Diaries of Court Ladies of Old Japan — A Closer Reading
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For Diaries of Court Ladies of Old Japan — A Closer Reading, the stored edition analysis reports 60,865 words, 4 hr 25 min estimated reading time, and 8 detected text sections.
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Read the Text
s were a part, did not really begin until the middle of the twelfth century and did not reach its full development until the middle of the fourteenth; the Nō Drama started with the ancient religious pantomimic dance, the Kagura, but not until words were added in the fourteenth century did it become the Nō; and block colour printing was first practised in 1695, while such famous print artists as Utamaro, Hokusai, and Hiroshige are all products of the eighteenth or early nineteenth centuries. To find the Ladies behind the dark military ages, we must go back a long way, even to the century before their own, and so gain a sort of perspective for them and their time.
Chinese literature and civilization were introduced into Japan somewhere between 270 and 310 A.D., and Buddhism followed in 552. Of course, all such dates must be taken with a certain degree of latitude; Oriental historians are anything but precise in these matters. Chinese influence and Buddhism are the two enormous facts to be reckoned with in understanding Japan, and considering what an effect they have had, it is not a little singular that Japan has always been able to preserve her native character. To be sure, Shintoism was never displaced by Buddhism, but the latter made a tremendous appeal to the Japanese temperament, as the Diaries show. In fact, it was not until the Meiji Period (1867-1912) that Shintoism was again made the state religion. With the introduction of Chinese civilization came the art of writing, when is not accurately known, but printing from movable blocks followed from Korea in the eighth century. As was inevitable under the circumstances, Chinese came to be considered the language of learning. Japanese scholars wrote in Chinese. All the "serious" books--history, theology, science, law--were written in Chinese as a matter of course. But, in 712, a volume called "Records of Ancient Matters" was compiled in the native tongue. It is the earliest book in Japanese now extant.
If the scholars wrote in a borrowed language, the poets knew better. They wrote in their own, and the poetry of the Nara Period has been preserved for us in an anthology, the "Manyoshu" or "Collection of One Thousand Leaves." This was followed at the beginning of the tenth century by the "Kokinshu" ("Ancient and Modern Poems"), to which, however, the editor, Tsurayuki, felt obliged to write a Chinese preface. The Ladies of the Diaries were extremely familiar with these volumes, their own writings are full of allusions to poems contained in them; Sei-Shōnagon, writing early in the eleventh century, describes a young lady's education as consisting of writing, music, and the twenty volumes of the "Kokinshu." So it came about that while learned gentlemen still continued to write in Chinese, poetry, fiction, diaries, and desultory essays called "Zui-hitsu" (Following the Pen) were written in Japanese.
Now the position of women at this time was very different from what it afterwards became in the feudal period. The Chinese called Japan the "Queen Country," because of the ascendancy which women enjoyed there. They were educated, they were allowed a share of inheritance, and they had their own houses. It is an extraordinary and important fact that much of the best literature of Japan has been written by women. Three of these most remarkable women are the authors of the Diaries; a fourth to be named with them, Sei-Shōnagon, to whom I have just referred, was a contemporary.
In 794, the capital was moved from Nara to Kiōto, which was given the name of "Heian-jo" or "City of Peace," and with the removal, a new period, the Heian, began. It lasted until 1186, and our Ladies lived in the very middle of it.
The three diaries in this volume share a distinctive tension between the outward spectacle of Heian court life and an inner current of melancholy and religious longing. In the excerpt from Murasaki Shikibu's diary, the narrator watches waterfowl playing in a pond and immediately reflects: 'It is not gay to live anxiously seeking means of existence.' This pattern—observing a scene, then turning it into a poem that questions its surface gaiety—recurs throughout the texts. The translators, Annie Shepley Omori and Kochi Doi, note in their preface that Izumi Shikibu's diary is 'written with extreme delicacy of treatment,' and that they have used the third person to suggest the 'shy reserve' of the original. Readers should attend to the interplay between precise visual details (a chrysanthemum-coloured robe, a blue-green hairband) and the diarists' habit of undercutting those details with doubt.
Poetry as Social Currency and Private Release
The diaries are punctuated by poems exchanged between ladies and courtiers, often written on perfumed, deeply coloured paper. These verses serve both as social obligations and as outlets for genuine feeling. In one exchange, Lady Koshosho sends a poem about 'the down-dripping rain' and longing, and the diarist replies with a poem contrasting the pauses between showers with her own continuously wet sleeves. The translators warn that the poems depend on 'plays upon words of two meanings' and cultural associations that are difficult to convey in English. Even so, the reader can observe how the poems crystallize a moment of emotion—often sorrow or yearning—and how they are embedded in the flow of daily events, such as dressing hair or waiting for the Emperor's delayed arrival.
The Weight of Ceremony and the Glimpse of Unease
The description of the King's visit reveals a court obsessed with rank and display. The diarist notes the precise placement of chairs, the colours of robes, and the shape of hair tied with bands. Yet she also records small, telling details of discomfort: a lady who 'seemed a little shy and I was sorry for her,' and bearers who bent their heads 'in absolute humility' that struck the observer as 'too humble.' These observations suggest that the diarist is not merely recording protocol but is attuned to the human cost of such formality. The tension between the ideal of courtly grace and the reality of awkwardness or excess humility is a recurring undercurrent.
Religious Yearning Amidst Worldly Beauty
Throughout the excerpts, the diarist expresses a desire to withdraw from the world and embrace a religious life. She writes: 'I wish I could be more adaptable and live more gaily in the present world—had I not an extraordinary sorrow—but whenever I hear delightful or interesting things my yearning for a religious life grows stronger.' This conflict is not resolved; it is simply stated and then followed by a poem or a description of a beautiful object, such as chrysanthemums seen through morning mists. The juxtaposition of aesthetic pleasure and spiritual longing is a defining feature of these diaries. The reader should note how often the diarist uses natural imagery—waterfowl, rain, flowers—as a springboard for introspection about impermanence and sin.
These diaries reward a patient reading that pays attention to what is left unsaid as much as to what is recorded. The translators' decision to use the third person for Izumi Shikibu's diary is a clue: the narrators often seem to be observing themselves from a distance, as if their own lives were as puzzling as the court rituals they describe. Look for the moments when a concrete detail—a robe's colour, a boat's dragon head—suddenly opens onto a question about the meaning of existence. That is where the diaries are most alive.
I keep returning to those Heian ladies’ half-said sentences, their shy reserve barely holding against the ache beneath—and it reminds me of how Richard’s chronicles feel similarly guarded, a man hiding his own longing behind action. Richard the Lion Heart — Reading Notes carries that same quiet hush, as though some things are best left unspoken, merely kept near. We are lucky to eavesdrop.
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Wyatt Rivera
1 month ago