One of the most remarkable customs connected with theatre going was the unearthly hour in the morning the shibai opened. Just before dawn, or between four and five o’clock, the big drum in the drum-tower was beaten as a signal that the performances were about to begin.

Those who lived near the theatres were obliged to hurry over an early breakfast that they might reach the playhouse by sunrise, but to the playgoers who were obliged to walk miles on foot, or countryfolk bent on seeing the famous actors, it was a matter of lengthy preparations the day before, and their journey shibaiwards was begun in the darkness of night. To a woman especially it was a serious undertaking to attend shibai, because hours were spent in oiling and arranging the hair, bathing, dressing, and making the face as attractive as possible with paint and powder.

Only the most enthusiastic playgoers planned on reaching the shibai in time for the first piece, and it was customary for people to stay overnight at the shibai chaya, or at an inn to be in readiness for the great event. To children allowed to accompany their elders the excitement preparatory to setting forth in the dead of night must have made these unforgettable occasions thrilling adventures. If by chance the grandparents formed part of the party, the child would listen to reminiscences of the fathers and grandfathers of the actors then playing, and the youthful playgoers when grown up would in turn recall their early visits to shibai, the long day spent in the theatre, the dinner at sunset in the tea-house, after which came the return homeward.

By the time the first golden rays of the sun were gilding the grey-tiled roofs of the town, people might have been seen coming from all directions to theatre street, where the scenes were so lively that, according to an old book, Kokon Yakusha Taizen, or Ancient and Modern Actors, “the prosperity seen outside the shibai every day cannot be expressed by a writing brush”.

And, indeed, the excitement of arrival must have compensated for the loss of sleep and long travel, for there was noise and confusion outside the theatre where the bill-boards, gorgeous posters depicting the characters in the play in brilliant colours on powdered gold backgrounds, glistened in the sunlight, the many coloured flags, presented to the actors on which their names were to be seen, floated bravely in the breeze, and rows of lanterns bearing the actor’s crest decorated the theatre inside and out.

In a translation made by the late Lord Redesdale and published in The Far East Magazine in 1871, there is a description of the shibai taken from an old book about the sights of Yedo, which gives an intimate picture of the interior as it looked to a playgoer of that day.

“The gallery ... is hung with curtains as bright as the rainbow in the departing clouds. The place soon becomes so crowded that the heads of the spectators are like the scales on a dragon’s back. When the play begins, if the subject be tragic, the spectators are so affected that they weep till they have to wring their sleeves dry. If the piece be comic they laugh till their chins are out of joint. The tricks and stratagems of the drama baffle description, and the actors are as graceful as the flight of the swallows. The triumph of persecuted virtue and the punishment of wickedness invariably crown the story. When a favourite actor makes his appearance his entry is hailed with cheers. Fun and diversion are the order of the day, and rich and poor alike forget the cares which they have left behind them at home; and yet it is not all idle amusement, for there is a moral included and a practical sermon in every play.”

As a testimonial to the respect the actors felt for their high calling, and a link with the ceremonial traditions of theatricals in Japan, it was the custom for a comic dance, or Sambasso, to precede the regular performances, and this was given before the sun had risen.

Originally Sambasso was a mirth-provoking dance performed in the courtyards of Shinto shrines to give pleasure to the gods. Sambasso is the masked figure of a jovial old man clad in ample robes bearing designs of large white storks, pine branches, tortoises and other emblems of good luck. He moves to the slow measures of flute and drum, postures with a fan, or shakes a bunch of bells used in the kagura, or Shinto dances. This ancient performance long ago passed into the possession of the Nō stage, became one of its most treasured ceremonies, is given on auspicious occasions, the secrets jealously guarded and handed down from father to son, the actors fasting and cleansing themselves before taking part in it.

Both the Doll-theatre and Kabuki appropriated Sambasso, modifying it to suit their own requirements. As to its outer appearance, the figure was a venerable old personage, but in fact it was believed to be the personification of one of the great deities worshipped at a chief Shinto shrine. This top-heavy, humoresque dancer, one of the most ancient theatrical figures extant in the world, that is faithfully preserved to-day and has a thousand years behind it, was looked upon by the theatre-folk with the deepest reverence and awe, since the performance of this dance meant the purification of the stage. It is well to recall this, when the yakusha of Old Japan are stigmatised as vicious, plebeian, loose, and immoral.

A picture of the stage in the early hours of the day, before the sun had made its appearance, is found in the old record of shibai, Kokon Yakusha Taizen, or Ancient and Modern Actors.

It tells how above the heads of the audience there were lanterns on which were to be seen the actors’ crests, and suspended from the gallery hung others bearing the symbols of the tea-houses. In front of the stage many candles were seen burning. First, there was the Sambasso dance, and after this all the play actors with the principal actor in advance made their entrance upon the stage, each carrying a lighted candle in his hand and clad in ceremonial skirts, long and voluminous, that encased their feet and flowed yards behind them like a lady’s train—the same costume worn by the great daimyo when attending social and state functions at the Shogun’s Court. The spokesman for the actors asked the patronage of the audience for ten thousand years, meaning to the end of time, a characteristic salutation of Asia, and in response the audience signified their appreciation by clapping their hands.

When the actors had retired, music was heard and an auspicious song was sung, the Shikainami, or Waves of the Four Seas, a passage from Takasago, a Nō play in which a prayer is made for the peace of the world and the smoothness of the waves in the four seas.

Following this, an announcement of the programme was read by a dignitary of the theatre. He began by crying out in a ringing voice: “Tozai! Tozai!” or “East-West! East-West!” This was to call the attention of people to the east and the west, and, indeed, in all parts of the theatre, who were thus admonished to listen to the important details of the plays to be acted. These men knelt down on the stage in front of the curtain, and read the programme in a peculiar style and with a flourish that belonged to the theatre. Gradually they became few in number, their salaries were decreased, and their place in the theatre was less and less recognised. The custom is now and then seen to-day, particularly at the beginning of Takeda Izumo’s Chushingura. A puppet announcer is placed outside the curtain and manipulated from behind, the doll going through the motions of an animated delivery of details connected with the play while an actor behind is responsible for the words.

Special performances were given four times a year, when the shibai ceremonial had a distinct place of its own; these were the celebration of the New Year, Spring, the Bon, or Festival of the Dead, in midsummer, and the opening of the shibai season in November. One of the most interesting of these was the Kaomise, or Face-Showing ceremony, on which occasion the actors were displayed before the admiring gaze of the audience, not as characters in a play, but in their own persons, to ask for the patronage of the people. It was a gracious acknowledgement of their close relationship to the audience, and at the same time gave expression to a subtle flattery of the playgoers, whom they thus took into full confidence as an essential part of the theatre.

The Kaomise was generally held in November with the inauguration of new theatrical season. At this time the actors prayed for the peace of the country and a bountiful harvest. Elaborate preparations were made. The night before many gay lanterns were seen on the theatre streets, even before the smallest and most insignificant of buildings. The actors’ residences as well as the shibai tea-houses were bright with crested lanterns, and large ones were placed at the entrance to the theatre and on each side of the actors’ dressing-rooms. It was a veritable feast of lanterns.

At this time the actors who had been engaged for the season were announced. It meant a new combination of players, for Kyoto and Osaka yakusha would come to Yedo, and vice versa. The playwrights and musicians who were to serve the theatre for the ensuing year were also secured, and proper announcements made during the Kaomise, as well as the forthcoming plays, whether newly written or old favourites in a new guise.

In the Kaomise ceremony the actors came to the stage by turns, and addressing the audience in an intimate way told what characters they would play, that they were glad to see the audience, and asked for their favour. This took up a great deal of time, but the occasion was gay and pleasant, and formed a fitting beginning to the theatre season. On the first day there was no charge for admission, and after the actors had introduced themselves special plays were performed.

Details of the Kaomise differed in the three towns, and varied according to the taste of the actors, who improvised to suit their own fancy. In Osaka, according to the Kokon Yakusha Taizen, the Kaomise was given seven times in succession, beginning in the evening and terminating in the small hours of the next day. Lanterns festooned the Dotombori, Osaka’s chief theatre street, bearing the crests of the leading actors. Gifts to the actors consisting of tubs of sake, bales of rice, dried fish, etc., were piled up so high as to reach the drum-tower. Playgoers came in boats by way of the Dotombori canal, the town being transected, then as now, by innumerable waterways. The author declares that the Osaka Kaomise was superior in attractions to similar ceremonies in Yedo or Kyoto, and that the scene was so fine that words could not be found to give it adequate description.

The dignity of the theatre was again shown in the Kojo, another announcement ceremony, when a promotion in rank, succession to a new stage name, or accession to the headship of an illustrious actor-family was made known to the audience. At such times the actors prostrated themselves on the stage, their heads touching their outspread hands. Then the chief actor would raise his face and speak on behalf of the actor whose change in rank or name was thus announced. He would in his turn, with the utmost modesty and humility, ask the audience to be lenient with his many mistakes, but that he hoped to improve and to please them in the future.

Among the many actor customs there was the Ashigoroye, or Arranging-the-Feet-in-Good-Order. Previous to the opening day of a new performance, the young actors would assemble outside the theatre and then proceed to the residence of the head of the company, their chief, who would receive them in state, sitting in a place of ceremony. The guests were clad in their best garments, and each one would receive a cup of sake from the host and return it to him. After partaking of a feast, all were requested to contribute to the evening’s entertainment by a song or dance. This custom gradually disappeared.

In connection with the November Kaomise there was a social gathering of the theatre people called the Yosehajime, or Getting-Together-for-the-First-Time. The men employed in the business management of the theatre attired in their best, carrying large lanterns in their hands adorned with the crest of the theatre, proceeded to the homes of the actors, where they were received and a fine repast spread before them.

Then the chief actors repaired to the residence of the theatre manager where they were warmly welcomed, while the onnagata gathered at the home of the leading onnagata, as might have been expected of such lady-like players.

At length actors, playwrights, managers, and musicians, all those engaged for the year to fill their respective niches in the theatre world, assembled outside the shibai just beneath the drum-tower, a goodly company of theatre-folk on the best of terms with one another. Under the leadership of the manager, they entered the theatre where a banquet was held in a room behind the stage.

There is a colour print by Torii Kiyonaga, painted and printed in 1784, depicting this custom so faithfully that it brings the scene vividly before our eyes. It shows the low two-storied houses on each side of theatre street in Yedo, with a glimpse of the drum-tower of the Nakamura-za to the right. On the big lanterns elevated on poles on each side of the theatre entrances, are seen the crests that recall the dream of Saruwaka Kansaburo, the founder of Yedo Kabuki, while waiting for a licence to open his theatre. He dreamed that a stork with a branch of an icho tree in its beak flew from the summit of Mount Fuji and entered his house. He took this as a good omen for his new enterprise, and the theatre crests were chosen in accordance with his dream. In Kiyonaga’s print a flying stork is seen on one lantern, a fan-shaped icho leaf on the other, while these two emblems of the Nakamura-za are represented on the paper spheres adorning the tea-houses and actors’ residences that line each side of the narrow thoroughfare.

In this picture the representatives of the theatre world are clad in the silk shirts and the stiff upper garments, or kamishimo, worn over the shoulders and tucked into their belts, that distinguished the gentleman of that day. If the yakusha were spoken of as riverside beggars, they still clung to the conventional garb of the middle and upper classes at that time worn in Japan. They also carried a sword in their belts, which was the privilege of the samurai. But this concession had been allowed since the Shogun had issued an order that the actors should be taught morality, and as a step towards their “uplift” it was commanded that they should be neatly dressed and wear a sword on leaving the theatre. When the play was over, the chief actor was escorted home by two young actors, a servant bearing a chest of clothing. The onnagata was accompanied to his house by attendants, one holding a big protecting umbrella over the head of the creator of feminine rôles.

With a similar display of dignity, the actor made his round of calls during the New Year season, the sleeves of his kimono bearing the crest of his family, a retinue following in his wake, the cynosure of all eyes as he passed through the admiring throngs of holiday-makers.

There were interesting customs in connection with the door-keepers. They were strangely costumed in long trailing women’s kimono, of vivid hues and bearing loud designs, thrown on carelessly over their ordinary wearing apparel, ostensibly to keep themselves warm, as they sat for long hours on raised platforms just outside the entrance doors, but in reality this striking attire was assumed to attract the attention of the public. Over their heads and drawn down over their ears were towels that were dyed with the crest of the chief actor of the theatre. One of these men was busy dealing out the tickets, long oblong pieces of wood, on which were written the big black Chinese characters denoting the place in the theatre it entitled the purchaser to take. The second door-keeper was more of a persuader than a distributor of wooden tickets, for with fan in hand he gesticulated while he loudly advertised the plays and players, sometimes imitating the delivery of the actor’s lines. His task was to keep up a flow of small talk, interspersed with wit and humour, and so induce people to enter.

Previous to the opening day, the door-keepers read the names of the plays, the actors, and their parts. Dressed in their womanish kimono they presented an extraordinary sight, as, holding between them a long paper scroll on which the programme was written, they delivered their voluble announcement to the crowds anxious to hear news of what was going forward in the shibai.

With a change of programme, the actors and their rôles were advertised to the public by an actor’s crest board, narrow pieces of wood with the crest at the top. These were arranged side by side outside the shibai.

One of the most interesting customs was the kamban, or bill-board on which paintings of a high order were frequently to be seen. These posters illustrating the plays, done in bright colours, were hung on kamban that were bordered by wide lacquered frames often richly ornamented with brass, and placed along the front of the shibai.

A special school of painters was called into being to look after these pictorial advertisements, and they became the specialty of the Torii family. They were first started in Genroku by an actor-founder of this line of theatre artists. Less beautiful street posters were pasted up on fences and houses where several roads met.

With the beginning of Kabuki, the shibai advertisements consisted of boards on which Chinese characters were written. Later on, in Kyoto these simple announcements were framed and decorated with artificial flowers. To make them even more attractive an actor pasted a picture on the board. These posters were placed in the street to proclaim to the passer-by the nature of the coming performances. This custom originated with Nagoya Sansaburo, when he sought to make O-Kuni’s river-bed show widely known. He was the first person to write announcements on wood in Chinese characters and to set them up at the cross-roads.

The founder of the Torii family was an Osaka actor, who followed the onnagata specialty, but painting was his hobby, and he began to make pictures for the kamban of Dotombori. Later he removed to Yedo. His son, Kiyonobu, inherited his father’s talent, and as his style of painting greatly pleased the Yedo people, he soon became very popular and was called Torii, the first.

It is recorded that an artist of another school was requested to make the Yedo Kamban. In 1818 there was a disagreement between the then reigning theatre artist Torii Kiyomitsu and the management of the Kawarazaki-za, with the result that Utagawa Kuniyoshi was asked to undertake the work. He chose for his subject O-Kuni Kabuki, and treated it so well that all Yedo made a pilgrimage to gaze upon the picture, and the plays in progress within the shibai proved to be of lesser attraction. This not only resulted in a falling-off in attendance, but shortly after the theatre was burned down, and the superstitious playfolk traced this ill luck to the absence of the Torii posters. They hurried back to him, and he continued to monopolise this feature of shibai. To-day the traditions are being carried on with much success by Torii Kiyotada, the seventh Torii to be associated with the work of painting shibai posters.

The different members of the Torii school have also been responsible for the banzuke, or illustrated theatre programmes, that are sent out by an actor to his patrons or by the theatre to its supporters. The banzuke consists of a large piece of paper on which are seen brush sketches of the plays and characters. These are neatly folded, and give the playgoers the whole story of the new programme. This old custom is still in force.

Shibai chaya, or the tea-houses that served playgoers, are not to-day what they were in former times, since their usefulness has practically departed. In the brave days of old, the chaya were influential institutions, for no respectable persons would dream of entering the shibai by any other way than through the tea-house.

Owing to the long theatre hours, which continued from sunrise to sunset, the chaya became a positive necessity. The intervals between the curtains were often very long, for the actors and their dependents performed their work in a leisurely manner, considerations of time scarcely entering into their calculations, as the plays went on from twelve to fourteen hours.

Moreover, there were no conveniences in connection with the shibai of those days, and it was necessary for every one to seek out the chaya for recreation, gossip, food, or rest. Although the samurai were not supposed to be seen at such a vulgar entertainment as the shibai, he managed to be a frequent visitor, often attending incognito. If he went in his proper attire, he carried two swords thrust through his waistband, and when such a dignitary condescended to witness the plays, his precious weapon, often a family treasure, had to be deposited in the chaya before he could kneel down to enjoy himself in his box in the gallery.

There were many kinds of chaya attached to shibai,—the great chaya, or first-class tea-houses, in close proximity to the theatre, and the front chaya, or those somewhat detached, generally opposite. Many little chaya or small places of business, were also to be found. A first-class theatre had as many as nineteen chief tea-houses, twenty-eight of a slightly different grade, and a great variety of minor places. The maids of the tea-houses waited on their guests with tea and cakes, cushions, tobacco, and the chaya vied with each other in the cooking of tempting dishes. The old customs with regard to the tea-house in Tokyo were to be seen at the Ichimura-za until the earthquake disaster, where much that characterised the Yedo playhouses was preserved.

Kyoto audiences were unaccustomed to applaud in the early period of Kabuki. They discussed the plays and players and gossiped among themselves. If a playgoer wished to tell an actor how well he had done, he would write a note to this effect and have it sent into his dressing-room. Osaka audiences were not so restrained, and early in Genroku it was the custom for the Dotombori playgoers to shout and clap their hands. The actors were much gratified, for, like members of their fraternity in other parts of the world, they were not above playing to the gallery.

The first time a person in an audience in Osaka dared to express the pleasure the actors had given him, he shouted out loudly, “You did very well!” There were occasions, however, when the enthusiasts in the audience used complicated sentences when bestowing praise, and so interfered with the plays.

The audience was also quick to show disappointment at the failure of the players and did not hesitate to shower them with adverse criticism, some quick-tempered persons throwing cushions and other objects at the stage if the play did not suit them.

Yedo was not far behind Osaka in noisy demonstrations, and the audiences of present-day Tokyo, Osaka, and Kyoto still maintain the characteristics that distinguished their ancestors two hundred years ago.

Quite necessary to the management of an audience that remained under the roof of the theatre for twelve hours were the dekata, or servitors of shibai. The rank and file of the dekata were ushers, and wore dark kimono tucked into baggy Turkish trousers. They showed the people to their seats, brought them cushions on which to kneel, supplied them with programmes, tea, cakes, and tobacco, and were as busy as the denizens of an ant-hill the entire day.

There were two divisions of dekata, headed by leaders, or managers whose higher rank permitted them to wear haori, or overcoats, which sometimes bore the crest of the theatre. The duty of some of these servants was to wait upon the actors in their comings and goings. Others had charge of the seats in the gallery reserved for special playgoers. Two of these men were selected to sit on either side of the stage, to see that the play was not disturbed, for the presence of a fighting man who had partaken not wisely but too well of sake would sometimes cause great confusion.

Another was stationed at the end of the hanamichi, where some of the best acting was done. His special duties, as keeper of the way, were to see that it was kept clear for the entrances and exits of the actors. Others were given the task to guard the actors’ dressing-rooms, to prevent the intrusion of unwelcome outsiders, who sometimes strayed unbidden into the calm atmosphere of the world over which the actors held sway.

While the dekata wore dun-coloured garments, the personal servants of the actors were truly theatrical in appearance, for they donned bright blue or red kimono that had for pattern a design showing the crest of the actor to whom they were attached. It was their custom to pay special courtesies to a patron of their chief when he visited the theatre, and the more consequential or wealthy this individual happened to be, the greater the number of actor attendants who waited upon him, which marked him out as a playgoer of first importance.

For footlights, there were candles set in tall wooden candlesticks along the front of the stage. These were not sufficient on a stormy or gloomy day, and tsura akari, or face-lights, were introduced the better to illuminate the actor’s countenance and costume. Stage assistants to right and left held these candles up, adapting themselves with great dexterity to the movements of the actors.

Now and then this custom is still to be seen in the theatres of Tokyo and Osaka, when the effect is so pleasing that the electric light with its harsh glare appears to be anything but a happy invention for stage illumination.

Perhaps one of the most picturesque shibai customs in Yedo was the ceremony of Norikomi,—literally, to-come-riding. When an Osaka or Kyoto actor travelled along the Tokaido, the main highway between Kyoto and Yedo, he was accorded a special reception at the end of his long journey, and was generally met some distance out of Yedo.

His means of conveyance was a kago, or palanquin, something after the fashion of a sedan chair, which was firmly fastened to a stout pole borne on the shoulders of many bearers in front and behind. Often an actor of importance accompanied by his pupils and servants made quite a retinue, and caused a small sensation among the townspeople as the procession wound through the streets.

When the visiting actor drew near the theatre that had engaged him, the entire fraternity of shibai people, dressed in kimono of the same colour, waving fans, came out to meet the newcomer and shouted a noisy welcome, clapped their hands in regular rhythms, to which the actor would respond by clapping his own. Afterwards a feast was spread and sake cups exchanged. This began in Yedo, and was also observed in Osaka, but the Yedo Norikomi was always much more gay and festive.

These are a few of the many interesting shibai customs that were in vogue in Yedo, Osaka, and Kyoto, before such world events as the Declaration of American Independence or the French Revolution.