LIVES OF THE YAKUSHA
The yakusha (lit., rôle man), of Kabuki, belongs to the actors’
fraternity, the brethren of the buskin, who form a peculiar company of
their own, irrespective of the lands from which they have sprung or the
creeds they hold.
Of Kabuki and its long line of brilliant actors, the world knows
nothing. Their art was good, although it received but scant
appreciation or recognition from those who occupied the seats of the
mighty.
They were faithful to their ideals, and what they have accomplished
is a contribution to the actor’s art of the world. In their day and
generation the yakusha were members of a degraded class, looked down
upon, derided, but nevertheless they were true to the theatre instinct
within them.
Similar to their fellows in the West, these actors of Japan met with
success and were the idols of the people. They died in harness, or
passed their remaining years in obscurity. There were players whose
names for some reason or other suddenly disappeared from the lists of
the theatre chroniclers—others about to lose their popularity were
fortunate enough to take a new lease of life, and continued to act
until old age claimed them.
It was not infrequent that the yakusha took it into his head to retire,
but, thinking better of it, returned again to the glamour of the stage.
Among the yakusha there were always some who grew monotonous and
old-fashioned, and failed to keep abreast of the times in which they
lived.
Above this innumerable tribe of play-folks tower the men of genius
who carried all before them, delighting the audiences of the three
theatre towns, the most-talked-of and most beloved personalities of the
time, taking ill while playing a favourite rôle, or breathing their
last in their dressing-rooms, in which they spent such a large portion
of their lives.
Many of the yakusha were similar to the Western actors in one
respect—they were great spendthrifts, and the larger the earnings the
greater the extravagance displayed. When the authorities in Yedo who
presided over the affairs of the theatre found a yakusha who was too
fond of display, his goods were confiscated, or else he was obliged to
pay a penalty.
Considerable literary ability was found among these despised
theatre-folk. They were especially fond of poetry; and studied under
the masters of the different forms of short poems, and often excelled.
The part the yakusha played in the composition of the Kabuki plays
has not been fully acknowledged. That they often wrote plays or aided
materially in the collaboration is well known. It was a common stage
custom for the actors to improvise in the plays to suit themselves, and
while the greater portion of this ephemeral material has perished, much
remains to be seen, particularly in the eighteen traditional pieces of
the Ichikawa family.
That the yakusha had the heart to study literature and compose poems
is very much in their favour, when it is considered that they were
regarded as a low class of persons—the dregs of society. It would
have been quite natural if they had neglected the difficult art of
calligraphy, owing to their strenuous lives in the theatre, but many
yakusha were as versed in writing the complicated characters as they
were in all the other accomplishments that distinguished the genteel
person of Japan at this time. One actor was so proud, of his ability in
this direction that he wrote long epistles the better to show off his
accomplishment.
[Illustration: YAKUSHA MAKING A ROUND OF NEW YEAR CALLS. In the
foreground a member of the Ichikawa family, with two pupils and his
servants, following behind an onnagata similarly attended. The kites in
the picture show the favourite pastime of children during the New Year
holidays. (Colour print by Hasegawa Kanpei, the fourteenth, and Torii
Kiyosada, father of Kiyotada.)]
They intermarried to a remarkable extent. Since they were
segregated to certain quarters near the theatre, they chose their wives
for the most part from among their own fraternity. The daughters of
actor families married men of their father’s profession, and their
daughters again became the wives of actors. This brought about such
complicated genealogies that it became impossible to unravel the
tangled relationships.
Now and then a yakusha strayed out of the fold and took unto himself a
farmer’s daughter, or, as was quite common, selected a maiden who had
passed her life in the theatre atmosphere, daughter of the proprietor
of a chaya, or theatre tea-house, that catered daily to the audience.
Sometimes a yakusha had for father the keeper of a restaurant, and the
sons of wrestlers made good actors as they were of fine physique.
Many of the leading actors were sons of ronin, or samurai who had
severed connection with their feudal lord and joined the ranks of the
common people. The first Danjuro was of samurai stock, his father a
ronin. Again, the dissipated sons of military families took up acting
as a profession when turned out of doors by their stern samurai fathers
for their sins and omissions.
A famous onnagata, Yoshisawa Ayame, was a page in a samurai house
before he became an actor. The first Nakamura Utayemon was the son of
a physician. Others were sons of ningyo-tsukai or doll-handlers in
the puppet theatre, and the yakusha were related to stage musicians,
dancing teachers, costumers, and even the menials of the theatre.
Arashi Kanjuro became a colour-print artist under Toyokuni, and was
called Kunihara.
Not infrequently the yakusha studied the Nō, and introduced many
features of the classic drama into his own productions. There were
actors of refinement, who stood apart from the vulgarity of their
day, but on the other hand a great many who, influenced by the odium
attached to their profession, led loose and immoral lives. But in this
they only followed the lead of their times, for vulgarity and
sensuality was the order of the day, as might have been expected, since
the monotony of peace and the stagnant regime of the Tokugawa Shogunate
were largely responsible for the licentiousness that prevailed.
At this time there were actors who worked as understudies and were not
regularly employed, and when not on the stage earned money by their
immoralities. They did not accept compensation from the theatre, but
appeared for the sake of exhibiting their personal charms and provided
their own costumes. Until 1830 these good-looking young men were to
be found in private tea-houses in connection with the theatre, and
from their ranks came some of the famous onnagata. This is the other
side of the theatre, but accounts in large measure for the deep social
prejudice that existed against the Kabuki yakusha, a prejudice that is
by no means entirely removed at the present day, although the standing
of the actors has been elevated and their position in one of Japan’s
most characteristic institutions is fully recognised.
Sons born in a leading actor’s family were given a thorough stage
training, making their first bow to the audience while still infants
in arms, but less fortunate children had great difficulty in winning
a place on the stage. Yakusha who succeeded without family, and who
relied only upon their talents, often received their early stage
apprenticeship as members of travelling companies, or were seen in
kodomo shibai, or children’s theatre companies. There were, also,
temporary theatres set up in compounds of shrines, called miya shibai,
or shrine theatres, and those along the river, called hama shibai, or
shore theatres. The ability of many a popular actor was very often
first discovered in such surroundings.
It was difficult for the outsider to break through the yakusha caste.
The family system of preserving the line was as strong among the
yakusha as it was from the Shogun and aristocracy down to artists,
artisans, tea ceremony and flower arrangement teachers and
musicians. And if there was no direct descendant to inherit the family
name an heir was adopted. This forms one of the most interesting
characteristics of the yakusha, for the son not only succeeded to the
family name, but carried on the traditions of his father’s stage art
with an unswerving fidelity, preserving the inheritance of the past,
but also attempting to enhance the reputation of the family, and in
turn passing on the capital and accumulated interest to the next
successor.
The inclination of the yakusha towards Buddhism was very strong.
_Kabuki Koto Hajime_, or Beginnings of Kabuki, says with regard to this
characteristic:
“Those who played tragic rôles wanted to borrow the power of _Hokkekyo_
(Buddhist Scripture of the Lotus of the Good Law), and especially were
faithful to the Nichiren sect (founded by Nichiren, the stormy petrel
of Japanese Buddhism, seven hundred years ago). They had to have some
religion to forget the terrible characters they played, as they might
be haunted by them when they went home.”
Ichimura Takenojo, a nephew of the first Ichimura Uzaemon, the
proprietor of the Ichimura-za, became an acolyte in a Buddhist seminary
in the district of Honjo, Yedo. He had his head shaved and put on
priest’s robes, and giving up the applause of the stage for the calm of
the cloister, went straight off to the Buddhist institution. Afterwards
he studied at Hiei-zan, the mountain monastery overlooking Kyoto, and
rose to a leading position in the priesthood, becoming the head priest
of a mountain temple, and returning to a Yedo temple, where he died in
his old age. Yamashita Kyoyemon, contemporary of Sakata Tojuro, had a
priest brother, and Yamatoya Imbei of Osaka had two Buddhist priests
for brothers.
Ichikawa Danshiro, the most talented pupil of the first Ichikawa
Danjuro, left the stage in the middle of his career to become a
priest. Many urgent messages were sent from his former theatre in
Yedo requesting him to rejoin the actors, and at last he consented on
condition that he return immediately the performances were over to
his secluded temple life.
Of quite a different character was Miyasaki Denkichi’s connection with
Buddhism. He was with other actors imprisoned on account of a scandal
in a nunnery, and since the head nun was a favourite of the Shogun’s
Court she was sentenced to death.
Many of the yakusha shaved their heads as a sign of their retirement
from active life. The fourth Ichikawa Danjuro was one of those who
voluntarily abandoned a flourishing career, and Sadoshima Chogoro, the
author of _Sadoshima Nikki_, or Journal of Sadoshima, took a holy name,
and lived in front of the Kennin-ji, a Buddhist temple, in Kyoto.
Some of the star actors went on pilgrimages. Arashi Sangoro visited
the thirty-three temples sacred to Kwannon, the Goddess of Mercy, in
Kyushu, and afterwards became a priest.
The yakusha had his superstitions. He went to shrines and prayed to
obtain the fame of actors past and gone, or made special supplications
that he might be successful in a new rôle. He was like other men; he
mixed up in fights and had to go to prison, he had his love affairs
and rivalries; sometimes became despondent and committed suicide
early, or retired to open a shop dealing in incense, or white powder
for the face. There were not only skilled musicians, amateur poets,
and painters among them, but they were uppermost in the making and
producing of plays. They were able to sew their own stage costumes
and to embroider them with elaborate designs. Their costumes had
a considerable effect upon the fashions, inducing men to dress in
extravagant taste, while women of good families followed the example
set by the actors on the stage, copying colours, designs, and styles,
even the width of the obi.
The yakusha travelled up and down the country from Yedo to Osaka and
Kyoto, held their anniversaries and ceremonies, and were careful
of the type, training their sons in the way they should go. In spite
of this, misfortune often overtook a prosperous family, and the line
withered away. It was renewed by some young relative, only to disappear
in after years. No family flourished generation after generation as did
the Ichikawa Danjuro line, and yet there is no representative of this
name upon the Tokyo stage to-day.
Nakamura Nakazo is on record as having expressed the opinion that
actors should not be seen in public, but should be known only on the
stage, and secure fame by their art alone. He thought it was a mistake
for play-folk to attend picnics, moon-gazing or snow-viewing parties,
or mix with the crowd.
The second Ichikawa Danjuro was also a believer in the actor’s
anonymity and seclusion from the public, and considered that if an
actor was not good-looking he would not appear to advantage on the
street. It is true that if the yakusha went out wearing fine apparel
and attracted people by his dignified bearing, the defects of his
character or lack of talent would be hidden. As the face of the yakusha
was certain to be less attractive off the stage than on, he should take
care not to be seen by the people.
Danjuro further declared that as an actor’s life was full of anxiety,
it was necessary that he should enjoy all the comforts of home, and
receive every care to maintain his health. It was best for the yakusha
to stay at home, so that he would have no occasion to become angry, and
as he was the object of public attention he should aim to be as refined
and beautiful as possible.
When young, Danjuro the second thought, the yakusha should wear his
head covered, and in middle age that he should ride in a kago, the
basket conveyance hung on two poles and carried on the shoulders of
bearers. And this must not be regarded as extravagance, but to make a
good impression upon theatre-goers and therefore a duty to the theatre
proprietor, for he considered it of the greatest importance for a
yakusha to be magnificent in order to fill an eminent position.
Contrary to Danjuro’s opinion, Sawamura Sojuro, the first, believed in
the simple life for an actor. He said a chief actor should mingle with
the people in the streets, and aim to be unpretentious, for a yakusha
would thereby be able to learn of his defects upon the stage. As for
clothing, it was quite sufficient to have one kimono for each season.
It was, however, natural to wish to dress well, but it often proved
ruinous. It was best for the yakusha to leave his name to posterity as
a stage celebrity rather than as a millionaire, to be remembered for
his art rather than for his money.
Kataoka Nizaemon, the first, of Osaka, declared that actors should be
conversant with poetry and literature, and know all subjects relating
to Buddhism and Shintoism, information that would be of use to them on
the stage.
When Ichikawa Danjuro, the second, built a fine new residence after
his dwelling had been burned down, he gave a house-warming party, and
a hundred short poems were written by the guests who attended. In the
tokonoma, or recess of the reception-room, was hung an autographed
poem by Kikaku, a well-known versifier. On the sliding doors were
pictures by artists of the Tosa School. The small metal pieces inserted
into the doors were of the best workmanship. There was a painting of
chrysanthemums done especially for Danjuro by the master of flowers,
Korin, and a flower vase after a design by Basho.
He counted among his friends many of the intellectuals of his day, and
upon one occasion he was seen out for a walk between Hanabusa Icho, the
painter, and Kikaku, the poet, the two outstanding geniuses of the age.
His name was known at the Shogun’s Court, for there is a mention in the
diary of a daimyo, Matsura Sezan, that one day the Shogun, Tokugawa
Yoshimune, passed through the ward of Honjo, and the route took him
near a shrine where he noticed a votive offering on which was written
a poem, signed Hakuin, Danjuro’s poetry name. Appreciating the
literary talent the poem revealed, the Shogun turned to his retinue and
asked who had composed it, but as none of them knew, he explained that
it was the nom de plume of Ichikawa Danjuro.
[Illustration: Matsumoto Koshiro in the rôle of an otokodate, or
chivalrous commoner, ready to defend the oppressed lower classes from
the blustering two-sworded samurai.]
Nakamura Nakazo has left mention in his journal concerning a visit he
made to a member of the Choshu clan, to the effect that he had been
invited by a retired personage to his residence, made of hinoki wood,
meaning a mansion such as was erected for the aristocracy, and that
he was entertained with tea and asked to dance. The appreciative host
not only gave each one of the party a gift, but after his return to
his domain in Choshu he sent Nakazo a suzuri, or box for holding the
Japanese writing brush and ink stone.
Retired persons of the upper class were considered privileged to enjoy
life as they pleased, and they often went to the theatre incognito.
After the performance they invited the actors to the chaya, and gave
them gifts.
Actor worship permeated the people; the playgoers of the three towns
enjoyed them, criticised, gossiped about them, even as they do at the
present day. The theatre was the great recreation of the people, and
the actors, how they looked, how apparelled, and the quality of their
acting formed the endless topic of conversations and discussions.
And yet in spite of the fact that the actors held such a firm place
in the affections of the people; that they were the exponents of a
theatre which reflected the national characteristics to a remarkable
extent; that they represented the taste, style, and ideas of their time
in no small degree, and that they were often men of cultivation and
refinement off the stage,—their profession was scorned.
They were the object of long persecution. It would be difficult to find
in the history of the theatre throughout the world a deeper prejudice
or more complete contempt for the actor than has been the portion of
the Kabuki yakusha.
This state of affairs was largely due to the attitude adopted
towards the theatre by the Tokugawa government. From the official
standpoint the theatre was a vulgar institution and had an immoral
effect upon society. Through the production of socialistic plays, the
minds of the people were influenced, and the authorities sought to
control the overflowing life that found a vent in theatre-going. The
theatre also encouraged luxury, causing the people to wander away from
the paths of economy, and to desire the elaborate houses, furniture,
and clothing they saw upon the stage.
The strict control exercised over the actors was not all due to the
desire of the governing classes to elevate and improve the governed.
It was part of their plan to keep back the natural democracy of the
people, which, like a rising tide, threatened to grow stronger than was
good for the welfare of the shogunate.
Murdoch in his _History of Japan_, in characterising the rule of the
Shoguns, touches the core of the matter when he says:
“The Yedo machine of mediocrities had converted Japan from a
progressive into a stationary state, chiefly because the Tokugawa
flunkeys of those days wished to preserve their own position....”
And it was the officials of government who were under the conviction
that the theatre and actors were a source of moral corruption, and in
consequence saw to it that this particular sphere of influence was
segregated to special sites in the three towns, much in the same way
that the “gay quarters” were separated from the ordinary channels of
life.
But this was not sufficient restraint, and social intercourse with the
townsmen was forbidden. To complete the social boycott the actors were
obliged to reside together, were prohibited from going far from their
homes and ordered to keep well within their own preserves; they could
not mingle with the people unless they wore a deep basket-like straw
hat that hid their faces from sight.
Saruwaka Kansaburo, in 1624, in compliance with the Shogun’s order
sang a sailor’s song at the helm of the Shogun’s pleasure boat, and in
1648 he and his followers were summoned to the Shogun’s palace to show
their art.
But in 1719, when the mother of the eighth Shogun, Yoshimune, and his
children wished to see dancing and were about to send for the actors,
the officials opposed the plan, reminding them of Yenoshima, the Court
lady, and her scandal with the actor Ikushima Shingoro. Doll performers
were ordered to attend instead.
As for the status of the yakusha, it fell very low indeed after
Saruwaka Sansaburo’s time, for they were ranked among the lowest
classes, but one degree removed from the eta, the pariah class. In the
census lists they were not entered as other men, but were noted by the
numeral suffix, then used in the enumeration of cattle.
Although it was the deliberate aim of the Government to lower the
standing of the actors, it is clear they were not placed on the
same level as those outcasts of society, the eta, as is seen from a
judgement given in a law court in 1708.
Satsuma Kogenda held a Kabuki performance in a village called Masaki,
in the Province of Awa. The eta were debarred from attendance, and
three hundred of them living in the neighbourhood were so enraged, they
attacked and destroyed the theatre. A representative of the outcasts
filed a suit in court against the theatre-owner and actors, as well as
the musicians, but a decision was given in favour of the theatre, and
the leaders among the eta who had instigated the attack were sentenced
to exile.
In _Okina Gusa_ (lit., Old Man Sayings) there is an account which
well illustrates the social attitude towards the actor. Kirinoya
Gonjuro, who acted chiefly in Osaka and Kyoto, was the son of a
flower-arrangement teacher. A certain official living in Kyoto belonged
to the same school of flower-arrangement as the actor’s father, and the
two were on friendly terms. When Kirinoya was appearing in Kyoto he
had to go to the magistrate’s office on some business connected
with the theatre, and the official discovered that his friend’s son
had joined the ranks of the vulgar Kabuki players. He ordered Kirinoya
to call at his residence, and when he did so he would not allow him to
enter, but commanded him to prostrate himself on the ground before the
entrance, and is reported to have said to him:
“Although I have been a friend of your father, your status in society
is quite beyond the pale of intercourse. If you cease to be an actor I
will allow you to enter my house and will renew our friendship, but not
otherwise.”
The actor, quite overcome at this prejudiced attitude, replied:
“I thank you for your kindness, but it is impossible for me to give up
my profession. Although I have thus lowered myself in the social scale,
I am chief among the actors, and there are many of my followers who are
dependent upon me for a livelihood. I cannot deprive them of this. Even
among us who are despised there is loyalty and fidelity, and I have no
other course but to follow my profession. In this case I cannot see you
again.”
Another sidelight upon the social prejudice against actors is shown by
a story that is told of Kosagawa Juyemon, a samurai in the service of
a certain feudal lord, who had become an actor from choice. A member
of his family went to the theatre where he was employed, and being
informed that he was acting under his own name grew so infuriated that
he threatened to kill the young man, but was finally pacified by the
people of the theatre.
In _Kabuki Koto Hajime_, or the Beginnings of Kabuki, the author rises
to the defence of the actor: “The Kawara Kojiki (Riverside Beggars)
all belonged to the common people. But this was not so in reality.
They washed and cleaned their bodies before praying for the safety and
prosperity of the country. What is said of them is not true.”
Dr. Yuzo Tsubouchi, one of the leading modern dramatists, in
commenting on the prejudice against the actors, writes: “Many persons
despised them and still harboured against them the prejudice which had
originated in the tradition that they had been put under the control
of the eta during the Kamakura shogunate. Even at the close of the
Tokugawa rule they were not looked upon as respectable citizens, and
consequently the military class studiously avoided intercourse with
them and refrained from visiting the theatre.”
In a similar strain the late Rev. Arthur Lloyd says in his _Notes on
Japanese Drama_ in the Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan:
“The shibai had but a poor reputation. No samurai or respectable person
would have degraded himself by attendance at a performance. They were
compelled to live like eta, in Ghettos or districts of their own, being
shunned by all persons of position or repute. It was folly to expect
anything at all noble or inspiring from persons compelled to live in
such surroundings, and it speaks volumes for the despised play-actors
and playwrights that they did not sink lower.”
Captain Francis Brinkley in the chapter dealing with Refinements and
Pastimes in his _Japan: its History, Arts and Literature_, writes as
follows regarding the attitude toward the actors of Meiji: “Ichikawa
Danjuro and Onoe Kikugoro, the princes of the stage at present, would
long ago have earned a world-wide reputation had their lot been cast
in any Western country. There cannot be any second opinion about their
capacities, or about their title to rank with the great tragedians of
the world. But in their own country, though their names are household
words, taint of their profession clings to them still. Men speak of
them as a ballet dancer of extraordinary agility or a banjo player
of eminent skill would be spoken of in Europe or America—renowned
exponents of a renownless art.”
Undoubtedly this attitude of the upper classes had much to do with the
triviality and vulgarity that existed in the theatre. But on the other
hand, the isolated actors and playwrights belonged all the more
to the theatre. Left without leadership, they worked out their own
salvation, and made their own standards. Lacking the stimulus that the
recognition and encouragement of the highest in the land might have
given them, they were able through their own innate sense of art and
unerring desire for beauty to bring about the present rich accumulation
of artistic forces within Kabuki which may yet be an impetus to the
Western theatre, hungry as it is for just such fare as Kabuki is able
to provide so bountifully.
When all is considered the yakusha was more sinned against than
sinning. In fact, he was often more cultivated than the ordinary
citizen, even the samurai who, especially in the lower ranks, were
merely rough, unlearned soldiery, and often knew nothing of courtesy
or manners. “Too often”, says Fenollosa, “we have read that the whole
brilliancy and value of Japan lay in her samurai.”
The yakusha excelled in military arts, they used judo and fencing with
good effect on the stage, and were expert in swordsmanship. They were
obliged to be skilled counterfeiters of the samurai, since the most
popular plays were those dealing with the exploits of the two-sworded
hero, and nothing pleased playgoers better than to see the stately
daimyo and his loyal retainers represented on the stage, for they were
personages so far removed from the everyday life of the plain citizen.
After all, it was the outcast yakusha who upheld the flower of
chivalry and idealised the faithfulness of man for master, loyalty and
self-sacrifice, the favourite themes of the plays.
Again, it was the yakusha, held in such low esteem, who was to keep
alive the feudal age, long after it had passed away. And it is the
yakusha to-day who maintains the dignity of bearing and represents
the heroic deeds of the samurai, when many of their descendants have
wellnigh forgotten the principles that actuated their ancestors.
[Illustration: Nakamura Kichiyemon as Kumagae, a warrior of Old Japan.]
SHIBAI