MADAME SADA YACCO ([p. 67]) MR. OBOJIRO KAWAKAMI ([p. 67])
MR. DANJURO AS “LADY OF KASUGA” ([p. 87]) MR. DANJURO AS “JIRAIYA” ([p. 262])
FAMOUS JAPANESE PLAYERS
It is a pity that the advertising note was pitched too high. Good wine needed less bush. There is no “Japanese Court Company,” but his Majesty the Emperor was once present at a performance by Mr. Kawakami during a garden-party in the grounds of the Marquis Kuroda. Mr. Kawakami is certainly not the “Henry Irving of Japan,” for that title, whatever be its precise meaning, belongs rather to Ichikawa Danjuro, associated for more than half a century with the impersonation of historical and mythical heroes. But he holds a high and honourable position among actors of the sōshi school, as they are called—a school which bears some resemblance to the Théâtre Libre or the Théâtre de l’Œuvre. The sōshi were students, desirous of reforming and modernising the conservative traditions of their stage, and Mr. Kawakami’s contributions to the movement consisted of two plays: a realistic piece, founded on the war with China, which brought him great profit and renown, and an adaptation of “Round the World in Eighty Days.” As an actor he is certainly free from the painful mannerisms of the older generation: his elocution is more even, his action more quiet and sudden, his facial expression less exaggerated. As for Sada Yacco, who braved the public opinion of her countrywomen by being the first of her sex to act in company with masculine comrades, her presence would be an acquisition to any stage. Until three years ago she was a geisha, and thus combines with much physical attraction of voice and face the secret of supremely graceful movement. Her dances were revelations of the witchery of Salome’s art. Her histrionic powers are not less remarkable.
The pieces selected for representation were of course wholly Japanese in subject and sentiment, but, being greatly modified to suit the supposed infirmities of foreign playgoers, they scarcely gave a correct impression of the average Japanese play. To begin with, that the sound of a strange language might not grow wearisome, the dialogue was ruthlessly cut and curtailed; next, as much dancing as possible was introduced, so that the damari, or pantomimic scene, which in Tōkyō is more or less of the nature of “comic relief,” sandwiched between exciting incidents, almost became the staple of the play. Finally, the co-incidental music, which strikes so oddly on European ears, was kept within wise limits. But, so far from blaming Mr. Kawakami for these alterations, it is evident that he erred on the right side, and that we should thank him for lopping away several excrescences which disfigure the drama of his native land.
“Zingoro, an Earnest Statue Carver,” narrates the pretty legend of Pygmalion and Galatea, with the addition of a jealous wife. Galatea is a famous geisha, of whom Zingoro carves a statue and falls in love with his own handiwork. The transformation from wood to womanhood is familiar; one has seen it in “Niobe,” in “La Poupée,” in “Pygmalion and Galatea,” but here it is accomplished by a fanciful piece of satire. “Mirror is the spirit of woman,” says the proverb, and the sculptor has merely to slip a kagami into the bosom of his feminine figure, whom vanity at once stirs to life. Zingoro’s delighted astonishment and the doll’s awakening consciousness are vividly portrayed, culminating in a mimetic dance, in which Galatea copies all her maker’s movements. But the climax is reached when the jealous wife enters, and, seeking to reach her rival, is arrested by the simultaneous animation of the God of Thunder, the Carpenter, the Spearman, and the Dwarf, who had up to that moment remained so motionless that most of the audience believed them to be lay-figures. I fancy none but Oriental actors could have achieved this coup de théâtre, involving the strain of prolonged muscular tension in attitudes of fantastic violence.