To this propagandism music lent its aid, for the melody of the Buddhist chants touched the heart of the people. Devotees constantly grew in number. Many of the highest personages in the land spent great sums upon the building of temples; the consort of the Emperor Saga, for example, constructed Danrin-ji, and the Prime Minister Michinaga erected Hōjō-ji. Even in case of sickness, litanies and religious rites took the place of medicine before the science of the latter had been developed, and against all calamities of nature prayer was regarded as a talisman. It is easy to conceive that, under such circumstances, Buddhism came to exercise greater sway than even the ordinances of the sovereign himself. It should not be imagined, however, that Shintō was completely forgotten. Overshadowed by Buddhism as it was, it did not yet lose its sway. Thus we find the Emperor Saga dedicating a fane at the Kamo shrine, and the Emperor Seiwa establishing a place for the worship of Iwashimizu Hachiman at Otoko-yama. Imperial visits to these two shrines were not infrequent. Above all at the celebrated Shingu shrine in Ise, the Shintō rites were kept free from all admixture of extraneous creeds.
From the days of Kwammu downward, the sovereigns in succession encouraged learning. The university in Kyōto and the public schools in the provinces were in a flourishing condition, and many private schools sprang into existence. The patronage of great nobles was munificently exercised in the cause of education. Further, great numbers of students were engaged in compiling not only the history of the empire, but also many other works of a general character, so that learning occupied a high place in popular esteem. But unfortunately the scholarship of the age drifted into superficialities of style to the neglect of practical uses. Writers of verses applied themselves to imitating Chinese poets, and writers of prose thought only of constructing their phrases in such a manner that combinations of four ideograms should in regular alternation be followed by combinations of six—a form of composition known as the Shirokuheirei (four-and-six order). But despite this slavish adherence to valueless forms, a notable literary achievement has to be placed to the credit of the era; namely, the elaboration of the syllabaries, the hira-kana and the kata-kana. The first syllabary ever used in Japan had been the manyō-gana, in which the Chinese ideograms were used phonetically with little attention to their original meaning. But to write a Chinese ideogram for each syllable of a Japanese word involved much labor, since in many cases a single ideogram was composed of numerous strokes and dots. The difficulty was gradually lessened during the Nara epoch by the simplification of Chinese characters to such an extent that only a rudimentary skeleton of each ideogram was symbolically used to represent its sound. The syllables thus obtained were arranged in a table of fifty sounds, constituting the kata-kana. Thenceforth, instead of the pain of committing to memory thousands of ideograms, and employing them with no little toil, it became possible to record the most complex thoughts by the aid of fifty simple symbols. Nevertheless, since the nation had come to regard Chinese literature as the classics of learning, scholars were still compelled to use Chinese ideograms and to follow Chinese rules of composition, so that the cursive forms of the Chinese characters became the recognized script of educated men. These cursive characters possessed one advantage: they were capable of considerable abbreviation within certain limits. Naturally, the facility they offered in that respect was more and more utilized, until at length their forms were modified to comparative simplicity. When the great prelate Kūkai composed, for mnemonic purposes, the rhyming syllabary which comprised all the necessary sounds without repetition, the forms of the simplified characters may be considered to have finally crystallized into the syllabary known as the hira-kana.
The invention of these two systems of kana syllabaries gave a powerful impetus to the growth of prose writing. Many varieties of composition, fictions, diaries, travels, and fugitive sketches, were added to the literature of the time. But as men who aspired to the title of scholar continued to write in Chinese ideograms, the domain of Japanese prose was occupied, almost exclusively, by women. It is recorded of the Emperor Ichijō (987–1012 A. D.) that he boasted that, although his own abilities did not entitle him to wear the crown, his reign was not less rich in talented subjects than had been the reigns of even Daigo and Murakami, historically regarded as the best sovereigns of the whole imperial line. The boast was not unwarranted, for in that era flourished great writers of both sexes, the charm and grace of whose diction have been vainly imitated by later generations. Of these, Mura-saki-shikibu especially attracts attention, on account of her celebrated work, the "Genji-monogatari," a romance in fifty-four volumes. Sei-Shōnagon's name is remembered for her "Makura-no-sōshi," as peerless a production in literary sketches as was the "Genji-monogatari" in fiction.
Even more energy was expended on the production of verses than on prose writing. In the last part of the ninth century after almost a century of the sway of Chinese poetry, the tide flowed once more in the direction of Japanese verses, and they soon engrossed the minds of the noble classes. Beginning with the "Kokinshū," poems compiled by imperial order by Ki-no-Tsurayuki, himself a celebrated poet, no less than seven poetical compilations were made by order of the sovereigns during the rest of the Hei-an epoch, to which were still later added others to the number of twenty-one. The art of versification made a wonderful progress, but the rustic vigor and grandeur of the poems of the "Manyō-shū" gave place to tricks of phraseology and flowers of speech in the later poetry. Nor were poems with many stanzas approved any longer, for it became the pride of the later poets to embody clever wit and hidden charm in the space of thirty-one syllables. Thus poetry was stunted, and literary terms and the speech of everyday life unnecessarily separated each from the other.
As was so clearly reflected in poetry, the rude and unpolished but frugal and industrious habits of the Nara age disappeared as the Hei-an epoch grew older. Instead of vigor and simple strength, luxury and effeminate gaud became the fashion. Society grew more and more enervated and self-indulgent. The metropolis was the center of magnificence and the focus of pleasure. Reference has already been made to the spaciousness and grandeur of the imperial palace. The princes and great nobles were scarcely less superbly housed, every aristocratic dwelling consisting of a number of artistically arranged buildings. There had also grown up among nobles and men of affluence the habit of choosing in the suburbs some spot noted for scenic charms, and there building for themselves retreats on which all the artistic and decorative resources of the time were lavished. As for the imperial palace, however, from the time when it was destroyed by a conflagration (960 A. D.), it suffered a steady diminution in size and splendor, whereas the mansions of the ministers of the crown grew constantly larger and more magnificent, their inmates wearing gorgeous garments of rich brocades and elaborately embroidered silks. Officials, courtiers, and their families emulated one another in the richness of their apparel. When they went abroad, they rode in carriages resplendent with gold and silver. By and by, the active discharge of official and administrative functions began to be despised by the higher classes, military training and the rude exercises of arms falling into especial disfavor. Thus it fell out that the nobles of the court, having abundant leisure, were enabled to devote their time to literary culture, the elaboration of etiquette, and the pursuit of luxurious pleasures. In the imperial court, at pleasant times in the fair seasons, on fine spring mornings or under the soft moonlight of autumn, gatherings were held at which the guests vied with one another in making music and composing poetry. There were also specially appointed festive occasions: as, for example, entertainments in April (third month of the old calendar) when wine-cups were floated down stream; or in February (first month of the old calendar) when young pines growing on the hills or in the fields were pulled up by the roots; or in the fall, to view the changing tints of the maples; the most aristocratic of all these festivities being one in which three picturesquely-decorated boats were launched upon some river or lake and filled exclusively with persons who excelled in some one of the "three accomplishments," namely, Chinese poetry,