In the evening, in company with Mr Otto, one of my companions in the “Alaska,” I went to a Japanese theatre. The performance goes on from the afternoon till late in the night. The people seemed much to enjoy it, and according to appearance it was very decently conducted. Whether the language was obscene I of course could not judge; but the conversation of the lower classes is said to be very disgusting.
A Visit to Japan, China, and India (1877)
The theatre is considered one of the best reflectors of the popular mind. In Japan, as in China, the performances begin early in the day, and end late at night, the large audiences showing how popular is this amusement. The plots are nearly always intrigues at court, resulting in promotion or death of the heroes, or the exploits of great warriors and robbers. The public taste demands, and is gratified by, the profuse display of gory heads and dripping swords. The favorite pieces contain a great deal of “blood and murder,” and not unfrequently scenes that border on extreme grossness, which are viewed with as little embarrassment by neatly-dressed matrons and daughters as the sallies of “Genevieve de Brabant,” or the “Grande Duchesse” excite in a western audience. The same vein seems to run through the immense range of light literature, illustrated with woodcuts, that often approach the obscene.
Across America and Asia (1870)
Only male actors were on the stage [at a theater in Kyoto]. The chief performers—doubtless the “stars”—came in from the front of the house, and walked on a narrow platform the whole length to the stage, spouting and stalking with majestic tread, all in such stilted style as to be irresistibly comical, although the play was a tragedy and this lofty prologue was to tell of the hero’s dire wrongs and how he was to suffer till Justice had wrought her work. The dresses of these actors were more like those represented on vases and in pictures than those of ordinary every-day life, being robes of gorgeous hue, well bespangled and with ample folds.
The play was the usual one of a tyrant usurper, who prospered for a while in his cruel oppressions, but whose evil designs were finally frustrated and the proper heir was restored. The tyrant died by his own hand. He first committed hari-kari, and then cut his own head off. We saw his head falling into a basket. The Japanese are masters of jugglery.
The Sunrise Kingdom (1879)
In the evening we witnessed a gala performance in the Japanese theatre [in Kyoto], in honour of the advent of Spring, with its cherry and plum blossoms. The female musicians sat on raised platforms on the right and left sides of the audience, those on the right playing the samisen, and those on the left the suzumy, a kind of drum. The entertainment consisted solely of a ballet divertisement, and was in reality a glorification of spring. The three curtains represented respectively a cherry tree, a plum tree, and a giant cryptomeria. Thirty-two girls attired in most gorgeous costumes and wearing plum and cherry blossoms, went through a very characteristic dance. The first scene was the exterior of the palace, the second the throne room, and the third represented orchards of the cherry and plum trees full of the double blossoms, and illuminated with hundreds of lights. The audience was very appreciative, and behaved like a superior kind of English one.
Impressions of a Journey Round the World (1897)
The day of our departure we went to the Japanese theatre, a temporary shed, the part where the audience sat being supported by stout poles, and the roof covered with matting. The boxes were on each side, in two tiers, one immediately above the other. Into the highest we mounted by means of a ladder, and joined the merchant’s wife and family, who had engaged it for the day. The performance had long commenced, as the doors open early in the morning, and close at six p.m. When we arrived the drop scene was down, from which we concluded that one act was finished, and therefore the interval allowed us ample time to take a look round the house. The drop scene was a very gay one, representing an enormous tiger, gaudily painted, in a jungle of very bluish-coloured bamboo. The pit is divided into squares, each capable of holding from nine to ten persons. These are generally occupied by a whole family, who pay four itziboos and a half (about nine shillings) for the compartment, in which they spend the entire day, making it a regular holiday, a servant bringing their food at appointed hours in chow-chow, or food boxes.
On one side of the pit a walk is formed by planks joined together, on which the actors and actresses come in and go out, when they do not wish to do so by the sides of the stage. At the back of the pit was a kind of raised platform for labourers and their families.
Our “box” was on the left side, and opposite to us, partially concealed by a curtain, were seated those who constituted the orchestra, namely, two banjo players and one drummer. Before them sat a fat, flabby-looking individual, whose air of importance and subsequent manœuvres bespoke him at once to be a prompter, fully aware of the responsibility resting on his shoulders. Immediately in front of him was a long board, on which he hammered with a deafening noise, to announce the entrance or exit of any performer, or on which he made the colophon, or conclusion, to any extra-pathetic or energetic passage of the drama.
Now the klack-ka-ta-klack sounds are heard, and the curtain is drawn aside, disclosing a woman seated, or rather kneeling, with the curious kind of stool I have before described, for her to rest her back upon. She is very gaily attired, in the usual loose dress, to which, however, she has added a very long train, worn by all ladies of rank in Japan. Her hair is ornamented with an endless amount of pins and beads, and the powder on her face looks more like a thin covering of white muslin than any powdering I ever saw before. There is no deceit here, no attempt at slight improvement to the complexion, but the white looks as thick as paint, and the effect produced is very ghastly. The dress of the man, too, in the play, with the exception of a small cape, and a greater variety of colours, is similar to that generally worn.
From what I could gather of the plot, it seemed to be a serio-comic drama, the tale evidently being one of desperate jealousy.
The lady whom we first see is an unfortunately jealous wife, who fancies her husband has fallen in love with another woman. She does not openly upbraid him for his unfaithfulness, but seeks redress from high quarters, and as she is evidently related to influential people, her appeal is not made in vain. The unlucky offender is apprehended, and condemned to be decapitated, unless he saves himself the ignominy of a public execution by committing the hara-kari. Unwilling to be thus disgraced, he consents to this self-immolation. All is prepared, friends, relatives, and spectators assemble to witness the melancholy sight. They only await the arrival of the doomed man, who is carried on to the stage in a Norimon. Some time is supposed to have elapsed since the audience last saw him, and in the interval, according to the custom on such mournful occasions, his hair has been suffered to grow, so that, on leaving the Norimon, he stands quite conspicuous amidst his shaven brethren.
Every one appears absorbed in watching this scene, perfect silence reigns around, broken only by the voices from the stage, which seem to come slowly and half-whispered. At this moment a commotion is heard outside, a heart-rending cry disturbs the general tranquillity, the wife rushes into the place, and, uttering some words, totters forward in a manner which proves her intention of falling, when, fortunately, the extended arms of her lord and master save her, and she triumphantly exhibits to the husband whom her jealousy had wrongfully accused, the order for his freedom, which she had herself sought for, and with difficulty obtained in time.
A Lady’s Visit to Manilla and Japan (1863)
Old Japan, as far as costume and social observances are concerned, may be compared with revolutionary Japan at the theatres, where are played interminable historic dramas, wholly based on the old state of things. Nothing has been changed in the Japanese theatre except, here and there, the hours; most of the theatres at the capital, and all those in the interior, play from 9 a.m. until dark. The theatres of the treaty ports now play from 5 p.m. to 1 a.m., so that at Tokio one is able to attend the theatre at most hours of the day and night. There the two-sworded Samurai still walk the stage, and Tycoon’s soldiers still wear their hideous masks, and Daimios in magnificent trousers, preceded and followed by their banners and processions of retainers, still force the people to prostrate themselves in the dust.
English Influence in Japan (1876)
Some few days after, Matsuba told me that there was a “Japanese man’s circus” in the town [Hikone]. It was not in the least like a circus; it was a theatrical performance in which all the members of the company, who in this troupe were women, were mounted on horseback. There was a small stage, with a set scene at the back, and in front of it, on the same level as the spectators, a space of bare earth on which the action took place. The play consisted mostly of combats; the swords and other necessary properties were brought in by attendants, and placed on a high stand where they could be easily reached by the actors, and the horses were then led into position, and held there while the fighting went on. None of the performers fell off, but beyond this there was no horsemanship; they could not even get their steeds on and off the stage without the help of a groom.
Notes in Japan (1896)
One night at the theatre [in Nara] I saw a modern farce, with a policeman, an old-fashioned Japanese gentleman, a Chinaman, and an Englishman as the comic characters. They were ridiculous and amusing, but when all the earlier incidents of the piece were narrated with conscientious realism in evidence before a magistrate the thing became monotonous, and struck me as faulty in dramatic construction. This was the only theatre I saw in Japan in which they had discarded the orchestra and chorus and other traditions of the old stage.
Notes in Japan (1896)
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