When the Tangdynasty (618–907) collapsed, a period of upheaval, rapid succession of dynasties, and multiple kingdoms followed. In the mid-tenth century, a general named Zhou Kuangyin reunified China, establishing the Song dynasty (960–1279) with himself as the first ruler, Emperor Taizu. The Song dynasty was divided into two periods: the Northern Song (960–1126), the physically larger empire, and the Southern Song (1127–1279). Overall, it was a time of stability and economic, cultural, and artistic prosperity.
Increased population, advanced agricultural techniques, and booming trade and commerce led to a thriving economy during both the Northern and Southern Song. The world’s first governmental paper money was issued in the 1120s. Despite the empire’s many successes, the state lacked the same degree of military strength that the previous Tang dynasty had enjoyed. Instead, the Song rulers took advantage of the empire’s economic strength and made large annual gifts to neighboring states to secure the peace that its armies could not. Despite the payoffs, a seminomadic people called the Jurchens eventually conquered the capital of Kaifeng in 1126, bringing an end to the Northern Song. The Song court fled south and established a new capital in the city that is today known as Hangzhou, beginning what is called the Southern Song dynasty.
The Song government’s relative military weakness was disturbing to many Chinese intellectuals. They developed a defensive, inward-looking strategy and became less open to adopting foreign styles and ideas. Buddhism, for example, was to some degree rejected for its foreign origin, and the native philosophies of Confucianism and Daoism experienced a strong resurgence. With the Confucian revival came a new interest in ancient culture, or antiquarianism. The Song dynasty is often called an age of protoarchaeology and a period when great collectors and connoisseurs of art flourished both in and outside the court. Pre-Qin dynasty (221–206 B.C.E.) bronzes and jades began to be collected and were imitated and reproduced in creative new interpretations. Reverence for and reference to the past became increasingly important factors in Chinese art.
The Song court established an Imperial Painting Academy in the palace. Painters from all over the country were recruited to serve the needs of the court. The varied traditions, under the auspices of the court, blended together into a distinctive Song academic style. It valued a naturalistic and descriptive representation of the physical world. Scholar officials chosen through the civil service examination also had a major impact on the arts. They developed a style that rejected the descriptive realism of the professional and court painters, valuing spontaneity and a type of brushwork that was informed by their study of calligraphy. Many favored painting in ink alone without color. For the scholar (or amateur) artists, painting was a means of personal expression pursued for the enjoyment of the artist and for the sharing of ideas with his circle of friends.
Copyright: National Museum of Asian Art, Smithsonian Institution, “Song dynasty (960–1279), an introduction,” in Smarthistory, April 23, 2021, accessed May 6, 2024, https://smarthistory.org/song-dynasty-intro/.
Japan in the Heian Period
Heian period (794–1185 C.E.): Courtly refinement and poetic expression
During the Heian period, the new capital, Heian or Heian-kyō, was the city known today as Kyoto. There a lavish culture of refinement and poetic subtlety developed, and it would have a lasting influence on Japanese arts. The approximately four centuries that comprise the Heian period can be divided into three sub-periods, each of which contributed major stylistic developments to this culture of courtly refinement. The sub-periods are known as Jōgan, Fujiwara, and Insei.
The so-called Jōgan sub-period, spanning the reigns of two emperors during the second half of the 9th century, was rich in architectural and sculptural projects, largely spurred by the emergence and development of the two branches of Japanese esoteric Buddhism. Two Buddhist monks, Saichō and Kūkai (also known as Kobo Daishi), traveled to China on study missions and, upon their respective returns to Japan, went on to found the two Japanese schools of esoteric Buddhism: Tendai, established by Saichō, and Shingon, established by Kūkai.
A favorite subject for late-Heian-period yamato-e was the Tale of Genji(Genji monogatari 源氏物語), written in the first years of the 11th century and attributed to a lady-in-waiting at the imperial court, Murasaki Shikibu. A complex novel that focuses on the romantic interests and entanglements of the prince Genji and his entourage, the Tale also provides a fascinating entryway into Heian-period court life, complete with the aesthetic principles and practices that resided at its core.
A brief review of the Heian period cannot be complete without mention of the development of Japanese poetry, wakain particular. Waka was an integral part of the Tale of Genji, and Murasaki Shikibu came to be known as one of the 6 immortal poets (all of whom were from the Heian period).
Permeating the spirit of Heian-period Japanese poetry and the imagery it inspired was a heightened sense of refinement, expressed in elegant verse, stylized visual motifs, precious materials, and embellished surfaces.
The Insei rule—the third and last of the Heian sub-periods —refers, literally, to the imperial practice of ruling from within a (monastery) compound. During Insei, cloistered emperors had a higher degree of political control. It was during this period that a sense of aesthetic and ethical congruence developed, according to which the beautiful and the good are intrinsically interconnected.
Copyright: Dr. Sonia Coman, “Heian period, an introduction,” in Smarthistory, January 20, 2021, accessed May 6, 2024, https://smarthistory.org/heian-period/.
Kamakura period (1185–1333 C.E.): new aesthetic directions
The earlier Insei rule gave way to an extra-imperial, although imperially sanctioned, military government, known in Japanese as bakufu. Military leaders—called shōguns—first came from the Minamoto family (whose headquarters in Kamakura gave the name to the period), then power concentrated in the (related) Hōjō family. Eventually, the Minamoto and Hōjō shōguns lost their respective control to internal struggles, the pressure of other clans, and an economy bankrupted by coastline fortifications undertaken in response to two (thwarted) Mongol and Korean invasions.
This binary system of government, comprising the shōgun’s rule and the (nominal) rule of the emperor, significantly contributed to a shift in aesthetic interests and artistic expression. The taste of the new military leaders was different from the aesthetic refinement that dominated Heian-period court culture. They embraced instead a sense of honesty in representation and sought works that emanated robust energy. This new development toward life-likeness and a form of idealized realism is particularly evident in portraiture, both two-dimensional and sculptural. During the Kamakura period, the confluence or syncretism of Buddhism and the indigenous Shintō deepened. Paintings like the 14th-century Kumano shrine mandala contain representations of both Buddhist and Shintō deities, divided into registers that illustrate the fusion of the two world-views against the backdrop of famous sacred sites of Japan.
The development of Mt. Baoding was rooted in the expansion of Buddhist traditions and practices among common people during the Song Dynasty. Buddhism was introduced from South Asia and Central Asia to China via trade routes since the Eastern Han Dynasty (25–220 C.E.) and spread across the Chinese religious landscape. Although the Song imperial court mainly promoted Confucianism and Daoism, laymen and officials continued to participate in Buddhist practices and commissioned Buddhist images across China. The printing and translation of Buddhist texts also thrived at the beginning of the Song dynasty.
Religious movements that orient people towards individual salvation such as Ch’an, Pure Land, and esoteric Buddhism sprang up and came to dominate Song Dynasty Buddhism. Importantly, these traditions did not exist independently, but often overlapped. Both monks and lay individuals were often familiar with these various teachings and were involved in activities including meditation, recitation, and incantation. The artists and patrons of the rock carvings were aware of these parallel traditions and often depicted them next to each other.
Liu Benzun was an enigmatic figure in Chinese Buddhism and little is known about him. The only biographical accounts of him are found in the Song Dynasty inscriptions in Mt. Baoding. According to these inscriptions, Liu was a native of present-day Sichuan and active in the area in the mid-ninth century. Throughout his life, Liu observed monastic vows and practiced austerities, as well as incantations inspired by esoteric Buddhist masters. He was recognized as an incarnation of a bodhisattva, a manifestation of Buddha Vairocana (the Buddha from which all Buddha emanates), and famous for using incantations to subjugate evil spirits and cure illness, and he performed self-mortification to relieve the suffering of the masses. These miraculous deeds had made Liu a renowned wonder-worker and ascetic, and attracted a large base of lay followers, including local gentry and rulers in Sichuan.
The layout and construction of the sculptural complex at Mt. Baoding play a significant role in helping the viewer recognize the localized Buddhism that revolved around Liu’s sacred persona. The carvings at Mt. Baoding date to the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and comprise two major rock-cut areas that together form a U-shape: Little Buddha Bend (Xiaofowan in Chinese), and Great Buddha Bend (Dafowan in Chinese). Great Buddha Bend consists of thirty-one groups of monumental reliefs that were carved and painted on the cliff surface. The 500-meter long carving flows from one composition to another, and is punctuated by two caves. These compositions are sometimes referred to as niches or tableaux.
Despite their regional character, the carvings at Mt. Baoding contain iconic figures and narrative elements inspired by popular Buddhist scripture and teachings. By the time of the Song Dynasty, the use of visual representation as a means of visualizing Buddhist scripture had been long developed in murals, illustrated manuscripts, and rock carvings. Artists built upon these existing visual and iconographical traditions, and integrated inscriptions within the sculpted scenes to explain the diverse subject matter.
Ox herding story (scenes 1–10; 11 is not pictured here), Niche 30, Southern Song Dynasty, Mt. Baoding, Dazu (photos: G41rn8, CC BY-SA 4.0)
Visions of the afterlife and the tribulations of hell
In addition to this Ch’an Buddhist theme, the carvings at Mt. Baoding show a strong interest in Chinese Buddhist visions of the afterlife, including the Pure Land and the tribulations of hell.
Located across from the Ox herding tableau, the tableau of Western Pure Land shows the monumental Buddha Amitabha flanked by two bodhisattvas (beings who have not yet attained enlightenment) at the center of an extraordinary paradise realm known as the Western Pure Land. In front of the balustrade, several bodhisattvas are welcoming new souls being reborn into the Pure Land from blooming lotuses.
Buddhism recognizes that there is a causal relationship between one’s actions and intention (in Sanskrit this is called karma), as well as its results, which needs not manifest in the present time. Applying this principle to the belief of afterlife, one’s afterlife destiny is based on one’s karma. Even if a person has a bad rebirth and falls into hell due to bad karma, they are not damned for eternity and would be able to enter a better place through the assistance of other enlightened beings and the accumulation of merits in Buddhist rituals. Bodhisattva Dizang (in Sanskrit, Kṣitigarbha), known as the savior of the dead, is one of these prevalent enlightened beings who helps devotees to avoid a cruel afterlife and release those in hell from punishment. Dizang’s cult was prevalent in medieval Chinese society and generated a large number of images.
Next to the tableau of Pure Land, a monumental tableau illustrates gruesome tortures in hell with an iconic figure of bodhisattva Dizang sitting on a lotus throne at the center. On both sides of Dizang, the composition is divided into four horizontal registers. On the top, each of the Buddhas of the Ten Directions (Buddhas throughout time and space) sit within a round niche. Below them, Dizang is flanked by the Ten Kings of Hell (5 kings on each side plus an officer), who weigh the karma of the dead. The kings are dressed as Chinese bureaucrats and sit behind draped desks, with inscriptions stating each of their titles and explaining how one ends up in hell—as well as how one can be released from hell through devotional practices. At either side of the seated kings, sit individuals who wear black caps with horizontal flaps. These are the Officers of Immediate Retribution and Rapid Recompense, who record the judgment and rebirth of every individual.
(From left to right) Scenes showing a deceased person (floating in pool of feces and filth), and, at lower right (), a warden coercing a half-naked sinner with a halberd. The hells of feces and filth express the didactic and narrative functions of the tableau by depicting the cause of the punishment. An inscription notes that “those who eat meat fall into the hell of feces and filth.” [2] Niche 20, Dafowan, Mt. Baoding, Dazu. Southern Song Dynasty (photos: G41rn8, CC BY-SA 4.0)
Depending on the judgement of the Ten Kings, the deceased will be redeemed or receive punishment in hell. Although Buddhist scriptures do not describe hell in great detail, the artists and patrons of Great Buddha Bend were interested in these themes. They incorporated the conventional depiction of Dizang and the Ten Kings with inscriptions and elaborate scenes of punishment of the Eighteen Hells on the two lower registers of the tableau.
The scenes show animal-headed wardens either punishing sinners by exposing them to extreme cold, splitting up their bodies, or boiling them. Unlike the well-ordered and static figures in the upper two rows, these figures, who are closer to the viewer, have expressive facial features and engage in dynamic, lifelike action. The inscriptions identify the name of each hell with its chief punishments, but also offers a solution and provides the name of the deity who can intercede on behalf of the deceased.
The afterlife of the Dazu rock carvings
The rock carvings at Great Buddha Bend, Dazu represent innovative Buddhist image-making during the Southern Song Dynasty. The stylistic features and subject matter demonstrate a local Buddhist cult that was interested in a variety of popular Buddhist teachings as well as the devoted acts of a charismatic Buddhist. After the invasion of the Mongols in the mid-thirteenth century, the cult of Liu and the image-making activity in Dazu gradually came to a halt. However, by the fifteenth century, the site again attracted Buddhist visitors, travelers, and literati, who supported restoration projects and erected a number of steles to record their activities on site.
Visual representations of Liu’s religious life, particularly ten episodes of his self-mutilation and his shared identity with Buddha Vairocana (the Buddha from which all Buddha emanates), were prevalent in eastern Sichuan. At Great Buddha Bend, niche 21 depicts Liu as the largest figure at the center. Liu appears dignified and is dressed in the garb of a Chinese official. His body is stocky and square. Noticeably, his right eye is blinded and part of his left ear and left arm are missing due to his self-mutilation. Within his headdress is a seated Buddha Vairocana. Placing a deity within a figure’s headdress is a common motif to mark the spiritual lineage of the figure. In this way, the placement of Buddha Vairocana in niche 21 marks Liu’s connection to the Buddha and affirms his spiritual legitimacy.
Detail of Liu Benzun setting his genitals on fire, Niche 21, Mt. Baoding, Southern Song Dynasty, Dazu, China (photo: G41rn8, CC BY-SA 4.0)
Written by Luo Guanzhong in the 14th century CE ; translated by C. H. Brewitt-Taylor
The Romance of the Three Kingdoms is one of the stories known as the “Four Classic Novels” or “Four Great Masterpieces” of Chinese literature (the other three being Water Margin, Journey to the West, and Dream of the Red Chamber). Although it was written in the 14th century C.E., the story is based on historical events from a thousand years earlier: during the late Han dynasty and the Three Kingdoms Period (starting in 169 C.E. and ending in 280 C.E.). The story depicts the conflicts among the Wu, Wei, and Shu kingdoms. The characters are based on actual people, with the requisite alterations that are expected in fiction (such as the occasional warrior with superhuman strength, and other legendary and mythic elements). The story is 120 chapters long, with literally hundreds of characters to follow. The selections in the anthology begin with the introductory chapter, which includes how one group of heroes meets. The long selection is from the most well-known episode in the story: the Battle of Red Cliffs (208- 209 C.E.). The Romance of the Three Kingdoms continues to be a popular work, with movies, video games, comics,
television series, and card games based on the story.
Written by Laura J. Getty- Copyright World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650: Part 2. Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.
Chapter 1″ Three Heroes Swear Brotherhood In The Peach Garden; One Victory Shatters The Rebels In Battlegrounds.
The world under heaven, after a long period of division, tends to unite; after a long period of union, tends to divide. This has been so since antiquity. When the rule of the Zhou Dynasty weakened, seven contending kingdoms sprang up, warring one with another until the kingdom of Qin prevailed and possessed the empire. But when Qin’s destiny had been fulfilled, arose two opposing kingdoms, Chu and Han, to fight for the mastery. And Han was the victor.
The rise of the fortunes of Han began when Liu Bang the Supreme Ancestor slew a white serpent to raise the banners of uprising, which only ended when the whole empire belonged to Han (BC 202). This magnificent heritage was handed down in successive Han emperors for two hundred years, till the rebellion of Wang Mang caused a disruption. But soon Liu Xiu the Latter Han Founder restored the empire, and Han emperors continued their rule for another two hundred years till the days of Emperor Xian, which were doomed to see the beginning of the empire’s division into three parts, known to history as The Three Kingdoms.
But the descent into misrule hastened in the reigns of the two predecessors of Emperor Xian—Emperors Huan and Ling—who sat in the dragon throne about the middle of the second century. Emperor Huan paid no heed to the good people of his court, but gave his confidence to the Palace eunuchs. He lived and died, leaving the scepter to Emperor Ling, whose advisers were Regent Marshal Dou Wu and Imperial Guardian Chen Fan. Dou Wu and Chen Fan, disgusted with the abuses of the eunuchs in the affairs of the state, plotted the destruction for the power-abusing eunuchs. But Chief Eunuch Cao Jie was not to be disposed of easily. The plot leaked out, and the honest Dou Wu and Chen Fan were put to death, leaving the eunuchs stronger than before.
It fell upon the day of full moon of the fourth month, the second year, in the era of Established Calm (AD 168), that Emperor Ling went in state to the Hall of Virtue. As he drew near the throne, a rushing whirlwind arose in the corner of the hall and, lo! from the roof beams floated down a monstrous black serpent that coiled itself up on the very seat of majesty. The Emperor fell in a swoon. Those nearest him hastily raised and bore him to his palace, while the courtiers scattered and fled. The serpent disappeared. But there followed a terrific tempest, thunder, hail, and torrents of rain, lasting till midnight and working havoc on all sides. Two years later the earth quaked in Capital Luoyang, while along the coast a huge tidal wave rushed in which, in its recoil, swept away all the dwellers by the sea. Another evil omen was recorded ten years later, when the reign title was changed to Radiant Harmony (AD 178): Certain hens suddenly crowed. At the new moon of the sixth month, a
long wreath of murky cloud wound its way into the Hall of Virtue, while in the following month a rainbow was seen in the Dragon Chamber. Away from the capital, a part of the Yuan Mountains collapsed, leaving a mighty rift in the flank. Such were some of various omens. Emperor Ling, greatly moved by these signs of the displeasure of Heaven, issued an edict asking his ministers for an explanation of the calamities and marvels.
Court Counselor Cai Yong replied bluntly: “Falling rainbows and changes of fowls’ sexes are brought about by the interference of empresses and eunuchs in state affairs.” The Emperor read this memorial with deep sighs, and Chief Eunuch Cao Jie, from his place behind the throne, anxiously noted these signs of grief. An opportunity offering, Cao Jie informed his fellows, and a charge was trumped up against Cai Yong, who was driven from the court and forced to retire to his country house.
With this victory the eunuchs grew bolder. Ten of them, rivals in wickedness and associates in evil deeds, formed a powerful party known as the Ten Regular Attendants—Zhang Rang, Zhao Zhong, Cheng Kuang, Duan Gui, Feng Xu, Guo Sheng, Hou Lan, Jian Shuo, Cao Jie, and Xia Yun.
One of them, Zhang Rang, won such influence that he became the Emperor’s most honored and trusted adviser. The Emperor even called him “Foster Father”. So the corrupt state administration went quickly from bad to worse, till the country was ripe for rebellion and buzzed with brigandage. At this time in the county of Julu was a certain Zhang family, of whom three brothers bore the name of Zhang Jue, Zhang Ba, and Zhang Lian, respectively. The eldest Zhang Jue was an unclassed graduate, who devoted himself to medicine. One day, while culling simples in the woods, Zhang Jue met a venerable old gentleman with very bright, emerald eyes and fresh complexion, who walked with an oak-wood staff. The old man beckoned Zhang Jue into a cave and there gave him three volumes of The Book of Heaven.
“This book,” said the old gentleman, “is the Essential Arts of Peace. With the aid of these volumes, you can convert the world and rescue humankind. But you must be single-minded, or, rest assured, you will greatly suffer.” With a humble obeisance, Zhang Jue took the book and asked the name of his benefactor.
“I am Saint Hermit of the Southern Land,” was the reply, as the old gentleman disappeared in thin air. Zhang Jue studied the wonderful book eagerly and strove day and night to reduce its precepts to practice. Before long, he could summon the winds and command the rain, and he became known as the Mystic of the Way of
Peace.
In the first month of the first year of Central Stability (AD 184), there was a terrible pestilence that ran throughout the land, whereupon Zhang Jue distributed charmed remedies to the afflicted. The godly medicines brought big successes, and soon he gained the tittle of the Wise and Worthy Master. He began to have a following of disciples whom he initiated into the mysteries and sent abroad throughout all the land. They, like their master, could write charms and recite formulas, and their fame increased his following. Zhang Jue began to organize his disciples. He established thirty-six circuits, the larger with ten thousand or more members, the smaller with about half that number. Each circuit had its chief who took the military title of General. They talked wildly of the death of the blue heaven and the setting up of the golden one; they said a new cycle was beginning and would bring universal good fortune to all members; and they persuaded people to chalk the symbols for the first year of the new cycle on the main door of their dwellings. With the growth of the number of his supporters grew also the ambition of Zhang Jue. The Wise and Worthy Master dreamed of empire. One of his partisans, Ma Yuanyi, was sent bearing gifts to gain the support of the eunuchs within the Palace.
To his brothers Zhang Jue said, “For schemes like ours always the most difficult part is to gain the popular favor. But that is already ours. Such an opportunity must not pass.” And they began to prepare. Many yellow flags and banners were made, and a day was chosen for the uprising. Then Zhang Jue wrote letters to Feng Xu and sent them by one of his followers, Tang Zhou, who alas! betrayed his trust and reported the plot to the court. The Emperor summoned the trusty Regent Marshal He Jin and bade him look to the issue. Ma Yuanyi was at once taken and beheaded. Feng Xu and many others were cast into prison.
The plot having thus become known, the Zhang brothers were forced at once to take the field. They took up grandiose titles: Zhang Jue the Lord of Heaven, Zhang Ba the Lord of Earth, and Zhang Lian the Lord of Human. And in these names they put forth this manifesto: The good fortune of the Han is exhausted, and the Wise and Worthy Man has appeared. Discern the will of Heaven, O ye people, and walk in the way of righteousness, whereby alone ye may attain to peace.
Support was not lacking. On every side people bound their heads with yellow scarves and joined the army of the rebel Zhang Jue, so that soon his strength was nearly half a million strong, and the official troops melted away at a whisper of his coming. Regent Marshal and Imperial Guardian, He Jin, memorialized for general preparations against the Yellow Scarves, and an edict called upon everyone to fight against the rebels. In the meantime, three Imperial Commanders— Lu Zhi, Huangfu Song, and Zhu Jun—marched against them in three directions with veteran soldiers. Meanwhile Zhang Jue led his army into Youzhou, the northeastern region of the empire. The Imperial Protector of Youzhou was Liu Yan, a scion of the Imperial House. Learning of the approach of the rebels, Liu Yan called in Commander Zhou Jing to consult over the position.
Zhou Jing said, “They are many and we few. We must enlist more troops to oppose them.”
Liu Yan agreed, and he put out notices calling for volunteers to serve against the rebels. One of these notices was posted up in the county of Zhuo, where lived one man of high spirit. This man was no mere bookish scholar, nor found he any pleasure in study. But he was liberal and amiable, albeit a man of few words, hiding all feeling under a calm exterior. He had always cherished a yearning for high enterprise and had cultivated the friendship of humans of mark. He was tall of stature. His ears were long, the lobes touching his shoulders, and his hands hung down below his knees. His eyes were very big and prominent so that he could see backward past his ears. His complexion was as clear as jade, and he had rich red lips. He was a descendant of Prince Sheng of Zhongshan whose father was the Emperor Jing (reigned BC 157-141), the fourth emperor of the Han Dynasty. His name was Liu Bei. Many years before, one of his forbears had been the governor of that very county, but had lost his rank for remissness in ceremonial offerings. However, that branch of the family had remained on in the place, gradually becoming poorer and poorer as the years rolled on. His father Liu Hong had been a scholar and a virtuous official but died young. The widow and orphan were left alone, and Liu Bei as a lad won a reputation for filial piety.
At this time the family had sunk deep in poverty, and Liu Bei gained his living by selling straw sandals and weaving grass mats. The family home was in a village near the chief city of Zhuo. Near the house stood a huge mulberry tree, and seen from afar its curved profile resembled the canopy of a wagon. Noting the luxuriance of its
foliage, a soothsayer had predicted that one day a man of distinction would come forth from the family. As a child, Liu Bei played with the other village children beneath this tree, and he would climb up into it, saying, “I am the Son of Heaven, and this is my chariot!” His uncle, Liu Yuanqi, recognized that Liu Bei was no ordinary
boy and saw to it that the family did not come to actual want. When Liu Bei was fifteen, his mother sent him traveling for his education. For a time he served Zheng Xuan and Lu Zhi as masters. And he became great friends with Gongsun Zan. Liu Bei was twenty-eight when the outbreak of the Yellow Scarves called for soldiers. The sight of the notice saddened him, and he sighed as he read it.
Suddenly a rasping voice behind him cried, “Sir, why sigh if you do nothing to help your country?”
Turning quickly he saw standing there a man about his own height, with a bullet head like a leopard’s, large eyes, a swallow pointed chin, and whiskers like a tiger’s . He spoke in a loud bass voice and looked as irresistible as a dashing horse. At once Liu Bei saw he was no ordinary man and asked who he was.
“Zhang Fei is my name,” replied the stranger. “I live near here where I have a farm; and I am a wine seller and a butcher as well; and I like to become acquainted with worthy people. Your sighs as you read the notice drew me toward you.”
Liu Bei replied, “I am of the Imperial Family, Liu Bei is my name. And I wish I could destroy these Yellow Scarves and restore peace to the land, but alas! I am helpless.”
“I have the means,” said Zhang Fei. “Suppose you and I raised some troops and tried what we could do.” This was happy news for Liu Bei, and the two betook themselves to the village inn to talk over the project. As they were drinking, a huge, tall fellow appeared pushing a hand-cart along the road. At the threshold he halted and entered the inn to rest awhile and he called for wine. “And be quick!” added he. “For I am in haste to get into the town and offer myself for the army.”
Liu Bei looked over the newcomer, item by item, and he noted the man had a huge frame, a long beard, a vivid face like an apple, and deep red lips. He had eyes like a phoenix’s and fine bushy eyebrows like silkworms. His whole appearance was dignified and awe-inspiring. Presently, Liu Bei crossed over, sat down beside him and asked his name.
“I am Guan Yu,” replied he. “I am a native of the east side of the river, but I have been a fugitive on the waters for some five years, because I slew a ruffian who, since he was wealthy and powerful, was a bully. I have come to join the army here.”
Then Liu Bei told Guan Yu his own intentions, and all three went away to Zhang Fei’s farm where they could talk over the grand project. Said Zhang Fei, “The peach trees in the orchard behind the house are just in full flower. Tomorrow we will institute a sacrifice there and solemnly declare our intention before Heaven and Earth, and we three will swear brotherhood and unity of aims and sentiments: Thus will we enter upon our great task.” Both Liu Bei and Guan Yu gladly agreed. All three being of one mind, next day they prepared the sacrifices, a black ox, a white horse, and wine for libation. Beneath the smoke of the incense burning on the altar, they bowed their heads and recited this oath: “We three—Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei—though of different families, swear brotherhood, and promise mutual help to one end. We will rescue each other in difficulty; we will aid each other in danger. We swear to serve the state and save the people. We ask not the same day of birth, but we seek to die together. May Heaven, the all-ruling, and Earth, the all-producing, read our hearts. If we turn aside from righteousness or forget kindliness, may
Heaven and Human smite us!” They rose from their knees. The two others bowed before Liu Bei as their elder brother, and Zhang Fei was to be the youngest of the trio. This solemn ceremony performed, they slew other oxen and made a feast to which they invited the villagers. Three hundred joined them, and all feasted and drank deep in the Peach Garden.
The next day weapons were mustered. But there were no horses to ride. This was a real grief. But soon they were cheered by the arrival of two horse dealers with a drove of horses. “Thus does Heaven help us!” said Liu Bei. And the three brothers went forth to welcome the merchants. They were Zhang Shiping and Su Shuang from Zhongshan. They went northwards every year to buy horses. They were now on their way home because of the Yellow Scarves. The brothers invited them to the farm, where wine was served before them. Then Liu Bei told them of the plan to strive for tranquillity. Zhang Shiping and Su Shuang were glad and at once gave the brothers fifty good steeds, and beside, five hundred ounces of gold and silver and one thousand five hundred pounds of steel fit for the forging of weapons. The brothers expressed their gratitude, and the merchants took their leave. Then blacksmiths were summoned to forge weapons. For Liu Bei they made a pair of ancient swords; for Guan Yu they fashioned a long-handled, curve blade called Green-Dragon Saber, which weighed a full one hundred pounds; and for Zhang Fei they created a ten-foot spear called Serpent Halberd. Each too had a helmet and full armor. When weapons were ready, the troop, now five hundred strong, marched to Commander Zhou Jing, who presented them to Imperial Protector Liu Yan. When the ceremony of introduction was over, Liu Bei declared his ancestry, and Liu Yan at once accorded him the esteem due to a relation.
Before many days it was announced that the rebellion had actually broken out, and a Yellow Scarves chieftain, Cheng Yuanzhi, had invaded the region with a body of fifty thousand rebels. Liu Yan bade Zhou Jing and the three brothers to go out to oppose them with the five hundred troops. Liu Bei joyfully undertook to lead the van and marched to the foot of the Daxing Hills where they saw the rebels. The rebels wore their hair flying about their shoulders, and their foreheads were bound with yellow scarves. When the two armies had been drawn up opposite each other, Liu Bei rode to the front, Guan Yu to his left, Zhang Fei to his right. Flourishing his whip, Liu Bei began to hurl reproaches at the rebels, crying, “O malcontents! Why not dismount and be bound?”
Their leader Cheng Yuanzhi, full of rage, sent out one general, Deng Mao, to begin the battle. At once rode forward Zhang Fei, his serpent halberd poised to strike. One thrust and Deng Mao rolled off his horse, pierced through the heart. At this Cheng Yuanzhi himself whipped up his steed and rode forth with sword raised ready to
slay Zhang Fei. But Guan Yu swung up his ponderous green-dragon saber and rode at Cheng Yuanzhi. At the sight, fear seized upon Cheng Yuanzhi, and before he could defend himself, the great saber fell, cutting him in halves.
Two heroes new to war’s alarms,
Ride boldly forth to try their arms.
Their doughty deeds three kingdoms tell,
And poets sing how these befell.
Their leader fallen, the rebels threw away their weapons and fled. The official soldiers dashed in among them. Many thousands surrendered and the victory was complete. Thus this part of the rebellion was broken up. On their return, Liu Yan personally met them and distributed rewards. But the next day, letters came from Imperial Protector Gong Jing of Qingzhou Region saying that the rebels were laying siege to the chief city and it was near falling. Help was needed quickly.
“I will go,” said Liu Bei as soon as he heard the news. And he set out at once with his own soldiers, reinforced by a body of five thousand under Zhou Jing. The rebels,
seeing help coming, at once attacked most fiercely. The relieving force being comparatively small could not prevail and retired some ten miles, where they made a camp. “They are many and we but few,” said Liu Bei to his brothers. “We can only beat them by superior strategy.” So they prepared an ambush. Guan Yu and Zhang Fei, each with a goodly party, went behind the hills, right and left, and there hid. When the gongs beat they were to move out to support the main army. These preparations made, the drums rolled noisily for Liu Bei to advance. The rebels also came forward. But Liu Bei suddenly retired. Thinking this was their chance, the rebels pressed forward and were led over the hills. Then suddenly the gongs sounded for the ambush. Guan Yu and Zhang Fei poured out from right and left as Liu Bei
faced around to meet the rebels. Under three-side attack, the rebels lost heavily and fled to the walls of Qingzhou City. But Imperial Protector Gong Jing led out an armed body to attack them, and the rebels were entirely defeated and many slain. Qingzhou was no longer in danger.
Though fierce as tigers soldiers be,
Battles are won by strategy.
A hero comes; he gains renown,
Already destined for a crown.
After the celebrations in honor of victory were over, Commander Zhou Jing proposed to return to Youzhou. But Liu Bei said, “We are informed that Imperial Commander Lu Zhi has been struggling with a horde of rebels led by Zhang Jue at Guangzong. Lu Zhi was once my teacher, and I want to go help him.” So Liu Bei and Zhou Jing separated, and the three brothers with their troops made their way to Guangzong. They found Lu Zhi’s camp, were admitted to his presence, and declared the reason of their coming. The Commander received them with great joy, and they remained with him while he made his plans. At that time Zhang Jue’s one hundred fifty thousand troops and Lu Zhi’s fifty thousand troops were facing each other. Neither had had any success. Lu Zhi said to Liu Bei, “I am able to surround these rebels here. But the other two brothers, Zhang Ba and Zhang Lian, are strongly entrenched opposite Huangfu Song and Zhu Jun at Yingchuan. I will give you a thousand more troops, and with these you can go to find out what is happening, and we can then settle the moment for concerted attack.”
So Liu Bei set off and marched as quickly as possible to Yingchuan. At that time the imperial troops were attacking with success, and the rebels had retired upon Changshe. They had encamped among the thick grass. Seeing this, Huangfu Song said to Zhu Jun, “The rebels are camping in the field. We can attack them by fire.”
So the Imperial Commanders bade every man cut a bundle of dry grass and laid an ambush. That night the wind blew a gale, and at the second watch they started a blaze. At the same time Huangfu Song and Zhu Jun’s troops attacked the rebels and set their camp on fire. The flames rose to the very heaven. The rebels were thrown into great confusion. There was no time to saddle horses or don armor: They fled in all directions. The battle continued until dawn. Zhang Lian and Zhang Ba, with a group of flying rebels, found a way of escape. But suddenly a troop of soldiers with crimson banners appeared to oppose them. Their leader was a man
of medium stature with small eyes and a long beard. He was Cao Cao, a Beijuo man, holding the rank of Cavalry Commander. His father was Cao Song, but he was not really a Cao. Cao Song had been born to the Xiahou family, but he had been brought up by Eunuch Cao Teng and had taken this family name. As a young man Cao Cao had been fond of hunting and delighted in songs and dancing. He was resourceful and full of guile. An uncle, seeing the young fellow so unsteady, used to get angry with him and told his father of his misdeeds. His father remonstrated with him. But Cao Cao made equal to the occasion. One day, seeing his uncle coming, he fell to the ground in a pretended fit. The uncle alarmed ran to tell his father, who came, and there was the youth in most perfect health.
“But your uncle said you were in a fit. Are you better?” said his father. “I have never suffered from fits or any such illness,” said Cao Cao. “But I have lost my uncle’s affection, and he has deceived you.” Thereafter, whatever the uncle might say of his faults, his father paid no heed. So the young man grew up licentious and uncontrolled. A man of the time named Qiao Xuan said to Cao Cao, “Rebellion is at hand, and only a man of the greatest ability can succeed in restoring tranquillity. That man is yourself.” And He Yong of Nanyang said of him, “The dynasty of Han is about to fall. He who can restore peace is this man and only he.”
Cao Cao went to inquire his future of a wise man of Runan named Xu Shao. “What manner of man am I?” asked Cao Cao. The seer made no reply, and again and again Cao Cao pressed the question. Then Xu Shao replied, “In peace you are an able subject; in chaos you are a crafty hero!” Cao Cao greatly rejoiced to hear this. Cao Cao graduated at twenty and earned a reputation of piety and integrity. He began his career as Commanding Officer in a county within the Capital District. In the four gates of the city he guarded, he hung up clubs of various sorts, and he would punish any breach of the law whatever the rank of the offender. Now an uncle of Eunuch Jian Shuo was found one night in the streets with a sword and was arrested. In due course he was beaten. Thereafter no one dared to offend again, and Cao Cao’s name became heard. Soon he became a magistrate of Dunqiu. At the outbreak of the Yellow Scarves, Cao Cao held the rank of General and was given command of five thousand horse and foot to help fight at Yingchuan. He just happened to fall in with the newly defeated rebels whom he cut to pieces. Thousands were slain and endless banners and drums and horses were captured, together with huge sums of money. However, Zhang Ba and Zhang Lian got away; and after an interview with Huangfu Song, Cao Cao went in pursuit of them.
Meanwhile Liu Bei and his brothers were hastening toward Yingchuan, when they heard the din of battle and saw flames rising high toward the sky. But they arrived too late for the fighting. They saw Huangfu Song and Zhu Jun to whom they told the intentions of Lu Zhi. “The rebel power is quite broken here,” said the commanders, “but they will surely make for Guangzong to join Zhang Jue. You can do nothing better than hasten back.” The three brothers thus retraced their steps. Half way along the road they met a party of soldiers escorting a prisoner in a cage-cart. When they drew near, they saw the prisoner was no other than Lu Zhi, the man they were going to help. Hastily dismounting, Liu Bei asked what had happened. Lu Zhi explained, “I had surrounded the rebels and was on the point of smashing them, when Zhang Jue employed some of his supernatural powers and prevented my victory. The court sent down Eunuch Zhuo Feng to inquire into my failure, and that official demanded a bribe. I told him how hard pressed we were and asked him where, in the circumstances, I could find a gift for him. He went away in wrath and reported that I was hiding behind my ramparts and would not give battle and that I disheartened my army. So I was superseded by Dong Zhuo, and I have to go to the capital to answer the charge.”
This story put Zhang Fei into a rage. He was for slaying the escort and setting free Lu Zhi. But Liu Bei checked him. “The government will take the due course,” said Liu Bei. “You must not act hastily!” And the escort and the three brothers went two ways. It was useless to continue on that road to Guangzong, so Guan Yu proposed to go back to Zhuo, and they retook the road. Two days later they heard the thunder of battle behind some hills. Hastening to the top, they beheld the government soldiers suffering great loss, and they saw the countryside was full of Yellow Scarves. On the rebels’ banners were the words Zhang Jue the Lord of Heaven written large.
“We will attack this Zhang Jue!” said Liu Bei to his brothers, and they galloped out to join in the battle. Zhang Jue had worsted Dong Zhuo and was following up his advantage. He was in hot pursuit when the three brothers dashed into his army, threw his ranks into confusion, and drove him back fifteen miles. Then the brothers
returned with the rescued general to his camp. “What offices have you?” asked Dong Zhuo, when he had leisure to speak to the brothers. “None,” replied they. And Dong Zhuo treated them with disrespect. Liu Bei retired calmly, but Zhang Fei was furious. “We have just rescued this menial in a bloody fight,” cried Zhang Fei, “and now he is rude to us! Nothing but his death can slake my anger.”
Zhang Fei stamped toward Dong Zhuo’s tent, holding firmly a sharp sword.
As it was in olden time so it is today,
The simple wight may merit well,
Officialdom holds sway;
Zhang Fei, the blunt and hasty,
Where can you find his peer?
But slaying the ungrateful would
Mean many deaths a year.
Japanese Literature
Sei Shonagon’s Pillow Book (Makura no Soshi) is the private journal of a lady-in-waiting to the Empress of Japan written during the 990s. Sei served her empress during the late Heian Period (a particularly vibrant time for Japanese arts and the beginning of Japan’s feudal age) and was a contemporary of another lady-in-waiting, Murasaki Shikibu, author of the Tale of Genji (also in this anthology). Both Sei and Murasaki wrote about court life, but unlike Murasaki’s epic romance, Sei’s journal entries offer a more personal and informal glimpse into the life of a woman at court. The selections in this anthology are meant to showcase the variety of Sei’s musings and anecdotes. The Tale of Genji, regarded as the world’s first novel, is a Japanese monogatari (i.e., a long, Japanese, fictional narrative of different literary elements), written by Murasaki Shikibu, an eleventh-century court lady. Written in the Heian period (794-1185 C.E.) in Japan, when Chinese was the serious scholarly language and prose was considered inferior to poetry, The Tale of Genji revealed a vast knowledge of both Chinese and Japanese poetry in graceful prose. The novel is about Prince Genji and his legacy in fifty-four chapters and entails about eight hundred waka (a poetic form consisting of 31 syllables) courtly poems. It sheds light on the aristocratic culture in early Heian Japan and conveys sensitive narratives about human emotions and natural beauty.
Especially delightful is the first day of the First Month, when the mists so often shroud the sky. Everyone paysgreat 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! 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. As the carriages are drawn over the ground-beam of the Central Gate, 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 courtiers 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 unpleasantly 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.
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 favourably 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.
Adorable Things
The face of a child drawn on a melon. A baby of two or so is crawling, rapidly along the ground. With his sharp eyes he catches sight of a tiny object and, picking it up with his pretty little fingers, takes it to show to a grown-up person. A baby sparrow that comes hopping up when one imitates the squeak of a mouse; or again, when one has tied it with a thread round its leg and its parents bring insects or worms and pop them in its mouth: delightful! One picks up a pretty baby and holds him for a while in one’s arms; while one is fondling him, he clings to one’s neck and then falls asleep. Pretty, white chicks who are still not fully fledged and look as if their clothes are too short for them; cheeping loudly, they follow one on their long legs, or walk close to the mother hen.
Depressing Things
A dog howling in the daytime. A lying-in room when the baby has died. A cold, empty brazier. An ox-driver who hates his oxen. 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!
Splendid Things
Chinese brocade. A sword with a decorated scabbard. The grain of the wood in a Buddhist statue. Long flowering branches of beautifully coloured wisteria entwined about a pine tree. Despite his low station, a Chamberlain of the Sixth Rank is a splendid thing. To think that he is allowed yellowish- green robes of figured material and cloth that even young noblemen of the finest families are forbidden to wear! A mere Assistant or Subordinate Official in the Emperor’s Private Office, who is the son of a commoner and who has gone completely unnoticed while serving under gentlemen of rank with official posts, becomes splendid beyond words after being appointed Chamberlain.
Awkward Things
One has gone to a house and asked to see someone; but the wrong person appears, thinking that it is he who is wanted; this is especially awkward if one has brought a present. One has allowed oneself to speak badly about someone without really intending to do so; a young child who has overheard it all goes and repeats what one has said in front of the person in question. Someone sobs out a pathetic story. One is deeply moved; but it so happens that not a single tear comes to one’s
eyes, most awkward. Though one makes one’s face look as if one’s going to cry, it is no use: not a single tear will come. Yet there are times when, having heard something happy, one feels the tears streaming out.
Things That Give a Clean Feeling
An earthen cup. A new metal bowl. A rush mat. The play of the light on water as one pours it into a vessel. A new wooden chest.
Things That Give an Unclean Feeling
A rat’s nest. Someone who is late in washing his hands in the morning. White snivel, and children who sniffle as they walk. The containers used for oil. Little sparrows.
A person who does not bathe for a long time even though the weather is hot. All faded clothes give me an unclean feeling, especially those that have glossy colours.
The Tale of Genji
The Broom Tree comes towards the beginning of The Tale of Genji after Genji has been sent away from the royal court and has lost his social status. At this point he has already married Lady Aoi, the daughter of the Minister of the Left and the sister of Tō no Chūjō.
1
The shining Genji: it was almost too grand a name. Yet he did not escape criticism for numerous little adventures. It seemed indeed that his indiscretions might give him a name for frivolity, and he did what he could to hide them. But his most secret affairs (such is the malicious work of the gossips) became common talk. If, on the other hand, he were to go through life concerned only for his name and avoid all these interesting and amusing little affairs, then he would be laughed to shame by the likes of the lieutenant of Katano.
Still a guards captain, Genji spent most of his time at the palace, going infrequently to the Sanjō mansion of his father−in−law. The people there feared that he might have been stained by the lavender of Kasugano. Though in fact he had an instinctive dislike for the promiscuity he saw all around him, he had a way of sometimes turning against his own better inclinations and causing unhappiness.
2
The summer rains came, the court was in retreat, and an even longer interval than usual had passed since his last visit to Sanjō. Though the minister and his family were much put out, they spared no effort to make him feel welcome. The minister’s sons were more attentive than to the emperor himself. Genji was on particularly good terms with Tō no Chūjō. They enjoyed music together and more frivolous diversions as well. Tō no Chūjō was of an amorous nature and not at all comfortable in the apartments which his father−in−law, the Minister of the Right, had at great expense provided for him. At Sanjō with his own family, on the other hand, he took very good care of his rooms, and when Genji came and went the two of them were always together. They were a good match for each other in study and at play. Reserve quite disappeared between them.
It had been raining all day. There were fewer courtiers than usual in the royal presence. Back in his own palace quarters, also unusually quiet, Genji pulled a lamp near and sought to while away the time with his books. He had Tō no Chūjō with him. Numerous pieces of colored paper, obviously letters, lay on a shelf. Tō no Chūjō made no attempt to hide his curiosity.
“Well,” said Genji, “there are some I might let you see. But there are some I think it better not to.”
“You miss the point. The ones I want to see are precisely the ones you want to hide. The ordinary ones I’m not much of a hand at the game, you know, but even I am up to the ordinary give and take. But the ones from ladies who think you are not doing right by them, who sit alone through an evening and wait for you to come those are the ones I want to see.”
It was not likely that really delicate letters would be left scattered on a shelf, and it may be assumed that the papers treated so carelessly were the less important ones.
“You do have a variety of them,” said Tō no Chūjō, reading the correspondence through piece by piece. “This will be from her, and this will be from her,” he would say. Sometimes he guessed correctly and sometimes he was far afield, to Genji’s great amusement. Genji was brief with his replies and let out no secrets.
“It is I who should be asking to see your collection. No doubt it is huge. When I have seen it I shall be happy to throw my files open to you.”
“I fear there is nothing that would interest you.” Tō no Chūjō was in a contemplative mood. “It is with women as it is with everything else: the flawless ones are very few indeed. This is a sad fact which I have learned over the years. All manner of women seem presentable enough at first. Little notes, replies to this and that, they all suggest sensibility and cultivation. But when you begin sorting out the really superior ones you find that there are not many who have to be on your list. Each has her little tricks and she makes the most of them, getting in her slights at rivals, so broad sometimes that you almost have to blush. Hidden away by loving parents who build brilliant futures for them, they let word get out of this little talent and that little accomplishment and you are all in a stir. They are young and pretty and amiable and carefree, and in their boredom they begin to pick up a little from their elders, and in the natural course of things they begin to concentrate on one particular hobby and make something of it. A woman tells you all about it and hides the weak points and brings out the strong ones as if they were everything, and you can’t very well call her a liar. So you begin keeping company, and it is always the same. The fact is not up to the advance notices.”
Tō no Chūjō sighed, a sigh clearly based on experience. Some of what he had said, though not all, accorded with Genji’s own experience. “And have you come upon any,” said Genji, smiling, “who would seem to have nothing at all to recommend them?”
“Who would be fool enough to notice such a woman? And in any case, I should imagine that women with no merits are as rare as women with no faults. If a woman is of good family and well taken care of, then the things she is less than proud of are hidden and she gets by well enough. When you come to the middle ranks, each woman has her own little inclinations and there are thousands of ways to separate one from another. And when you come to the lowest well, who really pays much attention?”
He appeared to know everything. Genji was by now deeply interested.
“You speak of three ranks, he said, but is it so easy to make the division? There are well−born ladies who fall in the world and there are people of no background who rise to the higher ranks and build themselves fine houses as if intended for them all along. How would you fit such people into your system?”
At this point two young courtiers, a guards officer and a functionary in the ministry of rites, appeared on the scene, to attend the emperor in his retreat. Both were devotees of the way of love and both were good talkers. Tō no Chūjō, as if he had been waiting for them, invited their views on the question that had just been asked. The discussion progressed, and included a number of rather unconvincing points.
“Butterflies”
A painted six panel folding screen by Tosa Mitsuyoshi from the Momoyama period (1573–1615) that depicts Genji’s Rokujō estate. Metropolitan Museum of Art, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons
3
“Those who have just arrived at high position,” said one of the new−comers, “do not attract the same sort of notice as those who were born to it. And those who were born to the highest rank but somehow do not have the right backing in spirit they may be as proud and noble as ever, but they cannot hide their deficiencies. And so I think that they should both be put in your middle rank.”
“There are those whose families are not quite of the highest rank but who go off and work hard in the provinces. They have their place in the world, though there are all sorts of little differences among them. Some of them would belong on anyone’s list. So it is these days. Myself, I would take a woman from a middling family over one who has rank and nothing else. Let us say someone whose father is almost but not quite a councillor. Someone who has a decent enough reputation and comes from a decent enough family and can live in some luxury. Such people can be very pleasant. There is nothing wrong with the household arrangements, and indeed a daughter can sometimes be set out in a way that dazzles you. I can think of several such women it would be hard to find fault with. When they go into court service, they are the ones the unexpected favors have a way of falling on. I have seen cases enough of it, I can tell you.”
Genji smiled. “And so a person should limit himself to girls with money?”
“That does not sound like you,” said Tō no Chūjō.
4
“When a woman has the highest rank and a spotless reputation, continued the other, but something has gone wrong with her upbringing, something is wrong in the way she puts herself forward, you wonder how it can possibly have been allowed to happen. But when all the conditions are right and the girl herself is pretty enough, she is taken for granted. There is no cause for the least surprise. Such ladies are beyond the likes of me, and so I leave them where they are, the highest of the high. There are surprisingly pretty ladies wasting away behind tangles of weeds, and hardly anyone even knows of their existence. The first surprise is hard to forget. There she is, a girl with a fat, sloppy old father and boorish brothers and a house that seems common at best. Off in the women’s rooms is a proud lady who has acquired bits and snatches of this and that. You get wind of them, however small the accomplishments may be, and they take hold of your imagination. She is not the equal of the one who has everything, of course, but she has her charm. She is not easy to pass by.”
He looked at his companion, the young man from the ministry of rites. The latter was silent, wondering if the reference might be to his sisters, just then coming into their own as subjects for conversation. Genji, it would seem, was thinking that on the highest levels there were sadly few ladies to bestow much thought upon. He was wearing several soft white singlets with an informal court robe thrown loosely over them. As he sat in the lamplight leaning against an armrest, his companions almost wished that he were a woman. Even the highest of the high might seem an inadequate match for him.
The Broom Tree (Hahakigi)
A painting by Tosa Mitsunobu from the Muromachi period (1329-1568) of a scene from chapter two of The Tale of Genji that is part of a series of 54 paintings with calligraphy. It can be found in the Harvard Art Museums. Tosa Mitsunobu, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
5
They talked on, of the varieties of women.
“A man sees women, all manner of them, who seem beyond reproach,” said the guards officer, “but when it comes to picking the wife who must be everything, matters are not simple. The emperor has trouble, after all, finding the minister who has all the qualifications. A man may be very wise, but no man can govern by himself. Superior is helped by subordinate, subordinate defers to superior, and so affairs proceed by agreement and concession. But when it comes to choosing the woman who is to be in charge of your house, the qualifications are altogether too many. A merit is balanced by a defect, there is this good point and that bad point, and even women who though not perfect can be made to do are not easy to find. I would not like to have you think me a profligate who has to try them all. But it is a question of the woman who must be everything, and it seems best, other things being equal, to find someone who does not require shaping and training, someone who has most of the qualifications from the start. The man who begins his search with all this in mind must be reconciled to searching for a very long time.”
“He comes upon a woman not completely and in every way to his liking but he makes certain promises and finds her hard to give up. The world praises him for his honest heart and begins to note good points in the woman too; and why not? But I have seen them all, and I doubt that there are any genuinely superior specimens among them. What about you gentlemen so far above us? How is it with you when you set out to choose your ladies?”
“There are those who are young enough and pretty enough and who take care of themselves as if no particle of dust were allowed to fall upon them. When they write letters they choose the most inoffensive words, and the ink is so faint a man can scarcely read them. He goes to visit, hoping for a real answer. She keeps him waiting and finally lets him have a word or two in an almost inaudible whisper. They are clever, I can tell you, at hiding their defects.”
“The soft, feminine ones are likely to assume a great deal. The man seeks to please, and the result is that the woman is presently looking elsewhere. That is the first difficulty in a woman.”
“In the most important matter, the matter of running his household, a man can find that his wife has too much sensibility, an elegant word and device for every occasion. But what of the too domestic sort, the wife who bustles around the house the whole day long, her hair tucked up behind her ears, no attention to her appearance, making sure that everything is in order? There are things on his mind, things he has seen and heard in his comings and goings, the private and public demeanor of his colleagues, happy things and sad things. Is he to talk of them to an outsider? Of course not. He would much prefer someone near at hand, someone who will immediately understand. A smile passes over his face, tears well up. Or some event at court has angered him, things are too much for him. What good is it to talk to such a woman? He turns his back on her, and smiles, and sighs, and murmurs something to himself. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she says, finally noticing. Her blank expression is hardly what he is looking for.”
“When a man picks a gentle, childlike wife, he of course must see to training her and making up for her inadequacies. Even if at times she seems a bit unsteady, he may feel that his efforts have not been wasted. When she is there beside him her gentle charm makes him forget her defects. But when he is away and sends asking her to perform various services, it becomes clear, however small the service, that she has no thoughts of her own in the matter. Her uselessness can be trying.”
“I wonder if a woman who is a bit chilly and unfeeling cannot at times seem preferable.” His manner said that he had known them all; and he sighed at his inability to hand down a firm decision.
6
“No, let us not worry too much about rank and beauty. Let us be satisfied if a woman is not too demanding and eccentric. It is best to settle on a quiet, steady girl. If she proves to have unusual talent and discrimination well, count them an unexpected premium. Do not, on the other hand, worry too much about remedying her defects. If she seems steady and not given to tantrums, then the charms will emerge of their own accord.”
“There are those who display a womanly reticence to the world, as if they had never heard of complaining. They seem utterly calm. And then when their thoughts are too much for them they leave behind the most horrendous notes, the most flamboyant poems, the sort of keepsakes certain to call up dreadful memories, and off they go into the mountains or to some remote seashore. When I was a child I would hear the women reading romantic stories, and I would join them in their sniffling and think it all very sad, all very profound and moving. Now I am afraid that it suggests certain pretenses.”
“It is very stupid, really, to run off and leave a perfectly kind and sympathetic man. He may have been guilty of some minor dereliction, but to run off with no understanding at all of his true feelings, with no purpose other than to attract attention and hope to upset him it is an unpleasant sort of memory to have to live with. She gets drunk with admiration for herself and there she is, a nun. When she enters her convent she is sure that she has found enlightenment and has no regrets for the vulgar world.”
“Her women come to see her. ‘How very touching,’ they say. ‘How brave of you.'”
“But she no longer feels quite as pleased with herself. The man, who has not lost his affection for her, hears of what has happened and weeps, and certain of her old attendants pass this intelligence on to her. ‘He is a man of great feeling, you see. What a pity that it should have come to this.’ The woman can only brush aside her newly cropped hair to reveal a face on the edge of tears. She tries to hold them back and cannot, such are her regrets for the life she has left behind; and the Buddha is not likely to think her one who has cleansed her heart of passion. probably she is in more danger of brimstone now in this fragile vocation than if she had stayed with us in our sullied world.”
“The bond between husband and wife is a strong one. Suppose the man had hunted her out and brought her back. The memory of her acts would still be there, and inevitably, sooner or later, it would be cause for rancor. When there are crises, incidents, a woman should try to overlook them, for better or for worse, and make the bond into something durable. The wounds will remain, with the woman and with the man, when there are crises such as I have described. It is very foolish for a woman to let a little dalliance upset her so much that she shows her resentment openly. He has his adventures but if he has fond memories of their early days together, his and hers, she may be sure that she matters. A commotion means the end of everything. She should be quiet and generous, and when something comes up that quite properly arouses her resentment she should make it known by delicate hints. The man will feel guilty and with tactful guidance he will mend his ways. Too much lenience can make a woman seem charmingly docile and trusting, but it can also make her seem somewhat wanting in substance. We have had instances enough of boats abandoned to the winds and waves. Do you not agree?”
Tō no Chūjō nodded. “It may be difficult when someone you are especially fond of, someone beautiful and charming, has been guilty of an indiscretion, but magnanimity produces wonders. They may not always work, but generosity and reasonableness and patience do on the whole seem best.”
His own sister was a case in point, he was thinking, and he was somewhat annoyed to note that Genji was silent because he had fallen asleep. Meanwhile the young guards officer talked on, a dedicated student of his subject. Tō no Chūjō was determined to hear him out.
“A Branch of Sacred Evergreen” (Sakaki)
A painted handscoll from the Edo period (1615–1868) that details a scene from chapter ten of The Tale of Genji. It is part of a series of six other handscrolls that detail a total of 30 selected scenes. Metropolitan Museum of Art, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons
Copyright: The Tale of Genji is shared under a CC BY-NC-SA license and was authored, remixed, and/or curated by LibreTexts.
Korean Poetry
Sijo Poetry First used ca. 1000 C.E.
The sijo (pronounced “shee-jo”) is a Korean indigenous poetic form, which first emerged around the middle of the Goryeo Period (918-1392), was active during the Joseon Period (1392-1897), and is still practiced today. It is the best example of Korean indigenous poetry and is comparable to other poetic traditions, especially those in East Asia. The sijo is a three-line Korean poetic form, traditionally meant to be sung and recited, dealing with various themes, such as the philosophical, pastoral, and personal. The first line is usually written in a 3-4-4-4 syllable pattern and introduces an idea. The second line is usually written in a 3-4-4-4 syllable pattern and develops the idea. The third line is usually written in a 3-5-4-3 syllable pattern and provides a twist on the initial idea in the first half and a resolution in the second half of the line. As there have been many variations, the number of syllables is flexible in sijo. However, for its musicality, it is important to have four distinct syllabic groups in each line, which are further divided into the first half and the second half. When reciting, slight pauses should mark the space between each group, as well as the space between the first half and the second half.
Selected poems here represent well-known traditional sijo poems. Yun Seondo (1587-1671) is regarded as the sijo master in Korea, along with Chung Chul, for producing a number of exemplary pieces. Yun was a scholar, government official, and tutor to princes at the royal court, and he produced most of his famous poetry while in political exile. Chung Chul (1536-1594) was a Confucian scholar who wrote a great number of elegant sijo. Hwang Chin-i (1506- c1567) was a gisaeng (female entertainer) whose professional name was Myeongwal (“bright moon”). She was famous for her beauty and her talent at poetry, literature, music, dance, and calligraphy. Yi Sun-shin (1545-1598) was a naval commander who won victories against the Japanese navy during the war with Japan between 1592 and 1598. Chŏng Mong-ju (1338-1392) was a Confucian scholar who refused to betray his king in the Goryeo Kingdom when Korea was transitioning from the Goryeo Kingdom to the Joseon Dynasty. Kim Chang-up (1658-1721), Yang Sa-Eun (1517- 1584), and Im Che (1549-1587) were all writers during the Joseon Dynasty.
Written by Kyounghye Kwon World Literature I: Beginnings to 1650 is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0
International License.
Hwang Jin-I, Translated by David R. McCann
I will break the back of this long, midwinter night,
Folding it double, cold beneath my spring quilt,
That I may draw out the night, should my love return.
The first stanza of “Song of (My) Five Friends” Yun Seondo, translated by Larry Gross
You ask how many friends I have? Water and stone, bamboo and pine.
The moon rising over the eastern hill is a joyful comrade.
Besides these five companions, what other pleasure should I ask
• Yun Seondo (also spelled Yun Sŏndo)’s full poem can be found here.
The first verse from the spring sequence of the poems about the changing seasons Yun Seondo, translated by Larry Gross
Sun lights up the hill behind, mist rises on the channel ahead.
Push the boat, push the boat!
The night tide has gone out, the morning tide is coming in.
Jigukchong, jigukchong, eosawa!
Untamed flowers along the shore reach out to the far village.
ARCHITECTURE
Chinese Net Gardens
The Master of the (Fishing) Nets Garden in Suzhou, China was originally designed by Shi Zhengzhi, a 12th century official during the Southern Song Dynasty. He named the garden, Yu Yin, the Fisherman’s Retreat. Song Zonghuan, an 18th century court official renamed and restored the garden. It became a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1997. The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Astor Court in New York is a replica of one section of the Master of the Nets Garden.
Copyright: Dr. Kristen Loring Brennan and Dr. Steven Zucker, “Master of the (Fishing) Nets Garden,” in Smarthistory, February 15, 2017, accessed May 2, 2024, https://smarthistory.org/nets-garden/.
Stone Pagoda of Gyeongcheonsa
Ten-story Stone Pagoda of Gyeongcheonsa Temple, 1348, Goryeo Dynasty, marble, 1350 cm high (National Museum of Korea)
Depending on the place and period, Buddhists have held different conceptions of the “Pure Land,” as demonstrated by their attempts to represent this utopia in diverse works of art. Visitors to the National Museum of Korea will find one of the most memorable depictions of the Pure Land when they encounter the magnificent ten-story stone pagoda of Gyeongcheonsa Temple (National Treasure 86), which stands a towering 13.5 meters in height. As a three-dimensional rendering of the Buddhist Pure Land envisioned by the people of Goryeo, every story of the pagoda is decorated with elaborate carvings of Buddhist deities and stories, including images of Buddhas, bodhisattvas, arhats, the Four Heavenly Kings, and scenes from the Buddhist canon.
Production of the Ten-story Stone Pagoda of Gyeongcheonsa Temple
This ten-story stone pagoda was originally erected on the site of Gyeongcheonsa Temple (located on Mt. Buso in Jungyeon-ri, Gwangdeok-myeon, Gaepung-gun, Gyeonggi Province) in 1348, the fourth year of the reign of Goryeo’s King Chungmok. According to the History of Goryeo, Gyeongcheonsa Temple was frequented by members of the royal court, who often held memorial services for the deceased there. At an unknown date, Gyeongcheonsa Temple must have been destroyed or demolished, because by the early twentieth century, the pagoda stood alone at the site.
The first tier of the pagoda bears an inscription that provides details about the pagoda’s production, including its patrons and production date. Although parts of the inscription have been damaged or abraded, it has been determined that the pagoda was produced in March 1348 at Gyeongcheonsa Temple by Kang Yung, Ko Ryongbong, Seonggong, and Yugi. According to the inscription, the patrons built the pagoda to wish for the prosperity and stability of China’s Yuan Dynasty, the Goryeo Dynasty, and the Buddhist faith. They further hoped that the virtuous deed of building the pagoda would lead to the enlightenment of all sentient beings through Buddhism.
The pagoda was sponsored by Goryeo people with strong ties to China’s Yuan Dynasty. Both Kang Yung and Ko Ryongbong had direct ties to members of the Yuan court. Kang Yung’s daughter became a concubine of Toktoghan, the prime minister of the Yuan Dynasty. Ko Ryongbong was a Goryeo eunuch who went to the Yuan court and earned the trust of the Yuan emperor. Among his achievements, Ko is credited with introducing Emperor Huizong to his future wife, Empress Gi, who was originally a Goryeo noblewoman who had been sent to the Yuan court.
Likely reflecting this affiliation with Yuan China, the pagoda’s shape is completely different from that of traditional Korean stone pagodas. Most notably, the platform and lower three stories of the pagoda are shaped like a square overlapping a cross, reminiscent of the Chinese character “亞.” Not commonly found in Goryeo culture, this distinct shape can be seen in pagoda platforms and sculpture pedestals from a Tibetan-Mongolian form of Buddhism that was prevalent in the Yuan period. In contrast, the upper seven stories of the pagoda are rectangular in shape, corresponding to the conventional form of Korean stone pagodas. As such, this unique stone pagoda is the result of a harmonious mix of traditional and foreign elements.
Records show that, during the Joseon period, Toktoghan (Yuan’s prime minister) used Gyeongcheonsa Temple as his private shrine for praying. The records also say that Kang Yung brought some Yuan craftspeople to make this pagoda, and that portraits of both Toktoghan and Kang Yung were present at the temple at the time of writing. Although it is difficult to confirm these records, it seems likely that Yuan craftspeople may have had a hand in producing the pagoda, based on the shape and the political affiliations of patrons.
Ten-story Stone Pagoda of Gyeongcheonsa Temple (detail), 1348, Goryeo Dynasty, marble, 1350 cm high (National Museum of Korea)
The highlight: delicate carvings of Buddhas and Bodhisattvas
Interestingly, many elements of this pagoda were modeled after wooden architecture, such as the columns, brackets atop the columns, railings, and hanging boards. Most notably, the pagoda features miniature roofs covered with elaborately sculpted roof tiles, faithfully reflecting the wooden architecture of the time. However, the aesthetic highlights are the delicate carvings of Buddhas and bodhisattvas that can be found all over the pagoda. Starting from the bottom, the platform is carved with various beings that protect Buddhism, such as lions, dragons, lotus flowers, and arhats, along with scenes from Journey to the West. The lower four stories are sculpted with sixteen scenes of Buddha’s Assembly, with various Buddhist deities rendered between the scenes. Finally, the upper six stories are adorned with sculptures of Buddha with both hands clasped or making the dhyana-mudra(hand gesture for meditation). Thus, from bottom to top, this composition visualizes the religious hierarchy of Buddhism.
Scene from Journey to the West, Ten-story Stone Pagoda of Gyeongcheonsa Temple, 1348, Goryeo Dynasty, stone, 1350 cm high (National Museum of Korea)
As noted, the lower part of the pagoda is carved with scenes from Journey to the West, which documents the legendary pilgrimage of the Tang monk Xuanzang. Originally a popular tale of the Song Dynasty (960–1279), Journey to the West was later published as a novel during the Ming Dynasty (1368–1644). Interestingly, many of the twenty scenes represented on the pagoda, which was sculpted during the Yuan Dynasty (1271–1368), correspond to scenes that later became popular prints from the Ming period, indicating that they were already part of the tale before the publication of the novel. All of the scenes from Xuanzang’s pilgrimage in Journey to the West are intended to deliver Buddhist lessons about virtuous deeds and enlightenment. Furthermore, the carvings likely symbolize that the characters of Journey to the West are protecting the sarira (Buddhist cremation relics) enshrined inside the pagoda. Meanwhile, the lower four stories are adorned with sixteen scenes from Buddha’s Assembly, each of which is labeled with a small hanging placard.
Scene from Buddha’s Assembly (detail), Ten-story Stone Pagoda of Gyeongcheonsa Temple, 1348, Goryeo Dynasty, marble, 1350 cm high (National Museum of Korea)
Various theories have been put forth to explain the iconography of the sixteen relief sculptures depicting scenes from Buddha’s Assembly. Some scholars have speculated that these scenes were based on cherished sutras from traditional Korean Buddhism, while others have suggested that the first story is derived from Korean Buddhism, the second story from Buddhist philosophy, and the third story from esoteric Buddhism. Another possible theory is that these scenes represent the “Assembly of the Four Directional Buddhas” (四方佛會). One of the most interesting scenes is the “Assembly of the Buddhas of the Past, Present, and Future” (三世佛會), carved on the south plane of the first story, which depicts the three Buddhas in an entirely unique way. While most traditional Korean Buddhist statues and pagodas were made from granite, this pagoda is marble, a softer material that made it possible to create such masterful carvings. Notably, about 120 years after this pagoda was built, the Joseon royal court erected another ten-story stone pagoda at Wongaksa Temple in Seoul, which features the same shape and iconography.
Zhao Mengfu, Autumn Colors on the Que and Hua Mountains, 1295
Zhao Mengfu (1254–1322), Autumn Colors on the Que and Hua Mountains, 1295, handscroll (detail), ink and colors on paper, 28.4 x 93.2 cm (National Palace Museum, Taipei)
The artist who created this beautiful autumn landscape, Zhao Mengfu, was a descendant of the Song imperial family. The Southern Song dynasty (1127–1279) fell to the conquering foreign Mongolian government when Zhao Mengfu was in his mid-twenties. His decision to serve the new Yuan court a few years later was not made easily and made him a controversial figure in Chinese art history (others like him settled in the south and lived a reclusive life to show their determination to remain loyal to the fallen Song dynasty). Zhao’s experience as an official of the Yuan dynasty provided him with opportunities to go back and forth between the South and the North. This allowed him to encounter many masterpieces of ancient masters in the northern part of China. Zhao mastered different subject matter and styles. He looked to painting traditions prior to the Southern Song dynasty, and at the same time developed unprecedented artistic ideas.
Zhao painted Autumn Colors on the Que and Hua Mountains from memory. According to his inscription, the pointed-peak represents the distinguished Mount Hua while in the east of it was Mount Que in the rounded form. The artist used very different strokes of his brush to represent the different mountains, some where he held the brush upright, with the hand in the center of the handle and others made using just the tip of the brush. Some strokes of the brush are long and thin, others ragged and short. Some of these techniques can be traced to the paintings of Dong Yuan, who was active in centuries earlier—in the 10th century.
Zhao Mengfu, detail of Mount Hua, Autumn Colors on the Que and Hua Mountains, 1295, ink and colors on paper, 28.4 x 93.2 cm (National Palace Museum, Taipei)
Throughout the painting, scattered yellow and orange colors make the scene reminiscent of autumn. Closer observation reveals villages with huts, willows, pines, goats and fishermen living a rustic life. It evokes a sense of tranquility. Faithful representation was not a core pursuit of the literati, or scholar-amateur painters. Rather, the painting conveyed Zhao’s impression of Jinan in recognition of his friend’s nostalgic longing for his ancestral homeland. It shows a modest lifestyle of the villagers and the serenity of the area.
Later during the Qing dynasty (1644–1912), the Qianlong Emperor travelled by a scenic spot that was similar to the painting. The Emperor asked his official to bring Zhao’s painting from Beijing for his appreciation. On viewing the painting, he realized that the geography of the two mountains in Zhao’s inscription was misplaced. The Emperor wrote another inscription stating—“Mount Hua on the east, Mount Que on the west.” Art historian Peter Sturman suggested that the reason behind Zhao’s decision to alter the geography was to situate the viewer of the painting facing south, instead of the north because the latter represented the Mongolian rule. Zhao’s depiction resembled the far-apart mountains’ actual distinguishable shapes. However, the whole painting was not meant to be an exact record of the area, but rather an impression from the imagination of the literati painter.
Zhao’s artistic pursuit of “antique idea” (literal translation of guyi 古意, or “classicism” adopted by art historian Chu-Tsing Li) was one of the most widespread and influential ideas. “Antique idea” implied an emphasis on history, and cultural and artistic heritage. It is a state of mind the literati achieved through absorbing, combining, and reinterpreting previous styles and traditions. Zhao prioritized it ahead of technical excellence in painting and calligraphy. This became a yardstick in evaluating painting for subsequent developments. We often see classical Chinese painters explicitly acknowledging how their work was rendered in the style of a previous painter or a work. With regard to antiquity, Zhao discarded the Southern Song court style and referred back to the masters of the Tang dynasty, Five dynasties (an era of political upheaval from 907–960 C.E.), and Northern Song dynasty. The application of the blue and green colors was a reference to landscape paintings in the Tang dynasty. The blue and green colors of the marshes in the middle of the painting and the two mountaintops echo each other. There were also references to ancient masters such as Dong Yuan in the Five dynasties period. Zhou Mi recorded that Zhao Mengfu brought back many paintings from the north in 1295, including a painting by Dong Yuan. Autumn Colors on the Que and Hua Mountains was evidence of the broad and wide spectrum of masterpieces that Zhao had seen. Compared to the hanging scroll Wintry Groves and Layered Banks attributed to Dong, Autumn Colors on the Que and Hua Mountains demonstrates the similarities in depicting the marshes and the various kinds of trees, the reed and the water village.
The painting is a synthesis of Zhao’s preference, understanding, and reinterpretation of traditions. Experiencing the tremendous changes in his country, the painting was a manifestation of Zhao’s response in terms of classicism and also his emotional response to the current situation. His remorse about serving the Yuan court was expressed in his poetries. There were times he hinted that he would like to live a simplistic life like his hermit friends. The harmony and calmness conveyed in his painting could suggest such a vision in Zhao’s ideal state of mind.
Zhao Mengfu’s aesthetic and artistic pursuits in the early Yuan dynasty opened up possibilities for not only the Four Yuan Masters, but also literati painters in later centuries.
Gu Hongzhong, The Night Revels of Han Xizai, handscroll
Gu Hongzhong, The Night Revels of Han Xizai, handscroll, 12th-century (Song dynasty) copy of a 10th-century (Southern Tang dynasty) composition), ink and color on silk, 28.7 x 335.5 cm (The Palace Museum, Beijing)
Gu Hongzhong, detail of the narrative scenes, The Night Revels of Han Xizai, handscroll, 12th-century (Song dynasty) copy of a 10th-century (Southern Tang dynasty) composition), ink and color on silk, 28.7 x 335.5 cm (The Palace Museum, Beijing)
In medieval China, the reputations of court officials followed them both inside and outside of the imperial palace. Respectable conduct reflected the loyalty of a subject to the emperor, while inappropriate behavior could provoke shame and embarrassment. At one point, the emperor Li Yu sought the help of Gu Hongzhong, who served as a court painter during the Southern Tang dynasty (937–975). Noting his skill in portraying figures, the emperor directed Gu to perform an unusual task: to spy on a well-known court minister—Han Xizai. Han attained a high rank and surrounded himself with dignified acquaintances. While he enjoyed an illustrious career, it reportedly soured after failed attempts at imperial reform. Han gained a bad reputation among courtly circles for wild parties, late-night debaucheries, and his obsession with beautiful singing girls. After spying on one of Han’s night banquets outside of the palace, Gu represented his impression of the evening in TheNight Revels of Han Xizai. In the painting, Han gazes on as his guests play music and linger over food and drink, enjoying all the latest fashions while doing away with court decorum.
The painting (alternately known as The Night Banquet of Han Xizai) offers a behind-the-scenes glimpse of the intrigues of court life during the Five Dynasties period (906–960), when several smaller dynasties and kingdoms—including the Southern Tang dynasty—vied for power following the fall of the Tang empire (618–907). Although the painting threatens to expose the behavior of a disillusioned official, it also may have served as an admonition to court officials who might be tempted to stray from upright conduct.
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Gu Hongzhong, detail of the first scene showing Han seated on a couch (in black), The Night Revels of Han Xizai, handscroll, 12th-century (Song dynasty) copy of a 10th-century (Southern Tang dynasty) composition), ink and color on silk, 28.7 x 335.5 cm (The Palace Museum, Beijing)
The Night Revels of Han Xizai is mounted as a handscroll, which means that it is not hung on a wall, but rather unfurled length-by-length between the viewer’s hands. The painting is set in the interior of a mansion, where a late-night party is underway. In five scenes that are typically viewed from right to left, Han appears five times throughout the scroll, along with several court ministers, monks, and entertainers—many of whom have been identified by scholars. Gu first portrayed Han with other ministers and officials in Confucian robes, seated on a couch bed beside a table with small plates and beverages set out, while watching a woman play a pipa (lute).
Gu Hongzhong, detail of Han drumming with a dancing woman in blue, The Night Revels of Han Xizai, handscroll, 12th-century (Song dynasty) copy of a 10th-century (Southern Tang dynasty) composition), ink and color on silk, 28.7 x 335.5 cm (The Palace Museum, Beijing)
The Night Revels of Han Xizai is a figure painting but, even more specifically, it is a portrait. Gu pictured Han in hierarchal perspective (larger in scale relative to his guests and wearing a tall hat), indicating his importance as host and protagonist. Han appears somber and reserved, as if he were aware that the gathering might not be perceived favorably. Gu’s detailed painting seems like an eyewitness account, one that attests to the rumors about Han and his wild parties. At the same time, his portrayal of Han as somewhat aloof suggests that he may be conflicted by the demands of duty and pleasure.
Gu Hongzhong, detail of Han with three ladies, The Night Revels of Han Xizai, handscroll, 12th-century (Song dynasty) copy of a 10th-century (Southern Tang dynasty) composition), ink and color on silk, 28.7 x 335.5 cm (The Palace Museum, Beijing)
Why might an emperor care to depict what lies outside the imperial palace. While life outside the court was of great interest to the emperor, he was undoubtedly concerned about Han’s scandalous behavior because he belonged to the imperial court. This tumultuous period after the fall of the Tang dynasty, a unified and cosmopolitan empire, led many to reconsider virtue and integrity as principles for a harmonious society under Confucian rule (the ethical system first laid out by Confucius in the 6th century B.C.E.). As China fragmented into several dynasties and kingdoms, one of which was the Southern Tang, many blamed the fall of the previous Tang dynasty on the reckless habits of its last emperor. By exposing Han’s unsanctioned behavior to other highly ranked ministers at the court, the painting could suggest a didactic or moral meaning as official propaganda. Perhaps by calling out Han’s transgressions in this handscroll, the emperor may have persuaded Han and others to adjust their conduct and return to appropriate courtly behavior.
Today, the handscroll stands as a testament to the challenges of governing that characterized this tumultuous period. Colophons, or writings from later viewers and collectors, both precede and follow the handscroll and offer valuable insights into its social circulation up to the present. Even the Qing dynasty (1644–1912) emperor Qianlong added a colophon upon viewing the scroll, further attesting to its artistic and historical significance as an unofficial portrait. While noting the skill of Gu Hongzhong, Qianlong cautioned that the Palace and Minister had made themselves laughing-stocks in history and therefore the painting served as a warning against misconduct.
Burning Palace (detail), Night Attack on the Sanjô Palace, Illustrated Scrolls of the Events of the Heiji Era (Heiji monogatari emaki) Japanese, Kamakura period, second half of the 13th century, 45.9 x 774.5 x 7.6 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)
Night Attack on the Sanjô Palace fully unrolled(right side above, left side below), Illustrated Scrolls of the Events of the Heiji Era (Heiji monogatari emaki) Japanese, Kamakura period, second half of the 13th century, 45.9 x 774.5 x 7.6 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)
It is hard to imagine an image of war that matches the visceral and psychological power of the Night Attack on the Sanjô Palace. This thirteenth-century portrayal of a notorious incident from a century earlier appears on a handscroll, a common East Asian painting format in Japan called an emaki. It also is a prime example of the action-packed otoko-e, “men’s paintings,” created in the Kamakura period.
Designed to be unrolled in sections for close-up viewing, it shows the basic features of this pictorial form: a bird’s eye view of action moves right-to-left (between a written introduction and conclusion). In vibrant outline and washes of color, the story (one event in an insurrection—more on this below) unfolds sequentially, so the main characters appear multiple times.
The attention to detail is so exact that historians consider it a uniquely valuable reference for this period: from the royal mansion’s walled gateways, unpainted wooden buildings linked by corridors, bark roofs, large shutters and bamboo blinds that open to verandas, to the scores of foot soldiers, cavalry, courtiers, priests, imperial police, and even the occasional lady—each individualized by gesture and facial expression (from horror to morbid humor), robes, armor, and weaponry which is all easily identifiable according to rank, design, and type.
Unfurled this work stands apart. Its now-forgotten artist used the expressive potential of the long, narrow emaki format with such interpretive brilliance that he perhaps considered that on occasion it might be fully open. He organized a jumble of minutiae into a cohesive narrative arc.
Opening text and ox cart (detail), Night Attack on the Sanjô Palace, Illustrated Scrolls of the Events of the Heiji Era (Heiji monogatari emaki) Japanese, Kamakura period, second half of the 13th century, 45.9 x 774.5 x 7.6 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)
Beginning from a point of ominous calm, a single ox carriage transports the eye to a tangle of shoving and colliding carts and warriors. With escalating violence, the energy pulses, swells, and then rushes to a crescendo of graphic hand-to-hand mayhem—decapitations, stabbings and hacking, the battle’s apex marked at the center by the palace rooflines slashing through the havoc like a bolt of lightening followed by an explosion of billowing flame and women fleeing for their lives amid the din.
Palace (detail), Night Attack on the Sanjô Palace, Illustrated Scrolls of the Events of the Heiji Era (Heiji monogatari emaki) Japanese, Kamakura period, second half of the 13th century, 45.9 x 774.5 x 7.6 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)
The chaos ebbs as victors and dazed survivors stream through the rear gate, and ends in grisly, surreal calm with the dressed and tagged heads of vanquished nobles on pikes, a disorderly cluster of foot soldiers and cavalry surrounding the ox carriage, their general trotting before them in victorious satisfaction over the smoking wreckage and bloody atrocity left behind.
Closing sequence (detail), Night Attack on the Sanjô Palace, Illustrated Scrolls of the Events of the Heiji Era (Heiji monogatari emaki) Japanese, Kamakura period, second half of the 13th century, 45.9 x 774.5 x 7.6 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)
The Night Attack at Sanjô Palace arrests even the casual viewer with its sheer comprehensibility. Although the artist would likely not have imagined an audience beyond the world he knew, his vision has enthralled viewers across centuries and cultures, making this painting not only among the very finest picture scrolls ever conceived, but also among the most gripping depictions of warfare—creating an irresistible urge to examine the work closely. But in depicting an event that really happened, it comes fully to life only when we know something of what it so vividly portrays.
Aristocrats fleeing (detail), Night Attack on the Sanjô Palace, Illustrated Scrolls of the Events of the Heiji Era (Heiji monogatari emaki) Japanese, Kamakura period, second half of the 13th century, 45.9 x 774.5 x 7.6 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)
This begins in a brief introduction to a complicated yet fascinating chapter in Japanese history. Incredibly, the appalling incident at Sanjô Palace depicted on the scroll was but one chapter in the vicious Heiji Insurrection of 1159–60. This short war, with two other famous conflicts before and after, punctuated a brutal epoch that came to a close in 1192 with the establishment of the Kamakura shogunate. The stories of these flashpoints of blood thirst, collectively called gunki monogatari, or “war tales,” have inspired a huge body of art over the centuries. The Night Attack on the Sanjô Palace, once part of a larger set that pictorialized the entire Heiji incident, survives with two other scrolls, one of them only in remnants.
First half of the handscroll, Night Attack on the Sanjô Palace, Illustrated Scrolls of the Events of the Heiji Era (Heiji monogatari emaki) Japanese, Kamakura period, second half of the 13th century, 45.9 x 774.5 x 7.6 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)
Stories of romanticized martial derring-do, gunki monogatari are history recounted by the victors. They celebrate Japan’s change from a realm controlled by a royal court to one ruled by samurai. But the events originated in the unusual, even unique, nature of Japan’s imperial world. Centered in the city of Kyoto, in some ways it resembled many ancient kingdoms. It was prey to shifting loyalties, betrayals, and factional divisions among ambitious families who would stop at nothing in the quest for power. As elsewhere, emperors had several consorts, and noble daughters served as tools in political marriages to elevate the power of their families, and above all their clan head.
Second half of the handscroll, Night Attack on the Sanjô Palace (detail, left half), Illustrated Scrolls of the Events of the Heiji Era (Heiji monogatari emaki) Japanese, Kamakura period, second half of the 13th century, 45.9 x 774.5 x 7.6 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)
Unusually, a few patriarchs managed over time to displace imperial authority, relegating emperors to stultifying ceremonial functions. And possibly uniquely, Japanese emperors found a way to reclaim some of that lost power: by abdicating in favor of a successor. Freed from onerous rituals, a “retired” emperor could assert himself. Which prince from which wife of which current or previous emperor would succeed to the throne stood highest among the disputes. By the twelfth century, nobles as well as current and retired emperors had all turned to samurai clans to resolve their bitter rivalries.
Fire (detail), Night Attack on the Sanjô Palace, Illustrated Scrolls of the Events of the Heiji Era (Heiji monogatari emaki) Japanese, Kamakura period, second half of the 13th century, 45.9 x 774.5 x 7.6 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)
The cast of characters in the Night Attack at the Sanjô Palace came from this treacherous world. Sanjô Palace was the home of former Emperor Go-Shirakawa, known for a career as the wiliest and longest‐lived of retired royals. He had recently abdicated in favor of his son Emperor Nijô. The two emperors backed vying sides of the Fujiwara clan, a conspiratorial family unsurpassed in subjugating and sometimes choosing a succession of emperors. One member of this clan, Fujiwara no Nobuyori, plotted against everyone. [1] The Taira and the Minamoto clansserved powerful interests in all of these disputes, while also pursuing their own ambitions as bitter rivals of the other.
Dead archer (detail), Night Attack on the Sanjô Palace, Illustrated Scrolls of the Events of the Heiji Era (Heiji monogatari emaki) Japanese, Kamakura period, second half of the 13th century, 45.9 x 774.5 x 7.6 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)
Simply put, the Night Attack was part of Fujiwara no Nobuyori’s bid to seize power by abducting both the emperor (Nijô) and the retired emperor (Go-Shirakawa). Backed by Minamoto no Yoshitomo, head of the Minamoto clan, Nobuyori saw an opportunity when the head of the Taira clan (who supported Emperor Nijō), left Kyoto on a pilgrimage. The emaki depicts the seizing of the retired emperor Go-Shirakawa.
Nobuyori (who is seizing power), Minamoto Yoshitomo (head of the Minamoto clan), and the carriage led by an ox appear multiple times, orienting the eye and organizing the sweep of events.
Ox carriage at the opening of the scene (detail), Night Attack on the Sanjô Palace, Illustrated Scrolls of the Events of the Heiji Era (Heiji monogatari emaki) Japanese, Kamakura period, second half of the 13th century, 45.9 x 774.5 x 7.6 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)
Opening the action (above), we see the elegant carriage guided by a groom and pulled by an ox that will carry off Go-Shirakawa (the retired emperor). Notice the distinctive pattern of the carriage.
The carriage is knocked about, Night Attack on the Sanjô Palace, Illustrated Scrolls of the Events of the Heiji Era (Heiji monogatari emaki) Japanese, Kamakura period, second half of the 13th century, 45.9 x 774.5 x 7.6 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)
Then we see the same ox carriage knocked about with others in the crush of fighting as they approach the palace wall (above).
Nobuyori (left) on the veranda ordering the former emperor into the carriage and Minamoto Yoshitomo on horseback, distinguished by a distinctive horned helmet, behind the carriage (and to the right) as it crashes onto the veranda. Night Attack on the Sanjô Palace, Illustrated Scrolls of the Events of the Heiji Era (Heiji monogatari emaki) Japanese, Kamakura period, second half of the 13th century, 45.9 x 774.5 x 7.6 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)
Then on the veranda we see Nobuyori in colorful armor ordering the former emperor Go-Shirakawa into the carriage.
Departing victors (detail), Night Attack on the Sanjô Palace, Illustrated Scrolls of the Events of the Heiji Era (Heiji monogatari emaki) Japanese, Kamakura period, second half of the 13th century, 45.9 x 774.5 x 7.6 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)
We see the carriage again in the surge of departing victors, where two soldiers lolling on top lend an air of indignity and insult to the retired emperor inside. Nobuyori, now in court robes and on horseback, appears in front, glancing back at the carriage. Minamoto Yoshitomo, appears again in his distinctive horned helmet brandishing a bow and arrow, cantering behind the carriage in the departing crowd.
Tumult at the palace gate, note the two women (top left) distinguished by flowing hair and aided by an attendent, fleeing the battle as fast as their voluminous robes will allow (detail), Night Attack on the Sanjô Palace, Illustrated Scrolls of the Events of the Heiji Era (Heiji monogatari emaki) Japanese, Kamakura period, second half of the 13th century, 45.9 x 774.5 x 7.6 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)
The remainder of the Heiji Rebellion story appeared on other emaki in the set, now mostly lost: the kidnapping of Emperor Nijô, the slaughter of another noble household, Nobuyori forcing Nijô to appoint him chancellor, Taira Kiyomori’s return to decimate the schemers, and finally Kiyomori’s mistake—banishing rather than executing several of Minamoto‘s sons. Minamoto no Yoritomo and his brother Yoshitsune would return years later to destroy the Taira clan in the Gempei War and found the first of four military governments of the Shōgunate that ruled Japan from 1192 until 1867. Emperors and nobles remained in Kyoto, but were politically powerless. Feudal culture came to a violent end in 1868 at the hands of other samurai clans. They brought the young emperor Meiji into a new role as the monarch (really a figurehead) of a modern nation. Over the Meiji era’s early tumultuous decades many spectacular works of art left Japan to join important collections in the West. The Night Attack at Sanjô Palace, once owned by a powerful samurai family, came into the possession of an influential American who brought it home to Boston. It has been a highlight of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston since 1889.
Calligraphy at the beginning of the scroll (detail), Night Attack on the Sanjô Palace, Illustrated Scrolls of the Events of the Heiji Era (Heiji monogatari emaki) Japanese, Kamakura period, second half of the 13th century, 45.9 x 774.5 x 7.6 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)
The scroll’s text:
“At about the hour of the ox (2 am) on the ninth day, Lord Nobuyori proceeded with several hundred mounted soldiers to the Sanjō Palace, the residence of the Retired Emperor, and said, ‘Since I have heard that I am to be struck down, I intend to go to the east. I have served you close at hand for years and have been favored more than others by Your Majesty, and so it is indeed sad for me to part from my lord and abruptly leave the capital.’
Then the Retired Emperor said, ‘What sort of an affair is this? Who would strike you?’ But without hearing him out, soldiers hastily brought up the Imperial carriage. “You must hasten into the Imperial carriage. Now, set fire to the Palace,” ordered Nobuyori, and His Majesty unwillingly got into the Imperial carriage. Jōsaimon’in had already gotten in. It was Lord Moronaka who had brought up the Imperial carriage. Nobuyori, Yoshitomo, Shigenari, the Sado Vice-Minister of Ceremonial, Minamoto Mitsumoto, the Commisioner of the Police, Suezane, the former Commisioner of Police, and the others surrounded the Imperial carriage and took it to the Imperial Palace. They shoved him into the Palace Single-Copy Library, where Shigenari and Mitsumoto guarded him.
Soldiers blockaded the Palace on all four sides and set fire to it. Those who fled out they shot or hacked to death. Many jumped into the wells, hoping that they might save themselves. The ladies-in-waiting of high and low rank and the girls of the women’s quarters, running out screaming and shouting, fell and lay prostrate, stepped on by the horses and trampled by the men. It was more than terrible. No one knows the number of persons who lost their lives.
Some said that Yoshitomo had raised a rebellion and had broken into the Sanjō Palace in a night attack and set it on fire and that even the Retired Emperor had not escaped the flames. Some also shouted that His Imperial Highness had gone to the Imperial Palace. Consequently, the ‘Great Lord’ the Lord Chancellor, and all the other nobles and courtiers came in a crowd. the noise of their horses and carriages rushing back and forth was like thunder, and greatly did it resound both in heaven and on earth.
At the hour of the tiger (4 am) the same night, they seized the dwelling of the Shinzei at Anegakoji Nishinotoin and set fire to it. For the past three or four years arms had been banned, and the Empire had been at peace, but now suddenly this disturbance had broken out, and both the Imperial Palace and the capital were filled with soldiers. The noble and lowly lamented together, wondering what had happened.”
Translation from Reischauer & Yamagiwa, Early Japanese Literature (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1951): pp. 451–53.
Notes:
[1] Japanese surnames come first and given names come second. Fujiwara and Taira are surnames. The Chinese characters used have different pronunciations that can appear at different times. “Minamoto” can be “Genji;” “Taira” can be “Heike.”
Video URL: https://youtu.be/-Nz7mDGTB7I?si=9Nl3NZeMZ-oReteV
Azuyama scene (detail), Genji Monogatari Emaki (源氏物語絵巻), c. 1130, ink and color on paper, 22 x 23 cm (Tokugawa Art Museum, Nagoya)
The image above, which shows the private lives of female courtiers in the royal palace in Kyoto, comes from the classic story and first major literary work written by a woman (Murasaki Shikibu), the Tale of Genji (Genji monogatari 源氏物語 ). The Tale of Genji was written a thousand years ago, in the first years of the 11th century, and is attributed to a lady-in-waiting at the imperial court, Murasaki Shikibu. The Tale of Genji is a complex novel that focuses on the romantic interests and entanglements of prince Genji and his entourage. It provides a fascinating entryway into Heian-period court life, complete with the aesthetic principles and practices of its residents.
In this image, we see three main female characters from a chapter in the Tale of Genji—Nakanokimi, Ukon, and Ukifune (together with three other figures) seated in a room.
Nakanokimi, Ukon, and Ukifune (detail), Genji Monogatari Emaki (scroll), c. 1130, ink and color on paper, 22 x 23 cm (Tokugawa Art Museum, Nagoya)
A courtly culture
The story takes place in the royal palace in Kyoto during the Heian period in Japan. We see Nakanokimi attended to by her lady-in-waiting who combs her hair while Ukon reads to her. Ukifune, seated opposite Nakanokimi, looks at illustrations accompanying the text being read. Nakanokimi’s face is not visible, viewers are treated to her back profile instead. All the women wear their hair down in a fashion that adheres to the Heian beauty ideal for noble women, but only Nakanokimi’s long flowing black hair is highlighted. This detail emphasizes her high status among the courtiers, and at the same time, heightens the suspense of this private scene.
Dividers (detail), Genji Monogatari Emaki (scroll), c. 1130, ink and color on paper, 22 x 23 cm (Tokugawa Art Museum, Nagoya)
Aristocratic women in Heian Japan were forbidden from publicly socializing and were confined to living sheltered lives within the palace. In this scene, several interior devices double as privacy shields within these palatial spaces. The standing curtain (kichō) is erected strategically to obscure the activities of Nakanokimi and her company. The privacy of this setting is further enhanced by rolled curtains that can be lowered to separate the external world, in this case, the garden from the interiors. Just beside Ukifune, sliding doors (fusuma) further close in on the women in the room. The strategic placement of the kichō, the directional gaze of the women, and compositional lines demarcating space in this private room direct our attention to the bottom left of the composition where the three main characters sit.
Although there are other surviving early Tale of Genji scrolls in different states of preservation, the significance of this scroll lies in its designation as one of the National Treasures of Japan. Apart from it being the oldest depiction of the Tale of Genji in existence, this scroll also stands out for a few notable reasons. The all-women scene serves as a poignant reminder of the role noble women authors had in the blossoming of literature during this period. It also provides an insight into the private lives, social norms, and beauty ideals prevalent in Heian Japan. For all the excitement and drama that the Tale of Genji offers, this particular scene is a testament to the literary contributions of ladies-in-waiting during the Heian period.
Fusuma (detail), Genji Monogatari Emaki (scroll), c. 1130, ink and color on paper, 22 x 23 cm (Tokugawa Art Museum, Nagoya)
This particular scroll was once over 1 meter long. While the scroll has deteriorated, we can imagine the original vibrant colors and intricate details that once adorned it. Nature has always been an endearing and inspirational subject to Japanese artists and we see this from the patterns and motifs on the layered kimonos to the landscapes on the kichō and fusuma. These artistic renderings bring the natural world closer into the secluded lives of the women living in these palatial residences.
Though they don’t survive in this scroll, illustrations for the Tale of Genji often show men and women interacting or peeping from behind folding screens, partitions, or fences. The act of covertly peeping (kaimami) is presented numerous times throughout the tale, functioning as a precursor to a romantic relationship. This covert behavior adhered to social norms of the time which upheld expectations that women could only be seen by their fathers, husbands, and inner circles. However, this did not mean that intimate relationships did not form—monogamous and polygamous affairs are chronicled in the Tale of Genji.
Illustrated scrolls or emaki were introduced to Japan from China during the spread of Buddhism. They usually depict historical events and religious teachings or provide social commentary such as that seen in the Tale of Genji. Scrolls became popular during the Heian period due to the rise of Buddhism and an emerging aristocratic class. As Buddhism spread, religious leaders and patrons commissioned literature and art to impart Buddhist teachings.
Modern copy of the Azuyama scene, 1911 (National Diet Library, Tokyo)
As both text and image form an integral part of these emaki, a collaborative effort from several people was required. The scrolls unravel from right to left and narrate a story in a continuous sequence: a piece of text would generally precede an accompanying painting. A calligrapher was in charge of scribing and a lead artist with his team took charge of the illustrations. A lead artist known as the sumigaki (ink line artist) would be responsible for planning and drawing the outlines of the composition. He would then add further details and instruct his team of artists to fill in different areas with prescribed colors. The colors are applied in layers that are built up in a process described as tsukuri-e (opaque colors obscuring the drawing beneath). This scroll was likely part of a series taken out to be enjoyed and put away afterwards.
There are no fixed number of illustrations or volumes for the emaki as they are produced in accordance with patrons’ requests. In the case of the Tale ofGenji, commissions were often requested from some of the more famous and exciting chapters. This deliberate unravelling of the emaki adds suspense and anticipation, much like the thrill felt stumbling onto this private scene of the ladies-in-waiting.
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