Transcriber's Note
Italic text is indicated by _underscores_, bold by ~swung dashes~, and
non-italic text within italic blocks by +plus signs+.
PLAYS OF OLD JAPAN
THE NŌ
BY MARIE C. STOPES
~EPOCHS OF CHINESE AND JAPANESE ART.~ By ERNEST F. FENOLLOSA. In two
Vols. Crown 4to. Illustrated. ~36s.~ net.
~A HISTORY OF JAPANESE COLOUR-PRINTS.~ By W. VON SEIDLITZ. Illustrated
in Colour and Black and White. One Vol. Crown 4to. ~25s.~ net.
~JAPANESE PLAYS AND PLAYFELLOWS.~ By OSMAN EDWARDS. With twelve
Coloured Plates by Japanese Artists. One Vol. Demy 8vo. ~10s.~ net.
~KAKEMONA: Japanese Sketches.~ By A. HERBAGE EDWARDS. One Vol. Crown
8vo. ~7s. 6d.~ net.
~A HISTORY OF JAPANESE LITERATURE.~ By W. G. ASTON. One Vol. Large
Crown 8vo. ~6s.~
~IN JAPAN: Pilgrimages to the Shrines of Art.~ By GASTON MIGEON,
translated by FLORENCE SIMMONDS. One Vol. Crown 8vo. Illustrated.
~6s.~ net.
~THE JAPANESE DANCE.~ By M. A. HINCKS. One Vol. Crown 8vo.
Illustrated. ~2s. 6d.~ net.
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
[Illustration: AN ACTOR OF THE _NŌ_ IN FULL COSTUME
TADANORI
_This plate, taken from a Japanese coloured woodcut, illustrates well
the voluminous nature of the mediæval ceremonial garments. The figure
is that of an ancient warrior of the Taira clan, to which Kagekiyo
belonged (+see p. 53+), who was noted also for the high quality of
his poetry. He composed a special verse, which he fastened in an arrow
that he always carried in his quiver, and that proved to be the means
of identification when he was found by his enemies, dead in the field
of battle. In the illustration one may particularly note the mask,
with the eyebrows painted so high on the forehead that they are above
the fillet band. The feet are not bare, but are covered with the white
+tabi+, or cotton boots with soft soles and a separate division
for the big toe, in which the +Nō+ dancers always perform their
parts._
]
PLAYS OF OLD JAPAN
THE ‘NŌ’
BY
MARIE C. STOPES
D.SC., PH.D., F.L.S.
TOGETHER WITH TRANSLATIONS OF THE DRAMAS BY M. C. STOPES
AND
PROFESSOR JOJI SAKURAI
D.SC., LL.D.
WITH A PREFACE BY HIS EXCELLENCY
BARON KATO
THE JAPANESE AMBASSADOR
_ILLUSTRATED_
[Illustration]
LONDON MCMXIII
WILLIAM HEINEMANN
_Copyright and all translation and dramatic right reserved by Marie C.
Stopes_
PREFACE
By His Excellency the Japanese Ambassador
The _utai_ does not appeal to the uneducated, and for that reason its
devotees have practically been confined to the gentle and aristocratic
classes. In the days before the educational system of Japan was
established on Western lines, boys of the _Samurai_ class in many parts
of the country were taught to chant the _utai_ in their schools as a
part of their curriculum, the object being to ennoble their character
by imbuing them with the spirit of the olden times, and also to provide
for them a healthy means of recreation in their manhood. Along with
many other institutions, it declined in favour in consequence of
the great social and political upheaval which ushered in the era of
_Meiji_; and for some time afterwards the people were too much occupied
with various material aspects of life to find any leisure for the
cultivation of the art, so much so that its professional exponents,
meeting with no public support, had to give up the forlorn attempt to
continue their task and to look elsewhere for a means of earning their
livelihood.
With the consolidation of the new régime many old things took a new
lease of life, the _utai_ being one of them. Not only has the _utai_
revived, but those who ought to know say that never in the long history
of its existence has it been so extensively patronised as it is to-day.
Patrons of the art are by no means confined to the aristocratic
classes, albeit it is not so popular as the ordinary theatrical play,
and never could be from the nature of the thing.
This book will, therefore, well repay study on the part of any one
desirous of knowing and appreciating the working of the Japanese mind,
and the author and her colleague are rendering a good service to the
public of the West by initiating them into the subject. As the author
frankly admits, to translate the _utai_ into a European language is a
most difficult task, and, in my opinion, it is a well-nigh impossible
one. The meaning of the original may be conveyed--its spirit to a
certain extent--but never the peculiarities of the original language,
on which the beauty of the _utai_ mainly rests. It was very brave of
Dr. Marie Stopes and Prof. Sakurai to undertake what I should deem an
impossible task, and I am glad to be able to extend to them my sincere
congratulations on their remarkable achievement. They have succeeded
in their work to the best extent any one can hope to succeed, and in
my opinion have placed Western students of Japanese art and literature
under a debt of gratitude to them.
TAKAAKI KATO.
_Japanese Embassy, London._
_November 1912._
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
_To face page_
TADANORI _Frontispiece_
VIEW OF THE NŌ STAGE 10
A COUNTRY POETESS 14
MIIDERA 16
SŌSHIARI-GOMACHI 24
THE MAIDEN’S TOMB 38
SUMIDAGAWA 76
TO THE READER
Their poetry is the expressed essence of the Japanese. It represents
them as the Victory of Samothrace represents the people of Greece, as
the scent represents the rose. Chamberlain says, “The one original
product of the Japanese mind is the native poetry”--their painting,
their porcelain, their ceremonials, are modifications of Chinese
classics, but their poetry is their very own. Among the greatest and
most characteristic treasures of the native literature, the Japanese
rank their ancient “lyric dramas,” the _Nō_. As Synge and the Irish
poets speak for the Irish people the things that matter most to them
and that yet go all unexpressed in their outward life, in the same
sense, only to a greater extent, do the _Nō_ dramas represent the old
spirit of Japan.
In Japanese the texts of the _Nō_ dramas, all of which were written
before the sixteenth century, are collected in a great work, the
_Yokyoku Tsukai_, in which various editions give as many as two hundred
and thirty-five to two hundred and sixty-two _utai_, as the librettos
of the _Nō_ are called. Yet these treasures are practically unknown to
the reading public of the West, notwithstanding the interest that has
been taken in “things Japanese.” Scholars certainly have paid them some
attention, and a few _utai_ have been rendered into English, but in
most cases these translations are such as appeal primarily to scholars,
and do not reach the wider public. Chamberlain’s _Classical Poetry of
the Japanese_, in which some of the _utai_ find a place, is perhaps the
only exception to the general statement that no rendering of any of
these plays has yet been made which is calculated to win those readers
who do not delve in the Transactions of learned societies nor read
transliterated texts in weighty volumes, but who, nevertheless, delight
in the great literatures of the world.
One of the reasons for this is certainly the extreme remoteness of the
subject from everything to which we are accustomed, and the difficulty
of translating into our own the obscure language of these mediæval
texts.
All students of Japanese are agreed about the excessive difficulty of
making any rendering from the _utai_ which combines fidelity to the
original with lucidity in a European language.
Yet these old plays are unique, exquisite, individual, and so full of
charm that it is a great loss to the Western world that they should be
entirely removed from our ken by being hedged in and shut away from
us by the difficulties of language. It is clearly some one’s duty to
translate, not merely the words of these plays, but their meaning and
spirit, so that the Western public may have partial access at least to
the source that delights, and has delighted for centuries, the best
minds of our Allies in the East. No translation can ever convey more
than a fraction of the power, beauty, and individual characteristics
of the original, but it is my hope that there may be found between
these covers something of the delicacy and charm of the _Nō_, some hint
of their peculiar flavour and effect. If this consummation is in any
single case achieved by this book, it will be, I fancy, only after the
whole of it has been read and laid down; when a faint spirit of the
_Nō_ may take shape in the reader’s mind.
Mountains blue in the distance before which we stand enthralled are
composed of grey rough stone and broken screes when viewed at nearer
quarters--yet we enjoy not less the illusory blue. The words of a
stirring poem that wafts us into a fairy land of dreams are each one
commonplace enough, and each can be reduced to its elements, _a_, _b_,
_c_, _d_, _e_,--twenty-six of them, which can be ranged in a straight
line.
And so it is with the _Nō_. They must not be too much analysed and
inquired into. Their language is simple, almost to baldness in places,
it is true, but their simple elements create a wonderland of illusion.
In Japanese they have the power to make the spirit soar into the
borders of the enchanted regions of romance; and when acted the plays
make one ache with _Weltschmerz_ in a way that shows that their place
is among the great things of our world, elemental in their simplicity.
Then it must not be forgotten that the text of the drama as presented
is accompanied by music, and is chanted by highly trained actors in a
beautiful setting. Who would think of judging Wagner from the texts
of his librettos alone, and of ignoring his power as a scene creator
and a musician? The texts of the _Nō_ are largely prosy, if you will.
Mr. Sansom recently censured me, and with me the leading Japanese
authorities on the subject, for our appreciation of the poetry of the
_Nō_. He would have us believe that the steady popularity of these
plays for six hundred years among the leading men of the country, from
priests and poets to princes and warriors, is due to over-estimation,
and that they are, after all, mostly prose of no high quality. In a
language so widely diverging from our own in its construction and
mode of thought as Japanese, the details of the literary style and
composition are beyond reach of my judgment. As the Japanese for
so long have been consistent in their admiration of the literary
construction of the _Nō_, I am content in that matter to accept their
verdict. But of the atmosphere and general effect of the plays I can
judge for myself, and I find them among the supremely great things in
world-literature. That Mr. Sansom does not, depends on his own taste in
the matter. I have, in these modern days of unshackled opinion, heard
people openly announce that they saw nothing in Shakespeare! I fancy
that if we could translate literally into the English language the
song of the nightingale to its mate, it would be found to be largely
composed of mundane affairs and prosy gossip about its neighbours, the
weather and the marauding school-boy. But is it to us any the less
romantic and glorious in association? There is a focal distance for
every work of art, and if we choose to overstep it and go and rub our
noses against the canvas of supreme genius, we will only find smeary
paint and an unpleasant odour. So, acknowledging the prosy elements in
the texts of the _Nō_ I have attempted to render, I present them in the
hope that there will be some readers who will see through the shrouding
veils of a foreign language something of the features of the eternal
loveliness of the original. My great regret is the imperfections of
my handling of these delicate fantasies. But with the exceptional
knowledge and gifts of my collaborator in the translations, Prof.
Sakurai, the standard of detailed accuracy has been kept up to a point
which will, I trust, make these translations not entirely unworthy
of a scholar’s perusal (but see p. 32); nevertheless, the reader whom
my heart desires is not one to take too close an inspection of each
detail, but one who will catch the spirit of the whole. None of the
four plays that follow have been translated by any one else,[1] so far
as I can discover; so that, as they break new ground for it, the public
will perhaps be lenient and sympathetic towards these efforts.
Concerning the Place the _Nō_ takes in Japan to-day
In Japan to-day there still lingers much of the old aristocratic scorn
of the common theatre, but the theatres which are dedicated to the
performance of the _Nō_ have no such stigma attached to them. Indeed,
these performances are almost entirely supported by the gentle and
aristocratic classes. The interest of intellectual men in these plays
is not even satisfied with on-looking, and many of the leading men
of the day in Tokio--lawyers, university professors, statesmen and
aristocrats--study the chants and songs and give private recitals of
them. A few even undertake the arduous training necessary to act a
complete part, including the “dancing,” and then the gentlemen are
proud to appear with distinguished professionals. The only comparable
enthusiasm in our country is that of the Shakespeare societies; but
even to act, and act well, a part in a Shakespeare play requires
an amount of application trivial in comparison with that necessary
completely to master a rôle in one of the _Nō_. For in “singing” the
_utai_ not only is every minute inflection of the voice prescribed and
regulated according to the severest rules, but every movement of the
body, every step and movement even of the toes or little fingers in
the “dance” that accompanies it, is most strictly governed by an iron
tradition, and the secret of some of the parts is only in the hands of
a few masters.
Mr. Sansom quotes, in an unsympathetic spirit, the opinion of Mr.
Tanaka Shohei, but as this opinion represents in substance that of a
number of the leading Japanese who interest themselves in the subject,
I think it may very well be given as an expression of current opinion
of the _Nō_: “From every point of view it is one of the pre-eminent
arts of the world. It is the flower of the Yamato stock. Every art
reflects the spirit of a given people at a given time, and, remembering
this, we must hold it remarkable that the affections of our people
should be retained by an art which arose six hundred years ago. In the
West there is no art with such a pedigree. This shows that the _Nō_
represents the national spirit, and is complete in every respect.”
A Japanese professor, writing to me, says, “A _Nō_ drama is always
very simple in its plot, and it is chiefly its peculiar poetical
construction and ring which appeal so much to our emotion and give the
charm it possesses.” Another opinion is quoted by Mr. Osman Edwards:
“The words (of the _Nō_) are gorgeous, splendid and even magnificent as
are the costumes.”
The charm of the _Nō_ is a cumulative one, and its power of
conveying much meaning in simple action is largely augmented by the
suggestiveness of the interwoven allusions to the classical poems
partly quoted or suggested in the words of the texts. Almost every word
carries more than its face value, and has been enriched by centuries of
usage in innumerable poetical and traditional connections.
Concerning the past History of the _Nō_
The _Nō_, as they are now preserved, date principally from the
fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries, and all of them are prior
to the sixteenth century. Their development took place under the
Ashikaga Shogunate, particularly in the reign of the Shogun Yoshimitsu
(1368-1394), when they soon became exceedingly successful among the
nobles. They are to a large extent compounded from much older elements
which existed in a more incoherent form prior to the fourteenth
century; but they may be described as crystallising and taking their
distinctive form under the hands of _Kiyotsugu_, who lived from 1355 to
1406. It is of great interest to note how closely the dates of our own
Chaucer (1340-1400) correspond with those of the great Japanese master.
What world-phase brought two such men to the front at the same time in
the two island empires, all unknown to each other? Kiyotsugu was the
founder of the _Nō_ proper, and one of his pieces is given on p. 39. It
is certain that he did not suddenly evolve this type of drama, but took
the elements that were to hand and fused them together with the flux
of his personal genius. Chief among the material available were the
_Kagura_ or pantomime dances which were performed at Shinto festivals
on temporary wooden platforms. Direct descendants of these, nearly in
their original form, have lingered on till the present day. I have seen
performances on the rough temporary platforms, where the actors were
gaudily but cheaply decked and where the crowded audience was almost
entirely composed of the common people who stood semi-scornful for a
few moments, or were detained for a long time while passing on their
daily business. The antiquity of such performances can be imagined
from the fact that in the _Kojiki_, which was written in 712 A.D.,
they were described as being ancient and their origin was associated
with the sun goddess. The mythical story of their origin is one of the
well-known tales of Japan. The sun goddess, Amaterasu, was offended and
retired to a cave, withdrawing her luminous beauty from the world. As
may be imagined, this was very inconvenient for every one, including
the rest of the gods, who in their distress assembled on the dry bed of
the River of Heaven. (This is the Milky Way, and to one who knows the
mountain rivers of Japan it gives a very telling little touch, for the
dry bed of a Japanese river is a broad curve of round white stones.)
They endeavoured in many ways to lure the sun goddess out of her cave,
and at last they invented a dance and performed it on the top of an
inverted empty tub, which echoed when the dancer stamped. This excited
her curiosity, and the goddess was successfully drawn out of her
hiding-place, the light of her radiance once more blessed the earth,
and all was right again with gods and men. The stamping on the hollow
tub is still suggested in the “dancing” of the _Nō_, where the actor
raises his foot and stamps once or twice with force enough to make the
specially prepared wooden floor of the stage echo with a characteristic
sound.
It is quite probable that the actual words of the _utai_ (librettos)
of the _Nō_ were partly, if not entirely, written by Buddhist monks,
and Kiyotsugu was only responsible for bringing the whole together and
stage managing and stereotyping the plays.
Following Kiyotsugu, who died in 1406, was his son _Motokiyo_ (one of
whose plays will be found on p. 56), who lived from 1373-1455. As well
as adding to the number of the actual plays (as many as ninety-three
are attributed to him) he greatly improved the music. By the time of
his nephew some of the several different schools of _Nō_ interpreters,
which are still in existence, had sprung up.
The ruling Shoguns paid great attention to the _Nō_. Kiyotsugu the
founder was taken by the Shogun into his immediate service and was even
given the rank of a small daimio. Both Hideoshi and Iyeyasu, two of the
greatest men in Japanese history, were not only fond of witnessing the
plays, but it is reported that they actually took part in them among
the actors.
Concerning the Presentation of the _Nō_
A single _Nō_ play is not a lengthy performance, the average time for
its complete presentation being merely one hour. But a performance of
_Nō_ at a theatre generally lasts a whole day (except at special short
performances, mostly arranged in connection with festivities), because
half-a-dozen pieces are on the programme, and between each is given one
of the “mad-words,” or _Hiogen_, which are short, ludicrous farces, and
which serve to relieve the tension of the higher, and generally tragic
pieces.
The Theatre
The theatres, which are specially built for the _Nō_ performances,
are smaller than the common theatres. The stage is a square platform,
generally measuring about eighteen feet, which stands towards the
middle, so that the audience sit on three sides of it. This stage has
its own beautifully curved roof, which is separated from the roof over
the audience by a slight gap, and is reminiscent of the time when the
_Nō_ were performed on the outdoor wooden platforms while the audience
stood round in rain or shine. On the stage itself are two pillars of
smooth wood, which support its roof (see diagram facing p. 10). The
stage is horizontal and is raised a few feet above the ground; it is
made of very smooth and peculiarly resonant boarding, which is of
special importance in the “dancing,” in the course of which the actor
has to stamp at intervals with his shoeless feet and yet to make
a loud, though deadened sound. Let us not forget the inverted tub and
the sun goddess. This feature of the dancing is not to be despised,
for its effectiveness is notable. By the kindness of the Secretary of
the Royal Society of Literature I am allowed to reproduce my plan of
the _Nō_ stage[2] from their Transactions, so I am tempted to quote
also a paragraph describing it. “Leading to the stage is a gallery
nine feet wide, along which the actors pass very slowly on their way
from the green-room to the stage, and pause at each of the three pine
trees stationed along it. A curtain shuts the end of the gallery from
the green-room. All the woodwork is unpainted and unstained, though
very highly polished, and there is neither scenery nor appliances to
break the harmony. The three actual pine trees and a flat painted pine
on the wall at the back of the stage are all the ornament there is.”
The wood-cut facing p. 10 is an illustration of this stage taken from
a Japanese print. It represents an “undress” recital, but shows well
the build of the stage itself. The pine tree which is painted on the
bare boards at the back is not realistic, but is much conventionalised,
with solid emerald green masses of foliage and a twisted trunk. It is
like those trees which are seen in symbolic pictures and on ancient
ceremonial embroideries such as are used at weddings and at the New
Year time. The pine tree, and all it has come to mean to the Japanese
as a symbol, is closely associated with the _Nō_. Deeply interwoven in
the national sentiment is the play _Takasago_, which is the story of
the faithful spirits of the pine tree and is perhaps the most important
and most beloved of all the _Nō_.
[Illustration: PLATE 2.
VIEW OF THE NŌ STAGE
_To the left is the gallery along which the actors enter. On the stage
is a figure in ordinary ceremonial dress, not in costume, reciting a
piece with the aid only of a fan. Note the beautifully elaborate roof
belonging to the stage itself. The pieces of blue sky in the right and
centre which break into it, like the clouds in the left foreground, are
a conceit of the artist, but the blue sky to the left indicates with
verisimilitude the open space surrounding the stage._ ]
[Illustration:
Diagram of stage arrangement in the _Nō_, showing also the position of
the audience.
On the stage the chorus is represented by crosses, the leader of the
chorus marked [Illustration: circle with cross].
The numbers I and II represent the positions during most of the action
of the leading actors.
I represents the _shite_.
II represents the _waki_.
The encircled numbers show the positions of the musicians, who are
stationary during the piece.
1. The _taiko_ player.
2. The _otsuzumi_ player.
3. The _kotsuzumi_ player.
4. The _fue_ player.
The squares at the front of the stage represent the two pillars
supporting its roof.
_Reproduced by permission of the Royal Society of Literature._ ]
The Chorus
Quoting again from my paper: “Before the play begins the chorus comes
in, robed in blue or blue-grey, and enters into the colour scheme. The
men squat on their heels with their legs folded straight and flat along
the boards on the right of the stage, and before them lie their fans,
which remain closed through the whole play, but are raised upright
while they are singing. The chorus chants at intervals throughout the
piece, sometimes informing the audience of the events supposed to be
taking place, or to have taken place, sometimes moralising on the
fate or feelings of the hero or heroine, sometimes describing their
emotions, sometimes even instructing them. While they are doing this
their fans are raised upright, with one end touching the ground, and
are laid down again directly the words are finished. The Japanese
name for the chorus is _ji_, a word meaning also ‘ground’--the ground
colour, as it were, on which the figures of the drama are painted.” As
is natural, such an arrangement of chorus and stage recalls the Greek
plays. The comparisons and contrasts between this and the Greek, which
spring immediately to one’s mind, have already been published by Prof.
Chamberlain and others, who have given some account of the _Nō_, and to
whose works reference should be made (see list on p. 103).
The Music
The music is an important feature of the _Nō_ plays, when they are
completely presented. Indeed, the whole play can be more fairly
compared with opera than with anything else on our stage, though the
“singing” is very different from ours. The songs are given with a
curious voice in which suppressed breathing is an item of value. Other
parts of the play are chanted in unison, and even the prose “words”
are intoned in a unique way which removes them absolutely from the
realm of ordinary speaking, and makes them--to a foreigner--practically
indistinguishable from the songs. There are, in addition to this vocal
music, four instruments, and the players of these are distinct from the
chorus and do not enter into its chanting at all, except sometimes with
a sudden sharp Ha! or something which I confess I can only describe as
being like the howl of a cat, and which did not seem to me to add to
the impressiveness of the music, but to detract from it.
The musicians enter the theatre and take their place on the stage,
in the places indicated in the diagram, after the chorus is seated
and before the actors appear. In a full set of musicians the first is
the performer on the _taiko_, who plays a flat drum set in a wooden
stand on the floor, ornamented with a gorgeous scarlet silk tassel
of such size and brilliance as to lend a vivid beauty to the quiet
colour scheme. The next musician is the player of the _ōtsuzumi_, which
is a kind of elongated drum held on his knee. The _kotsuzumi_ is an
hour-glass-shaped drum, which is held on the shoulder. Both Profs.
Chamberlain and Dickins call this a tambourine, but that name gives
an entirely wrong impression both of the shape and the sound of this
instrument. The last musician plays the _fue_ or flute.
Most Westerners are content to call this music “a discord.” It is
therefore pleasant to find Mr. Sansom saying, “At times the flute
strikes in with a long-drawn note that has a strange and moving quality
of sadness.” Personally, with the exception of the single interjected
cries, the music appealed to me as being in complete harmony with the
pieces and as adding greatly to their charm and meaning.
The Actors
The actors enter from behind the curtain at the end of the gallery
leading to the stage. They move towards the stage one by one, and very
slowly, with long intervals between each step, every motion of which
has been decreed for centuries. Captain Brinkley says, “It is, indeed,
more than doubtful whether any other people ever developed such an
expressive vocabulary of motion, such impressive eloquence of gesture.
These masked dancers of the _Nō_, deprived of the important assistance
of facial expression, and limited to a narrow range of cadence,
nevertheless succeeded in investing their performance with a character
of noble dignity and profound intensity of sentiment.” The actors pause
at each of the pine trees which stand by the gallery to mark a stage in
their progress. Only men act, and for the women’s parts they wear the
conventional masks with the white, narrow face and the eyebrows painted
high up on the middle of the forehead, which is the classical
standard of female beauty. Masks are also worn by those representing
demons or ghosts, and these masks are much on the same plan as those
worn by children on the fifth of November. They are made of carved wood
with a slit for the mouth and two holes for the eyes. They are palpably
masks put over the face and make no pretence at verisimilitude; indeed,
sometimes the girl’s mask may be openly tied on with a fillet ribbon
across the forehead. They are clearly illustrated in the plates facing
pages 14 and 76, where the white mask-face is put so as to show quite
frankly the tanned and corrugated neck of the elderly actor. Wild bushy
heads of long hair are also worn by those taking the part of demons,
and sometimes by the ghosts, as is seen in the plate facing p. 76,
where the little figure represents the ghost in the _Sumidagawa_.
The Costumes
Though in other respects the _Nō_ staging is so simply organised, the
costumes of the actors are sumptuous and completely representative of
the parts the actors are playing. The various robes are all of mediæval
cut and fashion, and are mostly very stiff with opulent brocades or
embroideries. Some of the styles are shown in the various illustrations
in this book, and it will at once be noticed that they are all
elaborate and richly coloured. While the cut of most of the garments is
something akin to the simple _kimono_ and _hakama_ (divided skirt worn
by the men when fully dressed) of the present day, they are on a more
massive scale with great stiff boufflé divided skirts (as the figure in
plate 3, p. 14, shows particularly well), and with the kimono sleeves
so wide and stiff that the wearer seems almost three times his normal
width. The figure on the Frontispiece illustrates such excessively
voluminous and elaborate dress. The garments may be worn in overlaid
series, showing beneath a rich overdress the edges of many equally fine
under-robes, and of course armour and accoutrements are carried by
those representing the ancient warriors.
The costumes of the _Nō_ are in truth the treasures of a museum, put to
actual use.
[Illustration: PLATE 3.
A COUNTRY POETESS
_The figure of a country girl, who was also a poetess, and sent a
subtle verse in reply to a noble who sought to obtain some of the
plant growing by her cottage (as represented on the stage by the
bower to the left of the cut.) The figure shows well the ceremonial
dress, of scarlet +hakama+, or divided skirt, with flowing,
voluminous +kimono+ over it. At the throat can be seen the series
of under-dresses, of which only the edge of each appears. The massive
folds over the head are not some head-dress, as might at first be
thought, but the folds of the long kimono sleeve falling back over the
arm which is raised above the head. The squatting figure to the right
is that of a priest, who comes into the story of this +Nō+._ ]
Properties
There are few or no “stage properties” of any kind. Just as there is no
scenery and the images of the places in which the action lies must be
evolved in their own minds by the spectators, guided by the descriptive
passages of the play; so also there are no appliances. If the actors,
for instance, have to enter a boat and be rowed across a stream, they
will perhaps merely step over a bamboo pole. If one of the characters
has to ladle up water and offer it to a fainting warrior, the whole
action is accomplished with a fan. Sometimes there may be a little in
the way of properties--for example, the arbour-like bowers in plate
3, p. 14, which are drawn on to the stage and represent dwellings,
and in plate 4, p. 16, where the little temple bell is brought into
the action. But even in such cases the actors have to create an
illusion round the accessories by their words and motions.
We scarcely need to be reminded that Shakespeare’s plays were
originally written for a stage which had but little more in the way of
properties, and that even to-day there are not a few persons who feel
that Shakespeare’s finest passages do not gain but actually lose by the
life-like and elaborate settings of the modern stage.
When one hears the _Nō_ called archaic and primitive because of their
absence of scenery and the child-like simplicity and artlessness of the
properties one feels it is by a critic who is confusing values. “Words
which unaided can hold an audience, a drama which can paint the scene
directly on the mind with little intervention of the eye, is surely not
rightly described as primitive.”
[Illustration: PLATE 4.
MIIDERA
_This print, taken from a Japanese coloured woodcut, illustrates
the central figure of a +Nō+ drama, with the single, most
characteristic piece of stage “property,” belonging to the play. The
figure is that of a mother, well-nigh mad with grief at the loss of her
child, (note the bamboo in her hand, a symbol of her state) who sets
out to seek him. She finds the little one at the Temple of Miidera, a
view of which is inset in the black circle on the left of the print.
The model of a temple bell in red lacquer beneath this is mounted on
roller feet, and is an illustration of the piece of property which is
all that represents the temple on the stage, and is a good example of
the simplicity of the stage-mounting of the +Nō+ pieces._ ]
[Illustration: PLATE 5.
SŌSHIARI-GOMACHI
_This plate, taken from a Japanese coloured woodcut, illustrates the
+Nō+ of which Komachi is the heroine. She was a poetess of great
beauty and poetic gifts, and many distinguished poets were very jealous
of her. On the occasion of one of the competitions of verse before
the Emperor (the figure on the extreme right with scarlet skirts) one
of her enemies attempted to prove that her verse was plagiarized and
that he had it already in his own collection. She proves his fraud by
washing out the verse which he had just written into his book after
hearing it, showing that it was not printed with the rest. This she is
about to do in the picture. The story continues that after his exposure
he tried to commit suicide to escape disgrace, but she generously
prevented him. The mask worn by the actor who takes her part well
illustrates the classic type of beauty in Japan. The eyebrows are
shaved off, and painted on high upon the forehead beneath the hair. In
the action she uses a fan to express the business of washing out the
interpolated verses +(see p. 16)+. The oblong article to the right
represents the table on which a copy of her verses was laid in the
competition._ ]
The Audience
Prof. Aston, in his _History of Japanese Literature_, says (p. 200):
“Representations (of the _Nō_) are still given in Tokio, Kioto and
other places, by the descendants or successors of the old managers who
founded the art ... and are attended by small but select audiences
composed almost entirely of ex-Daimios or military nobles and their
ex-retainers. To the vulgar the _Nō_ are completely unintelligible.”
The contrast between the audiences at the _Nō_ and at the common
theatre is very marked, but then it must be remembered that practically
no one of culture or refinement attends the common theatre, and
practically every one of that class is interested in the _Nō_. Owing
to the present social conditions in Japan, however, the audiences at
the _Nō_ pieces are not so small or so restricted as this would lead us
to believe if we did not remember that ex-daimios and military nobles
have entered almost every social grade; many, indeed most, of the
common police are Samurai, excessively poor students of the University
or school teachers, and even rickshaw-men may be the representatives
of the proud old families. When, a little more than forty years ago,
the great social upheaval and re-organisation of Japan took place, and
the nobles and Samurai lost their privileged positions, though they
were given positions of honourable standing so far as possible, many
of them entered the ranks of what we would call the “common people”;
and so it happens that to-day there are permeating nearly the whole
of society, in all its grades, some of the old cultured class. Among
policemen, rickshaw-men and gardeners one may come across men of deep
classical interests and knowledge, and a poor student living on a few
shillings a week may spend his evenings chanting the _Nō_ songs to the
moon. Indeed, while I was in Tokio such a one lived near the house in
which I dwelt for a few months. I never met him personally, because I
did not wish to destroy the wonderful impression of melancholy romance
and weird beauty which his chanting gave me. The many evenings that I
sat alone on my balcony, looking toward Fuji mountain, behind which the
sun had set, and heard in the swiftly passing twilight and under the
glittering oriental stars the mournful, tragic chants of the _Nō_ which
this young man was practising, have left their life-long impression
on me, and perhaps account for the deeper love and understanding of
the _Nō_ which have come to me than to the foreigners who hear only a
few performances in a theatre. Yet this young man lived in what could
scarcely be called more than a hovel, and he is representative of
thousands now so living in Japan.
Consequently one must remember that though the audience of a _Nō_
theatre is “select” in the real sense, it is not by any means entirely
composed of wealthy folk.
All who can afford to do so come in full ceremonial dress, which is
sombre-coloured both for men and women, for custom only allows the
brilliant colours to be donned by children and young girls. Most of the
audience arrives by nine o’clock in the morning, and remains till three
or four in the afternoon. The “boxes” are little matted compartments
marked off on the floor, with railings round them but six inches high,
and every one sits on his folded-up legs on a cushion on the floor. As
will be seen in the diagram (p. 10) the audience sits round three sides
of the stage. In the winter they will have a little charcoal fire in
the box beside them, and will sit warming their hands over it as they
watch the piece.
Concerning the Effect of the _Nō_ on the Audience and on me
In a common theatre the audience talks, eats, and even plays games
between the scenes of the play, and gives its best attention during
a murder or a very realistic hara-kiri, when the blood trickles
in lifelike fashion out of the actor’s mouth as he writhes for
half-an-hour in his death agonies with a crimson gash across his
middle. I shall never forget a scene of the kind which nearly did for
me altogether, but which stirred the whole audience to breathless
attention. During a performance of the _Nō_, on the other hand, most
of the audience listen absorbedly to the whole piece, many being well
able to check or criticise the actor if he should make the slightest
slip, as they are personally acquainted with the parts. Others follow
the chanting with a book of the text in their hands, and thus secure
themselves against losing a word; for the _Nō_ is like our own opera
in this, that unless one is well acquainted with the words of the
piece they are apt to be lost here and there. Each one of the audience
has some knowledge of classical poetry, and according to the degree
of this knowledge is the enjoyment of the thousand allusions and part
quotations and adaptations that are in the plays. With each recognised
reference to some classic poem or story, the richer does the suggestion
of the whole become, for a word or a phrase which has but little
meaning in itself becomes fragrant and beautiful when it carries with
it the perfume of a thousand lovely and suggestive memories. Also
working upon the sensitive audience all the time, there is the psychic
effect of the beautiful and harmonious colouring and of the potent
music. The psychological effect of music is a power which we all
vaguely recognise, but few of us begin to understand. Nevertheless,
I hold it as certain that for the time being it physically as well
as spiritually affects us, and that when we are tuned to the throb
and rhythm of fundamentally great and _right_ music, though we are
no nearer to an intellectual understanding of the root things of the
universe, yet we are actually nearer a spiritual oneness with, and
hence a sort of comprehension of them. The music of the _Nō_, founded
on a different scale from our own, has a very peculiar effect, yet one
in complete harmony with the mental conceptions of the plays.
And to this effect the audience of the _Nō_ is pre-eminently exposed,
for all the surrounding conditions are calculated to enhance and aid
it: the magnetic effect of the quiet, intellectual audience on itself;
the beautiful simplicity and harmony of the colour scheme within the
theatre; the dignity and impersonalness of the actors fulfilling their
anciently prescribed actions; the allusions and suggestions of the
poems, the descriptions of natural beauties and the frequent references
to religious and philosophical ideas; when combined with the strange
and solemn music of the singers create together within the heart of the
observer a something which is well nigh sublime.
Going to the _Nō_ as a stranger and a foreigner, to whom almost all the
allusions and suggestions of classical quotation were lost--to whom no
thrills could be communicated by the mention of a single word (just
think for a moment what feelings the one name _Deirdre of the Sorrows_
creates in you if you know the Irish stories and have seen Synge’s
play. Well, just such feelings are created in a Japanese by single
words and names, which to us appear prosy or unintelligible), yet even
I was caught in the power of the whole creation of the _Nō_. To my
earlier words I still adhere: “There is in the whole a ring of fire and
splendour, of pain and pathos, which none but a cultured Japanese can
fully appreciate, but which we Westerners might hear, though the sounds
be muffled, if we would only incline our ears.” Those who find the _Nō_
plays prosy and of mediocre merit, have but partially comprehended them
through having been too intent upon the “letter of the law.”
Concerning the dramatic Construction of the _Nō_
True “dramatic” qualities are almost entirely absent from the _Nō_;
there is no interplay of the characters, no working up of a story to
some moving, dramatic and apparently inevitable conclusion. Nor are
the unities of time and place in the least regarded. Even centuries
may be supposed to elapse in the course of the story of a play, and an
actor may be represented as travelling far while declaiming a short
speech. An outline scheme of the plot which would be found to fit
the majority of the plays is as follows: The hero or heroine, or the
secondary character, sets out upon a journey, generally in search of
some person or to fulfil some duty or religious object, and on this
journey passes some famous spot. In the course of long and generally
wearying wanderings, a recital of which gives an opportunity for the
descriptions of natural beauties, this living person meets some god, or
the ghost or re-incarnated spirit of some person of note, or perhaps
the altered and melancholy wreck of some one of former grand estate.
Generally at first this ghost or spirit is not recognised, and the
living hero converses with it about the legends or histories attached
to the locality. Usually then toward the end the ghost makes itself
known as the spirit of the departed hero for which the spot is famous.
Often a priest forms one of the characters, and then the ghost may be
soothed by his prayers and exhortations. There is generally some moral
teaching interwoven with the story, the hero or the ghost exemplifying
filial or paternal duty, patriotism, or some such quality; while there
is a thread of Buddhistic teaching throughout. In this the main theme
is the transitoriness of human life, and at the same time is presented
a view of all the pain and misery people may endure when they are not
rendered superior to it by a recognition of the higher philosophy that
teaches that the whole universe is a dream, from whose toils the freed
spirit can escape.
The primitive complement of actors was probably two, but few plays have
so small a number. Three or perhaps four actors is the usual, and six,
with a few exceptions, is the highest number for a complete cast.
1. The hero or protagonist is called the _shite_.
2. The companion or assistant to the hero is the _tsure_.
3. The balance of the story is preserved by a sort of deuteragonist
called the _waki_, who may also have his _tsure_.
4. A child part may be added to enrich or add pathos to the play (as
in the _Sumida River_ for example), and he is called the _kokata_.
5. Then there may be the _ahi_, or supplementary actor.
The actors do not perform many evolutions on the stage, and though
their movements are in harmony with the story to some extent, they tend
to remain more or less in the relative positions that are indicated on
the plan of the stage facing p. 10.
Concerning the literary Style of the original texts of the _Nō_
The text of the _Nō_ is composed of a mixture of somewhat stilted and
archaic prose, incompletely phrased portions, and poetry in correct
metrical form. The strictly compressed and regulated five and seven
syllabled lines of the short, standard verses of Japan are here
scattered somewhat irregularly. Indeed, the general text of the _Nō_
may perhaps best be described as poetry but half dissolved in prose;
or, to use another simile, as an archipelago of little islets of poetry
in a sea of prose, each islet surrounded and connected by sandy shores
and bars which have been reduced almost to sea level.
All through the pieces there is an immense number of plays upon
words, of “pillow” and “pivot” words, of short quotations from and
allusions to classical poetry, so that the text simply bristles with
opportunities for literary “commentators.” The excessive amount of
classical allusion and quotation, while it does not appeal at all to
us, is one of the features which principally delights the Japanese
literati. For this is considered not only to show the degree of
knowledge which the author possessed, but also to add greatly to the
richness and suggestiveness of the piece by bringing to the memory
other cognate scenes and ideas. The merit of the frequent quotations
being that they allow of great compression and terseness of style, so
that in a few words an author can bring a series of scenes before the
mind of his audience.
So much we can understand, but the “pillow” and “pivot” words are
without parallel in our own language. By means of them the subject may
be diverted to some idea which appears, to our way of thinking, totally
unconnected. For instance, in the _Sumida River_ (see p. 83) the use
of the root word for _repute_ by the Ferryman makes the Mother, in
the following line, recall and quote a classic poem on quite another
subject which has the same root word in it. The link connecting the
two subjects being merely the one root word which is common to both,
and which is called the pivot word, the value of which is, of course,
entirely lost in translation. In English, unconnected ideas alone
are left. Some examples of such devices are mentioned in the notes
following the translations of the plays at the end of the book, but
throughout the _utai_ they are of perpetual recurrence and are far too
frequent to be mentioned every time they appear. In his _Classical
Poetry of the Japanese_, Prof. Chamberlain gives an account of the
pivot words, and he admires their “dissolving view” effects, but Aston
thinks them frivolous and a sign of decadence. These “pivot words”
as well as the “pillow words,” though they are so prevalent in its
literature, are not at all confined to the _utai_ of the _Nō_, but are
characteristic of the whole of the early Japanese verse. The “pillow
words” (called _makura-kotoba_ in Japanese) have been collected by
Prof. F. F. V. Dickins[3] recently, and he says, “The _makura-kotoba_
form the characteristic embellishment of the early _uta_ of Japan, and
of all subsequent Japanese, as distinguished from Japano-Chinese verse.”