I went to Denmark, too, and I expected to look after the affairs of these Japanese and attend to my own business as well.
When they arrived at Copenhagen I saw the whole troupe for the first time. They all came to greet me at my hotel and played some piece or other of their own invention.
I noticed at that time, among the comedians, a charming little Japanese woman, whom I should have been glad to make the star of the company. Among these Japanese, however, women did not count for much, all the important roles being taken by men. She was, nevertheless, the only one who had attracted my attention. She played a minor part, it is true, but very intelligently, and with the oddest mimicry. She was pretty withal, refined, graceful, queer, and so individual as to stand out, even among those of her own race.
When the rehearsal was over I gathered the actors together and said to them:
“If you are going to remain with me you will have to obey me. And if you do not take this little woman as your star you will have no success.”
And as she had a name that could not be translated, and which was longer than the moral law, I christened her on the spot Hanako.
To make a long story short they assented to my request, and lengthened out my protégée’s role. In reality the play had no climax. I therefore made one for it then and there. Hanako had to die on the stage. After everybody had laughed wildly at my notion, and Hanako more than all the others; she finally consented to die. With little movements like those of a frightened child, with sighs, with cries as of a wounded bird, she rolled herself into a ball, seeming to reduce her thin body to a mere nothing so that it was lost in the folds of her heavy embroidered Japanese robe. Her face became immovable, as if petrified, but her eyes continued to reveal intense animation. Then some little hiccoughs convulsed her, she made a little outcry and then another one, so faint that it was hardly more than a sigh. Finally with great wide-open eyes she surveyed death, which had just overtaken her.
It was thrilling.
The evening of the first appearance came. The first act was successful. The actors acquired confidence and entered into the spirit of their parts, a fact which caused them to play wonderfully well. I was obliged to leave after the first act, for I was dancing at another theatre, but some one came to tell me at the close of the performance that Hanako had scored more than a success; it was a veritable triumph. To her it came as a genuine surprise, but one that was not more extraordinary than the anger provoked by her success among the actors of the company. The box office receipts, however, somewhat assuaged their sensitiveness, and I was able to give to the feminine member of the troupe a longer part in the new play, rehearsals of which were just beginning.
From this time on Hanako was in high favour. Everywhere she was obliged to double the number of her performances. After Copenhagen she made a nine months’ tour of Europe. Her success in Finland bordered upon popular delirium. Finland, it is interesting to note, has always evinced the greatest sympathy for Japan. This was during the time of the Russian-Japanese War.