The Spell of Japan Part 15

"At dawn, how cold the waiting moon doth shine On remnants of snow beneath the pine!"

BY MEIJI TENNO.

_Translated by Mrs. Douglas Adams._

That the poetry of j.a.pan is not without its humour is shown by the following comic song, which deals with a subject of universal interest:

"In the shadow of the mountain What is it that shines so?

Moon is it? or star? or is it the firefly insect?

Neither is it moon, Nor yet star....

It is the old woman's eye--it is the eye Of my mother-in-law that shines!"

Modern poetry is read by every one, and composed by every one. Poems are written on tablets and hung or suspended in the houses; they are everywhere, printed on all useful and household articles. I quote a poem called "The Beyond," which was published in a recent issue of the _j.a.pan Magazine_. It shows not only a change of form, but of theme as well.

"Thou standest at the brink. Behind thy back Stretch the fair, flower-decked meadows, full of light, And pleasant change of wooded hill and dale With tangled scrub of thorn and bramble bush, Which men call life. Lo! now thy travelled foot Stands by the margin of the silent pool; And, as thou standest, thou fearest, lest some hand Come from behind, and push thee suddenly Into its cold, dark depths.

"Thou needst not fear; The hidden depths have their own fragrance too, And he that loves the gra.s.ses of the field, With fragrant lilies decks the still pool's face, With weeds the dark recesses of the deep; March boldly on, nor fear the sudden plunge, Nor ask where ends life's meadow-land.

E'en the dark pool hath its own fragrant flowers."

The two young poets, Horoshi Yosano and his wife Akiko, are known as the Brownings of j.a.pan. Yosano was editing a small magazine of verse not long ago when the poetess Akiko sent him one of her maiden efforts for publication. A meeting followed, and in spite of poverty--for poets are poor in j.a.pan as elsewhere--they fell in love and were presently married. They went to France, and were made much of by the young poets of Paris. Yosano is something of a radical, impatient of poetic conventions and thoroughly in harmony with the new spirit of j.a.pan. The power of Akiko's work is suggested in a poem of hers called "The Priest."

"Soft is thy skin: Thou hast never touched blood, O teacher of ways Higher than mortal: How lonely thou art!"

The j.a.panese drama has not held so high a place as have the other forms of literature, for the stage was regarded for many years as nothing more than a rather common and even vulgar means of amus.e.m.e.nt. The cla.s.sic drama, represented by the _No_ dances, was partly religious and had more prestige, but there have been few good dramatists. The stage is of interest, however, because it is the only place left where one may study the manners and customs of long ago.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A j.a.pANESE STAGE.]

To give a brief summary of this art--the j.a.panese drama, like the ancient Greek, and the English also, had its origin in religion. In the very earliest days there were crude religious dances and songs. Later, popular tales of history and legend, mixed with poetry, were dramatized.

Minstrels often recited these to the accompaniment of the lute.

Marionette dances accompanied by songs were also popular. Since these performances were regarded as beneath the consideration of the n.o.bility, the _No_ performance with a chorus came into existence for their benefit. After the earlier form had become debased and vulgarized the _No_ dances kept their ancient ceremonial character, and continued to be performed before Shogun and _samurai_, and even before the Imperial family. They developed into something very like the cla.s.sic drama of Greece. The actors were masked, the plays were held in the open air with no scenery but with elaborate costumes, and had a religious quality which they have retained to the present day. As the _No_ is very long, comedy pieces were introduced, like the "interludes" of the pre-Elizabethan stage, to offset the cla.s.sical severity. The actors have always been of a better cla.s.s than the _kabuti_, or players for the common people.

Takeda Izuma is one of the most celebrated play writers, having dramatized the story of the Forty-Seven Ronins, as well as other historic tales. Chikamatsu is sometimes called the Shakespeare of j.a.pan; his best work is a play in which the expulsion of the Dutch from Formosa is used as a theme. He was a prolific writer of rather a sensational order. Samba, who has taken the name of Ikku, is one of the best dramatists of the present time, and is renowned throughout j.a.pan.

Hitherto myths, legends--religious or secular--and folklore, as well as pa.s.sages from j.a.panese history, have been the material used for plays.

To-day, however, novels are dramatized as with us, and many plays are translated. Western dramas are having a great vogue at present.

Whether the plays are original or not, the author's name frequently does not appear at all. When Miss Scidmore, the author of "Jinrikisha Days,"

asked a great tragedian who wrote the play in which he was appearing, the star was puzzled and said that he did not understand. A bystander explained that it was based on newspaper accounts of various catastrophies, made into some sort of scenario by a hack-writer, with the stage-effects planned by the manager and the dialogue written by the actors--each of whom composed his own lines! No wonder the tragedian was puzzled by the question. As a rule, however, the dramatic author has entire charge of the production--he writes the play, arranges the scenes, and consults with the leading actor and proprietor.

CHAPTER XI

AMUs.e.m.e.nTS

As the traveller's first idea on reaching land after a long voyage is to enjoy himself, I am going to suggest several forms of amus.e.m.e.nt. Perhaps I had better begin by trying to answer what is sure to be his first question--"Where is the best tea-house with the prettiest _geisha_ girls?"

We found that the most celebrated _geishas_ were in Kyoto, where the dancing is cla.s.sic, a model for the rest of the country. Here were also the best-trained _maikos_, or little dancers. The Ichiriki, or One-Power, Tea-house, which we visited, is one of the most famous in the country, for here in the long-ago Oishi, leader of the Forty-Seven Ronins, resorted in order to mislead the emissaries sent out to watch him by pretending dissipation and cowardliness. There is a shrine in the tea-house to the revered hero.

The place is very typical, with its clean-matted rooms and its tiny garden with miniature features of rock and water, its lanterns and stepping-stones, its gnarled trees and clumped bamboo. At the entrance to this tea-house we removed our shoes and pa.s.sed over the soft mats into the simple, pretty rooms, open to the air and overlooking the lovely garden.

It took some time for the little entertainers to gather, for they are not used to haste. In the meantime we sat on mats while tea and _sake_ were served by the _naisan_, or maids, who shave off their eyebrows in order to make themselves plainer and so set off the beauty of the dancers. They came slipping in and falling upon their knees before us, bowing low and presenting the tiny cups for drinking--all a matter of much ceremony and etiquette when politely done.

[Ill.u.s.tration: GEISHA GIRLS AT THE ICHIRIKI TEA-HOUSE, KYOTO.

(In the corner is inserted a geisha girl's visiting-card, _actual size_.)]

Finally some wee _maikos_ came shuffling in with their quaint dress and hair make-up, their whitened faces and painted lips, and knelt among us in picturesque att.i.tudes. These _maikos_ are girls of from ten to thirteen years of age who are learning to be _geishas_. Following them came the _geishas_ themselves--the older dancers--and then the musicians began to tune and tw.a.n.g their instruments, and to chant the monotonous songs that tell the stories of the dancing.

Our eyes grew big with wonder and delight as the figures were taken up in turn, one after another--movements grotesque, but oh, so dainty and quaint! Such posturing in adorably awkward att.i.tudes! Such sliding with tiny feet turned inward, heads and hands at all angles, eyes askew! To one to whom their dancing has become familiar, it is all so fascinating and fanciful, so full of delight and grace and meaning!

Tomiji and Kanoko, both _maikos_--dear tiny figures in gay garments and huge _obis_--danced the Story of the Stone Bridge. One of them was a peony, and the other was a lion! Then a _geisha_, Harikiku, or the Spring Chrysanthemum, danced the Story of the Spring Rain, which has a theme like that of Romeo and Juliet, as old as the hills--only now one of the lovers was a nightingale while the other was a plum.

So they postured and made picture after picture, and when it was over, came and sat among us to help pa.s.s the tea and _sake_ and cake and fruits that had been so daintily prepared. After that there was more dancing, and we took our leave amid much laughter and many _sayonaras_ and wishes for a speedy return from our cheery little entertainers.

The _geishas_ of Kyoto dress in more subdued colors than they do elsewhere. An American woman would be impressed by the cost of some of the kimonos, for no expense is spared in making them as beautiful as possible. The designs are carefully thought out, and an artist is selected to execute them. After the work is completed the stencils are usually destroyed, so that the pattern may never be duplicated.

These girls are the professional entertainers of j.a.pan. They can be called to private houses, as well as to tea-houses, to help pa.s.s the time with their dancing and singing, and are cultivated in all the arts and graces that may add to their ability to please. Thus a _geisha_ not only sings and dances attractively, but she is a trained conversationalist as well. She is not necessarily immoral, as Westerners often imagine. It is not uncommon even to-day for a girl to die by her own hand because she loves a man who, for some reason, cannot marry her.

Many j.a.panese believe, however, that _geishas_ are dangerous, designing and hard-hearted creatures, related to fox-women--a kind of goblin-ghost believed in by the ignorant.

The _geisha's_ songs are usually of love, the universal theme, and are sung to the notes of the _samisen_. They correspond to our cla.s.sic love songs, but are much more popular among the lower cla.s.ses than any music is with us, unless it be rag-time! The sentiment and phrasing are often fairy-like in their delicacy and charm, but, of course, much of this is lost in translation. The following is one of the chief favourites--it depicts "a lover, when the landscape is white with snow, going to the window to look out before he takes his departure." His lady-love seeks to delay his going, and this is the song:

"In vain thy cloak do I hide, Love, And in vain to thy sleeve do I cling; Wilt thou no longer abide, Love, Nor give me for Winter, fond Spring?

I push back the window so slightly, And point to the snow-burdened land: O Love, wilt thou leave me thus lightly, And choose the cold snow for my hand?"

The little quip at the end which turns this one from a love song to a tribute to the moon has doubtless teased many an ardent wooer:

"In the wide, wide world Of woes and tears, Let us find a narrow spot To live together, You and I, Until the world Is quite forgot, O my sweet-- Moon that shines In my little window!"

Perhaps the best known tea-house in Tokyo is the Maple-Leaf Club. We dined there one evening when there was a fine full moon, and the lovely, mysterious little garden was like a dream in the glorious night. The meal was served on the lacquer service by dainty _geishas_ as we sat on the soft mats, while delightful dances were performed before us. Our favourite was the spider dance, in spite of its name, but we enjoyed them all, and even the music of the _samisen_ and _koto_, which many foreigners do not care for. This house is famous for its excellent dancing and its pretty girls.

One feature of the meal which is characteristic of a j.a.panese dinner we could have easily dispensed with--that was the live fish, which was served to us still breathing, with a knife in its side, to show that it was perfectly fresh.

Theatre-going in j.a.pan is a source of endless enjoyment. There is a big and quite beautiful opera house in Tokyo where the national plays, both old and new, as well as European opera with j.a.panese words, are given.

Here the combination of East and West is very interesting. The audience, although for the most part wearing j.a.panese clothes, sits in seats instead of on mats. It is said that when the first European opera company came to Tokyo and the leading lady took her high notes, the audience was so convulsed with laughter that the manager had to pull down the curtain.

The English plays and the light operas given by the j.a.panese strike one as amusing. It always seems strange to see Orientals in European dress, and one never gets used to their ballet on account of their queerly shaped legs, which have been made crooked by ages of sitting upon them.

A sample program of a performance given at the Imperial Theatre in Tokyo, "Daily from 5th January, 1913," at 4.30 P.M., names five plays: 1. "The Soga Vendetta," a musical drama in one act, laid in the twelfth century; 2. "Muneto," an historical drama in four scenes, representing Kyoto in the eleventh century; 3. "Maria de Cronville," a musical pantomime in four scenes, Paris in the reign of Louis XIV; 4. "The Woman Hater," a modern farce in two acts, the settings representing the garden of a hotel in Kamakura and a room in a "hospital for mental diseases;"

and 5. "The Merry Ferry," a musical drama in one scene, representing a ferry landing in Yedo in the eighteenth century. It would be an exacting taste which did not find something to satisfy it in a generous bill like this!

Most of the theatres are still quite j.a.panese. They are built of wood and so flimsily as to be full of draughts. The stage extends across one side of the square auditorium, whose sloping floor is divided into boxes two yards wide by low railings, which can be used as bridges by patrons arriving late or departing early. There is one gallery with boxes in front and room behind where the lower cla.s.ses may stand. The actors enter the stage by means of two long raised platforms called "flower-paths," which extend across the auditorium--they receive their name from the custom of strewing the way of a popular actor with blossoms when he appears. These paths have been given up in the Imperial Theatre, as have also in some cases the little "supers," dressed in black in order that they may be considered invisible, who were of great service in perfecting the details of a stage-picture. But the old methods are still used in most of the theatres.

When an actor wishes to disappear from the audience he may leave the stage by the flower-paths, he may vanish into the wings, or--more simply still--he may hold up a small curtain in front of him and so accomplish the desired effect.

The revolving stage is used oftener in j.a.pan than it is in Europe, to say nothing of America, where it is practically unknown. It allows quick changes of scene, for one setting may be arranged out of sight in the rear of the stage while another is in use before the audience. Instead of having the curtains lowered between the acts, the audience is often allowed to see the stage turn, which is interesting.