CUSTOMS OF THE SAKUSHA
The Kabuki playwright, or sakusha (lit., to-make-man), was part and
parcel of the theatre. He served the theatre because it was in him to
do so, but the smallness of his remuneration and the inferior position
assigned to him greatly restricted the scope of his activities and
retarded his development. He degenerated finally into a mere drudge of
the actors, a menial to carry out their commands. The actors enjoyed
the right of way, and while the ideas of the playwright were eagerly
seized upon, the sakusha continued to be crushed to the wall. There
were no literary men aloof from the theatre to form a higher court of
appeal and dictate in the matter of plays.
A glimpse of the dignity of the old sakusha and the theatre gatherings
in which he figured, as well as some of his customs, is afforded in
_Engeki Taizen_, or Complete-Account-of-Drama, by Sekine Mokuan, one
of the leading modern writers upon the theatre.
The sakusha were divided into different classes, and assigned
to various duties in the theatre. The tate sakusha, or leading
playwrights, were also called the tate tsukuri, while the second ranked
as nimaime, and the third were called the sanmaime. Under these were
the kyogen sakusha, or kyogen kata, and there were still a lower class
whose duty it was to act as secretaries and to write out the plays
by hand. Another function of these supernumeraries was to write the
announcement of the plays in big characters on the boards in front
of the theatre, and they were responsible for the synopsis of
the play, provided for the enlightenment of the audience. They also
attended to the correspondence of the theatre folk. The different rôles
in a new play were given to the clerical sakusha to be transcribed for
the actors.
Since the performances began early in the morning and continued all
day, it was a task to provide a long programme with many acts and
scenes. In the writing of these lengthy plays an inferior sakusha was
always allotted the opening scenes, which merely prepared the minds of
the audience for what was about to happen, fixing a few landmarks by
way of introduction. The secondary sakusha was held responsible for the
act that followed, but the most important act of a piece was always
reserved for the best writer. This is the reason why so many of the
strongest scenes in a play have survived when the work done by the less
gifted writers is now sunk in oblivion. The composition of the poor
writers merely served to make known the characters of a play to the
audience and generally had very little merits.
In the old days the first and second playwrights were obliged to
attend the theatre every day before the second act, and to stay until
the performances were over. It is therefore not surprising to find
that they practically spent their lives in the theatre. When the good
old customs began to relax, the chief writers took turns in visiting
the theatre, and if there was no special place for their use, they
sat themselves down in the space reserved for the superintendent, or
disciplinarian of the busy world back of the stage. Later on a room was
assigned to them.
The wages given to these men were very small. The head sakusha received
a lump sum, and this he had to divide among the others. If a sakusha
displayed some particular talent and the play went well, then he
received a gift in money direct from the management.
Tsuruya Namboku was considered to have received quite an unusually
high payment, for he was given 50 to 60 ryo for the run of one of his
plays, and a certain small sum for every day of the performances.
The ordinary sakusha was paid a sum very much less than this, and
when he divided among the smaller fry there was precious little left
for himself. Mokuami and Fukuchi, the two star playwrights of Meiji
era, received as remuneration from 150 to 200 yen for their new plays
in which Danjuro, the ninth, appeared. This was handsome treatment
compared to the meagre compensation considered sufficient for the old
sakusha. On the other hand, Danjuro reaped thousands of yen—a fortune
compared to the pittance doled out to the men who had provided him
with a vehicle for his talents and the means of stage success. The
recognition of the talent of the yakusha was out of all proportion to
that accorded the sakusha, and this still holds true of modern Kabuki.
In the early days of the Kabuki playwriters, it was the custom for
a theatre to employ a first-class sakusha, and after he had written
his piece, he would decide what actors were to take the different
characters, and the play was planned according to the qualifications of
the actors. But as time went on the actors came to decide themselves
what should be performed, and the playwrights were invited to assist in
the carrying out of the actors’ ideas. There were also the suggestions
of the theatre proprietors to be considered, for they had an eye to the
main chance, and the freedom of the writer of plays was continually
curtailed, his dignity impaired, and his originality hampered.
One Kabuki ceremonial, however, allowed the leading sakusha to take a
prominent part, and this was the announcement of a new play. It was
called sekai-sadame, or world-decision, meaning the selection by the
sakusha of certain material from the interesting world at large.
After the playwriter had received the approval of the chief actors,
consulted with the theatre proprietor, and arranged the minor rôles
with the players of lesser rank, he then began to write his play.
He received a sum of money in advance, settled on a lucky day, and
started to work. Paper and ink were supplied. Generally when the
sakusha knelt before his small low table to begin he was provided with
five bundles of the very best paper, and five bundles of a lesser
quality, five pairs of fude, or writing brushes, and five tablets of
concentrated ink, called sumi, which after being moistened and rubbed
against the stone in the ink-box produces the jet-black fluid into
which the brush is dipped before making the beautiful characters of the
Japanese written language.
Those privileged to attend the “world-decision” were the leading
playwright, chief actors, the proprietor and manager. After the time
of the second Ichikawa Danjuro, second-class playwrights were allowed
to be present and two or three onnagata. Originally it was a most
dignified meeting, but the good old customs degenerated and it became
less significant.
On the day of the announcement of a new play, towards sunset, long,
narrow, gaily-coloured lanterns were hung above the entrance to the
theatre, and the innumerable tea-houses also displayed their lanterns
in honour of the occasion. The theatre streets were ablaze with paper
spheres, and the whole district felt the importance of the ceremony.
Those especially invited attended clad in their best, a silk skirt or
hakama, and a black silk overcoat, or haori, on the sleeves of which
was to be seen the family crest, in white, of the wearer.
Behind the stage in a room reserved for the purpose was the place of
meeting. A series of folding screens were arranged about the chief
participants, outside of which were grouped the various theatre folk
and attendants. The number of persons within the screened space was
limited, as the details of the new play were to be kept secret, and
news concerning it was not allowed to leak out too quickly to rival
theatres.
There is one instance on record when the privilege of being invited to
the ceremonial of the play announcement was granted to an outsider.
It was when Danjuro, the seventh, was actor-manager of the
Kawarasaki-za in Yedo, and Sawamura Toshi, who was very popular, was
taken to the meeting, but there was much discussion and a great fuss
made over this innovation.
[Illustration: Kataoka Nizaemon, the eleventh, as Yuranosuke, the
leader of the Forty-seven Ronin, in the play Chushingura.]
When the dignitaries of the theatre had taken their places the stage
manager would formally address the leading playwright as follows:
“I hope that you will give us your support this year as before. It
would be a very auspicious thing if we could learn what choice you have
made of a play.”
Then the chief sakusha stood up, holding a folded paper in his hand,
and read forth the name of the play and its characters, also the names
of four or five of the leading actors who were to take the chief rôles.
At this juncture there might be some disagreement between the stage
manager and the sakusha, and if so the point was decided by lottery,
but afterwards when all details of the play were decided beforehand
this part of the ceremony became a mere formality.
The sakusha holding the paper, symbol of the play, tied with red and
white cords, handed it first to the stage manager and afterwards to
the actors, and when this was over all present clapped their hands
with regular beats, as is the custom at gatherings in Japan, as a sign
of congratulation. Then the much-handled paper was given to the chief
actor, and the stage manager said to him:
“May it please the spirit of the god in your house to keep this paper”,
to which the actor would make answer:
“I will take it home and keep it until to-morrow, and congratulate
myself on having this play.”
Then all present again clapped their hands, and the meeting came to an
end.
The matter of the refreshments served at such times differed in each
theatre. At the Morita-za, manju, a bean-paste cake, was given to the
people within the screen, while at the Ichimura-za a dinner with sake
was served generously.
This old custom gradually lost its significance, and in later
years it was not observed in the same dignified manner. Sometimes
the new play meeting was held at the house of a sakusha, and later
the manager of the theatre invited those concerned to his house. The
play had to be endorsed by the manager first, and the position of the
sakusha gradually changed for the worse.
When the play-deciding meeting was over, the sakusha wrote out the
actors’ rôles, and when everything was settled a draft of the piece was
sent to the police authorities, a practice that exists even at present.
The police censors examined the new play before permission to stage it
was granted.
Another event of importance to the sakusha in Yedo’s theatrical world
was the first rehearsal held every year on October 17th, when the
general plan of new plays was announced and the actors assembled for
rehearsal. This was called yorizome, or first gathering, and was held
on this particular date because it happened to be the annual festival
of the Goddess-of-Mercy temple in Asakusa. This particular day was
selected by Nakamura Kansaburo, since he had such a strong faith in
Kwannon, the Goddess of Mercy. The temple sacred to this Buddhist
divinity was the centre of worshippers from all parts of Yedo, as it
still remains to-day in teeming Tokyo.
It was a gathering attended by the playwrights, the actors, with the
exception of the lowest ranks, and officials of the theatre. The
head of the musicians, or hayashikata, was also present. This was a
festive occasion in the theatre quarter, and the streets were bright
with lanterns. After a general exchange of dinner parties, these
people of the theatre gathered together in front of the shibai right
under the yagura, or drum-tower, and entered by the small door called
the nezumi-kido, or rat door, so called because it was so low that
people had to bend their bodies almost double to go through. When
they came to the stage they clapped their hands in unison, and passed
on. Upon arrival at the place of meeting, which was generally held in
a room on the third floor behind the stage, the company again
clapped their hands.
The meeting was conducted with such a rigid regard for details, that
even the sitting position assigned to the respective persons was
minutely arranged beforehand.
The theatre manager addressed the proprietor, saying that he deemed it
a great favour to be able to hold the meeting this year, to which the
proprietor answered: “May all the years to come be as auspicious as
this”. Short songs were then sung, after which the chief sakusha turned
his body towards the theatre shrine, where a symbol of the animal of
the year was placed—the years being called after the tiger, rat, horse,
cow, monkey, dragon, etc., according to the twelve signs of the Chinese
zodiac.
Since the sakusha was obliged to read the play before the actors
delivering the lines, according to the distinction between old and
young, hero and villain, men and women, it is easy to imagine that when
he faced the shrine and declared the title of the new play it must
have been given with a sonorousness and a flavour of the theatre that
impressed itself upon those who were to take part in it, and shows a
reverence for the ideas that emanated from the sakusha’s brain, even if
these worthies of the theatre were never placed on an equality with the
actors.
After the title of the play had been announced with all due ceremony,
a repast followed. At the Nakamura-za, the front of the theatre was
adorned with an arrangement of artificial pink and white plum blossoms,
and various refreshments were served, while at the Ichimura-za Japan’s
diminutive oranges were thrown about from one person to another to
increase the merriment.