The yakusha (lit., rôle man), of Kabuki, belongs to the actors’ fraternity, the brethren of the buskin, who form a peculiar company of their own, irrespective of the lands from which they have sprung or the creeds they hold.

Of Kabuki and its long line of brilliant actors, the world knows nothing. Their art was good, although it received but scant appreciation or recognition from those who occupied the seats of the mighty.

They were faithful to their ideals, and what they have accomplished is a contribution to the actor’s art of the world. In their day and generation the yakusha were members of a degraded class, looked down upon, derided, but nevertheless they were true to the theatre instinct within them.

Similar to their fellows in the West, these actors of Japan met with success and were the idols of the people. They died in harness, or passed their remaining years in obscurity. There were players whose names for some reason or other suddenly disappeared from the lists of the theatre chroniclers—others about to lose their popularity were fortunate enough to take a new lease of life, and continued to act until old age claimed them.

It was not infrequent that the yakusha took it into his head to retire, but, thinking better of it, returned again to the glamour of the stage. Among the yakusha there were always some who grew monotonous and old-fashioned, and failed to keep abreast of the times in which they lived.

Above this innumerable tribe of play-folks tower the men of genius who carried all before them, delighting the audiences of the three theatre towns, the most-talked-of and most beloved personalities of the time, taking ill while playing a favourite rôle, or breathing their last in their dressing-rooms, in which they spent such a large portion of their lives.

Many of the yakusha were similar to the Western actors in one respect—they were great spendthrifts, and the larger the earnings the greater the extravagance displayed. When the authorities in Yedo who presided over the affairs of the theatre found a yakusha who was too fond of display, his goods were confiscated, or else he was obliged to pay a penalty.

Considerable literary ability was found among these despised theatre-folk. They were especially fond of poetry; and studied under the masters of the different forms of short poems, and often excelled. The part the yakusha played in the composition of the Kabuki plays has not been fully acknowledged. That they often wrote plays or aided materially in the collaboration is well known. It was a common stage custom for the actors to improvise in the plays to suit themselves, and while the greater portion of this ephemeral material has perished, much remains to be seen, particularly in the eighteen traditional pieces of the Ichikawa family.

That the yakusha had the heart to study literature and compose poems is very much in their favour, when it is considered that they were regarded as a low class of persons—the dregs of society. It would have been quite natural if they had neglected the difficult art of calligraphy, owing to their strenuous lives in the theatre, but many yakusha were as versed in writing the complicated characters as they were in all the other accomplishments that distinguished the genteel person of Japan at this time. One actor was so proud, of his ability in this direction that he wrote long epistles the better to show off his accomplishment.

They intermarried to a remarkable extent. Since they were segregated to certain quarters near the theatre, they chose their wives for the most part from among their own fraternity. The daughters of actor families married men of their father’s profession, and their daughters again became the wives of actors. This brought about such complicated genealogies that it became impossible to unravel the tangled relationships.

Now and then a yakusha strayed out of the fold and took unto himself a farmer’s daughter, or, as was quite common, selected a maiden who had passed her life in the theatre atmosphere, daughter of the proprietor of a chaya, or theatre tea-house, that catered daily to the audience. Sometimes a yakusha had for father the keeper of a restaurant, and the sons of wrestlers made good actors as they were of fine physique.

Many of the leading actors were sons of ronin, or samurai who had severed connection with their feudal lord and joined the ranks of the common people. The first Danjuro was of samurai stock, his father a ronin. Again, the dissipated sons of military families took up acting as a profession when turned out of doors by their stern samurai fathers for their sins and omissions.

A famous onnagata, Yoshisawa Ayame, was a page in a samurai house before he became an actor. The first Nakamura Utayemon was the son of a physician. Others were sons of ningyo-tsukai or doll-handlers in the puppet theatre, and the yakusha were related to stage musicians, dancing teachers, costumers, and even the menials of the theatre. Arashi Kanjuro became a colour-print artist under Toyokuni, and was called Kunihara.

Not infrequently the yakusha studied the Nō, and introduced many features of the classic drama into his own productions. There were actors of refinement, who stood apart from the vulgarity of their day, but on the other hand a great many who, influenced by the odium attached to their profession, led loose and immoral lives. But in this they only followed the lead of their times, for vulgarity and sensuality was the order of the day, as might have been expected, since the monotony of peace and the stagnant regime of the Tokugawa Shogunate were largely responsible for the licentiousness that prevailed.

At this time there were actors who worked as understudies and were not regularly employed, and when not on the stage earned money by their immoralities. They did not accept compensation from the theatre, but appeared for the sake of exhibiting their personal charms and provided their own costumes. Until 1830 these good-looking young men were to be found in private tea-houses in connection with the theatre, and from their ranks came some of the famous onnagata. This is the other side of the theatre, but accounts in large measure for the deep social prejudice that existed against the Kabuki yakusha, a prejudice that is by no means entirely removed at the present day, although the standing of the actors has been elevated and their position in one of Japan’s most characteristic institutions is fully recognised.

Sons born in a leading actor’s family were given a thorough stage training, making their first bow to the audience while still infants in arms, but less fortunate children had great difficulty in winning a place on the stage. Yakusha who succeeded without family, and who relied only upon their talents, often received their early stage apprenticeship as members of travelling companies, or were seen in kodomo shibai, or children’s theatre companies. There were, also, temporary theatres set up in compounds of shrines, called miya shibai, or shrine theatres, and those along the river, called hama shibai, or shore theatres. The ability of many a popular actor was very often first discovered in such surroundings.

It was difficult for the outsider to break through the yakusha caste. The family system of preserving the line was as strong among the yakusha as it was from the Shogun and aristocracy down to artists, artisans, tea ceremony and flower arrangement teachers and musicians. And if there was no direct descendant to inherit the family name an heir was adopted. This forms one of the most interesting characteristics of the yakusha, for the son not only succeeded to the family name, but carried on the traditions of his father’s stage art with an unswerving fidelity, preserving the inheritance of the past, but also attempting to enhance the reputation of the family, and in turn passing on the capital and accumulated interest to the next successor.

The inclination of the yakusha towards Buddhism was very strong. Kabuki Koto Hajime, or Beginnings of Kabuki, says with regard to this characteristic:

“Those who played tragic rôles wanted to borrow the power of Hokkekyo (Buddhist Scripture of the Lotus of the Good Law), and especially were faithful to the Nichiren sect (founded by Nichiren, the stormy petrel of Japanese Buddhism, seven hundred years ago). They had to have some religion to forget the terrible characters they played, as they might be haunted by them when they went home.”

Ichimura Takenojo, a nephew of the first Ichimura Uzaemon, the proprietor of the Ichimura-za, became an acolyte in a Buddhist seminary in the district of Honjo, Yedo. He had his head shaved and put on priest’s robes, and giving up the applause of the stage for the calm of the cloister, went straight off to the Buddhist institution. Afterwards he studied at Hiei-zan, the mountain monastery overlooking Kyoto, and rose to a leading position in the priesthood, becoming the head priest of a mountain temple, and returning to a Yedo temple, where he died in his old age. Yamashita Kyoyemon, contemporary of Sakata Tojuro, had a priest brother, and Yamatoya Imbei of Osaka had two Buddhist priests for brothers.

Ichikawa Danshiro, the most talented pupil of the first Ichikawa Danjuro, left the stage in the middle of his career to become a priest. Many urgent messages were sent from his former theatre in Yedo requesting him to rejoin the actors, and at last he consented on condition that he return immediately the performances were over to his secluded temple life.

Of quite a different character was Miyasaki Denkichi’s connection with Buddhism. He was with other actors imprisoned on account of a scandal in a nunnery, and since the head nun was a favourite of the Shogun’s Court she was sentenced to death.

Many of the yakusha shaved their heads as a sign of their retirement from active life. The fourth Ichikawa Danjuro was one of those who voluntarily abandoned a flourishing career, and Sadoshima Chogoro, the author of Sadoshima Nikki, or Journal of Sadoshima, took a holy name, and lived in front of the Kennin-ji, a Buddhist temple, in Kyoto.

Some of the star actors went on pilgrimages. Arashi Sangoro visited the thirty-three temples sacred to Kwannon, the Goddess of Mercy, in Kyushu, and afterwards became a priest.

The yakusha had his superstitions. He went to shrines and prayed to obtain the fame of actors past and gone, or made special supplications that he might be successful in a new rôle. He was like other men; he mixed up in fights and had to go to prison, he had his love affairs and rivalries; sometimes became despondent and committed suicide early, or retired to open a shop dealing in incense, or white powder for the face. There were not only skilled musicians, amateur poets, and painters among them, but they were uppermost in the making and producing of plays. They were able to sew their own stage costumes and to embroider them with elaborate designs. Their costumes had a considerable effect upon the fashions, inducing men to dress in extravagant taste, while women of good families followed the example set by the actors on the stage, copying colours, designs, and styles, even the width of the obi.

The yakusha travelled up and down the country from Yedo to Osaka and Kyoto, held their anniversaries and ceremonies, and were careful of the type, training their sons in the way they should go. In spite of this, misfortune often overtook a prosperous family, and the line withered away. It was renewed by some young relative, only to disappear in after years. No family flourished generation after generation as did the Ichikawa Danjuro line, and yet there is no representative of this name upon the Tokyo stage to-day.

Nakamura Nakazo is on record as having expressed the opinion that actors should not be seen in public, but should be known only on the stage, and secure fame by their art alone. He thought it was a mistake for play-folk to attend picnics, moon-gazing or snow-viewing parties, or mix with the crowd.

The second Ichikawa Danjuro was also a believer in the actor’s anonymity and seclusion from the public, and considered that if an actor was not good-looking he would not appear to advantage on the street. It is true that if the yakusha went out wearing fine apparel and attracted people by his dignified bearing, the defects of his character or lack of talent would be hidden. As the face of the yakusha was certain to be less attractive off the stage than on, he should take care not to be seen by the people.

Danjuro further declared that as an actor’s life was full of anxiety, it was necessary that he should enjoy all the comforts of home, and receive every care to maintain his health. It was best for the yakusha to stay at home, so that he would have no occasion to become angry, and as he was the object of public attention he should aim to be as refined and beautiful as possible.

When young, Danjuro the second thought, the yakusha should wear his head covered, and in middle age that he should ride in a kago, the basket conveyance hung on two poles and carried on the shoulders of bearers. And this must not be regarded as extravagance, but to make a good impression upon theatre-goers and therefore a duty to the theatre proprietor, for he considered it of the greatest importance for a yakusha to be magnificent in order to fill an eminent position.

Contrary to Danjuro’s opinion, Sawamura Sojuro, the first, believed in the simple life for an actor. He said a chief actor should mingle with the people in the streets, and aim to be unpretentious, for a yakusha would thereby be able to learn of his defects upon the stage. As for clothing, it was quite sufficient to have one kimono for each season. It was, however, natural to wish to dress well, but it often proved ruinous. It was best for the yakusha to leave his name to posterity as a stage celebrity rather than as a millionaire, to be remembered for his art rather than for his money.

Kataoka Nizaemon, the first, of Osaka, declared that actors should be conversant with poetry and literature, and know all subjects relating to Buddhism and Shintoism, information that would be of use to them on the stage.

When Ichikawa Danjuro, the second, built a fine new residence after his dwelling had been burned down, he gave a house-warming party, and a hundred short poems were written by the guests who attended. In the tokonoma, or recess of the reception-room, was hung an autographed poem by Kikaku, a well-known versifier. On the sliding doors were pictures by artists of the Tosa School. The small metal pieces inserted into the doors were of the best workmanship. There was a painting of chrysanthemums done especially for Danjuro by the master of flowers, Korin, and a flower vase after a design by Basho.

He counted among his friends many of the intellectuals of his day, and upon one occasion he was seen out for a walk between Hanabusa Icho, the painter, and Kikaku, the poet, the two outstanding geniuses of the age.

His name was known at the Shogun’s Court, for there is a mention in the diary of a daimyo, Matsura Sezan, that one day the Shogun, Tokugawa Yoshimune, passed through the ward of Honjo, and the route took him near a shrine where he noticed a votive offering on which was written a poem, signed Hakuin, Danjuro’s poetry name. Appreciating the literary talent the poem revealed, the Shogun turned to his retinue and asked who had composed it, but as none of them knew, he explained that it was the nom de plume of Ichikawa Danjuro.

Nakamura Nakazo has left mention in his journal concerning a visit he made to a member of the Choshu clan, to the effect that he had been invited by a retired personage to his residence, made of hinoki wood, meaning a mansion such as was erected for the aristocracy, and that he was entertained with tea and asked to dance. The appreciative host not only gave each one of the party a gift, but after his return to his domain in Choshu he sent Nakazo a suzuri, or box for holding the Japanese writing brush and ink stone.

Retired persons of the upper class were considered privileged to enjoy life as they pleased, and they often went to the theatre incognito. After the performance they invited the actors to the chaya, and gave them gifts.

Actor worship permeated the people; the playgoers of the three towns enjoyed them, criticised, gossiped about them, even as they do at the present day. The theatre was the great recreation of the people, and the actors, how they looked, how apparelled, and the quality of their acting formed the endless topic of conversations and discussions.

And yet in spite of the fact that the actors held such a firm place in the affections of the people; that they were the exponents of a theatre which reflected the national characteristics to a remarkable extent; that they represented the taste, style, and ideas of their time in no small degree, and that they were often men of cultivation and refinement off the stage,—their profession was scorned.

They were the object of long persecution. It would be difficult to find in the history of the theatre throughout the world a deeper prejudice or more complete contempt for the actor than has been the portion of the Kabuki yakusha.

This state of affairs was largely due to the attitude adopted towards the theatre by the Tokugawa government. From the official standpoint the theatre was a vulgar institution and had an immoral effect upon society. Through the production of socialistic plays, the minds of the people were influenced, and the authorities sought to control the overflowing life that found a vent in theatre-going. The theatre also encouraged luxury, causing the people to wander away from the paths of economy, and to desire the elaborate houses, furniture, and clothing they saw upon the stage.

The strict control exercised over the actors was not all due to the desire of the governing classes to elevate and improve the governed. It was part of their plan to keep back the natural democracy of the people, which, like a rising tide, threatened to grow stronger than was good for the welfare of the shogunate.

Murdoch in his History of Japan, in characterising the rule of the Shoguns, touches the core of the matter when he says:

“The Yedo machine of mediocrities had converted Japan from a progressive into a stationary state, chiefly because the Tokugawa flunkeys of those days wished to preserve their own position....”

And it was the officials of government who were under the conviction that the theatre and actors were a source of moral corruption, and in consequence saw to it that this particular sphere of influence was segregated to special sites in the three towns, much in the same way that the “gay quarters” were separated from the ordinary channels of life.

But this was not sufficient restraint, and social intercourse with the townsmen was forbidden. To complete the social boycott the actors were obliged to reside together, were prohibited from going far from their homes and ordered to keep well within their own preserves; they could not mingle with the people unless they wore a deep basket-like straw hat that hid their faces from sight.

Saruwaka Kansaburo, in 1624, in compliance with the Shogun’s order sang a sailor’s song at the helm of the Shogun’s pleasure boat, and in 1648 he and his followers were summoned to the Shogun’s palace to show their art.

But in 1719, when the mother of the eighth Shogun, Yoshimune, and his children wished to see dancing and were about to send for the actors, the officials opposed the plan, reminding them of Yenoshima, the Court lady, and her scandal with the actor Ikushima Shingoro. Doll performers were ordered to attend instead.

As for the status of the yakusha, it fell very low indeed after Saruwaka Sansaburo’s time, for they were ranked among the lowest classes, but one degree removed from the eta, the pariah class. In the census lists they were not entered as other men, but were noted by the numeral suffix, then used in the enumeration of cattle.

Although it was the deliberate aim of the Government to lower the standing of the actors, it is clear they were not placed on the same level as those outcasts of society, the eta, as is seen from a judgement given in a law court in 1708.

Satsuma Kogenda held a Kabuki performance in a village called Masaki, in the Province of Awa. The eta were debarred from attendance, and three hundred of them living in the neighbourhood were so enraged, they attacked and destroyed the theatre. A representative of the outcasts filed a suit in court against the theatre-owner and actors, as well as the musicians, but a decision was given in favour of the theatre, and the leaders among the eta who had instigated the attack were sentenced to exile.

In Okina Gusa (lit., Old Man Sayings) there is an account which well illustrates the social attitude towards the actor. Kirinoya Gonjuro, who acted chiefly in Osaka and Kyoto, was the son of a flower-arrangement teacher. A certain official living in Kyoto belonged to the same school of flower-arrangement as the actor’s father, and the two were on friendly terms. When Kirinoya was appearing in Kyoto he had to go to the magistrate’s office on some business connected with the theatre, and the official discovered that his friend’s son had joined the ranks of the vulgar Kabuki players. He ordered Kirinoya to call at his residence, and when he did so he would not allow him to enter, but commanded him to prostrate himself on the ground before the entrance, and is reported to have said to him:

“Although I have been a friend of your father, your status in society is quite beyond the pale of intercourse. If you cease to be an actor I will allow you to enter my house and will renew our friendship, but not otherwise.”

The actor, quite overcome at this prejudiced attitude, replied:

“I thank you for your kindness, but it is impossible for me to give up my profession. Although I have thus lowered myself in the social scale, I am chief among the actors, and there are many of my followers who are dependent upon me for a livelihood. I cannot deprive them of this. Even among us who are despised there is loyalty and fidelity, and I have no other course but to follow my profession. In this case I cannot see you again.”

Another sidelight upon the social prejudice against actors is shown by a story that is told of Kosagawa Juyemon, a samurai in the service of a certain feudal lord, who had become an actor from choice. A member of his family went to the theatre where he was employed, and being informed that he was acting under his own name grew so infuriated that he threatened to kill the young man, but was finally pacified by the people of the theatre.

In Kabuki Koto Hajime, or the Beginnings of Kabuki, the author rises to the defence of the actor: “The Kawara Kojiki (Riverside Beggars) all belonged to the common people. But this was not so in reality. They washed and cleaned their bodies before praying for the safety and prosperity of the country. What is said of them is not true.”

Dr. Yuzo Tsubouchi, one of the leading modern dramatists, in commenting on the prejudice against the actors, writes: “Many persons despised them and still harboured against them the prejudice which had originated in the tradition that they had been put under the control of the eta during the Kamakura shogunate. Even at the close of the Tokugawa rule they were not looked upon as respectable citizens, and consequently the military class studiously avoided intercourse with them and refrained from visiting the theatre.”

In a similar strain the late Rev. Arthur Lloyd says in his Notes on Japanese Drama in the Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan: “The shibai had but a poor reputation. No samurai or respectable person would have degraded himself by attendance at a performance. They were compelled to live like eta, in Ghettos or districts of their own, being shunned by all persons of position or repute. It was folly to expect anything at all noble or inspiring from persons compelled to live in such surroundings, and it speaks volumes for the despised play-actors and playwrights that they did not sink lower.”

Captain Francis Brinkley in the chapter dealing with Refinements and Pastimes in his Japan: its History, Arts and Literature, writes as follows regarding the attitude toward the actors of Meiji: “Ichikawa Danjuro and Onoe Kikugoro, the princes of the stage at present, would long ago have earned a world-wide reputation had their lot been cast in any Western country. There cannot be any second opinion about their capacities, or about their title to rank with the great tragedians of the world. But in their own country, though their names are household words, taint of their profession clings to them still. Men speak of them as a ballet dancer of extraordinary agility or a banjo player of eminent skill would be spoken of in Europe or America—renowned exponents of a renownless art.”

Undoubtedly this attitude of the upper classes had much to do with the triviality and vulgarity that existed in the theatre. But on the other hand, the isolated actors and playwrights belonged all the more to the theatre. Left without leadership, they worked out their own salvation, and made their own standards. Lacking the stimulus that the recognition and encouragement of the highest in the land might have given them, they were able through their own innate sense of art and unerring desire for beauty to bring about the present rich accumulation of artistic forces within Kabuki which may yet be an impetus to the Western theatre, hungry as it is for just such fare as Kabuki is able to provide so bountifully.

When all is considered the yakusha was more sinned against than sinning. In fact, he was often more cultivated than the ordinary citizen, even the samurai who, especially in the lower ranks, were merely rough, unlearned soldiery, and often knew nothing of courtesy or manners. “Too often”, says Fenollosa, “we have read that the whole brilliancy and value of Japan lay in her samurai.”

The yakusha excelled in military arts, they used judo and fencing with good effect on the stage, and were expert in swordsmanship. They were obliged to be skilled counterfeiters of the samurai, since the most popular plays were those dealing with the exploits of the two-sworded hero, and nothing pleased playgoers better than to see the stately daimyo and his loyal retainers represented on the stage, for they were personages so far removed from the everyday life of the plain citizen.

After all, it was the outcast yakusha who upheld the flower of chivalry and idealised the faithfulness of man for master, loyalty and self-sacrifice, the favourite themes of the plays.

Again, it was the yakusha, held in such low esteem, who was to keep alive the feudal age, long after it had passed away. And it is the yakusha to-day who maintains the dignity of bearing and represents the heroic deeds of the samurai, when many of their descendants have wellnigh forgotten the principles that actuated their ancestors.