CHAPTER VI.

Our best friends were not limited to ladies, but comprised several

select gentlemen. In Japan we have more social freedom than people are

apt to think. Many of the young gentlemen entertained us well. Some were

beautiful singers, others fine musicians, and still others elegant

dancers. One among them, a person of fine appearance who fell in love

with the dancing teacher's pretty daughter and who afterward married

her, was quite highly accomplished. He possessed artistic tastes,

probably inherited from his father, who was an art connoisseur--art, as

it appeared in china wares, scrolls, kakemonoes (wall hangings), old

bric-à-brac, etc. The young man could sketch, talk brilliantly, render

gentlemen's dances creditably, and was handsome to look at. He used to

pay us respects, for his parents, particularly his cheery bright-eyed

little mother, was a dear friend of ours, and his sisters were great

friends of my sisters. The girls went to sewing school together. You

know, as we do not have the sewing machine and as we are to a certain

extent our own tailors and dressmakers, Japanese girls must take lessons

in sewing, as American young ladies take lessons in painting and on the

piano. They do "crazy" work and fancy work, too, and talk over their

notions extravagantly, rashly confide everything to each other, and

exclaim "lovely!" in Japanese.

This young man felt from his childhood a passion for the stage. As he

grew up his dramatic taste became irresistible; at last, escaping the

vigilance of his family, he ran away to the neighboring province of Tosa

(ours is Iyo), and committed himself to the care of a noted actor named

Hanshirō. The young man told us how he had been launched in tile work;

the actor-apprentice, when admitted to the stage, is obliged to put on

rags and help make up the mob or a gang of thieves. In order to make a

hero's power appear greater by contrast, it is a stage trick in Japan

that the mob, thieves, and characters of that sort should turn

somersaults at the hero's simple lifting of his hand. It is a sight to

be seen when a swarm of them around one brave person turn in the air and

light safely upon their feet; they do it so very deftly that they must

practice a great deal. Our friend first practiced the acrobatic feat on

a thick quilt for fear that he might break his neck. In time, however,

he could do it on the hard wooden stage floor. After filling this

gymnastic rôle for some time, he was promoted by degrees to more

important posts. By reason of his personal attractions he was at his

best as a gallant youth. I have observed many a fair spectator flush

visibly, heave gentle sighs and watch him in absorption while he

delivered a love soliloquy in a clear voice.

He did become an actor in the fullest sense of the term and a creditable

one, too; but having satisfied his long cherished desire for once (a

space of several years), he obeyed the paternal summons and returned

home. He then went into business and fairly settled down to earnest

life. Nevertheless, at times his roving nature got the better of him,

and the young man would be missed from home. Soon the news arrives from

somewhere that he is displaying his dramatic talents with a theatrical

company to the utmost delight of the people, and that the showers of

favors and tokens of their appreciation visit him constantly. But the

manner in which his aged parents take the affair is by itself a bit of

good comedy. They bemoan themselves over their son's unsteady life, and

often in their visit to us seek our condolence. Notwithstanding the

apparent sorrow, whenever their boy has been heard to make a "decided

hit" none are more pleased than they. The old couple, being themselves

fond of gayety, extended a helping, willing hand to the dancing society

wherein their son moved actively. It was, indeed, under the supervision

of the good old gentleman that the huge curtain was completed; I think

he designed and painted it mostly by himself.

Our young friend's presence in town naturally gave rise to a race of

amateur actors. One of them particularly I recall with great interest on

account of his diverse accomplishments; he tried his hand at almost

every trade. I believe certain peculiarities in his childhood induced

his parents to put him in a monastery. He grew up a studious boy, but

indulged not infrequently in pranks. Suddenly in his early manhood it

dawned upon him that he was richly endowed with the stage gift;

accordingly, he left the temple behind, and, after clerking a while in

his brother's store across the street from us, appeared on the stage.

His versatile nature did not keep him long in that vocation; he soon

sobered down to a shoemaker, discovering that the bread earned by the

sweat of the brow was more to his satisfaction. That is, I concluded so

in his case; he may have found, for aught I know, that by acting (such

as his) he could not make a decent living and therefore had better quit

playing. He was not long in making another discovery, and that was that

the drudgery of the shop did not exactly suit his refined tastes. At all

events, he must take a little air sometimes; he would go about the

streets selling greens; yes, that was a splendid plan, combining trade

and exercise. And so he turned a vegetable vender this time, nobody

regarding it a too humble occupation in such a small community as ours.

Later he became an amazaké man. The amazaké (sweet liquor) is prepared

by subjecting soft boiled rice to saccharine fermentation and checking

the process just at the point where the sugar gives up its alcohol.

Hence it is sweet, palatable and very popular with children. We brewed

some at home--the home-brewed. My mother had hard work to satisfy the

large family of thirsty mouths.

Our man of all trades went about asking the public in all the notes of

the gamut, if they would not tickle their palates with his honest "sweet

liquor." To be always on foot as an itinerant tradesman, however, proved

too much for his constitution. I will not take it upon me to enumerate

in what other things he tried his hand; I hasten on to inform my curious

reader that he shaved his head again and joined the priesthood,

perfectly content with his diverse worldly experiences. In spite of his

fickleness he was an honest fellow and passed for a tolerable humorist

among his friends.

There was another of the number, the keeper of the tavern at the foot of

a bridge that spans the little stream running through Imabari town. His

figure was tall, imposing, and his expression disposed one to suspect

him of a malicious, bitter character. Nature is often capricious; she

was certainly capricious in this instance, for into this mould of a man

she had infused a nature the most complacent and the most obliging. His

comrades assigned him the part of a villain or a cruel lord. To the eye

familiar with his every-day life he figured helplessly as a villain with

a good heart, and seemed to spare unnecessary stabs at his victim. Yet

he was scrupulously conscientious in the execution of his rôle; not a

word would he omit in his speech. Once in playing a wicked lord, in

order to assist the memory he copied his entire part on the face of a

flat, oblong piece of wood, which he had all the time to bear erect

before him as an ensign of authority. At first on the stage he was

wonderfully eloquent, not a flaw occurred in his long speech. But

unfortunately in the midst of an invective the sceptre slipped off his

hand. His lordship's confusion was not to be described. He paused as if

to give an effect of indignation, then tried to think of the rest of the

harangue; it did not come. The pause was prolonged to his own

uneasiness as well as to his friends. He now cast about for a decent

means of taking himself off the stage. Finally with a calm, venerable,

haughty air, amid giggles and suppressed laughter, my lord stalked off

behind the scene.

Through these people we became acquainted with several professional

players. Some people in Japan become quite enthusiastic over their

favorite actors and wrestlers; they present them with beautiful posters,

on which are stated their gifts, exaggerated above their actual value.

These posters are pasted on all sides of the theatre or the arena for

display. At the entrance to the house of amusement stands a tower, where

a small drum of very high pitch is struck for some time previous to the

opening of the performance. The admission to the theatre ranges from

five to twenty-five sens (cents). The stage and the inside as a whole

are much larger than any metropolitan or local play-house that I have

seen in America. I admit that most of our theatres are neither carpeted

nor furnished with chairs, nor are they lighted with gas, nor heated.

The parquet is divided into pits by bars, each admitting barely four

persons in a squatting position; the bars can be removed, uniting the

small pits into one large pit of any dimensions, if a party so desire.

There are also what will correspond to the dress circle and the family

circle. They do not protrude over the parquet, but simply line the walls

like balconies. In the parquet the floor is not raised at the end

farther from the stage; therefore, if Japanese ladies were to wear tall

hats it would be the doomsday for gentlemen: but luckily the fair

members of our community take no pride in the towering head ornaments:

really they wear none. I have been speaking as if the parquet were

floored; in fact, you have to sit close to the ground, mats and quilts

of your own providing alone protecting you from the damp earth.

The people bring lunch with them to eat between the acts. I have the

fond remembrance of my family astir over the preparation of the lunch on

the day we go to see a play. We must take things we shall not be ashamed

of spreading before the public; and all the more must we be careful in

selecting our dishes, for not infrequently we beckon to our

acquaintances in the audience to pass away with us the usual long,

wearisome intervals of the Japanese theatre, during which time no music

is played as in the American theatre. Of course, we must take boiled

rice; it is our bread. Nobody thinks of forgetting the bread. It is not,

however, carried in its bare, glutinous form; it is made into

triangular, round or square masses and rolled in burned bean powder. In

the collation at the theatre we dispense with the bowls and chopsticks,

and use fingers in picking up the mouthfuls of rice. Of various other

dishes I give up the cataloguing in despair, for my ingenious

countrywomen regale us with--the Lord knows how many kinds. The

delicacies are packed in several lacquered boxes, and the boxes piled

one over another and wrapped in a broad piece of cloth, whose four

corners are then tied on the top. When the savory burden is being

carried, there usually dangles by it a gourd full of saké. The Japanese

world takes no note of drinking; the saké is, moreover, mild, and,

although sipped on all occasions as freely as tea, is seldom drunk to

excess.

Next to the refreshment preparation is the getting ready of the girls.

They spend half their life in dressing. I never was very patient; in

waiting for them I was exasperated. They would lean over against the

glass (or in reality a metallic mirror) in the Yum-Yum fashion for an

interminable period of time, tying the girdles over fifty times before

deciding upon one style, touching and retouching the coiffures, and

practicing the exercise of grace. "Oh, hurry up!" I cry repeatedly in

infinite chagrin, and at last become irritated beyond decency, when my

mother in her persuasive, firm manner desires me to know that there is

time enough. I always acquiesced in mother's decisions, because I did

not like to have her call in the assistance of father. I can tell you

what he would do! He would not say a word; he would curtly command me to

sit beside him in the store, where people could look at me--my tears,

sobs, quivering lips and all the rest of the woe. Out of shame in the

exposure I would gradually compose myself, and not till I had fully

recovered my temper would my father release me. I think he never struck

me or my brother anywhere; the only time I saw him use force was in

holding fast my little brother, who once undertook some brave

proceedings against him.

The theatre usually begins late in the afternoon or early in the

evening, and lasts till past midnight. In front of the stage are two

large basins of vegetable oil with huge bunches of rush-wicks. They are

the main sources of light; the foot-lights are a row of innumerable

wax-candles; and when an actor is on the stage, men in black veils

attend him with lighted candles stuck on a contrivance like a

long-handled contribution box. Wherever he goes, there go with him these

walking candlesticks. When he exerts himself briskly, as in a combat,

with what funny jerks and fanciful motions do these mysterious lights

fly round, often flickering themselves out! In the era of gas and

electric light what a bungling machinery all this is!

The orchestra does not sit at the foot of the stage; it occupies a box

on one side. It consists of the samisen, a big heavy bell, a drum, a

flute, a conch shell and occasional singing. Over the orchestra-box is a

compartment hung with a curtain woven with fine split bamboos, wherein

sit two men--one with a book on a stand, the other with a stout samisen.

The former explains in a harsh-voiced recital the situation of the

affairs now acted before the audience, the latter keeps time with the

instrument.

The dramas are mostly historical; we have no opera. In Japanese plays

the passion of love takes but a subordinate rank, the paramount

importance being accorded to loyalty, the spirit of retaliation and

devotion to parents. Harakiri, or the cutting open of one's own abdomen

in way of manly death, so time-honored and deeply believed in among the

ancient samurai (soldier) class, is acted in connection with certain

plays. It is an impressive, solemn scene. The valiant unfortunate stabs

himself with a poniard, measuring exactly nine inches and a half,

struggles with agony, shows manifold changes of expression, makes his

will in a faltering voice, and leaves injunctions to the weeping

relatives and faithful servants gathered round him; writhing in

distress, yet undaunted in presence of cool, examining deputies, he ends

his mortal life by the final act of driving the blood-stained iron into

the throat.

One strange fact respecting the theatrical profession in our country is

the anomaly that men act women's parts. We have few or no actresses. The

taste of the people took a curious turn in its development; they

consider those actors perfect who can deceive them most dexterously in

female outfits. Acting has been from ages past regarded as a profession

exclusively for men; their wives travel with them as a sort of slave in

assisting their masters and husbands in painting and dressing behind the

scene. Therefore, once when a company of women went about giving

entertainments there was a considerable stir over the novelty: they soon

became known as the "female theatre." In this party there were few or no

men, the women assuming male characters. These actresses established

fame on their wonderfully natural delineations of masculine traits.

We have known a young actor, whose boyhood was spent in Imabari, make a

mark in representing female characters. He copied the grace and

deportment of the fair sex archly. We took great interest in him, for

he was a good, quiet, sensible fellow, and his parents had formerly

dwelt near and befriended us. But my friends were wont to comment that

his neck was a jot too full for that of a female. He could not help

that; the corpulency of that member was a freak of nature; he was not at

all responsible for it. Discreetly he tried none of your fooleries with

dieting to reduce it; some females, you know, are not very

slender-necked either; he might have taken comfort in that. At any rate,

his manners were thoroughly feminine, and his womanly way of speaking a

woman herself could not imitate. Our friend is now gone to a metropolis,

where he is winning his way into the hearts of the millions. Prosperity

and success to his name!

When the "female theatre" troupe was in Imabari, through somebody's

introduction we got acquainted with certain of their number. We asked

them to call at our house. They did so. We observed no trace of

forwardness in them; instead, they, all of them, seemed quite reticent.

I remember a dear little creature, Kosei (Little Purity) by name, among

them. She was perfectly at ease in playing a rollicking little rogue

before the crowd, but now hung her head timidly and lifted stealthily

her big round eyes to us. She had a sweet, pretty little mouth. Where

can that poor, mischievous, pretty waif be knocking about in the wide

world now-a-days? Perhaps she is grown up and uninteresting, if yet

living.

I can recall even what we gave them that evening with which to refresh

themselves. We ordered the zenzai or its ally, the shiruko, at the

establishment round the corner. The shiruko seems like hot, thick

chocolate, with bits of toast in it. The chocolate part is prepared of

red beans, and the toast is the browned mochi (rice-cake). To provide

for any among them that did not love sweet things we had the soba or the

udon brought to us by their vender. The soba is a sort of vermicelli

made of buckwheat, and the udon a kind of macaroni, solid and not in

tubes. The warm katsuwo sauce is plentifully poured over them, and they

are eaten with chopsticks. The katsuwo sauce is prepared of the

katsuwobushi and the shoyu. The first named article is a hard substance

shaped somewhat like the horn of an ox, and manufactured of the flesh of

certain fish, whose vernacular name is katsuwo. A family cannot get

along without it. In preparing the sauce, the katsuwobushi is simply

chipped and simmered in a mixture of water and the shoyu. The shoyu is a

sauce by itself and brewed of wheat, beans and salt. As its use in

domestic cookery is very wide, the demand for it is correspondingly

great; and the shoyu brewing is as big a business as the saké

manufacturing.