Kabuki

When the history of shibai is considered, the wonder grows that it did not die of discouragement. The effects of the ceaseless persecution that prohibited and hampered the creativeness of the theatre, and brought it into evil repute can hardly be measured.

Although the chilly formalism of the Tokugawa Shogunate seriously interfered with the development of the theatre, the latent genius of the people asserted itself repeatedly with new vigour after each fresh attack on the part of the authorities. Rules and regulations with regard to stage settings, costumes, architecture, furniture, and plays almost prohibited shibai out of existence. And the interference went so far as to concern itself with petty persecutions in the matter of the yakushas’ private lives.

Suppressed for centuries, the taste of the people began to express itself in luxury and extravagance, and nowhere was this state of society so perfectly mirrored as on the stage. Hence the constant conflict between the officials and the theatre. The enforcement of simple living ideals had gone too far, and the restless people, tired of repression, like a pendulum that swings back, began to long after the flesh-pots of Egypt.

How far frugality was carried out in Old Japan may be imagined from a statement made by the late Marquis Okuma when, on one occasion, he addressed new recruits to the Army. “In my province”, he said, “the cultivation of the sweet potato was forbidden at one time. Similar to this was the prohibition of sericulture by the Shogun’s Government. The reason was that the fields were necessary for the cultivation of rice, and should not be used for materials of luxury, for by so doing the good old habits of the people would be entirely destroyed. In this age of enlightenment,” Marquis Okuma continued, “even a schoolboy could at once detect the fallacy of such a view, but it enables us to see what great stress our fathers and grandfathers put upon the importance of simple living.”

Another view concerning this side of Japanese life under the shogunate is expressed by Murdoch in his History of Japan: “Even at the present day the lower classes in Japan are remarkable for the fewness of their wants, rather than for the abundance of their possessions; but in the brave days of the sixteenth century few of them could indulge in the luxury of having any wants at all, beyond those of the birds or rabbits. The poverty of the country people at this time was clearly grinding.”

Quite contrary in every respect were the resplendent yakusha, with their extravagant tastes and striking styles that made such a strong appeal to the senses, and the guiding principles of the nation which placed little value on the possession of worldly goods and emphasised simplicity and economy. Permeating the people was the Buddhist doctrine of impermanency with its emphasis on the non-worship of things, and opposed to this stood the yakusha who delighted in stage costumes of the richest materials, the most dazzling embroideries in gold or silver. The actors’ love of display and extravagance required drastic measures in order that they should be held in check. The very gorgeousness of the stage showing the purest instinct for all the colours of the rainbow gathered up from the odd corners of Asia produced tendencies in the people that it was considered necessary to uproot.

It is curious to reflect that at identical periods the Puritans in England and the Tokugawa Shogunate were interfering with the theatre, for in 1642 an order of the English Parliament forbade all public entertainments, and the shogunate prohibited the Wakashu Kabuki, or Young Men’s Stage, in 1644. There was thus a similar attitude towards the theatre in the two island nations of East and West, separated so widely and as yet scarcely aware of each other’s existence.

After the Women’s Stage, or Onna Kabuki, had been stopped, Government interference was frequent. The direct cause of the banishment of the youthful actors of Wakashu Kabuki in 1644 is attributed to the chief magistrate of Yedo. He was invited to a friend’s residence, and saw among the attendants a young lad who was not only above the average in good looks but graceful in his movements and showed superior intelligence. The magistrate inquired his name and parentage, hoping to engage him as a page in his household. To his astonishment he was told that the attendant was an actor. Straightway he ordered the officials under him to go to the theatre and see that the front locks of the young players were shorn, for fear their attractiveness might be the means of corrupting society.

The shaving of the actors’ heads, directly responsible for the downfall of Wakashu Kabuki, continued long in force. And a further indignity was heaped upon the yakusha, for they were obliged to proceed regularly to the police station that their heads might be examined, as they were prone to elude the authorities in this regard if not watched.

Soon after the edict that caused the abolition of Wakashu Kabuki the four leading playhouses of Yedo, together with the doll-theatres and minor places of amusement, were ordered to be suspended because of the scandal between an actor and the wife of a daimyo. The authorities were evidently bent on the extermination of the theatre, but after repeated petitions on the part of the proprietors permission to reopen was granted the following year.

That the actors were regarded with open admiration by the ladies of the aristocracy is evident. Many stories are told with regard to the measures they took to see the players, often inviting them to their homes. This led to social breaches the officials were not slow to hold up as fearful examples of depravity. In 1648 the third Shogun’s Cabinet issued an order against members of the aristocracy attending the theatre, and in 1655 there was a regulation to the effect that as already proclaimed the yakusha were not allowed to attend the mansions of the aristocracy even if they were invited. With regard to their stage costumes they must not be luxurious, and plays in which extravagance was displayed were not allowed to be performed.

A conflagration that swept Yedo in 1657, in the third year of Meireki, called the Great Fire of Meireki, gave the authorities a good opportunity to confine the theatres to one quarter. The fire had started from a Buddhist temple, and lasted until the following day, destroying the business centre of the town. When after considerable delay the theatres were allowed to be rebuilt, fewer licences were granted, and but four large shibai were permitted to be erected in Sakai-machi. Here for a period all the places of amusement, large or small, were segregated.

A description of Sakai-machi is given in Joruri Shi, or the History of Joruri, by Takano. He writes that it was a long street running east and west. To the south were several doll-theatres clustering on each side of the Nakamura-za. But a short distance away were the Ichimura-za and Miyako-za, set in the midst of marionette shows. “Imagine how flourishing these places were in olden times”, observes the author.

Side by side were the shibai, wherein the inanimate marionettes competed with the actors of flesh and blood, all the buildings crowded together on one thoroughfare,—each theatre displaying its banners, flags, lanterns, and crests, while the sound of the drums beaten in the yagura, or drum-towers, must have made quite a stir in the peaceful Yedo of those days.

By 1661 the yakusha’s footsteps were dogged by regulations. He was not allowed to mingle freely with the people. In 1662 it was forbidden for actors to use sticks ornamented with gold or silver, and he was ordered to wear a kimono of the plainest description. If he consulted his own taste and wore patterned material that showed a gay design, he was promptly pounced upon. Under pains and penalties the yakusha was not to ride in a kago, or palanquin, or on horse, and expressly prohibited from walking about freely.

These regulations relating to the daily lives of the play-actors became a species of tyranny, and it was not surprising that they were broken heedless of the consequences. For it was found impossible to suppress a human being’s most natural desires and instincts. In consequence the same rules and regulations were made over and over again, the strictness of the observance depending on the firmness or laxity of the officials in power.

Although the inclination of the actors and playwrights was always towards a larger and freer expression of their taste in colour and design, yet they were obliged to keep to things less ornate, for in 1668 there were declarations that the theatres of Sakai-machi must not be gorgeous, but as modest as possible. Cotton and silk materials of an inferior quality were to be used for stage costumes, the best workmanship in embroidery was to be avoided, and the use of red or purple dye was entirely forbidden. Curtains of cotton crepe were granted, but those of silk could not be used. Yakusha were ordered not to meet members of the samurai class after acting, and they must not speak with traders or artisans except for a brief meeting. The actors were also forbidden to enter the shibai chaya, or mix with the audience, and as these regulations were frequently ignored, punishments were continually inflicted for infringements.

Again in 1678 there was an official announcement to the effect that it was rumoured the actors were called to the residences of samurai and merchants. If discovered, the delinquents were to be severely punished. The actors’ residences were restricted to the theatre district; furthermore, they were not to lodge in the houses of other people, or to have as inmates of their homes those who pursued other walks of life.

Regulations issued in this same year concerned finery on the stage, which was to be carefully avoided. The costumes, both of the yakusha and the marionette, were required to be fashioned of cheap silk or cotton, and greater strictness was to be observed in the shaving of the actors’ heads.

Should an actor and his patrons feel inclined to take a pleasant outing together on the Sumida river, it was regarded as a serious lapse from grace, and as for straying outside the prescribed limits the authorities found themselves busy enforcing their rules, since the irrepressible yakusha could not be kept within bounds very long at a time.

There was a regulation demanding that metal should not be used for stage swords; they were to be of wood or bamboo covered with silver powder. Another forbade actors from being smuggled into the mansions of samurai or merchants clad in female costumes, nor were they to enter the homes of private citizens under the assumption that they did not belong to the degraded fraternity.

During these long years of interference, one outstanding event came to be largely responsible for the strict supervision of the theatres, and this was the scandal involving the actor Ikushima Shingoro and Yenoshima, a lady-in-waiting at the Shogun’s Court. Their amours proved to be a social upheaval the officials could neither forget nor forgive. Long after the affair had blown over it remained a dark cloud that cast its shadow on succeeding generations of actors.

An account of this, taken from Chiyoda no Oku, or the Harem of Yedo Castle, is quoted by Ihara Seiseiin, in his History of the Japanese Stage. It tells how the unfortunate theatre-folk became victims because of Lady Yenoshima’s passion for Ikushima Shingoro.

Some time in 1714 the Yamamura-za, one of Yedo’s original shibai, was opened, and Ikushima Shingoro was playing there with much success. At the same time, one of the most prominent among the ladies-in-waiting in the castle was to be sent to pray at the temple of Zojo-ji, as a representative of the mother of Shogun Iyetsugu. Owing to the fact that several daimyo, or feudal lords, and hatamoto, or direct vassals of the Shogun, had selected this day to repair to the temple to take part in Buddhist services, the Court lady’s visit was postponed, and Yenoshima chosen to fulfil the duty.

Accordingly she sent a messenger to acquaint the priests that she intended to arrive very early in the morning, and that no preparations would be necessary for her reception. She would, however, find it highly gratifying if arrangements could be made whereby she and her party could pay a visit to a theatre in Sakai-machi. As might have been expected, the reply of the priests to this missive was that the theatre part of the lady’s programme was impossible, since it was outside their jurisdiction.

This made Yenoshima very angry, and she arranged matters to suit herself. There was a young clerk, or banto, in the employ of a Yedo dry-goods establishment, and he was accustomed to go to the castle regularly for orders. Here was a likely person to carry out her commands, and he was accordingly commissioned to prepare the gallery of the Yamamura-za for a party of one hundred persons.

As planned Yenoshima proceeded to Zojo-ji, but hurrying over her spiritual duties, and presenting but a portion of the money, materials, and other gifts that were designed for the priests, she kept the remainder to be distributed as personal favours at the theatre. She was accompanied by several other ladies-in-waiting of first rank, as well as those who occupied lesser positions in the secluded world of the Shogun’s household; also by male attendants.

The arrival of this company at the Yamamura-za must have presented a most unusual spectacle in theatre street. Yamamura Chodayu, the proprietor of the theatre, with the leading actors, Ikushima Shingoro and Nakamura Seigoro, clad in ceremonial costumes, welcomed the distinguished visitors at the entrance to the theatre. During an interval between the plays a feast was held, and Yenoshima, who became slightly intoxicated, spilled a bottle of sake, the contents of which fell down on the heads of a party below. It happened to be a samurai of the Satsuma clan accompanied by his wife. Although one of Yenoshima’s party apologised, the irate samurai left the theatre.

Yenoshima was advised to return to the castle without delay, but she would not listen, determined to enjoy the adventure to the utmost. Yamamura Chodayu invited the ladies to his private residence, where Nakamura Seigoro and his wife assisted in the entertainment. This young woman was very beautiful, a graceful dancer as well as accomplished samisen player, and had often been called to the castle to amuse the Shogun’s mother.

It was not until late at night that Yenoshima retired, returning to the castle, and entering by an inconspicuous gate. Yenoshima, who was a bold and independent character, 33 years of age, with an income of 600 koku of rice to her credit, patched up a story of the day’s proceedings for the benefit of the Shogun’s mother, omitting all reference to her wild escapade at the theatre.

In due time the whole matter came to the knowledge of the officials, when it was discovered that Yenoshima had been carrying on relations with Ikushima Shingoro for seven years, and that she had taken one of this actor’s daughters into the service of the Court under the false pretence that the girl was from a samurai family.

The Government dealt severely with all those who had participated in the carousal. Yenoshima was sentenced to exile on a lonely island, her fate being softened at a later date through the clemency of the Shogun’s mother, who pleaded for her, when she was taken into the custody of the daimyo of the Province of Shinano.

It was the custom of these days for the entire family to suffer when one member had committed an offence, and consequently the death penalty was meted out to Yenoshima’s elder brother, while a young brother was exiled. Other relatives shared in the punishment.

As for Yamamura Chodayu, Ikushima Shingoro, and Nakamura Seigoro, they, too, were exiled—even Iwai Hanshiro, the most popular onnagata of the period, sharing in the banishment. The Yamamura-za was first deprived of its licence, then the building was demolished and the property confiscated by the Government. Such was the end of the Yamamura-za, for it never dared to raise its head again among the Yedo shibai.

At the same time the theatre censors drew their net of regulations closer and closer. Yedo shibai, unlike those of Osaka and Kyoto, had previous to the Yenoshima affair two galleries, making three stories, but the authorities reduced them to one. Thin bamboo blinds had been suspended from the galleries as a protection for high-class playgoers that they might be removed from the vulgar gaze, but these were ordered to be taken down. This meant that persons of good family could no longer attend the theatre. Passage-ways from the theatre to the homes of the proprietors were taken away, special rooms for banqueting at the tea-houses were given up. Even the roofs of the theatres, that had been constructed in a more substantial way to protect playgoers against the elements, were ordered to be made in a lighter fashion. When alterations were desired in the construction of theatres or tea-houses, report had to be made first to the officials before permission to proceed could be obtained. The theatre was closed early, and no plays allowed to run after sunset.

Such were some of the shibai regulations that came about as the result of the Lady Yenoshima’s indiscretions.

Stage costumes especially came under the merciless scrutiny of the authorities. Special restrictions were made in 1789. All costumes were examined on the day preceding the performance. Officials were appointed whose duty it became to examine stage affairs to the minutest detail, and after they had peered into all the nooks and corners behind the stage, they gave permission for the play to be performed, or interfered sadly with the arrangements, by demanding alterations at the last moment, according to their whim, or from some idea of the proper respect due to their dignity. If there were any changes in the plays after the inspection, the offenders were summoned to appear at the censor’s office and were fined or reprimanded.

Many devices were resorted to by the yakusha to protect their beautiful kimono that they often designed themselves and as frequently embroidered with their own hands. Sometimes the better to pass the officials’ inspection they sewed pieces of plain material over the decorated portions of their costumes, but if a report of fine raiment reached the ears of the ever-watchful ones, reprimands were in order.

As a means to put down extravagance, it was ordered that the actors’ salaries should be reduced by half. But the yakusha generally found ways and means to evade this attempt against his income. Requests were made to the officials by the management that an actor wished more salary, and if this was refused he remained away from the theatre under pretence of illness. The plays could not go on without the drawing attraction of the popular actors, and there came a time when the troubled managers asked the officials how the shibai could be maintained under such circumstances. The fourth Nakamura Utayemon was fined for receiving too much salary. Nakamura Nakazo records in his journal how his theatre could not make the customary advance on his salary and he received a short sword by way of compensation.

When an onnagata, Segawa Kikunojo, was returning home from the theatre one day in the year 1789, he wore an attractive kimono made of good silk crepe, and his clothing was confiscated. Onoe Matsusuke, when taking the rôle of a Court lady, wore a beautiful over-garment tied with silver cords, and was reprimanded for extravagance. The third Nakamura Utayemon was responsible for a costly curtain used during one of his performances, and he was taken to task by the officials, with the result that he became disgusted and decided to return to the Osaka stage. As he had made an agreement with the Yedo theatre for a term of two years and he had remained but one, the authorities brought him back to serve out his contract.

A gay performance was given at the Nakamura-za in 1791, and the stage properties were confiscated. Ichikawa Yaozo made a gift of one hundred and ten kimono to the people of the theatre, and when this raised the ire of the economy-loving officials Yaozo is reported to have said: “My father Yaozo left 100 ryo to be used in accordance with his will. I gave the kimono as he wished.”

At the Ichimura-za a robber was depicted selling the treasures of a daimyo, and the authorities stopped it because it related to a feudal lord. When a festival was held at the Ichimura-za in memory of the Soga Brothers, the heroes of many a Kabuki piece, the theatre people wore conspicuous kimono, and displayed a great many lanterns for decorations. Since it was something out of the ordinary, they were all fined.

Once, when the play required the interior of an Imperial Palace, very beautiful stage furniture was used, but this came under the ban, and inferior articles were ordered to replace the originals.

Interference even went so far as to plays. The sakusha, or playwrights, were strictly forbidden by the Government to write real history into their dramas. In consequence, they were obliged to camouflage fact with fiction. Reports that were circulated far and wide, matters that had been discussed in every household, were represented as belonging to a distant period. The playgoers, however, were quick to understand the reference. This is the reason why the opening scene of Chushingura is placed a hundred years or more previous to the date of the sacrifice of the Forty-seven Ronin.

A quarrel broke out in the audience at the Yamamura-za at one time because the name of a contemporary personage had been used in a play, and thereafter no reference was allowed to living persons. Great care had to be taken in the choice of names given to the characters in a play, for if a cognomen selected was already in the possession of some high family complaints were lodged with the authorities.

When fire again destroyed the Nakamura-za and Ichimura-za, they were ordered to be rebuilt away from the centre of the town. The Kawarazaki-za, which stood somewhat apart from the other theatres, and had been untouched by the fire, was left undisturbed. The removal of the theatre site was explained as due to the laxity of the actors, who were forgetting themselves and mingling with the people; because they played such common, vulgar things that had a bad influence upon society, and because shibai was the source of changes in the fashions that incited the citizens to extravagance.

The severest period of interference the theatre had to undergo was during the administration of Mizuno, Lord of Echizen, the prime minister of the shogunate, who began his sweeping reforms in 1842, hoping thereby to prop up the falling Tokugawa Government. And when the Ichimura-za and Nakamura-za were burned down, this dignitary decided that the time had arrived to put an end to the fortunes of shibai. It was his intention to crush this institution of the people at a blow, in order that the widespread immorality alleged should be suppressed.

Mizuno stopped the work of theatre reconstruction, and would have carried out his reforms with a high hand if it had not been for the head man of the theatre district, called Toyama. This official was brought in for consultation. The fate of Yedo Kabuki hung in the balance, and the whole question depended on Toyama’s views as to the right of the people’s theatre to exist. Whatever his defence it proved an effective checkmate to Mizuno’s plan to abolish shibai, and a compromise was made by means of which the theatres were to be removed as far as possible from Yedo castle, and at a safe distance from the homes of the citizens to preserve them from contamination.

The new quarter selected was Saruwaka-cho in Asakusa, the most thickly populated district of modern Tokyo, where the lurid pictures outlined by electric light of kinema houses, second-rate theatres, and many other places of entertainment are now to be found. This district is still called theatre street, although Tokyo’s leading playhouses are scattered throughout the capital.

Mizuno’s attempt to check the evils of society were all in vain. Soon after his time, Meiji era dawned with the restoration of the Emperor to power, and the lives of the people began to flow in new and unexpected channels. The thoughts of those in power were too much engrossed with the opening of their country to trade and outside influences to trouble about the shaving of the actors’ heads, and the innumerable and wellnigh insupportable restrictions that had so long been endured gradually became null and void.

For 244 years, from the prohibition of the Women’s Stage to the Restoration, or from 1624 to 1868, interference with the theatre had continued without relaxation in the three towns—the regulations in Yedo, which form the subject of Ihara Seiseiin’s painstaking researches in his History of the Japanese Stage, applying in a greater or lesser degree to the shibai conditions of Osaka and Kyoto.

One of the most deplorable results was the relegation of the actor and playwright to the lower strata of society. The repetition of the rules and regulations against the theatre as a nest of iniquity that had no right to existence caused the people to grow indifferent towards the actors and playwrights. They undervalued them personally, although they enjoyed their art. Yet had their genius attained a much higher level than it did, there would have been no recognition for them in the scheme of things made possible by the shogunate, since the spiritual products of the people counted for nothing.

The venerable and eloquent Marquis Okuma, addressing a gathering of literary men and women at his residence, admitted literature’s place in Japan. His past career, he said, had been taken up with politics, diplomacy, religion, and economics; but he had given no consideration to literature. He confessed that he now realised for the first time, after a long life of eighty years, that literature was necessary in the building up of a new civilisation and the reconstruction of a new society for human beings, just as the different branches of science were necessary. As he had been born into the serious Saga clan, which had no idea of pleasure, he had never once in his earlier career witnessed a theatrical performance. He had no taste for music, and was taught to look down upon literature.

This was the common attitude towards the drama, acting, and everything else that pertained to the Japanese theatre. Badgered and beset by unsympathetic outsiders,—who were the mere minions of officialdom,—isolated and degraded, the players and playwrights, pariahs of society as they were, builded better than they knew.