This is even more the
case when it’s not your own illness but that of someone you love.
And it’s wonderfully pleasing when a crowd of people are packed into
the room in Her Majesty’s presence, and she suddenly spies someone
who’s only just arrived at court, sitting rather withdrawn by a distant
pillar, and beckons her over, whereupon everyone makes way and the
girl is brought up and ensconced very close to Her Majesty.
[258] I was talking with some people in Her Majesty’s presence – or it may
have been something I said as a result of her own words – and I
remarked, ‘At times when I’m beside myself with exasperation at
everything, and temporarily inclined to feel I’d simply be better off
dead, or am longing to just go away somewhere, anywhere, then if I
happen to come by some lovely white paper for everyday use and a good
writing brush, or white decorated paper or Michinoku paper, I’m
immensely cheered, and find myself thinking I might perhaps be able to
go on living for a while longer after all. And when I unroll a section of
fresh green Kōrai matting, thick and finely woven and with the edging
design in vivid black and white, I’m overcome with the feeling that life
itself is just too wonderful, and I really couldn’t bear to relinquish it
1
just yet.’
‘The simplest trifles console you, don’t they,’ remarked Her Majesty
with a smile. ‘It must have been a very different sort of person who
gazed at “the moon above sad Obasute Mountain”.’
2
The others who were present also teased me with such com ments as,
‘You’ve certainly come up with an incredibly easy version of a magical
formula for averting trouble!’
3
Not long after this, when I’d gone back home and was in great
distress, Her Majesty sent me a wrapped gift of twenty bundles of
magnificent paper. With it came a message, relayed through one of the
gentlewomen, asking me to make haste and return, and saying, ‘Her
Majesty asks me to tell you that this is because of what you said that
day. She doubts if it’s fine enough for copying out the Sutra of Longevity
4…’ I was absolutely thrilled. It would have been wonderful enough
even if it hadn’t been Her Majesty but some ordinary person who’d
recalled a conversation I’d long forgotten myself, but in this case the
words were particularly special for me. I was thrown into delighted
confusion by them, and could find no way of responding, so I simply
gave the messenger by way of reply:
Most inexpressible
my gratitude to one on high
whose god-like paper gift
has granted me new lease of life –
the crane’s renowned longevity,
5
‘though please say to Her Majesty that I fear this is overstating it,’ I
added. I gave the messenger, one of the serving women from the Table
Room, a gift of a green damask shift.
Yes indeed, I thought to myself with pleasure, it will be fun to be
distracted from my worries by throwing myself into the business of
creating a bound book
6
from this paper.
Two days later, a man dressed in red appeared, bearing a mat. ‘Here
you are,’ he unceremoniously announced.
‘And who are you, to be standing there with the room in full view like
that?’ cried the maid, rather harshly, whereupon he put the mat down
and made himself scarce.
I had someone inquire where he’d come from, but the reply came that
he’d already left, so they brought the mat in, and it turned out to be a
rather special one such as is used by important people, with a very
beautiful Kōrai edging. I had a private hunch that this must surely have
come from Her Majesty, but as I felt somewhat uncertain, I sent someone
off to investigate. However, the man had indeed disappeared by then. It
was mystifying, but there was no point in going on wondering since he
was not to be found, and I had to assume that if he’d misdelivered it
he’d surely come back of his own accord and say so. I would have liked
to send to the palace and inquire, but if in fact it wasn’t Her Majesty
who sent the mat this would make things awkward, so I was left
wondering who on earth could have sent this unsolicited gift, and most
intrigued at the thought that it had probably come under instructions
from Her Majesty.
Nothing further was heard on the matter, so after two days, more than
ever convinced that the sender was Her Majesty, I sent a message to
Ukyō telling her the story. ‘Have you noticed anything of this?’ I asked.
‘Please tell me secretly what’s been going on. If you haven’t seen any
evidence of it, don’t breathe a word about this request of mine.’
‘Her Majesty took great pains to hide it,’ came the reply. ‘You must
absolutely on no account reveal that I’ve told you.’
So it was just as I suspected! I thought delightedly. I then proceeded to
write a letter
7
to Her Majesty, and sent it off with instructions to place it
unobtrusively on the veranda railing of the palace, but the messenger
apparently fumbled and dropped it, and the letter ended up falling to the
foot of the stairs.
[259]* On the twenty-first day of the second month, the Regent held a
Dedication of the Complete Sutras ceremony in the hall of Sakuzen
Temple in the HōkōPalace. The Empress Dowager was to be present as
well as Her Majesty, and around the beginning of the second month Her
Majesty moved to the Nijō Palace
1
for the occasion.
I was so sleepy at the time of the move that I didn’t take in anything
of the surroundings. The following morning, I woke to brilliant sunlight
streaming in, and discovered an enchanting building all white with
newness,
2 with blinds and indeed everything seeming just freshly put in
place the day before. The place was beautifully appointed, and I found
myself wondering when the Chinese lions and the Korean dogs
3 could
have arrived and settled in so comfortably. A tall cherry tree, over three
metres high, was blooming magnificently at the foot of the stairs. ‘How
early it’s flowered!’ I thought. ‘The plum is still only just at its peak’ –
but when I looked more closely, I realized it was an artificial one.
Everything about it, even the lovely gloss of the flowers, was just as
wonderful as a real cherry. What astonishing trouble someone had gone
to! It was very sad to think that it would all wilt with the first shower of
rain. The place had just recently been built on a piece of land where a
number of small houses had previously stood, so the garden lacked any
stand of trees and established plants that would have lent it interest, but
the building itself was delightfully warm and attractive.
The Regent came over to pay a visit. He was dressed in gathered
trousers of blue-grey heavy brocade, and a cherry blossom cloak worn
directly over
4
three scarlet gowns. Everyone from Her Majesty down
was wearing robes of lighter or darker plum-pink figured silk, and heavy
or unfigured brocade, and the whole gathering seemed to glow with
light. The Chinese jackets were of spring-shoot green, willow or plum
pink.
His Excellency seated himself before Her Majesty and engaged her in
conversation, and as I watched I found myself wishing that everyone
back home could have even just a glimpse of the scene, and witness how
perfectly Her Majesty replied to his questions.
His Excellency surveyed the assembled gentlewomen and declared,
‘Well, what could Her Majesty possibly have to say about all of you? I
only wish I had her luck, to be able to cast my eyes over such a line-up
of lovely ladies. Not one of you that isn’t pretty, and all from such fine
families what’s more. Ah dear me! Just take good care you look after her
well, won’t you now. Still, I wonder what you all really make of Her
Majesty, to have come along like this to serve her in such a fine crowd.
She’s actually incredibly stingy, you know. Why, I’ve served her hand
and foot ever since the day she was born, and never yet have I received
so much as a robe from her in return! See, I make no bones about saying
it right in front of her…’ And on he went, hilariously. ‘No no, I’m
perfectly serious!’ he cried, when we burst out laughing. ‘You’re making
fun of me, laughing like that. Now you’ve made me embarrassed!’
He continued in this vein, till an Aide of Ceremonial arrived from the
palace with a letter from His Majesty. Grand Counsellor Korechika took
it and passed it on to His Excellency, who set about unwrapping it,
remarking jovially, ‘Now this I would like to see! Might I have Your
Majesty’s permission to open it? But no, I see you’re looking nervous,’
he went on, ‘and besides, I hesitate to interfere with a missive from His
Majesty’, and he handed the letter to her. She took it, but made no move
to open it – a marvellous act of courtesy, I thought.
One of the ladies pushed out a cushion for the Aide of Ceremonial
from behind the blind, and three or four ladies went and sat themselves
by the standing curtain to wait on him. ‘I’ll go back home
5 and provide
a gift for the messenger,’ said His Excellency, rising to leave, and it was
only when he had gone that Her Majesty read her letter. She then wrote
her reply on thin paper of plum pink; witnessing the scene, I was
overcome with regret that no one would ever be able to imagine just
how marvellous she looked at that moment, with the colour of the paper
so perfectly echoing the colour she wore.
His Excellency provided the messenger’s gift, a set of women’s
ceremonial clothes together with a long divided robe of plum pink,
remarking that this was after all a special occasion.
6 Food and Saké
were also provided and the messenger was encouraged to drink his fill,
but he declined the offer. ‘I fear I’m in charge of an important function
today, so do please excuse me, Your Excellency,’ he said apologetically,
and he rose and departed.
His Excellency’s daughters were beautifully made up, and in clothes of
plum pink that were quite as fine as the rest of the company. His third
daughter was larger than her sisters, the Mistress of the Imperial
Wardrobe and the middle sister, Nakahime, and rather than address her
as a daughter it seemed more fitting to give her her wifely title of ‘Your
Highness’.
7
His Excellency’s wife was also present, but a standing curtain was
drawn across to hide her from the view of us newly arrived
gentlewomen, to our great frustration.
Some of the gentlewomen got together in a huddle to discuss what
clothes and fans to choose for the coming ceremony, but others were
more inclined to be prickly and secretive about it. ‘Why should I
bother?’ they said nonchalantly. ‘I’ll just make do with whatever’s to
hand’, to which the others spitefully replied, ‘There you go again, that’s
just typical of you!’ Many of the gentlewomen went back home when
night fell, and because of the special circumstances
8 Her Majesty didn’t
feel she could require them to stay.
His Excellency’s wife came every day, and was there in the evenings
as well. Her daughters were also present, so Her Majesty was always
surrounded by people, which was a very fine thing. Messengers arrived
daily from the palace.
The beauty of the artificial cherry in the garden was not improved by
the dew-fall, and in the sunlight its petals dried and shrivelled – and
then its dismal state was further compounded by a night of rain, which
left it absolutely ruined the next morning. I rose very early to see it.
‘This blossom is a far cry from the tear-wet face of the girl the poet
“parted from at dawn”,’
9
I remarked. Her Majesty had meanwhile
awoken, and hearing this she said, ‘Yes, I did notice it raining last night.
I must see how it looks’ – but His Excellency had by then sent over a
great bevy of servants and underlings, who crowded in around the tree
and set about dragging it down with the intention of quietly removing it.
I was entertained to hear one of the servants scolding while the men
tugged and hauled, saying, ‘Our instructions were to have this done
while it was still dark, but here it is, already dawn. This won’t do. Come
on, hurry up!’ If he’d been a person of quality, I’d have asked whether
he had in mind that poem of Kanezumi’s, ‘Let him scold if he will.’
10
But instead I simply cried, ‘Who’s that stealing the cherry blossoms?
How dare you!’ at which they fled, hauling the tree off with them as
they went. I must say His Excellency showed delightful refinement in
removing the tree so promptly. I imagine if it had been left standing the
branches would have made a most unpleasant sight with the wet petals
all stuck to them. I went back inside, without saying anything more.
Her Majesty rose after someone from the Housekeeping Office had
come to raise her lattice shutters, and the place had been thoroughly
cleaned by one of the groundskeepers. When she discovered that the tree
had disappeared, she exclaimed, ‘Good gracious! Where have the
blossoms gone?’ Then she continued, ‘I did hear you say at dawn that
someone was stealing the flowers, but I assumed they were just taking a
spray or two. Who has done this? Did you see them?’
‘No, not exactly,’ I replied. ‘I wasn’t really able to see because it was
still dark. I could make out some pale shapes out there, and I was
worried that they might be taking some blossoms, which is why I spoke
like that.’
‘But how could they remove all of it like this?’ said Her Majesty, and
she added with a smile, ‘It must be that His Excellency has simply had it
hidden.’
‘Oh, surely he wouldn’t do a thing like that,’ I replied. ‘It must have
been the doing of the spring wind.’
‘You’re saying that to hide the truth, aren’t you,’ said Her Majesty.
‘No one was stealing it, it’s simply disappeared thanks to “the rain of
passing time”.’
11 There was nothing particularly remarkable in what she
said, yet it seemed to me absolutely wonderful.
His Excellency arrived at that point, and I withdrew into the
background, not wishing him to see the untimely ‘morning glory’ of my
sleepy face.
12 No sooner had he appeared than he cried, feigning
surprise, ‘Why, your cherry has disappeared! How could someone have
stolen it from under your very nose like this? It must have been the fault
of those slovenly gentlewomen of yours, sleeping in late and not noticing
what was going on.’
‘But,’ said I in a soft voice, ‘I had the impression that there was
someone who’d come there “still earlier than I myself”.’
13
His Excellency instantly caught my words, and burst into laughter. ‘I
thought as much!’ he said. ‘Who else would have “come to it” and seen
those blossoms? I guessed that you and Saishō would be about the only
ones likely to do such a thing.’
‘Despite that,’ said Her Majesty with a most delightful smile,
‘Shōnagon “blamed the spring winds”.’
14
‘So it’s the lie she’s blamed on the winds, not “the blame that lies” on
them,’ said His Excellency, picking up the theme, ‘though “even in the
mountain fields the rice must be planting” by now’, and he proceeded to
chant the poem, in most elegant fashion. ‘But how infuriating,’ he
continued, ‘that they should have been caught at it, though I gave them
such firm instructions about this. It’s a great shame that there’s such a
vigilant guard here. Still,’ he went on, ‘that was clever of her to cast her
lie on the sky’s spring winds’,
15 and he chanted the poem all over again.
But Her Majesty demurred. ‘I fear it was an annoyingly pretentious
way to treat a mere everyday statement,’ she said apologetically,
16 and
then went on, ‘But speaking of this, I wonder how the blossoms would
have looked this morning if the tree were still standing’, and she added a
light laugh.
At this point one of the ladies, Kowakagimi, said, ‘But Sei Shōnagon
pointed out very early this morning how their heads were hung in shame
at looking worse than the girl’s “tear-wet face”’, at which His Excellency
made a delightful show of being deeply put out.
On the eighth or ninth day I returned home, though Her Majesty pleaded
with me to stay until a little closer to the day of the Ceremonies. One
day, when the spring sunshine was particularly bright and warm, Her
Majesty sent a note asking, ‘Have the blossoms “opened their hearts”
yet? I do wonder how things stand with you’, to which I responded,
‘Although autumn is not yet upon us, my heart longs to “go to your
presence nine times a night”.’
17
On the night of Her Majesty’s move to the Nijō Palace,
18
there was no
particular order to the carriages, and everyone was scrambling to get in
first, which I found very distasteful.
‘What pandemonium!’ my friend and I said to each other. ‘They’re
virtually falling all over themselves – it’s as bad as the rush to get away
after the Festival procession. How disgusting! Let’s wait till we can
board with a bit of dignity. If there turns out to be no carriage left for us,
Her Majesty is bound to notice and send one.’
The others all pushed past us and scrambled in, and when everyone
had managed to grab a place someone said, ‘Is that everyone now?’ and
apparently another answered, ‘No, there are still people waiting here.’
Thereupon a palace officer came over and exclaimed in great surprise,
‘Who’s still here? This is extremely odd. I thought everyone had boarded
just now. Why are you so late? We were about to put the servants in.
Really, how extraordinary!’ and he ordered the men to draw up a
carriage for us.
‘Well then, do go ahead and board the servants as you’d planned,’ I
said. ‘We’ll board after them.’
When he heard me say this, the officer lost his temper. ‘What
impertinence!’ he cried. ‘You’ve been sitting here waiting in the
background out of sheer perversity, haven’t you!’ Since he was railing at
us like this, we meekly boarded the carriage, but found that we were
indeed in one intended for the servants. Chuckling together at how ill-lit
it was, we finally proceeded to the Nijō Palace.
By the time we got there, Her Majesty’s palanquin had long since
arrived, her room was prepared, and she was already ensconced. She’d
been asking for us, and the younger gentlewomen Ukyō and Kosakon
had been watching for us as each carriage of ladies arrived, but without
success. With each fresh carriage, the four newly arrived ladies went to
Her Majesty to pay their respects and announce their arrival, and
unbeknownst to us Her Majesty had been bewailing our continued
absence, saying, ‘How very odd! Still not here? What can have happened
to them?’ – so when the two finally discovered us after all the others had
made their appearance, they hastily pulled us along, relaying her words
and scolding us for our lateness. When we finally entered, we were
intrigued to see how at home Her Majesty already was in her new
surroundings.
‘Now why is it,’ inquired Her Majesty, ‘that you couldn’t be found for
so long, when we were searching and wondering like this?’
I made no reply, so the lady who had come with me spoke up. ‘There
was no way round it, Your Majesty,’ she declared miserably. ‘How can
the people in the last carriage arrive early? As it is, we were only given
our carriage because the servants took pity and let us in. And it was
horribly dark and nasty…’
She made such a heart-rending tale of it that Her Majesty declared,
‘The people in charge have behaved reprehensibly! And they aren’t the
only ones at fault. Someone who’s not familiar with things can’t be
expected to speak up for herself, but you, Uemon, why didn’t you
complain?’
‘But,’ protested Uemon, ‘we couldn’t very well hurry over and push
our way in ahead, surely.’ No doubt the others were far from pleased to
hear this.
‘There’s certainly nothing praiseworthy about ignoring protocol and
taking a place among one’s betters,’ said Her Majesty crossly. ‘The most
seemly thing to do is wait your proper turn.’
I stepped in here and pointed out that their unseemly haste had no
doubt been caused by their anxiety and eagerness to arrive in Her
Majesty’s presence.
I returned from my home the evening before Her Majesty was to go to
the temple in preparation for the Sutra Ceremonies. When I looked in at
the northern side of the South Hall,
19
lamps were burning on standing
trays, and by their light I could see intimate little groups of two or three
or four ladies gathered here and there, separated from each other by a
screen or in some cases a standing curtain. Then there were other larger
groups, sitting together sewing their gowns into order or adding
decorative touches to their formal trains,
20 or applying their makeup,
all quite meticulously of course; but even more impressive was the care
they were putting into binding their hair, so extravagantly artful indeed
that you felt its like would be hard to find again once this event was
over.
‘Her Majesty is to proceed to the temple at around three in the
morning,’ someone said to me when I arrived. ‘Why have you taken so
long to come? A messenger was given your fan
21 and sent off in search
of you.’
Well, we dressed ourselves in our formal attire and were ready and
waiting as instructed, believing that it was indeed to be the pre-dawn
hours when Her Majesty must depart, but the dawn came, the sun rose,
and still we didn’t leave. Finally, word came that our carriages were
being drawn up to the veranda of the western wing, under the Chinese
eaves, so we all set off along the bridgeway in a body, the more recently
arrived among us feeling very self-conscious. Her Majesty was already
there in the north wing, which was His Excellency’s residence, and His
Excellency compounded my discomfort by declaring that he and his
assembled company would first watch as we boarded our carriages,
which they proceeded to do – Her Majesty, the Shigeisa and His
Excellency’s third and fourth daughters, together with his wife and her
three younger children, all seated or standing behind the blinds.
Grand Counsellor Korechika and Captain Third Rank Takaie stood at
either side of our carriages to help us board, raising the carriages’ outer
and inner blinds for us. If we could all have stayed in a crowd there
would have been some way to keep at least a little hidden from view
among the others, but we were called over four at a time, our names
read in order from a written list, and I felt quite excruciatingly exposed
when I was forced to step out to board at the sound of my name. What’s
more, I was miserably aware of Her Majesty’s gaze among those of
everyone watching from behind the blinds, convinced that she must be
wincing to see what a sorry figure I cut, and the mortification made me
perspire so that I was sure my carefully arranged hair would be all
frizzled from the sweat. And then, safely past all the watchers beyond
the blinds at last, I was confronted with the sight of the Grand
Counsellor and the Captain Third Rank, looking quite dismayingly
handsome, standing there watching me with beaming faces as I
approached. It all felt more dream than reality. I nevertheless boarded
without a stumble, though I was at a loss to decide whether it was
thanks to courage or to sheer brazenness that I’d managed to achieve
this feat.
Once the others had boarded, our carriage set off, and when we
arrived at NijōAvenue our carriage shafts were settled on to their stand
and we were intrigued to find ourselves in among quite an assembly of
carriages, parked there as if awaiting some festival procession. It made
my heart flutter with pleasure to imagine how the sight of us would
impress bystanders in just the same way. Men from the fourth, fifth and
sixth ranks were constantly milling about, and pausing by the carriages
to adjust them and to talk with the ladies. Lord Akinobu in particular
was thoroughly elated, and swaggering about.
22
His Excellency, with the senior courtiers and lesser gentlemen in train,
now appeared to greet the Empress Dowager. We were waiting in high
anticipation, knowing that Her Majesty was due to arrive after the
Empress Dowager, and then, when the sun was already well risen, the
Empress Dowager’s procession finally made its appearance. There were
fifteen carriages including her own, four of which were for the
accompanying nuns.
23 Her own carriage was in the Chinese style. The
four nuns’ carriages that followed had lowered blinds, with inner blinds
of pale violet-grey, slightly darker at the bottom edge, and they
Chinese-style carriage
revealed from beneath the blinds at their rear a marvellous display of
crystal rosaries, dark grey trains, surplices and robes. After them came
the ten carriages of her gentlewomen, with wonderfully elegant displays
of cherry-blossom Chinese jackets, pale violet-grey trains, deep purple
robes, and clove-tan and pale violet-grey outer gowns. Though the sun
shone brightly, the sky was a misty blue, which went beautifully with
the ladies’ formal robes, creating an effect even more elegant than the
marvellous figured silks and variously coloured Chinese jackets, and the
whole was utterly delightful.
The Regent and his younger brothers all greeted the Empress Dowager
with great ceremony and accompanied her in, and we who were
witnessing this for the first time exclaimed together in admiration at the
sight of it all. No doubt our own line-up of twenty carriages was
similarly impressive to other onlookers.
Now we all waited eagerly for Her Majesty to arrive, but time passed
and there was still no sign of her. We were beginning to feel anxious
when at last her entourage emerged, with eight escorting Palace Maidens
on horseback. It was delightful to see how their formal trains of green
shaded darker at the edges, and their decorative sashes trailing from
shoulder and waist, fluttered out on the breeze. The Palace Maiden by
the name of Buzé was the lover of Director of the Office of Medicine
Shigemasa. She was wearing figured grape-coloured gathered trousers,
which led Grand Counsellor Yamanoi to remark with a laugh,
‘Shigemasa’s been granted access to the “special colours”!’
24
When the ladies had all come riding out, Her Majesty’s palanquin
emerged. Oh, there could be simply nothing to compare with how
marvellous it looked! The sun was shining brilliantly by this time; it lit
the golden onion-flower finial on the palanquin’s roof magnificently, and
everything down to the very drapes glowed quite stunningly. The
attendants steadied the palanquin with tightened ropes as it moved
forward, and as I watched those drapes swaying gently to and fro, I felt
the literal meaning of the expression ‘it raises the hairs on the back of
your neck’. Having witnessed this sight, any among us whose
Palanquin with onion-flower finial
hair was disarrayed could later blame it on this experience! Her Majesty
really created such an astonishingly magnificent spectacle that I was
quite overawed and impressed with myself at being actually in her
service.
Then, as the palanquin was carried past, there was the indescribably
glorious moment when our lowered carriage shafts were hastily hitched
up to the oxen again, and we fell into place in the procession behind the
palanquin.
When Her Majesty’s palanquin arrived at the gate of the temple, there
was such an outburst of welcoming entertainment that I felt quite faint –
Korean and Chinese music, and lion and Korean dog dances, with wild
flute music and drums beating. Can I have arrived in the Buddha’s
heavenly realms? I thought, hearing the music all around me
reverberating to the skies. There was also something quite unearthly
about the whole marvellous sight that greeted us once we’d entered the
temple grounds, where various brocade-draped pavilions had been set
up, hung about with lovely fresh green blinds and dividing curtains.
Our carriages were drawn up to Her Majesty’s stand, and now the
same two accompanying gentlemen
25 came over and urged us to alight
without delay. It had been embarrassing enough when we boarded, but
now the day was brighter and we were even more exposed to view, and I
was so sure that the carefully placed hairpiece in my hair that I had
tucked inside my Chinese jacket was by now quite frizzled and hideous,
and even the contrast between the hairpiece’s reddish tinge and my own
black hair would be clearly visible, that it took some time for me to
summon the courage to emerge. ‘Do go first please,’ I urged the lady
seated behind me, but she appeared to be feeling much as I did about
the prospect, for she said to the gentlemen, ‘Would you be so good as to
step back a little? We don’t deserve such solicitous attention.’
‘You seem embarrassed!’ they said with a laugh, as they retreated.
Once we had at last managed to alight, the Grand Counsellor came
over and said, ‘That wasn’t very sensible of you, you know. We were
only standing there like that because Her Majesty had expressly asked us
to shield you from the sight of Munetaka and the others’, and he hastily
led us into Her Majesty’s presence. I was terribly touched to realize how
thoughtful Her Majesty had been on our behalf.
When we appeared before Her Majesty, eight ladies who had arrived
ahead of us were already seated right at the edge of the stand, where
they could get a good view of proceedings, while Her Majesty sat on the
upper level, somewhere about two feet above them.
‘We have led the ladies here out of sight, as instructed,’ the Grand
Counsellor announced, at which Her Majesty emerged from behind her
standing curtain to inquire after us. She looked quite magnificent, still
dressed in the formal train and Chinese robes she’d worn earlier. How
could those wonderful scarlet gowns look merely commonplace?
Particularly outstanding were a Chinese damask gown in the willow
combination, five layers of grape-coloured gowns, red-purple figured
Chinese jacket, and gauzy train of indigo on white, picked out in gold,
all of quite incomparable colours.
‘How do I look?’ she inquired.
‘Quite splendid, Your Majesty,’ I replied, aware as I spoke just how
trite my words were.
‘You must have thought I was taking forever,’ she continued. ‘The
reason I was held up was that my father suddenly declared that people
would look askance if he was seen wearing the same formal train-robe
he’d worn when he accompanied the Empress Dowager, so he had a new
one sewn on the spot. What a dandy he is!’ and she laughed.
Her Majesty’s beauty was still more plain to see, owing to the
unusually brightly-lit surroundings. I was simply entranced by the way
the pins which supported her hair at the front clearly created a slight
imbalance in the way her hair was parted.
Two three-foot standing curtains stood together separating Her
Majesty and the gentlewomen. Behind this, a mat had been placed
lengthways, with its edge meeting the edge of the threshold, and two
ladies – Chūnagon, daughter of His Excellency’s uncle Captain of the
Right Gate Watch Tadakimi, and Saishō, granddaughter of the
Tominokōji Minister of the Right – were seated there to watch the event.
Her Majesty surveyed the arrangement and said, ‘Saishō, would you go
over and watch from where the other ladies are sitting?’
Saishō saw what she had in mind. ‘Three people can easily see from
here, Your Majesty,’she replied.
‘Very well then, come on in,’ Her Majesty said to me, drawing me
over to join them.
The ladies seated below smiled at this, and joked rather snidely, ‘She’s
just like a Constable specially allowed in to the Privy Chamber.’
‘You see me as some upstart then?’ I inquired, to which another lady
responded, ‘More on the level of a stable boy.’ Nevertheless, it was a
glorious moment, to have the honour of being permitted to watch from
above. No doubt it’s unseemly for me to be boasting like this, and it may
well redound unforgivably on Her Majesty’s reputation, by giving an
opportunity to those who would set themselves up as shallow judges of
worldly matters to wag their heads sagely and declare, ‘To think that
Her Majesty should favour such a creature!’ – yet I can only write the
facts as they stand, after all. I freely admit that I was of a quite unworthy
station to be the recipient of Her Majesty’s special attentions in this
manner.
It was marvellous to be able to view the Empress Dowager’s stand and
the various other stands that stood about in the temple grounds. His
Excellency passed Her Majesty’s stand and spent some time at the
Empress Dowager’s, before coming to ours. The two Grand Counsellors,
Korechika and Michiyori,
26 accompanied him, and Captain Takaie, still
in his guise as Palace Guard, was looking most fitting and splendid with
his bow and quiver slung over his shoulder. Rows of accompanying
senior courtiers and other men from the fourth and fifth ranks also sat
behind His Excellency.
When His Excellency entered, he saw before him the fine spectacle of
Her Majesty and her sisters, even the Mistress of the Imperial Wardrobe,
all dressed in their formal trains and Chinese jackets. Her Excellency, his
wife, wore instead a formal over-robe.
‘What a perfect picture you all make!’ he declared. ‘And you, Madam,’
he continued jokingly, turning to his wife, ‘are certainly dressed like a
lady today, aren’t you? But Madam, you should remove Her Majesty’s
formal train, you know. She’s the one who’s mistress in this particular
gathering.
27 After all, it’s no everyday matter to have Palace Guards
specially stationed in front of your stand like this’ – and the thought of it
brought sudden tears to his eyes.
Everyone grew rather tearful at the truth of this, whereupon His
Excellency neatly turned the conversation by observing my red-purple
weave jacket and cherry-blossom five-layered gowns, and crying, ‘Aha –
there was a nasty moment earlier when we discovered we were short
one priest’s cloak, but we should have borrowed yours.
28 Or are you
perhaps monopolizing red cloaks?’
Grand Counsellor Korechika, who was seated a little behind and
overheard this, kindly broke in at this point and joked, ‘No, surely what
you see there is the cloak of Bishop Sei.’
Every word of all this was quite marvellous, I thought.
His Excellency’s son, Bishop Ryūen, delighted us by coming and
walking about among the gentlewomen. He wore a red-purple silk-gauze
formal cloak with violet surplice, and very pale violet-grey gowns over
gathered trousers, and with his charming bluish shaven head he looked
like an image of the Bodhisattva Jizō.
29
‘He should be off being suitably
dignified with the other top clergy,’ we laughed. ‘It doesn’t look good to
be seen among the ladies like this!’
Grand Counsellor Korechika brought his little boy Matsugimi across
from the Grand Counsellors’ stand. The boy was dressed in a figured
grape-coloured cloak, deep-purple glossed damask robe and plum-pink
figured jacket, and was accompanied by a crowd of fourth- and fifthranking courtiers as usual. When he arrived in our stand, he was carried
in among the gentlewomen, but something upset him and he burst into
tears. Even this only added to the fine spirit of the occasion, however.
The ceremonies began with the truly awe-inspiring pageantry of a
great procession, starting with the priests and proceeding on through the
court nobles, the senior courtiers, lower-ranking gentlemen and sixthranking men, not to mention numerous others, bearing the Complete
Sutras scroll by scroll, each on a pink lotus flower. Then the officiating
priest entered, and the sermon began. This was followed by dancing.
30
After watching this all day long, my eyes were quite exhausted and
aching.
One of the fifth-ranking Chamberlains arrived with a message from the
palace, and it was most impressive to see him seated on a special folding
chair before Her Majesty’s stand to wait once he had delivered it.
As night was falling, we were visited by Aide of Ceremonial Norimasa.
31
‘His Majesty states that he requires Her Majesty to present herself at
the palace directly this evening. I am to accompany her,’ he announced,
and he remained there to fulfil his mission.
‘I shall return to my quarters first,’ said Her Majesty, but then the
Controller Chamberlain arrived to report that a message to the same
effect had also been sent to the Regent, so Her Majesty bowed to the
Emperor’s command and decided to proceed directly to the palace.
Meanwhile, messages were coming and going between Her Majesty’s
stand and the Empress Dowager’s, from which a poem referring to ‘the
close salt kilns of Chika’
32 arrived. A wonderful exchange of charming
gifts flew back and forth between them.
When the Ceremonies were finally over, the Empress Dowager
returned to her residence. This time, the escorts were divided, with half
the retinue from her household assigned to Her Majesty, and the other
half, along with the court nobles, accompanying the Empress Dowager.
The servants had no idea that Her Majesty was proceeding directly to the
palace that night, so they returned to the Nijō Palace and waited on and
on there, expecting her to arrive at any moment, but the night grew late
and still there was no sign of her entourage. Meanwhile, we who had
accompanied Her Majesty to the palace were vainly waiting for them to
arrive with our nightclothes, but there was not a sign of them. There we
were, still got up in our special finery, feeling uncomfortable and by now
quite cold, and we were furious with them, but to absolutely no avail.
When they appeared the next morning we demanded to know how they
could have been so dim-witted, but they had their answers to that of
course.
The following day it rained. ‘I take this contrast with yesterday’s
glorious weather as a sure sign of my excellent karma,’ His Excellency
said to Her Majesty jubilantly. ‘What do you say?’ And indeed one could
well see why he should be feeling so pleased with himself.
But these events, which seemed to us so splendid and auspicious at the
time, all look very different when compared with the present,
33 and this
is why I’ve set it all down in detail, with heavy heart.
[260] Venerable things – The ‘Nine-Section Staff’.
1 The prayer for
salvation of all sentient beings that’s recited at the end of the Amida
invocations.
[261] Songs – Folk songs, in particular ‘The Cedars Standing by the
Gate’. The kagura songs that accompany god dances are also delightful.
Imayō songs are long and have unusual melodies.
[262] Gathered trousers – Dark violet. Spring-shoot green.
In summer, lavender. On very hot days, trousers in the lapis lazuli
blue of summer insects give a sense of coolness.
[263] Hunting costumes – Clove-tan. Soft white silk. Red-purple weave.
Pine-leaf green. Leaf green. Cherry blossom. Willow. Also, green
wisteria.
1
Men wear all manner of colours.
[264] Shifts – White. For daytime formal wear, one should wear a more
relaxed, scarlet unlined version of the akomé gown. Still, white is always
particularly good.
I cannot bear people who wear a white shift that’s slightly yellowed.
Some people wear gloss-yellow robes,
1 but I nevertheless much prefer
white.
[265] Formal train-robes
1 – In winter, azalea. Cherry blossom. Softened
silk. In summer, lavender. Also, white on white.
[266] Fan ribs – Those made from the wood of the hō tree. The colour
1
should be red, violet or green.
[267] Cypress fans
1 – Undecorated, or painted in the Chinese style.
[268]* Deities – The deity of Matsuo. The deity of Yahata is particularly
wonderful because it was once the Emperor of this land,
1 and it’s also
awe-inspiring to see the onion-flower finial on the imperial palanquin for
the procession to this shrine.
Ōharano. Kasuga Shrine has a very wonderful deity. Hirano. I once
asked someone what an empty building there was used for, and was
overawed to learn that it was where the deity’s festival palanquin was
kept. I paused long there beside its vine-smothered fence, thrown into a
reverie by the vine’s occasional red leaves, recalling the Tsurayuki poem
that speaks of such unseasonal leaves as unable to ‘hold back the
season’s change’.
2
The deity of Mikomori is also delightful. Also the deities of Kamo, and
of Inari.
[269] Promontories – Karasaki. Miho.
[270] Huts – The ‘thatched hut’ and the ‘eastern hut’ of poetry.
1
[271]* The calling of the night watch is a wonderful thing. Deep on a
freezing night, I love to hear the clatter of the night watchman dragging
his shoes along as he approaches, and the sound of the bow twanging
and his distant voice crying his name and the hour – ‘Third quarter,
Hour of the Ox’ or ‘Fourth quarter, Hour of the Rat’. Then comes the
sound of the peg going into the time-board. Countrified people will say
‘Rat nine strikes’ or ‘Ox eight strikes’;
1 but with us, whatever the hour,
the strike only comes at ‘four’, since it’s always only on the fourth
quarter that the peg is struck in.
[272] At noon on a beautiful sunny day, or very late, around the midnight
hour, when you believe His Majesty must be asleep, it startles and awes
you to hear him suddenly calling for his Chamberlains. Also, it’s very
splendid to hear the sound of his flute at night.
[273]* Captain Narinobu is the son of His Reverend Highness, Minister of
War.
1 Not only is he extremely handsome, he also has a delightful
personality. I felt very sorry for him when the Governor of Iyo,
Kanesuke, took his daughter back to Iyo with him, leaving poor
Narinobu unable to forget her. How touching to imagine his lonely
cloaked figure making its way home beneath the moon at daybreak,
after bidding her farewell before her dawn departure.
He was always calling round to talk to us, and in his judgements of
people he never hesitated to criticize where criticism was due.
This reminds me of a lady, someone meticulous in observing the
abstinences and such things, who had a very odd family name.
2 She
took the name ‘Taira’ when she was adopted by a branch of that family,
but the younger ladies enjoyed making fun of her by using her original
name. She was not particularly pleasing in appearance, and she didn’t
have a very interesting personality, but naturally enough she wanted to
mix with the others and not be singled out like this. Her Majesty
remarked that it was quite unseemly to tease her in this way, but
everyone was too mean-spirited to pass this on to the people concerned.
When rooms for the gentlewomen were set up in the Ichijō Palace,
Shikibu and I stayed day and night in our delightful room in the little
aisle, that looked straight out on to the East Gate of the palace, and
would only allow visitors we liked. His Majesty himself would often
come to call on us there.
One night, we decided to sleep inside instead of in our little room, so
we settled down in the south aisle. Suddenly, we heard someone
insistently calling my name. ‘Let’s ignore this noise,’ we agreed, and we
lay there pretending to sleep, but he only called more loudly, until even
Her Majesty said, ‘Do get her up. I’m sure they’re not really asleep.’
Then this Hyōbu
3
I’m speaking of came along to wake us, but we made
out we were sound asleep, so off she went again to report to the visitor
that we couldn’t be roused. She then appeared to settle down there and
start talking with him herself.
Time passed, and the hour grew very late, but still the conversation
continued. ‘It sounds as if that’s Captain Narinobu,’ we said to each
other. ‘What can they be talking about for so long?’ and we began
secretly to giggle at the thought, which of course she couldn’t have
known. He stayed talking with her till dawn, when he finally returned
home. I was still chuckling about it, and saying to my friend, ‘What a
dreadful man. I’ll never speak to him again! What can they have been
talking about, for him to stay till dawn like that?’ when the nearby door
slid open and in came the lady in question.
Next morning, when I was back in my little room as usual, I was
puzzled to overhear one of the ladies say in the course of conversation, ‘I
do feel sorry for someone who comes calling in a heavy downpour. Even
if I happened to be feeling somehow low, or was unhappy over him for
some reason, if he came along soaked to the skin I’d forget all my
reservations and sorrows.’ Now why should she say such a thing? Of
course if he’s been turning up constantly, night after night, and now in
the pouring rain he refuses to be put off but still insists on calling, I can
imagine she’d feel very touched to see that he didn’t want to be parted
from her for even a single night. But if he doesn’t come around much,
and she’s been spending days and nights in miserable uncertainty over
him, surely the fact that he’s turned up on a night like this should hardly
be enough to reassure her of his intentions. Well, I can only conclude
that everyone’s different. I should say that if he’s courting a lady of
experience, discernment and evident sensibility, but is also visiting a
number of other ladies, and has a wife in the background as well, and
now, after constantly neglecting her, he chooses to show up on an awful
night like this, it can be put down to a calculated desire to have people
speak admiringly of his noble, self-sacrificing gesture. Yet if he really has
no feelings at all for her, then what can he be up to in going out of his
way to make it seem otherwise like this? Mind you, I always feel very
out of sorts when it’s raining – all that lovely fine weather of the
previous days suddenly feels quite unreal, and I dislike everything, and
am even resistant to the charm of the splendid Long Room, for once.
And if I’m in some ordinary, unattractive house of course I long even
more for the rain to stop. No, there’s certainly nothing either delightful
or moving about a rainy day.
However – on a bright moonlit night, how the imagination will call up
before your eyes scenes from the past and even scenes yet to be, in
complete and vivid detail, till you’re quite overcome with the
incomparably splendid and moving experience of it! And if a man came
calling on such a night, a man who has thought to call on you again
after a lapse of ten or twenty days, or a month, or a year, or even
perhaps seven or eight years, you’d be thoroughly delighted to see him.
Even if it was some highly inappropriate place for such a meeting, and
you had to be careful not to be seen with him, you’d certainly want to
exchange some furtive conversation before sending him on his way, even
if you had to stay standing as you talked, and if it was a situation where
he could spend the night, you’d surely urge him to do so.
Is there any occasion to match a moonlit night for sending your
thoughts winging to distant places, and recalling past moments, their
sorrows and joys and pleasures, as if it were today? The Tale of Komano
hasn’t anything much of interest in it, its language is old-fashioned and
there are few noteworthy scenes, but I do find it touching when the hero
is recalling the past as he gazes at the moon, and takes out the motheaten summer fan and sets off to visit her house, murmuring the line
‘knowing he knows the way of old’
4 as he goes.
Well, it’s probably because I find rain so unpoetic that I hate it when
there’s the least shower. If there’s some splendid event at court,
something that should be filled with pleasure, or a solemn and
impressive sacred ceremony of some sort, the mere fact that it’s a rainy
day fills me with unspeakable despair – so I really can’t imagine how
anyone could feel thrilled to have some sodden fellow turn up feeling
sorry for himself on a rainy night. I like the hero in The Tale of Ochikubo,
who criticizes Lieutenant Katano, but that rainy night-visit scene is
delightful for the special reason that he’s come visiting her for the last
two nights.
5
I don’t care for the part where he washes his muddy feet,
though. They must have been awfully dirty!
On the other hand, it’s a delightful and reassuring thing for a man to
come calling on a wild, windy night. And a snowy night visit is most
splendid of all. He arrives humming to himself the line ‘How could I
forget her?’
6 or something of the sort, and of course the scene is
particularly charming if he’s a secret lover, but even if there’s nothing
secret about it, there would be something utterly delightful in the sight
of his cloak, say the special green formal cloak of a Chamberlain, all
chilled and damp with snow. Even if it’s just the sixth-ranker’s normal
cloak, I wouldn’t mind as long as it was snow that had wet it. I gather
that in the old days a Chamberlain would always come along in his
special green cloak when visiting a lover at night, and simply wring it
out if it had got soaked in the rain. Nowadays they seem not to bother to
wear it even during the day, but turn up with just the sixth-rank cloak
draped over them. And it used to make an even more delightful
impression if a Chamberlain wore his Palace Guard costume instead.
7
Well, I don’t imagine hearing these opinions of mine is going to stop
any man from setting forth on foot on a rainy night. But I remember one
delightful moment on a brilliantly moonlit night, catching sight of a lady
pondering a sheet of bright red paper on which were written only the
words ‘even if you do not share’,
8 by the light of a moonbeam that
slanted into the aisle room. That’s not a scene you could have if it was
raining, now is it?
[274]* You have a lover who always sends a next-morning poem, who one
morning leaves in high dudgeon, proclaiming that he doesn’t know why
he bothers with you. ‘It’s pointless to try and talk about it,’ he declares.
‘This is it!’ There’s not a peep out of him the next day, and when the
following dawn breaks no servant appears with the usual letter. You
spend the day feeling quite out of sorts, and marvelling at the way he
could so simply turn his back and call it quits.
The day after, it rains heavily. There’s still no word from him all day.
He really has given me up, you think.
You’re seated at the edge of the veranda that evening when a
messenger with an umbrella appears with a letter for you. With more
haste than usual, you open it, to find there only the words ‘the rising
floods of rain’
1 – this gives you much more delight than would whole
pages full of poems.
Though the morning has given no hint of this, the sky suddenly grows
black with heavy clouds, and swirling snow darkens the air. You gaze
out at it, deeply disconsolate. Before your eyes the piles of white snow
grow deeper, and still the snow pours down. Then you’re delighted to
see a slender man with umbrella raised, dressed rather like an escort
guard, enter through the door in the side wall and proffer a formal letter
on very white paper, Michinoku or perhaps decorated paper; the ink of
the brush stroke that seals it at the knot has frozen as it dried, so that it
trails off into a blur at the edges. You watch with pleasure as the lady
opens and reads it. It’s tightly rolled and knotted, which has made little
hollows in the paper at the rolls. The ink varies from rich black to pale,
the lines are closely spaced and the writing sprawls over two sides of the
page. She sits there for some time, poring over it repeatedly, and you’re
intrigued to imagine what it might contain, and particularly long to
know the words that cause a momentary smile – but since she’s seated at
some distance from you, all you can do is guess at the meaning of the
parts where the ink is blackest.
Another charming scene is of a lovely lady, with fine features and hair
falling long over her forehead, who receives a letter in a dark room and
is so anxious to open it that she doesn’t take the time to light a lamp,
but instead picks up a glowing coal from the brazier with the fire tongs
and sits straining to make out the words by its light.
[275] Things of splendour and spectacle – The sight of the Commanders as
outriders in an imperial progress. Imperial rites and sutra readings for
the Peacock King Sutra,
1 and those for the Five Great Kings. The Great
Purification.
2 The Chamberlain Aide of Ceremonial parading through
the South Garden during the Blue Roans Festival. The Gate Watch
Deputies will tear up any items of forbidden printed clothing they find
being worn on this day. The Rite of the Holy Star King.
3 The Seasonal
Sutra Readings. The Rite of the Golden-Wheel Buddha.
4
[276] When there are great thunderclaps, special thunder guards are
placed outside, and I find the whole thing quite terrifying. I feel very
sorry for the Commanders, Captains and Lieutenants who must stand at
the ready by His Majesty’s shutters.
1 Once the thunder has ceased, the
Commander dismisses the guards with the cry ‘Go down!’
[277] The Kongenroku screen is a fascinating thing. I hear the Kanjo screen
depicts glorious deeds. And the Screen of the Months
1
is delightful too.
[278] A seasonal directional taboo or the like has sent you on a
roundabout route, and you’ve made your way back late on a bitterly
cold night, teeth chattering so hard your jaw aches. Finally you arrive,
and draw up the brazier – and how absolutely wonderful it is to
discover, when you unearth the charcoal from beneath the fine ash, that
the fire is still as alive as ever, with no burnt-out blackened bits.
On the other hand, I hate it when you’re sitting so deep in
conversation with someone that neither of you bothers to notice the fire
has burnt down to nothing, and then someone else comes along and
makes it their business to fuss about putting in fresh charcoal and
relighting it. Mind you, it’s nice when the pieces of charcoal are placed
in a circle with the flame enclosed in their centre. What really annoys
me is when someone pushes aside all the pieces that are still glowing,
makes a fresh mound of charcoal and relights it at the top of the mound.
[279] The snow was piled high, and Her Majesty’s shutters were for once
left down. We were all gathered in her presence chatting, with the
square brazier alight, when Her Majesty said to me, ‘Shōnagon, what do
you make of the snow of Kōro Peak?’
1 Thereupon I ordered that the
shutters be lifted, and raised the outer blind high. Her Majesty laughed.
One of the ladies also remarked appreciatively, ‘I know the poem, and
even use it in my own poems, but I wouldn’t have thought of that. You
epitomize the sort of person who belongs in this court.’
[280] The little boy employed by the Yin-Yang masters is terribly clever.
When the master has arrived to perform a purification, and settles down
to chant the prayers, no one bothers to listen very closely, but the boy
will leap up alertly at certain points and run over to perform the
necessary tasks, without the master having to say, ‘The Saké’, or ‘Now
pour the water.’ It fills me with envy to see how perfectly he
understands the proceedings, and never needs to be told what to do. It
would be wonderful to have someone as bright as that in my own
service.
[281] In the third month, I left the court to perform an abstinence, and
spent a little time in someone’s home. None of the garden trees was
particularly special, and there was a willow there that had none of the
willow’s usual elegance. Its leaves were unpleasantly broad, and I
remarked that it couldn’t really be a willow, but my host insisted that
there were different varieties and this was one of them.
Yin-Yang master
What a house this is,
where the eyebrow’s willow curves
sprout so rudely thick
spring’s beauty is quite smothered
and she has lost all ‘face’!
1
is how it seemed to me.
Around the same time, I stayed in a similar place on another
abstinence. By the middle of the second day, I was feeling overwhelmed
with boredom and longing to go back to court that very minute, when a
message from Her Majesty arrived. I opened it with joy. Saishō had
written in a charming hand on light green paper:
How ever did I pass
the time before I knew you?
I think of that past time
as now I pass each passing day
in lonely sorrow, lacking you.
in lonely sorrow, lacking you.
‘So says Her Majesty. As for me, I feel as if this one day were a thousand
years to wait. Do hasten back with tomorrow’s dawn.’
Saishō’s message was delightful enough, but I could only feel deeply
grateful for Her Majesty’s words, and I wrote:
So you too, Your Majesty,
found this spring day unbearable
in your exalted world?
And here I thought my misery
sprang from this mournful place.
‘For my part, I feel I could well turn into that Lieutenant
2 during the
course of the night.’
When I returned to court at daybreak the following day, Her Majesty
said, ‘The word “unbearable” in your reply was very unfortunate.
3
Everyone criticized it roundly.’ I was mortified. She was perfectly right.
[282]* On the twenty-fourth day of the twelfth month, the service of the
Litany of Buddha Names was held at Her Majesty’s palace. It must have
been some time past midnight when everyone emerged from hearing the
priest perform the second service… 1
The snow that has been falling for some time has finally lifted, and a
fierce wind blows. Long icicles hang from everything, heaps of glittering
snow lie here and there on the ground, and all the roofs are white with
it, so that even the mean houses of the poor are hidden from view
beneath its blanket. The landscape is brightly lit by a pre-dawn moon,
and the whole scene is utterly delightful. The houses seem roofed in
sheets of silver, while the icicles hanging everywhere along the eaves,
some long, some short, as if specially arranged there for display, put one
in mind of waterfalls of crystal. In the midst of this unspeakably
marvellous scene, the moon shines deep into the carriage as it travels
along, since it lacks outer blinds and the inner blinds have been raised
right up. The moonlight glows beautifully on the rich sheen of the lady’s
deep-purple over-robe, worn over seven or eight layers of gowns of pale
violet-grey, white and plum pink. Beside her, the man wears grapecoloured heavy brocade gathered trousers, over which are numerous
layers of white gowns, with kerria-yellow and scarlet. His sleeves spill
from the carriage, and the pure white silk cords that fasten his cloak are
untied so that it lies open and the tumble of spilled sleeves is
marvellously exposed to view. One of his legs, swathed in the brocade of
his trousers, is resting on the carriage step, and anyone who meets the
carriage along the road must surely be delighted by the sight all this
makes. It’s charming the way the lady keeps shrinking shyly away from
the bright moonlight, deeper into the carriage, while he embarrasses her
by continually drawing her back to his side and exposing her to view
again.
How splendid it is, with him chanting over and over the line ‘The cold
spreads crystal clear’!
2 You wish you could ride about in that carriage
all night long, and you’re very sorry when it draws close to its
destination.
[283]* When gentlewomen in the palace leave their own particular courts
and gather somewhere, they’ll each sing the praises of the master or
mistress they serve, and gossip together about various gentlemen and
palace household matters, which is fascinating for the head of the
household to overhear.
Ideally, the house for this kind of gathering should be large and
beautiful, with separate rooms not only for the relatives but for the
intimate friends and court ladies who gather there. At the appropriate
times, everyone would gather in one place to talk. There’d be considered
discussions of the poems people have written, and when a letter for
someone was delivered everyone would read it and help to compose the
reply; if a gentleman called to pay court to one of the ladies he’d be
welcomed into a beautifully presented room, and if rain prevented him
from leaving he’d be kept entertained. And when someone was required
back at the palace, everyone would help prepare her just as she wished,
and see her on her way.
I wonder if it’s wrong to feel a fascination with the way those in high
places live.
[284] Things that imitate – Yawns. Children.
1
[285] Things one must be wary of – Low types. Still, at least you know
better where you stand with them than with people who have a good
reputation.
Boat crossings. It’s marvellous weather, the water is splendidly smooth
and calm, as if swathed in glossy pale-blue silk, and there’s not the
slightest hint of danger in the scene. The young lady is in akomé gown
and skirted trousers; her youthful retainer is singing splendidly as he
pulls at what I believe is called the ‘oar’,
1 and it’s altogether the sort of
charming picture that begs for an exalted audience to appreciate it. But
as they ply their way, a fierce wind suddenly blows up, and the sea
surface turns wildly choppy. Now as they hurry towards their
destination, faint with terror, the waves flooding over the boat make it
impossible to believe that only a moment earlier the sea could have been
so calm and smooth.
Now that I come to think of it, there’s no one so impressive and
downright awe-inspiring as men who go about in boats. Even if the
water’s not particularly deep, how can they go rowing off so
nonchalantly in such a frail and unreliable thing? Let alone when there
are unfathomable depths of water below! Then there’s the boat at the
loading wharf – it’s already stacked so high that the water is lapping a
mere foot or less below the rim, yet the lads are fearlessly dashing about
on it, though you’d imagine that the slightest wrong move would send it
to the bottom, and it’s downright terrifying to watch them blithely
tossing up to half-a-dozen great pine logs, each quite two or three feet
thick, on to this overloaded boat.
The boats are rowed from the roofed end.
2 The person on the inside
looks far more secure. It’s the sight of the man who stands on the edge
that makes you feel faint with terror for him. The loop of rope that holds
the oar in place looks so precarious! What would happen if it snapped?
He’d be certain to tumble straight into the water. Yet even such a vital
bit of rope is far from thick.
The boats I’ve travelled in are beautifully made, and when you open
up the double doors and raise the lattice shutters, you don’t feel you’re
right down on the level of the water, so it’s rather like being in a tiny
house.
The thing that really fills you with unease is looking out at the little
boats round about. The ones in the distance look exactly like bamboo
leaves fashioned into tiny boats and scattered here and there over the
water. It’s also charming to see the boats in the port at night, each with
its individual light burning.
The sight of a tiny two-man craft moving over the water in the early
morning is very moving. The ‘white retreating waves’
3 of the poem
really do disappear behind it in no time. One certainly feels that a boat
is no way for people of quality to travel. Of course travelling on foot is
also rather frightening, but at least it’s far, far more reassuring to be on
firm ground.
A stretch of water may seem terrifying, but your spirits sink still
further at the thought of the fisher girls who dive for shells. If that thin
rope tied to their waist ever snapped, whatever would they do? It would
be all very well if it were men doing the diving, but it must feel
miserable for women. The men are on board, singing away lustily,
moving the boat along with the women’s waist ropes dangling into the
water. You’d imagine they’d be feeling full of anxiety and trepidation.
Apparently, when the woman wants to come up to the surface she tugs
on the rope, and you can quite see why the men should scramble to pull
her up as fast as possible. Even an onlooker must weep salt tears to
witness the gasp of the woman as she breaks surface and lays her hand
on the edge of the boat – really, I find it utterly astonishing to see those
men sending the poor women overboard while they float lazily about on
the surface!
[286] A certain Officer of the Right Gate Watch had a far from respectable
father, and was racked with shame at the thought of others laying eyes
on him, so while his father was travelling up from Iyo Province on his
way to the capital, he pushed him overboard. Everyone was horrified,
and exclaimed to each other that there was no plumbing the depths to
which the human heart could sink. When the seventh month’s Festival of
the Dead came round, the Officer set about preparing his offering, and
seeing this, the Holy Adept Dōmei composed the following delightful
poem:
Touching indeed to see
this man who thrust his father down
into the ocean deeps
now hastening to draw him up
with ritual offerings for his soul.
1
[287] The mother of the Ohara gentleman
1 went to hear the Lotus
Discourses at Fumon Temple; the following day, there was a large
gathering at the Ono Villa, where music was played and Chinese poems
were composed. She composed the following splendid poem:
We ‘carried firewood’
for the eight Lotus Discourses
that ended yesterday.
Today we’ll lose ourselves in play
and let that axe rot here at Ono.
2
Such stories have come down to us apparently as a result of being noted
down at the time they occurred.
[288] The letter Narihira’s mother the Princess sent him, which goes ‘my
longing grows the more intense’,
1
is terribly touching and fine. I can
just imagine Narihira’s feelings as he opened and read it.
[289] It’s terribly depressing to discover some quite worthless person
blithely reciting a poem that you yourself had particularly liked and
carefully copied down in a notebook.
[290] If a mere common woman praises some man of good birth, saying
how very attractive and engaging he is, people will immediately lose
respect for him. On the other hand, if he’s spoken ill of by such people,
this is a point greatly in his favour. Even ladies should not be praised by
lowly people. Besides, such people are inclined to express themselves so
clumsily that praise from them can make you sound quite absurd.
[291]* The Officers of the Left and Right Gate Watch are also known as
‘Vice-Superintendents of Police’, and how deeply feared and revered
they are! It’s quite disgusting the way they slip into the ladies’ quarters
while on night patrol and sleep with them.
They’ll sling their white cotton skirted trousers casually over the
standing curtain, and bundle up that long, ostentatious cloak of theirs
and toss it on top, in a way that’s thoroughly improper. But I admit it’sa
fine sight to see them wandering about with the hem hitched up on the
hilt of their sword. Just think how elegant they’d look if only they made
a habit of wearing the Chamberlain’s special green.
1 Who was it who
spoke of ‘the dawn that once I saw’?
2
[292] Grand Counsellor Korechika presented himself one day to the
Emperor and delivered a talk on Chinese poetry. As always happens, the
night grew late while he spoke on, and those present unobtrusively
slipped away in ones and twos to sleep behind a standing screen or
curtain. Only I sat on, fighting off my drowsiness, until the hour of the
Ox fourth quarter
1 was announced.
‘It must already be dawn,’ I murmured as if to myself.
But the Grand Counsellor evidently wasn’t inclined to allow sleep. ‘It
is pointless to retire at this stage, madam,’ he said.
Oh dear, I thought, whatever made me say that? If only other people
had been present, I would have been able to sneak off and sleep
unobserved. His Majesty was leaning against a pillar and dozing, so the
Grand Counsellor turned to Her Majesty and said, ‘Look at that, Your
Majesty. Should His Majesty be asleep like this, when here it is gone
dawn already?’
‘Quite so,’ responded Her Majesty with a smile. But the Emperor
dozed on, oblivious.
At this point, one of the serving girls came along with a hen she’d
caught, and hid it nearby with the intention of taking it home with her
next morning – but the dog somehow managed to find it and gave chase,
and it fled to a shelf in the corridor, setting up a terrible squawking
which roused everyone from their slumbers.
His Majesty too was startled awake, and demanded to know how a
hen came to be there.
Thereupon the Grand Counsellor absolutely delighted me by reciting
in a resounding voice the line, ‘That sound awakens the wise king from
sleep.’
2
Indeed it made the eyes even of lesser people snap wide awake!
Both Their Majesties were very taken with how wonderfully
appropriate the Grand Counsellor’s words were to the occasion. This sort
of moment is really quite splendid.
The following night, Her Majesty went to the Emperor’s room. Having
accompanied her, I came out into the corridor in the middle of the night
and called for a servant to come for me. ‘Are you going back?’ inquired
the Grand Counsellor. ‘Let me see you home.’ I hung my train and
Chinese jacket
3 on the standing screen, and we set off.
His cloak glowed wonderfully white in the bright moonlight, and he
trod the loosened hems of his gathered trousers as he walked. ‘Don’t
fall,’ he said, taking hold of my sleeve, and then he delighted me by
reciting ‘The wanderer sojourns on beneath the late moon.’
4
‘You do get pleasure out of that sort of thing, don’t you!’ he remarked
with a smile – but really, how could you not find it enchanting?
[293] I was sitting one day with Bishop Ryūen’s nurse Mama
1
in the
apartments of the Mistress of the Imperial Wardrobe, when a man
approached the veranda close to where we sat.
‘A terrible thing has happened to me, Madam!’ he declared. ‘To whom
might I address my tale of woe?’
2 and he looked ready to burst into
tears on the spot.
‘What is it?’ I inquired.
‘One day when I had departed my house on a passing errand, the
place conflagrated to the ground. Like the hermit crab, I have backed
myself for precarious shelter into another’s abode. The fire proceeded
from a building containing the hay for the Imperial Stables, which was
just over the fence from my own, and my wretched spouse, who was
asleep in her boudoir, barely escaped with life and limb intact. Nothing
could be saved!’
Her Ladyship burst into laughter when she heard him.
I then wrote the following:
On that spring day
when grasses for the stable
burst forth in glowing hue
why should Yodono’s grassy bed
also be kindled in like kind?
3
and tossed it over to where the gentlewomen were sitting, saying ‘Here,
give him this.’
Giggling, they handed it over to him, saying, ‘One of the ladies here
has taken pity on you for having your house burn down, and wants to
give you this.’
He opened it and took a look. ‘What is this promissory note?’
4 he
asked. ‘How much am I getting?’
‘Just read it,’ they urged.
‘But how can I,’ he said, ‘when these eyes of mine are quite
unlettered?’
‘Show it to someone, then. Her Majesty has just summoned us, so we
must hurry and present ourselves. What are you thinking, fellow! Just
look at the wonderful thing you’re receiving!’ they cried, and everyone
went merrily off to attend Her Majesty, laughing fit to burst.
We told her the tale, and Mama added, ‘I wonder if he’s shown the
poem to anyone yet? How furious he’ll be when he gets home!’ and we
fell about laughing all over again. Her Majesty joined in, saying as she
laughed, ‘Why on earth are you all so silly today?’
[294]
* There was a man whose mother died. His father was deeply fond of
him, but then he took a second wife who made things difficult, and the
son felt obliged to respect her wishes. He was no longer allowed into
their quarters, and the father was forced to delegate the son’s clothing
requirements and so forth to his old nurse, or to the women who had
served his first wife.
The son now lived in one of the wings of the building, and he set it up
beautifully, giving it all the attractiveness of a guest’s quarters, with fine
paintings on the screens and sliding panels. The general opinion was that
he acquitted himself well in his conduct as senior courtier, and the
Emperor too looked kindly on him, calling on him constantly and
engaging him to play together in musical gatherings. Yet the young
man’s heart remained somehow heavy, he felt at odds with the ways of
the world, and he threw himself immoderately into affairs of the heart.
Now this man had a sister, the most esteemed and beloved wife of a
court noble, to whom he spoke all that was on his mind, and who was a
great source of comfort to him…
[295] A certain gentlewoman was courted by the Governor of Tōtōmi’s son.
However, she learned that he was secretly making love to another
gentlewoman in the same court.
‘What shall I say to him?’ she lamented to me. ‘He declares upon his
father’s honour that this is a dreadful slander and he hasn’t so much as
dreamt of meeting her.’
My response was the following:
Swear then if you will
not only on the Governor
but on the very gods
that you have truly never known
the lovely bridge of Hamana.1
[296] Stealing an illicit conversation with someone in an awkward place,
my heart was racing. ‘Why are you so agitated?’ he asked.
I replied:
At Ōsaka Pass
the racing waters of the heart
surge up continually
fearing that those who pass may find
us meeting by Hashiri Well.
1
[297] ‘Can it be true that you’re leaving the capital before long?’
someone asked.
I replied:
Who set the fire
of that wild rumour running
through the moxa grass
that grows upon Mount Ibuki?
I never lit on such a plan!
1
Extant versions of the Sankanbon text include the following sections as
‘supplementary’. A copyist’s note at this point in the text states that they are
found after Section 141 ‘Things that look fresh and pure’ in another version,
which is no longer extant, but may have preserved an earlier form of the
Sankanbon text.
[S1] Things that are better at night – The glow of deep purple softened
silk. Flossed silk.
A large-browed woman with beautiful hair. The sound of the sevenstringed kin. Someone whose appearance is rather unattractive but who
has a pleasant personality. The hototogisu. The sound of a waterfall.
[S2] Things that look worse by firelight – Violet figured silk. Wisteria
flowers. Everything of this colour looks worse by firelight. Scarlet looks
bad in moonlight.
[S3] Things that are hard on the ear – The sound of someone with an
unpleasant voice talking or laughing uninhibitedly. A drowsy priest
droning mantras. The voice of someone talking while they apply toothblack.
1 This is also true of the sort of person who has nothing particular
to recommend her, talking with her mouth full. The sound of someone
learning to play the piercing hichiriki.
[S4] Things whose Chinese characters make no sense, though there must be
some reason to them 1 – Table salt. Akomé gown. Summer under-robe.
2
High clogs. Rice paste. Tub. Trough.
[S5] Things that look lovely but are horrible inside – Screens decorated with
Chinese paintings. A limed wall.
1 A heaped plate of food. The top of a
cypress-bark roof. The prostitutes of Kōjiri.
2
[S6]* Women’s outer gowns – Pale violet-grey. Grape. Spring-shoot green.
Cherry blossom. Plum pink. All pale colours.
[S7] Chinese jackets – Red-purple weave. Wisteria, and in summer,
lavender. In autumn, ‘dried grass’.
[S8] Trains – The wave-and-sea-motif indigo-dyed pattern.
[S9] Girls’ over-robes – In spring, azalea and cherry blossom. In summer,
dark leaf-green and fallen-leaf ochre.
[S10] Figured silks – Violet. White. Plum pink is good, but the eye
wearies of it terribly quickly.
[S11] Damask patterns – Aoi. Wood sorrel. Hail pattern.
[S12] Thin paper and decorated paper – White. Violet. Red. Hay-dye
yellow. Green is also good.
[S13] Writing boxes – A two-tiered box with a lacquer design of clouds
and birds.
[S14] Writing brushes – Winter animals’ hair is both good to use and
attractive to the eye.
Rabbit’s fur brushes.
[S15] Inksticks – Rounded ones.
[S16] Shells – Empty shells. Clam shells. The tiny little seashells that look
like plum blossom petals.
[S17] Comb boxes – Designs featuring foreign creatures
1 are good on
comb boxes.
[S18] Mirrors – Large ten-inch ones.
[S19] Lacquer designs – Foliage in arabesques.
[S20] Braziers – Red. Green. White with a tinted ink-painting design is
also good.
[S21] Tatami mats – Those with Kōrai edging. Also, those whose edges
are of designs on a yellow ground.
[S22] Palm-leaf carriages
1 – A palm-leaf carriage should move at a
sedate pace. A basketwork carriage should move at a smart pace.
[S23]* A grove of tall pines shades the mansion, and all the eastern and
southern lattice shutters are raised, providing a wonderful coolness to
the unobstructed view through to the Inner Chamber. There we see an
enclosure of large standing curtains, and before it on a straw cushion sits
a most handsome priest of around forty, beautifully attired in ink-black
priestly robe and silk-gauze surplice, clove-tan fan in hand, intently
chanting mantras.
The mistress of the house lies racked with suffering, in the grip of
spirit possession. A hefty young girl has been chosen as the medium, and
she now shuffles out on her knees, wearing a gossamer silk shift and
long brightly-coloured skirted trousers, and seats herself alongside the
curtained enclosure. The priest twists sideways to hand her the splendid
gleaming single-pointed vajra, and continues his awe-inspiring flow of
supplications and mantras.
single-pointed vajra
A large number of gentlewomen are seated nearby as witnesses,
watching the proceedings with riveted attention. It isn’t long before the
medium begins to tremble and falls into a trance, and the awesome
power of the Buddha then reveals itself in response to the priest’s
invocations.
The brothers and relatives of the possessed lady meanwhile are free to
come and go from the room. Were she in her right mind, how appalled
and ashamed the medium would be to realize just what is taking place
before the reverent crowd of people gathered there watching her. While
well aware that this suffering is the spirit’s and not the girl’s own,
nevertheless those who know her are filled with pity to witness her
fearful lamenting and wailing, and they sit beside her and attempt to
keep her clothing straight as she writhes there.
In due course the patient improves, and the priest orders that
medicinal tea be given to her. Some of the younger ladies retire to the
kitchen area to bring it, and they hurry anxiously back with it to see
how she is. They’re attired in beautiful shifts, and their pale violet-grey
trains are quite pristine and undishevelled.
The spirit is forced to grovel and beg for forgiveness, then is finally
dismissed. Returned suddenly to her senses, the medium is now aghast.
How extraordinary, she thinks. Here I am, exposed to public view, and I
was sure I was behind the curtains! Whatever can have happened? and
she hastily shakes her hair forward to shield her face as she moves to
slip back in behind the curtain.
‘Wait a moment,’ commands the priest, and he pronounces a short
incantation over her. ‘There now,’ he says with a smile when it’s over.
‘How’s that? Are you feeling better now?’ However, this seems only to
add to her embarrassed confusion.
‘I would like to linger,’ he says, ‘but I’m afraid it’s time to go off and
conduct the service.’ He takes his leave and, despite encouragement on
all sides to stay a little longer, hastily begins to make his way out.
At this moment, a lady who is evidently of the highest rank slides out
and addresses him from behind the blinds. ‘We are filled with the
deepest gratitude,’ she says, ‘that you have come like this, and overjoyed
that, thanks to you, the poor suffering patient has so wonderfully
improved.’
He replies briefly, ‘The spirit seemed a very tenacious one. I advise
continued vigilance. I’m delighted that the patient has improved.’ With
this, he makes his departure, leaving everyone deeply impressed by his
wonderful powers, and with the awed sense that the Buddha himself has
been among them.
Ideally, a priest should have a great reputation and be in constant
demand hither and yon, and he should be accompanied by numerous
assistants – handsome young boys with beautiful hair, or larger lads with
surprisingly lovely hair despite their sprouting beards, or else powerfully
built boys whose hair is almost disgustingly thick.
[S24] The best places for palace service – The imperial court. The
Empress’s court. The courts of those such as her daughter the First
Princess. The court of the Kamo High Priestess, though an offence to
Buddhism,
1
is very entertaining, and the other imperial family courts
are even more so. Also, the court of the High Consort, mother of the
Crown Prince.
[S25]* A dilapidated house with a garden overgrown with trailing weeds
and knee-deep in wormwood, flooded with moonlight from a brilliant
rising moon. Also, the moonlight that seeps in through cracks in the
decaying boards of such a house.
The sound of the wind, as long as it isn’t fierce.
[S26] A place with a pond, in the fifth month when the rains are falling,
is a very moving thing. It’s deeply affecting to sit for hours on end
staring out at the garden, a sea of monochrome soft green with the
pond’s water as deep green as the sweet flag and reeds that crowd it,
and the heavy rain clouds hanging above. Indeed all places with ponds
are at all times moving and delightful, and of course this is so too on
winter mornings when the water is frozen over. Rather than a carefully
tended pond, I find delightful the sort that have been left neglected to
the rampant water weed, where patches of reflected moonlight gleam
whitely on the water here and there between the swathes of green.
All moonlight is moving, wherever it may be.
[S27]* I found it most offensive, when we were in our rooms during our
pilgrimage to Hase, to be confronted with a seated row of rough
commoners, trouser hems trailing.
We’d embarked on the pilgrimage full of pious resolution, but the
sound of the river was terrifying, and we were utterly exhausted by the
long climb up the covered stairway to the temple. We longed for the
moment when we would at last arrive before the Kannon. When we got
there, I was immensely irritated by the throngs of white-robed priests
and scruffy commoners, looking like ragged bagworms, who crowded
into the worship hall, standing or sitting, some prostrating themselves,
and no one paying us the slightest attention. I wanted to simply shove
them over! It’s always the same at temples.
They do clear everyone away from around the rooms of the most
exalted people there on pilgrimage, but in the case of us lesser ones it’s
apparently impossible to control the mob. I was well aware of this, yet
when it came to the point it still infuriated me to witness it all with my
own eyes.
It’s also annoying to drop a nicely cleaned comb in the dirt.
[S28] When gentlewomen come and go from the palace, we sometimes have
to borrow a carriage from someone for the purpose. The owner will
speak most politely when he lends it to you, but the drivers can be a
different matter – they’ll sometimes shout quite fiercely at the ox instead
of their usual shooing, and beat it into a swift trot, which is most
alarming for the ladies in the carriage. If the carriage attendant is
grumpy, and orders the drivers to ‘get a move on or we won’t be there
before nightfall’, well, you can judge the real nature of the owner from
this, and you dismiss all thought of asking him for his carriage again.
Lord Naritō’s
1 carriage was the only exception to this – this sort of
thing never occurred when anyone borrowed his carriage, be it midnight
or dawn. He maintained a fine discipline. Once his carriage came upon a
lady’s carriage which had got stuck in a deep hole in the road. The
drivers were trying unsuccessfully to haul it out, and were in a great
fury, so he sent over his own men to help beat the ox, which goes to
show how he always made sure his men behaved correctly.
[S29]* I have written in this book things I have seen and thought, in the
long idle hours spent at home, without ever dreaming that others would
see it. Fearing that some of my foolish remarks could well strike others
as excessive and objectionable, I did my best to keep it secret, but
despite all my intentions I’m afraid it has come to light.
Palace Minister Korechika one day presented to the Empress a bundle
of paper. ‘What do you think we could write on this?’ Her Majesty
inquired. ‘They are copying Records of the Historian over at His Majesty’s
court.’
‘This should be a “pillow”,
1
then,’ I suggested.
‘Very well, it’s yours,’ declared Her Majesty, and she handed it over to
me.
I set to work with this boundless pile of paper to fill it to the last sheet
with all manner of odd things, so no doubt there’s much in these pages
that makes no sense.
Overall, I have chosen to write about the things that delight, or that
people find impressive, including poems as well as things such as trees,
plants, birds, insects and so forth, and for this reason people may
criticize it for not living up to expectations and only going to prove the
limits of my own sensibility. But after all, I merely wrote for my personal
amusement things that I myself have thought and felt, and I never
intended that it should be placed alongside other books and judged on a
par with them. I’m utterly perplexed to hear that people who’ve read my
work have said it makes them feel humble in the face of it. Well, there
you are, you can judge just how unimpressive someone is if they dislike
things that most people like, and praise things that others condemn.
Anyway, it does upset me that people have seen these pages.
When Captain of the Left Tsunefusa was still Governor of Ise, he came
to visit me while I was back at home, and my book disconcertingly
happened to be on the mat from the nearby corner that was put out for
him. I scrambled to try and retrieve it, but he carried it off with him, and
kept it for a very long time before returning it.
That seems to have been the moment when this book first became
known – or so it is written.
2
Appendix 1 Places





Appendix 2
People and Where They Appear
This is a list of important people and those who appear more than once
in The Pillow Book, with a brief summary of those appearances. Where
the title (‘Lord’, etc.) is consistently used as part of the name, the name
is given as such. Court nobles and senior courtiers frequently changed
title through promotion, and these are omitted. Dates are given when
known.
Numbers are section numbers.
Akinobu, LordAkinobu no Ason. Takashina Akinobu, Teishi’s maternal
uncle.
94: Sei Shōnagon and her friends visit his country house. 259: Proud of
his family connections.
ChūnagonChūnagon no kimi. A gentlewoman in Teishi’s court.
123: Seen busy at her devotions. 254: Nicknamed ‘Dolly’. 259: Teases Sei
Shōnagon about her special treatment.
Emperor. See Ichijō.
Empress Dowager. See Senshi.
Genshi Fujiwara Genshi (981?–1002). Usually referred to as the Shigeisa (or
Shigeisha), from the name of the palace building she occupied. Younger
sister of Teishi. Became Consort of the Crown Prince Harunomiya (later
Emperor Sanjō)in 995.
85: Provides a Gosechi dancer.
88: Visits Teishi and they discuss musical instruments. 99: Pays a
formal visit to Teishi and her family. 259: Present with her family.
Ichijō(980–1011). Son of Emperor Enyū(see Section 20, note 4). Reigning
Emperor 986–1011, including the period covered by The Pillow Book.
Teishi, his first Empress, was later supplanted by Michinaga’s daughter
Shōshi. Atsuhira (1008–1036), his son by Shōshi, became emperor
Goichijō(reigned 1016–1036). Appears throughout The Pillow Book.
Kamo High Priestess. See Senshi, Princess.
Kishi Takashina Kishi (d. 996). Michitaka’s wife; mother of Teishi,
Korechika, etc.
99: Is present at the grand family gathering. 259: Calls in frequently
while Teishi is living nearby.
Kohyōe. A gentlewoman in Teishi’s court.
82: Gives an imitation of the beggar nun. 85: Is too young and
embarrassed to respond to Sanekata’s poem. 131: Organizes a trick
played on the Emperor’s nurse.
Korechika Fujiwara Korechika (974–1010). Son of Michitaka, Teishi’s
brother. In 996 he and his brother Takaie attacked Retired Emperor
Kazan; they were sent to the provinces, and returned 997. 20: Visits
Teishi. 76: Takes part in a musical recital. 94: Scolds Sei Shōnagon at a
poetry competition. 99: Visits with his son Matsugimi. 123: Presents his
father’s shoes. 176: Embarrasses Sei Shōnagon with flirtatious
questioning when she is new to the court. 259: Takes part in the
Dedication of the Complete Sutras preparations, and is kind to Sei
Shōnagon. 292: Scolds Sei Shōnagon for sleepiness, then pleases her with
poetry. [S29]: Presents Teishi with the paper that will be used for The
Pillow Book.
Masahiro Minamoto Masahiro (975–1015). Chamberlain, 996–9.
53: Makes a fool of himself in the Chamberlain’s roll call. 103: Is
depicted as a laughing-stock.
Michinaga Fujiwara Michinaga (966–1027). Brother and rival of Michitaka.
He seized power after Michitaka’s death.
123: Grudgingly bows before Michitaka. 136: Sei Shōnagon is suspected
of favouring him after he’s seized power and ousted Teishi and her
family from the court.
Michitaka Fujiwara Michitaka (953–995). Regent to Ichijō. Father of Teishi,
Genshi, Yamanoi, Korechika, Takaie, Chikayori and Ryūen. His death
brought about the eclipse of his family at court.
20: Writes a clever poem in his younger days. 32: As a younger man, is
present at the Salvation Lotus Discourses. 99: Plays genial host at the
grand family gathering. 123: Emerges impressively from the Black Door.
176: Visits Teishi’s quarters and jokes with the ladies. 259: Sets up an
artificial cherry tree in new residence for Teishi and visits her.
Mistress of the Imperial Wardrobe Mikushigedono (d. 1002). Younger
sister of Teishi. Known also as Jōganden, from the building where she
normally resided. Commonly referred to by the title of her post. See also
Appendix 6
78: Invites Sei Shōnagon to join her for the night. 222: Makes herbal
balls. 259: Visits Teishi with her father. 293: Sei Shōnagon visits her
apartments.
Murakami (926–967). Reigned 946–67. Emperor Ichijō’s grandfather.
20: Submits his High Consort to a test of Kokinshū poems, in Teishi’s
story. 174: Praises the Lady Chamberlain for her apt poetic response.
Narimasa Minamoto Narimasa (975–1041). A senior courtier.
76: Among the musicians. 79: One of Sei Shōnagon’s confidantes when
she hides at home.
Narimasa Taira Narimasa. Senior Steward in the Empress’s Office. His
home was used for the birth of Teishi’s three children, and was where
she died.
5: Causes hilarity and is teased by Sei Shōnagon when they move to
his house.
Narinobu Minamoto Narinobu (b. 979?). Adopted son of Michinaga. Took
the tonsure at the age of 23.
9: Makes fun of Bishop Jōchō’s height. 255, 256: Can distinguish
people’s voices remarkably well. 273: Sei Shōnagon spurns him on a
rainy night and is chided for it.
Nobukata Minamoto Nobukata (d. 998). A senior courtier.
77: Reports to Sei Shōnagon on the reception of her poem. 154: Is
envious of the jokes that Sei Shōnagon and Tadanobu share. 155: Loses
his temper when Sei Shōnagon teases him.
Norimitsu Tachibana Norimitsu. Apparently Sei Shōnagon’s husband
before she came to court; they subsequently retained a friendly semifamilial relationship.
77: Delighted in his unofficial position as ‘elder brother’ when Sei
Shōnagon’s wit is praised. 79: Fails to understand her wit and poem, and
is spurned by her. 126: Sei Shōnagon jokes about his lack of poetic
understanding.
Ryūen, Bishop(980–1015). Son of Michitaka, younger brother of Teishi.
Became Bishop at the age of 15.
88: Wants to exchange instruments with the Shigeisa. 129: Is impressed
by Yukinari’s poem. 259: Resembles a bodhisattva. 293: His nurse.
SaishōSaishōno kimi. A gentlewoman in Teishi’s court. Known like Sei
Shōnagon for her wit.
20: Performs poorly in a test of poetic memory. 78: Impresses Tadanobu
with a poetic reference. 94: Is rebuked by Teishi after the visit to Lord
Akinobu’s house. 136: Sends a secret message to Sei Shōnagon from
Teishi. 259: Teases Sei Shōnagon about her special treatment. 281: Sends
a message from Teishi.
Sanekata Fujiwara Sanekata (d. 998). Considered the finest poet of his day.
32: Takes part in the teasing during the Salvation Lotus Discourses.
85: Flirts with Kohyōe and sends her a poem.
Seihan (962–999). A priest renowned for his moving sermons.
32: Gives the Salvation Lotus Discourses to the assembled company.
128: Gives the memorial service for Michitaka.
Senshi Fujiwara Senshi (962–1001). Empress Dowager. Mother of Emperor
Ichijō, widow of Emperor Enyū, younger sister of Michitaka.
85: Provides a Gosechi dancer. 103: Is ill. 122: Views her son’s imperial
procession. 259: She and her retinue are present at the Dedication of the
Complete Sutras ceremony.
Senshi, Princess (964–1035). Referred to by the title Kamo High Priestess
(saiin), which she held 975–1031. Daughter of Emperor Murakami. A
talented and highly respected woman with a renowned salon of
gentlewomen.
82: Sends a gift of a hare-wand and poem to Teishi.
Shigeisa. See Genshi.
Shikibu Shikibu no omoto. A gentlewoman in Teishi’s court.
46: She and Sei Shōnagon are surprised by the Emperor and Empress
when they share a room. 273: They share a room.
Tadanobu Fujiwara Tadanobu (967–1035). A senior courtier known for his
erudition and poetic skill.
77: Sei Shōnagon’s witty response wins him back when they have a
falling out. 78: Visits looking splendid. 79: Attempts to learn her
whereabouts. 122: An impressive imperial message-bearer. 128: Sei
Shōnagon teasingly resists his advances. 154: He and Sei Shōnagon share
private jokes. 189: Wears a wonderful incense.
Tadataka Minamoto Tadataka.
6: One of the Chamberlains who deal with the dog Okinamaro. 82:
Disappoints Sei Shōnagon by declining to respond to her poem about the
snow mountain.
Takaie Fujiwara Takaie (979–1044). Son of Michitaka, younger brother of
Korechika, Teishi’s brother. In 996 he and Korechika attacked Retired
Emperor Kazan; they were sent to the provinces, and returned 997.
97: Reports excitedly on fan ribs. 99: Is present at the family gathering.
259: Accompanies Sei Shōnagon at the Dedication of the Complete
Sutras.
Teishi Fujiwara Teishi (977–1000). Eldest daughter of Michitaka and Kishi.
Entered the court as a consort of Emperor Ichijō at the age of 13, was
subsequently elevated to Empress, and bore him 3 children. Owing to
the sudden decline in family fortunes, she took the tonsure in 997.
Appears throughout The Pillow Book.
Tsunefusa Minamoto Tsunefusa (969–1023). Senior courtier.
76: Among the musicians. 79: Is let in on Sei Shōnagon’s whereabouts.
129: Reports Yukinari’s praise to Sei Shōnagon. 136: Visits her in
voluntary exile. [S29]: Is inadvertently given an early version of The
Pillow Book.
UkonUkon no Naishi. A gentlewoman in Emperor Ichijō’s court, known for
her wit.
6: Is called in to identify the dog Okinamaro. 82: Is intrigued at the tale
of Hitachi no Suke. 95: Plays the biwa. 221: Teishi tells her of a witty
exchange with Sei Shōnagon.
Yamanoi Fujiwara Michiyori (971–995). Michitaka’s eldest son; half brother
of Teishi, Korechika, etc.
99: Escorts the Emperor from the family gathering. 123: Is among those
present to welcome the Regent. 259: Makes a racy remark.
Yorisada Minamoto Yorisada (977–1020). Grandson of Emperor Murakami.
42: Sei Shōnagon laments his appearance as Board of Censors Officer.
130: Among the men who flee when Sei Shōnagon responds too wittily to
their challenge.
Yukinari Fujiwara Yukinari (972–1027). A senior courtier.
46: He and Sei Shōnagon have a special relationship. 126: Sends her
heitan cakes. 129: They have a witty and flirtatious exchange.
130: Stays behind to talk to Sei Shōnagon when his companions flee.
Appendix 3
Time
The months of the old Japanese calendar did not coincide with the
western calendar. The old Japanese calendar was largely based on the
lunar cycle, and the full moon was the fifteenth day of each month. The
new year began on the first day of spring (still celebrated in China),
generally February in the Julian calendar. The Japanese calendar was
borrowed from China, together with a complex application of the twelve
zodiacal signs (rat, ox, tiger, rabbit, dragon, snake, horse, ram, monkey,
cock, dog, boar) that designated not only years, but also the days of each
month, directions and hours, and that was often used for divination.
The months had individual names, but were frequently referred to by
number, as in this translation. The four seasons were: spring 1–3,
summer 4–6, autumn 7–9, winter 10–12. (A lunar month is between one
and two months ahead of the number of that month in our Julian
calendar, i.e. the first Japanese month falls in our February–March, etc.)
There were several ways to refer to the days of the month. The most
usual method by number. Thus the fourth day of the seventh month of
998 is written as 998.7.4.
The day was divided into twelve hours, named after the zodiacal signs,
each approximately 120 minutes long. The day began at midnight with
the Hour of the Rat (11 p.m.– 1 a.m.), and proceeded through the zodiac
cycle to end with the Hour of the Boar (9–11 p.m.). Noon was at the
Hour of the Horse.
A child was deemed to be one year old at the first new year after its
birth. Thus, given ages differed by between one and twelve months from
the method of calculation with which Westerners are familiar.
Zodiac Hour Names and Associated Directions
Outer Circle: Zodiac Names, Quarters, Semi-quarters Second Circle:
Modern Hours

Appendix 4
Glossary of General Terms
See also Court Ranks, Titles and Bureaucracy (Appendix 5) and Clothes
and Colour Glossary (Appendix 6)
Dates for Festivals are given with month number followed by day.
abstinence monoimi A period (generally a day) of forced seclusion and
taboos to avoid evil influences, etc., prescribed by Yin-Yang divination.
abstinence tag monoimi no fuda A label attached to the hat to signify that
one was currently under abstinence taboo, if leaving the house for
some special reason.
aisle / aisle room hisashi / hisashi no ma The area, one bay wide,
surrounding and a step lower than the Inner Chamber of a house. It
was covered by a deep-eave roof, and beyond it lay the veranda (also
roofed), which was generally divided from it by blinds or shutters. It
served both as corridor and also frequently as sleeping quarters for
gentlewomen, etc., in which case it was generally divided by standing
screens or curtains into sections that served as separate apartments,
leaving a narrow corridor down one side. When so divided also called
Long Room.
aoi A plant with heart-shaped leaves, sacred to the Kamo shrines. The
leaves were used extensively during the Kamo Festival as decorations
for carriages, hair ornaments (traced back to a divine precedent), pillars,
etc.
apartment tsubone A ‘room’ created by enclosing a space with standing
curtains, screens or other partitions, and generally located in the
residence’s aisle. More specifically, such a room designated for the
personal use of one or more gentlewomen when not on duty: see also
Long Room.
Appointments List jimoku Imperial appointments to new posts were
announced twice a year. Those for Provincial Governorsh (Appendix
5) and other provincial appointments were made in spring (the first
three days of the year), and those for palace positions in autumn.
archbishop sōjō Effectively the supreme head of the hierarchy of a
Buddhist sect.
attendant toneri A serving man in ranking households, who performed a
variety of duties.
basketwork carriage ajiro Woven of reeds or bamboo strips, this carriage
was less elaborate than the formal palm-leaf carriage, and was used by
people of lesser rank or by senior nobles on less formal occasions.
baton shaku A long, flat, tapering piece of wood, rounded at the top, that
a court official held upright before him on ceremonial occasions.
bay ma The space between two structural pillars of a building used as a
more or less standard unit of length (about 10 feet). It could also denote
a room.
bishop sōzu Immediately below the archbishop in a Buddhist sect’s
hierarchy.
biwa A four-stringed instrument of the lute family, played by plucking
with a wide plectrum. (In Chinese, pipa.)
Black Door The door at the north-east corner of the Seiryōden. When
Teishi was visiting the Emperor, her allotted room was next to this door,
and her gentlewomen spent much of their time in the Long Room
adjacent to it.
blind sudare / misu Fine hanging blinds of reed or split bamboo that could
be rolled up. They were hung from the upper lintels at the outer sides of
the Inner Chamber and the aisle. See p. 28.
Blue Roans Festival aouma no sechie (1.7) This palace festival originated
in China. Special white horses (originally rare blue roans) were paraded
before the Emperor and his entourage in the palace grounds. The sight
of these horses was believed to protect against evil influences in the
coming year.
Bo Juyi Hakurakuten Chinese poet (772 –846) whose work was immensely
popular in Japan during this period. See also Song of Everlasting
Sorrow.
bound book sōshi A collection of folded pages sewn together along one
edge to form a book (as distinct from the rolled paper scroll).
brazier hioke A wooden tub lined with metal, which held a charcoal fire in
a deep bed of insulating ash. Its outer surface was often highly
decorated. The only method of heating in buildings. Varieties included
footed (hibitsu), long or rectangular (nagasubitsu), and square (subitsu).
Breakfast Room asagarei Room to the north of the Table Room in the
Emperor’s residence, where his breakfast was served.
bridgeway watadono A short roofed gallery that connected the main
building and a wing. It could be either open or walled, and sometimes
included apartments, such as those for gentlewomen.
bush clover hagi A bush, commonly found in gardens, with delicate
hanging branches, clover-like leaves and racemes of reddish purple or
white flowers from late summer to autumn. See also Appendix 6.
cabinet (mi)zushi An elegant storage chest with hinged doors, sometimes
topped with one or more shelves.
capital miyako The usual term for Heian-kyō (present-day Kyoto), whose
centre was the imperial palace, site of the Emperor’s residence and the
seat of government in Japan.
carriage kuruma The usual form of transport, consisting of an enclosed
box on two large wheels, generally seating up to four, which was
boarded from the rear, with front and sometimes side windows covered
by blinds, beneath which a lady’s sleeves or train could be displayed. It
was drawn by an ox. See also basketwork carriage, Chinese-style
carriage and palm-leaf carriage.
Chinese eave karabisashi An eave whose wide fronting board was curved
in imitation of the Chinese style.
Chinese-style carriage karaguruma The largest and most ornate carriage
reserved for the use of the imperial family and high-ranking dignitaries.
It had Chinese eaves, and the inner blinds and other furnishings were
also decorated in the Chinese style. See p. 223.
Chrysanthemum Festival kiku no sekku (9.9)A palace festival.
Chrysanthemums were associated with long life and good fortune. The
Emperor offered ritual chrysanthemum wine to his courtiers on this day.
Among the general populace, cotton wadding was spread over
chrysanthemum flowers the night before, and the dew thus collected
was wiped over the body to protect from the ills of old age.
clubmoss hikage A small, moss-like fern whose long stems spread over the
ground. It was used as a hair decoration during the banquets associated
with Season-change days.
Complete Sutras issaikyō The entire Buddhist canon (1,597 scrolls all
told) was copied and dedicated as a pious gesture on special occasions.
Crafts Workshop tsukumodokoro A subsidiary of the Chamberlains’
Office (Appendix 5), responsible for making furniture and other
household objects.
curtained dais michōdai A raised dais, roofed and hung with curtains on
three sides, that stood in the Inner Chamber of the house. It served as
both bed and sitting area for the household head.
cushion shitone A square of padded cotton or soft straw matting, often
edged with decorative cloth, that was placed on the floor for sitting or
sleeping. See also straw cushion.
Dance of the Heavenly Maidens See Gosechi Festival.
darani incantations darani Phrases endowed with magical and thus
mystical powers, chanted during Tantric Buddhist ceremonies, invoking
various deities. They derived from Sanskrit words, and were thus
incomprehensible to everyone, the intoner included.
decorated paper shikishi Paper dyed or printed in a pale colour (including
white), which was used for writing poetry and letters.
dedicatory prayer ganmon A petition stating the intention of a ritual
ceremony, either Buddhist or dedicated to a native deity.
deutzia u no hana A shrub frequently used in hedges. It has sprays of
white flowers in early summer. See also Appendix 6.
directional taboo katatagae Yin-Yang divination dictated that at specific
times, certain directions must be avoided. This meant that, in the case of
travel, a direction was temporarily ‘blocked’ and one must change one’s
course and spend time elsewhere (perhaps as a guest who was to be
treated generously) until the taboo no longer pertained. Particular
directional taboos were associated with the Season-change times of
year.
double doors tsumado Double-panelled wooden doors opening outwards
near the four corners of a building. They were held closed with metal
latches on the inside. See p. 56.
drapes katabira The trailing cloth pieces of standing curtains. The same
word was used for summer under-robe (Appendix 6).
Eastern Dances azuma asobi Dances and musical accompaniment
originating in the Eastern Provinces but adopted and modified by the
court. Four or six dancers performed to the accompaniment of flutes and
koto. These performances played an important role in Shinto festivals,
most importantly the Kamo and Yahata Provisional Festivals (see
Provisional Festivals).
escort guards zuijin Attendants who accompanied the carriage of a
prestigious person.
exorcism See spirit.
exorcist priest genza A practitioner, often a mountain ascetic associated
with Tantric (esoteric) Buddhism, who played an important role in
Heian life by performing incantations and prayers to avert disaster or
cure illness (see also spirit).
fasting sōji(n) A form of religious practice that constituted abstinence
from meat and alcohol, together with chanting of Buddhist sutras.
Festivals The main events that delineated the year at court were the
numerous festivals and observances. There were many more than appear
in The Pillow Book, often consisting of rituals centring on the Emperor,
but which did not impinge on the lives of gentlewomen. Some of the
festivals were connected to the great Shinto shrines. Others were based
on what were originally folk beliefs, often inherited from China,
concerning the pervasive presence of evil spirits that could cause illness
and misfortune. Observances were strongly associated with the seasons
and particularly with season-change days, which were held to be
inauspicious.
fire hut hitakiya A small hut in the palace courtyard used by the palace
guards for their fire.
fire tongs hibashi A pair of long metal chopsticks used for arranging
charcoal and tending the fire in braziers.
First Fruits Festival niinamesai (mid-11) An important festival occurring
over several days and commencing on the second Day of the Hare. Its
ritual importance was for the Emperor to make dedicatory offerings of
the first fruits of the harvest and partake of them. Its main attraction for
those at court was the Gosechi Festival.
folded paper tatōgami All-purpose paper folded in half and carried by men
and women in the breast of the robe, for everyday use.
Fubokushō A private poetry collection completed around 1310, which
includes many poems whose source is otherwise unknown. Title in full:
Fubokuwakashō.
gagaku Courtly song and music, derived from early folk songs.
gallery rō A roofed passageway, that linked buildings, and sometimes
contained rooms.
gentlewoman nyōbō A woman from a good family who served in a great
household or in a palace court. Also called simply ‘ladies’ in this
translation.
go A popular board game, played with numerous small black and white
counters or ‘stones’ by two people seated at a low go table.
Gosechi Festival A popular court event in which four or sometimes five
young girls, usually chosen from court noble and senior courtier
families, performed dances before the court. They and their attendants
were housed in special rooms in the Jōneiden during the elaborate
ceremonies, which included a formal rehearsal before the Emperor
several days before the culminating performance of the Dance of the
Heavenly Maidens at the final banquet, on the last day of the First
Fruits Festival.
Gosenshū An imperial poetry collection compiled in 1312, which is the
only source for a number of poems. Title in full: Gosenwakashū.
Greater Sutra on the Perfection of Wisdom daihannya-kyō A
compilation of the hannya (wisdom) sutras consisting of 600 fascicles.
Great Sutra Readings midokyō A ceremony held biannually (spring and
autumn) in the palace and at other great households, in which a large
gathering of monks chanted the Greater Sutra on the Perfection of
Wisdom over the course of four days. An imperial abstinence was
observed at court on the eve of the final day.
half-panel shutter See lattice shutter.
hare-mallet uzuchi A four-inch stick of peach wood decorated with long
coloured threads, hung in rooms on the first Day of the Hare in the new
year to ward off evil spirits. Hare-wands (uzue) were similarly decorated
poles about 5 feet long, also used for the same magical purpose on this
day.
hare-wand See hare-mallet.
Hase (Temple) hase / hatsuse / hasedera An important temple south of
Nara, devoted to the worship of Kannon, and a very popular pilgrimage
destination. It is on a hill, and the approach, today as in the Heian
period, is a long, steep covered stairway.
Heian period heian jidai The name of the historical period from 794 to
roughly the end of the twelfth century.
herbal balls kusudama Small bags containing herbs and decorated with
flowers and coloured threads, that were hung in rooms for the Sweet
Flag Festival, as protection against evil spirits. See p. 88.
hichiriki A small, shrill reed flute.
high tray tsuigasane A footed tray with shelf beneath, for serving food.
Holy Adept azari / ajari A distinguished priest of one of the Tantric
(esoteric) Buddhist sects, expert at performing rites to avert disasters
and to cure illness with the power of incantation and ritual.
hototogisu A small cuckoo (Cuculus poliocephalus), whose call is associated
with early summer. There was a particular poetic pleasure in hearing its
first call of the season, and expeditions were sometimes organized to
this end.
Ichijō Palace Ichijō-in This temporary palace was set up after a fire in the
imperial palace in 999; also known as the Temporary Palace (imadairi.)
Its different orientation caused confusion in palace naming conventions
that used directional terms.
imayō Literally ‘songs in the modern style’. Popular in the court at the
time, they generally consisted of four verses in the seven–five syllable
style.
Imperial Day Chamber hi no omashi The room in the Seiryōden which
the Emperor occupied during the day.
inauspicious days kuenichi Days deemed unlucky by Yin-Yang divination,
during which a number of taboos applied. Between three and fourteen
days in any month were deemed ‘inauspicious’, too many for people to
keep thorough track of them.
inkstone suzuri A utensil made of fine black stone on which the inkstick
(sumi) is ground with water to produce ink for brush writing. The
inkstone was part of a set of calligraphy implements contained in a
decorated lacquer box (suzuribako).
inner blinds shitasudare Long blinds that hung inside and protruded
beneath the blinds at the front and rear of a carriage.
Inner Chamber moya The large central area of a building, a step higher
than the surrounding aisle, was the main residential space, and could be
divided into a smaller and a larger room. The perimeter could be
partially or completely partitioned off from the aisle with blinds,
standing curtains or sliding panels.
Iwashimizu Hachiman Shrine iwashimizu hachimangū A large shrine in
Yahata, to the south of the city, associated with the imperial family. Site
of the Yahata Provisional Festival (see Provisional Festivals).
Iyo blinds iyosu Rough blinds made of woven bamboo.
kagura A combination of music and dance performed as a sacred Shinto
rite to celebrate the gods.
Kamo Festival / the Festival kamo matsuri (mid-4) The main Shinto
festival of the year, held on the second day of the Bird in the fourth
month. Often referred to simply as ‘the Festival’. The great procession,
which wound through the streets to the Kamo Shrine, where ceremonies
were performed, was hugely popular, and members of the court flocked
in their carriages to observe it. The following day, people could observe
the procession for the Return of the High Priestess of the Kamo Shrine
(matsuri no kaesa), who returned to her sacred residence after the
ceremonies were over.
Kamo High Priestess saiin The High Priestess of the two Kamo Shrines in
the capital, chosen from among the Emperor’s virgin daughters and
other close relations. In The Pillow Book the title refers to Emperor
Murakami’s daughter Senshi (Appendix 2).
Kannon A bodhisattva (a form of buddha dedicated to the salvation of all)
who embodies compassion. The temples at Kiyomizu and Hase were
important centres of worship for Kannon.
Kazuraki (god of) kazuraki no kami The god Hitokonushi, local to the
Kazuraki area (near present-day Nara). According to legend, he would
only agree to a holy ascetic’s request to build a stone bridge between
two holy mountains if he could work at night, in order to hide his ugly
face.
kin A seven-stringed version of the koto from China, particularly difficult
to master. It was somewhat unfashionable by the time of The Pillow
Book.
Ki no Tsurayuki An important early poet (868?–945?), who helped to
compile the Kokinshū.
knotted letter See letter.
Kokin rokujō A large poetry collection compiled in or before 987, which is
the only source for many of the poems quoted in The Pillow Book. Title
in full: Kokin waka rokujō.
Kokinshū An important collection of approximately 1,100 ‘poems old and
new’, compiled at imperial command in the early tenth century. Deep
familiarity with it formed the basis for the important skill of poetic
allusion at the court in subsequent periods. Title in full: Kokinwakashū.
Kōrai matting kōrai(beri) A thin woven mat whose decorative cloth
edging consisted of a white ground with a cloud or chrysanthemum
design woven through it in black.
Korean dogs komainu A pair of statues of fancifully ornate lion-like dogs,
believed to repel demons, were placed as guardians on either side of
Shinto shrine gates, and also before such places as the curtained dais in
important households.
koto The general term for a stringed instrument much like the modern
instrument of that name. It consisted of a long wooden sounding-board
with a varying numbers of strings, which the player knelt on the floor to
play. Versions of the koto were named according to the number of their
strings (see kin, thirteen-stringed koto and wagon).
lacquer design makie Lacquer over which is sprinkled gold or silver
powder to create elegant pictures and designs, commonly seen on boxes
and other household utensils.
lattice fence tatejitomi Free-standing open-work panels backed with wood,
which were generally used as a screen between house and garden. See p.
61.
lattice shutter kōshi Lacquered, open-work wood panels stood between
pillars to divide off living areas or along the outside of a building. The
upper half, hung from a lintel, could be hooked back or removed
entirely. The half-panel shutter (hajitomi) was the upper half of a lattice
shutter, which could be independently lifted and hooked up.
Left Division guardhouse saemonfu The guardhouse of the Left Division
Palace Guards (Appendix 5) was situated directly outside the Office of
the Empress’s Household.
letter fumi Letters varied from official documents to private messages
between acquaintances or lovers, and were delivered by messenger.
Private ones frequently contained or consisted of a poem, and were
commonly attached to a sprig of an appropriate plant or other object
(see also next-morning letter), and sealed with a covering brush stroke.
The choice of paper was important, as was calligraphy. They were
folded when sent: the knotted letter (musubibumi) was knotted in the
middle, while the formal straight-folded letter (tatebumi) was wrapped
in white paper whose ends were bent.
lintel cloth mokō A narrow cloth panel that hung from the upper lintel
(uwanageshi) or along the top of a blind.
Litany of Buddha Names butsumyō A service held 12.19 –21, when the
names of the buddhas of the three worlds were chanted, to pray for the
extinction of sins.
little aisle kobisashi A small anteroom aisle that was part of the aisle.
long box nagabitsu A large, rectangular, legged box with lid. See
p. 95. Long Room hosodono The name sometimes given to the aisle or
gallery containing the apartments of the gentlewomen.
Lotus Discourses hakō / hoke hakō A ceremonial series of discourses held
over four days, in which a succession of priests held formal debates on
the eight fascicles of the Lotus Sutra. This could also be arranged by a
member of the nobility on a special occasion such as the dedication of a
new building.
Lotus Sutra hokekyō The most important of the Buddhist texts in Tendai
Buddhism. Its full title is ‘Sutra of the Lotus of the Marvellous Law’. The
sutra itself and its numerous parables played a key role in lay
understanding of the Buddhist teaching.
Manyōshū The earliest of the imperial poetry collections, in 20 volumes,
whose final compiler is believed to have been Ōtomo Yakamochi (d.
785).
mat tatami A large, thick woven straw mat, edged with decorated cloth,
that was placed on the floor for seating. See p. 112.
meal-stand kakeban A low, four-legged individual lacquer table used for
serving meals.
Michinoku paper michinoku(ni)-gami Soft, thick high-quality paper from
Michinoku (northern Japan), made from mulberry bark, and used for
letters and notes, or for wrapping.
Miyanobe Festival A Yin-Yang festival to ensure long life and prosperity,
celebrated twice a year, in the twelfth and the first months.
morning letter See next-morning letter.
Motomego’ From the Eastern Dances. See p. 185.
mountain ascetic yamabushi A Buddhist practitioner who performed
rigorous ascetic practices in sacred mountain areas. See also exorcist
priest.
mudguards ōri Long leather flaps that hung on each side of a saddled
horse.
New Year’s Day gantan (1.1) The first day of the year coincided
calendrically with the first day of spring. Important ceremonies were
held at court, and there were formal exchanges of New Year
felicitations.
next-morning letter kinuginu no fumi It was customary for a man who had
spent the night with a woman to send her a letter, generally consisting
of a poem, the following morning. This was attached to a suitable
seasonal spray of flowers or leaves, etc., frequently one which echoed or
added a further dimension to the imagery of the poem. See p. 177. See
also letter.
night watch tonoi Remaining on guard duty through the night to guard
the premises and its occupants.
‘nine-fold palace’ kokonoe A poetic term for the imperial palace that
suggests its vast expanse.
nurse menoto The child of an important family was put in the charge of a
nurse, or wetnurse. Their close relationship generally continued into
adulthood.
Office of State kan no tsukasa An administrative building (also known as
daijōkan-chō) in the greater palace grounds.
Office of the Empress’s Household shiki no mizōshi The living quarters in
the building that housed the office devoted to the needs of the Empress
and her court (chūgūshiki). Teishi made frequent use of it as a
temporary residence. It was situated directly outside the eastern gate of
the inner palace compound, through which senior courtiers, etc.,
frequently passed.
Old Bamboo Cutter, The taketori monogatari An early tale (c. 960) of a
bamboo cutter who finds a tiny girl in a bamboo stem. She grows up
beautiful, is wooed by the Emperor and other nobles and returns to her
home, the moon.
onion-flower finial nagi no hana A ball with pointed tip, resembling the
bud of an onion flower, that frequently crowned the roof of a
palanquin. See p. 225.
saka barrier gate Ōsaka no seki The first barrier gate to be crossed when
leaving the capital travelling east. Important in poetry for the traditional
association of the name (literally ‘meeting slope’) with lovers’ meetings
– generally ones that were fraught with difficulty.
page boys kodoneri warawa Boys under the age of about thirteen who
accompanied and served important men.
palace dairi / uchi A general term referring to the walled compound of
buildings that comprised the imperial court and its administrative and
ceremonial functions. The ‘inner palace’ (also called dairi) contained the
residences of the Emperor and his consorts, while the ‘greater palace’
(daidairi) surrounded it and consisted of administrative buildings.
palace festivals sechie Occurred at the change of season and at other
times. A public banquet was held, at which the Emperor made ritual
gifts of food and drink to his courtiers. They include: New Year’s Day,
Blue Roans, Peach, Sweet Flag and Chrysanthemum Festivals.
palanquin mikoshi A conveyance consisting of a box held aloft on poles
borne by porters, in which a god is transported during a shrine festival.
It was also the customary mode of travel for the Emperor or other highranking members of the imperial family. See p. 225.
palm-leaf carriage birōge An elegant carriage thatched with fine strips of
palm leaf, used by the nobility on official occasions. See p. 31.
Peach Festival momo no sekku (3.3) Held at high spring. Observances
included the Winding Waters Banquet and a display of dolls.
plume grass susuki / obana A grass that produces a tall plumed seed-head,
similar to that of the pampas grass, in early autumn.
Privy Chamber tenjōno ma The room in the Seiryōden where the senior
courtiers and court nobles gathered when on duty.
Provisional Festivals rinji no matsuri Shrine festivals at the Kamo Shrine
(11) and the Iwashimizu Hachiman Shrine (known as the Yahata
Provisional Festival) (3). The name was used to distinguish the first
from the main Kamo Festival. Both included music and dance
performances by court nobles, which were viewed by the Emperor and
others at the palace in the Rehearsal of Performance.
provisions bag ebukuro A bag used for carrying food when travelling.
railing kōran A low railing that ran along the outer edge of the veranda.
Records of the Historian shiki (Chinese Shiji) The official history of China
through the Early Han dynasty, completed by Sima Qian in 91 BC. It
played an important role in the education of the Heian aristocracy.
reed blinds See blind.
Rehearsal of Performance See Provisional Festivals. Retreat Room
nurigome A small walled room within the Inner
Chamber that served as a storeroom or occasionally for sleeping.
Return of the High Priestess See Kamo Festival.
saibara Folk songs from the eighth century adopted by the Heian
aristocracy as part of its musical repertoire.
sakaki A low evergreen tree with glossy leaves, sacred to Shinto shrines.
saké pot hisage A lacquered pot with a handle, similar to a teapot, used
for serving sake.
screen byōbu A folding type of movable partition used inside buildings,
with two to six hinged wooden panels whose surface was covered with
paper or silk and decorated with paintings. See p. 107. See also
standing curtains.
screening fence suigaki / suigai An open-weave fence of wood or bamboo
slats, which afforded a limited view.
Season-change days setsubun The day when a new season was
calendrically determined to begin was considered to be particularly
inauspicious. It was associated with directional taboos and other rituals
to protect from evil influences.
secondary aisle magobisashi / matabisashi A smaller aisle that was
sometimes added on the outside of the main aisle.
Seiryōden The Emperor’s private residence, linked by galleries to the
other buildings of the inner palace compound, including the residences
of the Empress and other consorts.
serving table daiban A low, footed lacquered tray-table, on which food on
meal-stands was served.
serving tray oshiki A flat, square serving tray with a low rim.
shaft stand shiji A stool on which carriage shafts were rested when the
carriage was parked, and also used as a step when boarding.
Shinto shintō A general term signifying the worship of native Japanese
gods, associated with shrines, as distinguished from the Buddhist
religion, associated with temples.
shō A wind instrument similar to a panpipe, with a varying number of
pipes, that was played in court music.
shrine yashiro A place of worship for one or more of the Shinto gods.
Shū ishū A mid-Heian imperial poetry collection, compiled 1005–1011.
Title in full: Shūiwakashū.
shutter See lattice shutter.
sliding door yarido A single-panelled sliding wooden door. See p. 202.
sliding panel sōji / shōji A light sliding partition between rooms, usually
covered with paper. Equivalent to the modern fusuma. See p. 10.
Song of Everlasting Sorrow chōgonka (Chinese Changhenge) A long poem
by Bo Juyi. See also Section 34, note 2.
spirit mononoke The tormented spirit of someone living or dead was
believed to be capable of possessing a person and causing illness or
madness. This could be cured by exorcism, in which an exorcist priest
used incantations to draw the spirit out into a medium, force it to
express its grievance and banish it.
standing curtain kichō Trailing drapes hung from a portable frame, in
several different heights. They were the most common of the movable
temporary partitions (see also screen) used to delineate living spaces
within a building. See p. 52.
standing lamp tōdai An oil lamp on a thin stand of varying height. See p.
116.
standing screen. See screen.
standing tray takatsuki A flat tray raised on a central leg and wide base.
straight-folded letter See letter.
straw cushion warōdo / warōda A round flat cushion of woven straw.
sugoroku A board game with two players; its primary aim was to remove
all a player’s pieces (known as ‘horses’) from the board as quickly as
possible with throws of the dice. See p. 147.
summer fan kawahori Literally ‘bat’, owing to its wing shape. A hinged
fan of folding paper on plain bamboo or lacquer ribs.
sutra kyō A Buddist text, which could be treated as having magical powers
when intoned.
sweet flag sōbu A water reed with long, iris-like strap leaves. See also
Sweet Flag Festival.
Sweet Flag Festival ayame no sekku / tango no sekku (5.5) An important
palace festival held on one of the inauspicious season-change days.
Leaves of the sweet-flag plant, as well as wormwood, were spread on
roofs and used decoratively to ward off evil, and a special banquet was
held. Herbal balls were also hung in buildings as further protection.
Table Room daibandokoro Room used by gentlewomen for preparing food
to be served to the Emperor, and also as a general sitting room.
Tale of the Hollow Tree, The utsuho monogatari A lengthy (20 volumes)
and very popular anonymous tenth-century tale, which centres on the
fortunes of the two rivals, Nakatada and Suzushi. Much of the tale
concerns the possession of extraordinary skills in playing the kin. See
also Section 78, note 5.
Tales of Ise Ise monogatari An influential early-tenth-century anony mous
collection of tales of a lover’s exploits. It is built around poems, many of
which were composed by Ariwara Narihira (825 –880).
Tanabata Festival tanabata-sai (7.7) A palace festival, inherited from
China, celebrating the yearly meeting in the heavens of the celestial
lovers, the Weaver Star (Vega) and the Herdsman Star (Altair), who
cross a bridge to meet briefly on this night.
temple tera A building or group of buildings devoted to Buddhist worship.
Temples were frequently sites of pilgrimage, and the larger ones could
contain accommodation for pilgrims.
Temporary Palace See IchijŌPalace.
thin paper usuyō A thin, delicate paper often used for letters.
thirteen-stringed koto sō /shō no koto A thirteen-stringed version of the
koto.
threshold nageshi A long wooden beam which formed the step down from
the Inner Chamber to the surrounding aisle, and another from aisle to
veranda. Nageshi was also used for the equivalent panels that ran
between pillars at ceiling level.
thunder guards kaminari no jin Guards assigned to defend the Emperor’s
residence if there were three claps of thunder.
Tōkaden The usual residence of Teishi and her court inside the inner
palace grounds.
tonsure, taking the shukke Literally ‘leaving the world’, an act of formal
dedication to the religious life, which involved either shaving the head
completely or cutting the hair symbolically short, and donning religious
robes. Although this could signify a heartfelt commitment and entry into
a temple or monastery, in court circles it was more often the equivalent
of a retirement from worldly duties, either owing to advancing age or to
a crisis in one’s career, and did not necessarily involve total retreat from
the world.
uguisu A small bird whose beautiful spring song played a prominent role
in poetry. In summer, the song becomes a drawn-out, wavery repetition
of three notes.
vajra, single-pointed A short carved metal stick with pointed ends,
associated in tantric Buddhism with the power to defeat evil delusions
and induce salvation, and commonly used for spirit transference. See p.
253. Other variants, have three or more prongs at, both ends.
veranda sunoko A narrow balcony of wood or bamboo, generally enclosed
by a railing, that comprised the outer edge of a building, over which the
eave extended. A threshold put it on a lower level from the aisle.
wagon A six-stringed version of the koto.
Wakan rōeishū (Japanese and Chinese Poems to Sing). A collection made c.
1012 by Fujiwara Kintō (966 –1041), of Chinese and Japanese poetry. It
was the primary source for quotations of Chinese poetry in the court.
The poems could be intoned in a specific poetry-chanting style.
water iris kakitsubata An iris that grows in shallow water. It bears purple
or white flowers in early summer.
Winding Waters Banquet (3.3) This ceremony included the ritual of
floating cups down a winding stream in a garden, while the participants
seated beside it composed a poem before a floating cup reached them.
wing tai A separate building connected to the main house by bridgeways. Typically, there were east and west wings.
wood-grain pattern kuchiki kata A formalized dye pattern that imitates
the rough grain of water-weathered wood. It was commonly seen in the
decorative cloth used in furnishings, such as the drapes of standing
curtains.
wormwood yomogi A weed commonly found in an overgrown garden.
Together with sweet-flag leaves, it was strewn during the Sweet Flag
Festival.
Yahata Provisional Festival See Provisional Festivals.
Yin-Yang master onmyōji A professional practitioner of geomantic and
other Yin-Yang divination (onmyō dō), based on a complex system
inherited from China. See p. 239.
Young Herbs, Festival of (1.7) Seven types of ‘herb’ were gathered and
eaten in a ritual meal to ward off evil and illness. The tradition
originated in China. This was also the day for the official Conferment of
one of the twice-yearly promotions at court. On the following morning
the recipients did the rounds of associates and benefactors in their
carriages to thank them officially for their support, and to receive
congratulations.
Appendix 5
Court Ranks, Titles and Bureaucracy
A courtier’s rank and title were of vital importance. Men were
commonly referred to by title rather than by name, except by their
superiors. (I have considerably modified this usage to avoid confusion
for the reader.) Ladies at court were generally referred to by the title of a
male relative, although they had a very limited ranking system.
Rank began at the top with the first, the bottom rank being the ninth.
Ranks were subdivided into senior and junior, and (below the third
rank) upper and lower grades of these. The three highest ranks were
designated court nobles, and were members of the Council of State.
Fourth- and fifth-ranking men comprised the group known as senior
courtiers. Some among these (along with the court nobles) were
generally granted the prestigious honour of access to the Privy Chamber
(see Appendix 4) in the Emperor’s residence. Senior courtiers were the
men with whom gentlewomen at the palace most frequently consorted.
Special access to the Privy Chamber was also granted to Chamberlains
of the sixth rank, whose role it was personally to attend the Emperor.
Men of the sixth to ninth ranks were designated as ‘lower-ranking’ (jige),
and were considered insignificant. Rank was to a great degree dependent
on birth, although promotion also sometimes involved a rise in rank,
since offices were generally associated with specific ranks.
Offices, and their attendant titles, were the focus of intense
competition in the twice-yearly Appointments Lists, although their
importance was entirely a matter of prestige, and the actual work was
largely performed by lower-ranking men. One peculiarity of the system
was that certain more high-ranking offices commonly involved dual
appointments: thus, the title Secretary Controller identified the holder as
both Secretary in the Chamberlains’ Office and Controller in the
Controllers’ Office.
The titles ‘Left’ and ‘Right’ also frequently occur. These mirror the
traditional categories inherited from the Chinese system, which pictures
those who serve the Emperor as seated to his left (east) and right (west)
as he faces south surveying the nation. Left was considered slightly more
prestigious than Right. (The left/right system of categorization can also
be seen in many other situations, such as poetry and other
competitions.) Most offices were held by more than one man.
The translation of titles is necessarily arbitrary, since no similar
system exists in English. I have largely followed Royall Tyler’s terms,
with certain modifications. For a detailed treatment of the full
complexities of rank and office, see A Tale of Flowering Fortunes, trans.
William H. and Helen Craig McCullough, Appendix A.
Acting gon An addition to the names of certain offices (Counsellor, etc.), in
order to increase the number of possible incumbents. Adviser jijū A
junior official of the lower fifth rank under the Bureau of Central
Affairs.
Aide of Ceremonial shikibu no jō / zō A posting of the third level in the
Bureau of Ceremonial. If a man of the fifth rank occupied this usually
sixth-ranking post, his title was Commissioner of Ceremonial (shikibu no
taifu).
Appointments List See Appendix 4.
Board of Censors danjōdai Officially monitored the conduct of those
employed at the palace.
Bureau of Central Affairs nakatsukasashō The most important of the
bureaus, in charge of general administration of the palace. Its minister
was in particularly close contact with the Emperor, and was frequently
an imperial prince.
Bureau of Ceremonial shikibushō The administrative Bureau that dealt
with procedures at court ceremonies.
Bureau of Clothing nuidono The office that provided the clothing for the
inhabitants of the palace.
Bureau of War hyōbushō The administrative bureau for military affairs
and equipment, which in practice did little beyond training contestants
for the court’s archery competitions.
Captain of the Left Gate Watch sahyōe no kami A fourth-ranking post in
the Gate Watch.
Captain of the Palace Guards chū jō Literally ‘Middle Captain’, the
second of three ranks of Captain. A prized title usually held by a young
man of high-ranking family, concurrently with another office such as
Secretary.
Captain Third Rank sanmi no chū jō A special designation for a Captain
whose rank was third rather than the usual fourth.
Chamberlain kurō do An official in the Chamberlains’ Office of the fifth
or sixth rank, who personally served the Emperor and thus was afforded
special privileges above his rank. These included entry to the Privy
Chamber (Appendix 4) and permission to wear forbidden fabrics and
colours, particularly the special olive-green reserved for the Emperor.
When acting as message-bearer, etc., for the Emperor, a Chamberlain
was treated with a reverence quite out of proportion to his lowly rank.
Chamberlains’ Office kurō dodokoro The office which dealt with matters
relating directly to the Emperor, including care of his falcons, musical
instruments, etc., headed by two Chief Chamberlains (kurōdo no tō).
Chief Equerry muma no kami The senior officer, of the fifth rank, in
charge of the Left [sama no kami ] or Right [uma no kami ] Imperial
Stables [meryō / uma no tsukasa ].
Chief Gentlewoman naishi The highest rank of gentlewoman.
Commander taishō One of the Right and Left commanding officers of the
Palace Guards.
Commissioner taifu / daibu A general appellation for anyone of the fifth
rank.
Commissioner of Ceremonial See Aide of Ceremonial.
Constable udoneri A man attached as guard to a court noble and affiliated
with the Bureau of Central Affairs. They were notorious for their
overbearing ways.
Consultant sangi / saishō A post ranked below Counsellors in the Council
of State hierarchy.
Controller ben One of the heads of the two Controllers’ Offices
(benkankyoku), which supervised certain government bureaus. They
were divided into Major (dai), Middle (chū) and Lesser (shō).
Controller Chamberlain kurō do no ben A dual post. See Controller and
Chamberlain.
Council of State daijōkan The highest governmental organ above the
bureaus, comprised of Grand Counsellors, Counsellors and
Consultants.
Counsellor chū nagon Literally ‘Middle Counsellor’. A prestigious title,
either regular or acting, frequently held by high-ranking young men.
court noble kugyō / kandachime A general term applied to men of the
highest three ranks and holding office above a certain level.
Deputy (Governor, etc.) suke A general designation for the second in
command, below Captain or Provincial Governor.
Deputy of the (Right) Gate Watch emon / yugei no suke Second in
command of the Gate Watch.
Deputy Officer of Grounds tonomo no suke Second in command in the
Office of Grounds.
Empress Dowager nyōin The mother of the Emperor. In The Pillow Book
the title refers to Ichijō’s mother, Senshi (Appendix 2).
Empress’s Office miyazukasa/ chūgūshiki The office which dealt with
matters pertaining to the Empress.
Gate Watch e(mon)fu / yugei The guards of the gates of the palace
compound, divided into Left and Right.
Governor See Provincial Governor.
Grand Counsellor dainagon The highest ranking of the three degrees of
Counsellor, second in importance to Ministers.
groundskeeper tonomo(ri)zukasa Women or men employed by the Office
of Grounds to look after the palace grounds as well as to see to the
provision of lamps, charcoal, etc. for the palace. They were often used
as messengers.
High Consort nyō go A high-ranking consort of the Emperor, from among
whom the Empress was chosen.
High Gentlewoman naishi no suke A relatively high-ranking gentlewoman,
privileged to attend personally on the Emperor.
Housekeeping Office kanmorizukasa / kamonzukasa An office in the
Bureau of the Treasury, responsible for upkeep of palace furnishings and
gardens.
Imperial Attendant ladies himemō chigimi Ladies who attended the
Emperor on horseback during imperial processions.
Junior Counsellor shōnagon A lower-level officer (fifth rank) in the
Council of State.
Lady Chamberlain onna kurō do Low-ranking women who performed
general duties at the court.
Lieutenant shō shō A third-level officer in the Palace Guards.
Lord ason A hereditary title.
lower-ranking gentlemen jige A general term for courtiers holding ranks
below the fifth, and thus denied access to the Privy Chamber
(Appendix 4).
Major Controller See Controller.
Master (of the Household) betō The director of a household of a member
of the imperial family. Betō was also the name of the Head Abbot of a
temple.
Minister daijin / ō itono The highest office in the Council of State. There
were Ministers of the Left (sadaijin) and Right (udaijin).
Minister of Ceremonial shikibukyō Head of the Bureau of Ceremonial.
Minister of the Treasury ōkurakyō Head of the Bureau of the Treasury
(ōkurashō), a fourth-rank post.
Mistress of the Imperial Wardrobe mikushigedono The head of the Office
of the Imperial Wardrobe, which saw to the sewing of the Emperor’s
clothes. Her position was a powerful one, since she was in practice an
imperial wife. In The Pillow Book, the title refers to Teishi’s sister
(Appendix 2).
Myōbu A title given to women belonging to the fourth and fifth ranks of
gentlewomen. It frequently served as a name.
Office of Grounds tonomo(ri)zukasa The office responsible for the
maintenance of palace grounds and supply of such items as charcoal and
wood.
Officer of the Left Gate Watch See Gate Watch.
Palace Guards konoefu A body of guards whose role was to guard the
Emperor and his palace, and act as imperial bodyguards during
processions. They were ranked higher than the Gate Watch guards. See
also Left Division guardhouse (Appendix 4).
Palace Maiden uneme A young woman employed to serve at table, etc., in
the palace.
Palace Minister naidaijin / uchi no otodo The most junior of the three
Ministers in the Council of State.
Provincial Governor kami / zuryō A man of the fifth or sixth rank
appointed to oversee one of the provinces, but a position looked down
on in court circles. The prestige of the post depended on the rank of the
province. Gentlewomen (such as Sei) were often drawn from among the
daughters of Provincial Governors.
Regent kanpaku A role outside the bureaucratic hierarchy. The Regent
effectively wielded supreme power, being appointed to act on behalf of
the Emperor, often a child, who generally delegated complete authority
to him. In The Pillow Book, the title refers to Michitaka (Appendix 2).
Second of the Watch hyōe no suke Second in command of the Gate
Watch guards.
Secretary kurō do no tō Second in command in the Chamberlains’ Office.
Secretary Captain tō no chūjō A dual post, combining Secretary in the
Chamberlains’ Office with Captain of the Palace Guards.
Secretary Controller tō no ben A combined post of Secretary in the
Chamberlains’ Office and Controller.
senior courtier tenjō bito / uebito A man of the fourth or fifth rank, who
was given express permission to enter the Privy Chamber (Appendix 4).
Senior Steward daijin A third-level post in the Office of the Empress’s
Household (Appendix 4).
Sixth-rank Chamberlain See Chamberlain.
Appendix 6
Clothes and Colour Glossary
Clothing played an extremely important role in court life. People were
perceived and assessed in terms of what they wore quite as much as for
their physical attributes and personality. The subject of clothes and
colours was of immense interest to both men and women, and involved a
large and subtle vocabulary. As much as possible, the translation of
clothing terms below attempts to convey some idea of how the items are
worn, but words such as ‘cloak’, ‘jacket’, ‘shift’, etc., inevitably are
inclined to evoke very different images for the twenty-first century
reader, so consult the illustrations here and in the text.
Women’s and men’s clothing was largely prescribed by situation and
degree of formality, but individual expression was revealed in choice of
colour, cloth design and fabric, as well as in combinations of these.
Clothes were sometimes worn in numerous layers; each layer arranged
to reveal itself with an edge of sleeve, with the longest sleeve being the
innermost. Colour was of primary concern in choosing these
combinations, and within the seasonal prescriptions for colour, choice
could be inventive. Frequently some or all of the robes themselves
combined two colours through an outer layer and an inner lining, the
latter revealing itself as an edging to the robe at sleeve and elsewhere.
Such combinations, both of robes and of robe-plus-lining, were known as
kasane (literally ‘layering’), and the art of kasane was at the centre of
the vitally important art of clothing selection for both women and men.*
The concept of kasane is also present in colour terms. Many colour
names express a colour achieved through a kasane effect; for instance,
fuji (wisteria) expresses the effect achieved by layering a pale violet-grey
over a green reminiscent of the vivid green of spring leaves, known as
moegi (spring-shoot green). This example also reveals the strong
tendency for simple and combination colours, and their names,
Courtier in Everyday Court Costume
Court Lady in Normal Formal Dress
to express elements of the natural world, usually plants and flowers.
There was often considerable variation in defining and naming both
simple and combination colours. Simple colours were obtained from a
wide variety of natural dyes, and their names often refer to the dye
source rather than strictly defining the colour itself, which could vary in
shade. The translation attempts first to convey the nature of the colour,
where possible preserving also the literal meaning of its name. Where
relevant, the prescribed season for a simple or a combination colour is
indicated in brackets.
akomé gown akomé A lined gown, which young girls wore as an overrobe. In adult dress, the term referred to a type of gown worn between
shift and gown layers in formal wear.
aster shion A name for a variety of kasane combinations that produced an
effect reminiscent of the aster flower. These included pale violet over
green, maroon over spring-shoot green, etc. (autumn).
autumn-leaf ochre kikuchiba A reddish yellow. In weaves, scarlet warp
and yellow weft. As a combination colour, ochre on ochre (autumn).
azalea tsutsuji A combination colour, maroon over spring-shoot green.
azure hanada An indigo dye colour of rich sky-blue. blue-grey aonibi
Sometimes closer to green-grey. Often used in mourning-wear.
bush clover hagi A combination colour, maroon over spring-shoot green
(autumn). See also Appendix 4. cherry blossom sakura Pale pink. As a
combination colour, white over red or one of the dark violets (spring).
chestnut brown kurumi-iro A pale brown. As a combination colour,
clove-tan over white.
Chinese jacket karaginu A short jacket worn with the train as the top layer
in women’s formal wear. It could be brocade, embroidered or woven
silk, depending on rank. See p. 18.
cloak nōshi A lined (winter) or unlined (summer) men’s cloak, tied with a
circular band at the neck, generally worn over gathered trousers as
normal full dress at court or at home. See p. 7.
clove-tan kōzome A warm tan achieved with a clove dye. As a
combination colour, two layers of this.
combination See introduction to this appendix.
damask aya Twill weave silk. Forbidden to those below the sixth rank,
with the exception of Chamberlains.
dapple-dye murago Cloth dyed with dappled shadings of a single colour.
dark leaf-green aokuchiba In dyed colour, a blackish-green. As a weave
name, the colour achieved with green warp and yellow weft. As a
combination colour, green over fallen-leaf ochre (summer/autumn).
decorative sashes hire, katai / kutai Cloth sashes that hung from the
shoulders (hire) and the waist (kutai) as part of women’s formal wear.
deep green midori A variable colour, ranging from blue-green through to
deep blue. The prescribed colour for the formal cloak of the sixth rank.
deep (scarlet-)purple koki A highly esteemed colour.
deutzia u no hana A combination colour, white over spring-shoot green.
display idashiginu Literally ‘putting out the robes’. The formal display of
women’s sleeves and hems from beneath screens in buildings or
carriages. Also, displaying the hem of under-robes (akomé gown, etc.)
from beneath the outer clothing.
dried grass kareno Literally ‘withered field’. A combination colour, yellow
over light green (autumn, winter).
fallen-leaf ochre kuchiba Literally ‘rotting leaf’. An orange yellow
produced with saffron and gardenia dye. As a combination colour,
fallen-leaf ochre over yellow (autumn).
figured (silk) orimono Silk with a patterned weave.
formal cloak hō The top layer of men’s formal court attire (sokutai), an
unlined cloak whose colour reflected the wearer’s rank, from varying
depths of purple through scarlet to green. It was worn over a white
gown, possibly a summer gown of silk gauze in Section 2.
formal lacquered cap kanmuri A stiff lacquered cap with raised section at
the back and stiff gauze tail or other attachments, worn with full civil
dress.
formal over-robe kouchigi A shorter patterned robe that was worn over
the layers of gowns (uchigi) when a little more formality was required in
women’s wear.
full civil dress sokutai A nobleman’s formal costume worn or special
occasions. It consisted of formal lacquered cap, formal cloak over
train-robe and gowns, and two pairs of skirted trousers. A stone belt
and baton (Appendix 2) completed the outfit.
fulled See glossed silk.
gathered trousers sashinuki Long, voluminous men’s trousers tied at the
ankle. Worn with cloak or hunting costume.
girl’s over-robe kazami A long, loose over-robe worn by girls on formal
occasions.
glossed silk uchimono Silk was glossed by being beaten on a fulling block
(kinuta).
gloss-yellow neriiro A pale yellow produced by glossing white silk.
gossamer silk suzushi A very thin silk.
gown uchigi / uchiki / kinu Generally in several layers, gowns were worn
between the outer clothing and the shift in everyday men’s and
women’s wear.
graded dye susogo Cloth dyed a deeper colour at the top shading to paler
at the hem.
grape ebizome A dye colour varying from grape purple to reddish brown.
As a weave name, red warp and pale lavender or grape weft. As a
combination colour, maroon over azure.
green ao A colour with a wide range across the blue-green spectrum and
into yellowish green.
hair-binding cord motoyui A cord of cloth or twisted paper used to bind
up men’s and women’s hair.
hanpi jacket hanpi A short-sleeved, thigh-length jacket worn under the
formal cloak and over the train-robe as part of the courtier’s formal
costume.
hay-dye yellow kariyasu-zome A yellow dye made from the stems and
leaves of dried grass.
heavy brocade katamon A tight weave brocade with unraised pattern. Cf.
raised brocade.
high clogs keishi Open-toed thonged shoes, similar to the modern geta,
raised on a high bridge. See p. 15.
hunting costume kariginu A kind of cloak with open shoulders and
drawstrings at the sleeve cuffs. It was originally hunting attire, but later
became everyday wear for courtiers.
indigo-on-white jizuri Indigo-blue print patterns on a white ground.
indigo-print aozuri A printed dye pattern from the mountain indigo plant.
kasane See introduction to this appendix.
kerria-yellow yamabuki A golden yellow. As a combination colour, usually
fallen-leaf ochre over yellow (spring).
lacquered cap eboshi A stiff, peaked, rimless lacquered hat, worn by men
as an integral part of their everyday wear. For more formal occasions, it
was replaced by the more elaborate formal lacquered cap.
lapis lazuli blue ruri A rich purplish blue.
lavender futaai A light or darker purple achieved by dyeing in safflower
(scarlet) followed by indigo. As a weave colour, indigo weft and scarlet
warp. As a combination colour, a double layering of lavender, or
lavender over white. This could extend from almost all safflower to
almost all indigo, depending on season and age (summer).
light blue asagi A colour obtained with light dipping in indigo.
light grey usunibi Used in mourning, or for nun’s robes.
long divided robe hosonaga A narrow outer robe, with two long trailing
panels. It was formal wear for high-ranking women.
maroon suō A dark, rusty reddish-purple. As a combination colour, a
lighter over a darker shade of maroon.
night-service wear tonoi sugata An abbreviated form of the formal courtservice wear worn by courtiers on night duty.
olive-green kikujin A special imperial colour which Chamberlains
(Appendix 5) were permitted to wear.
overcloak ao A kind of formal cloak worn by officials, whose colour was
determined by rank.
pale violet-grey usuiro
pine-leaf green matsu no ha A combination colour, spring-shoot green
over lavender.
plum mume / ume A combination colour, variously deep scarlet over plum
pink, white over maroon, or a double layer of maroon.
plum-pink kō bai A rich pink. As a combination colour, scarlet over
maroon. (late winter/early spring).
raised brocade ukimon A brocade weave in which the pattern is woven in
relief. Cf. heavy brocade.
red akaki
red-purple weave akairo A weave colour obtained by using a red weft and
a purple warp.
scarlet kurenai A bright, pinkish red. Also sometimes referred to as koki
(elsewhere, deep scarlet-purple). As a combination colour, scarlet over
scarlet.
shift hitoe The unlined gown, usually white, that was worn next to the
skin. It was generally cut longer than other gowns, and showed
prominently at hem and sleeve cuffs. The term could also refer to any
unlined gown.
short boots hanka / hōka Ankle-length lacquered shoes for men, turned
up at the toes.
short hunting trousers suikan no hakama Less elaborate than hunting
costume. The trousers were mid-calf length.
silk gauze usumono A very light silk weave, typically used in the summer
gauze gown (usumono no uwagi).
sixth-rank cloak rokuō / rokusō The dark green formal cloak worn by
men of the sixth rank.
skirted trousers hakama Wide-bottomed trousers worn under the gowns
by men and women. They came in several types, such as white overtrousers (ue no hakama) in men’s formal wear, or women’s scarlet
trousers that extended beyond their feet.
softened silk kaineri Silk softened and glossed by being boiled with lye, as
distinct from raw gossamer silk (suzushi). In kasane combination, both
upper and lower layers are glossed scarlet.
spring-shoot green moegi A yellowish or deeper green, of indigo overdyed with a yellow.
stone belt sekitai A black leather belt the back of which was embedded
with gemstones. It was worn with the formal cloak as part of men’s
formal wear.
straw coat mino A sleeveless rain-cloak of woven straw worn over the
shoulders.
summer under-robe katabira A short unlined robe worn under the cloak
in summer. Also, a woman’s unlined summer robe, of hemp or cotton.
(The same term was also used for the drapes (Appendix 4) of a standing
curtain.)
surplice kesa A priest’s long cloak, worn draped from the left shoulder
over the right thigh.
tail ei The long stiff lacquered tail that hung from the back of men’s
formal lacquered caps.
train mo A long apron-shaped garment tied at the waist and worn at the
back. It was worn over the outer robe (uwagi) and under the Chinese
jacket as an essential part of women’s formal or court-service wear.
train-robe shitagasane A jacket whose back extended to a long full train
that trailed on the floor. It was an essential part of men’s formal wear,
the train protruding from beneath the formal cloak. Its length was
prescribed by rank.
travelling attire tsubo sōzoku A special costume worn by women,
generally of lesser rank, when travelling on foot or horseback on
pilgrimages, etc. It consisted of a cloak and a broad-brimmed, high, bellshaped travelling hat (ichimegasa).
unlined gowns hitoegasane Women’s formal summer attire, a layering of
shifts.
violet murasaki A deep purple, named from its dye-plant, the gromwell
(Lithospermum erithrorhizon).
wild indigo yamaai A particular bluish-green dye colour obtained from
the wild indigo plant.
willow yanagi As a weave colour, white weft and light green warp. As a
combination colour, white over green (spring).
wisteria fuji A combination colour, pale violet-grey over spring-shoot
green (summer).
Notes
The probable date of an episode is provided in brackets after the title
where it is known. The order given is year, month (or season), day.
Month number follows the Japanese calendrical year (see Appendix 3).
Translations of the poems are my own.
The author is referred to as ‘Sei’ throughout these Notes.
1 In spring, the dawn
This section establishes the theme of listing moments, experiences or
objects that give particular pleasure, beginning here with seasonal
categories.
1. even the crows: Mundane birds such as crows would not normally be
considered a moving sight.
2 Times of year
The seasonal pleasures of the calendar year were intimately bound up
with the great round of court rituals and festivals. Here, Sei describes
some of the festivals of the first four months.
1. people pluck… herbs: See Appendix 4, Young Herbs, Festival of.
2. It’s fun: This description seems to be a personal recollection from a
time before Sei joined the court.
3. gruel sticks: To mark the first full moon, a special gruel made up of
seven grains was served, to avert evil influences. Sticks made from
the unburned wood retrieved from the fire that cooked this gruel, if
struck on a woman’s thigh were considered in folk belief to produce
a male child.
4. call on his new wife: It was a common custom for a husband to be
adopted into his wife’s family, and for him to visit her at her home
during the early stages of a marriage, rather than the couple living
on their own. He often continued to maintain a separate
establishment, but her family home became his official base.
5. the Festival: The Kamo Festival.
6. rolls of… fabric: These are to be used for making up the robes worn
at the Festival.
7. Chamberlain’s green formal cloak: Lesser ranking members of the
Chamberlains’ Office, who took up the head of the procession in the
Kamo Festival, were allowed to wear the Chamberlain’s forbidden
colour for the occasion, but their cloaks were not made of damask.
4 It breaks my heart to think
An important role of priests in Heian society was magical, as protectors
against the pervasive danger of the evil spirits that cause illness and
disaster. Despite the ritual importance of Buddhism, priests were
generally held in low esteem, as Sei demonstrates in Sections 22 and 25.
1. Exorcist priests: If the possession was a tenacious one, the priest must
throw himself into his incantations for long, exhausting hours.
5 When the Empress moved to the home of Senior Steward
Narimasa (999.8)
These scenes, late in the period covered in this book, occurred when
Teishi had moved to Taira Narimasa’s house, Sanjō Palace, on the Third
Ward, to avoid ritually defiling the Emperor’s palace in giving birth
there. Narimasa had quickly to get permission to add two pillars for the
imperial visit.
1. that man… grand and tall: A story in the Chinese classics about a
man of the Early Han dynasty, who ordered that an especially large
gate be built for his house in anticipation of the impressive retinue
he believed his son, Yu Dingguo, would one day command. Dingguo
did indeed go on to achieve great things. In fact, Narimasa gets the
reference wrong, since Sei was referring to the father (Yu Gong), not
the son.
2. the young princess… “akomé gowns”: The Empress’s two-yearold
daughter, Princess Shūshi, had come with her. Narimasa reveals his
ignorance of the intricacies of the names for little girls’ clothes. (He
refers to kazami, a girl’s (formal) over-robe, as akomé.)
3. leetle: Narimasa’s odd pronunciation is either regional dialect or an
affectation from his student days.
4. the Counsellor: Taira Korenaka, Narimasa’s older brother, a very
talented man whom Narimasa greatly admired.
5. one of the outer rooms: The gentlewomen were serving the Empress
in her quarters in the Inner Chamber. Sei had to go to the outer edge
of the aisle room (see Appendix 1) to meet Narimasa.
6 The Emperor’s cat (1000.3?)
1. Myōbu… Muma no Myōbu: Only cats of fourth and fifth rank were
permitted in the Emperor’s palace. Myōbu is the title for a
gentlewoman of the fifth rank. The cat’s carer was also of this rank,
and so shared the name.
2. Dog Island: This appears to have been an island where stray and
unwanted dogs were sent.
8 The Offering of Official Thanks
This refers to the ceremony in which those newly promoted present
themselves to the Emperor. The ceremony involved dance and highly
stylized gestures expressing joy and gratitude.
9 The eastern side of the Temporary Palace
This replacement palace was built in a different directional orientation,
facing south instead of east. However, conventional names – such as ‘the
northern guardhouse’– remained, even though the gate that housed the
guardhouse was now located in the east. (Sukuse no Kimi is
unidentified.)
1. branch fan: It is unclear what this is. It seems most likely that the
tree’s branches formed a natural fan shape, so the tree suggested
itself as a giant’s fan. Bishop Jōchō was unusually tall.
2. Yamashina Temple: An alternative name for Kōfukuji in Nara, the
clan temple of the Fujiwara family.
10 Mountains
This and Sections 11–17 list place names that Sei finds particularly
attractive or intriguing. Their charm most frequently lies in the poetic
associations of the name, and/or its meaning. The place itself as a
geographical entity is not the point. Space precludes explanation of the
likely reasons for each name’s inclusion, but a few important references
are noted below.
1. I wonder how it stands aside: Katasari can mean ‘stand aside’.
2. ‘now looks askance at me’: A quotation from Fubokushō (8766): ‘She
who long ago / would look upon me favourably / now looks askance
at me – / for she dwells far above me / on Asakura’s cloudy heights.’
3. the dancers… Festivals: The dancers at these two great festivals sang
a folk song which included ‘Ōhire’ as they left at the end of the
dances.
14 River Pools
1. to give it such a name: Kashiko can mean ‘awe’.
2. who told whom not to enter: Nairiso can mean ‘don’t come in’.
18 Large Buildings
This and Section 19 list names of impressive buildings in the capital.
Some belonged to important men, or the families of members of the
imperial family, while others are unidentifiable today.
20 The sliding panels that close off the north-east corner (994,
spring)
This (possibly a combination of different occasions) probably took place
when the Emperor was 15 and Teishi 18. Her brother Korechika was
then Grand Counsellor. Teishi was temporarily residing in the Emperor’s
Seiryōden Palace, ensconced in the room in the north-east corner set
aside for visiting empresses. See Introduction, pp. xiv–xv.
1. the north-east corner… long arms and legs: The north-east direction
was considered unlucky in Chinese geomancy (a kind of feng-shui),
and the frightening scenes on these panels were a protective device.
The ‘terrifying creatures’ (tenaga ashinaga) from Chinese legend had
grotesquely long arms and legs.
2. The months… Mount Mimuro: Manyōshū (323). Korechika omits the
last line, which specifies that the poem refers to the imperial palace,
thereby allowing it to be interpreted as directed to the Empress. Sei
later manages a similar shift that cleverly echoes his.
3. With the passing years… age and time: Fujiwara Yoshifusa (804 –872),
Kokinshū (52). It is particularly appropriate because it was written by
an admiring father to his daughter, who had become the Emperor’s
consort, and its introductory headnote states that it was composed
while viewing a vase of cherry blossoms.
4. Retired Emperor Enyū: The present Emperor’s father. Enyū(959 –
991), reigned 969 –984; son of Emperor Murakami, and husband of
Fujiwara Senshi.
5. Our present Regent: Michitaka, father of Teishi and Korechika.
6. “As the tide… think of you”: No record of this poem has survived, but
it was no doubt well known at the time.
7. that poem of mine… come up with: As well as putting her cleverness
down to her advanced age, Sei may be suggesting that, as a woman
of nearly thirty, her poem of old age was appropriate.
8. Senyōden Consort: Thus named because Hōshi, daughter of Fujiwara
Morotada, normally resided in the building of that name in the
imperial palace. This story takes place during the reign of Murakami
(reigned 946 –961).
9. he ordered… for her: He engaged a priest to chant sutras as a form of
incantation to ensure her success.
22 Dispiriting things
1. a trap… daughters: A barrier of woven sticks built across a river in
autumn and winter to trap whitebait. The season for the plum-pink
combination (scarlet over maroon) was from the eleventh to the
second month. Owing to a pollution taboo, childbirth took place in a
separate birthing hut set aside for the purpose. The tradition of
scholarship often ran in families, but girls did not become scholars.
2. a woman fails to visit him: It was usual for a man to visit the woman,
but under special circumstances the roles could be reversed.
3. the medium… Guardian Deity: The transference of the spirit that is
causing the illness is effected with the help of a Guardian Deity, who
possesses the medium.
4. an excursion… as they wait: Under the circumstances, he would
probably be making a pilgrimage to a shrine or temple to pray for
success. The former retainers have gathered to fawn, hoping for a
windfall of gifts from him. The appointments were announced over a
three-day period.
5. a man you care for: Failure to respond in kind to a love poem usually
signified rejection.
6. something… painted on it: It seems that the person is asked to
decorate the fan, and paints something inappropriate or tasteless.
7. ‘daytime nap’: It is likely that this is a euphemism for midday sex
(see also Section 104, note 2).
8. ‘a single day of purificatory abstinence’: The meaning is unclear, but
some commentators believe that the last two sentences continue the
theme of sex.
24 Things people despise
1. A crumbling earth wall: Such a wall around a house is a sure sign that
the family fortunes are in decline.
25 Infuriating things
1. tuck… their knees: The front of a man’s hunting costume should be
spread out when the wearer is seated.
2. ‘Going to See the Governor’: Unidentified, but presumably a
children’s song accompanied by certain gestures and expressions.
3. fine reed blinds: An elegant kind of blind, with a wide strip of
decorative lintel cloth along its upper edge.
4. if they sneeze: Sneezing was considered to invite bad luck, and was
countered with a quick spell or auspicious phrase. It is unclear what
Sei was objecting to here – perhaps a person who considers that
merely saying the words makes a loud sneeze socially forgivable.
26 Things that make your heart beat fast
Most of these examples depict situations that evoke a hazy, romantic
atmosphere of dreamy expectancy.
28 Things that make you feel cheerful
1. the female style: A painting done in the softer, sometimes tinted,
‘Japanese’ style, as distinct from the bolder ‘Chinese’ style known as
the ‘male style’. Here it is presumably part of an illustrated tale.
2. viewing expedition: Going on expeditions to view festival processions,
etc., was one of the favourite entertainments of women of quality.
They remained largely invisible behind the carriage blinds, but it was
the custom to hang their sleeves out in decorative display from
beneath the blinds.
3. dice-matching: Probably a game in which several dice are rolled to
try to achieve matching numbers.
4. to rid… curse: Although purification (harae) is essentially a Shinto
practice, practitioners of the Chinese divinatory art of Yin-Yang
sometimes performed it. The dry bed of the Kamo River was
considered particularly suitable for this.
5. some prayer of yours: A request to the gods or Buddhist deities.
29 A palm-leaf carriage
The various types of ox-drawn carriages differed according to rank and
use. See also Section [S22].
30 A priest who gives a sermon should be handsome
Sermons based on an exposition of the sutras were often held in
conjunction with some pious occasion, such as the dedication of a newly
copied sutra, and were frequently attended by members of the court.
Ladies of rank listened from within their screened carriages, which were
backed in close to the edge of the building. The event was often an
excellent opportunity to socialize. The Lotus Discourses was the most
famous and important sermon series.
1. An ex-Chamberlain: The four Chamberlains of the sixth rank held
their post for six years, after which they were promoted to
Chamberlains of the fifth rank and usually received a Provincial
Governorship. See also Section 83, note 3. However, if there were no
vacancies for fifth-rank Chamberlains, they were retired and were
known as ‘Chamberlain fifth-rankers’ (kurōdo no goi), such as those
depicted here.
31 While I was visiting Bodai Temple
1. While I was visiting… Salvation Lotus Discourses: Bodai Temple was in
the eastern hills of the capital. The Salvation Lotus Discourses were a
set of Lotus Discourses specifically intended to provide listeners with
merit that will draw them to salvation.
2. You long… other world: Sei’s poem is built on a play of words:
motomete (‘you desire of me’ and ‘I desire for myself’), kakaru (‘the
fall of dew’ and ‘this’) and okite (‘to lie [on the lotus]’ and ‘to leave
behind’).
3. Sōchū: In the Chinese story, Xiangzhong Laoren (Japanese Sōchū)
became so absorbed in reading a Daoist text that he failed to return
home, forgetting those who anxiously awaited him.
32 The place known as Koshirakawa (986.7.22)
The early date established by scholars for this event makes Sei’s memory
for detail all the more remarkable. Michitaka became Regent in 993, so
she is writing after that. She would have attended as a young woman
from a private household.
1. the Koichijō Commander: Fujiwara Naritoki, Commander of the
Palace Guards at the Koichijō Palace. Shirakawa, in the eastern
foothills near the city, was a popular place for the country villas of
noblemen, but the exact location of Koshirakawa is not known.
2. the first three rows: See headnote to Section 30.
3. Consultant Sukemasa: Fujiwara Sukemasa. He would have been 43 at
the time. (Not the same man as the Chief Equerry in Section 85.)
4. above the threshold… Next in line: The nobles were seated at the
outer edge of the Inner Chamber, with the senior courtiers, etc.,
seated behind them in the aisle, below the dividing threshold.
5. Second of the Watch Sanekata and Adviser Chōmei: Respectively
Naritoki’s nephew and son.
6. Counsellor Yoshichika: The Emperor’s nephew, who was 31 at the
time. Six days after this event, Emperor Kazan suddenly took the
tonsure, and Yoshichika (whose power base was thereby destroyed)
chose to follow him, tragically cutting off his career at its height.
Sei’s audience would have been aware of the poignancy of this scene.
7. The Fujiwara Grand Counsellor: Possibly Fujiwara Tamemitsu,
Michitaka’s grandfather.
8. rather bent: The lady’s imperfections have betrayed Yoshichika’s
high expectations. This is apparently a witty reference to a poem
(Gosenshū 1155): ‘The tree may seem straight / but you will find
bent branches. / So it is pointless / to blow back the hair that hides /
and then lament the faults you see.’
9. Well, well… five thousand: Yoshichika is aptly quoting from the Lotus
Sutra (which was being expounded in the discourse from which the
ladies were withdrawing), in which the Buddha gently rebuked the
5,000 who proudly believed that they were enlightened and thus did
not need to hear him preach, and left early. Sei’s response not only
demonstrates that she has caught the reference, but implies that
Yoshichika, by putting himself in the Buddha’s place through his
quote, is revealing his own arrogance.
10. ‘the dew fell on him’: A reference to a poem by Minamoto no
Muneyuki (Shinchokusenshū (an imperially-ordered poetry collection,
completed 1235)(820): ‘The morning glory / shows its face only
until / the white dew falls. / Better the flower’s beauty / were never
seen at all.’ The implication of Sei’s words is that Yoshichika’s
retirement is even more to be lamented than the brief flower.
33 In the seventh month, when the heat is dreadful
This section quickly shifts to an imaginary scene written in the mode of
the popular romantic tales of the period. These were usually read aloud,
while listeners looked at illustrations of the scenes; hence the strongly
visual nature of this description.
1. mat: A mat was spread on the floor wherever it was needed, for
sleeping, sitting, etc. Tatami mats were used as permanent floor
covering later.
2. a quite unseemly way: The function of the standing curtain is to
shield one from view, but the woman is apparently sleeping exposed
to the eyes of the outer world because of the heat.
3. a robe… over her head: This robe is being used as a cover for
sleeping, functioning much like a quilt.
4. Nearby is a gentleman: This shift of focus is not made explicit, but it
seems that this man is returning from a tryst with another woman.
The Nōinbon text introduces him, as ‘returning from who knows
what tryst, through a thick dawn mist’.
5. morning glory: There is a debate over whether the word asagao refers
to what we now call a morning glory. It may have been a generic
term for flowers that fade as the day advances.
6. ‘the ferns in the flax field’: Kokin rokujō (2999): ‘In the flax field / the
ferns below the cherry flax / are moist with the dew / so I will stay
with you till dawn / though our parents will know.’‘Dew’ probably
carries erotic overtones.
7. attaching… bush clover: On such an attached spray, see next-morning
letter (in Appendix 4).
34 Flowering trees
1. close association with the hototogisu: The tachibana (a kind of orange
tree) is conventionally depicted in poetry as having a strong affinity
with the hototogisu, which is drawn to perch in its branches.
2. the weeping face… pear: A reference to the famous story of the tragic
infatuation of the Chinese Emperor Xuanzong (685-762) with his
beautiful concubine Yang Guifei, which led him to neglect affairs of
state and thereby cause a mutiny during which she was killed for her
part in his negligence. The quotation is from The Song of Everlasting
Sorrow, where Bo Juyi describes the Emperor’s messenger, sent to
find her after her death, being greeted by her weeping spirit.
3. being purple: Purple is associated with nobility.
4. that fabulous bird… perch: The phoenix-like bird of Chinese fable is
said to live in paulownia trees.
5. the melia… the fifth month: Melia japonica has small purple flowers
clustered in racemes. The Sweet Flag Festival was one of the
important palace festivals, and melia branches were used to dispel
evil influences.
35 Ponds
This section continues the theme of Sections 10 to 17 of interesting place
names. Here too, the primary focus is on places with poetic associations
and/or punning or meaningful names.
1. had drowned herself there: According to legend, a girl in service to
the Emperor when Nara was the capital drowned herself when his
love for her waned. When he learned of her death, the Emperor
visited the pond and had those accompanying him compose poems
for the occasion. Sei quotes what was believed to be one of these
(Shūishū 1289), by the famous poet Hitomaro (d. c. 710): ‘I grieve to
see / her hair tangled as in sleep / floating there now / like jewelled
waterweed / on Sarusawa Pond.’
2. because of the poem: Kokin rokujō (3955): ‘Though you drag out the
burr reed / from the bed of “loving” Sayama Pond / it will not break
– / but drawn from my lover’s bed / ah I break.’
3. ‘Oh do not cut the jewelled weeds’: A popular song from the provinces
that mentions this pond.
37 Trees that have no flowers
Botanically speaking, this is not a precise description. Sei’s meaning is
rather that these trees have no flowers worthy of attention.
1. the clinging vine… the Provisional Festivals: The name yadorigi
(literally, a plant which depends on others) is a general term for
parasitic plants, although the reference here seems to be to a specific
plant. A sakaki branch is used in the kagura, such as the dances of the
two important festivals of the Kamo and Iwashimizu Hachiman
shrines.
2. this palace… fifth month: From a popular song. Cypress is above all
associated with the construction of buildings, and the poetic conceit
of its imitation of the sound of rain at the start of the rainy season
derives from Chinese poetry.
3. asuwa cypress… promise of a name: This cypress grows in deep
mountain country. Mitake is a sacred place in the rugged
mountainous area in Nara prefecture behind Yoshino, and was a
popular pilgrimage site at this period (see also Section 114, note 1).
The name asuwa hinoki can be read as meaning ‘tomorrow (it) will
be a cypress’.
4. are being dyed… the land of Izumo: It was a different plant that was
used to dye the deeper colours of the cloaks for these ranks, but the
white colour of the white oak’s leaves may have led to Sei’s
confusion. The end of this sentence appears to refer to Hitomaro’s
poem (Shūishū 3): ‘The paths are lost / upon the foot-dragging
mountain / for snow has fallen / on every leaf and branch / of the
white oaks.’ Although it has no connection with the myth of the
storm god Susanoo’s journey to Izumo in the west, a late Heian text
claimed the poem to be his work, which may have provoked the
legend to which Sei seems to be referring.
5. the food of the dead… reddens the yuzuriha: It was believed that the
souls of the dead returned at noon of the last day of the year, and
departed the next morning. Special food such as mochi (glutinous rice
cakes) placed on the evergreen yuzuriha leaves was served on the
second day of the new year, to ensure longevity. The poem referred
to is Rokkashū (c. 1346)(27): ‘On the day when autumn reddens /
the wild yuzuriha of Kasuga, / that traveller’s lodging, / on that day,
/ I may forget you.’
6. The oak… given its name: The leaves of the kashiwa turn brown in
autumn but remain on the tree, and the god was said to protect them
from falling till spring. Kashiwagi (Kashiwa Tree) was the name given
to certain ranks of officer in the Gate Watch, perhaps because such a
tree once grew by their guardhouse.
38 Birds
1. reaches the very heavens: A reference to an ancient Chinese poem in
the Book of Songs (Shijing, Japanese Shikyō): ‘The crane stands in the
winding stream, / his voice is heard in the heavens.’
2. ‘and will not sleep alone’: Kokin rokujō (4480): ‘Though even the
herons / of the woods of Yurugi / in Takashima / vie loudly for a
roosting mate / and will not sleep alone…’ (I remain solitary).
3. brush the frost from each other’s wings: Kokin rokujō (1475): ‘Left to
sleep alone / how sad the mandarin duck / who cannot have the
frost / brushed from his freezing wing / by his adoring mate.’
4. ‘nine-fold palace’: Sei uses the poetic name because she is making a
judgement based on poetic aesthetics, in which it would be
pleasingly appropriate to have the elegant uguisu’s song associated
with the palace precincts.
5. wavery old voice: The summer call of the uguisu changes to a long,
repetitive, monotonous song that slowly trails away.
6. after the Kamo Festival: The day after the festival in the fourth
month, the High Priestess returned in a procession that passed these
temples near her residence at Murasakino. See also Section 205.
40 Insects
1. The bagworm… for her: A small insect that lives inside a sac made of
tiny twigs and was thought to resemble a demon. It was believed to
cry ‘chichiyo! chichiyo!’, seeming to be crying for its parent.
2. used in people’s names: In earlier periods, and possibly also at this
time, the word hae (fly) was sometimes used in the names of people
of the lower classes.
3. Summer insects: A general term for the insects that fly into flames in
summer, here probably referring to certain delicate moths and
mayflies.
41 In the seventh month when the wind blows hard
The beginning of autumn, when typhoons blow in to replace the summer
heat with coolness.
42 Unsuitable things
This section begins by listing scenes whose inappropriateness derives
from the unsuitable combination of the poetically beautiful (snow,
moonlight, etc.) with the unpoetically common.
1. an auburn-coloured ox: Oxen of this colour were especially prized by
the aristocracy.
2. crimson skirted trousers: Worn by the more menial women serving in
the palace and important houses, but inappropriate for commoners.
3. on night patrol… beyond belief: Perhaps because night patrol is a
demeaning role for a person of his rank. See also Section 291.
4. It looks terrible… Captain Yorisada: It is unclear why this role is
particularly unfortunate. It may have to do with the ugliness of the
prescribed clothing. Minamoto Yorisada, who had a great reputation
as a dashing ladies’ man, held the position 992–998.
43 A lot of us are gathered in the Long Room
1. The Long Room: The gentlewomen are gathered in a temporary
‘room’, with much traffic of passing people close by.
44 No menial position could be finer
Palace groundswomen frequently played the important role of carrying
messages. It had become a quite sought-after position by this period.
46 Secretary Controller Yukinari was standing by the lattice
fence
Although Sei was married, one of the men she was closest to while at
court was Fujiwara Yukinari. This section depicts the delicacy and
intimacy possible in a relationship that seems to have remained a
flirtation carried on through the customary intervening curtain or
screen, until the final line.
1. that old Chinese saying: A free translation from a passage in the
Records of the Historian.
2. “inseparable as the willow of Tōtōmi”: Manyōshū (1293): ‘The willow
tree that grows / on Tōtōmi’s Ado River / where the thick hail falls –
/ cut it and it will come again / that Ado River willow tree.’ There is
a pun on karu (‘cut’ and ‘part’).
3. ‘in all you do… correct an error’: Sei and Yukinari here are cleverly
capping each other’s references to Chinese quotations: she restates a
sentence from Ikai (Advice) by Fujiwara Morosuke, he refers to a line
from a poem by Bo Juyi, and she responds by referring to a passage
in the Analects of Confucius.
4. show me your face: A woman would show her face to a male only if
he was her husband or a close family member.
5. only the formal cloak: I.e. they had removed the train-robe normally
worn in formal court attire.
6. Noritaka: The younger brother of Sei’s husband Norimitsu, and
hence ‘family’. He was at this time Chamberlain to the Emperor, so
would naturally have been in the vicinity. The poor lighting would
make his face hard to distinguish even when he showed himself.
47 Horses
1. ‘wand paper-white’: The mulberry bark paper referred to in this
expression (yū) was used for the wand of paper ribbons used in
Shinto ritual, to which Sei likens the horse’s white mane and tail.
50 Carriage runners and escort guards
1. Carriage runners: Rankless men employed in various parts of the
palace and great houses to do odd jobs, which included
accompanying carriages. On escort guards, see Section 45.
52 Ox handlers
1. Ox handlers: Generally boys under the age of about thirteen, who
tended the carriage oxen.
53 The nightly roll call
At 9.30 each night, those on duty would gather in the aisle of the Privy
Chamber, at the southern end of the Emperor’s quarters, and announce
their name one by one for the Chamberlain to record. This completed,
they left in a body, and the Chamberlain proceeded down the east aisle
and recorded the names of the guards who were gathered in the garden.
Whenever the Empress and her ladies were residing in the Emperor’s
palace, this took place very close to their quarters.
1. Masahiro: Minamoto Masahiro, a Chamberlain 996–999, was a
notorious bumbler.
2. the ledge where the Emperor’s food is placed: A shelf which held the
Emperor’s meal while it was waiting to be served. Masahiro mistook
this for a similar shelf in another place, where the Chamberlains
placed their shoes. Shoes are ritually defiling objects.
54 It’s digusting when a well-bred young man
1. someone inconsequential, or a young girl: The nuance of ‘someone
inconsequential’ (hashitamono) is unclear, but the suggestion seems
to be that in both these cases there can be no suspicion that the man
is calling on her as a lover.
56 Little children
1. incense from their clothes: Robes were customarily scented by being
draped over a lighted incense burner.
57 The central gate of a grand house
We are looking in from the street through the outer gate of one of the
great houses, at the scene in the courtyard where high-ranking guests
have come visiting. The central gate is an entry midway along the east
and west galleries of the house. The accompanying courtiers are dressed
in formal wear, which included carrying a baton, a thin flat length of
white wood or ivory.
58 Waterfalls
1. Furu Falls… paid a visit there: The falls are behind Isogami Shrine in
Tenri. There is no record of a Cloistered Emperor (one who has
retired and taken the tonsure) visiting them. Kokinshū refers to a visit
by Emperor Kōkō(reigned 884 –887), which is probably Sei’s source.
2. Nachi Falls… in Kumano: The falls, in the Kumano area of presentday Wakayama prefecture, were and are an important focus of
worship in the great Kumano pilgrimage.
3. thunder: Todoroki literally means ‘thundering’.
59 Rivers
1. Asuka River… the poem says: The river is in the Yoshino area. The
poem is Kokinshū (933): ‘What in this world of ours / is sure and
unchanging? / In Asuka River / the deeps of yesterday today / shift
to running shallows.’
2. Mimito River… quick ear caught: Mimito literally means ‘sharp-eared’.
Ki no Tsurayuki in Kokin rokujō (1561): ‘Mimito River / that flows
by the great stone walls / of towering Ōmiya, / has caught with its
quick ears / the echo of your voice, my love.’
3. what sort of ‘name’ it had: Natori means ‘name-taking’, orby
extension, ‘of famous name’.
4. poem of Narihira’s… Weaving Maid: Ariwara Narihira’s poem
(Kokinshū 418) is: ‘Hunting all the day, / at Heaven’s River plain / I
have arrived. / And so let me beg shelter / from the Heavenly
Weaving Maid.’ (See Tanabata Festival in Appendix 4.)
62 Villages
These village names are almost all chosen for their unusual literal
meanings, most of which are associated with the image of a love affair.
1. his wife stolen… someone else’s: Tsumatori literally means ‘wifetaking’.
63 Plants
While this section occasionally mentions flowers, its focus is on the
plants themselves. The following section lists plants whose main interest
is their flowers. Many of the names given are approximate translations
only, and where the identity of the plant is unclear, the Japanese name
is preserved.
1. an interesting name: Omodaka literally means ‘lifted face’.
2. Rootless plants… cliff edge: Ayafugusa, which is thought to denote
rootless plants, literally means ‘precarious plants’. The itsumade
creeper is depicted in poetry as growing on earth walls, which
crumble easily, unlike plastered walls. Its name, which literally
means ‘until when?’, is poetically associated with the uncertainties of
love.
3. The kotonashi plant… wayside grasses: Kotonashi literally means
‘succeed in doing something’; the plant is unidentified. Shinobu
means ‘to suffer in silence’. ‘Wayside grass’ is a highly evocative
poetic expression.
4. when other plants… Chinese poem: The lotus blooms in midsummer,
when other flowers are rare in Japan. As with many of the plants
mentioned in this section, the poetic reference is a poem in Wakan
rōeishū, by Xu Hun (791 –854 ?): ‘Emerald fans part the mist, in
dawn’s clear breeze. / On the water float crimson cloaks, draped in
autumn’s dews.’
5. its colour fades so easily: Dye made from the dew plant is quick to
fade.
64 Flowering plants
1. the kamatsuka… ‘wild geese arriving’: Kamatsuka literally means
‘sickle handle’, and the word seems to have applied to various
flowers. The flower whose Chinese characters express the meaning
‘wild geese arriving’ is a kind of amaranth, but does not fit the
description here.
2. the stag seeks it out: Ki no Tsurayuki (Gosenshū 306): ‘Like the dew
that lies / on Ono’s autumn bush clover / where the stag seeks it out
/ I too must disappear / and return to nothing.’
3. speak of the two together: The names for moonflower (yūgao,
‘evening face’) and morning glory (asagao, ‘morning face’) form a
natural pair.
4. not to include plume grass here: Susuki, a kind of low pampas grass
commonly seen in open plains and along riverbanks, is considered
the quintessential autumn grass. Sei seems to have added this
passage after her work was first circulated.
66 Topics of poetry
Poems for public occasions, such as poetry competitions, were generally
composed on a pre-determined topic. Sei does not name any of the more
common topics, such as the moon, cherry blossoms, love, etc.
67 Disturbing things
1. embarked on the twelve-year mountain retreat: When a monk was
ordained at the great temple of Enryakuji on Mt Hiei, he was
forbidden to leave the mountain for twelve years.
70 A man comes calling
1. till the very axe rots: A reference to the Chinese legend of Wang Zhi,
who went into the mountains to cut wood, and came upon two
immortals playing a game of go. He was held entranced by the sight
until he suddenly returned to earthly time and discovered he had
stood so long that the handle of his axe had rotted away.
2. ‘stays seething deep below’: Kokin rokujō (2648): ‘Greater the feeling /
that in the waters of the heart / stays seething deep below / and
never rises into words / than that which can be spoken.’
72 Our apartments in the Long Room
Since the temporary ‘rooms’ were merely screened-off parts of the aisle,
at night male visitors could be heard calling on their lovers.
1. children… make a noise: Presumably, close proximity to the
Empress’s quarters would inhibit their behaviour.
2. quite unexpected men hovering outside: The scene has shifted to a visit
by a number of gentlemen to the ladies’ quarters.
3. a brightly-coloured standing curtain… gaping at the back: The ladies
inside the room have arranged their flowing hems for display outside
the standing curtain. The description of the men’s clothing is
obscure, but seems to be a style of cloak.
4. Or again… he standing without: The lintel cloth at the top of the
blind, and the standing curtain behind which she sits, both restrict
their view of each other, but a small gap allows them to see each
other dimly through the blind itself. She is sitting a step above where
he stands. The two scenes in this paragraph are such as might be
found in a romantic tale.
5. Provisional Festival: The Provisional Kamo Festival.
6. ‘Oh let us pluck the rice flowers’: An old folk song which had become
a court song: ‘Oh let us pluck the rice flowers from the fallow fields /
and carry them to the palace and present them to our lord.’ It was
traditionally sung as the singers and musicians emerged.
7. “Why do you hasten thus to relinquish this night”: This is evidently a
quote, but its origins are unknown. There is probably a pun on yo
(‘night’ and ‘this world’).
73 When Her Majesty was in residence (997, summer)
This episode probably took place when Teishi had just moved to her
temporary quarters in the Office of the Empress’s Household. Her power
had been eclipsed, and the circumstances were in fact dismal, but Sei
paints a rosy picture.
1. that Chinese poem about the voice of autumn: The men were chanting,
as they made their way back, a poem by Minamoto Fusaakira (d.
939): ‘The pond is chill, the last of summer’s heat is gone / and high
in the pines the wind carries the sound of autumn.’
75 Things that look enjoyable
1. The hare-wand priest: This seems to have been a priest who walked
about the town with hare-wands offering celebratory words on the
festival day.
2. The conductor… in the kagura procession: At the end of each piece,
the conductor performs a dance. The reference to a banner is
obscure.
76 The day after the Litany of Buddha Names (994?)
During this event, special screens depicting scenes from hell were placed
in the Seiryōden. Sei was probably still new to the court at the time
when this scene took place.
1. ‘The sound… would not speak’: From Bo Juyi’s ‘Song of the Pipa’.
The line depicts a moment when the poet hears across the water the
sound of a mysterious pipa (biwa), and longs to learn the player’s
name.
77 When Secretary Captain Tadanobu (early 995)
This section concerns another man to whom Sei was close, Fujiwara
Tadanobu. Near the end we meet Tachibana Norimitsu, who is generally
believed to have been her husband before she came to court, though by
now the relationship is merely that of brother and sister.
1. as part of an imperial abstinence: It was the custom for senior
courtiers to join the Emperor’s observance of an abstinence by
secluding themselves in the Privy Chamber.
2. a writing game: This seems to have involved supplying the missing
parts of Chinese characters.
3. the line from Bo Juyi: From ‘Alone at Night in a Grass-thatched Hut
beneath Lu Shan Mountain’, sent to a friend in the capital: ‘You are
there in the flowering capital, beneath the Council Chamber’s
brocade curtains / while I sit on a rainy night in my grass-thatched
hut beneath Lu Shan Mountain.’ Sei knows the poem, but her
dilemma is that it would be unladylike to respond in Chinese.
Furthermore, simply to supply the next line would be a poor
response. Her solution is to turn the second line of Bo’s poem to her
own purposes by creating the final two lines of a new poem in
Japanese that alludes to Tadanobu’s failure to call on her (written
with charcoal, to reinforce the suggestion of a simple life in a bare
hut). This in turn means the recipient should supply the first three
lines, which Tadanobu and his friends find they cannot do.
4. the Minamoto Captain: Minamoto Nobukata.
5. “Jewelled Palace”: A phrase derived from the Chinese; the immediate
reference is probably Shūishū (110): ‘Today when I look / I find no
jewelled palace / but see here only / this lowly hut / thatched with
iris leaves.’
6. in no position to appreciate these poetic refinements: Sections 79 and
126 also demonstrate Norimitsu’s lack of appreciation for poetry.
78 The following year, towards the end of the second month
(996.2)
Teishi’s brothers Korechika and Takaie had been disgraced and exiled
the month before the events of this section, and she and her
gentlewomen were in mourning for her father Michitaka, whose recent
death had brought about her eclipse at court. All this is conspicuously
absent from Sei’s account.
1. the Mumetsubo: Also called Gyōkasha, where Teishi had been
residing. ‘Mumetsubo’ literally means ‘plum-tree tub’, a name
derived from the flowering plums that grew on either side of the
front steps.
2. a directional taboo this evening: Tadanobu had learned that south was
a ‘blocked direction’ that evening, so he left after midnight and came
to the capital from the west.
3. that is where I spent the night: Although the Mistress of Imperial
Wardrobe normally resided in another building, she may have moved
to the Mumetsubo when Teishi left.
4. hair not even my own: Sei seems to have worn a hair insert.
5. the two heroes… the Emperor’s daughter: Suzushi and Nakatada were
rivals for the hand of the Emperor’s daughter in The Tale of the
Hollow Tree. Nakatada and his mother had earlier fallen on hard
times and were forced to live in the forest, taking shelter in a hollow
tree vacated by bears who were impressed with his filial piety.
Nakatada’s skills on the kin were literally magical, but there is one
scene in which a heavenly maiden appears and dances when Suzushi
plays the kin (see also Section 81 and note 2). It is Nakatada,
however, who wins the daughter.
6. the tiles… the city’s western gate: Saishō quotes from Bo Juyi’s ‘A
palace stands high upon Mt Li’, lamenting the desolation of the
palace (which was to the west of the Chinese capital): ‘the walls are
cloaked in moss, and the tiles pine-smothered’. Tadanobu continues
the quotation.
79 When one’s returned home on a visit
1. Captain Consultant: Probably Tadanobu, who attained this dual
position in 997.
2. The silent seaweed… these hidden depths: The poem cleverly explains
the meaning behind the piece of seaweed by an elaborate series of
sea-related images and puns (soko means both ‘the place where she
is’ and ‘depths [of the sea]’, me kuwase means both ‘make you eat
seaweed’ and ‘send a silent message with the eyes’).
3. Brother and Sister Hills… used to be: Sister (imo) and Brother (se)
Hills are mountains in Yamato province, and the Yoshino River flows
between them. If they crumble, the river (which in the poem
becomes the love that once flowed between them) would be buried
and disappear. There is a pun in kawa (‘river’ and ‘he is the one’).
Her poem also refers to one in Kokinshū.
4. Deputy Governor of Tōtōmi: A promotion to the fifth rank. Tōtōmi
was a province close to the capital, and thus one of the more
prestigious Provincial Governorships.
81 After our visit to the Guard Office (997)
This section seems to follow on from Section 73. It contains a tangle of
references and possible interpretations, and its point remains somewhat
obscure.
1. the writer: One of the gentlewomen had written relaying Her
Majesty’s official message and added her private message.
2. “a heavenly maiden hovering”… Nakatada’s reputation: Sei quotes
from the scene in The Tale of the Hollow Tree in which a heavenly
maiden descends to dance when Suzushi plays the kin, already
mentioned in Section 78. Teishi’s reply probably implies Nakatada is
portrayed in this scene as inferior to Suzushi.
82 Once when Her Majesty was in residence (late 998 –999.1)
A woman whom everyone at first takes for a beggar nun arrives and
proceeds to intrigue the gentlewomen with her clever antics. From her
bawdy songs and general demeanour, they slowly realize that she is in
fact a wily itinerant entertainer.
1. Continuous Sutra Reading: A type of recitation that continued
without pause day and night, generally performed by a group of
twelve monks who took turns at each change of watch.
2. distribution of the offerings: The offerings of food made at the
Buddhist altar were generally handed out after the ceremony.
3. ‘Who oh who… quite a name’: Hitachi no Suke is literally the
Governor of Hitachi Province’. ‘Man Mountain’ (Otokoyama) is a
mountain south of the capital, that was famous for its autumn
colours. The word ‘colour’ (iro) also signifies the erotic, so the song
produces the double entrendre that the man / his penis (the
mountain) is famous for erotic adventures (autumn colours).
4. Give her this gown: Clothing was the usual form of gift or payment at
this time.
5. drape the gown… a dance: She is cheekily imitating the courtly ritual
dance of gratitude performed on receiving an official gift of clothing.
6. Kannon of White Mountain: Hakusan (White Mountain) is a sacred
mountain in present-day Ishiyama prefecture (Koshi), famed for its
perpetual snow, on whose summit is an important shrine to Kannon,
the Bodhisattva of Mercy.
7. Kōkiden and Kyōgokudono: Respectively, the Empress’s quarters,
inhabited by Teishi’s rival Shōshi, and the home of the Minister of
the Left, Michinaga at this time.
8. ‘Alas… things are given’: Hitachi no Suke’s poem is boringly
straightforward, relying only on a hackneyed pun on ama (‘nun’ and
‘fisher girl’).
9. When I went… this day: On the first Day of the Hare, when it was
traditional to send a gift of decorative hare-wands or hare-mallets,
the Kamo High Priestess has devised the conceit of dressing the tiny
hare-mallets to look like large hare-wands, and decorating them with
sprigs of mountain plants to suggest that they have come fresh from
the scene depicted in her poem.
10. Koshi’s famous snowy mountain: See note 6 above.
11. the night of the thirteenth: The translation of the date (13th) follows
the Nōinbon version, which accords better with the story’s
chronology.
12. that wandering performer’s… his hat: This rather confusing
description appears to refer to a comic act by an itinerant performer
‘priest’ that is based on a well-known tale: the Buddha, who is
performing austerities on Snow Mountain, throws himself from the
mountain in exchange for receiving from a demon the second half of
the teaching that will enlighten him. The connection with the lid lies
in a pun on mi (‘body’ and ‘the bowl section of a container’).
13. The fellow: The Sankanbon text has ‘woman’ at this point. I follow
the Nōinbon text.
83 Splendid things
1. Ornamental swords. Tinted Buddhist images: These swords, with
scabbards richly decorated with gold and silver, lacquerwork, etc.,
were only worn on special occasions by noblemen above the fifth
rank. The Buddhist images were probably relief carvings with details
accented with colours.
2. great ministerial banquets: Such banquets traditionally received a gift
of dried chestnuts and milk curds from the Emperor, which it was the
sixth-ranking Chamberlains’ role to present on his behalf.
3. such a shame… among the Provincial Governors: Sei’s relishing of the
splendid robes and special colour that were a Chamberlain’s
prerogative cause her to regret the fact that Chamberlains often
preferred to dress in more usual clothing. Although the position of
Chamberlain was nominally for six years, it was commonly held for
only three or four. See also Section 30, note 1.
4. as their tutor: Besides being employed as official scribes, scholars
from the university were tutors in the Chinese classics to the sons of
great families as well as imperial princes and Emperors.
5. Kasuga Shrine: This important shrine in Nara was the tutelary shrine
of the Fujiwara family.
6. the violet in his clothes: The Chamberlain wore violet gathered
trousers on night watch.
84 Things of elegant beauty
1. A three-layer fan: The usual (‘single layer’) fan consisted of 8 ribs.
The three-layer had 24, and the extra-thick five-layer had 40.
2. Long stems of sweet flag… cypress-bark roof: As part of the Sweet Flag
Festival.
3. The Sweet Flag Chamberlains… Sweet Flag Festival: These women
delivered the gifts of festive herbal balls for the festival. See also
Section 205 and note 4.
4. the red abstinence cords of the First Fruits Festival: Worn on the
shoulders of participants in the rites of the festival.
5. The young gentlemen… the Lesser Abstinence: These young men, who
officiated in the religious ceremonies, wore special Lesser Abstinence
(ritual purificatory abstinence for Shinto festivals, etc.) robes, white
with a design in mountain indigo dye.
85 When Her Majesty provided the Gosechi dancers (993)
This event seems to have occurred early in Sei’s career at court, during
the First Fruits Festival and its accompanying four-day Gosechi Festival.
Occasionally the Gosechi dancers were chosen from one of the palace
households, as here; their attendants were usually no more than eight.
1. the Day of the Dragon: The final day of the Gosechi Festival, when
the dancers performed the Dance of the Heavenly Maidens.
2. red cords: These Gosechi robes with their red cords are a variant of
the Lesser Abstinence robes in Section 84. The men would have been
wearing clothes of the same sort.
3. serving ladies: Ladies-in-waiting whose role was to provide general
background support for the dancers.
4. ‘A wintry indifference… its icy knot’: This laments Kohyōe’s
indifference to him, through a play on the image of the special
indigo-dye robes (yamaai meaning both ‘mountain well’ and
‘mountain indigo’), and on himo (‘cord’ and ‘ice’).
5. sat there, saying nothing: It was common for a poem to be composed
by others on someone’s behalf, if the composition proved difficult.
6. ‘The cord’s knot… in the hair’: Sei’s poem picks up Sanekata’s
punning imagery of ice (loosening/melting) and the ceremonial cord,
here extended to the ceremonial garland of creeping fern (hikage,
which also means ‘sunlight’) that the young gentlemen wear for this
occasion.
7. had to be carried out: It was apparently common for some of the
young girls to succumb to stress and exhaustion of the occasion.
86 Another elegant sight
1. narrow-bladed sword… cord attached: The sword and special ribbon
are both accoutrements of formal ceremonial occasions. This section
seems most properly to belong with Section 84.
87 At the time of the Gosechi Festival
An apparent mixture of general reminiscence on this yearly event and
further recollections of the specific occasion described in Section 85.
1. the groundswomen… the arched bridgeway: The grounds-women were
employed on this occasion to light the way for the dancers. The
bridgeway connected the Senyōden with the Jōneiden, where the
dancers’ temporary retiring rooms were set up.
2. ‘messengers in waves come swelling our rank’: Probably a celebratory
song, a version of one now preserved in the Ryōjin hishō collection
(c. 1169), which describes the courtiers’ continuous rising in rank.
This scene takes place after the Emperor’s private viewing of the
dancers on the Day of the Tiger.
3. on the first night: A ceremony in which the Emperor was given his
first preview of the dancers, at the Jōneiden.
4. The sight… most enchanting: The young dancers would have dozed
off from the exhaustion of the occasion.
88 One day His Majesty brought along a biwa
It was common to give a name to precious objects such as swords or
musical instruments. The two names of importance in this section are
Mumyō (‘Nameless’) and Inakaeji (‘Irreplaceable’, literally ‘No I Will Not
Replace It’).
1. The Secretary Captain… Giyōden’s top drawer: The Secretary Captain
is probably Tadanobu. The Giyōden was the building in which the
imperial treasures, including instruments, were housed. The top
drawer would have held the most precious of these.
89 I remember an occasion before the blinds of Her Majesty’s
apartment
1. The maiden who ‘half hides her face’… his feelings on ‘parting’: Sei
refers to ‘The Song of the Pipa’ by Bo Juyi, which describes a girl he
met on a boat, who ‘takes up her biwa and half hides her face’.
Teishi’s reply is generally considered to refer to a subsequent scene,
in which the poet laments having to part from the maiden – perhaps
with the implication that since Sei’s comparison had placed herself in
the male role, she should identify with the departing senior courtiers.
90 Infuriating things
1. the Southern Residence: A detached palace, the residence of Teishi’s
father Michitaka.
2. there you have to stop: A woman would not emerge from behind the
blinds if a man was present.
3. retrieve it: See also Section [S27] and headnote.
93 Regrettable things
1. women or men: The Sankanbon text incongruously adds priests to
this company. I follow Nōinbon here.
94 At the time of the Abstinence and Prayer of the fifth month
(998.5)
This section illustrates the important role played by both occasional and
formal poetry composition in the court. The surprising nervousness that
Sei reveals stemmed in part from the fact that her father Kiyohara
Motosuke and her family in general were known for their poetic talent.
1. the Abstinence and Prayer: A period set aside in the first, fifth and
ninth months for strict observation of the Buddhist injunctions
concerning fasting and prayer.
2. that place called… but not as pleasan t: The bridge that the Tanabata
lovers must cross is Kasasagi, which sounds not dissimilar to the
name Sei is obliquely referring to, Matsugasaki (Pine Point). Its
unpleasantness presumably stems from the alternative meaning,
‘Waiting Point’, suggesting by association that the lovers would have
to wait rather than be reunited there.
3. cicadas: Since the cicada (higurashi) does not begin to sing until
summer (and its song is quite unlike that of the hototogisu), we
should assume that this is a witty literary reference. One suggestion
is that it is a complex pun whereby ‘matsu’ in the place name (note 2
above) is associated with a well-known poem of waiting which is
based around a pun involving the word ‘higurashi’.
4. the Riding Ground: One of two areas at the northern verge of the city
which were devoted to riding practice and associated activities. The
event the ladies witnessed was part of a series of ceremonial archery
competitions held over a number of days.
5. delightfully reminiscent… Lord Akinobu: They were travelling the
same road along which the Kamo Festival procession moved. This
house, being beyond the city limits, would have been the second or
country residence of Teishi’s uncle, Lord Akinobu.
6. something called ‘rice heads’… some unfamiliar machine that revolved:
The word for rice plant (ine) is not the same as the word used for rice
as a food, so the ladies are being introduced to something that may
in fact be new to them. What they were probably shown was a sheaf
of rice heads from last year’s harvest, perhaps an unfamiliar sight to
court ladies, although Sei may well be elegantly feigning her
ignorance of rustic matters. The ‘unfamiliar machine’ was probably a
device for milling the rice.
7. used to the face-down pose: Akinobu seems to be teasing them about
their role of service at court, where they would be frequently on
their knees bowing low.
8. the Ichijō mansion… Adviser Kiminobu: The mansion, by the northeast corner of the imperial palace grounds, was at this time the home
of Fujiwara Tamemitsu. Kiminobu was his sixth son.
9. the Tsuchi Gate: The north-east gate of the palace compound.
10. my lacquered cap: This cap was worn with everyday wear, and was
inappropriate dress for the palace.
11. Three Worms Night: A belief going back to Taoism, that at a certain
conjunction in the calendar (the coincidence of the Elder Metal with
the Monkey sign, or kōshin) the three worms that dwell in the body
and know our secret sins will ascend to heaven and reveal them
while we sleep, thereby shortening our life. To prevent this, people
spent the night keeping themselves awake with entertainments such
as games and poetry competitions.
95 It was while we were in the Office of the Empress’s Household
1. I’m simply… the spirit of the moonlight: Behind this statement lie a
number of possible poetic references. The most apt is from Bo Juyi’s
‘Song of the Pipa’, where the listeners who have been listening to the
pipa ‘are left silent, simply gazing / into the river and the whiteness
of the autumn moon’.
96 There was a large and distinguished gathering
1. there can be no other Law… even the lowest: The teasing name refers
to the Lotus Sutra’s claim for itself (in the ‘Expedient Devices’
(Hōben) chapter) that ‘there is but one vehicle of the Law, there are
not two or three’. Sei’s response cleverly refers to current Buddhist
teaching, which divided rebirth in Paradise into nine ranks; she says
that, in the case of Her Majesty, she will gladly accept even the
lowest rank if it will allow her to enter the exalted presence.
97 The Counsellor paid a visit
1. The Counsellor: Teishi’s brother Takaie.
2. the ribs of a jellyfish: Sei’s point is that if no one has ever seen the
ribs, they must be non-existent.
98 One wet day during the endless rains
1. Aide of Ceremonials Nobutsune: Probably Fujiwara Nobutsune, who
was given this post in 998.
2. let’s say it’s your footman: There is much uncertainty over the
meaning of Sei’s reply, translated freely here. It seems to have
involved a no-longer-understood pun, to do with wiping the feet.
3. Enutaki… when you look: ‘Enutaki’ is an odd name, variously
interpretable as ‘dog-hugger’ or ‘dog’s vomit’, and her witty reply
involves a pun that turns the play on names back on to Tokikara,
which can be interpreted to mean ‘depending on the time’. (The
Empress in question was consort to the previous Emperor,
Murakami.)
99 There could be no more splendid celebrations conceivable
(995.2)
Sei records in vivid detail a scene of Teishi’s family in the final moments
of its glory, as two months later her father Regent Michitaka died
suddenly. Present are Michitaka and his wife Kishi, his sons (in
descending order: Yamanoi, Korechika, Takaie and Chikayori), his
second daughter Genshi (the Shigeisa), who had just become consort to
the Crown Prince (she was 15 at the time) and a grandson. See also
Section 259, note 7.
1. they hadn’t yet met in person: I.e. in Genshi’s new exalted capacity as
the Crown Prince’s consort. This is the official first encounter, at
which the other members of their family are also present.
2. Plum-pink… awful: Teishi’s primary concern is to do with the
prescribed colour combinations for the time of year.
3. in the style of a gentlewoman: Although she was in the presence of her
own children, on this formal occasion Kishi was ranked below them
in station, and hence dressed with suitable humility.
4. the washing of hands: Since it was morning, the usual morning
ablutions took place. (The visit began at night and extended into the
evening of this day.)
5. via the Senyōden… the Chinese roof section: The Senyōden and
Jōganden lay between the Empress’s present residence and the
Shigeisa’s residence, from which her water was brought; all were
connected by galleries. The central part of the gallery was covered by
a deep-eaved roof which turned up in the Chinese style.
6. put up Her Majesty’s hair: For the meal.
7. draped them on the Lieutenant’s shoulder: It was customary to accept
gifts of clothing by putting them on one’s shoulder. See also Section
82, note 5.
8. rolling out the mat: When the Emperor paid a visit on foot, a long
woven mat was placed on the ground for him to walk on.
9. retired to the curtained dais: The Emperor’s apparently high handed
interruption of this important gathering to assert his sexual
prerogatives was probably interpreted as auspicious by the family,
since it was a reassuring demonstration of Teishi’s position as
imperial favourite.
10. the Director of the Court Repository: Probably Michitaka’s fifth son,
Yorichika, who took this position in 1005 (which provides a possible
date for the writing of this present section).
11. the temporary bridgeway: A bridge between buildings had evidently
been set up for the occasion.
100 A branch of plum from which the blossoms had fallen
1. What do you make… already scattered: Sei is being invited to respond
poetically on the subject of the plum branch. Her response is the
Japanese rendering of a quotation from a Chinese poem by Ōe no
Koretoki (888 –963): ‘The flowers have already scattered from the
plums of Dayu Ridge. / Who now inquires after their powdered
faces?’
101 Around the end of the second month
1. Consultant Kintō: Fujiwara Kintō(966 –1041) was considered the
finest poet of his day.
2. a piece of notepaper… touch of spring: Notepaper kept tucked into the
breast of one’s clothes, for jotting down notes; hence not formal
paper of the sort usually used for letters, and signifying that the
message was a passing thought. Rhythm and diction make it clear
that these ‘lines’ are the closing section of a poem. There is a hidden
reference to a poem by Bo Juyi: ‘At the third hour a great snow
comes tumbling from chilly clouds. / The second month brings a tiny
touch of spring to the mountains.’ Sei’s response echoes elements of
the first of these lines, her trembling calligraphy echoing the theme
of coldness.
3. Who is there to hear it: As Section 100 shows, an ostensibly private
response would generally be shared around and savoured if others
were present.
4. Captain of the Left Gate Watch: Fujiwara Sanenari became Captain of
the Left Gate Watch in 1009, which means that this section was
written about ten years after the event.
102 Things with far to go
1. the long cord of a hanpi jacket: This jacket was worn with a long,
thick cord over three metres in length around the waist, which
required considerable work to twist and paste.
103 Masahiro is a great laughing-stock
1. tossing his beans in the oven like this: This is probably a muddled
reference to a Chinese saying (roughly, ‘jumping up and down like
beanskins in an oven’) expressing impatient haste.
2. “your bodily appendages”: This passage is obscure. The point appears
to be that instead of using the more usual word for ‘body’ this
person, perhaps hoping to sound more learned and impressive, used
the Buddhist term gotai, which in fact refers to the five appendages
(head, arms and legs) of the body. It may also be that the passage has
become garbled, and these are in fact the words of someone
reporting Masahiro’s own mistake.
3. terra firma literally trembled at his tread: Sei seems to be mocking him
with a Masahiro-like absurdly grandiose Sinified phrase.
104 Things that are distressing to see
1. A priest… stuck on his forehead: Presumably Sei’s objection is to the
incongruity of a Buddhist priest donning the little hat of the YinYang master in order to perform a Yin-Yang ceremony.
2. I do hate… sprouting from his face: The term ‘daytime nap’ (hirune)
may have had connotations of lovemaking, but it seems that Sei’s
primary objection is to the way these people look, not to their
behaviour.
105 Things that are hard to say
1. It’s very difficult… some high-ranking person’s words: Presumably
because particular care must be taken to relay the words correctly,
and to use the appropriate honorific language.
106 Barrier gates
These gates were set up at the boundaries of provinces, etc., to levy tolls
and generally keep a check on travellers. Their names frequently
appeared in poems, in which certain landmarks and place names carried
specific poetic associations, often related more to the name than the
actual characteristics of the place. This list moves progressively from
west (close to the capital) to east.
As well as poetic associations, Sei chooses names for the interest of
their literal meaning, e.g., Tadakoe: ‘crossing at full tilt’; Habakari:
‘fearfully’; Yokohashiri: ‘running sideways’; Kiyomi: ‘pure seeing’;
Mirume: ‘seaweed’, also ‘the seeing eye’.
1. Yomoyomo… thought better of: Yomoyomo is similar to a word
meaning ‘definitely not’.
107 Forests
1. Iwase… Tachikiki: Meaning both ‘stony rapids’ and ‘to make speak’
and ‘standing and overhearing’, respectively. This section is a
variation on 193.
109 Around the end of the fourth month
1. boats loaded with reeds… Takase Pool: The reeds were being
harvested to be used in weaving mats. The quote is from an old song
accompanying a kagura dance, included in Kokin rokujō (3810): ‘On
this reed pillow – / made of the severed reeds / cut from Takase Pool
/ though severed they may be / – yet will I place my trust.’ Takase
was not far from the Yodo Crossing.
2. gathering sweet flag: For use in the Sweet Flag Festival.
110 Common things that suddenly sound special
1. An ox cart on the first day of the year: Presumably because it heralded
the traditional visits people paid each other on this day.
114 Moving things
1. Mitake austerities: A sacred place where rigorous austerities were
undertaken by practitioners of the mountain ascetic (yamabushi)
austerities. See also Section 37, note 3.
2. Nobutaka: Fujiwara Nobutaka was the husband of Murasaki Shikibu,
author of The Tale of Genji.
3. dressed in deep black: Mourning clothes. The deeper the shade, the
closer the relation to the person who had died.
4. preventing it: See also Section [S25] and headnote.
115 It’s delightful to be on retreat
Pilgrimages to temples were an important aspect of court life, and
frequently involved a ‘retreat’ at the temple, of varying duration.
Despite the ostensibly religious purpose, we learn here how the sense of
adventure and occasion could also make it an enjoyable event. This
section shifts between generalized description and personal
reminiscence. Although the Sankanbon text gives the temple as Kiyomizu, other texts name it as Hase Temple. See also Sections 211 and
[S27].
1. little waist-robes: Literally ‘wearing only waist sashes’. The meaning
is unclear, but may refer to short robes tied simply at the waist,
which were the most abbreviated form of monks’ clothing and could
be half stripped to hang from the waist sash.
2. the four-word verses of the Kusha Sutra: This sutra was divided into
600 ‘verses’ (ge or zu) of 4 words each, to aid in recitation.
3. the sacred image: The image (a large, gilded sculpture) enshrined at
both Kiyomizu and Hase Temples is Kannon bodhisattva.
4. a monk approaches… star anise leaves: The reference is unclear. It
may be that the priest is offering the incense water in a pot with a
sprig of the highly-scented star anise in it.
5. a conch horn: The conch shell, fashioned into a horn, was blown to
announce the hours in the temple.
6. over the lattice of the inner sanctum: Possibly to shield their rooms
from the inner sanctum, since they have not yet presented their
prayers.
7. the prayer gong: A flat, round metal gong that hangs at the entrance
of the worshipping hall is beaten briefly before prayers are offered.
117 Miserable-looking things
1. its rain cover: A piece of straw matting, also put on a carriage when
the occupant was in mourning.
118 Things that look stiflingly hot
1. The hunting costume… escort guard: Perhaps because he has to stand
guard for long periods in blazing sun.
2. A Lieutenant… the imperial games: He must sit in formal posture
before the games (archery, etc.) for many hours in the hot sun.
119 Embarrassing things
Specifically, people or situations that embarrass by exposing what is
normally private or hidden.
1. The heart of a man: The suggestion is that a man can see into a
woman’s heart, though he remains inscrutable to her.
2. A night-priest: A priest employed to stay up all night to perform
prayers and incantations for a household. The embarrassment may
have to do with the fact that, being next door, he overhears things
said (and done) when people assume he is napping (see also Section
127).
121 Prayers and incantations
1. the protection mantras: Mantras performed at the beginning of the
Shingon and Tendai sects’ Tantric ceremonies to invoke protection
for the priest himself. Evidently the invocations used in the older
Nara temples differed in style from those of the capital.
122 Awkward and embarrassing things (995.10.21)
1. On the way back: This recollection of a moving moment Sei
witnessed during an imperial procession to Iwashimizu Hachi-man
Shrine is treated as a separate section by some editors.
2. the viewing stand: An elaborate stand specially erected for the
viewing of a procession.
123 The Regent was to emerge (994?)
Michitaka has paid a formal visit to the Emperor in the Seiryōden, where
Teishi also happens to be staying, and she and her gentlewomen are
there to welcome him as he emerges triumphantly, together with other
members of his family. (See also Section 99.) The brief appearance of his
rival (and brother) Michinaga, who was soon to oust his family from
power, registers here only as a small, uneasy moment between the two.
1. from the Fujitsubo wall… Tōkaden: I.e. the line stretched north from
the western side of the gallery into which Michitaka emerged,
towards the rear of the palace compound.
125 When we gathered the herbs
1. the No-ears plant: A literal translation of the name miminagusa, a
member of the carnation family with edible leaves.
2. Though you… chrysanthemum: This clever poem hinges on two puns:
the verb tsumu (to pluck flowers/pinch an ear, etc.) and kiku
(chrysanthemum/to hear or listen).
126 In the second month, an event called The Selection
The following teasing exchange is based on the name ‘Shōnagon’, which
is the name of a post (Junior Counsellor), apparently deriving from the
post Sei’s father held.
1. an event called The Selection… called sōmé: Sei here manages to
confuse not only the names of events, but their times and their
associated ceremonies as well, displaying the ignorance of such
matters typical of the women at court.
2. heitan cakes: Square rice cakes with a filling of eggs, vegetables, etc.,
that were presented to the court nobles and senior courtiers the day
after the Preselection and Selection Ceremonies.
3. ‘Mimana Nariyuki’: A false name which includes the characters for
Yukinari’s name in reverse. Mimana was the name of a low-ranking
family, hence a typical retainer’s name.
4. he refrains… his ugly appearance: A reference to the shy, ugly god of
Kazuraki.
5. this kind of protocol: Sei wants to continue the game by responding
as would befit a Junior Counsellor.
6. Korenaka’s voice: Taira Korenaka, who was in charge of the present
ceremonies.
7. looking terribly smart and proper: He is under the impression that Sei
has called him in order to relay something from the Empress herself.
8. Such handsome cakes… himself: The wit lies in the similarity between
the name of the cakes (heitan) and the word for rude or callous
(reitan).
127 One day someone idly said
This discussion centres around the literal or apparently meaningless
names of items of clothing. Elsewhere I use explanatory names for many
of them, but give the literal meanings here.
1. “thin-long”… “sweat-garment”: Hosonaga, long divided robe. Kazami,
girl’s over-robe, and originally an undergarment.
2. “long-bottom”: Shiranaga, an unidentifiable item of clothing worn by
boys.
3. “Underlayer”… “wide-mouth”: Shitagasane, train-robe. ōguchi, short,
wide-bottomed skirted trousers.
4. “sew-and-pull”: Sashinuki, gathered trousers.
128 After the late Regent’s death (995.9)
1. Once more the moon… loved it then: From a Chinese poem by
Sugawara Funtoki (899 –981), included in Wakan rōeishū.
2. her teasing reply: Teishi is referring to Sei’s special fondness for
Tadanobu.
129 One evening, Secretary Controller Yukinari
1. the Hour of the Ox: Between 2 and 4 a.m.
2. the false cock of Lord Mengchang: According to legend, when trying
to escape capture, Mengchang arrived at the Hangu barrier gate in
the middle of the night and found it closed. His enemy was close at
his heels, and in desperation he had one of his followers imitate the
rooster crow that was the signal for the gates to be opened. Sei is
suggesting that the ‘cock’s crow’ that Yukinari claims he heard was
in fact contrived to help him escape.
3. Kanko… barrier gate of Ōsaka. Yukinari takes up Sei’s reference to
the Kanko barrier gate and teasingly twists it to the Ōsaka gate, the
latter a symbol of the difficulty of lovers’ meeting.
4. was quite overawed by it: Yukinari’s calligraphy was famous, and
presumably it was this rather than the poem itself that awed Ryūen.
130 One dark, moonless night in the fifth month
1. “this gentleman”: Sei responds to the joke with a neat reference to a
Chinese poem on bamboo by Fujiwara Atsumochi (d. c.793) in
Wakan rōeishū, which quotes an early Chinese poet as referring to
the bamboo he planted as ‘this gentleman’. The senior courtiers
quote the appropriate line when they return.
131 When the year of mourning (992, early summer)
Emperor Ichijō’s nurse, the powerful and high-ranking Tōsanmi
(Fujiwara Shigeko), has a trick played on her by the twelve-year-old
Ichijō and Teishi. Although narrated with all the detail of a witnessing
voice, this happened before Sei came to court.
1. a presentation stick: A long stick to which a formal letter delivered to
a high-ranking person was attached.
2. over the top of the lower shutter: The lower half-shutter remained
closed, while the upper one was raised to take in the letter.
3. Record of the Readings… white-backed walnut-brown paper: Tōsanmi
assumes that the official-looking message contains the Record of the
Readings – a list of the sutras, etc., and number of times performed –
which is sent to the petitioner after scripture readings have been
performed on their behalf. However, this would have been on a plain
white sheet of paper.
4. These deep-dyed clothes… forgot him: The evergreen oak (shii)
produces a dye for mourning clothes. The poem’s conceit is that the
priest lives in the mountains, among the evergreens, while down in
the city the season has advanced and the trees bear new leaves (i.e.
have changed to bright new clothes). A strong rebuke is implied.
5. the Abbot of Ninnaji… Fujiwara Grand Counsellor: Ninnaji (Niwaji)
was a temple to the north of the capital, whose abbot was chosen
from among the members of the imperial family. The Grand
Counsellor is Fujiwara Asateru.
6. some demon from the past: The straw raincoat, worn by the
messenger, is a garb frequently associated with demons.
7. shook her… happy pride: Tōsanmi can treat the young Emperor and
Empress with such astonishing familiarity because she is the
Emperor’s nurse. Her pride would have derived both from the special
intimacy that allowed her to take such liberties, and from the honour
of having a trick played on her by the Emperor and Empress.
134 Worthless things
1. Clothing starch that’s gone bad: Starch was made from rice paste,
which has a foul smell if left too long. There seems to be a textual
corruption at this point, and this translation follows one possible
interpretation.
2. the fire tongs… post-funeral fire: After a funeral, a fire was lit at the
gate of the house, and the bamboo fire tongs used to build the fire
were immediately thrown on to it.
3. After all… strange or unpleasant: This section, which keeps pausing to
justify and defend itself, is generally considered to have been added
after parts of the Pillow Book had come to be read (and presumably
criticized) by others.
135 Things that are truly splendid
What begins as a list quickly becomes a lovingly detailed description of
the Provisional Festivals: the Rehearsal of Performance for the Yahata
Provisional Festival in spring, and the winter Provisional Kamo Festival.
It is narrated as a vivid ‘present’, although evidently largely based on
specific past memories.
1. here… towards the Emperor: Although Sei is describing the Yahata
Festival, her directions are mistaken: the envoys face south for this
festival, towards the Iwashimizu Shrine, and north towards the Kamo
shrine for the Kamo Festival.
2. ‘Udohyō’: A folk song in the Eastern Songs (Azuma-uta) cycle, part
of the Suruga Dance.
3. Their hands… ‘Mount Koma’: The hand movements seem to have
been part of the dance, a miming of the song’s words (‘come let’s
relax, let your sleeves hang loose, let the glossy cords dangle’). The
title is an amalgam of an Eastern Dances song and another which
would not have been sung on this occasion.
4. Returning Dance: When the rituals at the Kamo Shrine are over, the
dancers return to the palace at night to dance again.
5. the Secretary Captain: The title reference is confusing, but the legend
is associated with the name of Fujiwara Sanekata, who died in 998.
6. the trains caught up on their heads: The ladies had apparently picked
up their trains and slung them over their shoulders in order to
hasten, and the trains had accidentally caught on their heads.
136 After the Regent had departed this life (996, autumn)
With Michitaka’s death followed by the exile of two of her brothers (see
Introduction, p. xv), Teishi was obliged to leave the palace in 996; she
went first to Korechika’s Konijō mansion, where she took holy orders,
but when it burned down a few months later she moved to her uncle
Akinobu’s home, the setting for this section. Sei was known to admire
Michinaga, so felt she was under suspicion of being in league with him,
and seems to have spent about four months in voluntary retirement at
home.
1. The gentlewomen were all… to see the dew on it: There is a poignancy
in the fact that they are maintaining court standards despite their
exile. The colours they wear make it clear that it is autumn, a season
that deepens the effect as does the neglected garden. Dew is
poetically symbolic of worldly transience.
2. lovely peonies: It is late for peony flowers, so perhaps it was their
autumn leaves that Minamoto Tsunefusa praises.
3. a single kerria petal… never rises into words: The kerria petal, which is
poetically associated with unspoken thoughts, would probably have
been made of paper. See Section 70, note 2 for the poem. The
message is that Teishi’s love for Sei is the greater for being silent.
4. game of Riddles: A courtly pastime in which two teams (left and
right) were selected to prepare a series of riddles. On the day, the
participants would be paired off to answer each other’s riddles.
Points were recorded by placing tokens in a container.
5. “A bow drawn in the heavens”: The answer would be immediately
evident to everyone, since the expression ‘bow-drawn moon’ was a
well-known figure of speech for the ‘new moon’.
140 Alarming-looking things
1. Thorny acorn husks… Water chestnuts: The husks of the kunugi oak’s
acorns are thorny, and were used as a dye. The next three items are
all foods that are either hairy (the mountain yam) or spiked (the
prickly water lily and the water chestnut).
141 Things that look fresh and pure
1. Earthenware cups: These were discarded after each use.
142 Distasteful-looking things
1. The baton… lined with simple cloth: A ceremonial baton was
sometimes used for holding memos concerning ceremonial details,
etc., and the baton of an Aide of Ceremonial (which was wood,
unlike the ivory batons of those of higher rank) was apparently put
to particularly frequent use. A standing screen would usually be silk.
2. A cabinet… Izumo matting: Perhaps such a cabinet is felt to be vulgar
because sliding doors, rather than the usual hinged doors, were
cheaper. Probably this matting was coarse-woven and originated in
the province of Izumo (present-day Shimane prefecture).
143 Things that make the heart lurch with anxiety
1. Watching… hair-binding cord: Horse races were held as part of
various festivals. The hair-binding cord may snap as it’s twisted.
144 Endearingly lovely things
1. ‘nun’s cut’ hairstyle: The hair of all children was cut to the shoulders
with a long fringe, as was the hair of women who took the tonsure.
146 Things with terrifying names
1. ‘Scale-board’ walls… ‘Arm-umbrella’ rain: A wall made of
overlapping slats, which look like a fish’s scales. A downpour fierce
enough to force people to shield themselves with a bent arm.
2. Living spirit possession… A bull-demon: The spirit of a living person
consumed with anger and resentment attaches itself to the person
who is its object and causes illness and death. Possibly a legendary
demon with a bull’s head. (Kanamochi is inexplicable.)
147 Things that look ordinary but become extraordinary when
written
Many names even for common objects were or could be written with
Chinese characters that, when interpreted literally, often produced
strange or incomprehensible meanings, as are most of the items here.
(See also Section [S4].
1. strawberry… dew plant… chestnuts: Respectively, overturned tray
child; sole of duck’s foot grass; barbarian peach.
148 Repulsive things
1. The seams… added: This presumably follows the theme of hairiness,
as the animal hair would show on the inside of the seam until the
garment was lined.
149 Occasions when something inconsequential has its day
All these examples are of people/things that normally play a humble
role, but become briefly important at a particular ceremonial event.
1. the Bamboo Breaking ceremonies: Twice a year, the Lady
Chamberlains performed a ceremonial measuring of the Emperor’s
height with a piece of bamboo, which was then broken to that
length.
2. The foodtaster… new year: A young girl is designated to taste the
ceremonial spiced saké before it is drunk by the Emperor.
151 People who seem enviable
1. Inari Shrine: A large mountain shrine just beyond the south-east
edge of the capital.
2. none of her ladies… chicken scrawl: The lady would ask one of her
gentlewomen to write the message on her behalf, as the artistic
standard of her court would be assessed by the calligraphy.
3. who have the freedom… imperial wives: Gentlewomen in service in the
various households of the imperial wives were not in this position,
since they were rivals.
152 Things whose outcome you long to know
1. When one of the various forms… is in process: These methods (known
generally as shibori) involve creating patterns by tying off parts of the
cloth in various ways; the pattern is only revealed when the tiethreads are removed.
154 When Her Majesty was in mourning for the previous Regent
(995.6 –7)
Owing to the pollution associated with death, members of the family had
to remove themselves from the palace during the Shinto ceremony of the
Great Purification, which took place in the sixth and twelfth months.
The Aitadokoro was a building in the greater palace compound used for
banquets and other formal occasions but not designed as a residence.
1. The Timekeeping Office… watch-drum: Part of the Bureau of
Divination. A drum or a bell was sounded at each change of watch.
In the next paragraph, the Left Gate Watch is the Kenshunmon Gate,
which was to the north of the Aitadokoro and the Bureau of
Divination.
2. centipedes: These centipedes, known as mukade, appear in the
summer months in Japan and can inflict an extremely painful bite.
3. Who ever… nightly trysts: Apparently improvised for the occasion in
the Chinese manner, lightheartedly imitating the venerable poetic
tradition of lamenting a place’s fall from past grandeur.
4. ‘one-side breeze’: A passing quotation from Kokinshū (168): ‘Up there
in the sky / where summer and autumn now / cross paths as they
pass / the breeze must be blowing cool / down one side of that
heavenly road.’
5. we seemed to have… less spacious: This may refer to the table of
offerings traditionally set up by the front steps for this festival.
6. Michikata… world of humans: Minamoto Michikata, Nobukata’s
younger brother Tadanobu’s apparently incomprehensible reply is
explained by Sei later (see note 8).
7. ‘Dew… part at dawn’: From a poem in Chinese by Sugawara
Michizane, found in Wakan rōeishū, which describes the tears of the
heavenly Weaver Maid when she must part from her Herdsman lover
star after their Tanabata meeting.
8. picked up on my reference: Tadanobu’s reply (see note 6) had been a
cryptic statement that his Tanabata poem the next day would
inappropriately refer to the human (as opposed to the heavenly)
realm and the fourth instead of the seventh month, to balance his
earlier gaffe.
9. breaking up the board: I.e. a victory has been achieved and the
players are now removing their tiles.
10. “playing a round”: Sei uses a term meaning ‘infidelity’ (sadame
naku), which contains an internal pun on the word for a go stone
(me).
11. “Magistrate Hsaio… ancient shrine”: From a poem in Chinese by Ōe
no Asatsuna (866 –957). Its theme, the bond of friendship, is on Sei’s
mind as she contemplates the fact that Tadanobu’s new appointment
will mean he has less opportunity to visit because he will have
ceremonial obligations and new duties.
12. “He had not… his thirties”: From a poem in Chinese by Minamoto
Fusaakira, lamenting his passing years and comparing himself with
earlier poets who had achieved greatness relatively early.
13. I believe that… admonished his wife: It seems Nobukata was close to
forty. Sei refers to the Chinese tale of a man who admonishes his
wife when she threatens to leave him because of his poverty, and
tells her that although he is already in his forties (or thirty-nine, in
the version Nobukata later refers to), he will be rich by his fifties, a
vow which he fulfils.
155 The name ‘Kōkiden’ (998 ?)
1. Kōkiden… the Left: The name of the palace where she normally
resided was commonly used to refer to her. She was Fujiwara
Yoshiko, daughter of Fujiwara Kinsue.
2. ‘Lie-down’: This is perhaps the person of the same name (Uchifushi)
who appears in records of the time as an accomplished shrine
priestess, whose nickname derived from the fact that she would
always prostrate herself when speaking.
156 Things now useless that recall a glorious past
1. A fine embroidery-edged mat: Such a mat, whose edging was woven
in elegant coloured patterns, was reserved for important use only.
2. Grape-coloured fabric… turned: The dye used for purple and grapecoloured cloth had camellia lye added. When the dye faded, the lye
was said to have ‘turned’.
158 Sutra readings
1. Continuous Sutra Readings: See Section 82, note 1.
159 Things that are near yet far
1. The Miyanobe Festival… Kurama Temple: The second of the biannual
Miyanobe Festivals, in the twelfth month, was both near (one month
distant) and far (a year apart) from the first. Kurama Temple, in the
mountains north of the capital, is not far up the mountain, but the
path to it describes large zigzags.
160 Things that are far yet near
1. Paradise. The course of a boat: Buddhism teaches both that Paradise
(gokuraku) is countless kalpas distant and that Amida Buddha, who
welcomes one to Paradise, is close at hand for those who call on him.
In a boat one travels straight and comparatively fast to a destination,
which makes it seem surprisingly close. (Kalpa is a Buddhist term
indicating an undefined but extremely long period of time.)
161 Wells
1. mountain well: A reference to an early poem (Manyōshū 3807): ‘The
shallow waters / of the mountain well can hold / vast Asaka
Mountain / yet far from shallow is this heart / that holds such loving
thoughts of you.’ Most names in this list are chosen for their poetic
associations.
2. Asuka Well: The reference is to a quotation from a popular saibara,
whose charm lies in its use of an archaic word for ‘water’.
3. ShōshōWell: Shōshō means ‘Lieutenant’.
162 Plains
Poetic associations lie behind all these names. Saga, Ono and Murasaki
Plains are close to the capital and would have been known to Sei.
164 Nobles
While the court nobles (kandachime) of Section 163 were generally men
who held the third rank or higher, these ‘nobles’ (kindachi) were the
sons of one of the great houses. Many of the titles listed here are dual
posts. See Appendix 5.
165 Acting Provincial Governors
1. Kai… Awa provinces: These were among the most prestigious
provinces, in part because they were close to the capital.
166 Commissioners
These titles would normally be considered sixth-ranking, but have been
raised a rank to fifth.
169 Sixth-rank Chamberlains
1. The post… aspire to: This sentence bears little relation to the rest of
the section, and some consider it belongs with Section 164 or 165.
170 A place where a lady lives alone
The situation is typical of certain touching heroines in romantic tales of
the period. ‘Alone’ of course does not take into account the various
people in her service.
171 The home of a lady in court service
1. various ladies… visitor: Here, gentlewomen from different households
are all gathered together in someone’s home.
172 One day in the ninth month
This section takes the form of a romantic scene typical of the old tales.
According to some views of how the sections fit together, it is a
continuation of the previous section, a tale told by one of the ladies.
1. ‘though there… hangs bright’: From a poem by the seventh-century
poet Kakinomoto Hitomaro (Shūishū 795).
2. The woman… slip quietly away: The passage is difficult to follow, and
some have suggested that her wig slipped when she bent forward,
and her bare, shiny head is lit with the moonlight, which would
indeed astonish the gentleman. In that case, the section becomes a
spoof of the romantic tale genre.
173 It’s quite delightful when the snow is falling
1. ‘The man… today’: A poem by Taira no Kanemori (d. 990) (Shūishū
251): ‘Snow falling thickly / here in this mountain village / and the
path is gone. / The man who comes to call today / would truly move
my heart.’ This visitor is wittily suggesting that they should find his
visit moving.
2. ‘snow… certain mountains’: From a Chinese poem ‘To Yin Hsieh-lii’,
of uncertain provenance, in Wakan rōeishū: ‘At dawn when I entered
the garden of the King of Liang / the snow lay thick upon the heaped
mountains. / At night when I climbed the tower of the Duke of Yü /
the moonlight lit the land a thousand miles about.’‘The heaped
mountains’ refers to the snow mountains that the King of Liang
reportedly built in his garden, but the visitor is intentionally
obscuring the specific reference.
174 Once, during the reign of the former Emperor Murakami
1. ‘at times… blossom’: From a poem by Bo Juyi. The relevant lines are:
‘My companions of lute and wine / All have left me and scattered. /
At times of snow, moonlight and blossom / Above all other times, I
think of you with love.’
2. ‘When I went… with it’: The puns are kogeru (‘to row’ and ‘to burn or
singe’) and kaeru (‘to return’ and ‘frog’).
175 The lady known as Miare no Seji
Her name refers to her role as imperial messenger to the Kamo High
Priestess. This episode occurred during the reign of a previous Emperor.
1. mizura style: Parted at the crown and bound on either side of the
head.
176 When I first went into court service (991 –993)
1. by the light… standing tray: The oil lamp has been placed on an
inverted standing tray, making it lower than usual and illuminating
what is beneath in more detail.
2. The head of my room: Several women usually shared an apartment.
The one who had been in service longest acted as the head.
3. His Excellency: Teishi’s father, Regent Michitaka. He is probably the
‘glamorous’ joking man who arrives later.
4. “the path is gone”… “truly moved”: See Section 173, note 1.
5. free calligraphic style: A calligraphic script (also known as ‘grass
style’) in which Chinese characters were written in flowing and
abbreviated form, a precursor to the development of the phonetic
hiragana (see Introduction, p. xxvii).
6. I see you’ve lied to me: Superstition had it that a sneeze indicated
that something bad was afoot. An exception was the sneeze at New
Year (seen in the following section), which was a sign of long life.
7. How could I… Her Majesty feels: The poem puns on sora (‘sky’ and
‘untruth’) and tadasu (‘to arraign and judge’, and the name of the
sacred wood at the entrance to the lower Kamo Shrine). Teishi
dictated the poem to a gentlewoman, who added her own message.
8. We may judge… misjudged misery: The central pun is on the word
hana (‘flower’ and ‘nose’) and its associated words ususa and kosa
(respectively ‘paleness’ and ‘richness’ of colour, also applicable to
shallowness or depth of love).
9. The god… awe of him: Sei is implying that the god from whom the
Yin-Yang masters receive their information, rather than the god of
Tadasu, knows her heart.
177 People who feel smug
1. A Provincial Governor… a noble family: A young noble would rise
through the ranks via more prestigious appointments such as Captain
of the Palace Guards.
178 Nothing is more splendid than rank
Sei is referring specifically to high rank, rather than the institution of
ranking itself.
180 Illnesses
The focus is on illnesses that provide an engaging and moving scene for
the viewer, presented as if one were witnessing it in an illustrated tale.
1. Internal illnesses… spirits: The first appears to cover a variety of
illnesses, including those of heart and lungs. Spirits were thought to
cause a number of illnesses and derangements, which could be cured
by exorcism.
181 It’s delightful to see someone who’s a great ladies’ man
1. the crumpled sleeve… shift: The implication is that it has been wrung,
perhaps with the tears of parting. This image may have been woven
into his next-morning poem.
2. the sixth volume of the Lotus Sutra: This includes the important
chapter named ‘juryōbon’ (‘The Life-span of the Thus Come One’).
184 It’s enchanting to overhear
1. ‘The wanderer… waning moon’: From a poem attributed to Chia Sung
in Wakan rōeishū: ‘The lovely lady has finished adorning herself /
the bell resounds in the palace of Wei. / The wanderer sojourns on
beneath a waning moon / while at Han-ku Pass a cock crows.’
185 Things that prove disillusioning
1. You instantly… gonna go home: Sei’s criticism is of a shift in spoken
language, in which the particle to became elided, so that, for
example, the expression iwan to su (I’m going to say it) became
iwanzuru.
2. ‘a single cawidge’… ‘lek for’: Her examples are hitotsu pronounced
hitetsu, and motomu pronounced mitomu.
186 It’s very unseemly for a man
1. the northern quarters: The kitchen and servants’ quarters were on the
northern side of the house.
187 Winds
1. summer’s padded robe… sleep under: The padded robe is hung up to
air during the day. It has been used for sleeping during the summer
(see Section 41). When a typhoon brings in the first cool air of
autumn, another layer is added.
188 The day after a typhoon
1. ‘I see why the word “storm”’: Funya no Yasuhide (fl. 858 –888),
Kokinshū (249): ‘I see why the word “storm” / becomes in writing
“mountain wind”, / for autumn’s trees and plants / all bend and
wither in the force / of this wind from the mountain tops.’ (The
character for arashi (storm) is a combination of the characters for
mountain and wind.)
189 Elegantly intriguing things
These scenes, auditory as much as visual, share the quality of arousing
interest by their elegant suggestiveness of situations that can only be
guessed at.
1. Hair tossed back… splendid length: The woman would be seated, and
the end of her hair would lie piled on the floor.
2. The metal clasps… trefoil cords: The blinds are rolled up to the lintel
cloth, with braided cords in a trefoil design at their upper edge, and
held in place by metal clasps.
3. The scent of incense… Little Door: Incense is used to scent clothes;
creating incense blends was a highly cultivated art. The Little Door is
the room’s northern door, probably a small wooden double door.
190 Islands
Poetic association is the primary reason behind Sei’s choice of place
names in this and the next two sections.
1. Yaso and Uki Islands: These mean respectively ‘numerous islands’
and ‘floating island’.
2. Taware: Tawaru means ‘play’, and has sexual overtones.
191 Beaches
1. Fukiage… Uchiide… Moroyose… Chisato: Literally, ‘waves blown up
by wind’; ‘going out’; ‘bringing together’; ‘a thousand miles’,
respectively.
192 Bays
1. Korizuma Bay: An invented place name, located in Suma, which
plays on that name plus the word korizu (not to become obsessed, as
by a failed love affair, etc.).
193 Woods
This is a lengthier version of Section 107. Many of these names are not
geographically traceable. Most have poetic associations and are
primarily interesting for their meanings.
1. Utatane… Tareso… Kurubeki… Tachigiki: Literally ‘nap’; ‘who goes
there?’; ‘expected to come’; ‘eavesdropping’, respectively. For Iwase,
see Section 107, note 1.
2. one tree: The reference to the single tree is unclear.
194 Temples
These were all situated in and around the capital.
1. Ryōzen… the Buddha: Ryōzen is an abbreviated form of the name
Vulture Peak, where the Buddha was said to have preached the Lotus
Sutra.
196 Buddhas
Buddhas exist in numerous manifestations, those listed here being
among the most well known. Their primary characteristics are given
below.
1. Nyoirin. Senju… Kannons: Nyoirin: Saves sentient beings from
suffering. Senju is the thousand-armed form of Kannon, bodhis-attva
of mercy, who also takes five other forms, including that of Nyoirin.
2. Yakushi… Fugen: Yakushi: The healing buddha. Shaka is the
historical buddha (Guatama). Miroku is the bodhisattva of the future.
Jizō is specifically associated with the salvation of children. Monju:
is the bodhisattva of wisdom. FudōMyōō: a fierce guardian deity of
great importance in the Shingon sect. Fugen: a bodhisattva
associated with meditation and wisdom.
197 Chinese writings
The list begins with classic Chinese literary texts, and ends with some of
the kinds of formal religious and court documents that were traditionally
written in Chinese in the Japanese court.
1. Monju… Goteihongi: Monju: (Chinese Wenji), a collection of the
poems of the popular Chinese poet Bo Juyi (Hakurakuten). Monzen:
(Chinese Wensuan), a compendious collection of prose and poetry
down the ages. Shinbu: (Chinese Xinfu), reference unclear, possibly a
name given to part of Monzen. Shiki: (Chinese Shiji), Records of the
Historian; its first volume is Goteihongi (Chinese Wudi benji).
198 Tales
A partial list of the large number of tales that were being read at this
time, of which only two survive. On Komano and Katano, see Section
273 and notes 4 and 5.
1. Sumiyoshi: A tale of the persecution of a stepchild. It exists in a form
modified at a later period.
2. The Tale of the Hollow Tree: See Appendix 4. Changing Residence
(Tonoutsuri) and Yielding Up the Country (Kuniyuzuri) probably refer
to sections of it, although the names are not in existing versions of
the work.
201 Games
1. Court kickball: A popular courtly game played with four, six or eight
men.
202 Dances
The first two dances listed were part of the Eastern Dances. The others
originated in China or India.
1. ‘Taiheiraku’… Bird Dance: A sword dance, and a dance in which
dancers were costumed in wings and headdresses, respectively.
2. BatōDance… the ground: A dance in which the dancer wore a fierce
blue mask and long blue wig; batō means literally ‘head-pulling’. The
Crouch a Dance was performed in the squatting position.
3. Lion Dance: Probably related to the Chinese Lion Dance. See also
Section 205 and note 6.
204 Wind instruments
1. as for the face of the player: He must blow out his cheeks and distort
his mouth to produce a sound.
205 Spectacles
1. broad spotted sheaths: Made of leopard skin.
2. ‘As the shrine priests will bind their robes’: An anonymous poem,
Kokinshū (487): ‘As the shrine priests will bind / their robes with
mulberry sashes / for the mighty gods / so, my lord, no day goes by
/ when my thoughts are not bound to you.’
3. Rope Escorts: The palanquin is pulled along by ropes, and beside the
rope-drawers walk their more splendid escorts.
4. Most incomparably… the Butokuden: This description is of the
imperial progress to the Butokuden (Hall of Military
Accomplishments) to view the horse racing associated with the Sweet
Flag Festival. Festive herbal balls and sweet flag were distributed to
the courtiers by the Lady Chamberlains. The tradition was abolished
in 968. See also Section 84.
5. The Ebisu Residence Move… arrows: The text is very confusing. I have
followed the interpretation that it refers to certain apparently farcical
entertainments that took place the day after the Sweet Flag Festival.
6. lion and dog dances: As the dancers performed the lion (shishi) dance,
two children costumed as Korean dogs (komainu) danced playfully
among them.
7. it’s a shame… down the road: The nobles are taking part in the
procession, so are not mingling with the audience.
8. The processon… carrying the empty palanquin back: See also Section
38. The Kamo High Priestess returned by ox-drawn carriage, so the
palanquin was no longer needed.
9. you almost expect… hidden there: The hototogisu is often poetically
described as singing hidden in a hedge of flowering deutzia.
10. ‘parted by the mountain peak’: A poem by Mibu no Tadamine (fl.
898 –920), Kokinshū (601): ‘White clouds in the wind / are parted by
the mountain peak / and are seen no more – / as your cold heart at
parting / holds no traces of regret.’
206 Around the fifth month
1. In swampy ground… human tread: The feet of the men leading the
carriage the women travel in. Woven into this description is a strong
echo of an anonymous love poem, Kokin rokujō (1688): ‘The reedtangled mud / makes a beguiling surface / but hidden there below /
the unexpected water lies / like hidden feelings of the heart.’
208 On the evening of the fourth day of the fifth month
1. the fourth day of the fifth month: The day before the Sweet Flag
Festival, when underlings are bringing in the sweet flag leaves to
strew.
209 On the way to the Kamo Shrine
1. ‘Yah! You there… planting’: The time of the hototogisu’s song
coincides with the season of rice-planting. A version of this folk song
still survives.
2. ‘Hototogisu… so loud’: Several poems are possible references for this
quotation, e.g. Shūishū (120): ‘Hototogisu / please do not sing so
loud. / Wait till your long calls / can be threaded through the jewels
/ of the fifth month’s herbal balls.’ The hototogisu’s call also heralds
the time of the Sweet Flag Festival and its decorative herbal balls.
3. just like… Nakatada’s childhood: For Sei’s preference for Naka-tada,
see Section 78 and note 5.
210 At the end of the eighth month
A seasonal contrast to the previous section, describing a memory of a
specific pilgrimage to Kōryūji, a temple to the north-west of the capital
in the Uzumasa area.
1. How recently… rice plants: An anonymous poem, Kokinshū (172):
‘How recently it was / that they took up the young rice plants – /
only yesterday, / and now the autumn breezes blow / through the
ripened ears of rice.’
2. the little huts in the fields: Used by people set to guard the rice fields.
211 Soon after the twentieth day of the ninth month
1. pilgrimage to Hase: This may be the same pilgrimage as that
described in detail in Section 115 (identified in some texts as Hase
Temple).
212 Setting off to climb the slope
1. to climb the slope… burning firewood: Kiyomizu, like many temples, is
approached by an uphill path. The smoke was probably from the
houses of the village outside the temple gates.
213 The sweet flag leaves from the fifth month
1. The sweet flag leaves… winter: The leaves used in the Sweet Flag
Festival seem to have been left in place until the following year.
214 A well-scented robe
1. A well-scented robe… scenting frame: Robes were scented by being
draped over a frame, which formed a small tent within which
incense was burned.
216 Things that should be big
1. Provisions bags: Used for carrying food when travelling.
2. great glaring eyes: Literally ‘eyes like metal bowls’, a reference to the
glaring metal eyes of fierce guardian deities, etc., in Buddhist
sculpture.
3. Winter cherries: Large Physalis alkekengi were used medicinally, or in
children’s games.
217 Things that should be small
1. small: The word mijikaki includes the meanings of both ‘small’ and
‘short’.
218 Things that a house should have
1. An elbow-shaped corridor: The precise meaning is unclear, but
probably a corridor with a bend would give an impression of depth.
2. Oharaki and kakiban: References unknown, but kakiban was
probably a board used either for sewing or for writing on.
219 On your way somewhere
1. piled in a lid: Large lids were often used as trays to carry objects.
221 I heard people saying there’d been a man in the Long Room
1. Dawn… morning had arrived: The second and third ‘lines’ (7, 5) of
Teishi’s poem, which has a picture as the first ‘line’. (Other texts
have mikasayama, ‘Umbrella Mountain’, for the first line which
clarifies the poetic intent.) The implicit pun is on the phrase nureginu
wo kiseru, (literally, ‘to be made to wear wet clothes’), which meant
‘to be the butt of false rumours’, with the umbrella providing the
unspoken connection. Sei’s answer, which also uses a picture to
substitute for a word, draws on this allusion.
222 When Her Majesty was in the Sanjō Palace (1000.5)
Another fire had caused Teishi to move temporarily again to Taira
Narimasa’s home. She was pregnant with her third child, and
Michinaga’s growing power was threatening her position in the court.
1. the fifth day: The day of the Sweet Flag Festival.
2. the little Prince and Princess: Teishi’s children, Atsuyasu and Shūshi,
were respectively two and five years old at the time.
3. green-wheat cakes… across the fence: The cakes are made from unripe
wheat. ‘Across the fence’, was probably intended as an allusion to
Kokin rokujō (1427): ‘The horse in his field / stretches to reach the
green grass / that grows across the fence – / so my heart too yearns
over / to where you lie out of reach.’
223 When Nurse Taifu
1. went off to Hyōga… gave her: Taifu was probably accompanying her
husband when he was posted to Hyōga as Governor. It was the
custom to give a gift of a fan to someone departing on a journey.
2. Face… in the capital: The pun turns on the name Hyōga, which is
written with characters meaning ‘sun’ and ‘turn or go towards’.
224 Once when I was in retreat at Kiyomizu Temple
1. red-tinted Chinese paper: Paper of very high quality, which causes Sei
to be at a loss for suitable paper for her reply.
2. a violet lotus petal: Probably an artificial petal such as were used
decoratively in temple services.
225 Posting stations
There were stations, often with an inn attached, roughly every thirty
miles along major roads, for exchanging horses on a journey. This
section seems to include wayside inns generally in the term.
226 Shrines
1. Sacred resting shrines: A shrine which the god temporarily inhabits
when it is carried in a palanquin during a shrine festival.
2. Cedar Shrine… poem says: Ki no Tsurayuki, Tsurayukishū (226): ‘This
is no lost tale / from the world of far-off days – / the cedar at the
gate / of Miwa’s Shrine still stands to mark / its sacred power to all
who cross that hill.’
3. Kotonomama… every prayer: The name means literally ‘just as the
words say’, i.e. a promise to answer every prayer to the letter. The
reference is to Kokinshū (1055): ‘This shrine’s diligent god / will
answer each and every prayer / with such a zealous will, / surely it
makes the very woods / at last lament the fearful task.’
4. Aritōshi Shrine… fall ill: It was said that when Tsurayuki’s horse
became ill on a journey, the local people told him it was the doing of
the local god, who was unhappy at lacking a shrine. Tsurayuki
composed and dedicated a supplicatory poem to the god, and the
horse was cured. The name ‘Aritōshi’ literally means ‘putting ants
through’.
5. The parents… as a son: If his father had been a noble, the son would
have risen above this rank by the time his parents were old.
227 The Ichijō Palace went by the name of ‘The Temporary
Palace’ (1000, spring)
1. resided in the Seiryōden: The name of the Emperor’s palace was
transferred to a building at the Ichijō palace during his residence
there.
2. Takatō… ‘Takasago’: Fujiwara Takatō, Minister of War, 992 –996. A
saibara song.
3. we felt… as we gazed: The reference is to an old song and its
associated legend, wherein a forlorn lover picks wild parsley in a
vain attempt to assuage his longing for a maiden he has seen doing
this. Sei refers to the unassuaged sorrows of their present situation.
231 Hills
1. Funa Hill: A famous burying ground to the north-west of the capital.
2. the song’s bamboo grass… Tomo Hill: The bamboo grass appears in
the sacred kagura song: ‘Oh where does it grow, / the bamboo grass
that serving men / dangle from their belts? / That is the same
bamboo grass / that grows upon Tomo Hill.’
235 Stars
1. Altair… Shooting stars have a certain interest: Altair is the chief star in
the Aquila constellation; the Herdsman star in the legend on which
the Tanabata Festival is based. The interest in shooting stars
probably comes from their name, ‘yobaiboshi’, meaning ‘courting
star’.
236 Clouds
1. a Chinese poem… morning: Nothing approximating these words has
been identified in Chinese poetry.
237 Things that create a disturbance
1. the offering portion… morning meal: Monks set aside a portion of the
day’s main meal as an offering to all sentient beings. It may have
been placed on the roof.
2. Kiyomizu Temple… the retreat: The eighteenth day of each month
was dedicated to Kannon bodhisattva.
238 Slovenly-looking things
1. The rear view… holy men: Unlike in Japan, the Chinese dress style
was to wear the decorative part of the belt at the front, thus leaving
the back view as bare leather. Holy men were generally eccentric
recluses.
240 People who are smug and cocky
1. The woman… painful belly: She may have been a midwife, but was
primarily employed for her shamanic skills.
2. splits open… toothed object: Probably a saw. The bamboo was to be
used for suspending the sacred paper strips used in Shinto
ceremonies.
243 I particularly despise people who express themselves poorly
in writing
Sei is concerned here with the fraught question of correct use of respect
language, a complicated set of linguistic choices that affected every
social communication.
1. when you hear… neutrally polite: The retainer, who should normally
use honorific expressions when speaking to or of his master, is here
speaking in front of a guest and should thus not elevate his own
master relative to the guest, but use a neutrally polite verb.
244 Horrid filthy things
1. The bowls in the Privy Chamber: Probably a reference to the lidded
lacquer cups there, which were reputed to be used as a pillow by
senior courtiers obliged to stay there on night duty.
247 A son-in-law is brought in
1. A son-in-law is brought in: See Section 2, note 4.
2. the tailpiece of her carriage: The opposite ends of the carriage shafts
projected out some way behind it.
254 Once, towards the middle of the tenth month
1. She looked… ‘Dolly’: The meaning is unclear. It may be that the
effect of the great pile of hair she has drawn round her face (perhaps
because the night was cold) makes her shape in the moonlight
resemble a tall stupa. However, there is no obvious connection with
the nickname, whose meaning is itself obscure. (A stupa is a mound
or tower containing sacred Buddhist relics, sutras, etc.)
256 No one had sharper ears
1. the Minister of the Treasury: Fujiwara Masamitsu, who became
Minister of the Treasury in 998.
257 Things that give you pleasure
1. a puzzling dream… harmless: Dreams were considered to portend
future events. A professional dream interpreter was often called on to
interpret their meaning.
2. a matching game: A kind of popular game in which objects such as
shells, flowers or paintings were competitively matched.
258 I was talking with some people in Her Majesty’s presence
1. couldn’t bear to relinquish it: Sei refers to the Buddhist teaching to
‘relinquish’ all attachment to the illusory world of the senses.
2. trifles console… Obasute Mountain: Teishi is referring to an
anonymous Kokinshū poem (878), set in the province of Sarashina:
‘This sad heart of mine / can find no consolation – / ah, Sarashina, /
I gaze at the moon above / sad Obasute Mountain.’
3. magical formula for averting trouble: A joking reference to the
complicated gestures and incantations performed by priests in order
to magically avert troubles and disasters.
4. the Sutra of Longevity: A sutra often copied as a prayer for long life
and the averting of disasters. Teishi is making subtle reference to the
ladies’ teasing comments, as well as offering Sei comfort.
5. Most inexpressible… longevity: The punning conceit is on the double
meaning of kami (‘god’ and ‘paper’). The legendary crane lives for a
thousand years. This image links back through Teishi’s reference to
the Sutra of Longevity, to Sei’s earlier remark about paper giving her
a renewed lease of life, as well as to the encouragement in her
present circumstances.
6. a bound book: This sōshi may have been one origin of The Pillow
Book.
7. a letter: The fumi could also be interpreted more generally as
anything written, and some scholars believe that what Sei sent was
an early form of her Pillow Book.
259 On the twenty-first day of the second month (994)
Sei was still a relative newcomer to the court, and Michitaka at the
height of his power.
1. Sakuzen Temple… Nijō Palace: The occasion was the establishment
of Sakuzen Temple at Hōkōin, a residence which had been converted
to a temple and renamed five years earlier. The Nijō Palace had
recently been built for Teishi, and was close to Hōkōin.
2. all white with newness: The new wood had not yet had time to age
and darken.
3. the Chinese lions and the Korean dogs: Pairs of guardian animals,
sculptures of which traditionally stood before the curtained dais.
4. worn directly over: I.e. without displaying the sleeves.
5. I’ll go back home: Her father Regent Michitaka’s home was more or
less next door.
6. a special occasion: It would be more usual for the gift to be provided
from Teishi’s household, but she is there as Michitaka’s guest.
7. His Excellency’s daughters… Your Highness: Teishi’s three younger
sisters. Genshi (here called Nakahime (literally, middle daughter)),
the eldest. The next (no name known) was the wife of Prince
Atsumichi, so would be addressed normally as ‘Your Highness’,
although she was present here in her role as Michitaka’s daughter.
The Mistress of the Imperial Wardrobe (Jōganden) was the youngest.
8. because of the special circumstances: They were returning in order to
prepare themselves for the dedication ceremonies.
9. the tear-wet face… dawn: Anonymous poem in Shūishū (302):
‘Seeing these faces / of the dew-soaked blossoms / I recall with love
/ the tear-wet face of she / whom I parted from at dawn.’
10. ‘Let him scold if he will’: Probably a reference to the poet Minamoto
Kanezumi, although no such poem of his is known. The most likely
source is, in fact, Sosei (fl. 859 –897), Gosenshū (50): ‘Let him scold
as he will, / Takasago’s mountain guard, / I will pluck a spray / of
the Onoe cherry / and wear it in my hair.’
11. “the rain of passing time”: Teishi uses a rather hackneyed pun on
the double meaning of furu (‘to rain’ and ‘to grow old’).
12. the untimely ‘morning glory’ of my sleepy face: Sei is playing with the
name for the morning glory: asagao, literally ‘morning face’. It is
‘untimely’ both because of the lateness of the hour and because the
season is wrong for it to flower.
13. “still earlier than I myself”: Anonymous, Tadamishū (mid-tenth
century) (101): ‘Thinking to see / the blossoming cherry I went forth
/ in the moonlit dawn / but found the dew had come to it / still
earlier than I myself.’ Sei’s glancing quotation is enough to alert
Michitaka that she had witnessed the dawn removal of the cherry.
14. “blamed the spring winds”: Ki no Tsurayuki, Kokin rokujō (967):
‘The season is so late / that even in the mountain fields / the rice is
planting now – / No blame should lie on the spring winds / for the
falling cherry flowers.’
15. to cast her lie on the sky’s spring winds: Michitaka is playing with the
pun on sora (‘falsehood’ and ‘sky’).
16. apologetically: Teishi feels obliged to play down politely Sei’s skills
to others. Her use of the word tadagoto (everyday statement) echoes
the earlier wordplay on the poem’s kagoto (blame) which shifted to
soragoto (lie).
17. Have the blossoms… nine times a night: Teishi’s message contains a
phrase from a poem ‘Endless Longing’ by Bo Juyi, and Sei’s reply
also quotes it: ‘The autumn night grows long with thoughts of you,
my lord, / and my soul goes to your presence nine times a night.’
18. On the night… Nijō Palace: The narrative here reverts to Teishi’s
move to Nijō Palace. It leaps forward again (at p. 221 ‘I returned
from my home’), to pick up from the previous episode in which
Teishi urged Sei to hasten back.
19. the South Hall: Part of Michitaka’s residence.
20. sewing their gowns… formal trains: They are securing the layers of
the gowns to be worn at tomorrow’s ceremony with judicious
stitching, or threading braided cords to the waist area of the train.
21. your fan: The fan, an indispensable accessory with formal attire,
would have been a special one for the occasion.
22. swaggering about: The Prince was making great play of being a
member of this powerful family at such an impressive family event.
23. the accompanying nuns: Former gentlewomen who had taken the
tonsure with her.
24. the “special colours”: The grape colour of Buzé’s trousers resembles
the purple which required special permission. Yamanoi is facetiously
conflating her with her lover, and slyly referring to the special access
that Shigemasa has been granted to the trousers.
25. the same two accompanying gentlemen: Korechika and Takaie.
26. Michiyori: Fujiwara Michiyori, Michinaga’s eldest son.
27. you should remove… this particular gathering: Michitaka is
apparently referring to his wife’s choice of formal over-robe, which is
slightly less formal than the train and Chinese jacket combination,
and jokingly telling her that it is Teishi’s role to wear the less formal
clothing in present company.
28. we should have borrowed yours: Priests’ formal wear was of the
same purple and red weave.
29. Boddhisattva Jizō: The most endearing of the bodhisattvas,
associated with the salvation of children. He is portrayed as a monk,
with shaven head and surplice. (Ryūen was 15 years old.)
30. lotus flower… dancing: The lotus flowers were artificial. The dances
were part of the Buddhist ceremony.
31. Aide of Ceremonial Norimasa: Minamoto Norimasa.
32. ‘the close salt kilns of Chika’: A shorthand reference to a situation in
which, though close, two people cannot meet. The poem is
anonymous, Zoku gosenshū (1251)(738): ‘The salt kilns of Chika / in
the distant land of Oku / may indeed be close / but there’s no
meeting of the people’s / liking in that saltiness.’ There are puns on
chika (place name and ‘close’) and au (‘to meet one’s liking’ and ‘to
meet’).
33. when compared with the present: At the time Sei was writing, both
Teishi and her father were dead, and power had shifted to the new
Regent Michinaga.
260 Venerable things
1. ‘Nine-Section Staff’: When this sacred text is chanted, a staff with
loose metal rings attached to its head is shaken to mark the end of
each of its nine sections.
263 Hunting costumes
1. green wisteria: Probably a combination of green and yellow weave
over a spring-shoot green lining. Most of the colours listed would be
layering combinations.
264 Shifts
1. gloss-yellow robes: When white silk is glossed, it takes on a faint
yellow. Sei is distinguishing this from discoloured yellowing.
265 Formal train-robes
1. Formal train-robes: Specifically as worn by men in full civil dress.
The colours listed are layering combinations.
266 Fan ribs
1. hōtree… colour: A type of magnolia. The colours may refer to the
paper rather than the ribs.
267 Cypress fans
1. Cypress fans: More elaborately ribbed than other fans, with ribs
made of cypress wood.
268 Deities
This section lists the native gods associated with various shrines, most of
which were in or near the capital. (These shrines still exist.) It is still
common to refer to a god by its shrine name.
1. the Emperor of this land: There was a traditional identification
between the deity of this shrine and an early Emperor, Ōjin. The
procession is of the Yahata Provisional Festival.
2. ‘hold back the season’s change’: Ki no Tsurayuki, Kokinshū (262),
composed ‘on seeing autumn leaves on a shrine fence as he was
passing’: ‘Even the kudzu vine / that clambers over the shrine fence
/ of the powerful gods / cannot hold back the season’s change / and
shifts to autumn’s scarlet tinge.’
270 Huts
1. the ‘thatched hut’… poetry: These two names are poetic words, both
evoking lowly thatched huts. The ‘eastern hut’ (azumaya) appears in
folk song poetry from the Eastern provinces.
271 The calling of the night watch is a wonderful thing
It was the general custom for the night watchman to twang his bow to
ward off evil spirits, and beat a drum to mark the hour. A board on
which the times were written was displayed in the garden outside the
Privy Chamber. A peg was inserted at the appropriate place when the
hour changed.
1. Countrified people… ‘Ox eight strikes’: The night watchman beat the
drum a specified number of times depending on the hour (nine times
for the Hour of the Rat, eight for the Hour of the Ox, etc.), and this
had evidently entered common parlance in this shorthand
expression.
273 Captain Narinobu (1000)
Internal references (such as Narinobu’s title, the two women sharing
their little room) indicate the main episode occurred in 1000. Minamoto
Kanesuke had become Governor of Iyo in 999.
1. His Reverend… War: Emperor Murakami’s son Prince Munehira, who
had taken the tonsure.
2. a very odd family name: The portion of the text describing the nature
of her name has resisted scholarly interpretation, although it appears
to have something to do with its similarity to a food.
3. Hyōbu: ‘Taira’, who was evidently related to someone in the Bureau
of War (hyōbushō).
4. The Tale of Komano… of old: The same scene from this unlocated
tale is mentioned in Section 198. The anonymous poem (Gosenshū
978) has the headnote ‘sent to a forgotten lady’: ‘In the evening’s
dark / the road has grown invisible / but I ride homeward still /
giving my horse free rein to walk / knowing he knows the way of
old.’
5. I like the hero… the last two nights: In The Tale of Ochikubo
(anonymous, mid-tenth-century), Lieutenant Katano is a rival for the
hand of the princess, and the hero speaks ill of him for being
lascivious. Sei also refers to a scene in which the hero visits the
princess for the third night (thus sealing the marriage), and must
brave heavy rain to do so.
6. ‘How could I forget her’: A number of poems may be intended here,
although no extant poem associates these words with a snowy scene.
7. his Palace Guard costume instead: The position of Chamberlain often
doubled with that of Palace Guard. Palace Guard Chamberlains wore
impressively long formal train-robes.
8. ‘even if you do not share’: Minamoto Nobuakira, Shūishū (363):
‘Written to a lady on a bright moonlit night’: ‘Even if you do not
share / the yearning that is in this heart / can it be that you / are not
gazing as am I / at the moon this evening?’ Her lover has evidently
sent her the message.
274 You have a lover who always sends a next-morning poem
This could be considered a continuation of the previous section, carrying
the theme of lovers’ letters in varied weather into the realm of elegant
vignettes.
1. ‘the rising floods of rain’: No extant poem matches this quotation. It
may have used the image to express the rising force of a man’s
feelings for his lover.
275 Things of splendour and spectacle
1. Peacock King Sutra: This rite was held at the palace.
2. The Great Purification: A seven-day-long Buddhist ceremony held at
the court from the eighth day of the first month, to ensure the safety
of the country.
3. The Rite of the Holy Star King: The seven stars of the Ursa Major
constellation were identified as a bodhisattva, and rites were
performed invoking it for long life and protection from evil.
4. The Rite of the Golden-Wheel Buddha: A ceremony to protect the
country from natural disasters and military insurrection.
276 When there are great thunderclaps
1. by His Majesty’s shutters: The guards take up this post in
thunderstorms to provide personal protection to the Emperor.
277 The Kongenroku screen is a fascinating thing
1. The Kongenroku… the Screen of the Months: Kongenroku (Chinese
Kunyuanlu), a book of Chinese geography, was the subject of an
eight-panel screen in the palace. Kanjo (Chinese Hanshu), The History
of the Hans, was a Chinese history. The Screen of the Months
evidently depicted either a scene of each of the twelve months or of
the major court ceremonies of the year.
279 The snow was piled high
1. the snow of Kōro Peak: This name appears in a well-known poem by
Bo Juyi, the fourth of ‘Five poems I jotted down on the east wall of
my grass-thatched hut when first living under Xianglu Peak’
(included in Wakan rōeishū), in which the poet lies in his warm bed
on a winter’s morning. The relevant lines are: ‘I lift the blind to gaze
out / at the snow on Xianglu [Japanese Kōro] Peak.’
281 In the third month, I left the court
1. What a house… all ‘face’: The slender willow leaf is a traditional
metaphor for the eyebrows of a beautiful woman’s face, with a
further link being the punning meaning of mayu (‘eyebrow’ and
‘silkworm’s cocoon’, which the catkins resembles). The connection
with a beautiful face leads into another pun, where to shield or hide
the face means to ‘lose face’ (which the English expression for once
aptly echoes).
2. that Lieutenant: This seems most likely to be a reference to the story
of a Lieutenant Fukakusa, who wooed the famous poet Ono no
Komachi by following tradition and going to her door every night for
a hundred nights, but found he could not wait out the final night.
3. The word “unbearable”… unfortunate: The word that Teishi finds
fault with is kanekeru, which means literally ‘could not’. It is unclear
why this expression should be criticized. It may be that it doesn’t
suitably parry Teishi’s poem, and rather conceitedly accepts that
Sei’s absence is indeed unbearable to the Empress.
282 On the twenty-fourth day of the twelfth month
The three-day ceremony usually began on the nineteenth day. The
narrative point of view shifts rather disconcertingly between apparent
personal recollection and imagined scene.
1. the second service: Each night was divided into three services,
performed by different priests. The second would have ended at
around 1.30 a.m.
2. ‘The cold spreads crystal clear’: From a Chinese poem in Wakan
rōeishū: ‘The cold spreads crystal clear / over the thousand miles of
the Qin.’
283 When gentlewomen in the palace leave
This section appears to be written from the point of view of having left
court service and yearning to stay in touch with that world and its
gossip. Sei is perhaps imagining herself as the head of a household, still
vicariously participating in court life through the gentlewomen who
gather in her house.
284 Things that imitate
1. Children: This is generally interpreted to refer to children’s
propensity to copy what they see or hear. It may also be a humorous
reference to women’s tendency to have a child soon after a friend has
done so.
285 Things one must be wary of
1. what I believe is called the ‘oar’: Sei chooses to distance herself
elegantly from the world of such workaday words. It is likely that the
young man is poling the boat from the stern rather than rowing.
2. rowed from the roofed end: There is a small cabin area in the stern,
where the main oarsman stands to row.
3. ‘white retreating waves’: A line from a famous poem by Priest Mansei
(early eighth century) (Shūishū 1327): ‘To what shall I compare /
this transient world we live in? / White retreating waves / behind a
boat that vanishes / rowing into the light of dawn.’
286 A certain Officer of the Right Gate Watch
1. Touching indeed… for his soul: Offerings to or for the spirits of the
dead were made in order to raise them from the sufferings of hell.
Dōmei’s poem may be ironic or a heartfelt expression of pity at
human folly. Dōmei (d. 1021) was a priest of the Tendai sect who
was also a skilful poet.
287 The mother of the Ohara gentleman
1. The mother of the Ohara gentleman: The poem’s attribution in
Shūishū makes it clear that she is the ‘mother of Fujiwara
Michitsuna’. Her reputation rests chiefly on her famous Kagerō nikki
(Gossamer Diary, 954 –974), a mournful record of her unhappy
relationship with her husband, Fujiwara Kaneie. Michitsuna (father
of Dōmei) was often referred to as ‘the Ohara gentleman’, from the
name of the village north of the capital where he had a residence.
See Section 286.
2. We ‘carried… here at Ono: The expression ‘to carry firewood’ (takigi
koru) alludes to the description in the ‘Devadatta’ chapter, in which
the Buddha carries firewood in service to a holy hermit, in order to
hear from him the Lotus Sutra. For the axe handle, see Section 70,
note 1. There is a pun on ono (‘axe’, and the name of the villa – the
characters for ‘Ohara’ (see note above) could also be read ‘Ono’).
288 The letter Narihira’s mother the Princess sent him
1. ‘my longing grows the more intense’: The scene containing this poem
in Tales of Ise describes how Ariwara Narihira had been unable to
visit his mother for some time, when he suddenly received the
following (Kokinshū 900): ‘Age grows upon me / and now our final
parting / is surely drawing near. / My longing grows the more
intense / to see you once again, my son.’
291 The Officers of the Left and Right Gate Watch
These men had the combined role of Officer of the Gate Watch and ViceSuperintendent of Police; as policemen they were powerful. See also
Section 42.
1. made a habit… green: The Vice-Superintendent here is holding the
concurrent post of (sixth-rank) Chamberlain.
2. ‘the dawn that once I saw’: No relevant poem is known.
292 Grand Counsellor Korechika presented himself one day (993
or 994)
1. the hour of the Ox fourth quarter: Around 2.30 a.m.
2. ‘That sound awakens… sleep’: From a Chinese poem by Miyako no
Yoshika (834 –879), in Wakan rōeishū: ‘The cock-watchman
announces the dawn; / that sound awakens the wise king from
sleep.’
3. hung my train and Chinese jacket: Worn to accompany the Empress,
Sei leaves her formal wear there for her return next morning to
accompany Teishi back to her own residence.
4. ‘The wanderer… moon’: See Section 184, note 1.
293 I was sitting one day with Bishop Ryūen’s nurse Mama
1. nurse Mama: ‘Mama’ was an affectionate name commonly used for a
nurse.
2. To whom… tale of woe: The man’s speech is laughably ornate, in an
attempt to speak elegantly.
3. On that spring day… like kind: The poem relies heavily on puns:
moyasu (‘to burn’ and ‘to sprout’) and hi (‘fire’ and ‘day’). Yodono
(‘the field of Yodo’) is homophonous with the man’s quaint term for
‘bedroom’.
4. this promissory note: He leaps to the conclusion that the paper is a
record of gifts promised, which is presented on a long narrow sheet
of thick paper (tanzaku) similar to the one the poem is written on.
294 There was a man whose mother died
This seems to be the beginning of an uncompleted tale.
295 A certain gentlewoman was courted by the Governor of
Tōtōmi’s son
1. Swear then… Hamana: This poem hinges on a rather pedestrian pun
on kami (‘governor’ and ‘god’). The Bridge of Hamana is in Tōtōmi,
and is poetically linked with it.
296 Stealing an illicit conversation with someone
1. At Ōsaka Pass… Hashiri Well: The name of the barrier gate of Ōsaka
is poetically linked with lovers’ meetings, and Hashiri Well (‘Racing
Water Well’) was also located there. The poem hinges on the word
hashiru (to race), with a pun on mizu (water) embedded in mitsukuru
(to find).
297 Can it be true
1. Who set the fire… plan: The poem is a tangle of punning images, the
main ones are: the hi of omohi (‘thought’) is also ‘fire’, and kakaranu
(‘did not plan’) is also ‘it is not so’. Mt Ibuki’s ibu can also be read iu
(‘to say’), and the name conjures up the associated poetic image of
the moxa grass said to grow there.
[S3] Things that are hard on the ear
1. while they apply tooth-black: Women of the upper echelons
customarily blackened their teeth with an oxidized iron paint.
[S4] Things whose Chinese characters make no sense
1. Chinese characters… some reason to them: See Section 147 and
headnote.
2. Table salt… Summer under-robe: ‘Board eye salt’; written with the
same character as that for ‘curtain drapes’.
[S5] Things that look lovely but are horrible inside
1. Screens decorated with Chinese paintings. A limed wall: The brilliance
of a Chinese-style painting contrasts with the unimpressive backing
paper which is revealed if a screen is torn. The lime coating hides the
rough internal wall.
2. The prostitutes of Kōjiri: Kōjiri, at the mouth of the Yodo River, was
home to prostitutes who entertained travellers.
[S6] Women’s outer gowns
Here and in Sections [S7]–[S9], the colours referred to are kasane
combinations.
[S17] Comb boxes
1. Comb boxes… foreign creatures: Lacquer boxes containing items for
hair-dressing and make-up. The ‘foreign creatures’ design (ban’e)
consists of roundels composed of exotic-looking birds, animals, etc.,
curved to face each other.
[S22] Palm-leaf carriages
1. carriages: This is an abbreviated version of Section 29.
[S23] A grove of tall pines shades the mansion
The scene is of a great mansion where the mistress has fallen ill through
spirit possession. The priest strives to transfer the spirit to a medium and
force it to reveal itself and depart, a feat which is perceived to be the
result of the powers of the Buddha acting through the priest’s
incantations.
[S24] The best places for palace service
1. an offence to Buddhism: As an expression of the formal antipathy
between Buddhism and Shintō, the Kamo High Priestess was
forbidden any participation in the world of Buddhism.
[S25] A dilapidated house
This section appears in other versions of The Pillow Book at the end of
Section 114 ‘Moving things’. It is possible that it continues into Section
[S26], which also follows Section 114 in the other versions.
[S27] I found it most offensive
The final sentence seems to belong in Section 90 ‘Infuriating things’, and
it is possible that all of this section was originally conceived as part of
90. Compare also the description of the pilgrimage in Section 115.
[S28] When gentlewomen come and go from the palace
1. Lord Naritō’s: Takashina Naritō, a cousin of Teishi, Provincial
Governor and later Acting Deputy in the Crown Prince Harunomiya’s
household. (The latter was Genshi’s husband.)
[S29] I have written in this book
This concluding section explains the origin and intention of The Pillow
Book. The gift of paper to Teishi can be dated to 994 –996, when
Korechika was Palace Minister. Tsunefusa’s visit was between 995 and
997, when he was Governor of Ise. See also the Introduction, pp. xx –
xxii.
1. a “pillow”: Sei probably intends a pun (see the Introduction, pp. xxi
and xxxi n.4.).
2. or so it is written: This last sentence is couched as though written by
a later hand. Such an ending was a not uncommon convention.
* Japanese name order has the family name (e.g. Sei) first. In The Pillow
Book, people are generally referred to by their personal name
(Shōnagon), although I have used ‘Sei’ for brevity in the Notes.
* The kimono as we know it today was developed in the late nineteenth
century.