[Fujiwara no Sanesuke] Recitation on the Night of the Full Moon

October 16, the second year of Kannin (1018).

The mansion of the Minister of the Left, Fujiwara no Michinaga, was enveloped in suffocating incense and deafening cheers.

It had been decided that Michinaga's younger daughter, Ishi, would become the Empress of Emperor Go-Ichijo, and with this, Michinaga had achieved an unprecedented feat: marrying his own daughters to three successive emperors. It was truly the height of prosperity. The assembled court nobles narrowed their eyes at every move Michinaga made, scrambling to fawn over him.

Sitting a little apart from the commotion, an old man tilted his cup with a cold gaze.
Minister of the Right, Fujiwara no Sanesuke, sixty-two years old at the time.
In an era where everyone bowed to Michinaga, he was the only man who continued to offer bitter advice to the highest authority, armed with "precedents and the Ritsuryo codes," and was known as the "walking law" of the Imperial Court.

“Lord Sanesuke, do not sit in such a corner with such a difficult look on your face.”

It was one of Michinaga's close aides who approached with a flushed face. Sanesuke did not show his inner displeasure at all, but simply bowed with a serious expression.
(A bunch of swarming monkeys. Celebration is one thing, but selling one's soul to Michinaga is another.) In Sanesuke's mind, the sharp words from his diary, the "Shoyuki," which he wrote in daily, floated to the surface. However, Sanesuke was not a child who would get sulky and leave. He was here to uphold his "principles" to the end.

When the night grew late, the guest of honor, Fujiwara no Michinaga, came to Sanesuke with a staggering gait.
His eyes were shining brightly, completely intoxicated by the sweet wine of victory.

“Lord Sanesuke.”
“Ah, Lord Michinaga. I am truly overjoyed at this auspicious occasion.”
“No, let us dispense with the stiff greetings. Tonight, I have composed a poem about what is in my heart. I look forward to your response.”

Michinaga pointed to the garden, brightly illuminated by the full moon, and raised his voice sonorously.

“This world, I think, is indeed my world, like the full moon, which I believe has no lack.”

For a moment, the banquet fell silent. It was an all-too-blatant and arrogant poem. However, the next moment, a storm of praise from the sycophants erupted, with cries of "Wonderful!" and "As expected of Lord Michinaga!"

Michinaga thrust his chin out with satisfaction and looked at Sanesuke.
“Now, Minister of the Right. I ask for a graceful response to this.”
The eyes of those around them gathered on Sanesuke all at once.

He was being tested. If he composed a poem that further elevated Michinaga here, it would signify his submission to him. Conversely, if he composed a poem that admonished his arrogance, his future career would likely suffer. Michinaga was looking forward to seeing how this stubborn "man of principle" would bow his head.

Sanesuke stared intently at the cup in his hand.
(A truly magnificent, and yet, truly unsightly poem.)
This man's prosperity was indeed immense. But how could he calmly utter such insolent words that even surpassed the Imperial family? Where had the spirit of the Ritsuryo codes gone? However, to compose a poem of direct criticism here would simply make him a "stubborn man who cannot read the room." That went against Sanesuke's aesthetics.

Sanesuke stood up slowly. His expression was surprisingly calm.

“Lord Michinaga. It is a truly wonderful poem. ...However, because it is such a perfectly fulfilled poem, there are no words in this world that could be added to it.”
“Oh?”
Michinaga raised an eyebrow. It was a look that asked if he was trying to make an excuse and escape.

Sanesuke stepped forward, looked out at the assembled court nobles, and raised his voice.
“Therefore, instead of a response poem, let us all 'recite' this poem together. Such a masterpiece is too good to simply listen to. Now, everyone, join me!”

“Eh...?” the surrounding court nobles were bewildered.
However, Sanesuke did not care and began to sing in a loud voice himself.

“This world, I think... is indeed my world...”

As if pushed by Sanesuke's imposing voice, the court noble next to him hurriedly joined in. It spread like a wave, and soon everyone at the Takamatsu-dono began to chant in chorus, "This world, I think..."

Michinaga stared at Sanesuke with a look of utter astonishment.
Sanesuke met Michinaga's gaze with a beaming smile and continued to sing at the top of his lungs.

(How about that, Michinaga? You wanted a song of sycophancy from me, didn't you? But by making everyone join in your song, I have turned it into nothing more than a popular party tune.)

This way, no one is hurt. Michinaga's pride is preserved, and the crowd is energized. Yet, Sanesuke himself has not composed a single syllable that bows to Michinaga. It was Sanesuke's own supreme way of 'throwing smoke'—a resistance rooted in his deep respect for tradition and precedent.

Before long, the grand chorus ended, and the banquet drew to a close at the height of its excitement.

Late at night, having returned to his residence, Sanesuke took up his brush in his study.
With his mind still buzzing from the excitement, he recorded today's major scandal in his diary.

'The 16th, Tsuchinoto-Ushi. Went to the Takamatsu-dono... Michinaga composed a poem... I simply recited the poem he was so proud of. No need for a return poem.'

Sanesuke set down his brush and looked out the window.
The full moon floating in the night sky was indeed beautiful. However, to Sanesuke's eyes, it looked like the beginning of the end, as it would slowly begin to wane from tomorrow.

'The full moon has its charm precisely because it wanes. Don't you agree, Lord Michinaga?'

Sanesuke muttered to himself, closed his diary with a look of satisfaction, and quietly extinguished the light.

Fujiwara no Sanesuke: A court noble of the mid-Heian period. A stubborn, pragmatic official who, during the height of Fujiwara no Michinaga's power, continued to stand his ground using 'precedent and law' as his weapons while those around him fawned. He is famous for the anecdote where, instead of composing a return poem to Michinaga's 'This world is mine' poem, he had everyone sing it in a grand chorus to deflect the situation. His candid diary, the 'Shoyuki,' remains a valuable primary historical source from that era.