THE GREAT THEATRE OF OSAKA.
On one of the largest of the canals which intersect Osaka in every
direction stands the theatre, with its broad façade, capped by two
roofs. You can go to the play in a boat; you can also go on foot, or in
a norimono; for a quay paved with blue flag-stones runs in front of the
building, and divides it from the canal.
Two huge blue-silk banners, covered with Chinese characters, hang
from flag-staffs at either corner of the house, rising high above the
roof. Upon large tablets, on a gold ground, are painted the principal
scenes in the plays to be performed. They are painted with marvellous
wealth of color, and depict warriors, princesses, gods, and demons in
the most exaggerated attitudes. Sometimes, instead of a picture, we
find a combination of stuffs arranged in broad relief, velvet, crape,
or satin, representing the dresses of the various characters, and
producing the most brilliant effects. From the red cross-beams beneath
the roof hang enormous lanterns, round in shape on the lower floor,
square upstairs. On the ridge-pole, a fabulous animal, something like a
dog or lion, juts forward, opening wide his jaws, with bristling mane
and tail.
By eight o'clock in the morning--the dragon's hour--the crowd collected
before the doors of the Grand Theatre. Those who had no hope of
admittance meant at least to enjoy the dazzling spectacle of the
arrival of wealthy citizens and elegantly dressed ladies.
On each side of the principal entrance, reached by a broad staircase,
were reared lofty platforms, upon which various delegates from the
company of actors stood forth, in street dress, fan in hand. In pompous
style, with merry gestures and grimaces, they loudly commended the
pieces which they were to give to the public, praising the splendor
of the costumes and stage setting, and the incomparable merit of the
players; and when that subject was exhausted, they amused the mob by
all sorts of jokes, puns, and anecdotes, delivered with comic gravity,
and accompanied by the perpetual motion of the fan, handled in skilful,
graceful style.
Soon the favored portion of the public, who were able to engage their
seats in advance, arrived from all sides. Across the two bridges
arching the canal to right and left of the theatre came norimonos and
cangos, their bearers advancing with measured pace, and following one
after the other in infinite succession; from every street appeared
countless palanquins. The black lacquer glittered in the sun, the
dresses of the women, in haste to enter, had the fresh tints of newly
opened flowers. Some young men arrived on horseback; they threw the
bridle to the groom, who ran before them, and mounted the stairs to
the theatre hurriedly. Under the shade of broad parasols came various
families on foot. Upon the canal a throng of boats besieged the
landing-stage; the rowers exchanged hard words; the women stepped on
shore with little shrieks of alarm. They were followed by maid-servants
carrying magnificent boxes of carved ivory, mother-of-pearl, or
sandal-wood. The hall was soon filled, and the doors were closed.
The interior of the theatre was rectangular in shape, the parquet
divided into square spaces separated by partitions about ten inches
high. Two aisles led from the back of the house to the stage, which
latter was not divided by any practical boundary from the body of the
house, both being upon the same level. These aisles seemed intended
rather for occasional exits and entrances of the actors, than for
the accommodation of visitors, the partitions between the boxes
being sufficiently broad to allow the spectators to reach the places
reserved for them. The journey, however, was not without peril, and
was accomplished amid screams and bursts of laughter. The women,
hampered by their handsome dresses, advanced cautiously, stumbling
occasionally. The men offered their arms, to help them into the boxes;
but some preferred to sit upon the edge and slide gracefully down. Each
compartment held eight persons, who squatted upon the matted floor;
and as soon as they were seated, a servant, attached to the theatre,
brought them tea and saki on a lacquer tray, with pipes and a brazier.
Raised above the parquet on three sides of the hall was a double row
of boxes, the fourth side being occupied by the stage. These boxes,
very richly decorated on a background of red or black lacquer, were
the most select part of the play-house, especially those in the upper
stage. There the most elegant coquettes displayed their magnificent
toilets. The aspect of the theatre was delightful; most of the women
were beautiful, with their dead-white skins, their glossy hair and
dusky eyes. The rustle of silk, the shimmer of satin, the bright colors
and the embroideries, formed a splendid spectacle. The married women
were easily recognized by their teeth blackened with a mixture of iron
filings and saki, by their plucked eyebrows, and by their sash tied in
an enormous knot directly in front. The young girls made the knot at
the back, and left their teeth to their natural whiteness. They also
dressed their hair differently. Instead of letting it hang in a long
twist, or gathered in a heavy mass on the top of the head, they combed
it over the forehead, arranged it in wings on either side of the face,
and fashioned it into an elaborate and voluminous chignon. Some might
substitute, for the tortoise-shell pins generally used, others of
similar length, but made of filagree gold; their neighbors might prefer
to adorn their hair with nothing but flowers and silk cords.
The men were no less fond of dress; crape, brocade, and velvet not
being forbidden for their wear. Some had an embroidered scarf on one
shoulder, one end hanging forward; the longer the scarf was, the higher
the social rank of the wearer. When he saluted a superior he must bend
until the scarf touched the ground. Therefore the longer it was, the
less he had to bend. A party of nobles appearing incognito, their faces
hidden by black crape hoods, showing nothing but their eyes, filled the
lower row of boxes. But one of these, very near the stage, remained
empty; it was suddenly thrown open, and a woman appeared.
The spectators could not repress a cry of amazement upon recognizing
Yodogimi. Was it possible?--the Shogun's mother entering a theatre
openly! Had she lost all respect for custom and decorum, and for
herself! The veil of light gauze, fastened to the big pins in her
headdress, and covering her face, although it might show her desire
to preserve her incognito, in no way masked the Princess; she was
recognized at the first glance. Still, surprise soon gave way to
admiration. Every one was glad she had not hidden her charming
face, which the transparent veil did but embellish. Besides, the
extraordinary dress worn by Yodogimi took the audience by storm. Her
robe was woven of pale gold, covered with fine pearls and grains of
crystal; she seemed to radiate light, as if the stars were imprisoned
in the folds of the stuff. The Princess smiled as she saw how promptly
the first sensation of displeasure was overcome by admiration. She
took her seat slowly; and when she was settled in her place, a masked
warrior was seen standing behind her.
Then the faint clamor of a gong, the trill of a couple of flutes, and
a few muffled blows on a tambourine were heard. The musicians took up
their instruments; the play was about to begin.
The audience turned to the stage; it was closed by a curtain covered
with huge lozenges, and in the centre of which appeared, upon a
scarlet disk, an immense Chinese character, standing for the name of
"Humming-Top," the famous and unrivalled actor. A rich silk merchant
had presented this curtain in his honor; it was not to be changed until
Humming-Top should be surpassed or equalled by one of his colleagues.
The curtain moved; and a man, drawing it slightly aside, came forward.
The instant he appeared, the hubbub which filled the hall ceased
abruptly. The man saluted the audience with all sorts of grimaces.
He was dressed like a wealthy lord, and held in his hands a paper
cylinder, which he began to unroll.
The people hung upon his words in profound silence; and yet they all
knew that no one could unravel the sense of them. For such is the
mission of this individual: he is to speak without being understood. If
any one discover the true meaning of what he reads from his roll, he
has missed his object. Still, he is to read the text literally, without
skipping a word, or adding a syllable. The paper contains an outline of
the piece to be played, the names of the characters, the actors, and
the scene of action. The herald, by clipping his words and phrases,
by uniting things that should be divided; by pausing where there is
no pause, managed to mar his test completely, to make absurd mistakes
and ridiculous jokes, at which the public laughed till the tears ran
down their cheeks. Still they listened; they tried to guess the true
meaning. But the speaker was clever: he withdrew, leaving no one a whit
the wiser.
When he had disappeared, noisy strains of music sounded behind the
scenes, and the curtain rose.
The scene represented an elegant apartment with a large window opening
upon a country landscape; rich screens, a bed,--that is, a velvet
mattress,--and a number of cushions, furnished the chamber.
The audience at once recognized the scenery of one of the most popular
plays in the repertory of the theatre.
"It's the third act of the Vampire!" was whispered on every hand.
Only this one act of the Vampire, which is the best and most dramatic,
was given. The public expressed their satisfaction by a prolonged
murmur, and the curtain fell.
During the intermission most of the audience left the hall, and stormed
the adjoining tea-house. There the morning meal was served, or merely
warm drinks and a few dainties, amidst an indescribable tumult and
confusion. Every one expressed his opinion of the merits of the play
just witnessed, and of the actors' skill. Their gestures, their cries
and contortions, were imitated. Some attempted to repeat their capers,
to the great amusement of the spectators; others played chess, morra,
or dice.
The wait was a long one. The lads who took the part of women in the
first piece were to appear in the second as well; they must have time
to rest, take a bath, and change their dresses. But the time passed
pleasantly; people ate, smoked, and laughed, and then flocked merrily
back to the theatre.
The appearance of the hall was entirely different; all the ladies in
the boxes had changed their dresses, the new ones being still more
gorgeous than the first.
All eyes were bent on Yodogimi, eager to see how she could contrive
a second toilet worthy of that which had so recently dazzled all
beholders. Again they were mute with surprise. She seemed clothed
in jewels and woven flames; her robe was one mass of humming-bird
feathers, which flashed like sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and burning
coals. Those living gems had been slaughtered whole-sale to form an
ample garment, which cost the price of a castle.
The herald reappeared, delivered a speech no less mysterious than the
first, and the curtain rose.
A scene from the Onono-Komat-Ki was now given.
Onono-Komat was a lovely maiden attached to the Court of Kioto. Having
a passion for poetry, she devoted herself to study, and composed
verses; but in her love of perfection, the poem once written, she
washed it out and began again. Young men fell in love with her beauty,
and persecuted her with their attentions. She repulsed them, and
continued her favorite studies. But the persistent suitors could not
pardon her disdain; by base calumny they brought her into disgrace.
The inspired maiden left the palace, and wandered at random. By
degrees she became poorer and poorer; but her love of poetry never
failed. She contemplated the beauties of nature, and sang of them with
rare perfection of style. Age came; her hair turned white; she was
completely destitute, roaming from village to village, leaning on a
staff, a basket on her arm, and living on alms. Children gathered round
her when she sat at the gates of a temple; she smiled sweetly on them,
and taught them pretty verses. Sometimes a bonze would respectfully ask
leave to copy one of the poems stowed away in her basket. The inspired
singer died; then only was hatred silenced, and her glory shone forth.
She was deified, and her memory is reverenced by all men.
After representing various portions of the play descriptive of the life
of Onono-Komat, a burlesque interlude was played, and then the Taiko-Ki
at last began.
The curtain went up on a vast scene representing an encampment of
soldiers. The General's tent, rising high above the rest, was pitched
in the centre. Envoys came running in dismay, gesticulating wildly with
arms and legs.
"The General! the General! we must see the General at once!" they cry.
Then the curtains of the tent are parted, and Taiko appears. The
Humming-Top had succeeded in reproducing exactly the attitude and dress
of the hero he represented. The audience showed their satisfaction.
Those who, in their youth, had seen the illustrious Shogun, fancied
they beheld him once more.
"What do you want?" says Taiko.
The emissaries dare not open their lips.
"Well!" says Taiko, frowning, and clapping his hand to his sword.
"Sire, while you fight your country's foes, Mitsou-Fide, to whom you
intrusted the care of the kingdom, has seized the power."
At this news, Taiko's face passes successively from surprise to anxiety
and fury.
Meanwhile a man carrying a light on the end of a long bamboo pole, held
it close to the actor's face, that the public might not lose any of his
facial expression.
"Let us be off!" cries Taiko;' "my presence alone can restore order in
the palace."
He gives the command of his troops to one of his officers, and leaves
the stage by a raised passage through the parquet, and disappears
through a heavy curtain.
The stage revolved, and revealed the interior of a pagoda.
Taiko enters. He asks for a night's rest in the pagoda, and is told
that Mitsou-Fide has just arrived with his wife and mother. They are
travelling, and have stopped here. Taiko starts violently.
"My enemy so near!" he exclaims. "Shall I fly? No; I must disguise
myself."
He calls for a razor, shaves his head, and slips on the dress of a
bonze. He has scarcely fastened it, when Mitsou-Fide enters, and
casts a suspicious glance at Taiko; the latter, to appear at his ease
and quite calm, begins to sing a simple air, popular throughout the
kingdom:--
[Illustration: music bars]
"From the mountain top I gaze down into the valley.
The cucumbers and the hawthorn, hope of the harvest, are in bloom."
"Come here, bonze," says Mitsou-Fide. "My mother is tired after her
journey; you may prepare a bath for her."
"Who would have thought that I came here to play the part of servant?"
cries Taiko, turning towards the audience with most wonderful facial
expression. "I obey," he adds aloud.
The bath-room was only divided from the apartment which occupied
the stage by a screen covered with oiled paper. Taiko prepares the
bath; amusing the audience meantime by a thousand comical remarks,
accompanied by appropriate grimaces.
Mitsou-Fide's mother, enters, and asks if the bath is ready. On the
affirmative reply of the false bonze, she disappears behind the screen.
But Mitsou-Fide learns that Taiko is in the pagoda, and now rushes up
in a rage, shouting loudly for his enemy.
"He is in the bath," says a priest.
"He shall not escape me."
Taiko, during this scene, creeps off.
Mitsou-Fide cuts a long stock of bamboo in the garden, sharpens one end
of it, and hardens it over the coals in a bronze chafing-dish. Then
marching up to the dividing-screen, he pierces the paper with this
impromptu spear, and thinking to slay his enemy, kills his mother.
"What have I done?" he exclaims in alarm, on hearing a woman's shriek.
"You have killed your mother!" says his young wife, entering, pale with
horror, and trembling like a leaf.
"Repent! repent while she expires!" she cries, in a monotonous chant.
"This cruel murder, committed by your hand, is the vengeance of Heaven!
Did I not bid you beware of betraying your master? You usurped the
power. See to what ambition leads you; you have killed your mother! At
least repent while she expires."
"Alas! alas!" howls the murderer; "let us leave this accursed spot, let
us fly! Remorse rends my heart! For three days I possessed the power:
my punishment is terrible. My mother slain by my own hand! I cannot
believe it!"
He bursts into the bath-room; then comes out, with all the signs of
despair bordering on madness.
The stage again revolves, and represents a field. Taiko in battle
array, surrounded by soldiers, waits to intercept his enemy, who is
about to escape. Mitsou-Fide crosses the stage with a scanty train of
attendants; he is hemmed in by Taiko's men. The latter, after a long
speech, in which he overwhelms his unworthy servant with reproaches,
takes him prisoner and loads him with chains.
The curtain falls; the play is over.
It interested the audience deeply; in certain situations they
discovered analogies to the events which had so recently troubled the
country. Hieyas was often mentally substituted for Mitsou-Fide.
Everybody went home highly delighted.
Everybody? No. Fide-Yori had death in his soul. Omiti was not at the
performance. Nagato tried in vain to comfort his friend.
"I shall never see her again!" he cried. "I hoped that I might yet be
happy in this life; but misfortune clings to me persistently. Look you,
friend," he continued, "I long to die; I am overwhelmed with sorrow.
My mother's conduct, her mad and ruinous extravagance, displayed in
public, fill my heart with bitterness. Several times, when I heard the
rough voice of that soldier whom she is weak enough to love, I was on
the point of leaping into their box, slapping him in the face, and
driving her out, with the righteous wrath evoked by such a disregard of
all propriety and decency. And then my anger died at a gentle thought
which took possession of me. I hoped that she would come,--that maiden
in whom my every hope is centred; I searched the hall with an eager
glance. She did not come! All is ended; all is desolate within me; and
the life which she preserved I would fain lay down forever!"