CUSTOMS OF SHIBAI
One of the most remarkable customs connected with theatre going was
the unearthly hour in the morning the shibai opened. Just before dawn,
or between four and five o’clock, the big drum in the drum-tower was
beaten as a signal that the performances were about to begin.
Those who lived near the theatres were obliged to hurry over an early
breakfast that they might reach the playhouse by sunrise, but to the
playgoers who were obliged to walk miles on foot, or countryfolk bent
on seeing the famous actors, it was a matter of lengthy preparations
the day before, and their journey shibaiwards was begun in the darkness
of night. To a woman especially it was a serious undertaking to attend
shibai, because hours were spent in oiling and arranging the hair,
bathing, dressing, and making the face as attractive as possible with
paint and powder.
Only the most enthusiastic playgoers planned on reaching the shibai
in time for the first piece, and it was customary for people to stay
overnight at the shibai chaya, or at an inn to be in readiness for
the great event. To children allowed to accompany their elders the
excitement preparatory to setting forth in the dead of night must have
made these unforgettable occasions thrilling adventures. If by chance
the grandparents formed part of the party, the child would listen
to reminiscences of the fathers and grandfathers of the actors then
playing, and the youthful playgoers when grown up would in turn recall
their early visits to shibai, the long day spent in the theatre,
the dinner at sunset in the tea-house, after which came the return
homeward.
By the time the first golden rays of the sun were gilding the
grey-tiled roofs of the town, people might have been seen coming from
all directions to theatre street, where the scenes were so lively that,
according to an old book, _Kokon Yakusha Taizen_, or Ancient and Modern
Actors, “the prosperity seen outside the shibai every day cannot be
expressed by a writing brush”.
And, indeed, the excitement of arrival must have compensated for the
loss of sleep and long travel, for there was noise and confusion
outside the theatre where the bill-boards, gorgeous posters depicting
the characters in the play in brilliant colours on powdered gold
backgrounds, glistened in the sunlight, the many coloured flags,
presented to the actors on which their names were to be seen, floated
bravely in the breeze, and rows of lanterns bearing the actor’s crest
decorated the theatre inside and out.
In a translation made by the late Lord Redesdale and published in _The
Far East Magazine_ in 1871, there is a description of the shibai taken
from an old book about the sights of Yedo, which gives an intimate
picture of the interior as it looked to a playgoer of that day.
“The gallery ... is hung with curtains as bright as the rainbow in the
departing clouds. The place soon becomes so crowded that the heads of
the spectators are like the scales on a dragon’s back. When the play
begins, if the subject be tragic, the spectators are so affected that
they weep till they have to wring their sleeves dry. If the piece be
comic they laugh till their chins are out of joint. The tricks and
stratagems of the drama baffle description, and the actors are as
graceful as the flight of the swallows. The triumph of persecuted
virtue and the punishment of wickedness invariably crown the story.
When a favourite actor makes his appearance his entry is hailed with
cheers. Fun and diversion are the order of the day, and rich and poor
alike forget the cares which they have left behind them at home;
and yet it is not all idle amusement, for there is a moral included and
a practical sermon in every play.”
As a testimonial to the respect the actors felt for their high calling,
and a link with the ceremonial traditions of theatricals in Japan, it
was the custom for a comic dance, or Sambasso, to precede the regular
performances, and this was given before the sun had risen.
Originally Sambasso was a mirth-provoking dance performed in the
courtyards of Shinto shrines to give pleasure to the gods. Sambasso
is the masked figure of a jovial old man clad in ample robes bearing
designs of large white storks, pine branches, tortoises and other
emblems of good luck. He moves to the slow measures of flute and
drum, postures with a fan, or shakes a bunch of bells used in the
kagura, or Shinto dances. This ancient performance long ago passed
into the possession of the Nō stage, became one of its most treasured
ceremonies, is given on auspicious occasions, the secrets jealously
guarded and handed down from father to son, the actors fasting and
cleansing themselves before taking part in it.
Both the Doll-theatre and Kabuki appropriated Sambasso, modifying it
to suit their own requirements. As to its outer appearance, the figure
was a venerable old personage, but in fact it was believed to be the
personification of one of the great deities worshipped at a chief
Shinto shrine. This top-heavy, humoresque dancer, one of the most
ancient theatrical figures extant in the world, that is faithfully
preserved to-day and has a thousand years behind it, was looked upon
by the theatre-folk with the deepest reverence and awe, since the
performance of this dance meant the purification of the stage. It is
well to recall this, when the yakusha of Old Japan are stigmatised as
vicious, plebeian, loose, and immoral.
A picture of the stage in the early hours of the day, before the sun
had made its appearance, is found in the old record of shibai, _Kokon
Yakusha Taizen_, or Ancient and Modern Actors.
It tells how above the heads of the audience there were lanterns
on which were to be seen the actors’ crests, and suspended from the
gallery hung others bearing the symbols of the tea-houses. In front of
the stage many candles were seen burning. First, there was the Sambasso
dance, and after this all the play actors with the principal actor in
advance made their entrance upon the stage, each carrying a lighted
candle in his hand and clad in ceremonial skirts, long and voluminous,
that encased their feet and flowed yards behind them like a lady’s
train—the same costume worn by the great daimyo when attending social
and state functions at the Shogun’s Court. The spokesman for the actors
asked the patronage of the audience for ten thousand years, meaning to
the end of time, a characteristic salutation of Asia, and in response
the audience signified their appreciation by clapping their hands.
When the actors had retired, music was heard and an auspicious song
was sung, the _Shikainami_, or Waves of the Four Seas, a passage from
_Takasago_, a Nō play in which a prayer is made for the peace of the
world and the smoothness of the waves in the four seas.
Following this, an announcement of the programme was read by a
dignitary of the theatre. He began by crying out in a ringing voice:
“Tozai! Tozai!” or “East-West! East-West!” This was to call the
attention of people to the east and the west, and, indeed, in all parts
of the theatre, who were thus admonished to listen to the important
details of the plays to be acted. These men knelt down on the stage in
front of the curtain, and read the programme in a peculiar style and
with a flourish that belonged to the theatre. Gradually they became
few in number, their salaries were decreased, and their place in the
theatre was less and less recognised. The custom is now and then seen
to-day, particularly at the beginning of Takeda Izumo’s _Chushingura_.
A puppet announcer is placed outside the curtain and manipulated from
behind, the doll going through the motions of an animated delivery
of details connected with the play while an actor behind is
responsible for the words.
Special performances were given four times a year, when the shibai
ceremonial had a distinct place of its own; these were the celebration
of the New Year, Spring, the Bon, or Festival of the Dead, in
midsummer, and the opening of the shibai season in November. One of the
most interesting of these was the Kaomise, or Face-Showing ceremony, on
which occasion the actors were displayed before the admiring gaze of
the audience, not as characters in a play, but in their own persons, to
ask for the patronage of the people. It was a gracious acknowledgement
of their close relationship to the audience, and at the same time gave
expression to a subtle flattery of the playgoers, whom they thus took
into full confidence as an essential part of the theatre.
The Kaomise was generally held in November with the inauguration of new
theatrical season. At this time the actors prayed for the peace of the
country and a bountiful harvest. Elaborate preparations were made. The
night before many gay lanterns were seen on the theatre streets, even
before the smallest and most insignificant of buildings. The actors’
residences as well as the shibai tea-houses were bright with crested
lanterns, and large ones were placed at the entrance to the theatre and
on each side of the actors’ dressing-rooms. It was a veritable feast of
lanterns.
At this time the actors who had been engaged for the season were
announced. It meant a new combination of players, for Kyoto and Osaka
yakusha would come to Yedo, and _vice versa_. The playwrights and
musicians who were to serve the theatre for the ensuing year were also
secured, and proper announcements made during the Kaomise, as well as
the forthcoming plays, whether newly written or old favourites in a new
guise.
In the Kaomise ceremony the actors came to the stage by turns, and
addressing the audience in an intimate way told what characters they
would play, that they were glad to see the audience, and asked
for their favour. This took up a great deal of time, but the occasion
was gay and pleasant, and formed a fitting beginning to the theatre
season. On the first day there was no charge for admission, and after
the actors had introduced themselves special plays were performed.
Details of the Kaomise differed in the three towns, and varied
according to the taste of the actors, who improvised to suit their own
fancy. In Osaka, according to the _Kokon Yakusha Taizen_, the Kaomise
was given seven times in succession, beginning in the evening and
terminating in the small hours of the next day. Lanterns festooned
the Dotombori, Osaka’s chief theatre street, bearing the crests of
the leading actors. Gifts to the actors consisting of tubs of sake,
bales of rice, dried fish, etc., were piled up so high as to reach the
drum-tower. Playgoers came in boats by way of the Dotombori canal,
the town being transected, then as now, by innumerable waterways. The
author declares that the Osaka Kaomise was superior in attractions to
similar ceremonies in Yedo or Kyoto, and that the scene was so fine
that words could not be found to give it adequate description.
The dignity of the theatre was again shown in the Kojo, another
announcement ceremony, when a promotion in rank, succession to a new
stage name, or accession to the headship of an illustrious actor-family
was made known to the audience. At such times the actors prostrated
themselves on the stage, their heads touching their outspread hands.
Then the chief actor would raise his face and speak on behalf of the
actor whose change in rank or name was thus announced. He would in his
turn, with the utmost modesty and humility, ask the audience to be
lenient with his many mistakes, but that he hoped to improve and to
please them in the future.
Among the many actor customs there was the Ashigoroye, or
Arranging-the-Feet-in-Good-Order. Previous to the opening day of a new
performance, the young actors would assemble outside the theatre
and then proceed to the residence of the head of the company, their
chief, who would receive them in state, sitting in a place of ceremony.
The guests were clad in their best garments, and each one would receive
a cup of sake from the host and return it to him. After partaking of a
feast, all were requested to contribute to the evening’s entertainment
by a song or dance. This custom gradually disappeared.
In connection with the November Kaomise there was a social
gathering of the theatre people called the Yosehajime, or
Getting-Together-for-the-First-Time. The men employed in the business
management of the theatre attired in their best, carrying large
lanterns in their hands adorned with the crest of the theatre,
proceeded to the homes of the actors, where they were received and a
fine repast spread before them.
Then the chief actors repaired to the residence of the theatre manager
where they were warmly welcomed, while the onnagata gathered at the
home of the leading onnagata, as might have been expected of such
lady-like players.
At length actors, playwrights, managers, and musicians, all those
engaged for the year to fill their respective niches in the theatre
world, assembled outside the shibai just beneath the drum-tower, a
goodly company of theatre-folk on the best of terms with one another.
Under the leadership of the manager, they entered the theatre where a
banquet was held in a room behind the stage.
[Illustration: To mark the opening of the theatre season when actors,
playwrights, and musicians were engaged, there was a gathering called
Seeing-For-The-First-Time. (Colour print by Torii Kiyonaga.)]
There is a colour print by Torii Kiyonaga, painted and printed in
1784, depicting this custom so faithfully that it brings the scene
vividly before our eyes. It shows the low two-storied houses on each
side of theatre street in Yedo, with a glimpse of the drum-tower of
the Nakamura-za to the right. On the big lanterns elevated on poles on
each side of the theatre entrances, are seen the crests that recall
the dream of Saruwaka Kansaburo, the founder of Yedo Kabuki, while
waiting for a licence to open his theatre. He dreamed that a stork
with a branch of an icho tree in its beak flew from the summit
of Mount Fuji and entered his house. He took this as a good omen for
his new enterprise, and the theatre crests were chosen in accordance
with his dream. In Kiyonaga’s print a flying stork is seen on one
lantern, a fan-shaped icho leaf on the other, while these two emblems
of the Nakamura-za are represented on the paper spheres adorning the
tea-houses and actors’ residences that line each side of the narrow
thoroughfare.
In this picture the representatives of the theatre world are clad
in the silk shirts and the stiff upper garments, or kamishimo, worn
over the shoulders and tucked into their belts, that distinguished
the gentleman of that day. If the yakusha were spoken of as riverside
beggars, they still clung to the conventional garb of the middle and
upper classes at that time worn in Japan. They also carried a sword
in their belts, which was the privilege of the samurai. But this
concession had been allowed since the Shogun had issued an order that
the actors should be taught morality, and as a step towards their
“uplift” it was commanded that they should be neatly dressed and wear a
sword on leaving the theatre. When the play was over, the chief actor
was escorted home by two young actors, a servant bearing a chest of
clothing. The onnagata was accompanied to his house by attendants,
one holding a big protecting umbrella over the head of the creator of
feminine rôles.
With a similar display of dignity, the actor made his round of calls
during the New Year season, the sleeves of his kimono bearing the crest
of his family, a retinue following in his wake, the cynosure of all
eyes as he passed through the admiring throngs of holiday-makers.
There were interesting customs in connection with the door-keepers.
They were strangely costumed in long trailing women’s kimono, of vivid
hues and bearing loud designs, thrown on carelessly over their ordinary
wearing apparel, ostensibly to keep themselves warm, as they sat for
long hours on raised platforms just outside the entrance doors, but in
reality this striking attire was assumed to attract the attention
of the public. Over their heads and drawn down over their ears were
towels that were dyed with the crest of the chief actor of the theatre.
One of these men was busy dealing out the tickets, long oblong pieces
of wood, on which were written the big black Chinese characters
denoting the place in the theatre it entitled the purchaser to take.
The second door-keeper was more of a persuader than a distributor of
wooden tickets, for with fan in hand he gesticulated while he loudly
advertised the plays and players, sometimes imitating the delivery
of the actor’s lines. His task was to keep up a flow of small talk,
interspersed with wit and humour, and so induce people to enter.
[Illustration: ADVERTISING THE PLAY. During the performances two men
garbed in long trailing feminine attire, their heads covered with
cotton towels, attracted the passers-by by their verbal advertisement.
One imitated the lines of the actors, and the other handed out wooden
tickets. (Colour print by Hasegawa Kanpei, the fourteenth, and Torii
Kiyosada, father of Kiyotada.)]
Previous to the opening day, the door-keepers read the names of the
plays, the actors, and their parts. Dressed in their womanish kimono
they presented an extraordinary sight, as, holding between them a long
paper scroll on which the programme was written, they delivered their
voluble announcement to the crowds anxious to hear news of what was
going forward in the shibai.
With a change of programme, the actors and their rôles were advertised
to the public by an actor’s crest board, narrow pieces of wood with the
crest at the top. These were arranged side by side outside the shibai.
One of the most interesting customs was the kamban, or bill-board on
which paintings of a high order were frequently to be seen. These
posters illustrating the plays, done in bright colours, were hung
on kamban that were bordered by wide lacquered frames often richly
ornamented with brass, and placed along the front of the shibai.
A special school of painters was called into being to look after these
pictorial advertisements, and they became the specialty of the Torii
family. They were first started in Genroku by an actor-founder of this
line of theatre artists. Less beautiful street posters were pasted up
on fences and houses where several roads met.
With the beginning of Kabuki, the shibai advertisements consisted
of boards on which Chinese characters were written. Later on,
in Kyoto these simple announcements were framed and decorated with
artificial flowers. To make them even more attractive an actor pasted
a picture on the board. These posters were placed in the street to
proclaim to the passer-by the nature of the coming performances.
This custom originated with Nagoya Sansaburo, when he sought to make
O-Kuni’s river-bed show widely known. He was the first person to write
announcements on wood in Chinese characters and to set them up at the
cross-roads.
The founder of the Torii family was an Osaka actor, who followed the
onnagata specialty, but painting was his hobby, and he began to make
pictures for the kamban of Dotombori. Later he removed to Yedo. His
son, Kiyonobu, inherited his father’s talent, and as his style of
painting greatly pleased the Yedo people, he soon became very popular
and was called Torii, the first.
It is recorded that an artist of another school was requested to make
the Yedo Kamban. In 1818 there was a disagreement between the then
reigning theatre artist Torii Kiyomitsu and the management of the
Kawarazaki-za, with the result that Utagawa Kuniyoshi was asked to
undertake the work. He chose for his subject O-Kuni Kabuki, and treated
it so well that all Yedo made a pilgrimage to gaze upon the picture,
and the plays in progress within the shibai proved to be of lesser
attraction. This not only resulted in a falling-off in attendance,
but shortly after the theatre was burned down, and the superstitious
playfolk traced this ill luck to the absence of the Torii posters. They
hurried back to him, and he continued to monopolise this feature of
shibai. To-day the traditions are being carried on with much success
by Torii Kiyotada, the seventh Torii to be associated with the work of
painting shibai posters.
The different members of the Torii school have also been responsible
for the banzuke, or illustrated theatre programmes, that are sent out
by an actor to his patrons or by the theatre to its supporters. The
banzuke consists of a large piece of paper on which are seen brush
sketches of the plays and characters. These are neatly folded,
and give the playgoers the whole story of the new programme. This old
custom is still in force.
Shibai chaya, or the tea-houses that served playgoers, are not to-day
what they were in former times, since their usefulness has practically
departed. In the brave days of old, the chaya were influential
institutions, for no respectable persons would dream of entering the
shibai by any other way than through the tea-house.
Owing to the long theatre hours, which continued from sunrise to
sunset, the chaya became a positive necessity. The intervals between
the curtains were often very long, for the actors and their dependents
performed their work in a leisurely manner, considerations of time
scarcely entering into their calculations, as the plays went on from
twelve to fourteen hours.
Moreover, there were no conveniences in connection with the shibai of
those days, and it was necessary for every one to seek out the chaya
for recreation, gossip, food, or rest. Although the samurai were not
supposed to be seen at such a vulgar entertainment as the shibai, he
managed to be a frequent visitor, often attending incognito. If he
went in his proper attire, he carried two swords thrust through his
waistband, and when such a dignitary condescended to witness the plays,
his precious weapon, often a family treasure, had to be deposited in
the chaya before he could kneel down to enjoy himself in his box in the
gallery.
There were many kinds of chaya attached to shibai,—the great chaya,
or first-class tea-houses, in close proximity to the theatre, and the
front chaya, or those somewhat detached, generally opposite. Many
little chaya or small places of business, were also to be found.
A first-class theatre had as many as nineteen chief tea-houses,
twenty-eight of a slightly different grade, and a great variety of
minor places. The maids of the tea-houses waited on their guests with
tea and cakes, cushions, tobacco, and the chaya vied with each
other in the cooking of tempting dishes. The old customs with regard
to the tea-house in Tokyo were to be seen at the Ichimura-za until the
earthquake disaster, where much that characterised the Yedo playhouses
was preserved.
Kyoto audiences were unaccustomed to applaud in the early period
of Kabuki. They discussed the plays and players and gossiped among
themselves. If a playgoer wished to tell an actor how well he had
done, he would write a note to this effect and have it sent into his
dressing-room. Osaka audiences were not so restrained, and early in
Genroku it was the custom for the Dotombori playgoers to shout and clap
their hands. The actors were much gratified, for, like members of their
fraternity in other parts of the world, they were not above playing to
the gallery.
The first time a person in an audience in Osaka dared to express the
pleasure the actors had given him, he shouted out loudly, “You did
very well!” There were occasions, however, when the enthusiasts in
the audience used complicated sentences when bestowing praise, and so
interfered with the plays.
The audience was also quick to show disappointment at the failure of
the players and did not hesitate to shower them with adverse criticism,
some quick-tempered persons throwing cushions and other objects at the
stage if the play did not suit them.
Yedo was not far behind Osaka in noisy demonstrations, and the
audiences of present-day Tokyo, Osaka, and Kyoto still maintain the
characteristics that distinguished their ancestors two hundred years
ago.
Quite necessary to the management of an audience that remained under
the roof of the theatre for twelve hours were the dekata, or servitors
of shibai. The rank and file of the dekata were ushers, and wore dark
kimono tucked into baggy Turkish trousers. They showed the people to
their seats, brought them cushions on which to kneel, supplied them
with programmes, tea, cakes, and tobacco, and were as busy as the
denizens of an ant-hill the entire day.
There were two divisions of dekata, headed by leaders, or managers
whose higher rank permitted them to wear haori, or overcoats, which
sometimes bore the crest of the theatre. The duty of some of these
servants was to wait upon the actors in their comings and goings.
Others had charge of the seats in the gallery reserved for special
playgoers. Two of these men were selected to sit on either side of the
stage, to see that the play was not disturbed, for the presence of a
fighting man who had partaken not wisely but too well of sake would
sometimes cause great confusion.
Another was stationed at the end of the hanamichi, where some of the
best acting was done. His special duties, as keeper of the way, were to
see that it was kept clear for the entrances and exits of the actors.
Others were given the task to guard the actors’ dressing-rooms, to
prevent the intrusion of unwelcome outsiders, who sometimes strayed
unbidden into the calm atmosphere of the world over which the actors
held sway.
While the dekata wore dun-coloured garments, the personal servants
of the actors were truly theatrical in appearance, for they donned
bright blue or red kimono that had for pattern a design showing the
crest of the actor to whom they were attached. It was their custom to
pay special courtesies to a patron of their chief when he visited the
theatre, and the more consequential or wealthy this individual happened
to be, the greater the number of actor attendants who waited upon him,
which marked him out as a playgoer of first importance.
[Illustration: FACE LIGHTS FOR THE ACTORS. When the theatre became dark
it was necessary to illumine the actor’s face with candle light. Here
property men are holding out candles on the ends of pliant rods that
the face of the dancer may be seen, and candles form the foot lights.
The performer is the serpent princess in the disguise of a beautiful
dancer in the piece Dojo-ji. (Colour print by Hasegawa Kanpei, the
fourteenth, and Torii Kiyosada, father of Kiyotada.)]
For footlights, there were candles set in tall wooden candlesticks
along the front of the stage. These were not sufficient on a stormy or
gloomy day, and tsura akari, or face-lights, were introduced the better
to illuminate the actor’s countenance and costume. Stage assistants to
right and left held these candles up, adapting themselves with great
dexterity to the movements of the actors.
Now and then this custom is still to be seen in the theatres of
Tokyo and Osaka, when the effect is so pleasing that the electric light
with its harsh glare appears to be anything but a happy invention for
stage illumination.
Perhaps one of the most picturesque shibai customs in Yedo was the
ceremony of Norikomi,—literally, to-come-riding. When an Osaka or Kyoto
actor travelled along the Tokaido, the main highway between Kyoto
and Yedo, he was accorded a special reception at the end of his long
journey, and was generally met some distance out of Yedo.
His means of conveyance was a kago, or palanquin, something after the
fashion of a sedan chair, which was firmly fastened to a stout pole
borne on the shoulders of many bearers in front and behind. Often an
actor of importance accompanied by his pupils and servants made quite
a retinue, and caused a small sensation among the townspeople as the
procession wound through the streets.
When the visiting actor drew near the theatre that had engaged him,
the entire fraternity of shibai people, dressed in kimono of the same
colour, waving fans, came out to meet the newcomer and shouted a noisy
welcome, clapped their hands in regular rhythms, to which the actor
would respond by clapping his own. Afterwards a feast was spread and
sake cups exchanged. This began in Yedo, and was also observed in
Osaka, but the Yedo Norikomi was always much more gay and festive.
These are a few of the many interesting shibai customs that were in
vogue in Yedo, Osaka, and Kyoto, before such world events as the
Declaration of American Independence or the French Revolution.
[Illustration: Ceremony of welcoming an actor. It represents the
onnagata, Segawa Kikunojo, returning to the Nakamura-za in Yedo after
an absence of two years in Osaka. (From a colour print by Utagawa
Toyokuni.)]