This is but the education of Old Japan, the apprentice to the arts and crafts growing up from childhood with a master, profiting by his experience, encouraged by his guidance and protection. In contrast there are the doubtful benefits of modern education that does not prevent the tragic waste of the finer forces of human nature; art impulses and aspirations of the souls of the young, thwarted and hampered, untrained, unregarded, until the neglect of their true development makes the world for them a desert rather than a paradise.
Nakamura Matagoro, the leading boy-actor of the Tokyo Stage, in the rôle of a girl-pilgrim, O-Tsuru.
The young actor not only has the daily experience of facing the audience, but he takes part in the busy life behind the stage, and is like a member of a big family. His work does not end in the theatre, for instruction under a dancing master is a necessary part of his education. He visits the dancing teacher’s house daily, and undergoes a training that exercises every part of his body, and gives him that remarkable control which is one of the assets of the Kabuki player. In addition, he must learn many stage accomplishments, especially if he is intended to become an onnagata, or specialist in women’s rôles.
The impersonal East has had much to do with the actor’s power to efface himself, and his lack of concern for self is one of his distinguishing qualities. No doubt the marionette has exercised full sway over him, for in acting in plays written originally for the dolls he is quick to imitate their movements, and sometimes gives the impression that he has made himself into a puppet and is standing behind manipulating the strings.
Again, the exaggerated acting of the imaginative characters of the jidaimono, or historical plays, with the elaborate kimono, covered by striking designs, the peculiar fashion of the hair, and strange mask-like make-up, have proved a perfect disguise for the actor’s personality, leaving him free to emphasise his art and to lay aside personal considerations.
His gestures may be those inherited from the dance, or movements from the Nō; they may have a direct relation to real life or be copied from the marionettes. He has also a wide range in styles of acting. In one piece he is the centre of a music posture dance—masses of men on either side in a straight line, diagonal or curving, or in a pyramidical group. Next he is a lone figure on the stage in a descriptive dance that causes every person in the audience to be absorbed in his least movement.
He may strut bravely as a grotesque character; as a hero, symbol of loyalty, in an historical piece; or as a melancholy lover in a play of the people. His best acting may, however, be in the display of skill in fencing, jujitsu, or swordsmanship, and in the thick of a fight he captures his audience by an equally matched combat, or thrills it by a one-man performance against an overwhelming number. Part of a stage fight is in reality an acrobatic display, but a chief actor always leaves such tactics to the minor players, since it is beneath his dignity to tumble about the stage in mere physical displays.
Perhaps one of the most interesting things in the whole realm of Kabuki acting is the manner in which he holds the audience for long periods without speaking by the power of suggestion, a legacy from the Nō performers.
In Kochiyama, a play by Mokuami, there is a long scene in which the actors utter no words. At night, on the outskirts of Yedo, a samurai lies in wait for a passing palanquin. As it comes into view his sudden rush and gleaming sword frighten the bearers, who make off hastily, leaving their passenger to shift for himself. From the palanquin there is nothing but an awesome silence. The samurai expects to find some one he wants, and cautiously lifting the curtain with his sword he scans the occupant, asleep.