The Pillow Book E-Book

Sei Shonagon

• Herausgeber: Lebooks Editora
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Serie: Women Writers of the World
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 429

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

The Pillow Book  by Sei Shōnagon  is a fascinating blend of personal reflections, courtly observations, and poetic musings, offering a vivid glimpse into the cultural and aesthetic sensibilities of Heian-era Japan. As a lady-in-waiting at the imperial court, Shōnagon documents daily life with sharp wit and keen attention to detail, capturing the beauty, rituals, and intrigues of courtly society. Her work is structured as a collection of anecdotes, lists, and essays, reflecting both her personal tastes and the refined elegance of the period. Since its composition in the 10th century, The Pillow Book has been celebrated for its unique narrative style and its insight into Heian aristocratic life. Its mixture of humor, lyrical beauty, and acute social commentary makes it one of the most enduring works of classical Japanese literature. Shōnagon's vivid descriptions and her candid, sometimes playful, sometimes biting observations continue to captivate readers, offering a timeless exploration of human nature and aesthetic appreciation. The enduring appeal of The Pillow Book lies in its ability to transcend time and place, offering an intimate perspective on emotions, relationships, and the pursuit of beauty. Through her fragmented yet deeply personal accounts, Shōnagon invites readers to find delight in the small details of life, making her work a literary treasure that remains relevant across centuries.

Leseprobe

Sei Shonagon

THE PILLOW BOOK

Original Title:

“枕草子”

Contents

INTRODUCTION

THE PILLOW BOOK OF SEI SHONAGON

INTRODUCTION

Sei Shōnagon

c. 966 – c. 1017

Sei Shōnagon was a Japanese writer, poet, and court lady of the Heian period, best known for her work The Pillow Book (Makura no Sōshi). As a lady-in-waiting to Empress Teishi, she observed and recorded life at the imperial court with wit, elegance, and keen perception. Her writings provide invaluable insight into the aesthetics, customs, and literary culture of Heian Japan.

Early Life and Court Life

Little is known about Sei Shōnagon’s early life, including her birth name or family background, but she is believed to have been the daughter of Kiyohara no Motosuke, a well-regarded poet. She was well-educated, fluent in classical Chinese and Japanese poetry, which was rare for women at the time. Around 993, she entered the service of Empress Teishi at the imperial court, where she gained prominence for her sharp intellect and literary skill.

The Pillow Book and Literary Contributions

Sei Shōnagon’s most famous work, The Pillow Book, is a collection of essays, lists, anecdotes, and personal reflections, capturing the refined courtly life of the Heian period. Unlike traditional narrative structures, the book is an eclectic mix of observations and musings, showcasing her keen sense of humor and appreciation for beauty.

She wrote about topics ranging from seasonal changes to courtly intrigues, relationships, and her personal likes and dislikes. The work is famous for its poetic sensibility and sharp wit, often revealing her strong opinions and rivalries, particularly with other court figures, including the famed writer Murasaki Shikibu, author of The Tale of Genji.

Impact and Legacy

Sei Shōnagon’s literary style was unique for its time, blending prose with poetry in an expressive and vivid manner. Her work has been praised for its keen observational power and its ability to capture the fleeting nature of beauty and human emotions. The Pillow Book remains an essential text in Japanese literature and continues to be studied for its insights into Heian-era customs and aesthetics.

Although Sei Shōnagon’s writing was sometimes criticized for its elitism and sharp tongue, her legacy endures as one of the most remarkable voices of classical Japanese literature. Her influence can be seen in later Japanese literary traditions, particularly in the zuihitsu ("random jottings") genre, which follows a similar format of personal essays and reflections.

The details of Sei Shōnagon’s later life and death remain uncertain, but it is believed that she left the court after Empress Teishi’s death and lived in relative obscurity. Despite this, her work has continued to captivate readers for over a thousand years.

The Pillow Book remains a celebrated masterpiece, not only as a historical document but also as a literary work that transcends time. Her keen eye for detail, lyrical prose, and candid reflections have secured Sei Shōnagon’s place as one of Japan’s greatest classical writers.

About the work

The Pillow Book by Sei Shōnagon is a fascinating blend of personal reflections, courtly observations, and poetic musings, offering a vivid glimpse into the cultural and aesthetic sensibilities of Heian-era Japan. As a lady-in-waiting at the imperial court, Shōnagon documents daily life with sharp wit and keen attention to detail, capturing the beauty, rituals, and intrigues of courtly society. Her work is structured as a collection of anecdotes, lists, and essays, reflecting both her personal tastes and the refined elegance of the period.

Since its composition in the 10th century, The Pillow Book has been celebrated for its unique narrative style and its insight into Heian aristocratic life. Its mixture of humor, lyrical beauty, and acute social commentary makes it one of the most enduring works of classical Japanese literature. Shōnagon’s vivid descriptions and her candid, sometimes playful, sometimes biting observations continue to captivate readers, offering a timeless exploration of human nature and aesthetic appreciation.

The enduring appeal of The Pillow Book lies in its ability to transcend time and place, offering an intimate perspective on emotions, relationships, and the pursuit of beauty. Through her fragmented yet deeply personal accounts, Shōnagon invites readers to find delight in the small details of life, making her work a literary treasure that remains relevant across centuries.

THE PILLOW BOOK OF SEI SHONAGON

1. In Spring It Is the Dawn.

In spring it is the dawn that is most beautiful.1 As the light creeps over the hills, their outlines are dyed a faint red and wisps of purplish cloud trail over them.

In summer the nights. Not only when the moon shines, but on dark nights too, as the fireflies flit to and fro, and even when it rains, how beautiful it is!

In autumn the evenings, when the glittering sun sinks close to the edge of the hills and the crows fly back to their nests in threes and fours and twos; more charming still is a file of wild geese, like specks in the distant sky. When the sun has set, one’s heart is moved by the sound of the wind and the hum of the insects.

In winter the early mornings. It is beautiful indeed when snow has fallen during the night, but splendid too when the ground is white with frost; or even when there is no snow or frost, but it is simply very cold and the attendants hurry from room to room stirring up the fires and bringing charcoal, how well this fits the season’s mood! But as noon approaches and the cold wears off, no one bothers to keep the braziers alight, and soon nothing remains but piles of white ashes.

2. Especially Delightful Is the First Day.

Especially delightful is the first day of the First Month, when the mists so often shroud the sky. Everyone pays great attention to his appearance and dresses with the utmost care. What a pleasure it is to see them all offer their congratulations to the Emperor and celebrate their own new year! 2

I also enjoy the seventh day, when people pluck the young herbs that have sprouted fresh and green beneath the snow.3 It is amusing to see their excitement when they find such plants growing near the Palace, by no means a spot where one might expect them. 4

This is the day when members of the nobility who live outside the Palace arrive in their magnificently decorated carriages to admire the blue horses.5 As the carriages are drawn over the ground-beam of the Central Gate, 6 there is always a tremendous bump, and the heads of the women passengers are knocked together; the combs fall out of their hair, and may be smashed to pieces if the owners are not careful. I enjoy the way everyone laughs when this happens.

I remember one occasion when I visited the Palace to see the procession of blue horses. Several senior courtiers7 were standing outside the guard house of the Left Division; they had borrowed bows from the escorts, and, with much laughter, were twanging them to make the blue horses prance. Looking through one of the gates of the Palace enclosure, I could dimly make out a garden fence, near which a number of ladies, several of them from the Office of Grounds, went to and fro. What lucky women, I thought, who could walk about the Nine-Fold Enclosure as though they had lived there all their lives! Just then the escorts passed close to my carriage - remarkably close, in fact, considering the vastness of the Palace grounds - and I could actually see the texture of their faces. Some of them were not properly powdered; here and there their skin showed through un pleasantly like the dark patches of earth in a garden where the snow has begun to melt. When the horses in the procession reared wildly, I shrank into the back of my carriage and could no longer see what was happening.

On the eighth days8 there is great excitement in the Palace as people hurry to express their gratitude, and the clatter of carriages is louder than ever — all very fascinating.

The fifteenth day is the festival of the full-moon gruel, when a bowl of gruel9 is presented to His Majesty. On this day all the women of the house carry gruel-sticks, which they hide carefully from each other. It is most amusing to see them walking about, as they await an opportunity to hit their companions. Each one is careful not to be struck herself and is constantly looking over her shoulder to make sure that no one is stealing up on her. Yet the precautions are useless, for before long one of the women manages to score a hit. She is extremely pleased with herself and laughs merrily. Everyone finds this delightful - except, of course, the victim, who looks very put out.

In a certain household a young gentleman had been married during the previous year to one of the girls in the family. 10 Having spent the night with her, he was now, on the morning of the fifteenth, about to set off for the Palace. There was a woman11 in the house who was in the habit of lording it over everyone. On this occasion she was standing in the back of the room, impatiently awaiting an opportunity to hit the man with her gruel stick as he left. One of the other women realized what she had in mind and burst out laughing. The woman with the stick signalled excitedly that she should be quiet. Fortunately the young man did not notice what was afoot and he stood there unconcernedly.

“I have to pick up something over there,” said the woman with the stick, approaching the man. Suddenly she darted forward, gave him a great whack, and made her escape. Everyone in the room burst out laughing; even the young man smiled pleasantly, not in the least annoyed. He was not too startled; but he did blush a little, which was charming.

Sometimes when the women are hitting each other the men also join in the fun. The strange thing is that, when a woman is hit, she often gets angry and bursts into tears; then she will upbraid her assailant and say the most awful things about him - most amusing. Even in the Palace, where the atmosphere is usually so solemn, everything is in confusion on this day, and no one stands on ceremony.

It is fascinating to see what happens during the period of appointments. However snowy and icy it may be, candidates of the Fourth and Fifth Ranks come to the Palace with their official requests. Those who are still young and merry seem full of confidence. For the candidates who are old and white-haired things do not go so smoothly. Such men have to apply for help from people with influence at Court; some of them even visit ladies-in-waiting in their quarters and go to great lengths in pointing out their own merits. If young women happen to be present, they are greatly amused. As soon as the candidates have left, they mimic and deride them -something that the old men cannot possibly suspect as they scurry from one part of the Palace to another, begging everyone, “Please present my petition favorably to the Emperor” and “Pray inform Her Majesty about me.” It is not so bad if they finally succeed, but it really is rather pathetic when all their efforts prove in vain.

3. On the Third Day of the Third Month.

On the third day of the Third Month I like to see the sun shining bright and calm in the spring sky. Now is the time when the peach trees come into bloom, and what a sight it is! The willows too are most charming at this season, with the buds still enclosed like silkworms in their cocoons. After the leaves have spread out, I find them unattractive; in fact all trees lose their charm once the blossoms have begun to scatter.

It is a great pleasure to break off a long, beautifully flowering branch from a cherry tree and to arrange it in a large vase. What a delightful task to perform when a visitor is seated nearby con versing! It may be an ordinary guest, or possibly one of their Highnesses, the Empress’s12 elder brothers; but in any case the visitor will wear a cherry-colored13 Court cloak, from the bottom of which his under-robe emerges. I am even happier if a butterfly or a small bird flutters prettily near the flowers and I can see its face.

4. How Delightful Everything Is!.

How delightful everything is at the time of the Festival! 14 The leaves, which still do not cover the trees too thickly, are green and fresh. In the daytime there is no mist to hide the sky and, glancing up, one is overcome by its beauty. On a slightly cloudy evening, or again at night, it is moving to hear in the distance the song of a hototogisu15 — so faint that one doubts one’s own ears.

When the Festival approaches, I enjoy seeing the men go to and fro with rolls of yellowish green and deep violet material which they have loosely wrapped in paper and placed in the lids of long boxes. At this time of the year, border shading, uneven shading, and rolled dyeing all seem more attractive than usual. 16 The young girls who are to take part in the procession have had their hair washed and arranged; but they are still wearing their everyday clothes, which sometimes are in a great mess, wrinkled and coming apart at the seams. How excited they are as they run about the house, impatiently awaiting the great day, and rapping out orders to the maids: “Fit the cords on my clogs” or “See that the soles of my sandals are all right.” Once they have put on their Festival costumes, these same young girls, instead of prancing about the rooms, become extremely demure and walk along solemnly like priests at the head of a procession. I also enjoy seeing how their mothers, aunts, and elder sisters, dressed according to their ranks, accompany the girls and help keep their costumes in order.

5. Different Ways of Speaking.

A priest’s language. The speech of men and of women.17

The common people always tend to add extra syllables to their words.

6. That Parents Should Bring Up Some Beloved Son.

That parents should bring up some beloved son of theirs to be a priest is really distressing. No doubt it is an auspicious18 thing to do; but unfortunately most people are convinced that a priest is as unimportant as a piece of wood, and they treat him accordingly. A priest lives poorly on meagre food, and cannot even sleep without being criticized. While he is young, it is only natural that he should be curious about all sorts of things, and, if there are women about, he will probably peep in their direction (though, to be sure, with a look of aversion on his face). What is wrong about that? Yet people immediately find fault with him for even so small a lapse.

The lot of an exorcist is still more painful. On his pilgrimages to Mitake Kumano, and all the other sacred mountains he often undergoes the greatest hardships. When people come to hear that his prayers are effective, they summon him here and there to perform services of exorcism: the more popular he becomes, the less peace he enjoys. Sometimes he will be called to see a patient who is seriously ill and he has to exert all his powers to cast out the spirit that is causing the affliction. But if he dozes off, exhausted by his efforts, people say reproachfully, “Really, this priest does nothing but sleep.” Such comments are most embarrassing for the exorcist, and I can imagine how he feel must.

That is how things used to be; nowadays priests have a some what easier life.

7. When the Empress Moved.

When the Empress moved into the house of the Senior Steward, Narimasa, the east gate of his courtyard had been made into a four-pillared structure, 19 and it was here that Her Majesty’s palanquin entered. The carriages in which I and the other ladies in-waiting were travelling arrived at the north gate. As there was no one in the guard-house, we decided to enter just as we were, without troubling to tidy ourselves; many of the women had let their hair become disordered during the journey, but they did not bother to rearrange it, since they assumed that the carriages would be pulled directly up to the veranda of the house. Unfortunately the gate was too narrow for our palm-leaf carriages. The attendants laid down mats for us from the gate to the house, and we had to get out and walk. It was extremely annoying and we were all very cross; but what could we do about it? To make matters worse, there was a group of men, including senior courtiers and even some of lower rank, standing next to the guard-house and staring at us in a most irritating fashion.

When I entered the house and saw Her Majesty, I told her what had happened. “Do you suppose it is only people outside the house who can see what a state you are in?” she said. “I wonder what has made you all so careless today.”

“But, Your Majesty,” I replied, “the people here are all used to us, and it would surprise them if we suddenly took great trouble over our appearance. In any case, it does seem rather strange that the gates of a house like this should be too small for a carriage. I shall have to tease your steward about it when I see him.”

At that very moment Narimasa arrived with an inkstone and other writing implements, which he thrust under the screen, saying, “Pray give these to Her Majesty.”

“Well, well,” said I, you really are a disgraceful man! Why do you live in a house with such narrow gates?”

“I have built my house to suit my station in life,” he laughingly replied.

“That’s all very well,” I said, “but I seem to have heard of some one who built his gate extremely high, out of all proportion to the rest of his house.”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Narimasa. “How remarkable! You must be referring to Yü Ting-kuo.20 I thought it was only veteran scholars who had heard about such things. Even I, Madam, should not have understood you except that I happen to have strayed in these paths myself.”

“Paths!” said I. “Yours leave something to be desired. When your servants spread out the mats for us, we couldn’t see how uneven the ground was and we stumbled all over the place.”

“To be sure, Madam,” said Narimasa. “It has been raining, and I am afraid it is a bit uneven. But let’s leave it at that. You’ll be making some other disagreeable remark in a moment. So I shall be off before you have time.” And with this he went away.

“What happened?” asked the Empress when I rejoined her. “Narimasa seemed terribly put out.”

“Oh no,” I answered. “I was only telling him how our carriage could not get in.” Then I withdrew to my own room.

I shared this room with several of the younger ladies-in waiting. We were all sleepy and, without paying much attention to anything, dozed off immediately. Our room was in the east wing of the house. Though we were unaware of the fact, the clasp of the sliding-door in the back of the western ante-room was missing. Of course the owner of the house knew about this, and presently he came and pushed open the door.

“May I presume to come in?” he said several times in a strangely husky and excited voice. I looked up in amazement, and by the light of the lamp that had been placed behind the curtain of state I could see that Narimasa was standing outside the door, which he had now opened about half a foot. The situation amused me. As a rule he would not have dreamt of indulging in such lecherous behavior; as the Empress was staying in his house, he evidently felt he could do as he pleased. Waking up the young women next to me, I exclaimed, “Look who is there! What an unlikely sight!” They all sat up and, seeing Narimasa by the door, burst into laughter. “Who are you?” I said. “Don’t try to hide!” “Oh no,” he replied. “It’s simply that the master of the house has something to discuss with the lady in-waiting in charge.”

“It was your gate I was speaking about,” I said. “I don’t remember asking you to open the sliding-door.”

“Yes indeed,” he answered. “It is precisely the matter of the gate that I wanted to discuss with you. May I not presume to come in for a moment?”

“Really!” said one of the young women. “How unpleasant! No, he certainly cannot come in.”

“Oh, I see,” said Narimasa. “There are other young ladies in the room.” Closing the door behind him, he left, followed by our loud laughter.

How absurd! Once he had opened the door, he should obviously have walked straight in, without bothering to ask for permission. After all, what woman would be likely to say, “It’s all right. Please come in”?

On the following day I told the Empress about the incident. “It does not sound like Narimasa at all,” she said, laughing. “It must have been your conversation last night that roused his interest in you. Really, I can’t help feeling sorry for the poor man. You have been awfully hard on him.”

One day when the Empress was giving orders about the costumes for the little girls who were to wait upon the Princess Imperial, Narimasa asked, “Has Your Majesty decided on the color of the garments that will cover the girls’ vests?” This made us all laugh; and surely no one could blame us for being amused. Next Narimasa discussed the Princess’s meals. “I believe it would look rather clumsy, Your Majesty, if they were served in ordinary utensils. If I may say so, she ought to have a small platter and a small tray.”

“And be waited upon,” I added, “by little girls with those garments that cover their vests.”

“You should not make fun of him as the others do,” the Empress told me afterwards. “He is a very sincere man, and I feel sorry for him.” I found even her reprimand delightful.

Once when I was busy attending the Empress a messenger came and said that Narimasa had arrived and wished to tell me something. Overhearing this, the Empress said, “I wonder what he will do this time to make himself a laughing-stock. Find out what he has to say.” Delighted by her remark, I decided to go out myself, rather than send a maid. “Madam,” announced Narimasa, “I told my brother, the Middle Counsellor, what you said the other night about the gate. He was most impressed and asked me to arrange a meeting for him at some convenient time when he could hear what you had to say.”

I wondered whether Narimasa would make some reference to his own visit the other night and I felt my heart pounding; but he said nothing further, merely adding as he left, “I should like to come and see you quietly one of these days.”

“Well,” said the Empress when I returned, “what happened?” I told her exactly what Narimasa had said, adding with a smile, “I should hardly have thought it was so important that he had to send a special message for me when I was in attendance. Surely he could have waited until I had settled down quietly in my own room.”

“He probably thought you would be pleased to hear of his brother’s high opinion and wanted to let you know at once. He has the greatest respect for his brother, you know.” Very charming the Empress looked as she said this.

8. The Cat Who Lived in the Palace.

The cat who lived in the Palace had been awarded the head dress of nobility and was called Lady Myobu. She was a very pretty cat, and His Majesty saw to it that she was treated with the greatest care.

One day she wandered on to the veranda, and Lady Uma, the nurse in charge of her, called out, “Oh, you naughty thing! Please come inside at once. But the cat paid no attention and went on basking sleepily in the sun. Intending to give her a scare, the nurse called for the dog, Okinamaro.

“Okinamaro, where are you?” she cried. “Come here and bite Lady Myobu!” The foolish Okinamaro, believing that the nurse was in earnest, rushed at the cat, who, startled and terrified, ran behind the blind in the Imperial Dining Room, where the Emperor happened to be sitting. Greatly surprised, His Majesty picked up the cat and held her in his arms. He summoned his gentlemen-in-waiting. When Tadataka, the Chamberlain, appeared, His Majesty ordered that Okinamaro be chastised and banished to Dog Island. The attendants all started to chase the dog amid great confusion. His Majesty also reproached Lady Uma. “We shall have to find a new nurse for our cat,” he told her. “I no longer feel I can count on you to look after her.” Lady Uma bowed; thereafter she no longer appeared in the Emperor’s presence.

The Imperial Guards quickly succeeded in catching Okinamaro and drove him out of the Palace grounds. Poor dog! He used to swagger about so happily. Recently, on the third day of the Third Month, when the Controller First Secretary paraded him through the Palace grounds, Okinamaro was adorned with garlands of willow leaves, peach blossoms on his head, and cherry blossoms round his body. How could the dog have imagined that this would be his fate? We all felt sorry for him. When Her Majesty was having her meals,” recalled one of the ladies-in-waiting, “Okinamaro always used to be in attendance and sit opposite us. How I miss him!”

It was about noon, a few days after Okinamaro’s banishment, that we heard a dog howling fearfully. How could any dog possibly cry so long? All the other dogs rushed out in excitement to see what was happening. Meanwhile a woman who served as a cleaner in the Palace latrines ran up to us. “It’s terrible,” she said. “Two of the Chamberlains are flogging a dog. They’ll surely kill him. He’s being punished for having come back after he was banished. It’s Tadataka and Sanefusa who are beating him.” Obviously the victim was Okinamaro. I was absolutely wretched and sent a servant to ask the men to stop; but just then the howling finally ceased. “He’s dead,” one of the servants informed me. “They’ve thrown his body outside the gate.” -That evening, while we were sitting in the Palace bemoaning Okinamaro’s fate, a wretched-looking dog walked in; he was trembling all over, and his body was fearfully swollen.

“Oh dear,” said one of the ladies-in-waiting. “Can this be Okinamaro? We haven’t seen any other dog like him recently, have we?”

We called to him by name, but the dog did not respond. Some of us insisted that it was Okinamaro, others that it was not. “Please send for Lady Ukon,” said the Empress, hearing our discussion. “She will certainly be able to tell.” We immediately went to Ukon’s room and told her she was wanted on an urgent matter.

“Is this Okinamaro?” the Empress asked her, pointing to the dog.

“Well,” said Ukon, “it certainly looks like him, but I cannot believe that this loathsome creature is really our Okinamaro. When I called Okinamaro, he always used to come to me, wagging his tail. But this dog does not react at all. No, it cannot be the same one. And besides, wasn’t Okinamaro beaten to death and his body thrown away? How could any dog be alive after being flogged by two strong men?” Hearing this, Her Majesty was very unhappy.

When it got dark, we gave the dog something to eat; but he refused it, and we finally decided that this could not be Okinamaro.

On the following morning I went to attend the Empress while her hair was being dressed and she was performing her ablutions. I was holding up the mirror for her when the dog we had seen on the previous evening slunk into the room and crouched next to one of the pillars. “Poor Okinamaro!” I said. “He had such a dreadful beating yesterday. How sad to think he is dead! I wonder what body he has been born into this time. Oh, how he must have suffered!”

At that moment the dog lying by the pillar started to shake and tremble, and shed a flood of tears. It was astounding. So this really was Okinamaro! On the previous night it was to avoid betraying himself that he had refused to answer to his name. We were immensely moved and pleased. “Well, well, Okinamaro!” I said, putting down the mirror. The dog stretched himself flat on the floor and yelped loudly, so that the Empress beamed with delight. All the ladies gathered round, and Her Majesty summoned Lady Ukon. When the Empress explained what had happened, everyone talked and laughed with great excitement.

The news reached His Majesty, and he too came to the Empress’s room. “It’s amazing,” he said with a smile. “To think that even a dog has such deep feelings!” When the Emperor’s ladies in waiting heard the story, they too came along in a great crowd. “Okinamaro!” we called, and this time the dog rose and limped about the room with his swollen face. “He must have a meal prepared for him,” I said. “Yes,” said the Empress, laughing happily, “now that Okinamaro has finally told us who he is.”

The Chamberlain, Tadataka, was informed, and he hurried along from the Table Room. “Is it really true?” he asked. Please let me see for myself.” I sent a maid to him with the following reply: “Alas, I am afraid that this is not the same dog after all.” “Well,” answered Tadataka, “whatever you say, I shall sooner or later have occasion to see the animal. You won’t be able to hide him from me indefinitely.”

Before long, Okinamaro was granted an Imperial pardon and returned to his former happy state. Yet even now, when I remember how he whimpered and trembled in response to our sympathy, it strikes me as a strange and moving scene; when people talk to me about it, I start crying myself.

9. On the First Day of the First Month.

On the first day of the First Month and on the third of the Third I like the sky to be perfectly clear.

On the fifth of the Fifth Month I prefer a cloudy sky.

On the seventh day of the Seventh Month it should also be cloudy; but in the evening it should clear, so that the moon shines brightly in the sky and one can see the outline of the stars.

On the ninth of the Ninth Month there should be a drizzle from early dawn. Then there will be heavy dew on the chrysanthemums, while the floss silk that covers them will be wet through and drenched also with the precious scent of blossoms. Sometimes the rain stops early in the morning, but the sky is still overcast, and it looks as if it may start raining again at any moment. This too I find very pleasant.

10. I Enjoy Watching the Officials.

I enjoy watching the officials when they come to thank the Emperor for their new appointments. As they stand facing His Majesty with their batons in their hands, the trains of their robes trail along the floor. Then they make obeisance and begin their ceremonial movements with great animation.

11. The Sliding Screen in the Back of the Hall.

The sliding screen in the back of the hall in the north-east corner of Seiryo Palace is decorated with paintings of the stormy sea and of the terrifying creatures with long arms and long legs that live there. When the doors of the Empress’s room were open, we could always see this screen. One day we were sitting in the room, laughing at the paintings and remarking how un pleasant they were. By the balustrade of the veranda stood a large celadon vase, full of magnificent cherry branches; some of them were as much as five foot long, and their blossoms over flowed to the very foot of the railing. Towards noon the Major Counsellor, Fujiwara no Korechika, arrived. He was dressed in a cherry-colored Court cloak, sufficiently worn to have lost its stiffness, a white under-robe, and loose trousers of dark purple; from beneath the cloak shone the pattern of another robe of dark red damask. Since His Majesty was present, Korechika knelt on the narrow wooden platform before the door and reported to him on official matters.

A group of ladies-in-waiting was seated behind the bamboo blinds. Their cherry-colored Chinese jackets hung loosely over their shoulders with the collars pulled back; they wore robes of wisteria, golden yellow, and other colors, many of which showed beneath the blind covering the half-shutter. Presently the noise of the attendants’ feet told us that dinner was about to be served in the Daytime Chamber, and we heard cries of “Make way. Make way.”

The bright, serene day delighted me. When the Chamberlains had brought all the dishes into the Chamber, they came to announce that dinner was ready, and His Majesty left by the middle door. After accompanying the Emperor, Korechika returned to his previous place on the veranda beside the cherry blossoms. The Empress pushed aside her curtain of state and came forward as far as the threshold. We were overwhelmed by the whole delightful scene. It was then that Korechika slowly intoned the words of the old poem,

The days and the months flow by,

But Mount Mimoro lasts forever.

Deeply impressed, I wished that all this might indeed continue for a thousand years.

As soon as the ladies serving in the Daytime Chamber had called for the gentlemen-in-waiting to remove the trays, His Majesty returned to the Empress’s room. Then he told me to rub some ink on the inkstone. Dazzled, I felt that I should never be able to take my eyes off his radiant countenance. Next he folded a piece of white paper. “I should like each of you,” he said, “to copy down on this paper the first ancient poem that comes into your head.”

“How am I going to manage this?” I asked Korechika, who was still out on the veranda.

“Write your poem quickly,” he said, “and show it to His Majesty. We men must not interfere in this.” Ordering an attendant to take the Emperor’s inkstone to each of the women in the room, he told us to make haste. “Write down any poem you happen to remember,” he said. “The Naniwazu or whatever else you can think of.”

For some reason I was overcome with timidity; I flushed and had no idea what to do. Some of the other women managed to put down poems about the spring, the blossoms, and such suitable subjects; then they handed me the paper and said, “Now it’s your turn.” Picking up the brush, I wrote the poem that goes,

The years have passed

And age has come my way.

Yet I need only look at this fair flower

For all my cares to melt away.

I altered the third line, however, to read, “Yet I need only look upon my lord.”

When he had finished reading, the Emperor said, “I asked you to write these poems because I wanted to find out how quick you really were.

“A few years ago,” he continued, “Emperor Enyu ordered all his courtiers to write poems in a notebook. Some excused them selves on the grounds that their handwriting was poor; but the Emperor insisted, saying that he did not care in the slightest about their handwriting or even whether their poems were suitable for the season. So they all had to swallow their embarrassment and produce something for the occasion. Among them was His Excellency, our present Chancellor, who was then Middle Captain of the Third Rank. He wrote down the old poem,

Like the sea that beats

Upon the shores of Izumo

As the tide sweeps in,

Deeper it grows and deeper -

The love I bear for you.

But he changed the last line to read, “The love I bear my lord!”, and the Emperor was full of praise.”

When I heard His Majesty tell this story, I was so overcome that I felt myself perspiring. It occurred to me that no younger woman would have been able to use my poem and I felt very lucky. This sort of test can be a terrible ordeal: it often happens that people who usually write fluently are so overawed that they actually make mistakes in their characters.

Next the Empress placed a notebook of Kokin Shu poems before her and started reading out the first three lines of each one, asking us to supply the remainder. Among them were several famous poems that we had in our minds day and night; yet for some strange reason we were often unable to fill in the missing lines. Lady Saisho, for example, could manage only ten, which hardly qualified her as knowing her Kokin Shu. Some of the other women, even less successful, could remember only about half a dozen poems. They would have done better to tell the Empress quite simply that they had forgotten the lines; instead they came out with great lamentations like “Oh dear, how could we have done so badly in answering the questions that Your Majesty was pleased to put to us?” - all of which I found rather absurd.

When no one could complete a particular poem, the Empress continued reading to the end. This produced further wails from the women: “Oh, we all knew that one! How could we be so stupid?”

“Those of you,” said the Empress, “who had taken the trouble to copy out the Kokin Shu several times would have been able to complete every single poem I have read. In the reign of Emperor Murakami there was a woman at Court known as the Imperial Lady of Senyo Palace. She was the daughter of the Minister of the Left who lived in the Smaller Palace of the First Ward, and of course you have all heard of her. When she was still a young girl, her father gave her this advice: “First you must study penmanship. Next you must learn to play the seven-string zither better than anyone else. And also you must memorize all the poems in the twenty volumes of the Kokin Shu.”

“Emperor Murakami,” continued Her Majesty, “had heard this story and remembered it years later when the girl had grown up and become an Imperial Concubine. Once, on a day of abstinence, he came into her room, hiding a notebook of Kokin Shu poems in the folds of his robe. He surprised her by seating him self behind a curtain of state; then, opening the book, he asked, “Tell me the verse written by such-and-such a poet, in such and-such a year and on such-and-such an occasion.” The lady understood what was afoot and that it was all in fun, yet the possibility of making a mistake or forgetting one of the poems must have worried her greatly. Before beginning the test, the Emperor had summoned a couple of ladies-in-waiting who were particularly adept in poetry and told them to mark each incorrect reply by a go stone. What a splendid scene it must have been! You know, I really envy anyone who attended that Emperor even as a lady-in-waiting.

“Well,” Her Majesty went on, “he then began questioning her. She answered without any hesitation, just giving a few words. or phrases to show that she knew each poem. And never once did she make a mistake. After a time the Emperor began to resent the lady’s flawless memory and decided to stop as soon as he detected any error or vagueness in her replies. Yet, after he had gone through ten books of the Kokin Shu, he had still not caught her out. At this stage he declared that it would be useless to continue. Marking where he had left off, he went to bed. What a triumph for the lady!

“He slept for some time. On waking, he decided that he must have a final verdict and that if he waited until the following day to examine her on the other ten volumes, she might use the time to refresh her memory. So he would have to settle the matter that very night. Ordering his attendants to bring up the bedroom lamp, he resumed his questions. By the time he had finished all twenty volumes, the night was well advanced; and still the lady had not made a mistake.

“During all this time His Excellency, the lady’s father, was in a state of great agitation. As soon as he was informed that the Emperor was testing his daughter, he sent his attendants to various temples to arrange for special recitations of the Scriptures. Then he turned in the direction of the Imperial Palace and spent a long time in prayer. Such enthusiasm for poetry is really rather moving.”

The Emperor, who had been listening to the whole story, was much impressed. “How can he possibly have read so many poems?” he remarked when Her Majesty had finished. “I doubt whether I could get through three or four volumes. But of course things have changed. In the old days even people of humble station had a taste for the arts and were interested in elegant pastimes. Such a story would hardly be possible nowadays, would it?”

The ladies in attendance on Her Majesty and the Emperor’s own ladies-in-waiting who had been admitted into Her Majesty’s presence began chatting eagerly, and as I listened I felt that my cares had really “melted away”.

12. When I Make Myself Imagine.

When I make myself imagine what it is like to be one of those women who live at home, faithfully serving their husbands - women who have not a single exciting prospect in life yet who believe that they are perfectly happy-I am filled with scorn. Often they are of quite good birth, yet have had no opportunity to find out what the world is like. I wish they could live for a while in our society, even if it should mean taking service as Attendants, so that they might come to know the delights it has to offer.

I cannot bear men who believe that women serving in the Palace are bound to be frivolous and wicked. Yet I suppose their prejudice is understandable. After all, women at Court do not spend their time hiding modestly behind fans and screens, but walk about, looking openly at people they chance to meet. Yes, they see everyone face to face, not only ladies-in-waiting like themselves, but even Their Imperial Majesties (whose august names I hardly dare mention), High Court Nobles, senior courtiers, and other gentlemen of high rank. In the presence of such exalted personages the women in the Palace are all equally brazen, whether they be the maids of ladies-in-waiting, or the relations of Court ladies who have come to visit them, or house keepers, or latrine-cleaners, or women who are of no more value than a roof-tile or a pebble. Small wonder that the young men regard them as immodest! Yet are the gentlemen themselves any less so? They are not exactly bashful when it comes to looking at the great people in the Palace. No, everyone at Court is much the same in this respect.

Women who have served in the Palace, but who later get married and live at home, are called Madam and receive the most respectful treatment. To be sure, people often consider that these women, who have displayed their faces to all and sundry during their years at Court, are lacking in feminine grace. How proud they must be, nevertheless, when they are styled Assistant Attendants, or summoned to the Palace for occasional duty, or ordered to serve as Imperial envoys during the Kamo Festival! Even those who stay at home lose nothing by having served at Court. In fact they make very good wives. For example, if they are married to a provincial governor and their daughter is chosen to take part in the Gosechi dances, they do not have to disgrace themselves by acting like provincials and asking other people about procedure. They themselves are well versed in the formalities, which is just as it should be.

13. Depressing Things.

A dog howling in the daytime. A wickerwork fish-net in spring. A red plum-blossom dress in the Third or Fourth Months. A lying-in room when the baby has died. A cold, empty brazier. An ox-driver who hates his oxen. A scholar whose wife has one girl child after another.

One has gone to a friend’s house to avoid an unlucky direction, but nothing is done to entertain one; if this should happen at the time of a Seasonal Change, it is still more depressing.

A letter arrives from the provinces, but no gift accompanies it. It would be bad enough if such a letter reached one in the provinces from someone in the capital; but then at least it would have interesting news about goings-on in society, and that would be a consolation.

One has written a letter, taking pains to make it as attractive as possible, and now one impatiently awaits the reply. “Surely the messenger should be back by now,” one thinks. Just then he returns; but in his hand he carries, not a reply, but one’s own letter, still twisted or knotted as it was sent, but now so dirty and crumpled that even the ink-mark on the outside has disappeared. “Not at home,” announces the messenger, or else, “They said they were observing a day of abstinence and would not accept it.” Oh, how depressing!

Again, one has sent one’s carriage to fetch someone who had said he would definitely pay one a visit on that day. Finally it returns with a great clatter, and the servants hurry out with cries of “Here they come!” But next one hears the carriage being pulled into the coach-house, and the unfastened shafts clatter to the ground. “What does this mean?” one asks. “The person was not at home,” replies the driver, “and will not be coming.” So saying, he leads the ox back to its stall, leaving the carriage in the coach-house.

With much bustle and excitement a young man has moved into the house of a certain family as the daughter’s husband. One day he fails to come home, and it turns out that some high-ranking Court lady has taken him as her lover. How depressing! “Will he eventually tire of the woman and come back to us?” his wife’s family wonder ruefully.

The nurse who is looking after a baby leaves the house, saying that she will be back presently. Soon the child starts crying for her. One tries to comfort it by games and other diversions, and even sends a message to the nurse telling her to return immediately. Then comes her reply: “I am afraid that I cannot be back this evening”. This is not only depressing; it is no less than hateful. Yet how much more distressed must be the young man who has sent a messenger to fetch a lady friend and who awaits her arrival in vain!

It is quite late at night and a woman has been expecting a visitor. Hearing finally a stealthy tapping, she sends her maid to open the gate and lies waiting excitedly. But the name announced by the maid is that of someone with whom she has absolutely no connection. Of all the depressing things this is by far the worst.

With a look of complete self-confidence on his face an exorcist prepares to expel an evil spirit from his patient. Handing his mace, rosary, and other paraphernalia to the medium who is assisting him, he begins to recite his spells in the special shrill tone that he forces from his throat on such occasions. For all the exorcist’s efforts, the spirit gives no sign of leaving, and the Guardian Demon fails to take possession of the medium. The relations and friends of the patient, who are gathered in the room praying, find this rather unfortunate. After he has recited his incantations for the length of an entire watch, the exorcist is worn out. “The Guardian Demon is completely inactive,” he tells his medium. “You may leave.” Then, as he takes back his rosary, he adds, “Well, well, it hasn’t worked!” He passes his hand over his forehead, then yawns deeply (he of all people!) and leans back against a pillar for a nap.

Most depressing is the household of some hopeful candidate who fails to receive a post during the period of official appointments. Hearing that the gentleman was bound to be successful, several people have gathered in his house for the occasion; among them are a number of retainers who served him in the past but who since then have either been engaged elsewhere or moved to some remote province. Now they are all eager to accompany their former master on his visit to the shrines and temples, and their carriages pass to and fro in the courtyard. Indoors there is a great commotion as the hangers-on help them selves to food and drink. Yet the dawn of the last day of the appointments arrives and still no one has knocked at the gate.

The people in the house are nervous and prick up their ears.

Presently they hear the shouts of fore-runners and realize that the high dignitaries are leaving the Palace. Some of the servants were sent to the Palace on the previous evening to hear the news and have been waiting all night, trembling with cold; now they come trudging back listlessly. The attendants who have remained faithfully in the gentleman’s service year after year cannot bring themselves to ask what has happened. His former retainers, however, are not so diffident. “Tell us,” they say, “what appointment did His Excellency receive?” “Indeed,” murmur the servants, “His Excellency was Governor of such-and-such a province”. Everyone was counting on his receiving a new appointment, and is desolated by this failure. On the following day the people who had crowded into the house begin to slink away in twos and threes. The old attendants, however, cannot leave so easily. They walk restlessly about the house, counting on their fingers the provincial appointments that will become available in the following year. Pathetic and depressing in the extreme!

One has sent a friend a verse that turned out fairly well. How depressing when there is no reply-poem! Even in the case of love poems, people should at least answer that they were moved at receiving the message, or something of the sort; otherwise they will cause the keenest disappointment.

Someone who lives in a bustling, fashionable household receives a message from an elderly person who is behind the times and has very little to do; the poem, of course, is old fashioned and dull. How depressing!

One needs a particularly beautiful fan for some special occasion and instructs an artist, in whose talents one has full confidence, to decorate one with an appropriate painting. When the day comes and the fan is delivered, one is shocked to see how badly it has been painted. Oh, the dreariness of it!

A messenger arrives with a present at a house where a child has been born or where someone is about to leave on a journey. How depressing for him if he gets no reward! People should always reward a messenger, though he may bring only herbal balls or hare-sticks. If he expects nothing, he will be particularly pleased to be rewarded. On the other hand, what a terrible let down if he arrives with a self-important look on his face, his heart pounding in anticipation of a generous reward, only to have his hopes dashed!

A man has moved in as a son-in-law; yet even now, after some five years of marriage, the lying-in room has remained as quiet as on the day of his arrival.