Should any one ask a ferryman on the Sumida River in Tokyo to tell an old story of that muddy commercial stream, he would no doubt relate the tale of Takao, and how she was ransomed from the courtesan life by a daimyo who paid her weight in gold, and how when she attempted to escape from his pleasure-boat on the river, as she loved another, the enraged lord cut off her head.
And that character taken from the pages of a fairy-tale, O-Ryu, the spirit of the willow tree! She lives in a rustic cottage in the heart of the forest, with her husband Heitaro and little son. When she hears the woodsmen chopping down the old willow near by, she knows that her earthly life is over. As the stroke of the axe resounds, O-Ryu is transformed from a modest wife to a greenish ghost. There is a great whirl of willow leaves about her, and in the fitful glare of uncanny green light she says farewell to her child and disappears among the trees, becoming fainter and fainter until she is lost in the distance.
Some actors are better fitted to act rough Yedo girls, or women of the lower classes, but it is the ambition of the best onnagata to portray noble women. Such a rôle is Kesa Gozen, or the Lady Kesa, the unfortunate but heroic noblewoman. Held up as an example of chastity and devotion, Kesa Gozen should take her place among the good women of the world’s stage.
A samurai falls in love with her, and to protect her honour and save her husband, she becomes privy to a dreadful plot against him that she knows will never be carried out. At night the samurai approaches the bedroom, gropes about, and finds the wet hair that he has been told is that of the husband. Tragic indeed is the youth’s awakening when, on the steps leading to a temple close by, he uncovers the head he has taken, and sees by the light of the moon that it is the face of the woman he loves.
MEIJI KABUKI
CHAPTER XXVIII
MEIJI KABUKI
I
Yakusha of Meiji
Ichikawa Danjuro, the ninth, was the torch-bearer of Kabuki during the long reign of the Emperor Mutsuhito, known as the Meiji era, which endured for forty-five years (1868–1912).
There were barren years for the theatre previous to the Restoration, and the stagnant condition of the people showed itself in the lack of Kabuki creativeness. When the long-shut gates of Japan were suddenly thrown wide open to the dazzling wonders of the West, men did not have time to spend in shibai, and their thoughts were engrossed by the rapid changes that took place in politics, industry, education, and religion. The whole course of Kabuki could not be changed overnight, and in consequence remained stationary. The theatres almost went out of existence, and women and children formed the audiences. It took some years for Kabuki to pull itself together, for Western influences were inundating the country, and neither the players, the playgoers, nor the playwriters were able to “find themselves”. If it had not been for the greatest member of the Ichikawa family, the actors might have become like lost sheep and strayed from the fold, separating themselves from their past, and worshipping all the new and confusing tendencies of the day.
Danjuro, the ninth, was the bridge that spanned the sudden gulf which yawned between the traditional past and the uncertain and changing modern world. He may be regarded as the saviour of Kabuki during a period when it might have suffered shipwreck, had there not been a man of genius at the helm to guide the craft through the troubled waters.