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    The Pillow Book
    The Pillow Book
    The Pillow Book
    Ebook115 pages1 hour

    The Pillow Book

    By Sei Shonagon

    4/5

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    In the tenth century, Japan was both physically and culturally isolated from the rest of the world. The Pillow Book recaptures this lost world with the diary of a young court lady. Sei Shōnagon was a contemporary of Murasaki Shikibu, who wrote the well-known novel The Tale of Genji. Unlike the latter's fictionalized view of the Heian-era court, Shōnagon's journal provides a lively miscellany of anecdotes, observations, and gossip, intended to be read in juicy bits and pieces.
    This unique volume was first rendered into English in 1889. In 1928, Arthur Waley, a seminal figure in the Western studies of Japanese culture, undertook a translation. The distinguished scholar devised this abridged version of the text, re-creating in English the stylistic beauty of its prose and the vitality of its narrative. Waley's interpretation offers a fascinating glimpse of the artistic pursuits of the royal court and its constant round of rituals, festivals, and ceremonies.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDover Publications
    Release dateMar 20, 2019
    ISBN9780486839028
    The Pillow Book

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    Reviews for The Pillow Book

    4/5

    376 ratings24 reviews

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    • 4/5
      This book is basically the author's collection of notes about life in the Imperial Court of Japan. It is comprised of opinions regarding good and bad behaviors, pleasures & dislike, and the minutiae of day-to-day life for a noblewoman who lived early in the 1st century. Sometimes witty, sometimes absurd, and often condescending. However, she knew no other life. Fascinating!
    • 5/5
      It's a scrapbook of observations and lists kept near the writer's pillow, not a book of erotica. Sei Shonagon was a lady in waiting at the Heian court of Imperial Japan (not a courtesan, as some editions say - I'm outraged by this and think she would be too.) She's a snob, can't stand poor people, old people, incorrectly dressed people, and is vain about her ability to quote classical poetry and make witty retorts. None of that made me dislike her at all - she's like the bitchy friend you sit in the corner with to make snide remarks at all the other partygoers - and it's all the more astonishing that she wrote this around the year 990 - 1000. She's a great writer. Her descriptions of weather, court ceremonies, court attire, etc., are beautiful. The descriptions of clothes and the flowers or seasons they evoke, especially, fascinated me. The details of the clothes are like Story of O without the spankings. With a lot of footnotes and several appendices about Heian court life, which add a lot.
    • 4/5
      I really enjoyed this book--it made Heian Japan seem so wonderful, like a never-ending cycle of poetry, practical jokes, and love affairs. Shonagon has a very witty, edgy voice, and the lists she makes are brilliant.

      This specific edition of the book was slightly irritating because it used endnotes rather than footnotes, so the nearly 600 times the editor had something to say, you had to flip all the way to the end of the book to find it.
    • 4/5
      Very fun way to get to know Heian Japanese culture if you don't already.If you do, then Shōnagon is opinionated and contrary enough that she can really make the world come alive. Her opinions don't always match up to the popular ones at the time, and it's neat to start to recognize when that happens without referring to the endnotes.The Ivan Morris translation is fully half appendices and notes, which really help in understanding what's going on and what everything means, but they're also skippable if you're not into doing a real deep reading. I only flipped to the end notes about a third of the time, but I was usually happy with what I learned that way.I also enjoy this translation more than the parts of a different one I read a few years back. I felt the other one over-Westernized it, which is dangerous when much of this writing, not to mention the lifestyle, is based on subtlety and wordplay.Anyway, recommended if you've got any interest in this period of history.
    • 5/5
      This is what I love. She wrote one book, one short, trivial unorganized book. But it's so...I'd like to say perfect, but it's totally imperfect...it's so true that for thousands of years people have read and loved it. She doesn't think men should shift their legs around when they sit. She hates it when the commoners get in front of the Buddha. She hates it when her lover closes her door too loudly on his way out. I love her.
    • 5/5
      A beautiful read - like scanning through the blog from hundreds of years and a whole world away.
    • 4/5
      This is not easy to read (which is why I never got all the way through) but it is utterly delightful and really does open a window into a different world. The language of this book is beautiful, even in translation. The tone of the translation conveys a lot of the formality and and attention to words associated with Japanese. There are a large number of foot-notes, but they are not necessary to understand the book - they merely provide additional information.Shonagon herself is a delightfully witty character, and that, combined with the beauty of the language, more than makes up for the cultural gap which makes the book a bit of a tricky read for Western readers.
    • 4/5
      Fascinating diary of social and literary life in tenth-century upper-class Japan by a lady-in-waiting to the young Empress Sadako.
    • 5/5
      Snob, critical, her own words: "old and not so pretty", but really sharp and no shame... I like her.
    • 4/5
      [The pillow book] by Sei ShonagonFascinating 11th century Japan diary(3.5 of out 5) Sei is a terrible snob, highly intelligent and idealistic and much fun and this is her 'pillow' book. Private musings and observations of court life. Mixed in with descriptions of clothes, gossip and romantic tales we get brief lists of beautiful words for use in art of poetry. For Sei poetry was a deeply important, much admired skill. So from a quick witty response referencing a famous poem, to artful courtship of letters or just entertaining the empress with word games, poetry could enhance ones reputation and standing. This skill of this particular translation (Penguin classics) makes all this accessible and interesting to the laymen. Puns on obscure Chinese poetry can be ignored or followed with no impact on enjoyment. The multiple appendices on Heian court are well worth a look though, adding much more depth to Sei's diary. I feel bad for rating this so low. Its a fascinating and interesting read, translated well, packed with notes appendices and written by an engaging author. It is what it is though, a series of lists and vignettes of Japanese court life in the Hein period. Whether you like this book depends how interested you are in the period.
    • 4/5
      The first book I read on my Kindle! Possibly not a great choice, considering the (unnecessarily) large number of footnotes, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. This book was written in Heian Japan, by one of the Empress's serving women. It contains lists of poetic placenames, good colour combinations and things which are better at night ("Someone whose appearance is rather unattractive but who has a pleasant personality."), anecdotes mostly about people apparently conversing entirely in witty references to poems, accounts of festivals and a whole jumbled collection of other things. Sei Shonagon is pretty sarcastic and things very poorly of anyone of "low rank", and I feel like I know a lot about her personality just from her descriptions of court life.Some quotes I apparently felt the need to highlight while reading:"Everything that cries in the night is wonderful. With the exception, of course, of babies.""Embarrassing things – The heart of a man.""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."
    • 5/5
      The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon is a collection of remarks, observations, memories and lists written down by a lady in waiting to the Japanese Empress Sadako in the Heian period in Japan. It is a thousand years old. And it is lovely.Sei Shonagon is not the real name of the author. Shōnagon means "Minor Councillor", which I think must have been her father's position (from what I understand, ladies at court were known by nicknames and the positions of their father rather than their actual name); Sei refers to the family of Kiyowara, apparently. She was the daughter of a poet (Kiyowara no Motosuke) and a contemporary of the more famous Murasaki Shikibu (author of Tales of Genji, whose name, incidentally, is the name of a flower plus her father's position), who did not like her one bit (she thought her arrogant, frivolous and presumptuous). The rivalry may be founded in the fact that they served two different Empresses: when Sadako's father (Michitaka) died, his position at court was taken by his brother (Michinaga), who had the Emperor marry one of his daughters as well in order to secure his position -- court intrigues are fun. Shikibu served the second Empress. Her real name may have been Kiyowara Nagiko, but no one really knows. Nor is it known what became of her. The Pillow Book therefore has the strange air of providing an intimate opening into a life that is otherwise inaccessible -- the exact opposite of what history normally provides: the dates and facts are missing, but the everyday observations, the preferences, dislikes and passing thoughts are somehow there to be read. It is also not clear to what extent the Pillow Book was originally intended to be circulated -- Murasaki Shikibu suggests that it was, but the explanation given in the text (and supported by the writer of the introduction to my edition) is that it started as a private journal which then became public.It is not structured as a coherent story, and in that lies much of its charm. In fact, there does not appear to be a consensus as to how it should be ordered. The anecdotes of court life are interspersed with lists of "depressing things", "splendid things", "things without merit", "things that fall from the sky" and a number of others. And I do like the lists. They not only provide an (albeit randomly structured) insight into the preferences of a woman who lived a millennium ago on the other side of the world, they are also strangely lyrical. And I confess I am very fond of a random structure. But the anecdotes are what I love. They are moments in a life. That bit of the past that history books do not provide. In fact, it makes sense to me to see this book as the antithesis of conventional history. It does not provide the coherent sequence of pivotal events and orderly presentation of their connection which one would get from a history book. Instead the book focuses on the moments, with a lot of space dedicated to the colours and cuts of clothes, witty repartee and good and bad behaviour. Because I am a history nut I found the hints of court intrigue and power shifts fascinating, but they are always in the background. No explanation is provided, for example, for why Sei Shōnagon would support Michinaga, the man who not only made the life of the Empress she served hell, but was also the main rival of a man I would swear was one of her lovers: the Empress' brother, Korechika. They certainly flirt shamelesslyShe seems to have had a number of lovers. She never specifies who they are, but some of her finest episodes are on the proper way for a man to leave his lover in the morning (before sunrise, to appreciate the dew). And while the extensive end-notes of my edition offered some opinions as to who had been these lovers, I felt quite free to speculate, and ascribed the position to all the marvellous men who flirted with her over poetry and visited her at night. You see, the poetry is central to all this. Sei Shōnagon is obsessed with it, and I believe the whole culture was (albeit to a lesser extent). They send each other a middle line from a poem, and the recipient is expected to respond with a first and a last line; when confronted with a tricky situation, the highest praise follows an apt allusion to a famous poem; men send poetry to lovers, the women respond. Mixed with a real fondness for puns in the extreme, there is a genuine love for language, and mixed up with it a love for men who love language and can use it right. It is observant, intelligent, poetic and haughty. I would catch myself nodding along with her rants on the bad manners of people in general (although I must admit our particular grievances are different: I have never had cause to be annoyed that someone referred to themselves in the first person singular while in the company of the Japanese Emperor and Empress). The illusion that people are the same everywhere and everywhen is powerful, but does sometimes shatter. Her treatment and views of "commoners" are occasionally shocking to modern sensibilities. But I remain fascinated by a book that allows me to observe the things taken as universally understood, as obvious, by someone so far from my own time and place. The endnotes helped, of course. Ivan Morris' edition is from the 60s, and belongs to the tradition where notes could include very subjective positions. He speaks of the "vile" tradition of tying paper flowers to trees, for example. But I enjoy that. And they are in general very enlightening.I recommend the book without reservations.
    • 3/5
      Written by a member of the court in Heien-kyo (present-day Kyoto) about 990-1000 AD. Sei Shonagon is more of a title than it is her actual name. She was a "lady-in-waiting" to Empress Sadako who was a member of the Fujiwara clan.The book consists of her observations of court life, descriptions of nature, and many lists of things - embarrassing things, depressing things, elegant things, things worth seeing, etc. Sometimes she is peevish and petty. And she doesn't hide her scorn for the lower classes. But she writes wonderful descriptions of court life, of the clothing they wore, their carriages, even the traffic jams in Kyoto.One of her pleasing things - "finding a large number of tales that one has not read before. Or acquiring the second volume of a tale whose first volume one has enjoyed."
    • 4/5
      Reading a book written over a thousand years ago always has its challenges and its rewards. This isn't the first time I've tackled some Heian Japan literature, having read some of Genji before, along with a number of poetry compilations for classes. Still, this was one that had never really showed up in anything I'd tried reading before, and I'd always held that to be due to its reputation as being relatively frivolous. This one's also a classic, though, and it seemed like rather a hole to have in my knowledge.The book is rather a diary of events and lists compiled by Sei Shonagon during her stay in the court of Empress Teishi, at the end of the tenth century. The lists can be amusing when they're not just place names, as they prove a good point for both displaying Sei's wit and also the timelessness of some of her entries. When it comes to things that are pleasant or things that look stiflingly hot or such, some things have changed over the centuries and some haven't, and that makes for an interesting read. And much of the sense of her personality, a bit vain, a bit prickly, but warm and challenging all the same, comes through here, too.The parts that shine the most to me are the little anecdotes about court life, her interactions with the other court ladies, the Emperor and Empress, the appointed court nobles, and the like. These are tales of little day to day events, along with trips to temples and festivals and the like, and they give you a real sense for what life was like then. Sei has a very good eye for details, particularly in fashion, and has a good memory for the poetry and dialogue.I think to really appreciate the book does require the background reading; I had the McKinney translation, which I found quite good, and the historical and biographical information at the beginning really put the text in perspective. Much of the time in court, Sei was writing after her particular lady's star had begun to fall, and you only get a sense of it in the narrative in a few places, but if you hold it in mind as you read it, you definitely get a different view on the story.All in all, I found this enjoyable, if a bit tedious at the points you have to read through several lists in a row. It's a good window on a different time, and not nearly so frivolous as I'd been led to believe. If you're interested in the time period, give it a shot.
    • 4/5
      A lovely book full of detail about Heian Japan. I do get the persisent feeling, however, of reading an ancient form of a livejournal. I swear if Sei Shonagon lived on my campus, she'd be catting about the sorority girls with their sweatpants tucked into their Uggs. I think the interpretation of Shonagon as a bit full of herself, which is the impression I get from the various interpreters, leaves out the sad aura of vulnerability I got from the Pillow Book.Obviously a must read for anyone interested in the literature of the era, or the history of women's writing in general.
    • 3/5
      Sei Shōnagon was a terrible snob! I enjoyed the passages describing events at court, conversations, and love affairs. The lists of what is and isn't good were dull. Shōnagon's attitude to those of lower rank grated on me. She seems to embody all that is worst in the rich and vacuous. Perhaps something was lost in translation, but I didn't see how she came to have a reputation as a wit. I preferred the Diary of Lady Murasaki for its observations on court life and for its intelligence.
    • 5/5
      A classic that needs no recommendation from me. The level of worldliness of Heian Japan is vastly superior to any other civilization of the time. It was an age when a slight variation in sleeve length or color crossed the abyss between the exquisite and the crude. It was also a time when the subtleties of the natural world, especially flowers, where minutely observed and celebrated. A beautiful and refined work, marred only by the snobbishness that often accompanies such a sensibility.
    • 5/5
      This took me a long time to work through, but I am glad to have read it! I also switched translations partway through, from Morris to McKinney. I think overall I preferred McKinney. There are heaps and heaps of annotations, which was what made this a slow read for me, but the notes are really helpful and elucidating.

      My favorite sections were the lists, and the shorter vignettes. And my favorite aspect of the book overall is the way it humanizes the past. Sei Shonagon is such a STRONG personality, so flawed and interesting and real. As others have said, reading The Pillow Book is a bit like reading a blog, full of humor and snark and beauty all at once.
    • 4/5
      I've recently developed a particular interest in Heian-era Japan and literature. The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon is an important eleventh-century work that provides a glimpse into Heian society, especially that of the court and higher classes. Shōnagon was a lady-in-waiting to Empress Teishi as well as a contemporary and rival of Murasaki Shikibu, the author of The Tale of Genji and a lady-in-waiting who served Empress Shōshi. The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon has been translated into English, both in part and in its entirety, many times, the first translation appearing as early as 1889. Out of all of the English translations, I gravitated towards that of Ivan Morris' whose works of nonfiction The World of the Shining Prince and The Nobility of Failure I thoroughly enjoyed. Excerpts of The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon were actually included in The World of the Shining Prince and I enjoyed his translation. Morris' complete two-volume translation of The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon was published in 1967 by Columbia University Press. However, in 1971, an edited and abridged translation began to be released. It is this single-volume edition that is now more readily available and generally more approachable for the average reader, not to mention the version of The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon that I myself read.The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon is a diary of sorts, a collection of thought and observances, lists and poetry. Most of the individual sections are short, some only a few paragraphs and the longest still being under fifteen pages. The volume isn't arranged chronologically, some parts can't even be definitely dated, but seeing as each section stands perfectly well on its own and there is no overarching "plot," this isn't particularly problematic. Shōnagon relates events and ceremonies that take place at court and at shrines, but she also details more personal affairs and gossip as well. The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon mostly deals with Heian-ea nobility and their lives, but the lower classes are occasionally mentioned, too, though usually with some disdain. While relatively little is known about Shōnagon outside of her own writings, it is clear she was a well-educated and intelligent women with a strong personality that brought her admirers as well as a those who could be considered her opponents.While I haven't read other translation of The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon and so am not able to offer comparisons, I was very pleased with Morris' translation. I found it easy to understand, pleasant in its style, and overall very enjoyable. Morris' translation presents an excellent balance between the literal and the literary. It reads well in English and yet retains a sense of poetic elegance. This particular edition of The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon also includes additional material for readers who are interested in the works' specific historical context or in Heian-era Japan in general. Morris' notes are copious and entire appendices are devoted to the calendar and time system, the government and its structure, places and their accompanying maps, an illustrated guide to clothing, households, carriages, instruments, and other daily objects, as well as several chronologies. A list of recommended reading is also given. In all, the supplementary material accounts for about a third of the volume's total length.I found The PIllow Book of Sei Shōnagon to be a very enjoyable and even charming read. However, it's not a work to be read all at once or in a hurry. Instead, savoring a few sections here or there will generally provide a more pleasant reading experience. Shōnagon's personality really comes through in her writings. She's witty and sharp-minded, but also occasionally mean-spirited and a little self-important. Granted, as The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon serves at least in part as her diary, it's not too surprising that she allows herself to express herself so freely within its pages. However, eventually she was quite aware that others were and would be reading the work as well. Even though centuries have passed since The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon was first written and compiled, it's noteworthy how engaging and approachable the work can be for modern readers. Shōnagon was a keen observer of the people and society of her own time, but her humor and insights into human nature can still be appreciated even today.Experiments in Manga
    • 4/5
      The pillow book presents both a slice of life and a way of life. Provides an observant sense of time and place with humor and specificity. The narrator's personality is hard to pin down or predict...she oscillates between gossip, mystic, and biographer.
    • 4/5
      A collection of writings by a woman from the Heian period in Japan. She served as a lady in the court for Empress Sadako.
    • 4/5
      This Folio Society edition is absolutely stunning. The translation is really good. Sei's writing is both funny and witty and offers an interesting look at Japanese palace life.
    • 5/5
      Sei Shōnagon is sensitive to people's manners. She carefully describes her taste, likes and dislikes. She is excellent describing behaviour that repules her and other items that bring her joy. She has a candid style that is charming and entertaining.
    • 5/5
      This is the version of Sei Shonagon I reread most often; the complete too volume is a bit unwieldly, and the Waley selections are only a little taste, but this is usually enough to satisfy me. As I said in my review of Waley, I think Shonagon at her best gives the most vivid picture of Heian Japan, superior even to the Genji.

    Book preview

    The Pillow Book - Sei Shonagon

    DOVER THRIFT EDITIONS

    GENERAL EDITOR: SUSAN L. RATTINER

    EDITOR OF THIS VOLUME: JANET B. KOPITO

    Copyright

    Copyright © 2019 by Dover Publications, Inc.

    All rights reserved.

    Bibliographical Note

    This Dover edition, first published in 2019, is a republication of Arthur Waley’s abridged translation of The Pillow Book, as published by George Allen & Unwin, Ltd., London, in 1928.

    International Standard Book Number

    ISBN-13: 978-0-4868-3443-6

    ISBN-10: 0-486-83443-3

    Manufactured in the United States by LSC Communications

    83443301 2019

    www.doverpublications.com

    Contents

    Note

    Translator’s Notes

    The Pillow Book

    Japan in the Tenth Century

    Masahiro

    Annoying Things

    Very Tiresome Things

    Miscellaneous

    Narinobu

    The Storm

    Pilgrimage to the Hasedera

    Stray Notes

    Pretty Things

    Children

    Things That Make One Happy

    Things that give me an Uncomfortable Feeling

    Toothache

    Illness

    Note

    THE YEAR OF Sei Shōnagon’s birth was likely 966. Her lineage included writers and scholars of some significance, and her father’s interest in securing Shōnagon a place at the court led to her marriage at the age of sixteen; however, her husband’s prospects at court faltered. Ultimately, Shōnagon and her husband, Tachibana Norimitsu, separated, and Shōnagon was taken into the service of an empress whose father was a powerful chancellor. Because of her culturally significant family history, Shōnagon was seen as a desirable addition to Empress Teishi’s circle. After the death of the empress, Shōnagon left the court.

    Sei Shōnagon had kept a diary during her time as a court lady, noting the goings-on in an entertaining variety of anecdotes and gossip reflecting her daily involvement in court life. In 996, her writings made the rounds of the Heian-era court—her account of this invasion of her privacy indicates that a government official, while visiting Shōnagon, spied the journal and made off with it, against Shōnagon’s wishes. Whereas the classic novel The Tale of Genji, written by Shōnagon’s contemporary, Murasaki Shikibu, was a work of fiction, The Pillow Book is a portrayal of actual figures and events, as well as the author’s own musings. Shōnagon died sometime during the first quarter of the eleventh century.

    The first English translation of The Pillow Book was done in 1889. In 1928, Arthur Waley, a renowned translator of both Chinese and Japanese literature, set his sights on Shōnagon’s work. Waley’s translation is an abridged version of the original, reflecting Waley’s interpretation of the contents in a highly individualistic manner. By his own account, mentioned in Waley’s Translator’s Notes, the abridgment consists of about a quarter of the original. He continues, Omissions have been made only where the original was dull, unintelligible, repetitive, or so packed with allusion that it required an impracticable amount of commentary. Nevertheless, Waley’s selections convey the vivid portrayal of tenth-century Japanese court life as experienced by the keenly observant Sei Shōnagon.

    Translator’s Notes

    I HAVE HERE translated about a quarter of The Pillow Book.* Omissions have been made only where the original was dull, unintelligible, repetitive, or so packed with allusion that it required an impracticable amount of commentary.

    Short extracts from The Pillow Book will be found in Aston’s Japanese Literature (1899), Florenz’s Geschichte der Jap. Litteratur (1906), and Revon’s Anthologie de la Littérature Japonaise (1910). Save for a line or two here and there, and two anecdotes (pp. 31 and 48), parts of which are translated by Aston and Revon, I have avoided what has been translated before, not on principle, but because it seemed to me that, on the whole, the least interesting passages had been chosen.†

    The text I have used is that of the Makura no Sōshi Hyōshaku (first published, 1924; 2nd edition in one volume, 1926), by Kaneko Moto-omi, to whose commentary I am greatly indebted. The proofs have been read by Miss Sybil Pye and Mr. Tadao Doi, to both of whom I am very grateful.

    * Makura no Sōshi, this being

    a name given at the time to notebooks in which stray impressions were recorded.

    † Since this was written there has appeared Les Notes de l’Oreiller, by K. Matsuo and Steinilber-Oberlin, containing extracts which amount, like mine, to about a quarter of the original. My selection was, however, made from a very different point of view and coincides with theirs only to the extent of a few pages. The two books are therefore complementary.

    THE PILLOW BOOK

    JAPAN IN THE TENTH CENTURY

    WHEN THE FIRST volume of The Tale of Genji appeared in English, the prevailing comment of critics was that the book revealed a subtle and highly developed civilization, the very existence of which had hitherto remained unsuspected. It was guessed that so curious a state of society, with its rampant aestheticism and sophisticated unmorality, its dread of the explicit, the emphatic, must have behind it a protracted history of undisturbed development, or (as others put it) must be the climax of an age-long decadence.

    And it is indeed true that the unique civilization portrayed in The Tale of Genji and The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon corresponds to a unique record of isolation and tranquility. The position of Japan, lying on the edge of the Oriental world, has been compared to that of England always in full communion with Europe, yet exempt from the worst perils of contiguity—in fact, ideally semidetached.

    But the comparison has little force. Japan is eight times farther from the mainland than we from France. One cannot swim across the Straits of Tsushima. Yet phase after phase of civilization—agriculture, tools, domestic animals at an age long before history, then later, the Chinese ideograms, Indian religion, Persian textiles—managed to filter across the Straits; while invasion, save for an occasional raid of pirates from China, not merely during those early years, but until the abortive Mongol descent in the thirteenth century, was almost unknown. In Europe and on the continent of Asia no single strip of land has ever enjoyed a like immunity. Across France, Hungary, Poland, Turkestan, how many armies marched during the long centuries of Japan’s absolute security! Thus arose a culture that, among other peculiarities, had that of not being cosmopolitan. Rome, Byzantium, Ctesiphon, even Ch’ang-an were international cities. In the streets of Kyōto a stray Korean or Chinaman was, as specimens of the exotic, the best that could be hoped for. The world, to a Japanese of the tenth century, meant Japan and China. India was semi-mythical, and Persia uncertainly poised somewhere between China and Japan.

    Thus, since the establishment of the capital at Heian* in 794, had grown up a highly specialized, intense and uniform civilization, dominated by one family, the Fujiwara; a state of society in which the stock of knowledge, the experience, the prejudices of all individuals were so similar that the grosser forms of communication seemed no longer necessary. A phrase, a clouded hint, an allusion half-expressed, a gesture imperceptible to common eyes, moved this courtly herd with a facility as magic as those silent messages that in the prairie ripple from beast to beast.

    It was a purely aesthetic and, above all, a literary civilization. Never, among people of exquisite cultivation and lively intelligence, have purely intellectual pursuits played so small a part. What strikes us most is that the past was almost a blank; not least so the history of Japan, extending even in mythological theory only to the seventh century B.C. and remaining fabulous for fifteen hundred years.

    It is indeed our intense curiosity about the past that most sharply distinguishes us from the ancient Japanese. Here every educated person is interested in some form or another of history. The busiest merchant is an authority upon snuff-boxes, Tudor London, or Chinese jade. The remotest country clergyman reads papers on eoliths; his daughters revive forgotten folk-dances. But to the Japanese of the tenth century, old meant fusty, uncouth, disagreeable. To be worth looking at a thing must be imamekashi, now-ish, up-to-date. By Shōnagon and Murasaki the great collection of early poetry (the Manyōshū), on the rare occasions when they quote it, is always referred to in an apologetic way, as something that, despite its solid merits, will necessarily offend the modern eye. Nor did they feel that the future—with us an increasing preoccupation—in any way concerned them.

    Their absorption in the present, the fact that with them modern was invariably a term of praise, differentiates them from us in a way that is immediately obvious. The other aspects of their intellectual passivity—the absence of mathematics, science, philosophy (even such amateur speculation as amused the Romans was entirely unknown)—may not seem at first sight to constitute an important difference. Scientists and philosophers, it is true, exist in modern Europe. But to most of us their pronouncements are as unintelligible as the incantations of a Lama; we are mere drones, slumbering amid the clatter of thoughts and contrivances that we do not understand and could still less ever have created. If the existence of contemporary research had no influence except upon those capable of understanding it, we should indeed be in much the same position as the people of Heian. But, strangely enough, something straggles through; ideas that we do not completely understand modify our perceptions and hence refashion our thoughts to such an extent

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