higher, more aristocratic possibilities of the art. But the elimination of coarseness often means the elimination of vigour as well, as we can see in the French theatre of the seventeenth century, and some genres of Japanese literature by choosing not to offend thereby forfeited the power to interest, becoming no more than the academic toys of the idle court aristocracy. The poet Bashō was aware of this danger, and insisted that the haiku, the short verse form, should aim not only at achieving the eternally beautiful effects of which all poetry is capable, but also at creating an impression of freshness. This was rather an exceptional attitude, for the earlier masters had preferred to write “what oft was thought but ne’er so well expressed” rather than to be original. Every member of the court was expected to know by heart the poems in the principal Japanese and Chinese anthologies, and a slightly different emphasis given to an old poem would be recognized at once and appreciated as much if not more than a completely new idea. The virtuoso approach to literature; and to art as well, where the artist attempts to do essentially the same thing as his predecessors but in a slightly different way, is characteristic of Japan. The technique may be illustrated most clearly by the following examples. The first is a haiku by Buson (1716–84):
| Tsurigane ri | On the temple bell |
| Tomarite nemuru | Resting, asleep |
| Kochō ka na | A butterfly. |
The second example is by Shiki (1867–1902):
| Tsurigane ni | On the temple bell |
| Tomarite hikaru | Resting, glowing |
| Hotaru ka na | A firefly. |
