PUBLIC AMUSEMENTS.
Pleasures—_No_-performance—Playgoing—The theatre—Japanese
dramas—_Gidayu_-plays—Actors—A new school of
actors—Actresses—Wrestling—Wrestlers—The wrestling booth—The
wrestler’s apparel—The Ekoin matches—The umpire—The rules
of the ring—The match-days—The story-tellers’ hall—Entertainment
at the hall.
We Japanese do not take our pleasures sadly; for when upon pleasure
bent, we give ourselves to it heart and soul and forget for the nonce
the cares and troubles that may at other times weigh upon our minds.
And foreign observers, from seeing us in our hours of relaxation,
taunted us, at least until our war with Russia showed us in another
light, with frivolity and pronounced us a nation incapable of taking
things seriously. Nothing could have been further from the truth than
to suppose that we lead a butterfly existence, for we are as a nation
serious, indeed, if anything, too serious. The _abandon_ with which we
throw ourselves into the gaieties of the moment is attributable rather
to the rarity of our opportunities. Our women, in particular, have
very little leisure, and if they wander with childish delight in
avenues of cherry-blossoms or sit with quiet content on the verandah
under the harvest-moon, it is because they are glad to snatch a few
hours of innocent enjoyment from their round of almost ceaseless
household work. The simplicity of our pleasures is but the natural
outcome of the simplicity of our lives; and if we have not the
comforts and conveniences of European homes, neither do we suffer
from the feverish stress and strain of European social life.
Of the various forms of public entertainment in Japan, the oldest and
peculiarly Japanese is the _no_-dance. It is a posture-dance performed
to the accompaniment of flutes and drums, while a ballad is sung at
the same time to explain the movements. It was developed
from the ancient religious dances and first came into vogue in the
sixteenth century. The ballad, which is known as _utai_, is written in
a mixture of the Chinese and old Japanese styles and cannot be readily
comprehended by those who are not versed in these styles. The dance is
slow and stately, though sometimes there are quick movements in it; it
is performed by men with masks and in robes which were worn in ancient
times; the actors on the stage at a time are few; and the stage itself
has, except in rare cases, little setting. It is not, therefore,
everybody that can appreciate a _no_-performance; indeed, the fact
that it is caviare to the general and its superiority in point of
refinement to the common dances of the people have won for it great
popularity among the upper and middle classes; and the performances
are largely attended. Many people also practise singing the _utai_;
it has the advantage over other ballads, when it is unaccompanied by
a dance, of being sung without any musical instrument. The _utai_
ballads are comparatively short, and in a single performance several
of them are sung and danced.
[Illustration: A _NO_-DANCE.]
The same _no_-dance is seldom repeated in a run. The programme is
changed every day, because popular as the _no_ is in a sense, its
patrons are yet too few to justify a run of the same dance. For a
larger public we must turn to the drama. The play is in Japan as in
other countries the most popular public amusement; but in few other
lands is playgoing such an elaborate diversion as it is with us. In
the old days the theatre opened early in the morning and did not
close until nearly midnight; but some twenty years ago the police
authorities limited the length of a performance to eight hours, and
now it lasts from six to nine hours. In some theatres the doors open
at four in the afternoon and close at ten or eleven; this allows a
professional man to hurry to the theatre as soon as his office-hours
are over and witness a performance in half an hour or so from its
commencement; but other houses open at twelve or one and close at nine
or ten. Playgoing was in the old times a whole day’s work, and women
would prepare for it days beforehand and often lie awake the preceding
night so as not to be late for the opening hour. They took their meals
at the tea-houses, which are even now attached to the theatres,
especially the larger ones. Through these tea-houses people book their
seats in the theatre; and they go there first to divest themselves
of unnecessary paraphernalia before entering the play-house and are
thence provided with meals and refreshments which they take while
looking at the performance. It is therefore to the interest of these
tea-houses that the performance should be going on at meal-time.
Those who cannot afford to visit a tea-house go direct to the theatre
and are similarly looked after, except in the case of those in the
cheapest seats, by attendants detailed for the purpose. In fact,
eating and drinking is inseparable from playgoing in Japan. People
eat and drink while looking at a performance; some even cannot enjoy
it unless they are regaled at the same time with _sake_. Playgoing
is, in short, an expensive pastime in Japan.
[Illustration: THE ENTRANCE OF A THEATRE.]
[Illustration: THE STAGE AND ENTRANCE-PASSAGE.]
The theatre is a large oblong building. Over the great entrance hangs
a row of wooden-framed pictures representing the scenes played; the
side-entrances lead to the gallery. In front of the stage as one
enters the theatre is the pit, which is partitioned into small
compartments capable of holding four or five persons squatting.
On either side are two stories of boxes and facing the stage across
the pit is the gallery on the second or third story, which is mostly
patronised by playgoers who, being unable to pay for the whole
performance, come to see one or two of the best acts. From the sides
of the stage two entrance-passages run through the pit towards the
entrance. Actors walk under the passages to the entrance end and
coming out into a box, make their appearance on the entrance-passage.
These passages are very convenient as they give a larger room to the
stage and impart a sense of distance when it is not expedient to
crowd too suddenly on the stage. The stage is screened off from
the auditorium by a drawn curtain in the larger theatres and by a
drop-curtain in some of the smaller. When a popular actor is playing
or some special piece is performing, curtains are presented by the
patrons of the actor or the theatre; and in such a case several
curtains are drawn one after another between the acts across the
stage for the admiration of the audience. Another peculiarity of the
Japanese stage is the revolving-stage. A scene is set upon the front
half of a turn-table which is flush with the rest of the stage floor;
and while that scene is being acted, the carpenters are putting up the
next in the rear half; and when the first scene is over, the table
revolves and brings the second to view, and so the play is continued
without interruption. Yet another peculiarity is the presence on
the stage of black-veiled men in clothes of the same colour. They
are known as “blackamoors” and supposed to be invisible. At the
commencement of a run; they stand or sit behind the actors and prompt
them; they remove from the stage any article that has ceased to be of
use or pull away the dead in a fight if they are found to be in the
way, or push a cushion to an actor when he is about to sit down. They
are of great use, though it is hard to acquiesce in the fiction of
their invisibility. The stage music is played usually on one side of
the stage; but when a _gidayu_ is required, its performers are seated
on a high perch to the left of the stage.
[Illustration: THE REVOLVING-STAGE.]
Only in rare cases is the day’s performance taken up by a single
play. The usual course is to have two plays, the first being of an
historical character or concerned with disturbances in a daimyo’s
family, and the second being a domestic play. For the Japanese
drama is divided into three classes, the first being the historical
drama, which deals with the times of war, most frequently in the
twelfth, fourteenth, and sixteenth centuries, that is, the periods
of the feuds which led to the establishment of the Shogunate, of the
insurrections which resulted in the temporary rule of the country by
two lines of Emperors, and of the ascendancy of the Taiko and Tokugawa
Iyeyasu; the second treats of what are known as disturbances in
noble families, the most common cause of which was the struggle for
succession between the rightful heir and an illegitimate child of a
daimyo; and lastly, the domestic drama depicts scenes in the lives
of the common people, the favourite heroes and heroines of which
were in the old days chivalrous gamblers, magnanimous robbers, and
self-sacrificing courtesans. Of late, however, the domestic drama has
greatly extended its scope, for now it presents pictures of modern
life in reputable society. Then, two plays are acted in a performance,
and there is not unfrequently a middle piece or an after-piece, or
both, and such a piece presents a bright and gay scene with dancing in
it. Thus, a performance is made to suit all tastes. This rule of two
plays is not always adhered to; it is frequently disregarded by the
new school of actors, who give only one play with an after-piece. We
give a gay after-piece to relieve the strain of witnessing a serious
and often tragic play, a curious contrast to the European _lever de
rideau_ which allows the playgoer to dine without hurry.
Plays are again divided into two classes according to their form. One
is the ordinary prose drama; and the other is the _gidayu_, a kind
of musical or ballad drama. The latter was brought into vogue two
centuries ago by Gidayu, a singer, who gave his name to this form of
drama. It was originally sung at puppet-shows; but as the librettos
were written by Chikamatsu Monzaemon, the greatest of Japanese
dramatists, they are highly valued as literature. The standard set by
Chikamatsu was kept up by his immediate successors; but no _gidayu_ of
note has appeared since the third quarter of the eighteenth century.
In Osaka, where Gidayu lived and sang, puppet-shows still draw
large houses; and no _gidayu_-singer of the present day is considered
a regular professional unless he has gone through the mill at the
Bunrakuza, the great puppet-theatre of Osaka. In Tokyo _gidayu_
puppet-shows do not enjoy much favour; _gidayu_ are in the capital
sung at the story-tellers’ hall or performed on the stage. The
_gidayu_ contains the ordinary prose dialogue; the singing part
describes the feelings and movements of the puppets. But these
explanations which do very well in a puppet-show, are too lengthy on
the stage; while the singing is going on, the acting is apt to become
wooden, and the interest in the play is saved from flagging only by
the beauty of the language and the skill of the singer.
There has of late been a great change in the histrionic art in Japan.
Until about twenty years ago, the theatrical profession was mostly
hereditary, and such as did not come of a theatrical family entered
the stage as pupils of some well-known actor. None could practically
become an actor without the countenance of the whole profession; and
if a pupil showed extraordinary talent, he was not unfrequently made
his master’s successor. For great histrionic names are handed down
from generation to generation; thus, the late Ichikawa Danjuro, the
greatest actor of Japan since the Restoration, was the ninth of his
name, and his rival, Onoye Kikugoro, was the fifth. The third great
actor at the time was Sadanji, a pupil of the fourth Kodanji; the
present head of the Actors’ Guild is Shikan the Sixth; and the most
promising actor of the day is Uzaemon the Thirteenth. Not one of these
names has been invariably handed down from father to son; but it is
vested in the family, whose consent is necessary for its assumption by
a pupil.
Some twenty years ago, a new school of actors sprang into being; they
were called student-actors as they came mostly from the student class.
They formed companies and gave performances by themselves. At first
they were looked upon with disdain by the professionals; but they
soon became popular and, not being fettered like the latter by the
traditions of their profession, they were more natural in their acting
and had freer scope. It was during the war with China and immediately
after that their strong points came into prominence; for when
they acted scenes from that war, their representations were absolutely
free from the conventionalities of the old school, and it was
acknowledged that in the modern realistic drama the new school was
decidedly superior to the old. In course of time the former began to
learn the tricks of the trade as practised by the other, while the
younger actors of the old school threw off the trammels of tradition
in plays of contemporary life, so that there is now far less
difference between the two schools. And in some theatres actors of
both schools play together.
In most theatres actors take female parts as well as male. Many actors
have made their mark in female roles, and such characters are often
specialised, some actors excelling in depiction of ladies of rank and
others in representing women of the people and of the _demi-monde_.
There are also actresses in Tokyo, but they seldom perform with
actors; for the instances which have hitherto occurred of such
performances were not very successful. One theatre in Tokyo is
occupied entirely by women, who play male parts as well as those of
their own sex. The best actress of the day is Kumehachi, who has
few peers in her line even among actors; but it cannot be said that
actresses as a whole enjoy high favour in Japan.
Another public amusement which vies with the stage in popularity is
wrestling. Though there are often wrestling bouts in different parts
of the city, the great matches to which all lovers of the art look
forward every year are those which take place in January and May in
the temple-grounds of Ekoin on the south side of the River Sumida; for
as they decide the combatants’ position in the profession, they are
fought in grim earnest.
There are some five hundred wrestlers in the Tokyo Wrestlers’ Guild,
which comprises all the professionals of the city. In the wrestlers’
list they are divided into two sets, east and west. In each set
there are some score of wrestlers of the first grade, and there are
corresponding grades in both sets down to the lowest. When wrestlers
of the first grade retire through age or disease from the active list,
so to speak, they become, unless they leave the guild altogether and
take up other callings, elders of the guild. The elders are
partners in the getting up of the Ekoin matches; they also take in
pupils, for no one can become a professional wrestler except under the
aegis of an elder. For the young wrestler this is convenient, because
he is always under the protection of his elder and naturally profits
if, when he goes touring in the provinces, he is in the company of a
wrestler of a higher grade from the same elder. When a wrestler is
without a peer, he becomes what may be called the invincible champion.
There have been less than a score of such champions since the first
of them took that title two and a half centuries ago; but at present
there are two invincible champions at the same time.
[Illustration: A WRESTLING-MATCH.]
Wrestling takes place in an arena of sand bounded by a ring, some
twenty feet in diameter, formed of empty rice-bags and covered by a
four-pillared wooden roof. It is surrounded by tiers of seats for
the spectators. At the foot of each of these pillars sits an elder
watching the match and acting as referee in case of dispute. At two
opposite pillars are a bucket of water, a basket of salt, and a bundle
of paper-slips, the salt to purify the body for the contest which may
end fatally and the slips for wiping the hands.
The wrestler appears in the arena without clothing. He has over his
loin-cloth a wide, wadded cotton-belt adorned with twine tassels when
he wrestles; but if he is a first-grade wrestler, he makes a formal
appearance in the arena with others of the same grade before they
commence their bouts, when he wears in addition an apron of heavy
material richly embroidered with his professional name or some other
distinguishing mark stitched in gold.
[Illustration: THE CHAMPION’S APPEARANCE IN THE RING.]
The Ekoin matches last for ten days, or rather for ten fine days.
Until lately, the booth was merely covered with matting or canvas,
and as the rain leaked in, the matches could not be held on wet days.
As, moreover, men are sent round the city with drums to announce the
matches, the day preceding the match-day had also to be fine or at
least to give reasonable hopes of fine weather on the following day,
so that one fair day during a spell of rain was of no use. A run of
matches might therefore last for twenty days or more. And all the time
the elders had to feed the wrestlers to keep them together, and
so, long-continued rainy weather might swallow up the profits of the
run, especially as the Japanese wrestlers with their huge paunches
are hearty eaters. A permanent building for wrestling matches has,
however, been erected at Ekoin; it was opened in June, 1909. It is the
largest building of the kind in Japan and holds more than ten thousand
spectators. The great hall will, in spite of the heavy initial cost,
pay in the long run as there will be no need to put up a booth each
time and matches can be held irrespectively of the weather.
The matches commence with those of the lowest grade, and the best
bouts take place late in the afternoon. Before each bout a summoner
appears in the arena and calls out the names of the two combatants,
who, as they are already waiting outside the ring, immediately make
their appearance, and the umpire formally announces their names. They
drink a cup of water and purify themselves with a pinch of salt. They
crouch opposite each other and, at a word from the umpire, grapple
with each other. It often happens that one of them is not ready for
the grip, and they separate; once more they rise and drink water and
return to their former positions. Some wrestlers repeat this until the
spectators are tired out. But when they do tussle, the struggle does
not take long; and if they remain long in each other’s grip without
coming to a conclusion, the umpire separates them and lets them
refresh themselves with water before they resume the bout. The umpire
then puts them exactly in the same position as they were before.
It is remarkable with what accuracy he makes them resume their former
position; he can tell at a glance their exact posture at each moment
of the bout; and he does not make the least error in the bend of their
bodies or the touch of their hands. Such an eye naturally requires
long training; and the umpire has, like the wrestler, to rise from the
lowest rung of his profession. At first he presides over the bouts
of the wrestlers of the lowest grade; and as he acquires skill and
experience, he rises to a higher grade until finally he umpires the
matches of the foremost wrestlers. His decision is seldom disputed;
and in the rare cases when it is called in question, he appeals to the
elders sitting at the four pillars.
The rules of the ring are very strict. If a wrestler falls, touches
the ground with a knee, a hand, or any part of the body other than
the soles of his feet, or steps on the rice-bags of the ring, he is
declared defeated. The ways in which, he can cope with his adversary
were originally put at forty-eight; but they were subsequently
increased to twice, and later still to four times, that number. These
original forty-eight throws were divided into four classes of twelve
each, namely, the butting with the head, grappling with the hands,
twisting with the hips, and tripping with the feet. From these were
developed all the later methods.
During the first days of the matches the wrestlers of the first
grade are paired with those whose positions on the other side do not
correspond to their own; and then the matches become gradually more
equal until on the ninth day those of the same position on both sides
are pitted against each other. It is the most exciting day of the
whole series; but on the tenth and last day those of the highest
grade seldom appear and the interest in the matches flags as a matter
of course.
These great matches, occurring as they do only twice a year, throw
the whole city into a fever of excitement, and while they are on, one
hears of nothing else. In the booth the enthusiasm is very great,
and it rises to such a pitch when a clever throw takes place or a
favourite distinguishes himself, that the spectators throw into the
arena their overcoats, tobacco-pouches, or whatever else come handy as
marks of their approval to the victor. They afterwards send presents
in money and recover their property.
[Illustration: THE ENTRANCE OF A STORY-TELLERS’ HALL.]
Thus, playgoing is expensive and takes up the best part of a day,
while the wrestling matches which arouse universal interest occur
but twice a year, other matches being mostly of local interest only.
Neither of these amusements can serve to while away a few hours
of idleness or relaxation; to those who wish to spend an evening
pleasantly and at little expense, the story-tellers’ hall is always
open. It stands conspicuously in a street; for over a wide entrance,
the walls of which are studded with numerous pegs for suspending
the clogs and sandals of its patrons, hangs a large square lantern
announcing on its face the names of the principal performers, while
the name of the hall is inscribed at a side-end. The hall itself is a
great matted room with a platform at the furthest end. The spectators
squat promiscuously on the mats and watch the performances or listen
to the tales of the story-teller on the platform which is about four
feet high and can be seen from all parts of the room. The hall opens
at six or half-past; but it only begins to fill an hour later and
closes at about ten o’clock.
Entertainments of various kinds are given at the story-tellers’
halls. In some the story-tellers proper appear; half a dozen or more
come upon the platform in succession, winding up with the chief
story-teller of the evening. Those of the better grade tell serious
stories, complete at a sitting or continued through the whole run of
the company which is fifteen evenings, for they change twice a month.
Most of the others, however, tell short stories, humorous and ending
often in a word-play; their object is merely to raise a laugh among
their audience. There are also story-tellers of a different
kind, whose speciality is tales of war and stories of men famed in
Japanese history; but as they talk seriously and not in the light vein
of their more humorous _confrères_. they are not so popular as the
latter. It is not, however, always the story-teller who occupy
the platform. In the course of the evening there may be music and
singing by professionals or conjuring tricks. There are also several
halls opened exclusively for the singing of _gidayu_; and though for
their proper singing a deep, strong voice is really requisite, female
singers are far more numerous than male in Tokyo. In the capital it is
not as in Osaka, the home of _gidayu_-singing, for a young and pretty
girl-singer finds greater favour than a male singer of skill and
experience. In one evening half a dozen such singers perform, the last
being the head of the troupe.
[Illustration: A STORY-TELLER ON THE PLATFORM.]
In these halls some of the stories told are far from edifying; but
from others the lower classes become acquainted with the lives of the
noted men of their country. The proletariat in Japan are probably more
intimate with the history of their country than those of other lands.
Such history may not always be authentic; but of the famous names in
that history, warriors, statesmen, priests, and scholars, they hear
from the more serious entertainers at the halls; and the _gidayu_ has
also an educative influence, for it inculcates unceasingly the duty of
loyalty and filial piety and never tires of dwelling upon the
nobleness of self-sacrifice.