The Pillow-Book of Sei Shōnagon (10 page)

Among “deceptive things” Sh
ō
nagon mentions boating excursions and tells the following story: The sun was shining brightly; so calm was the lake that it looked as though it was tightly covered from corner to corner with a sheet of light green, glossy silk. Never can day have seemed safer. We young girls had thrown off our mantles and were helping at the oars (we had brought some lads to wait upon us and manage the boat), and singing one song after another—really the whole excursion was so delightful we wished a thousand times that the Empress or some of her family were with us—when a violent gale sprang up, the lake all of a sudden became terribly rough, and soon our only thought was how to get into shelter as quickly as possible. It seemed impossible that this lake, whose waves now hung over us as we rowed with all our might to the shore, was the same that a little while ago had been so sleepy and harmless.

When one thinks of it, to be in a boat at all is a terrible thing! It is bad enough, even in reasonably shallow water, to trust oneself to such a conveyance; but where the water may be any depth—perhaps a thousand fathoms—to embark upon a thing loaded up with goods and baggage of all kinds, with only an inch or two of wood between oneself and the water! However, the low-class people who manage the boat do not seem to be in the least frightened, but run up and down unconcernedly in places where a single false step would lose them their lives.

Even the loading of a ship, when they bang down into the hold huge pine-trees two or three feet in circumference, sometimes half a dozen of them at a time, is an amazing thing. Rich people of course go in ships with cabins, and those who are lucky enough to be in the middle of the ship do not get on so badly. But those who are near the sides get very dizzy. It is extraordinary how little strength there looks to be in those things they call thongs, which keep the oars in place. If one of those were to snap, the oarsman would be drowned in a minute; yet they are always quite thin.

Our cabin was a very lovely one, with fringed curtains, double doors, and sliding shutters. Of course, it would not have done for it to be so heavy as the cabins on ships such as I have been talking about; but all the same, it was like a complete little house. What frightened me most was looking at the other ships. Those in the distance, scattered here and there across the waters, looked like the bamboo leaves that one sometimes makes into toy boats. When at last we got back into the harbor it was full of ships with lighted torches on board, a wonderful sight. How sorry one was for the people whom one saw toiling along in those very small rowing boats that they call
hashi
! ... I can understand why it is that some quite ordinary people absolutely refuse to go in boats. It is true that traveling on land is also very dangerous; but, whatever may happen, it is always some comfort to have firm ground under one’s feet.

PILGRIMAGE TO THE HASEDERA
*

While they were seeing about our rooms, the carriage (from which the oxen had been unyoked) was pulled up to the foot of the log stairway by which one climbs up to the temple. Young priests, with nothing but body-belts under their cassocks, and those clogs they call
ashida
on their feet, were all the while hurrying up and down the stairway without seeming to take any notice where they stepped, and reciting, as they went, scraps of the
S
ū
tras
or stray verses from the rhythmic portion of the
Abhidharma Kosa
,
†
in a manner pleasantly appropriate to such a place. Our own ascent of the steps was very much less secure; indeed, we crept up at the side, never daring to let go of the railings, in places where these young priests walked as comfortably as on a board-floor.

“Your rooms are ready; you can come at once,” someone said to us, and providing overshoes for the whole party he led us in. The place was already full of pilgrims; some, too poor to buy new coats, were wearing them with the lining outside, others in Court robes and cloaks of Chinese brocade were decked out with almost too obtrusive a splendor. The sight of so many soft-boots
*
and slippers shuffling along the corridor was very amusing, and indeed reminded me of the Emperor’s apartments in the Palace.

Several young men who seemed thoroughly at home in the place (probably retainers attached to the temple) accompanied us, saying, “Now up a few steps,” “Now down!” and so on, to prevent us falling in the dark. There was another party (I don’t know who they were) close behind us. Some of them tried to push past, but our guides asked them to stand back, saying we were a party from the Palace and they must keep clear of us. Most of them said “Indeed!” and at once drew back. But there were others who took no notice and rushed on as though all they had come for was to see who could get to the chapel first. On the way to our rooms we had to pass between rows of people, and it was not very pleasant. But once arrived, we got a view right up to the center of the altar.
†
The sight was so strangely moving that I wondered why I had allowed so many months to go by without once coming here; the old feeling had woken again within me.

The altar was not lit by the ordinary lamps of the outer chapel, but by lamps that pilgrims had laid as offerings within the shrine itself; and in this terrifying furnace of light the Buddha flashed and sparkled with the most magnificent effect. Priest after priest came up to the lectern in front of the altar and, holding up his scroll in both hands, read out his prayer.
‡
But so many people were moving about that it was impossible to make out what any particular priest was saying. All we could catch was an occasional phrase, when one voice for a moment pressed up from among the rest, such as “These thousand lamps . . . offered on behalf of. . .;” but the names one could not make out. While with the streamers of my dress hung back over my shoulders I was prostrating myself towards the altar, a priest came up, saying “I have brought you these,” and I saw that he was carrying a bough of anise,
*
a courtesy which though merely pious in intention was very agreeable. Presently another priest came from the direction of the altar and said he had recited our prayers for us “very well,” and wanted to know how long we were staying. We got him to tell us the names of some of the other people who were in retreat at the temple, and hardly had he left us when another priest came with braziers, food, and so on. Our washing-water was in a pot with a spout and our washing-tub had no handles! “I have given your servants that cell over there,” the priest said; and he called them up one at a time to show them where they had been quartered. A recitation of the Scriptures was about to begin, and the temple bell was ringing. “Ringing for our good,” so we felt, which gave us a great sense of security.
†

Next door to us was an ordinary sort of man who all the while was quietly prostrating himself till his head bumped against the floor. I thought at first that he must be doing it for show. But it soon became apparent that he was completely absorbed in his devotions. How wonderful that anyone can go on like this hour after hour without falling asleep! When for a short time he rested from these devotions, we heard him reciting the
S
ū
tras
in a low voice, so that we could not hear what he was reading, but with a very solemn intonation. We were just wishing he would read a little louder, when he broke off, and we heard him sniffing, not loudly enough to be disagreeable, but gently and secretly. I wondered what sort of trouble he was in and longed that his prayers might be answered.

When we had been at the temple several days, the mornings became very quiet and uneventful. The gentlemen and boys in attendance upon us usually went offto visit one or other of the priests in his cell, and we were left with very little to amuse us. Then suddenly, from quite close at hand would come the sound of the conch-shell,
*
taking us always completely by surprise. Or a messenger would come bringing an elegant
tatebumi
†
or stuffs in payment for some ritual or service, and laying the things down, would shout for the temple-servants to come and take them away, shriller and shriller, till his voice echoed among the hills. Sometimes the din of the temple gongs would suddenly rise to an unwonted pitch, and in answer to our question as to what was afoot, they would mention the name of some great mansion, saying “It is a service
*
for her Ladyship’s safe delivery.” An anxious time for my Lord. No wonder he could not rest content till the priests were at their task!

But all this applies only to ordinary times at the temple. At New Year, for example, there is a never-ending throng of sightseers and pilgrims, who cause so much disturbance that the services have often to be abandoned.

One evening a large party arrived from the City—so late that we were sure they were going to stay the night. Such tall screens were put up round their quarters that the little acolytes staggered under the weight of them. We could hear mats being flopped down, and everyone seemed to be scurrying about getting things in order. They were taken straight to their quarters and great rustling curtains were hung upon the railings that separated their rooms from the chapel-enclosure. People, evidently, who were used to being waited upon and made comfortable. Presently there was a great rustling of skirts, which gradually died away in the distance. It seemed to proceed from a party of elderly gentlewomen, very respectable and discreet. No doubt their services had been required only for the journey, and they were now going home. “Don’t be careless about fire,” we heard someone say, “these rooms are very dangerous.” Among the party was a boy of seven or eight, rather spoilt and conceited we thought, judging from his voice. It amused us to hear him calling out for the valets and grooms, and carrying on long conversations with them. There was also a darling baby of three or thereabouts that we could hear gurgling to itself in the way that drowsy children do. We kept on hoping that the mother or someone else would call to the nurse by name; then we should have had some chance of guessing who the people were.

That night the services went on uninterruptedly until daybreak and the noise was so great that we got no sleep. After the
Goya
,
*
I dozed offfor a while, but was soon woken by a sound of coarse, noisy chanting, that seemed intentionally to avoid any kind of beauty or holiness. We recognized the
S
ū
tra
as that of the Temple Patron.
†
These rough voices no doubt belonged to mountain-hermits from far away, and bursting in upon us thus unexpectedly, they were strangely moving. . . .

During retreats of this kind, or indeed whenever I am away from home, I do not find it sufficient merely to have grooms and servants with me. One needs several companions of one’s own class, who are pleased by the same things as oneself—indeed, it is as well to bring with one as many friends as possible. There may among one’s maids be some who are less tiresome than the rest. But on the whole one knows all their opinions too well.

Gentlemen appear to share my feelings about this question; for I notice they always make up an agreeable party beforehand, when they are going on pilgrimage to a temple. . . .

Often the common people who come to Hasedera show a gross lack of respect for the better sort of visitors, lining up in front of one’s pew (
tsubone
) so close that they brush one with the tails of their coats. There comes on me sometimes a strong desire to make this pilgrimage, and then when I have braved the terrifying noise of the waters, struggled up the dangerous causeway, and pressed into my seat, impatient to gaze at last upon the glorious countenance of Buddha, it is exasperating to find my view barred by a parcel of common white-robed priests and country-people, swarming like caterpillars, who plant themselves there without the slightest regard for those behind them. Often, while they were performing their prostrations, I have come near to rolling them over sideways!

When very grand people come, steps are taken to keep a clear space in front of them. But, of course, for ordinary people they won’t take the trouble to interfere. If one sends for some priest with whom one has influence and asks him to speak, he will sometimes go so far as to say, “Would you mind making a little more room there, please?” But the moment his back is turned, it is as bad as before.

Sh
ō
nagon records that once when she was attending a great service at the Bodai Temple, someone sent her a note saying, “Come back at once. I am very lonely.” “As a matter of fact,” she tells us, “I was at the moment so much worked up by what was going on around me, that I had quite made up my mind never to quit the place again (to become a nun); and I cared as little as old Hsiang Chung
*
whether people at home were waiting for me.”

A Recitant
†
ought to be good-looking. It is only if it is a pleasure to keep one’s eyes on him all the time that there is any chance of religious feeling (
t
ō
tosa
) being aroused. Otherwise one begins looking at something else and soon one’s attention wanders from what he is reading; in which case ugliness becomes an actual cause of sin.

(Written later)
The time has come for me to stop putting down ideas of this kind. Now that I am getting to be a good
‡
age, and so on, it frightens me to discover that I ever wrote such blasphemous stuff. I remember that whenever any priest was reported to be of particular piety I would rush off immediately to the house where he was giving his readings. If this was the state of mind in which I arrived, I see now that I should have done better to stay away.