theater

January 03rd

Read the assignments 3 and 4 from The Chinese Theatre by Jack Chen – (The

Yangko Theatre, The Western Style), assignment 5 from Chinese Theatre:

From its Origins to the Present Day by Colin Mackerres –(Traditional Theatre

in Contemporary China) and post your thoughts for the assigned readings and

respond/comment on one other

classmate’s posting

January 04th

Read the assignments 6 and 7 from The Traditional Theatre of Japan by John

Wesley Harris – (Kyogen, Noh) and post your thoughts for the assigned

reading

and respond/comment on one other classmate’s posting.

January 05th

Read the assignments 8 and 9 from Kabuki Drama by Shutaro Miyake and post

your thoughts for the assigned reading and respond/comment on one other

classmate’s posting

January 06th

Read the assignment 10 and 11 from Inside the Puppet Box: A Performance

Collection of Wayang Kulit at the Museum of International Folk Art and the

review by Felicia Katz-Harris and post your thoughts for the assigned reading

and respond/comment on one other classmate’s posting.

MEDIEVAL

JAPAN
Heiankyo = Kyoto

Edo = Tokyo

0 CJ

Fig 1 Some important locations in medieval Japan

THE TRADITIONAL THEATRE OF JAPAN
Kyogen, Noh, Kabuki, and Puppetry

John Wesley Harris

;911,.1;,1;r-l
The Edwi~ Kf ellen Press

Lewiston-Queenston-Larnpeter

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Harris, John Wesley.
The traditional theatre of Japan : kyogen, noh, kabuki and puppetry/ John Wesley Harris.

p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0-7734-5798-4
I. Performing arts–Japan–History. l. Title.

PN292 I .H366 200

79 I .0952–dc22

2006041952

hors serie.

A CIP catalog record for this book is available from the British Library.

The Edwin Mellen Press
Box 450

Lewiston, New York
USA 14092-0450

The Edwin Mellen Press
Box 67

Queenston, Ontario
CANADA LOS !LO

The Edwin Mellen Press, Ltd.
Lampeter, Ceredigion, Wales

UNITED KINGDOM SA48 SL T

Printed in the United States of America

CHAPTERS

Aesthetic principles underpinning the noh

The successful presentation of noh depends first and foremost upon concentration

and economy of means. This is particularly well illustrated by the reaction of a

Japanese noh master who was attempting the impossible task of teaching some

American dance students how to perform noh over a period of six weeks in 1966.

Let us call him ‘the Master in America’ .1 The students were learning to perform a

play in which, at the moment in question, the Lady Yuya was supposed to be

travelling in a chariot to view the cherry-blossoms in the capital. The student

playing Yuya had been undulating his head during the song describing the journey.

‘Ask him what he thinks he is doing.’ demanded the master. The interpreter

communicated the inquiry. ‘I was justifying the journey,’ said the student. ‘You

know. By moving my head ever so subtly I was trying to convey the feeling of

motion. It’s a long promenade according to the lyrics. It travels all over the city of
Kyoto. A sense of advancing, of transportation has just got to be there.’

The master was curt: ‘Tell him not to try anything like that… Tell him the

point is that a noh performer has no right to limit the flight of the spectator’s

imagination by impudently and selfishly acting out the basic meaning of the text,

he must show more humility … The noh audience cannot sit back and wait to be

spoon-fed. They must participate vigourously in creating every scene with their
imagination. The performer in tum must not move even half an inch unless he is

positive that the movement is saturated with meaning, and creates a truly revealing

image. Without this humility, this self-restraint, I don’t think any movement can

arouse a spectator’s heart to the point where they feel something lying beyond the

surface of the world – reaching into its other dimension.’ He went on to explain

that it is the audience and the actor working together who create a performance.

‘Zeami said that what is called the flower of this art has no separate existence.

There would be no flower at all were it not for the spectators who read into a

performance a thousand excellencies.’

The term for expressive movements or movement sequences in noh (as in all

dramatic forms) is kata, which can be translated as ‘forms’ or ‘patterns’. These

movement sequences. which distil and illustrate the essence of an emotion, consist

of precise indicative gestures. For instance, joy or elation is expressed by waving

an open fan twice in front of the chest, while weeping is shown by simply

bringing one or both hands up in front of the eyes – the single hand implying that

the character is weeping secretly and both hands that it is weeping openly. There

are more than three hundred of these forms, some abstract and some concrete, and

it is these that are woven together with dance, action and chanted speech to form

the actor’s interpretation of his role.

However, as the Master in America indicated, the form used for

communication is so minimalist that, if it is not packed full of energy and intensity

in performance, it will appear little more than a technical exercise. A role must be

brought to life by the energy and concentration of the performer on stage, and he
can only do this after he has undertaken years of strict and repetitive training and
learnt and perfected the role through experiencing it frequently, by which time his
performance will have become as free and instinctive as a sword-master’s parry.

Buddhist principles in action

The dramatic tension in a noh play is not usually achieved, as in other kinds of
drama, by the conflict between two characters who have opposed objectives – a
protagonist and an antagonist – it is much more based on the frustration of the
desires or purposes of the central characters, like the lovers in Nishikigi. All the
other characters, the waki, and the chorus contribute to plotting the course of this

frustration and illustrating either its final persistence or its transformation into

something positive. The fact that the central characters’ frustration leads to misery

is, of course, sound Buddhist doctrine, because the frustration is the result of their

failure to control their passions or desires, which in the case of an aristocrat often

include wounded pride and a consuming preoccupation with their personal or

family honour. On very rare occasions two apparently opposed characters will

appear in a play, but closer examination will show that they are both seeking the

same spiritual goal but are temporarily at different levels of enlightenment – so we

are really faced with a comparison and not a conflict.

Such a situation is at the centre of Komachi and the Hundred Nights (Kayoi

Komachii, one of Kan’ami’s plays. The action is concerned with the famous

poetess and courtier Ono no Komachi. Legend has it that when she was young she

was very beautiful and desired by many men. She was also very arrogant about her

sexual allure and ordered one of her lovers, Shosho, to visit her house for one

hundred nights before she would grant him her favours. He faithfully came every

night, cutting a notch on the hitching rail outside her house to keep a tally, but in

the end he grew ill, and on the hundredth night he died. Komachi suffered intense

remorse for what she had done and wandered the roads for many years in a kind of

self-imposed penance, constantly aware of her growing age and loss of beauty and

seeking to reconcile herself with the ideals of the Buddha until she too died. In the

play she is a shite tsure (companion of the shite) and appears to the waki, who is a

priest !_n a mountain hermitage, as a young girl who brings him fruit every day.

Then on the day when the play takes place her image dissolves before his eyes

and, from hints that she has dropped, he realises who she must be. He prays for

her spirit to gain enlightenment. This raises the ghost of her dead lover, Shosho,

played by the shite, who emerges in a very angry mood together with the contrite
spirit of Komaehi who returns with him. They are at very different levels of

enlightenment, but the priest manages to get Shosho to re-live the story of his

obsession, with Komachi’s help, in the form of a dance which forms the heart of

the play, and thus manages to bring about understanding and forgiveness on

Shosho’ s part and a reconciliation between the two spirits, as a result of which, in
this case, they are both saved and not only obtain release from the world but also
immediate freedom from the Wheel of Rebirth, thus attaining

Buddhahood.

The jo-ha-kyu aesthetic

An essential aesthetic principle that was imported into the noh from the court

music and dance of China (gagaku), is the sequence of jo-ha-kyu,2 which meant

that a dance was constructed in three sections each of which had a different quality
and tempo. Jo, which governed the first part of the dance, means ‘orderly
progression’ and was relatively slow and stately; ha, which governed the second
part means ‘breaking the pattern’ and was quicker and more irregular; and kyu,
which governed the last part means ‘urgent’ and was fast and furious. The noh
presumably inherited this principle because it was itself a form of dance. Zeami
certainly believed that it applied to the five levels (dan) of a good noh play which
we have already described. The first and second steps should have ajo quality (the
waki’ s and shile’s entries), the third and fourth steps should have a ha quality (the
spoken exchanges between the waki and the shite and the main narrative dance),
and the last step should have a kyu quality (the relatively fast concluding dance).
The fact that he uses the word dan implies that the steps are ranked in ascending
importance, each having more impact than the one that has preceded it, although it
is clear that the second step tended to blur jo and ha together, and the fourth step

tended to anticipate an element of the coming kyu.3

Many scholars are convinced that Zeami is not using the terms jo-ha-kyu
simply to indicate a graded increase of tempo and some think that they imply a
structure of beginning, middle and end, similar to that suggested by Aristotle.
There can be little doubt that the terms will have meant more to Zeami than simple
increases of tempo, but what they meant is not so easy to define. For instance, in
his own time, they were paralleled with the three stages involved in mastering
calligraphy: shin-gyo-so, Shin meant the formal copying of a character exactly as it

was written in the copybook, gyo the changing of the character to satisfy your

own liking and so, or ‘grass-like’, the achievement of a fluent, natural style, where
you were not constrained by any fears of ‘not doing it properly’. This suggests a

process of growing control and would cover Zeami’s claim that the actor’s training

in the noh should also be seen as a process of jo-ha-kyu throughout his life.
However, later, he goes even further and claims that jo-ha-kyu is evident in all

natural processes, both in the process as a whole and in each of its parts.

This suggests a much more general application of the terms, the key to

which can perhaps be found in his description of voice production. He says that in

chanting the jo element is found in the gathering of breath, the ha element in the

pushing out of breath, and the kyu element in the production of the voice.4 From

this one would gather that a state of jo involves accumulation, a state of ha a
controlled application of the reserves that have been accumulated, and a state of

kyu the form which those reserves are induced to take. ‘Nourishment-growth-
flowering’ would therefore seem a better set of terms to use, since they can be

applied to natural processes in general much more appropriately than ‘slow-

medium-fast’ or even ‘beginning-middle-end’ which is too ‘static’. It would also

naturally extend into drama in the form of ‘exposition-development-climax’. If this

is so, then Zearni’s remarks would mean the five steps of any noh play involve:

exposition; development which still contains an element of exposition; pure

development; further development with a hint of climax; and the climax itself. The

waki expounds, the shite advances the story and expounds further, the dialogue

between them develops the situation, the narrative dance expands the theme and

points towards the climax, and the climax is achieved in an animated dance of

either agony or joyous release.

The nature of a goban

This emerges more clearly when Zeami is speaking about the putting together of a

noh programme (later known as a goban or ‘five-in-order’). The first play of

…..

the programme, which is a play about a god and conveys a sense of blessing,
should have aJo quality, with a simple source and no complex detail and it should
be easy to understand. The second play, which is based upon the story of a
warrior, begins to introduce a ha mood while still retaining some Jo quality; it
should have a specific source in history or legend and it should be emotionally
powerful and dignified in conception. The third play, which will be a play about a
woman (known as the ‘wig’ play because the shite needs to don a wig to play the
part) begins the completely ha section and needs to break the mood of Jo by
placing emphasis upon richness and subtlety of expression, with the central
character being a complex personality rather than a type. This play is the climax of
the programme. The fourth piece, which will usually involve some kind of
‘lunatic’, needs to continue the ha mood without eclipsing the piece that has gone
before it and is usually more obviously moral and emotionally lighter. The
function of the last piece, which includes a demon, is to introduce a kyu quality,
which extends the quality of ha, adding to it powerful movements, rapid dance
steps, and fierce and strong gestures; this final play of the programme should be
characterised by agitation and excitement.f

In a goban, as a result of the five categories of character involved and the
way in which they are treated, the programme takes on a particular shape, which
investigates the Buddhist theory of salvation at many different levels. The god in
the first play is always very positive and brings a blessing to the deserving, which
is taken to include the audience: the mood then plunges from an ideal state to
virtually its opposite, after which, play by play, the darkness gradually lightens,
as the programme surveys a series of situations each of which is slightly better
than the one before it. The warrior, who is the worst case, is usually a ghost and
portrays the agonies of a spirit which is still bemused by concepts of duty and
honour and trapped in the agonising memory of his death in battle; the woman,
who follows him, has usually failed to free herself from the mental and emotional
attachments of the world that are binding her spirit to the Wheel of Rebirth, but
her state is less perilous than the warrior’s; the lunatic, often a madwoman, is

generally obsessed with anger.jealousy or sorrow, which is driving her away from

the possibility of salvation, but there is almost always some kind of compensation

in these pieces – a discovery of what was lost, an act of forgiveness, an instant of

realisation, or even a moment of revenge – which makes the final state of the

central character less negative than those that have gone before it; and, finally, to

provide a fitting conclusion, the demon play deals with the temporary repulsion of

an evil force or a demonic creature by prayer or the chanting of the Buddhist

sutras – which have the power to drive away the vengeful ghosts of the dead and,

in one case, even to endow a Dragon Princess of the Ocean with enlightenment and

Buddhahood.

It is sometimes difficult for a western, non-Buddhist spectator to perceive

the compensation present in the lunatic play. Let us consider perhaps the most

extreme case, that of the mother in Sumida River (Sumidagawa).6 She has learnt

that her son is dead – and to a modem westerner the loss of a child seems the

worst thing that can happen in life – but there are compensations. At least she

knows that he is not being ill-treated by the slaver who abducted him or by a cruel

master; she has found the place where he fell sick and is buried; and she has seen

the local people gathered around the grave to formally commend his spirit to

Amida Buddha. The positive quality of this discovery is shown by the fact that

her madness disappears – to be replaced by grief, certainly, but grief is the

consequence of an ‘attachment’ which can be overcome with the help of faith in

Buddha’s teachings and personal commitment, however harrowing the loss. A

moth~r once came to Buddha to ask him to restore her dead son to life, but he sent

her to fetch him some salt from a family where there had been no death – thus

bringing home to her the universality of her experience. To accept death is to see

‘things as they are’ (tathata), and therefore to come one step closer to the

necessary rejection of all attachments which, if it can be achieved, will bring the

seeker to salvation.

While considering the go ban in this way, as a sequence of varying moods,
the point should be made that the application of the laws of jo-ha-kyu are also

100

likely to be felt by the viewer in an emotional way and not at an intellectual level.

Starting with a gently-moving god play which is lyrical and almost undramatic, the

programme proceeds through an accelerating and intensifying sequence until it

ends with a frenetic burst of activity in the demon play before achieving a

temporary calm. The complexity of the pieces is also patterned, the first and last

plays (god and demon) are usually the simplest, the second and fourth plays

(warrior and lunatic) are of moderate complexity and produce a strong emotional

impact, while the central ‘wig’ play is a suhtle creation, which is full of the spirit

ofyugen and contains fine poetry, and a sensitive reading ofcharacter.7

It must be said, in passing, that the categories of plays are not quite so clear-
cut as the ideal pattern would suggest: there is the occasional woman who appears

in a warrior play, and the occasional man who appears in a ‘wig’ play, while

category four, that of the ‘lunatic’, is not limited to the deranged but is used as a

convenient repository for a range of plays that cannot easily be put anywhere else

– for which reason it is also known as the zatsu, or ‘miscellaneous’, category. In
addition, some pieces are classified differently by different companies, or have

slipped in the course of time from one category into another, presumably because

they have begun to be performed with a different emphasis.

When the goban is given in full – which nowadays occurs only on very
special occasions like New Year’s Day or the ritual induction of a new stage – it is

customary to round off the programme with the final and most propitious part of

another god play (shugen), or at least with the chanting of a particularly positive
chorus from such a piece (tsuke-shugen). This implies that the sequence of plays
docs not end with the vanquishing of evil but continues in an unending cycle of

death and rebirth – which is also an ongoing cycle of spiritual struggle and eventual
salvation.

In some ways the goban is similar to modern ‘aleatory’ art, although it is not

strictly aleatory, because chance is not involved. Aleatory art, most often found in
music, occurs where the composer makes a provision for the players at some

point to use dice (Latin ‘alea’) or some other chance method to determine the

IOI

elements of a composition – it can even be left to each musician to choose

whichever continuation they like best. However, the composer always produces a

number of alternatives from which the selection is to be made, any one of which

will fit into the piece at the point where the ‘random choice’ occurs, so that the

overall shape of the work is preserved. Mozart was one of the the first people to

use this idea in an amusing little work he wrote to allow non-composers to create

short minuets by throwing dice and copying down pre-established bars of music,

but the idea was not really exploited by musicians and playwrights until the

middle of the 20th century. Its appeal is that, theoretically, you never get to hear

or see the same work twice and the composition as a result always achieves a

certain freshness and novelty, without losing its overall mood and structure.

Every noh company has a wealth of plays of each of the five categories in its

repertory and the senior actors compose a goban by choosing one. play of each
kind – taking into account what pieces would work particularly well together and
perhaps seeking to reflect the mood of the season, or the occasion on which the
plays are to be performed. Whatever plays are chosen, the combination will create
essentially the same overall pattern, surveying the potential range of states that
the human spirit can experience – we cannot call it a soul because this is Buddhist
drama and, on account of the prevalence of cause and effect, Buddhists do not
accept the existence of an ‘immortal’ soul that is unchanging and indestructible.

Zeami on the construction of ooh plays

To return to Zeami’s exposition of the theory behind the plays; when he describes
how the playwright, normally the shite, should approach the construction of a

new noh play, he directs our attention to yet another trilogy of distinctions.8 The

three elements involved in composing a play, he declares, are its seed (by which he
means the central character used as a dynamic impulse to action), the piece’s
structure, and its expression in words arid music. He says that you should select a
suitable central character from the classics or legends; then divide the material up

…..

102

into five sequences according to the principles of jo-ha-kyu, in the way that we

have already seen; and after that compose the text and add appropriate melodies.

The actions of the main character you choose need to be especially suited to being

expressed by use of chanting and dance, the two basic arts of noh.

The best main characters to choose, he explains, are gods or goddesses,

heroes, highly cultivated people of great elegance, women famous for their artistic

accomplishments in poetry or dance, or priests who are artistically inclined.

Otherwise characters should be chosen who have associations with famous
historical sites.

The situations used should be easily recognisable, particularly in the first

play of a programme. Poems or songs relating to the subject or mood of the play

should be woven into it and a quotation from a particularly famous source should

be included for the shite to recite. If a famous place or historic site is involved then

some well-known song or poem about that should certainly be included in the last

ha sequence, the one which contains the narrative dance and is the most crucial

section of the whole play. He suggests that if you want to make a courtly woman

the seed of your play, then Lady Murasaki’s Tale of Genji will provide many
excellent examples, whereas if you want to concentrate upon a warrior, then the

Heike Saga (Heike Monogatarii should be your source.

He draws attention to the fact that plays can appeal to the eye, the car or

the heart – another trilogy 9 – and that the quality of a play differs depending upon

which kind of appeal predominates. Plays that appeal to the eye are colourful,

involving attractive dancing and music, and they appeal even to those who know

nothing about the art of acting. However, they can be superficial because they lead

to overstimulation of the audience and deaden their awareness to any subtleties in

the performance. By contrast, plays that appeal to the ear have a serious

atmosphere and if they are performed with music and language chosen to accord

with the season and the time of day, they create a gentle, relaxed, enjoyable effect.

In such plays maintenance of the right atmosphere is essential and, if it is

achieved, the acting becomes more enjoyable as the story goes along. The third

103

category, plays that appeal to the heart, have a more poetic quality, and usually

create a mood of ‘melancholy elegance’.

Unfortunately, he observes, the last two kinds of play are too sophisticated

to be understood by the common people, and, though it is always possible to

‘play down’ to the capacities of an inexperienced and unknowledgeable audience,

the praise of knowledgeable aristocrats is the only truly valuable tribute that a noh

actor can obtain – so it is the aristocrats in the audience that the actor should play

to and, because he wants to give them satisfaction, any imitation of them in the

plays should be exact. For instance, any actor who is not sure of how to play a

courtly female role should make detailed inquiries to ascertain the precise

behaviour of court ladies and all actors should regularly study the elegant poetry

and costumes favoured by the aristocracy. By contrast any imitation of the lower

classes can, and should, remain generalised.U’

Beauty as hana.yugen or rojaku

Zeami has other important points to make when he considers the acting of the

noh, but before we consider these, we need to explain something that he takes for

granted. He stresses both directly and indirectly that the aim of the noh is to

represent the truth of the emotions in a beautiful form, but he does not explain the

terms that are used to describe the different kinds of beauty involved. These are

again essentially three – hana, yugen, and rojaku. In simple terms, hana is
superficial beauty, which is obvious at once, like the appeal of the actor’s

performance; yugen, as we have observed elsewhere, is a mysterious, emotional
beauty which can only be hinted at, not shown; and rojaku is a cool, quiet beauty,

which is deeper even than yugen, and which is associated with people or places

which are very old, like temple gardens.

Of these three terms, yugen always keeps cropping up in discussions about

the aesthetics of noh acting, and it is the most difficult to define. It was originally

used in poetry to describe transient but beautiful experiences like seeing the moon

104

through moving clouds or capturing the last light just as the sun dips below the

horizon – experiences which are emotionally charged but which, of their very

nature, last for only a few seconds. However, in noh acting it is generally held to

mean that certain sensitive types of mood or emotion can only be hinted at by the

actor if they are to be effective. Yugen, in short, is part of the refinement which

Zeami’s sophisticated form of noh requires, reflecting the elegant indirectness of

the court manners of his time, although it is still very important, even today. The

Master in America went so far as to insist that, ‘Withoutyugen, noh might as well

stop existing, or merge with kabuki!’ – but he stubbornly refused to define it.’

‘How am I supposed to define yugen in a sentence!’ he demanded, ‘Let me ask

what the point would be in spending all your life pursuing an art that can be

summed up in a simple slogan?’ 11

The more immediate beauty of the hana or ‘flower’ is discussed by Zeami in

some detail, 12 because it is essentially the moment when the actor’s performance

becomes particularly effective. The flower represents the ability to move an

audience by using a technique that has been thoroughly practised to create a

performance which has freshness and originality of appeal. If the flower is ‘true’ it

will seem new and fresh to the spectator, appeal to his imagination, interest him,

move him, and be appropriate to the play. The search for what is new and fresh

applies to all areas of an actor’s performance – chant, dance, gesture, and

expressive bodily movements. The flower blooms best when the actor selects

plays to perform that he knows the audience will particularly appreciate and when

he fully enjoys his own performance – in other words when he has most

confidence. The flower is particularly striking, though, when the audience has not

anticipated precisely when and where it will bloom. The seed of the flower is

technique, the various skills of the art, but the flower itself is only brought to

bloom by the actor’s imagination. For instance, patterns of dance-steps can be

learned from others, but the emotions that they engender in the audience come

from the performer, The flower’s petals scatter and yet it is reborn, for the seed of

any performance always comes from the flower of some previous performance.

105

The nature and beauty of the flower varies with the age of the actor, but
even the ‘withering’ flower of an old actor has a beauty of its own. In general it
can be said that a flower shows its beauty at the moment it blooms and its
originality as the petals scatter, in other words its beauty lies in the present and its
originality is realised later. The actor produces different flowers at different stages
of his career, because each level of accomplishment produces its own kind of
flower, with its own appropriate beauty, but all these different, changing flowers
can be seen as separate manifestations of the one essential, Unchanging Flower,
which is the ideal state of the art.

So the flower is the visible expression of the actor’s understanding of his role
and the originality of his interpretation. It is appreciated instantly by the audience
and produces in them a state of fascination. However, there is a level of skill that
produces an even more intense response and simply makes the audience gasp with
surprise and pleasure. This level may be termed one of ‘Pure Feeling that
Transcends Cognition’ where there is no reflection involved, and no time for the
spectator to realise how well the performance is contrived. It is interesting, Zeami
observes, that in the ancient Book of Changes (I Ching) the character for ‘feeling’
is written without the element which means ‘mind’ that it usually contains. This
shows that it has long been realised that when true feeling is involved, there is no
room for reflection and that sensation comes before consciousness. In other words,
Zeami is saying that the audience needs to be surprised into a state of instinctive

response, a state of ‘no mind’ (mushin).13

The same state applies to the highest level of performance that an actor can
attain, which he calls ‘Peerless Charm.’ At that level, where ‘the spirit and its
manifestation in performance can no longer be divided’, the actor performs
absolutely instinctively and wholly without reservations. He has completely
absorbed his art into his mind and body so that he is not even aware of it and his
performance is free and intuitive, like the response of a great sword-fighter.
Despite the highest degree of concentration his actions all show relaxation, again
like the sword-fighter. He will perform with complete ease and act with apparent

106

simplicity but with great depth of emotion, guided and inspired by an intuitive

conception of his role that is so ingrained that it hides his skill. In fact, his art will

surpass all skill and transcend any kind of intention, because he will have attained

the state of ‘no mind’ (muslzin).14

Zeami on role-playing in nob

When it comes to the practicalities of role-playing, Zeami emphasises the fact that
the representation of a character can never be external, but must grasp the ‘inner
logic’ of the part, the character’s basic motivations. The Master in America
was equally clear on this point: ‘Zeami says that all art finds its root in the
imitation of nature and human behaviour – and of course by art he means the noh.
But, in the noh, the imitation is not of the exterior, but of the inner core. When
you are imitating a female character weeping, to employ a shrill falsetto would be
utterly out of place and even insulting to the mask: you must feel her sorrow
beating in your guts. The mask refuses to flirt with superficial imitation. The noh

is a masked art. Masked!’ 15

There is a story about a young actor who was about to act the part of an old
woman for the first time. He felt that he did not know enough about his subject,
and decided to observe how old women behaved in real life. So he fixed upon one
that he thought would be a suitable subject and began to follow her about. She
thought he was following her because old women appealed to him sexually, so she
approached him and told him to find someone more of his own age to make love
to. Overcome with confusion, he apologised and explained what he was doing.
‘That’s no good,’ she said, ‘You’ll learn nothing from the outside. You must
understand why an old woman does what she does .. .’, ‘and,’ she might have
added, ‘why she feels what she feels.’ As Zeami says: ‘The stage of simple
imitation represents a surface copy, mere externalisation. Becoming the essence of
a character represents internalisation. The level of internalisation must be attained

107

first, then it should be possible for an actor to … create the external aspects of his

performance as well.’ 16

Elsewhere he talks about the ‘Three Basic Role Types’ 17 – the Old Man,

the Woman, and the Warrior – which, between them, can provide all the internal

motivations that an actor needs. When he is playing an Old Man, ‘the actor must

learn to keep his soul at ease and look off vaguely into the distance .. .’ because,

‘the eyesight of an old person is hazy .. .’ He must also realise that although old

men move slowly, they want to appear young, and they envy young people.

When he is playing a Woman, which is the most difficult type of role for a male

actor, he ‘must concentrate his attention on producing an inner intensity and not

place any detailed stress on his physical movements’, except when he is playing a

madwoman. The roles of Madwomen ‘represent the disgrace of the character’ and

are particularly striking because they are contrary to the perceived nature of

woman, which is modest and self-effacing. In mad roles the actor’s face must not

be concealed by a mask, as it usually is when playing a woman, because the facial

expressions are crucial to the performance. Finally, when playing a Warrior, the

actor must demonstrate ‘physical strength, with a splintered heart’ and ‘although a

manifestation of strength is the most important element in such a role, the subtle

movements of the actor’s mind must be fully exploited.’ ‘He should carry a bow

and arrow, move his body violently, as if to fend off another’s sword, and stamp

about in a nimble fashion; yet, beneath his strength, the performer must show

concern to maintain a certain gentleness in his posture, so as to avoid pushing

himself to the extremes of violence.’

Yin and yang in performance

This idea of balancing weak and strong clements, yin and yang, is a very old Taoist
idea elaborately expressed in the / Ching, which aims to show mystically all the
different combinations of the two forces and their influences on life. Zeami insists
that a harmonious and controlled interplay of yin and yang is essential throughout

!08

the course of any play and, for this reason, the mixing of strongly contrasted

moods together, like anger andyugen, should be avoided. Similarly, one of the great
problems for the actor is the balancing of strong and weak effects in his

performance. Role playing, which is very outgoing (yang), and yugen, which is
very inward and reflective (yin), must be balanced against one another. If you are
playing warrior or demon roles, where there is likely to be a lack ofyugen, strength
and roughness must be balanced by a delicacy of style or a graceful appearance.

Playing anger requires a tender heart, to avoid roughness. Even when the actor is

playing the role of an outlaw ‘he should always seem as if he were holding a

branch of flowers in his hand’. Equally, when performing violent body

movements, the actor should stamp gently, and when he is stamping violently he

should let the body be still. The relationship between actor and audience is yet

another yin-yang balance. Zeami says that the actor should play in a yin style in
daylight, when the audience are in a yang mood, and a yang style at night, when

the mood of the audience will be yin. I &

The skin, flesh and bone of a performance

Beyond this, says Zeami, a performance needs skin, flesh and bone. 19 The terms

derive again from calligraphy. Bone is the artistic strength of the brush-stroke;

flesh is the manifestation of the artist’s technique in practice; skin is the ease and

beauty of his writing, which is only achieved when the other two elements are

perfected. Another way of’looking at it is that skin is what appeals to the eye,

flesh what appeals to the ear and the mind, and bone what appeals to the heart. In

dance skin is the beauty of the actor’s appearance, flesh consists of the patterns of

the dance, and bone is the richness of the emotions portrayed. The Master in

America put the same idea in a slightly different way: 20 ‘A body consists of

skin, flesh and bone. A performer’s skin is atmospheric beauty, yugen. His flesh is

technique, discipline. What then is his bone? That is what is called kiai.’

109

‘Kiai’, is a word which combines the meanings of ‘feeling’, ‘forcefulness’,
and ‘stamina’, and it is also used to describe the spiritual power deriving from ki
when you allow it to flow through you in a state of mushin, or ‘mindlessness’.
The Chinese character for it contains the clements of ‘mind’ and ‘encounter’,
which suggest tension or confrontation. The Master in America found that his

students’ performance had ‘No kiai! No kiai at all!’ 21 He told one student that he

should fight not to tum until he actually felt frictional heat under his toes. The
student was not impressed: ‘Oh, come on! Tell him all I’ve got to do here is to
turn. Why fight not to?’ The Master was caustic: ‘You mean that you wish to
turn, so you turn? In noh that is not worthy of the audience’s attention. You wish
to move? There is no interest in that! But suppose there is an opposing power in
the space around you that constantly holds you back – that is interesting. A
movement in dance must be attained only when the dancer’s desire overwhelms the
hostile resistance of the surrounding space. Only then will the audience trust the
dancer’s performance.’

The need for concentration

Zeami has nothing to say directly about using a mask, but the Master in America

revealed some of the difficulties.22 He declared that: ‘a noh dancer must place his

eyes in his hips once he is masked.’ He demonstrated an extended movement using
the mask, and then observed: ‘I had my eyes closed just now. But even if I had
kept them open I should have seen nothing. All masks have such tiny holes and
they are always on a different level from my own eyes. The only reliable eyes are
the ones set in the centre of my moving body. Another way to see without my
eyes is to keep steps of exact width, evenly paced steps, so that I can measure,
and draw a mental map as I move. The first time I wore a mask I suffered nausea,
dizziness, and acute fear of being lost. I must have fallen off the stage more than a
dozen times since then. But now, I wouldn’t mind too much if one morning I woke

up blind. Perhaps I’d be a better dancer.’

110

It seems, from other comments he made, that difficulties, like not being able

to see through the mask, are welcomed in noh because they demand an increased

concentration on the part of the actor, which, combined with the intense

selectivity of movement, gesture and delivery, gives the art its distinctive force.

The intensity of the concentration needed for some roles was illustrated by

another story the Master told. He took as his example Dojoji, a play in which, at

the climax of the dance, the principal dancer and the drummer who accompanies

him work quite independently, without any score, and the dancer cannot see the

drummer because he is masked:23

‘Dojoji is famous for its climactic dance: a drum-player accompanies the

dancer only with his yell and intermittent drum beats. The drum-player is

expected to “kill his face” by focussing on his yell and the following sounds, while

the masked dancer’s eyes are “buried in his hips”: so the communication between

them is no longer that of a co-operative duet, but nearer the life-or-death assaults

of a swordfight. Each beats his drum or takes a step with fatal commitment. On

the noh stage, where everything is distilled to the final essence, one wrong beat,

one wrong step, can destroy the entire play. The tension that rises between the

two performers as they struggle to communicate telepathically is so intense that

people watching the scene have been known to faint.

‘Traditionally, to rehearse this number, a folding-screen is set up between

the two of them. There is no way of predicting when or how the next drum-beat

will come. Exactly on the beat the dancer’s foot must be jolting sharply down.

This exacting timing of motion and sound adds tremendously to the theatrical

impact. Again kiai is the thing. When I made my first appearance in Dojoji,
grandfather sent me to the drummer who had accompanied him half a century

earlier. This old man was known to us as a legendary figure. He had retired to

Kyushu Island, and had never consented to work for any other master, but, at the

age of seventy-four, he agreed to make a last appearance with me in Tokyo, to

save my grandfather’s face. The old man held my hand in his. We sat facing in

different directions with our eyes closed. He cried out: “Yahatt!” Then an

111

interminable silence followed, during which I was to feel out when the next drum-

beat would be struck. On that crucial instant I was to squeeze his hand. If he
squeezed mine at precisely the same second, then the timing was right.

‘I stayed on the island for a month, repeating this same traditional exercise
with him day and night. When I had mastered the steps of the entire dance, even if
I tried consciously not to be dominated by his beat, the moment the old man’s yell
attacked me, my entire body had already been put into motion in spite of myself.
His kiai was far superior to mine, and made a puppet of me. He was a great
professional.’

The life of a noh actor

The Master in America also gives us some idea of what it means to be born into a

noh family: 24

‘At the age of five or six, a child training for the noh, except when he is
sleeping, must continually rehearse dancing, chanting, flute, drums and costuming,
going from one teacher to another. A fan or a fist flies out and strikes him each
time he makes a mistake. He’s often sent to bed without supper if he hasn’t been
able to remember something or if he’s been lacking in concentration. There’s no
room for family life!

‘When I was seven, all the children in our theatre school were asked to gather
together at the theatre. “Time for child-picking,” people whispered. Grandfather
came, watched each of us frightened children give a short performance, then went
away. A week later I was sent to my grandfather’s theatre with a bagful of
rehearsal costumes and a fan. I was the “picked child”. “Go and worm out all the

old madman’s secrets,” my family told me.
‘When I came home again after spending eight years with grandfather, I

found my own father and brothers absolutely insufferable – first as artists, and
then as a family – because grandfather had taught me standards to use to judge art
and life that were absolutely uncompromising and made it quite impossible for me

112

to accept the standards of others. When he dies, all the secret passages and

gestures he taught me night by night, when the other disciples had been sent away,

will indeed be mine, and mine alone. Any noh performer would give his right arm

for those secrets. As a result, I trust nobody in my family or in my school and,

naturally, none of them trust me … It is inhuman. No human law governs noh

family relationships. We members of the noh families are like sprocket wheels that

don’t mesh with the other wheels around us. We don’t fit in with the outside

world.’ On another occasion he quoted a poem:25

‘The way of the warrior is to accept death.

The noh is a lifelong – a more than lifelong – discipline.

During the whole of your life, you build your own coffin.’

‘It’s not a matter of a career,’ he explained, ‘It’s a vocation. My grandfather

tells me that every morning he wakes up and shudders at the thought ofnoh, just

as he used to do as a beginner some eighty years ago.’ 26

This makes it clear that noh makes constant demands upon the actor

throughout the whole of his life. Zeami tells us that a noh actor only retains his

mastery through constant practice, for if he does not practise constantly his

flower will dic.27 And he must always be willing to consider the possibility of

faults in his performance that he is not aware of, because there is a very real danger

that the skilled actor, as he grows older, will fail to constantly re-evaluate his

performance, and this will result in stagnation, and make his art appear

increasingly old-fashioned.

But, according to the Master in America, there are compensations: ‘I’ve been

working in the noh now for more than thirty years. There has never been any

repetition, rest, or respite. Noh changes every day as I change.’ and ‘his face was

shining with joy.’ 28

i
I

113

NOTES

Uenishi, 1967, p 195, col 2. In the text I call this unidentified Japanese noh Master,
‘the Master in America’ Nobuko Uenishi was his interpreter for the course, and wrote a most
useful and revealing article about her own and the students’ experiences. See Bibliography.

2 The terms ‘jo-ha-kyu’ in Japanese are translations of the terms ‘hsu-p ‘a-chi’ in Chinese,
which are much older. Although they are pronounced differently in the two languages, the terms
are written with exactly the same Chinese characters.

3 This is a conflation of various ideas Zeami expresses in his treatise on writing a play,
Nosakusho. See Rimer and Masakazu pp 148-162.

4 From Zeami’s Shugyoku tokka in Rimer and Masakazu p 139.

5
6

The relevant section in Zeami’s Kakyo is in Rimer and Masakazu pp 83-86.

Sumidagawa is the play that inspired Benjamin Britten’s Curlew River.

7 Komparu (1983), Chap 5, discusses the categories in detail and also deals with the
links between the five subject categories and the Chinese theory of the five elements.

8 From Zeami’s Nosakusho again. See note 3.
9 From Zeami’s Kakyo again, in Rimer and Masakazu pp 99-100.

10 Mostly from Zeami’s Fushikaden in Rimer and Masakazu p 10, p 18 & p 41.

11 Uenishi, 1967, p 194, col 2.

12 Zeami’s reflections on the flower are spread so widely throughout his work that there
would be a vast list of references here. The reader must trust me to represent him fairly.

13 The reference to the / Ching is Zeami’s not mine. It will be found in his Kakyo. See
Rimer and Masakazu p 91. He is advocating a state of ‘no-mind’ (mushin) where intellection does
not get in the way of action. See particularly ‘The appeal of zen to the samurai’ in Chapter 2, and
the section before that in the same chapter on zen.

14 From Zeami’s Kyui, in Rimer and Masakazu pl25.

15 Uenishi, 1967, p 194, col I.

16 From Zeami’s Kakyo again, in Rimer and Masakazu p 77.

17 From Zeami’s Shikado, in Rimer and Masakazu p 64-65 conflated with his Shugyoku
tokka in Rimer and Masakazu pp 142-144.

18 Mainly from Zeami’s Fushikaden, in Rimer and Masakazu p 43-47.

19 From Zeami’s Shikado, in Rimer and Masakazu p 69-71.

20 Uenishi, 1967, p 192, cols 2-3 ..

21 Uenishi, 1967, p 192, col I.

22 Uenishi, 1967, p 194, col I.

23 Uenishi, 1967, p 196, cols 2-3.

114

24 Uenishi, 1967, p 195, col I.

25 Uenishi, 1967, p 196, col 3.

26 Ucnishi, 1967, p 194, col 3.

27 From several Zeami sources. Sec Rimer and Masakazu pp 42, 96, 106, & 115.

28 Uenishi, 1967, p 192, col 3.

MEDIEVAL

JAPAN
Heiankyo = Kyoto

Edo = Tokyo

0 CJ

Fig 1 Some important locations in medieval Japan

THE TRADITIONAL THEATRE OF JAPAN
Kyogen, Noh, Kabuki, and Puppetry

John Wesley Harris

;911,.1;,1;r-l
The Edwi~ Kf ellen Press

Lewiston-Queenston-Larnpeter

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Harris, John Wesley.
The traditional theatre of Japan : kyogen, noh, kabuki and puppetry/ John Wesley Harris.

p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0-7734-5798-4
I. Performing arts–Japan–History. l. Title.

PN292 I .H366 2006
79 I .0952–dc22

20060419

hors serie.

A CIP catalog record for this book is available from the British Library.

The Edwin Mellen Press
Box 4

Lewiston, New York
USA 14092-0450

The Edwin Mellen Press
Box 67

Queenston, Ontario
CANADA LOS !LO

The Edwin Mellen Press, Ltd.
Lampeter, Ceredigion, Wales

UNITED KINGDOM SA48 SL T

Printed in the United States of America

CHAPTER3

Kyogen – the early farces

The earliest type of drama to develop in Japan was probably the kyogen play.

This seems to have grown out of the primitive farces found in a kind of general

variety show called ‘infonnal music’ (sangaku in Japanese) which was introduced

into the islands from Korea in the early eighth century. Sangaku contained songs,

dances, tumbling,juggling, acrobatics and conjuring tricks, but in amongst the other

turns were pieces that involved simple acting, and these seem likely to have been

the source of both the comic kyogen and the serious noh play.

The Japanese, like the Chinese and Koreans, distinguished two different

kinds of ‘informal music’, namely ‘field music’ and ‘monkey music’ (in Japanese,

dengaku and sarugaku). It is thought that the latter of these acquired its name
because it involved monkey-like mimicry. The ‘field music’ (dengaku) contained
many very old songs and dances, including important ritual dances to bring good

weather and help the rice crops grow, and these were usually performed by Shinto

priests at sites in the countryside. The ‘monkey-music’ (sarugaku), on the other
hand, was performed by professional actors and contained songs and dances that

were calculated to entertain people in the towns. For instance, by the eleventh

century the sarugaku actors were beginning to present farces with titles like The
Tricks of a Lad from the Capital, A Peasant goes up to see the Big City, A Nun
goes looking for Baby-clothes, and so on – titles that suggest the exploitation of

innocent holy folk and ignorant country-bumpkins by cunning city lads.

The word ‘kyogen’ was borrowed by the Japanese from Chinese, where it

originally meant ‘nonsense’ or ‘crazy irresponsible utterances.’ Later, the famous

Chinese poet Po Chii-i used the phrase ‘kyogen kigo ‘ to mean fancy words that

drew people away from Buddha’s teachings,1 and the word came to mean a

fabrication or fiction which had a morally negative effect. This is shown by the

legend that Lady Murasaki, the famous authoress of The Tale of Genji (Genji

Monogatari), went to hell after she died, because she had committed the sin of

kyogen kigo or writing fiction.

By the late 14th century we find the term ‘kyogen’ being applied to plays in

general and, if the same interpretation of the worJ applied, it must have meant that

at that time any drama was regarded as an anti-religious act of pretence calculated

to delude and corrupt the heart of man – an attitude that would tie in very well

with the vow taken by some Buddhist priests not to sing, dance or witness plays.

However, since that particular vow applied to only a few sects, and most

monasteries were only too happy to present plays on festival days, it is no

surprise that the stigma attaching to the name ‘kyogen’ soon faded away.

The Shinto legend of Uzume performing her suggestive dance to lure

Amaterasu out of the Cave of Heaven suggests that the original tradition of

sarugaku was a comic one, and that it was probably associated with the

celebration of fertility. The first reference we have seems to confirm this, because

it relates to a festival sometime in the late eleventh century at which Uzume’s

sacred kagura dance was due to be performed. On the occasion in question, the

current Emperor, Horikawa, sent for his Counsellor and told him to make sure that

the sarugaku that he selected to follow the kagura in the evening was ‘something

really remarkable’. The Counsellor therefore proposed to his younger brother that

they should both hitch up their robes to show their bare legs in the bright light of

the courtyard fire, and dance round the flames singing:

‘Later and later grows the night,

Keener and keener grows the cold.

I will lift up my petticoats

And warm my backside at the fire. ‘

This was obviously intended as a deliberately indecent performance that
would aesthetically reflect the spirit of the kagura earlier in the day, by mimicking
Uzume’s dance, but when it came to the test, the Counsellor lost his nerve. His
younger brother, though, was more daring, and went and danced twelve or thirteen
times around the fire, singing, and warming his bare legs ‘just as though he had

really been cold … causing a tremendous uproar.’ 2
Despite the admirable irreverence shown in this performance, the sarugaku

must already have been developing a serious side, because in the Kamakura period
(I I 85-1336) it split into two separate branches known as ‘the basic art’ (hongei)
and ‘the skilled art’ (nohgei). The ‘basic art’ kept sarugaku’s original humour, and
after mingling with ‘field music’ (dengaku), finally emerged as kyogen. The
‘skilled art’, which placed emphasis on song and dance, and took tragic themes
from history and legend as its subject-matter, eventually developed into noh.

Perhaps because it was a simpler type of drama, kyogen seems to have
achieved an accepted theatrical form earlier than its more famous cousin. This is
indicated by the fact that the priest Genei (1269-1350), who is said to be kyogen’s
first playwright and who wrote many of the plays in the present repertory, died
before Kan’arni and Zeami, the begetters of modem noh, had even begun their
work on the more serious form of drama.

Kyogen and noh not only spring from the same source but they seem to
counterbalan~e each other. Manzo Nomura, a famous kyogen master, writes:

‘The highly refined tastes of the medieval audiences demanded an organic

separation of the miscellaneous aspects of sarugaku into music and dance on the
one hand and mime and humour on the other, resulting in the birth of the twin arts
of noh and kyogen. These two twins were clothed in garments whose colours were
as sharply contrasted as red and white, covering their differing skeletal structures
of symbolism and simplicity in such a way that they could never again be
mistaken for one another. But when the yin personality of the noh and the yang
personality of the kyogen are placed side by side, the effect of mutual reflection

produces an especially pleasing harmony.’ 3

This ‘pleasing harmony’ of the two forms was achieved by kyogen farces

being introduced into progranunes of noh plays in order to provide moments of

relief from the extremely high tension and emotion that the more serious pieces

generated, and the practice of playing the two forms of drama side by side has

continued ever since. Professional kyogen players are also usually attached to

companies of noh actors as a kind of subsidiary branch, and they have a narrative

function in many noh plays which is different to their usual farcical contributions –

indeed in the noh their roles are often completely serious.f

The Okina play

There is an interesting survival which shows how close kyogen and noh were in

the formative period of Japanese drama. When a full programme of five noh plays

(goban) is produced with its accompanying kyogen farces – something that rarely

happens today – it has always been the custom to precede the performance by an

ancient ritual play called Okina in which the shite (pronounced ‘shtay’ – the

principal dancer) takes on the nature of the god Okina. The ritual consists of three

dances. First, there is the stately dance of a young man called Senzai, which

involves special patterns of stamping that bring to mind both the presence of the

earth itself and also Shinto rituals for the invocation of a god. During the young

man’s dance there comes a moment when the noh actor playing Okina, who has

been sitting to one side of the stage, dons the white mask of a good-humoured old

man that represents the god. This is the only occasion in noh where a mask is

visibly donned on stage, and the action symbolises the descent of the god into the

performer. Okina now dances a god dance (kamigaku) with great calm and

deliberation and, when he has finished, a kyogen actor in a black mask, playing a

character called Sambaso, performs a lively dance with much leaping, and

stamping, and shaking of bells, the actions of which suggest both various kinds of

fanning work and also the process of dispelling demons.

The structure of this performance corresponds to the three stages of an

ancient Shinto ritual called shiki samba and the piece, which is considered
exceptionally lucky, is intended to bring a blessing upon all the actors and their
endeavours as well as upon the audience. It is treated as a sacred event and all the
participants have to eat in isolation from their families for several days before they
undertake the performance, and devote themselves to rituals of purification. The
Shinto associations of the dance suggest that it is extremely old and probably dates

from a time when kyogen and noh were only just beginning to diverge.5

The benevolent nature of kyogen

Kyogen deals with everyday human relationships, involving husbands and wives,
masters and servants, the rituals of courtship, hypocritical priests, and the con-
men of the market-place and their victims. There are also a few plays about gods
and demons, but even these superhuman beings are treated in a very domestic and
good-humoured way. Altogether it is a very simple and basic type of drama with a
kindly and undemanding approach to life, in which every character, whatever their
rank, tends to think and react like one of the common people.

For many generations, the plays were preserved and handed down in the
form of scenarios, and the dialogue and movement were improvised by the

performers.sA typical example of such a scenario is the one called An Umbrella

Instead of a Fan taken from the oldest collection of scenarios in existence today,
The Tembo Kyogen Book, which was compiled during the 1570s. It runs:

‘A Daimyo appears and calls his servant. He tells the servant to go to the
capital and buy the most expensive fan he can find. The servant goes to the capital
and begins shouting out what he wants to buy. A Con-man appears and sells him
an umbrella instead. The Con-man also tells him that if his master gets angry with
him, he should sing the song: “On Umbrella Mountain, on Umbrella Mountain, if
other people open their umbrellas, I shall open my umbrella too.” The servant
goes home. When the Master sees what the Servant has bought, he gets angry. He

—-=–=-=:==;=..-========’—v .

chases the Servant out of the house. Then the Servant begins singing and dancing.

The Master listens and enjoys the song so much that he begins dancing too.

Master and Servant dance together. The play ends with a passage from the flute.’

The Tembo Kyogen Book contains 104 different scenarios but, as generations

went by, the repertory grew larger, plots and dialogue became fixed, and more and

more complete scripts began to appear. There are now more than thirty volumes

of complete scripts owned by the various scr.ools that play kyogen, containing

different versions of 260 plays. For convenience, these pieces have been divided

by the actors into several categories, most of which are named after the type of

character who plays the principal shite role, although a few of them are named
after the overall theme of the piece.

Particularly revealing of kyogen’s approach to the presentation of life are

the pieces about daimyos. These characters are usually introduced as ‘The well-

known daimyo so-and-so,’ and they place great stress on their exalted social

position and behave with a level of arrogance that they believe to be suitable for

their rank, but they soon reveal that underneath all the external show they are

simple-minded, childish, illiterate and thoughtless. Consequently the ridiculous

situations they become involved in are generally of their own making.

Needless to say, these pompous simpletons are nothing like the great clan

chiefs at the time when the plays were devised, or even the rural village lords of

the same period, and the audience tends to see them primarily as kind-hearted

idiots. This means that however much the actor sent-up the part, he was unlikely

to offend any of the daimyos and samurai who were actually watching the play,
which was very important for the actor.

As can be seen from this example, the genre may sometimes be satirical, but

it is never aggressively critical or unpleasantly malicious. It prefers to observe and

display human behaviour as it finds it and interpret it in the kindest way that it

can. All its characters arc simple and essentially kind-hearted, and all of them act

in a way which is easily understood by the common people, and yet usually

shows how people ought to behave in awkward situations.

Son-in-law pieces

This is well illustrated by the politeness of the father in a piece called The Rooster
Son-in-Law. This is one ofa group of plays called ‘son-in-law’ pieces which relate
to mistakes that occur on the first ceremonial visit of the groom to the house of his
father-in-law – a medieval custom which took place in arranged marriages after the
contract had been signed, but before the groom had seen his bride. The groom, who
is the main character, always appears dressed as a samurai, and announces himself
nervously in a serious voice: ‘I am a new groom, the joy of my father-in-law’. He
brings gifts of food and wine, which give the piece a celebratory note, but the
important thing is the ridiculous mistakes and confusions which arise because he is
completely ignorant of the proper way in which to behave during the ceremony. In
these pieces the secondary roles (ado) consist of fathers-in-law, wives and friends,

who teach him what he ought to do – often quite wrongly.
In The Rooster Son-in-Law the groom is well aware that he does not know

the necessary protocol for the visit and pays a call upon his old schoolmaster to
find out what he should do. The schoolmaster is irritated by the young man’s lack
of imagination and decides to make a laughing stock of him. He therefore tells him
that he should follow the ‘visiting rooster protocol’, and act like a cockerel, and he
lends him a tall black hat that looks like a cockscomb. As a result when he visits
his father-in-law the young man concludes every speech by opening his fan,
waving both his arms vigorously, scratching with his feet and crowing like a cock.
The father-in-law and his servant, Taro Kaja, cannot understand this behaviour at
all, but at last the father-in-law rightly decides that somebody is trying to make a
fool of the young man. However, since the disgrace of his son-in-law would be
bound to reflect upon him, and also out of an essentially Confucian politeness, he
decides that he must imitate what the young man does in every way. So, getting
Taro Kaja to swear not to laugh, he sends him off for a matching hat, and the play
ends with the son-in-law and father-in-law exchanging compliments, and both of
them flapping their arms, scratching their feet, and crowing like mad.

—— ~=======::!;,-‘· V

Taro Kaja pieces

The father-in-law’s servant Taro Kaja is a famous kyogen character, who has a

whole category of plays named after him, in which he takes the leading actor’s

role, and there are also many plays in which he takes the part of a supporting

actor who merely runs errands for his master or acts as an intermediary between

him and whoever he is talking to. He is. considered the most typical of all kyogen

characters, and this is underlined by his name. ‘Taro’ is a very common name for a

man in Japan, and ‘Kaja’ means a boy who has just celebrated his coming of age,

so the name implies a lively young servant, who is a bit of a rogue and will have

popular appeal – a kind of ‘Jack the Lad’, References in the plays suggest that he

lives in poor lodgings in the middle of Kyoto. In one play he says, ‘My house is

such a run-down hovel that whenever it rains three drops outside, we get ten

drops inside – so my wife and children have to huddle in the corners to keep dry’.

In ways like this, despite his self-assurance, he clearly reveals that he represents

the poorer classes of the city. His master, who is the supporting character in these

plays, is usualJy a small landowner who is quite poor and most of the plays, like

An Umbrella Instead of a Fan, involve Taro Kaja being sent off to buy something,

getting swindled, and coming back with the wrong article, which makes his master

very angry. In the end Taro Kaja usually manages to get round him in one way or
another – but this is not always the case.

A good example of a Taro Kaja play is The Ring of Bells in which his master,

in this case a wealthy man, declares that he intends to present his son with a

sword at his coming-of-age ceremony and that he intends to inlay it with gold. He

sends Taro Kaja off into the town ofKamakura to find the cheapest gold that he

can, and, because gold was assessed by the way it sounded when it was struck, he

uses the slang term ‘the ring of metal’ (kane none) to mean ‘the price of metal’.

Taro Kaja of course misinterprets this in its more usual sense of ‘the sound of a

bell’ and without questioning the order for a moment, goes off to town to find his

master the best-sounding bell that he can. After arriving he goes to listen to the

bells of four temples, each represented by one of the comers of the stage. He
creates the sounds that he hears for the audience, of course, and decides that the
bell of the Kencho Temple is best. He then returns to his master, and describes the
sound of each of the bells, steadily making him more and more angry. Eventually
when he finds out that Taro Kaja has not brought him any information at all about
the price of gold, his master chases him out of the house. Realising he has made a
mistake, Taro Kaja decides that, because his master is cultured, the way to get
round him is to make up a song and dance about his experiences in the town, but
this time it does not work and the master comes out and drives him away.

In fact, Taro Kaja is usually chased away or scolded at the end of the pieces
in which he appears, because he has either got his orders confused, or tried to bluff
his way out of a situation in which he has been very cowardly, or caused an
uproar after stealing sake from his master’s storehouse and getting hopelessly
drunk – but however unreliable he may be, he is basically a kind-hearted young
man who is never malicious, nor does his master ever treat him harshly. Indeed,
there are a number of plays where Taro Kaja shows great love and respect for his
master, and some where he even takes a scolding for mistakes that his master has

made.
Sometimes he is accompanied by a second servant named Jiro Kaja who is

subordinate to him, and the two of them often combine their forces to achieve
some mutual objective. For instance, in the piece called Tied to a Stick, where their
master ties the two of them to the opposite ends of a pole so that they cannot get
at his sake while he is away, they work together to move the jug into a position
where they can each get hold of it and take a swig in tum.

Sentimentality in kyogen

Some kyogen pieces can become quite sentimental. For instance there is a
‘daimyo’ play called The Monkey-Skin Quiver. In this case the lord is a ‘famous
hunter’ travelling with his servant. On the road they meet a monkey-trainer and

– _.. _ ,—~·

his monkey. They fall into conversation and the trainer tells the lord that the

monkey can perform tricks. The lord notes what fine fur it has and begs the trainer

to grant him a request, getting the man to swear that he will grant it before he tells

him what he wants. The trainer agrees, somewhat unwillingly, and the lord then

tells him that he would like the monkey’s skin to make a cover for his quiver.

Because he has promised the lord to give him what he wants, the trainer tries to

bring himself to kill the monkey, but he cannot do it, and finally breaks down. He

tearfully tells the lord’s servant (Taro Kaja) about all the care he has lavished on

the animal since it was a tiny baby. The lord overhears him and is moved to spare

the monkey’s life. The trainer is so happy about this that he insists on getting the

monkey to thank the lord and his servant, by bowing to them. He then gets it to

perform a celebratory dance in accompaniment to a song he sings, and the lord is

so impressed that he first gives the monkey his fan, then his sword, and finally his

cloak and his long over-trousers. At the end of the dance the trainer gets the

monkey to look at the moon while shading his eyes with his hand and the lord is

so amused that he imitates him. The trainer then gets the monkey to shade his

eyes with the other hand, and the lord does the same. Finally he gives the monkey

a sacred Shinto scroll to wave, and the lord imitates him using his quiver. Finally,

at the end of the dance, the lord and the monkey both strike a happy pose each
with one knee on the ground.

The daimyo’s change of heart in this play is typical of the sentimentality

that is often found in his character, and the play as a whole is very typical of the
benevolent spirit of the kyogen,

Stupidity in kyogcn

Sometimes the characters lose out in kyogen because they behave in a very stupid

manner. One of the ‘farmer’ plays, called The Foxes of Sado, illustrates this well.
In the kyogen, unlike real life, farmers are always happy and satisfied, and the first

farmer always begins with the words: ‘In this happy age of ours when the whole

world is at peace .. .’ The shape of the plays is always the same. A farmer from one
part of the country meets a farmer from another part of the country. Both of them
are on their way to the capital to pay their annual taxes. When they reach the
mansion of the tax-collector, they are usually asked to perform for him, and most
of the pieces end with a cheerful dance, or a song, or a good laugh, or a lively tune

on the flute, to underline their celebratory nature.
In the case of The Foxes of Sada, a farmer from Echido meets a farmer from

the small island of Sado just off the coast and, when they start to discuss what
disadvantages the island of Sado might have, the Sado farmer boldly claims that
they have everything there that the mainland has. ‘Foxes too?’ asks the Echido
farmer. ‘Yes. foxes too’ says the Sado farmer after a moment’s thought. Now at
the time the play was devised it was believed that there were no foxes on Sudo, so
the Echido farmer challenges the Sudo farmer to make a bet on it. They agree to bet
their swords, which would be very valuable from a farmer’s viewpoint, and decide

that the tax-collector shall settle the bet.
We next see the Sado farmer asking the rather disgruntled tax-collector to

help him. After slipping him a bribe under his sleeve he asks, ‘Are there foxes in
Sado?’ ‘No’ says the tax-collector. ‘What should I do, then?’ says the farmer,
‘I’ve taken a bet that there are.’ At this the tax-collector takes pity on him and
describes a fox – smaller than a dog, slanty eyes, a grinning mouth, a Jong bushy
tail, and light red in colour. Using this information the Sado farmer answers all the
Echido farmer’s questions and seems to have won the bet, but as he is carrying off
the swords the Echido farmer stops him and insists that he answers just one more
question: ‘What kind of sound does a fox make?’ ‘Smaller than a dog?’ suggests
the Sado farmer and then he inappropriately goes through the complete list of
descriptive features he has just learnt from the tax-collector, greatly increasing his
interrogator’s suspicions. Finally, when he finds that none of them is right, he is
completely at a loss and says ‘cock-a-doodle-doo’. At that the Echido farmer
immediately claims the two swords and carries them off with the complaining

Sado farmer in hot pursuit.

Presumption and hypocrisy in kyogcn

Then there are plays dealing with presumption and hypocrisy, most of which are
associated with priests. In fact, plays involving priests are almost as numerous as
those dealing with Taro Kaja. This is probably because the Kamakura and
Muromachi periods (1185-1573), when kyogen was taking on its modem form,
witnessed the introduction of several new Buddhist sects and a growth of interest
in all sorts of faiths and philosophies.· At the same time it was a period of great
social insecurity and confusion and these unstable conditions produced many
‘false priests’, who were basically confidence tricksters who travelled round the
country in priestly robes begging for their living, either because their business had
failed or because they needed to escape from some other unpleasant situation. As
a result, priests are usually satirised when they appear in kyogen.

For instance, there are plays about the yamabushi or warrior priests
mentioned earlier. These semi-Shinto, semi-Buddhist ascetics spent long periods in
prayer deep in the mountains, but at other times they would travel about the
countryside, ‘helping’ the local peasantry by chanting what they believed to be
potent incantations. Kyogen plays present them as very egotistical men, dressed
in pompous costumes, who cast magic spells, and make grandiloquent claims
about their powers, but when it comes to the point of proving what they can do,
they usually fail and become the object of taunts and sarcasm. For instance, in The
Hooting Warrior Priest the characters all become possessed by the spirit of an
owl, because once the yamabushi priest has aroused the mischievous spirit, to take
possession of a younger brother, it also takes over his older brother, and finally
the priest himself, and they all go off together hooting merrily.

In another piece of this kind, called Mushrooms, the priest starts the
mushrooms growing and then cannot stop them. Don Kenny tells us that when
this piece was performed in the United States, the mushroom spirits, with their
flat round straw hats, which appeared first through the curtain and eventually
through an upper sliding-door as well, led Americans to think that the play was a

satire on the war in Viet Nam. They saw the yamabushi priest as representing

America and the mushrooms the Viet Cong – an interpretation which would

certainly never have occurred to any Japanese.

Other types of priest are usually attacked for greed and hypocrisy, just as

they were in many western plays of the middle ages. For instance, there is a priest

in A Sermon Without A Donation who is absolutely determined to get his regular
donation out of a parishioner who has forgotten to present it to him. He visits the

parishioner frequently, hoping that this will remind him of his lapse of memory,

and then, when the parishioner finally realises why he is paying him so many

visits and actually offers him the donation, he pretends to refuse it and has to be

persuaded to take it, thus showing that he is nothing but a hypocrite.

In a rather different vein, there is a piece called A Religious Dispute, in which
two priests of different sects have a ridiculous argument about the way in which

Buddha should be described, until they finally realise that whatever adjectives you

add to his name, Buddha always remains one and the same. This play provides a

sharp criticism not only of petty religious disputes but of all forms of narrow-

minded sectarianism.

Lustful priests also make an appearance in one or two of the plays, but the

subject is treated lightly, and most of them are young novices who have only just

taken their vows and still find it very difficult to ignore attractive young women.

Their advances are invariably unsuccessful and often involve them in getting

drenched with a bucketful of water, or suffering some other misadventure that

points the moral in an equally harmless way.

Kindly demons

Some plays of the Muromachi period clearly reflected the views of one or other of

the recently introduced sects. For instance, despite the fact that hell played a very

important part in some forms of popular Buddhism, demons in kyogen are on the

whole presented as weak and ineffectual and only too happy to let their victims

off the hook. This ridiculing of the idea of damnation can be seen as a by-product

of the teaching of the Pure Land (Jodo) sect that all true believers would go to

paradise – a promise that rendered hell an inconsiderable factor in the eyes of its
followers.

A ‘demon’ play which gives a good impression of these hopelessly

inefficient devils and the benevolent atmosphere of the plays in which they appear

is The Bird Catcher in Hell, which also happens to be a direct parody of a certain
kind of noh play.

It starts with Emma, the King of Hell, patrolling the ‘six ways’ of the

underworld with his demons, waiting to catch the souls of the wicked. Then along

comes the soul of a bird-catcher. A minor demon sees him first and asks him what

his job was on earth. When he tells the demon that he was a bird-catcher, the

demon says that since he has been constantly involved in taking life, against

Buddha’s law, he must go to hell. The bird-catcher objects that he doesn’t think

he’s bad at all, and that he’d much rather go to heaven.

The demon refers the matter to Emma, who reaffirms that since the bird-

catcher took life in his earthly incarnation he must go to hell. However, the bird-

catcher argues that he did not personally kill the birds he caught, but sold them to

gentlemen, who fed them to their falcons, so their deaths were ultimately the

falcons’ fault and not his. Emma agrees that there was nothing wrong with such a
course of action.

He then has a sudden craving to taste the birds that are continually flying

around him on the Hill of Death and asks the bird-catcher to snare him some. This

he docs and, after he has roasted them, Emma finds them very tasty. The bird-

catcher offers them to the other demons as well, who eagerly snatch them and also
enjoy them thoroughly.

Emma then declares that the bird-catcher has given them all such a treat he is

going to send him back to earth to go on catching birds for another three years, and

the chorus wind up the play by telling the audience that Emma not only sent him

back to earth, but presented him with a jewelled crown as well.

·-~

Women in kyogcn

Women often appear in kyogen, although they are played by male actors, of

course, as in all Japanese traditional drama. Plays of this kind usually deal with the

relationship between married couples and though the women arc relegated to

supporting roles they always leave a strong impression. A description of the type

of action in some of these plays will give a flavour of the whole category. In
Caught in a Sack, a man divorces his wife but tells her she can put anything she
likes into a sack and take it away with her, so she throws the sack over his head

and drags him away. In The Mirror, a man buys a mirror in the city for his wife,
but she has never seen one before, and when she looks into it she thinks he has

brought home another woman and they fall out about it. In The Drunken Wife, a
husband decides to divorce his wife, who is a drunkard, and go to the temple to

pray for a new one but she follows him there in a veil and pretends to be the new

wife the gods are providing for him. She drinks so much, however, that the

husband becomes concerned and snatches away her veil to see her face. Finding it

is his own wife he becomes very submissive and she berates him, stamping

repeatedly and shouting ‘How angry I am! How angry I am!’

Kyogen women are often described as ‘noisy’ because of their tendency to

shout when they catch their husbands out but they are all of them much stouter of

heart and sturdier of intellect than their spouses. In An Unsuccessful Suicide with a
Sickle, the wife threatens her spineless and suicidal husband with his own sickle
until he agrees to go off to the mountain and do some work after all. In Cautious
Bravery, she vigorously encourages her husband, who is a complete coward, to
take revenge on his so-called ‘friends’ who have kicked and trampled on him. In

Visiting Hanago, where he pretends to be spending time in Zen meditation so that
he can slip away to see his mistress Hanago, she is quick to sense his

unfaithfulness, takes the place of the servant he has left ‘meditating’ for him under

a cloak, and gives him a thorough scolding when he comes back and ‘unveils’ her.

In The Trial Rehearsal, she is the one who has been unfaithful but she manages

.———– – ~/-~

to bluff her husband literally out of his senses and in A Demon in Love, a demon,
who ought to know better, gets involved with a woman and is humorously tricked

and unceremoniously chased away.

The celebratory nature of kyogen

All kyogen plays are optimistic and have a ‘fortunate’ aspect to them, through

showing instances of either good luck, reconciliation, forgiveness, happiness, or

wealth – or through presenting kindly Shinto gods like Daikoku with his magic

hammer, Ebisu with his sea bream and fishing-rod, Bishamon, dressed in his

armour and helmet and carrying a halberd, or Fuku, the God of Happiness,

himself When each god appears, he explains why he is auspicious, tells the story

of his origins, and bestows blessings on all the people. In kyogen masters are kind

and servants are well-meaning, even if they are subject to temptation, while the

song and dance which is used by the servant to get himself back into his master’s

good graces after misbehaving himself or making a silly mistake, provides an extra

note of celebration, which is reinforced by the fact that his master often dances

with him. In the god plays these final dances are even performed to the

accompaniment of the four-piece orchestra which is found on the noh stage and

the chanting of a chorus, which makes them much more impressive. In fact,

kyogen always seeks to raise the spirits of its audience, in the tradition ofUzume,

and send them away from the theatre with feelings of optimism and kindness.

The staging and acting of kyogen

Although kyogen has for centuries been played on the same stage as the noh drama

(see Figs 3 and 4) for which, as was explained earlier, it serves as a kind of comic

counterpoint, there is no indication that it was originally performed on anything

but a simple platform stage, though probably it was a roofed stage in the open air,

like the kagura-den used for Uzume’s sacred dance.” Indeed kyogen acting often

breaks the noh conventions, as happens in The Ring of Bells where the actor
playing Taro Kaja uses all four corners of the stage to represent different temples

in the town. whereas, according to noh practice, the corner upstage right, from the

audience’s viewpoint, is a ‘dead’ area so far as acting is concerned – but it is only

natural that, having extra facilities available, the kyogen actor will use them. This is

demonstrated again in the performance of The Half Delivered Gift, where the entire
length of the entry ‘bridge’ (hashigakari) leading offstage to the audience’s left,
together with the full width of the stage, is used to represent a snowy mountain

track up which Taro Kaja drives a herd of imaginary cows in a highly convincing

manner using nothing but a stick to aid him. In noh, such a journey would have

been represented more simply by a ‘circular’ motion around the stage itself,

accompanied by a descriptive chant.

Vocally, kyogen actors use patterns of chant which are similar to those of

noh, although they are much less elaborate, and, like noh performers, they do not

change their voices very much to characterise any kind of role. However, despite

their frequent use of dialect words, most of what they say can easily be

understood by a modern audience, unlike the more ‘antique’ speeches of the noh.

The language also contains humorous elements that could never arise in noh,

amongst them the onomatopoeic words the actor uses to provide ‘sound effects’,

a technique which seems to be unique to kyogen. When opening a heavy door, for

instance, the actor vocalises the creaking sound as gara-gara-gara: when using a

saw, it is zoka-zoka-zoka: when pouring sake out of a jug it is dobu-dobu-dobu:

when ‘pouring out the last few drops of sake from the same jug it is p’s ‘to-p’s ‘to-
p’s ‘to: and when playing the shamisen, it is tereten-tereten-tereten. A particularly
effective example of this vocal technique are the sounds used for the bells of

Kamakura in The Sound of Bells. According to Taro Kaja, the bell of the Jufuku
Temple goes jan-mon -mon-mon, just an average bell; the bell of the Enkaku

Temple is pecan-pecan – a very thin-sounding bell; the bell of the Gokurako
Temple is jaga-jaga-jaga – a broken bell; and the bell of the Kencho Temple is

kon-mon-mon-mon by far the best sound of the four.

It is often suggested that while noh is a theatre of music and dance, kyogen

is mainly a drama of words and conversation, but it is really only a matter of

degree. There is no doubt that kyogen began as a ‘song and dance’ form. There is

even a small group of ‘dance’ pieces (mai kyogen) which take the same dramatic
form as the ‘noh of ghosts’ where a travelling priest prays for a restless spirit and

raises it to dance and sing and re-tell its story of the days long ago. There are only

seven such pieces, but one of them, Rakuami, the Flute Playing Priest, is probably
the earliest example of kyogen we have and dates back to some period before the

middle ages. There is also a large group of songs which are drawn upon randomly

to accompany the drinking-party scenes that often appear in the plays and their

name, koruri otai (‘small dance songs’), implies they are all meant to accompany
dances. Some kyogen pieces, like Spring, Girls, and Sake, are highly lyrical and
made up almost entirely of sequences drawn from these songs and dances. In other

pieces a song is often used to state the theme or to stress a few important phrases

or lines and a good melody can make even an essentially indecent and vulgar offer

of love sound quite acceptable, as happens in A Demon in Love and Visiting
Hanago. So it is not surprising that, upon close examination, even the most
‘realistic’ kyogen gestures and vocal modulations can be clearly seen to derive

from the singing and dancing techniques that are hammered into the young actor
during his training.

Kyogen uses mostly simple hand properties, but it uses a much wider range

of them than the noh, including swords, hand bells, Buddhist rosaries, pilgrims’

staffs, shovels, hoes, sickles, barrels, gourds, chopping boards, butchers’ knives,

and many other objects which were related to the daily life of the common people.

However, there are two properties which are used symbolically to represent many

other articles – these are the fan and a two-foot-high cylindrical black-lacquered

box with a lid called a kazora-oke. The closed fan can be used to represent a whip,
hammer, saw, knife, lance, halberd, sword or bow – and even a hand-drill in one

play – and when it is opened, it can represent a wine-pitcher, wine-cup, door,

archery target, and any number of other things. The kazora-oke is used mostly as

a stool to sit on, or a large box or container, but its lid sometimes becomes an

extra-large wine cup.

The plays are usually performed with a face bare of any make-up or

covering so that the actor’s expressions can be enjoyed by the audience, but there

are about fifty plays in which one character or another is masked. For example,

there is a mask known as ‘the whistler’, which has pursed lips as if it was

whistling. It is very like the comic mask which is used in the ancient kagura

dances, so it could be very early indeed, perhaps even antedating sarugaku. It is
used for an extremely large variety of characters: a scarecrow, an octopus, a locust,

the spirit of a mosquito, the spirit of pine resin. and the spirit of a mushroom –

and though its pursed lips make it seem a bit starved, its character is always

cheerful. Then there is a mask used for comic demon roles, which is also

sometimes used simply as a mask to frighten people, as it is in The Angry Aunt
and her Sake where a young man wears it to scare his aunt out of the house so
that he can drink her liquor. There are also masks for the gods and some animals,

like the monkey mask which is used in The Monkey-Skin Quiver, and finally there
are a rather exaggerated but realistic old man’s mask, which is used for grandfather

roles, and two masks for women, one representing a sweet and innocent, but rather

plain, young girl and the other an older woman who is always angry.

The costumes used, like those in nob, are known as shozoku (which means

‘robes’). They tell us nothing about the personality of the character wearing them

but only about their social position. They are stylised versions of medieval

costume. A daimyo wears his tall, black, triangular hat (eboshi), a kimono with
broad horizontal stripes, a cloak with broad sleeves (suo) on top of that, and long
over-trousers that drag on the floor behind him. A master wears the same long

trousers and horizontally striped kimono, but he has a sleeveless cloak with stiff

shoulders and he does not wear a hat. Taro Kaja wears a kimono with a plaid or

checked pattern, shorter trousers and the same type of sleeveless stiff cloak as his

master but decorated with a bolder and gaudier pattern. A woman wears a brightly

patterned kimono tied with a narrow sash and has a white cloth wrapped round

her head with the ends hanging down on both sides. Priests and demons, too, arc
easily recognised from their costumes.

The main way in which kyogen differs from the noh, apart from its
consciously childlike simplicity, is in its naked expression of emotion. When a
master is annoyed with his servant he shouts, ‘Hey, you rascal!’ and when a
woman is angry she stamps her foot on the ground and screams, ‘Oh, how angry,
how angry I am!’ People drink and sing and dance together, and they often laugh
loudly at the end of the play, from sheer joy. Conversely, in some plays, like The
Monkey-Skin Quiver, a character becomes very sad and weeps noisily.

All this helps to arouse the audience’s sympathy, and one thing at least is
clear: although kyogen may be simple, it appeals to the audience. It is the only
form of Japanese traditional drama which is not only flourishing, but steadily
becoming more popular. More and more amateurs in Japan are studying it, and the
current leader of the Nomura clan has recently devised several new kyogen, like
The Cowardly Samurai which is based on the misfortunes of Sir John Falstaff in
The Merry Wives of Windsor.

NOTES

In a poem which was included in a collection of Japanese and Chinese Poetry called the
Wakan Roei Shu put together in 1013 AD.

2 Arthur Waley quoting from the Uji Shui of 1215 AD, in Waley, p 15.

3 Manzo Nomura in Kyogen no michi (The Way of Kyogen); in Kenny (1989) p. xvii.

4 Don Kenny in his introduction to The Kyogen Book, The Japan Times, 1989, p. xvii.

5 Komparu (1983), Chap I, pp 3-4.

6 This paragraph and all that follows is drawn mostly from Kyogen, by Tatsuo Y oshikoshi
& Hitashi llata, translated by Don Kenny.

7 The sacred kagura-dcn is a slightly larger version of the worship pavilion (hai-den)
illustrated in Fig 2.

MEDIEVAL

JAPAN
Heiankyo = Kyoto

Edo = Tokyo

0 CJ

Fig 1 Some important locations in medieval Japan

THE TRADITIONAL THEATRE OF JAPAN
Kyogen, Noh, Kabuki, and Puppetry

John Wesley Harris

;911,.1;,1;r-l
The Edwi~ Kf ellen Press

Lewiston-Queenston-Larnpeter

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Harris, John Wesley.
The traditional theatre of Japan : kyogen, noh, kabuki and puppetry/ John Wesley Harris.

p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0-7734-5798-4
I. Performing arts–Japan–History. l. Title.

PN292 I .H366 2006
79 I .0952–dc22

2006041952

hors serie.

A CIP catalog record for this book is available from the British Library.

The Edwin Mellen Press
Box 450

Lewiston, New York
USA 14092-0450

The Edwin Mellen Press
Box 67

Queenston, Ontario
CANADA LOS !LO

The Edwin Mellen Press, Ltd.
Lampeter, Ceredigion, Wales

UNITED KINGDOM SA48 SL T

Printed in the United States of America

CHAPTER4

The nature and history of the noh play

Noh, the drama of ‘skill’, whose origins were touched upon in the last chapter, is

normally acted entirely by men I on a unique kind of stage (see Figs 3 and 4). The

stage and the raised causeway that leads to it (the hashigakari or ‘bridge’) both
have a roof over them. This is because, in its original form, noh was played in the

open air, and the stage part of the theatre, which probably then lacked a ‘bridge’,

was a pavilion erected for the performance of the sacred kagura dance, the four

pillars supporting the roof being used to define the consecrated space in which the

dance took place.2 This sense of sacredness has persisted even into modem times,

and a new noh stage still requires to be blessed before any performance can be

given on it. The stage is made out of Japanese cypress wood (hinoki), and the
theatre as a whole has proportions that are very satisfactory to the eye. The floor

on which the performance takes place looks as if it is highly polished, but the

bean-curd residue called okara with which it is annointed daily actually provides a

slightly sticky, non-slip surface.

The stage area has virtually no decoration, except for the painting of a pine-

tree on the back-wall and stems of bamboo on the wall which stands at right-angles

to it, to the right of the rear stage (all positions on stage in this account are

described from the audience’s point of view). These decorations are traditional,

and some Japanese believe that they simply recall the original open-air nature of

the setting, when noh plays were performed under a famous pine-tree near the

Kasuga Shrine in Nara, and clumps of living bamboo were used to mark out the

entrance and exit points for the actors. However, both the action and language of

noh plays are very symbolic, and according to the classical conventions of poetic

imagery, the pine-tree implies ‘pining’ for the past – the Japanese word ‘matsu’

having the same two meanings as the word ‘pine’ in English – whilst the knotted

stems of the bamboo are used to symbolise the trials and tribulations of the world.

Since these two elements – the sorrows of life and regrets concerning the past –

seem to characterise the majority of noh plays, the decoration may well be
thematic.

The performance of noh

The performance begins with the entry of the musicians – three drummers and a

flute-player – who approach the stage along the hashigakari, dressed in formal
court costume of the late middle-ages, with its broad, stiff shoulders. They take up

their position on the rear stage, in front of the painting of the pine-tree – the hip-

drummer and shoulder-drummer on stools slightly to left and right of centre

respectively, whilst the two other musicians squat down on the stage floor beside

them, the stick-drummer to their left and the flute-player to their right (see Fig 4).

Next to appear are the members of the chorus, who also wear formal court dress.

They enter quickly through a low sliding door (kirido) at the back of the right side
of the rear stage, below the painted bamboos. This ‘concealed’ entrance, which is

often jokingly called ‘the bellyache door’ because the actors have to double up to

get through it, is mostly for chorus use, but occasionally assistants and very minor

characters make their entry there. The most important characters all make their

entrances and exits along the hashigakari,

The first character to appear is played by the waki, the supporting actor,

and he sets the play going with an announcement of who he is, where he is

supposed to be, and why he is there. This speech is usually delivered from the

‘naming place’ which is beside the shite pillar (the pillar which rises where the

downstage edge of the hashigakari meets the stage). After this he moves to take

up a position, usually seated, just above the pillar downstage right, which is

named after him. This side position probably explains his name, because waki
means ‘side’ and implies that he is an observer. The principal actor, the shite
(‘shtay’), who makes his appearance later on, also usually makes his first speech
from the ‘naming place’ but, being more important, he may come further forward

to deliver it.
However, sometimes the shite’s first speech is not delivered on the stage

proper. There are three small living pine-trees planted on the audience side of the
hashigakari at ground level, and these mark points along the causeway where the
principal actors sometimes stop to make speeches. Traditionally they symbolise
the situation of mankind (the middle pine) which is influenced by the powers of
heaven (the pine to the left near the entry-door) and earth (the pine to the right
nearest the stage). When the actors stop alongside them, these pines can
sometimes have exactly that significance. For instance a god character who is
making his entrance can deliver some of his speeches from ‘heaven’ – alongside the
pine-tree nearest to the entry – and then make his appearance on ‘earth’ by moving
swiftly forward and taking up a position beside the pine-tree nearest to the stage.
Similarly a character can stop at the central ‘mankind’ pine to deliver a speech

reflecting their inner emotions. This can happen at any time during the
performance, not only when delivering the first speech, so the hashigakari should
be considered an occasional extension to the acting area.

The use of the stage space is very conventional. A noh play consists
essentia~ly of an interchange between the shite and the waki. Either or both of
these actors may have one or more tsure or assistants, but the play always has
two ‘opposed’ forces represented on stage, and this dichotomy is emphasised by
the fact that the downstage-right pillar is allocated to the waki and the partly
upstage left ‘naming place’ pillar is allotted mainly to the shite. This creates a
strong diagonal confrontation, along a line which divides the stage into two halves.
The triangle of space to the left and front of this diagonal is used extensively by
the shite to move and dance in, but the triangle of space to the right and behind the
diagonal, beyond the waki, is largely considered to be ‘dead’ space, and any actor

temporarily sitting there is usually considered not to exist, so far as the scene

being played is concerned.

The diagonal is also observed in another piece of conventional stage

movement which is common in noh plays – the action of ‘travelling’ from one

place to another – which is often accompanied by a song in which the chorus

describes the features of the landscape that are being passed. The track which is

travelled by the actor can have a number of different shapes. The usual trip begins

from the ‘naming place’. The actor then moves in a curving path past the ‘sight-

guiding pillar’ (downstage left) towards the ‘waki pillar’ (downstage right) where

he executes a tum and then moves in a straight line back to where he started. This

results in a path that is shaped very much like an archer’s bow and avoids the

‘dead’ area of the stage. There is another version of the trip in which the actor

does not stop at the ‘naming place’ on his return but enters the hashigakari and

ends his trip at the first pine, and there is yet another in which he proceeds a few

steps down stage from the ‘naming place’ then turns sharply to his left and goes

upstage centre to stop in front of the stick-drum player.

When the performance begins, the lyrical melody of the beautifully clear but

slightly reedy noh flute (nohkan) will be fairly accessible to any western visitor,

but when the actor’s voice is first heard, either unaccompanied or added to the

music, they will be struck immediately by the strangeness of the chant which is

used to deliver most of the words. It is a very musical kind of chanting, very
precisely pitched, which soars and swoops through a range of tones, and the

western ear does not always find it easy, at first, to distinguish the chants from

the songs of the piece – although the songs are, in fact, more melodic. The

spectator’s best policy is simply to relax and absorb the general effect and their

ear will soon become attuned to the music. They will also begin to appreciate the

skill of the chanter, which is all that is necessary, because on the musical level a

noh play is best appreciated, like western opera, as a display of outstanding vocal

virtuosity. This is true even for a modern Japanese audience, since most of the

language of any noh play is far too archaic for them to understand, and like the

western visitor, they need to use a plot-summary to follow what is going on.
The movement of a noh play is more accessible to a westerner than the

music, although it is presented with such a high degree of control that it may
initially appear stilted. The visitor is first likely to notice the smoothness of the
actor’s walk. He wears no footwear apart from white tabi-socks, which have a big
toe separated from the others, and, when moving, the actor’s heel and toe seem
hardly to lift from the floor. It is a perfectly achieved kind of movement and the
noh has sometimes been described as ‘the art of walking’. The posture of the actor
is almost always erect, both when walking and sitting, and his gestures are very

limited and functional.
However, the feature of the noh play which in most cases is more important

than the text and the chanting is a dance or series of dances. These, too, will seem
very restrained to the western visitor, because they are almost always ground-
based and have none of the lightness and upward aspiration of the western ballet,
except on the occasions when a god dances after he has become intoxicated.
Nonetheless, as the viewer gets to know the style better, these dances can become
very moving – for instance, the sheer restraint of the ghost of a murdered man
dancing out the story of his death to the chant of the chorus can give the
performance an incredible degree of emotional tension.

Even silent movement, unaccompanied by a chant or music, can be extremely
powerful in the noh. There is a play called Sumida River (Sumidagawa) where a
mother driven mad by worry because her son has been taken away from her by
slave-traders, follows their route for many days and eventually finds his grave.
After she has expressed her agony at the loss, and the words of the play are
expended, she walks two or three times around the stage in silence, and the effect
is an extremely poignant one. By contrast an actor will sometimes stamp on the
stage, particularly if he is an assertive character, to reinforce a point, and such a
stamp is also conventionally used to mark his disappearance if be is a god. When
this happens, the sound of the blow will be amplified by open pots placed
strategically under the stage to catch and echo the sound.

The costumes of the performers can range from an austere black, or black-

and-white, for priests and nuns, to rich and elaborate robes for gods, court ladies,

and emperors. The more elaborate robes are made of the most beautiful brocades

and printed materials. They are never gaudy, and have none of the over-

theatricality, and occasional garishness, of some kabuki costumes. This is not

surprising because, originally, they were often donated to the actors by rich nobles

or Buddhist abbots, who had very discriminating tastes, and this tradition of

tastefulness has been carried through directly into the modern noh.

A mask (nohmen or omote) will be worn by the principal actor-dancer

(shile), and by his companion (/sure) if he has one, when the character that he is

playing is a woman, a warrior, an old man, a demon or a god – and the subject-

matter of the play will almost always ensure that the shite is, in fact, playing one

of these roles. The rare exceptions are plays where the hero is a male character

who once actually existed, and in such roles, instead of wearing a mask, the shile is

required to ‘kill the face’, draining it of expression and turning it into the

equivalent of a mask (hitamen). This practice is followed by all the unmasked

performers in a noh play. When killing the face, the facial muscles must not be

used to form any expression and, strictly speaking, the actor should not even

allow his eyelids to blink. The ‘dead’ face is then used in exactly the same way

that a mask is used. It may be tilted upwards to ‘brighten’ it (omote o terasu)

which usually expresses joy, or tilted down to ‘cloud’ it (omote o kumorasuy
which expresses sadness, or it can be turned from side to side, either quickly to

show a strong emotion like anger, or slowly and perhaps repeatedly in order to

show some deeper and more inarticulate emotion.

The properties of the noh stage are highly conventionalised and kept to a

minimum. The folding fan which the actor usually carries is perhaps the most

important property of all. It is mainly used to extend and emphasise the

movements of his arm in the dance, but it can also be used to represent many

objects, such as a wine-jug, flute, water-scoop, or writing brush, sometimes even a

sword – though usually weapons are more realistically represented, and the short-

sword, belt-sword, bow, pike, spear, and Chinese broad-sword all make an

appearance. A boat or a chariot will be represented on stage by an open
framework of bamboo. Palaces, houses, cottages, and huts, are all represented by
four supporting posts covered with a roof, their different natures often being
indicated by the degree to which the sides are enclosed to indicate constriction.
Some stage-props are very specific to the plays they serve; amongst these are the
grave mound in Sumida River, the pine-tree that the ghost of Matsukaze mistakes
in her madness for her long-lost lover, or the temple bell that is brought crashing
down by the vindictive serpent spirit in Dojoji – this last is a stiff structure made
wholly of cloth, but it needs to be very large, because the shite has to leap up into
it, and change his mask inside it. There are also two properties with a more general
use: a wooden, cloth-covered platform the size of a tatami mat (ichijo-dai) which
is used to represent a high place such as a dais, a hilltop, or a location up in the
clouds; and the same large cylindrical container with a lid that was mentioned
when discussing kyogen (the kazura-oke) – in noh this is often placed centre stage
for the shite to sit on, and it is sometimes used for the same purpose in the mirror
room, while the actor is waiting to make his entry. However, everything is kept as
simple as possible so that it does not interfere with the actors’ movement and

dancing.J
The mood most frequently induced by a noh play to-day, when the language

is not understood, except by the actors, and the chanting, dance and movement are
all extremely concentrated and powerful, is a kind of detached appreciation of a
superbly orchestrated multi-media performance. The spectator is drawn into a
relaxed but alert frame of mind, almost a meditative state, which is extremely
conducive to pondering the serious matters that the play deals with – at least this
is the effect on a modern spectator.

As we shall see later on, descriptions of early noh performances suggest
that in those days the plays had a very different, and much more immediate, kind

of appeal.

The dramatic action of a nob play

At this point, it will be helpful to look at the shape of a typical noh play, so let us
consider the dramatic action of a piece called Nishikigi (Love Tokens), which
represents a type of play that is frequently presented, the ‘noh of ghosts’.

The first character to appear is a priest, who is instantly recognisable from
his costume. He is, of course, the waki, who always sets the scene. He enters
down the hashigakari and, when he reaches the stage, tells the audience that he is
taking advantage of a short vacation to do some sight-seeing in the provinces. He
wonders exactly where he is and moves across the stage to his usual position at
the right front, just beside the chorus. He says he has heard that the village of Kefu
is on the coast nearby and wonders if he can reach it before nightfall.

Two other characters now appear on the hashigakari, a man and a woman.
These are the shite and his companion. They are dressed like two peasants, but
they linger near the ‘heaven’ tree, and exchange speeches there which suggest that
they are deeply entangled in some kind of hopeless love-affair, and because they
linger in that position, the audience suspects that they are perhaps not entirely
beings of this world.

The chorus now intervenes to suggest that the man has offered his love to
the woman for a thousand nights without being accepted and, as it does so, the
two characters advance down the hashigakari, The priest, who now sees them,
takes them for a man and his wife. He observes that the woman seems to be
holding a narrow length of woven cloth and that the man is carrying a wooden rod
(which the audience can sec is coloured red). He asks the travellers what these
objects mean. They tell him that these two things are famous mementos of an
event that happened in the area. The priest asks them to tell him the story. The
chorus say that it all happened long ago, and for the first time they imply that the
seeming man and his wife are in fact disembodied spirits. The man tells him that it
is the local custom for a suitor to set up one of these wooden rods, or nishikigi,
inscribed with his name and a poem, as an offer of marriage in front of the door of

the girl he loves. The woman then takes up the wand of the man she wants, and
leaves all the others where they are. The female character tells the priest that there
is a local legend about a man who never had his love-tokens accepted and after a
thousand nights died of despair and was buried in a nearby cave together with all
his love-wands. The priest says he would like to see the cave, which is near Kefu,

and they agree to take him there.
They travel to the cave, illustrating their action with a ‘journey’ (michiyuki)

round the stage which follows the usual ‘archer’s bow’ shape, while the chorus
sings a travelling song recounting the places they pass and the sights they see as
they go. The song concludes with a description of the autumn weather, the
shadows of night approaching, and the lonely cry of an owl. The shite and his
companions have now reached the ‘earth’ end of the hashigakari. The two ghosts
pause as the priest returns to his usual place, where he sits and takes up a sleeping
posture. They then retreat up the hashigakari and exit. The chorus declares that

they have gone into the cave.
The priest wakes; he is restless and prays to Buddha to ease the spirits of

the man who died of despair and his unyielding lady-love. The two spirits
reappear and thank him for his prayer, which has now united them in love after so
many hundreds of years. The chorus draw attention to the cave. The priest tells us
that he suddenly sees its interior glittering brightly, looking like the inside of a
house, with a loom set up, and a pile of love-tokens on the floor. He begs the
spirits to show him the story of what happened. They do so, in the form of a
dance, accompanied by a song which they partly share with the chorus, showing
him the offering of the love-tokens and the unresponsiveness of the girl at her
loom. Meanwhile the chorus recounts the emotions of the man as he gradually
sinks into despair, and give voice to his unfulfilled yearning to be married.

Then the dance changes and becomes more animated. As a result of the
priest’s prayers the miseries of the unfulfilled lovers have been brought to an end.
Their spirits, which have been trapped for so long on earth by their inability to
set aside their emotions of regret and disappointment, are now united and freed,

…..

and can at last be reborn. The chorus imitate the cock crowing. It is morning. The
priest again falls into a sleeping posture. The two lovers move towards the
hashigakari and slowly depart, whilst the chorus beg the audience to recall that,
even though they and the priest will soon wake up again, the whole of life is as
insubstantial as a dream. They declare that there is nothing left now but a bare
field containing the empty cave which is hidden in its own darkness, whilst up
above the morning wind is blowing through the pine trees.f

The structure of a noh play

The structure of this play is fairly typical. Zeami, who created the form of the
modem noh drama described the ideal shape for it to take in 1423 in his Treatise

on Composing Noh Plays.5 There he says that a play should normally be divided

into five steps or sequences (dan). In the first sequence, the waki introduces
himself and explains the background of the coming action; in the second sequence,
the shite enters and delivers a solo song; in the third sequence, there is a brief
exchange of questions and answers between the waki and the shite; in the fourth
sequence, there is either a musical kusemai (a kind of danced story) or a tada-utai
(a popular song with irregular rhythms); and in the fifth sequence, the shite re-
enters transformed into his real character, and there is an appropriate climactic
dance or some other vigorous action. If it is a dance, it can be either hayabushi
(rapid music, with two syllables of the text to each beat), which is exciting, or
kiribyoshi (a slower rhythm, of one syllable per beat) which produces a calm and
majestic effect.

This pattern is essentially followed in Nishikigi, although the two lovers are
clearly implied to be ghosts from their first entrance, which is a little unusual, and
they return as their ‘real characters’ in the fourth, rather than the fifth, sequence,
which happens quite often. Otherwise the recommended structure is observed, and
the dances in the last two sections differ in tempo – a slower narrative dance and a
quicker dance of rejoicing – as Zeami implies they should. In other plays the

transformation of the ghost from what is apparently a local peasant or everyday

person into their ‘real’ form can be quite startling, and involve the shite in making a

striking change of costume and adopting a second mask. For instance, a ferryman

can be transformed into a fierce and emotionally ravaged warrior, or a maidservant

into a savage lion. In Nishikigi the change is more a psychological change of

attitude than an alteration of external appearance but it is, in its own way, no less

memorable.

The growth and development of noh

Having looked briefly at the structure and content of a noh play, we are now in a

position to discover where this form of theatre came from and how it took the

shape that it has to-day.f We have already considered its very early origins in the

sarugaku entertainments when we were describing the origins ofkyogen. Here we

need to consider what happened to it later.

In the twelfth century, when the Heian court in Kyoto was still pursuing its

ideal world of music, poetry, love and fine calligraphy, a new form of drama began

to spring up in the important Buddhist monasteries. It was used to round out

festivals or ceremonies, or to entertain important guests, and it was provided by

troupes of sarugaku performers who were servants of the monastery. These men

were accustomed to take religious names ending in ‘-ami’ which was an

abbreviation of the name of Amida Buddha, the benevolent saviour who gathers

thesouls of true believers into his Western Paradise – names like Kiami (‘spirit of

Amida’), Zoami (‘essence of Amida’), and so forth. These names suggest that the

actors were considered to be lay-priests, although they never in fact took holy

orders or conducted any ceremonies.

The new type of play took the form of song-and-dance pieces which

showed demons being overcome by priests armed with the teachings of Buddha.

These were not yet noh plays but later some of them were refined and taken into

the noh repertory as ‘demon plays’, which were the plays usually performed to

round out the day’s programme. ‘Demon plays’ are one of the five main categories

of play into which the noh repertory is divided. These new plays proved to be so

popular with the general public that the actors added them to the programmes of

general entertainments and farces that they toured round the countryside at times

when the monasteries did not need their services. The monasteries were happy

with this arrangement, because when the actors were on the road they provided

their own upkeep and ceased to be a burden upon the community resources. In

any case, they were only really needed by the monasteries at specific times, like

local festivals or the visits of important nobles. But woe betide the actors if they

did not turn up at the monasteries when they were supposed to be there! If that
happened the very least the leaders of the troupe could expect were twenty
strokes of the heavy bamboo!

When the time for a ceremony came round, the acting troupes often had a
very important part to play. The most famous occasion, from a noh point of view,
was the Wakamiya festival at the Kasuga Shrine, which in those days used to
occur on the 17th and 18th of December, although nowadays it occurs in October.
On the first day of the festival there was a long procession from the small temple
at the Kasuga shrine to the Kofuku-ji monastery nearby, in order to transfer the
image of the local god to the monastery for the duration of the festival. During the
procession, various groups of performers took turns to give a series of short
musical dance pieces in front of a sacred tree – a majestic and very ancient pine –
that stood beside the second torii, or ceremonial gate, set up on the road to the
main temple. This tree, as has already been noted, is regarded by some as the
original of the pine-tree painted on the panel at the back of all noh stages.
Performances of plays were also presented to the image of the god when he arrived
at his temporary shrine at the great south gate of the monastery, with the actors
facing the shrine. On the second day the god was ceremonially returned to the
Kasuga temple from the temporary shrine at the monastery by means of another
procession. When the image had left, further performances were given at the
temporary shrine but now the performers turned their backs upon it and played

to the audience outside, and the pieces given were pure entertainment without any

particularly religious content.

As time passed, the contact of the actors with the scholars in the

monasteries, and the noblemen who constantly attended their performances,

became closer and this led them to add speeches of a poetical nature to the pieces

they were presenting in order to enhance the song and dance. The first examples of

this took the form of chanted monologue that was used to establish the particular

setting and situation of the coming drama and, in this way, the waki’s role was
born. More significantly, though, the contact with these same noble patrons led

the actors to incorporate elegant songs and dances that were currently popular at

court and, in particular, to borrow the dance techniques and style of the serious

gagaku, or ‘court music’, which had been imported from China and which, even as
early as the eighth century, contained well-developed theatrical elements in the

form of narrative dances, performed by a single dancer in a mask, which celebrated

the achievements of great military heroes and famous emperors of China or the

deeds of the ancient Chinese gods. These dances eventually provided another of

the five categories of play into which the noh is generally divided, the ‘play of

blessing’ or ‘god play’ which was usually used to introduce a noh programme. The

controlled gestures and movements of the court dances were also absorbed into the

‘god play’ and endowed it with an air of stateliness and dignity.

As a result of this, by the thirteenth century we see something that we

definitely recognise as noh developing and, indeed, by then it is already being

called by that name, which means that the actors were beginning to see themselves

as ‘skilled’ professionals rather than priests. Y ct it did not as yet have any kind of

fixed shape, despite its contact with the ‘court music’, which had a very strong

aesthetic of jo-ha-kyu that we will consider later. It was also during this period

that nobles began to patronise the players heavily and invite them to their

mansions and, as a result, they began to tell the stories of famous Japanese

warriors in their plays, thus creating another of the five basic categories of noh, the

‘warrior play’, which usually took the second place in the programme. The actors

performed in the courtyards of noble houses, and the lords, we hear, sometimes
required them to enact ‘warrior’ pieces in full armour and even mounted upon war-
horses.

Meanwhile the dengaku actors, who tended to be associated mostly with
Shinto festivals and small rural temples in the countryside, noted the success of
the sarugaku actors and began to develop noh plays of their own. These were, of
course, still sarugaku noh plays, even though they were performed by dengaku
actors, as will be seen from the description of a medieval performance given later.
They seem to have differed from the offerings of the sarugaku companies by
using simpler stories and mostly traditional songs and dances and in the early
stages they certainly depended more on the participation of the whole troupe than
upon the expertise of individual actors – although it was not long before the
dengaku troupes began to develop famous shite of their own. Perhaps the relative
simplicity of their approach appealed to the jaded palates of the courtiers, because
there were violent crazes for dengaku performances ofnoh at court, particularly in
the first three quarters of the fourteenth century. Nonetheless, by I 603, when
Ieyasu had finally settled the country down and established the Tokugawa
Shogunate, dengaku troupes were falling steadily out of favour, and never
recovered their appeal – so all the noh troupes we have today are the descendants
of sarugaku companies.

The establishment of an enforced peace after several centuries of violent civil
war caused the samurai warriors and their lords to look elsewhere for something to
occupy their minds and the result, amongst other things, was an attempt to revive
the artistic values of the ancient Heian court. It was this artistic revival that
directed their attention to the poetry and other writings of the period, which, like
Lady Murasaki’s famous novel, The Tale of Genji, were deeply involved with
sensitive and highly emotive tales oflove. As a result the play about women, the
‘wig’ play, came into existence, traditionally the third and most artistic category of
noh, and together with it the ‘madwoman’ or ‘lunatic’ play, which formed the
fourth category, and was sometimes more Confucian than Buddhist in its values.

At this time, too, the simple form of demon play which was currently used to end
a performance, began to be rather looked down upon, and more refined treatments
of the defeat of evil, or its conversion into good, developed, like The Valley Rite

which we will consider later.

Subscription list (kanjin) performances

By this time a large number of noh stages existed but they were all located in
Buddhist monasteries, Shinto temples or noblemen’s courtyards. When the
troupes performed in country villages on tour they used any stage that was
available or even played on the ground. Noh had by now become so popular, that
it began to be used by priests from the Buddhist temples to raise money for
essential public works like repairing a local road or bridge or building a new one.
Such shows were known as kanjin or ‘subscription-list’ performances and usually
took place on a temporary noh stage erected in the countryside, most often on a
dry river bed, which provided a naturally level foundation to build on. The
organiser (kanjin-hijiri) would allow about a month for the building of a stage, if
one did not already exist, and for the erection of stands and boxes, which tended to
be commissioned and built by those who were going to use them. The boxes were
set up in a circle around the stage at a distance of about fifty or sixty feet and
accommodated the rich citizens and noblemen attending, while the poorer people
sat on the ground within the circle and other nobles and gentlemen brought their
carriages to any points at the edge of the audience area where there were no boxes
and watched the performance from there. However, not all kanjin performances
were presented in the open – they were sometimes given in one of the halls of a
temple, probably because this did not involve the extra expense of building a stage
or, indeed, of making any arrangements except those to collect the money.

Kanjin programmes were usually presented in the form of three separate
one-day performances, with intervals of three or four days in between, to rest the
actors and increase the attendance. After all, not everybody would be willing, or

indeed able, to watch plays on three consecutive days. Sometimes, though, the

gaps between the playing days would get lengthened by bad weather, which

inhibited performance because in the open air nobody was protected except the

actors under their roofs and the nobles in their boxes.

For many years the financial strings of kanjin performances remained in the
hands of the monasteries but it was inevitable that the actors were going to cash in

on this kind of performance sooner or later and this eventually happened when the

power of the monasteries was reduced by the Tokugawa Shogunate after 1603.

An eventful performance in 1349

These early noh performances had great popular appeal, which seems rather

curious to us today, because we view the noh as a highly refined and intellectual

form of drama. However, the elegance and exclusiveness of the modem noh is

partly the bequest of Zeami, of whom we shall have more to say later. A

description we have of a kanjin noh in 1349 shows us the nature of an early

performance and also draws attention to the dangers of public disorder in the days

of the clan wars. It occurred at a time when competitions between noh troupes

were becoming very popular and fiercely contended – a practice which led to noh

masters passing on ‘secret writings’ about the art to their successors in the clan.

The whole passage is worth quoting in full: 7

‘On the eleventh day of the sixth month of this year, a wandering priest,

who planned to build a bridge at Shijo, brought together the dengaku players of

the Shinza (‘the new guild’) and the Honza (‘the old guild’) and, dividing them into

two companies of old and young performers, set them against each other in a trial

of skill. The stands were built on the river bank at Shijo. As it was to be a rare

spectacle, men and women of all ranks thronged to it in extraordinary numbers.

The entertainment was to be enjoyed by nobles, including the Regent and

government ministers, by abbots of noble blood, and by warriors like the Shogun.

Because of this, there were all sorts of people vying with each other to set up the

most impressive stands – servants, nobles, court officials, samurai from different

clans, and even priests from a number of shrines and temples. Amongst other

materials, pillars of wood were brought from Nagato, which, when they had been

cut and shaped, were some of them five by six inches thick and others a massive

eight inches by nine, and a great, imposing structure was built, four hundred and

fifteen feet in circumference (which means that the boxes were about 60 feet from

the stage) and three or four stories high.
‘When the time arrived, fine carriages made from sweet-smelling wood

jostled for places and there was no space left to tie up the richly caparisoned

horses. Drapery leapt and danced in the wind, and all the air was filled with the

fragrance of incense. The old and the young companies of performers had separate

tents to the east and the west, with a bridge leading to the stage on either side. The

curtains of the dressing-rooms were made of painted cloth. The hangings were of

gold brocade which, as they fluttered in the wind, looked for all the world like

leaping flames. The stage was spread with red and emerald rugs, and covered with

folding-chairs and stools, while leopard and tiger skins hung at the back and over

the rails, so that the eye was dazzled at the sight and all other thoughts were

driven from the mind.

‘Then, as the first sounds of stately music brought a murmur from the

eagerly waiting audience, with the sound of the drums and the introductory notes

of a flute coming from the dressing-rooms on opposite sides, eight beautiful young

boys, all dressed in robes of gold brocade, richly perfumed and with highly-

painted faces, slowly emerged from the eastern dressing-room. From the west,

eight priests filed out, handsome men with lightly made-up faces and blackened

teeth, all resplendent in fantastically-coloured robes embroidered with all manner

of flowers and birds, which they wore over silver, patterned trousers, gathered in

at the ankles where the dye was the deepest. As they came in beating time, with

rush hats worn at an angle, the whole scene was truly magnificent…

‘A most impressive performance followed of a sarugaku noh, about a

miraculous blessing given by the god ofHiyoshi. During the course of this play, a

1·- .~······· ···—–·-·-·–···-·–··—-············· -.- ··–·~~—-·=··. – – . ·-··-·······-··———– II” . J ======:::::::::=–::::::·:=::—

child of seven or eight, wearing a monkey mask, came out of the young actors’

dressing-room, reverently carrying a sacred staff. His top robe was of gold brocade

on a red ground and on his feet he wore slippers of fur. Entering to a tripping beat,

and travelling diagonally to and fro along the red and green arched bridge to the

stage, he jumped up onto the handrail, turned this way and that, then leapt down

and up again on the other side. The scene as he did so was like something from

another world. The excitement was unbearable, as people told one another that the

god of the shrine must surely have taken possession of the boy for him to be able
to perform such marvels.

‘So it came to pass that the people in the stands covering more than five

hundred feet, unable to contain themselves, or even remain in their places, filled

the whole arena with gasps and cries in a sustained clamour of excitement and

suspense. Even beautiful ladies-in-waiting, watching from lightly curtained areas

near the Shogun’s box, with the hems of their shot-silk robes held high to conceal

their faces, could be seen lifting the hanging curtains with their fans. Then, as

everybody craned forward to look, one of the stands built of heavy beams five or

six inches thick began to tilt and, before you could even catch your breath, the

stands near it, two-stories high, covering an area of twelve hundred and forty-five

feet in all, came crashing down one after another.

‘The number of those who died among the great piles of fallen timber is past

all knowing. In the confusion thieves began stealing swords. Some ran off with

them but others, having found blades, stayed to lay about them. Cries and shouts

rose up from people who had had limbs broken or slashed, from others, covered

with blood, who had been run through with swords or halberds when they joined

in the fighting, and from others again who had scalded themselves with the boiling

water used for making tea. The scene might well have been that of evildoers crying

and wailing in a common hell. The dengaku players, still wearing devil masks and

brandishing red canes, gave chase to thieves who were escaping with stolen

costumes. Young samurai unsheathed their weapons and went after men who had

carried off their masters’ ladies. Some of the abductors turned and fought, others

were cut down as they fled, and lay with reddening bodies. It was as if Hell’s
unending battles and the tortures exacted by the demons were being carried out

before your eyes.’

This is admittedly a highly dramatic account of an exceptional event but it
shows how different the atmosphere of performances was in the hey-day ofnoh’s

popularity compared to the hushed and reverential atmosphere in which the plays

tend to be performed today. When people went to the noh in those days they

expected to be entertained by the skill of the actors and overwhelmed by the

splendour of their costumes. They ate and drank and chatted with their

neighbours, and cheered and shouted with excitement and approval at the parts

that pleased them most, as if they were in a wrestling stadium. In fact they

behaved very much like the kabuki audience did a few centuries later, because in an

age when violence and war, disease, fire and famine, not to mention the inevitable

earthquakes, were everyday hazards, the music and colour of noh was something

which enabled the ordinary people to briefly escape from their wretchedness, and

the performances must have had a vitality and force quite different to the

concentrated and controlled impression that they give today.

The nob troupes establish guilds (za)

Throughout the late Heian period and the Kamakura period that followed it – from

about 1100 to 1333 CE – the troupes of both dengaku and sarugaku performers
were steadily increasing in number and, since there were only a few really

profitable performances that could be given at temples and shrines, this led lo

increasingly fierce competition for the pickings. Because of this the actors began to

consider organising themselves for greater efficiency and looking around them they

found themselves surrounded by the newly developed trade guilds, each of which

exerted a monopolistic influence over a specific area of production, within which it

controlled the flow of raw materials, arranged for distribution of the products of

its members, fixed prices, settled disputes, and so on – which was precisely

what the actors wanted. So they set about establishing guilds, or za, of their own.
In their case, each za tended to be attached to a powerful shrine or temple and it
would be granted a monopoly over all performances within the shrine’s or
temple’s domains, which could be extensive. In return, it was understood that the
za would give free performances for the temple on the occasion of certain local
religious festivals.

The dengaku players were the first in the field, in about 1200, establishing
their Honza (or ‘original guild’) near Kyoto and their Shinza (or ‘new guild’) at
Nara. Sarugaku players, on the other hand, were at first prevented from
establishing guilds by the powerful Buddhist temples that employed them, which
were not happy at the idea of dealing with an independent ‘trade union’ when
they could simply keep the actors under their thumb. Eventually, though, the
sarugaku players managed to get their own Honza established at Tamba in about
1260 and their Shinza in Settsu province a little later. Many more guilds were
established after that by both types of company, and one or two sarugaku za
have been preserved in Yamato to the present day; but, for the most part, the
word za has come to mean the theatre in which the company is performing – their
‘guildhall’ as it were. The coming of the guilds had a profound effect on the
development of noh, because the players began to feel that they had the guild’s
honour to maintain in competition with other guilds and also a guild tradition to
perpetuate and noh was the most serious part of their material, where their skills
could be raised to the highest level and shown at their best.

To maintain the value of their monopolistic privileges, the guilds naturally
limited their membership and, even when a vacancy occurred in their ranks, they
did not fill it at once but would cast about for the most useful member they could
find – preferably somebody who was not only potentially a good actor but who
also came from a fairly rich family. However, in various ways, dengaku noh guilds
and sarugaku noh guilds differed in such matters.

So far as the dengaku noh guilds were concerned, there seems to have been a
traditional membership of thirteen actors. No convincing reason has ever been

advanced for this, although various ‘reasons’ were discovered later, like the fact

that the Buddha had thirteen important disciples. A more likely reason is that the

number represents the thirteen lunar months of the year, because we find the

number thirteen linked ‘magically’ all over the world with groups who have

religious responsibilities for sowing and reaping grain, and the dengaku players

were originally a group of that kind. New members for the dengaku noh guilds

were always auditioned before appointment and their temple or shrine would then

ratify the choice by providing the new member with an official pass to their

precincts. In fact temple authorities never tried to interfere with the choice of new

dengaku actors but, as dengaku noh became more popular, rich and powerful

patrons from outside sometimes demanded that temples should license particular

performers.
In the sarugaku noh guilds, there seems to have been no traditional number

of members and each guild established its own. In early times this could extend

from as few as ten players to as many as thirty. Later it became much more

formalised and we will consider its shape in a moment. So far as the new members

of a sarugaku noh guild were concerned, the players always demanded a stiff

entry fee and often dispensed with an audition entirely – but, then, we must

remember that the companies were so professional that nobody who was not

highly talented would even have dared to apply, for fear of losing face. In 1350 the

fee was at least the equivalent of sixty or seventy bushels of rice for each member

of the Upper Group of the guild, which usually consisted of six actors, so we arc

talking about at least 360 bushels of rice, which would be enough to completely fill

a large western family house!

The later organisation of a sarugaku noh guild was quite clearly defined.

There was an ‘upper group’ (or kami za) of six actors, referred to as tayu

(‘trustees’), one of them being the oza, or guild master, who was the head of the

troupe and also of the clan. These terms were virtually synonymous, because any

actor who joined the troupe from outside gave up his original name and was

adopted into the family. After the oza, the other actors were strictly ranked as

second, third, and so on, according to skill and experience. The ‘middle group’

(naha no za) had a leader known as the ichiro (‘most senior’) and no known limit
to its membership. This group consisted of all the musicians and kyogen players

of the company. Finally there was a ‘boys’ group’, which was much less

important and consisted of the male children of all the players of the guild, most of

whom were studying to become actors – it was a guild tradition that a son should if

possible be raised in his father’s trade. They usually began their training at the age

of seven and graduated to the lowest position in either the upper or middle group
at the age of fifteen.

The kyogen players in the ‘middle group’ of a sarugaku noh troupe were

there, as has been explained, because it was customary to perform kyogen farces

between the noh plays in a programme, to lighten what might otherwise have

become a very intense performance. Also, as the archaic language of the plays

became increasingly difficult for the audience to understand, kyogen characters

were introduced in the middle of a noh play to summarise the action in

contemporary speech. When they did this, though, they were not usually intended

as comic relief, and had to be careful to keep their humorous inclinations in check.

Kan’ami and Zeami – the creators of modern noh

The history of noh extends, of course, to modem times but, for our present

purposes, we do not need to pursue it beyond the appearance of the two creators

of ‘modem’ noh – Kan’ami (‘the perfection of Amida’) and his son Zeami (‘the

greatness of Amida’).

Kanze Saburo Kiyotsugu, who later took the name ofKan’ami, was born in

1334, and made his reputation as a noh actor amongst the ordinary uneducated

people of the time. He was outstanding in all branches of his art, as musician,

playwright and actor. His son Zeami tells us that he was able to perform in styles

that appealed to all ranks of society, from high to low,8 and that he always seemed

young on stage, even when he was in fact an old man.? The noh plays he wrote

are full of dramatic tension but they are also extremely moving and have clements
of humour and lively dialogue to carry them along. His willingness to experiment
and his dedication to his art are shown by his importation of the kusemai dance
into the noh play – a significant development, which enlivened the tradition and

opened up new possibilities.
Kusemai was a kind of danced ‘ballad’ that was extremely popular,

particularly in the area around Kyoto. Its name means ‘unconventional dance’ and
it seems to have caught the fancy of the Japanese public because it was rather
jazzy in style and had a powerful syncopated beat. This enthralled them, despite
the fact that they found it ‘strange in the extreme’. However, it clearly did not
appeal to those of a staider and more Confucian tum of mind. The retired emperor
Go-Komatsu, for instance, after having it performed for him three or four times,
declared that it was the music of an age of turmoil and undesirably disturbing to
the spirit. It was usually danced by a beautiful young woman to the beat of a
drum. The dancer, who was dressed in a plain white male costume, often carried a
sword, as well as a fan, and wore a ceremonial male head-dress. The movements of
the dance were also very masculine and part of its appeal may have been the
cross-dressing of the performer, because, although it was sometimes danced by
very beautiful young men, the supreme dancers of the tradition were always
female. In Kan’ami’s day, many kusemai dancers were patronised by the nobility,
and, although they had no guild, and did not fit into any convenient niche in the
social scale – which worried the authorities – they often mixed as entertainers with
people of the very highest rank and treated them on equal, or even positively

familiar, terms.
Despite the primary appeal of the

of kusemai were also important. The performance always contained a strong
narrative clement, taken either from the sagas of clan warfare, like the Heike Saga
(Heike Monogatari), or from legends about Buddhist champions and famous
Buddhist shrines. As a result of this it used a lot of descriptive movement and
mime. Kan’ami was clearly attracted to it by its vigour and its theatrical potential

and realised that it could be incorporated into the structure of the noh play as a

form of narrative to the great advantage of the form. But before he could use it he

needed to understand it thoroughly. This could only be done by studying under a

master of the art and the traditions of kusemai were handed down secretly by

word of mouth from woman to woman within a few specific families. Zeami tells

us that his father learnt the dance from Otozuru, a member of the Kaga women’s

group in Nara. He spent a year doing so and it seems that he chose to study under

a woman because the women dancers’ performances were less harsh and crude
than those of the men.

In the Japanese society of that time it was very daring of Kan’ami, as a man,

to study under a woman – few Japanese men would do it even to-day. It was also
very daring of him, artistically, to consider incorporating the strong, catchy

rhythms of kusemai into the noh play, which had previously been dominated by

a soft, melodic ko-uta style. Nor did he incorporate it immediately. He first

presented it as a separate item in the programme, which was possible because a

sarugaku performance in his day still consisted of several different ‘turns’, of

which the noh play was merely the most important. However, he soon went on to

incorporate kusemai into the noh itself, softening the form, Zeami tells us, so that

it would blend with the current style of sarugaku dancing. By 1374 the dance was

wholly integrated, and gave the company’s performances of noh a unique

‘flavour’. It now forms a significant element in about three-quarters of the noh

plays that are performed and is found, as we observed earlier, in the fourth

sequence of the play, the point where the shite and the chorus are recounting and

enacting the emotional story that lies at the heart of the piece. In most cases it is

kept quite short, so it does not detract from the final fast dance, but in two plays

it appears in an extended form as ‘a play within the play’.

It may have been the originality of his company in the matter of kusemai

that caused Kan’ami to be called in 1374 to give a ‘command performance’ before

the great Shogun, Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, who was then just sixteen years old.

Kan’ami, who had never previously appeared before any Shogun, was 41 years

old at the time, and Zeami, who performed with him, was eleven. The young

Shogun immediately fell in love with Zeami, and his passion for the boy changed

the whole history of noh, because, as a result, he took the company under his

patronage and he and Zeami became lovers – not a new experience for Zeami, who

had been sent up to a local monastery from the age of seven, with all the other

beautiful boys from the village, to exchange his sexual favours for rice and fuel,

which he brought back the next morning for his starving family. Homosexual

liaisons were accepted without question by the Japanese society of the time but

the affair with Yoshimitsu caused some comment at court because the prince had

chosen to associate with an actor – and actors were considered as the dregs of

society. However, Yoshimitsu ignored the courtiers’ reactions and undertook the

education of Zeami in court manners and good taste, turning him into a man of

great restraint and refinement, who carried those characteristics through into all the

plays he wrote and performed,

Kan’ami only enjoyed the benefits of the prince’s patronage for ten years,

because he died in 1384, but Zeami and the Kanze family company continued to

perform at court until 1443, when Zeami died at the age of 80. Throughout his life,

he based his work on what he had learnt from his father, always trying to give the

noh greater narrative power and emotional expressiveness and a more effective

shape. He also endowed it with a ‘literary’ flavour that would appeal to the

courtiers by including references to famous poems and Buddhist writings. So far as

the acting was concerned, he greatly strengthened the role of the shite, paying

particular attention to the kusemai and, on the whole, reduced the importance of

the chorus, which he considered a rather primitive component of the play. He

wrote, composed, choreographed, directed, produced and performed in more than

a hundred plays, all of them dramatic masterpieces and was also famous for his

ability to write pieces for the principal dancers of other companies – by no means

an easy task, since each of them had a distinctive style of his own,

Unfortunately, his later life was not very happy. After Yoshimitsu died in

1408 he received scant attention from the son and grandson who succeeded him,

probably because the whole family had always disapproved of the liaison with an

actor. However, as he started to find his services less in demand, he spent his time

polishing his theories about the noh and writing secret treatises about it to pass on

to his sons and his nephew – although ironically the tradition he created was

eventually continued not by the Kanze troupe at all but by the Komparu clan, one

of whose members, Komparu Zenchiku, had married his daughter. We will look at

some ofZeami’s theories in the next chapter.

NOTES

1 There have however been some ‘official’ women performers of noh since 1900. A
Japanese friend informs me that a Belgian actress, Miss Dupont, played in llagoromo, which is
principally a dance play- see Waley (1921), p 217 – in 1919, whilst the first ‘officially approved’
female performer was Kimiko Tsumura who played At aka in 1939.

2 Like the kyogen stage, as we have already noted. The sacred structure is called a kagura-
den and it is a slightly larger version of the worship pavilion (hai-den) illustrated in Fig 2.

3 Komparu (1983), Chap 16, discusses the properties and provides several illustrations.
4 An excellent translation of Nishikigi will be found in The Translations of Ezra Pound,

Faber, 1953, p. 286. The hand of W.B.Yeats can be traced in it. Yeats later used the piece as the
basis for his own dance-play The Dreaming of the Bones.

5 Nosakusho, in Rimer and Masakazu (1984), p. 149 ff.
6 The following summary of the history of the noh is drawn from P.G.O’Neill’s Early No

Drama, Lund Humphries, London, 1958. I have outlined only the main features.
7 The account quoted will be found in O’Neill, op. cit., pp 75-77.
8 Rimer and Masakazu (1984), p. 124.

9 Rimer and Masakazu ( 1984), p. 57.

MEDIEVAL

JAPAN
Heiankyo = Kyoto

Edo = Tokyo

0 CJ

Fig 1 Some important locations in medieva

Japan

THE TRADITIONAL THEATRE OF JAPAN
Kyogen, Noh, Kabuki, and Puppetry

John Wesley Harris

;911,.1;,1;r-l
The Edwi~ Kf ellen Press

Lewiston-Queenston-Larnpeter

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Harris, John Wesley.
The traditional theatre of Japan : kyogen, noh, kabuki and puppetry/ John Wesley Harris.

p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0-7734-5798-4
I. Performing arts–Japan–History. l. Title.

PN292 I .H366 2006
79 I .0952–dc22

2006041952

hors serie.

A CIP catalog record for this book is available from the British Library.

The Edwin Mellen Press
Box 45

Lewiston, New York
USA 14092-0450

The Edwin Mellen Press
Box 67

Queenston, Ontario
CANADA LOS !LO

The Edwin Mellen Press, Ltd.
Lampeter, Ceredigion, Wales

UNITED KINGDOM SA48 SL T

Printed in the United States of America

CHAPTER6

The nob in action – the description of a goban

It seems appropriate to round out our survey of the noh by describing the five

plays of a goban, giving some sense of how the pieces work and how, in Buddhist

terms, they give the programme a universal scope and significance. We will

consider an imaginary programme, consisting of The Queen Mother of the West,

Kanehira, The Imperial Visit to Ohara, The Bird-scaring Boat and Taniko (or The

Valley Rite).1 The movements of the actors will be described in some detail to give

the reader a better impression of how the plays would look in action.

The ‘god

‘

play – The Queen Mother of the West (Seiobo)

The first play of the proposed goban is of Chinese origin like many pieces in the

‘god’ category. The Queen Mother of the West was a pre-Buddhist Chinese deity

called Hsi Wang Mu (pronounced ‘Seiobo’ by the Japanese) who was in charge of

the rewards and punishments that were awarded to men by heaven. In her original

form her appearance was demonic, with a panther’s tail and dog’s teeth, but in the

legend represented here she appears to the Emperor Mu of China as a beautiful

young girl and instead of heralding calamity she brings him a gin – a flower from

the peach trees of immortality which grow in her heavenly garden. This celestial

peach, which flowers only once in three thousand years, symbolises truly-

deserved fame which will last for many generations. Having assumed her most

regal form and made her presentation to the Emperor, the Queen then re-ascends

to heaven.

116

That is the total action of the piece, which therefore – like most god plays –
depends mainly upon its theatrical qualities, which are seen in the goddess’s
dance, and the ‘benevolent’ mood created by the situation and the poetic imagery.

The piece employs a low platform, placed in the waki position, which has a
roof above it supported on four slender pillars rising from its comers. This
represents a royal palace and the fact that the sides and front are not covered in
any way indicates the extensive lateral space that such a palace would normally
possess – a smaller building or hut would be represented as more narrow and
upright and sometimes enclosed, with walls, and possibly also a door, that are
woven from wattles.

An Official, played by one of the company’s kyogen actors, appears to
announce the Emperor, emphasising his wisdom and worthiness, which is so
marked that ‘the wind as it blows does not sound among the trees, nor do the
people lock their doors.’ The wind is used extensively in Japanese poetry to
imply feeling or emotion, so the implication is that the people have no complaints
to make about their ruler and feel completely safe. The official also explains that
the Emperor once travelled to Vulture Peak in India, where he received two holy
verses from the hands of Buddha himself. This ensured his good fortune and the
obedience of all his subjects.

The Emperor (waki) now makes a processional entrance down the
hashigakari, followed by two Ministers (tsure), and they all proceed to the
‘palace’ structure, which the Emperor enters, sitting upon the platform, while his
Ministers sit on the stage floor to his right and slightly upstage of him. When he is
seated one of the Ministers praises him, comparing him to the ‘vast and plentiful’
sea and the radiant sun, and his officials and ministers to the innumerable stars that
cluster around the Pole Star – all ‘fortunate’ images.

The Queen Mother (shite) now appears on the hashigakari, with an
attendant preceding her. They are both dressed as young female courtiers, wear
simple masks, and carry sprays of peach blossom over their shoulders. The Queen
remains beside the ‘heavenly’ pine near the entry curtain, to establish her real

I 17

nature, while her attendant advances to the ‘earthly’ pine near the shite pillar.

Then, alluding to a well-known poem, they proclaim in unison that the bl~ssoms

of the peach and the plum are mute but people still flock to see them, meaning that

the nobles (peach) and commoners (plum) mingle quietly and harmoniously

together and this attracts people to the Emperor’s kingdom. They then both

advance, the attendant to centre stage and the Queen to the shite pillar.

The Queen next proclaims that the wonderful flower of Buddha’s Law has

blossomed in the kingdom, as a result of the Emperor’s compassion, and the

peach-tree of immortality has burst into flower, implying the fame that inevitably

attaches itself to such an extremely rare event. Together she and her attendant

declare their intention of presenting a peach of immortality to the Emperor who

they liken to a wild horse travelling vast distances over high mountains. They then

change places and, from the centre stage, the Queen extends her spray of peach

flowers towards the Emperor. This is followed by a brief passage of dialogue

between the two of them, when he questions her and she identifies the peach, and

her intention of presenting it to him, but does not say who she is.

She then returns to the shite pillar and hands her spray of peach blossoms to

a stage attendant who advances from where he has been kneeling at the back of the

stage. When she reaches the pillar, the Emperor suddenly recognises her true

nature: ‘How strange! Before our very eyes a heavenly lady appears.’ She tells

him not to be surprised and making allusion to another famous poem proclaims

that his mercy reaches ‘far above the clouds, where moonlight glittering in the dew

seems to take shelter upon our sleeve.’ The moon, which represents the beauty of

an individual, particularly in the eyes of their lover, is used here to describe the

glory of Buddha and the moonlight implies the illumination of Buddha’s Law,

while the dew is used to represent the very brief experience of jijimuge, the
‘unified’ vision of the world as a net of jewels where every jewel is reflected in
every other, and the reference to the sleeve personalises the experience. She is
saying that because of the Emperor’s compassion and mercy it is briefly possible
to experience a vision of the essential unity of all things, the supreme expression

118

of tathata (things as they are). The chorus, speaking for her, reiterates this image

with an allusion to yet another poem: ‘a fading thing is the flower of the heart of

man in this world … ‘, which at one level means that the jijimuge experience sadly

does not last long, because no human experience lasts long, but also indirectly

means that the impact of poetry or drama itself (the heart’s flower) does not last

long either. The chorus then proclaims her true nature on her behalf, and contrasts

her immortality with man’s evanescence.

This practice of the chorus picking up the shite’s speech and completing it is
very common in noh. Sometimes, though not here, it has the effect of implying

something that is thought rather than spoken. Sometimes it seems to imply a

change of tone, as here where Seiobo is reflecting on the sadly brief life of man in
comparison with her own immortality. Sometimes it is used to enable the shite to

concentrate solely upon his dance, without having to be distracted by the words.

Sometimes it seems to be used simply for variety.

At the end of the chorus’s chant the Queen spreads her arms wide towards

the stage front, and the chorus indicates that she is rising up to heaven. She turns

her back, thus becoming technically ‘invisible’, and makes a smooth, swift exit up

the hashigakari.

The Official who opened the play enters again and tells the audience what

has happened in simpler language, a typical function of a kyogen actor.

The musicians’ contribution now becomes more insistent and the Emperor

and his Minister declare in unison that they can hear heavenly music. The Queen

reappears at the entry curtain. She is now wearing an impressive god mask and her

‘heavenly phoenix crown’ decorated with hawk’s feathers. She is dressed in

purple and scarlet and has a sword hanging at her waist. Her attendant follows her

carrying a single peach upon a tray. The attendant waits at the entry curtain, while

the Queen advances to the first pine near the stage. The chorus welcomes her. She

moves to the naming place beside the shite pillar and her attendant advances to the

first pine. The chorus declares that it sees peacocks, phoenixes and birds of

paradise dancing around her in the air. They describe the Queen’s movements as

I 19

she turns to face the Emperor and indicates her emblems of power, her crown and

sword. She then goes to the shite pillar, takes the tray with the peach upon it from

her attendant, crosses the stage on the diagonal, kneels, and places it on the

platform before the Emperor. The chorus proclaim that the Emperor ‘takes the

drinking cup of flowers and at once becomes intoxicated’. Since intoxication is an

experience which briefly detaches the spirit from its earthly preoccupations, the

implication is that he finally manages to release those last elements of his ego

which are still tying him down to a life of earthly power and ‘importance’.

The Queen returns to the shite pillar and then begins to dance, while the

chorus chants to accompany her, invoking the image of a drinking game where the

guests float their goblets down a winding stream, seeing which goes the furthest.

The image of a stream, or of any moving water, tends to mean time passing, or the

progress of somebody’s life in time and in this case life is passing in an ideal way
while everybody is still ‘drunk’ or spiritually elevated. The chorus also describe

the visionary birds dancing around the Queen. The dance ends with the Queen

stamping once at the shite pillar as the chorus proclaims that she and the birds

together have soared up into the sky and become lost to sight. She turns her back,

becoming ‘invisible’ again, and quickly exits up the hashigakari.

It can be seen from this description that the piece is grave and stately at first

but moves at a steadily faster tempo, although it is never fast, and that the poetic

imagery is both allusive, for the benefit of the more informed members of the

audience, and also reinforces the general message that intuitive perception (prajna)
of the universal relationship of all things leads inevitably to compassion (karuna)
and merciful action, from which other people benefit – in the case of the Emperor,

a whole nation. It confirms that such merciful action is worthy of being

remembered by using the image of the peach of immortality, and it ends with the

spiritual elevation of the Emperor and the rise of the Queen to heaven, which both

have an inspiring effect. So the piece carries a message of good fortune and reward

for goodness which sets the programme off on a positive footing. It is a typical

play of blessing.

120

The ‘warrior’ play – Kanehira

The second play draws its story from the Heike Saga (Heike Monogatarty. Its

protagonist, Kanehira, was chief-of-staff to Lord Kiso Yoshinaka, a famous Genj

(Minamoto) general, who had the misfortune to offend Yoshitsune, his former

ally, and become involved in a fatal con!lict with him.

The play opens like so many ‘noh of ghosts’ with a priest (the waki)

coming to the naming place beside the shite pillar. He declares that he intends to

seek out Lord Kiso’s grave in order to pray for him. He briefly describes his

journey to the beach at Yabase, where the death occurred, and ends up kneeling at

the usual waki position. A stage assistant then brings on a simple open-work

structure representing a boat and places it near the shite pillar and a boatman (the
shite) enters carrying a bamboo pole and wearing the mask of a healthy, keen-eyed

old man. The boat has one bundle of brushwood attached to it, symbolically

representing its whole cargo. The boatman declares that he is personally carrying

the load of many years of fruitless labour, which are like the brushwood piled high

in his boat, and that his heart is consumed with the flames of longing – for this is

the ghost of Kanehira, though he never identifies himself. The priest asks to be

ferried across the river and, with a quotation from the Lotus Sutra comparing a

traveller finding a ferry at the proper place with a person meeting the

compassionate Buddha in a moment of need, the boatman takes him aboard and he

enters the boat structure and kneels at the front of it.

A long michiyuki or stage journey now ensues, although the two figures do

not physically move, apart from the priest asking questions about the places they

are passing and the boatman poling with his bamboo and answering. Since the

traveller is a priest, all of the places he asks about are famous as the sites of

temples or on account of religious observances and this gives both of them reason

to comment upon the fact that, since all living creatures equally possess Buddha

nature, they can all hope to achieve salvation. At the end of the journey, the

chorus take up the boatman’s thoughts, comparing the Buddha’s law of perfect

121

harmony with the cloudless moon in the sky and speaking of the mountain
cherries of Awazu forest, whose blossoms have fallen but which are now bearing
fruit, suggesting that Kanehira is beginning to reflect upon the true meaning of his
earthly life. The priest disembarks and returns to his kneeling position near the
waki pillar. The boatman exits up the hashigakari, the stage attendant removes the
boat structure, and down the hashigakari comes a kyogen actor representing the
missing ferryman, also carrying a pole over his shoulder.

After a brief exchange in which the ferryman tells the priest he cannot
possibly have just crossed the river because he, the official ferryman, never
brought him over, the priest asks him for an account of how Lord Kiso and
Kanehira died – this being the first time that Kanehira has been mentioned. The
ferryman gives a clear account in simple Japanese. Lord Kiso had defeated the
Heike in the north and then vaingloriously marched upon the capital Kyoto, only
to learn that more than sixty thousand troops were coming from Kamakura (the
Shogun’s capital) to intercept him because of his arrogance, led by his former
friend Yoshitsune and General Noriyori. He promptly divided his own force
between himself and Kanehira and set them to defend two widely distant bridges
that would be key points in the coming battle, in each case destroying the bridge,
thus making the crossings particularly dangerous because the rivers were in spate.
Yoshitsune also divided his far superior force between the two points, opposing
Kiso ,,himself and sending Noriyori to oppose Kanehira. Despite the difficult
conditions both of the attacking armies managed to cross the rivers and defeat the
defenders. Kiso and Kanehira fled, Kiso regretting that Kanehira, whom he loved
deeply, was so far away at his probable moment of death. However, to his great
delight, the two retreating forces met and the two leaders decided to make a last
heroic stand together. As the battle inevitably turned against them, Kanehira told
Kiso to make his way to a nearby pine grove where he could take his life with
honour, while Kanehira held his enemies at bay. However, sadly, on the way Kiso
was killed by one of the enemy and, when he heard this, Kanehira took his own
life. The priest thanks the ferryman for his account and says he will now pray for

i
l

122

the souls of the two dead warriors. He tells how he was brought over the river by

a mysterious boatman who vanished after setting him down on the other shore. ‘

think that was Kanehira’s ghost,’ says the ferryman, ‘perhaps you should pray

for him most.’

The priest now declares his intention of praying and begins to rub his rosary

with the circular forward ‘winding’ motions of the hands related to this action.

The ghost of Kanehira enters down the hashigakari and takes up position at the

shite pillar. He is dressed in magnificent robes, wearing the strong, commanding

mask of a warrior in his prime and bearing a long sword. His first spoken thought

is of naked blades smashing bones, of eyes being gouged out, and voices shouting

like the din to be heard at the crossroads of Hell. The priest asks him who he is

and he tells him not to be a fool – he is obviously Kanehira and yet, he says, the

priest has already seen a truer image of him in the boatman who ferried him over

the river with the brushwood. In other words the self-glorying warrior is gradually

being replaced by the penitent. He prays that his boat (his life) may become a

vessel of Buddha’s Law and ultimately carry him to the distant shore (nirvana).

The chorus reflects on how quickly men come and go and compares them to
‘dreams, fantasies, bubbles, shadows.’ Kanehira moves to sit centre stage upon a
camp stool provided by a stage attendant.

He now gives his account of the last battle, which differs in detail from the
ferryman’s account and is in more emotional verse form. He tells of the exchange
between Kiso and himself when he bade him to seek out the grove of pine trees
and take his life honourably. Kiso was unwilling to go ‘I fled the enemy only
because I hoped to be with you,’ he said. But Kanehira would not listen, driving
him away by telling him what a disgrace it would be to die at an enemy’s hand. He
recalls the mist, the biting wind, the scudding clouds, the darkening sky. He tells
how Lord Kiso, uncertain of the way, plunged his horse into a quagmire and sank,
how he drew his sword to take his own life but lingeringly looked back towards
where his beloved Kanehira was holding the enemy at bay, and how that moment
of delay was his death, for he was transfixed through the head by an enemy arrow.

123

At this point Kanehira is moved to stand up by the emotion of his tale and

begs the priest to pray for Lord Kiso before praying for himself. The priest asks

how he himself died. He describes how he was obsessed with the desire to be with

his lord at the moment of his death, but nonetheless still fought on. He begins to

mime and dance out what happened. He tells how he heard a cry from the enemy

ranks that Lord Kiso had been slain and, seeing that there was nothing left to hope

for, prepared to take his own life. With a roar he made his last great ‘name-calling’

– ‘I am Imai no Shiro Kanehira, a retainer since birth of the house of Lord Kiso.’

Then hewing his way through the enemy ranks he drove them down to the beach,

killing men to left and right of him amidst the surf. Finally he cried out ‘Now I will

show you how a man should take his life,’ and, placing the point of his sword in

his mouth, he fell upon it. Here the shite drops his sword and stamps with his foot

to show that the ghost of Kanehira has disappeared and the chorus ends the play

by commenting on what an astounding death it was that he died.

It is clear, despite all his longing, that the spirit of Kanehira is still very far

from salvation. He still takes joy in his military prowess, he has not yet purged

himself of his ‘attachment’ to his Lord, or his despair at the dishonourable death

he suffered – in fact his sense of duty (giri) has become the main obstacle to his

salvation. He is like Lord Kiso himself, fatally looking back at the moment when

he should be acting; he cannot yet let go. Yet Buddha assures us that all spirits will

finally ~_chieve salvation and through ‘re-living’ the events and feelings surrounding

his death over and over again, the earthbound spirit will at last come to realise that

the selfish concepts of honour and duty are worthless in the perspective of

eternity and that he is not primarily a warrior but Buddha. This will clearly be a

long and slow process. His ‘true form’ as he suggests is the boatman for ever

ferrying brushwood over the river but never being permitted to land on the ‘other

shore’ of enlightenment: his life was spiritually impoverished, like the poorest of

the poor who spend their time gathering worthless brushwood: what is more he

spends his time ferrying this useless load from one place to another, just as he

spent his life (the boat) in the realm of time (the river) carrying his useless concept

124

of honour (the brushwood – tinder that will flare in an instant like blinding anger)

from place to place – utterly devoid of wisdom. The Three Poisons, in Buddhism,

are greed (the desire to grasp onto anything), anger (the wish to destroy because

your ego has been in some way offended) and wilful ignorance ( or being blinded by

one’s selfish concerns to the truths of life); Kanehira is affected by all of them.

The ‘wig’ play – The Royal Visit to Ohara (Ohara Goko)

The third play in the proposed programme is The Royal Visit to Ohara
(Ohara Goko) and this, like Kanehira, is drawn from the Heike Saga (Heike
Monogatari). It centres upon the dowager Empress Kenreimon-in, who
experienced the destruction of her whole clan at the sea-battle of Dan-no-Ura,

including her son, the young Emperor Antoku Tenno, who took his own life by

leaping into the sea. Kenreimon-in also attempted to drown herself when she saw

this but was saved from the water by one of the enemy soldiers and subsequently

took orders as a Buddhist nun and retired to the Cloister of Quiet Radiance in an

attempt to come to terms with her son’s death and the destruction of the clan. The

play deals with a visit made to her by her husband, the Retired Emperor Go-

Shirakawa. It is the first time she has seen him since the disaster a year earlier and

his request for an account of the battle and its aftermath brings back all the misery

and horror of the occasion.

Centre stage is a small upright hut structure, with a straw roof and open

sides, which at the beginning of the play is completely covered by a cloth. The

play begins with a courtier, who is one of the kyogen actors, coming to the naming

place and proclaiming the Emperor’s intention to visit his wife in the Cloister of

Quiet Radiance in the mountains. He calls for the road that the Emperor will travel

to be cleared and blessed.

A stage attendant now removes the cloth from the hut to reveal the Empress

(shite) sitting inside it. She wears the mask of a young woman that displays both
elegance and beauty. She has two of her former ladies-in-waiting in attendance,

125

Tsubone and Naiji, who wear less impressive masks and kneel on either side of

her. All three of the women wear the dark robes of Buddhist nuns, with soft white

hoods covering their heads and shoulders. They all carry rosaries, and Tsubone

also carries a basket.

The women chant about the simple brushwood hut they live in and the

‘gaping fence’ made of bamboo poles ‘knotted like the griefs that have come our

way.’ They speak of their isolation, the sound of a woodman’s axe, the sighing of

the wind in the trees, and the monkeys wailing, and the fact that visitors come

very rarely. The tone is desolate, implying that the Empress has not yet found

any consolation. She almost immediately expresses her intention of going up the

hill behind the temple to pick herbs and Tsubone says that she will go with her to

gather firewood and fern shoots for the kitchen. The Empress compares herself to

Buddha performing the same actions when he left his father’s house, although she

admits that it is sacrilege to think in that way. However, the very act of

comparison is the first statement of the theme of the play, which is self-deception.

Tsubone hands the Empress the basket she has been carrying and they depart up

the hashigakari, leaving Naiji seated by the hut.

The retired emperor now makes a processional entry down the hashigakari,

accompanied by two palankeen bearers who hold a canopy over him, representing

the non-existent palankeen. A Councillor follows them. The bearers and the

Councillor chant about seeing the young green leaves of spring and pushing aside

the deep, damp grasses on their way. The impression created is one of lushness

with a hint of a very earthy sexual desire. The palankeen now stops at the pine

near the stage and the Councillor goes to the naming-place and, turning to face the

Emperor, gives a highly romantic description of the dew-laden garden of the

Cloister, its willows and pond and high banks of golden roses, and the call of a

cuckoo in the distance. All is abundant life and energy and we wonder if this can

possibly be the same place that the Empress was talking about. The Emperor

contributes a poem describing the cherry blossoms scattered on the surface of the

pond, and declares that ‘the flowers on the waves have reached their fullest glory.’

126

It is a poem attributed to the historical Go-Shirakawa and suggests that beauty

(the blossom) is best appreciated when remembered (on the waters of time) rather

than when seen. The chorus describe water falling over ancient rocks and tell us

that the Cloister itself is in ruins; it has broken roof tiles and is full of mist. The

Councillor reinforces this by noting the ivy and morning glory creeping along the

eaves and the doorways all choked with rankly growing goosegrass. We have an

image of the dominance of untamed nature, which suggests that the inhabitants of

the place are probably giving way to their natural impulses and are far from the

enlightenment which should be their aim.

The Councillor exchanges words with Naiji and learns that the Empress is

gathering herbs. He communicates this to the Emperor and invites him to be seated

and await her return. The Emperor crosses the stage to the waki position where he

sits on a camp stool provided by a stage attendant. The Councillor accompanies

him and sits on the floor slightly up-stage of him. The palankeen bearers sit down

where they are, near the stage end of the hashigakari. The Emperor addresses
Naiji who has started off to fetch the Empress. She turns and kneels at the naming-

place. He asks her who she is. She tells him and says that she is not surprised that

he docs not recognise her because she has become so unsightly, though, in

compensation, she claims that she no longer worries about whether tomorrow will

come or not. She begs him to wait.

The Empress and Tsubonc now return down the hashigakari. The Empress
stops at the second pine (the pine of ‘man’) while Tsubone remains at the third

pine, behind her. She complains that all her days close in emptiness and that she

cannot forget her husband’s face, which again is not a very positive attitude. She

calls on Amida to accept the souls of her son and her mother in his Western

Paradise. She then hears the voices of the Emperor and Naiji. Tsubone bids her to

rest and brings her a camp-stool. She sits and Tsubone kneels a short distance to

her right. Naiji tells the Emperor the women are returning. He looks at the two of

them and asks which is the Empress. Naiji identifies them and then goes and

kneels at the first pine, turning to face her mistress, telling her that her husband

127

has come to see her. The Empress admits her feelings for him and says how
difficult it is to forget one’s attachments to the world of illusion. She is afraid
people will be scandalised by the Emperor’s visit now the two of them are
supposed to be celibate devotees of Buddha. The chorus speaking for her says
that she was more prepared for a visit from Amida at her death than a visit from
the Emperor in her lifetime. Naiji meanwhile takes the basket from her mistress
and places it in the hut and then kneels to its right, in front of the flute player.

The Empress rises and moves to the naming-place. Tsubone remains at the
second pine, keeping her distance. The Empress, largely through the chorus,
expresses her longing for the Emperor with images of his moon-like radiance. She
mentions the lingering spring leaves (implying she still has some feelings of
youth), although the blossoms are now scattered (her beauty is gone), she speaks
of sunlight catching the blossoms on the pine boughs (her revived memories of the
past) and late flowering cherries hidden beneath new leaves (which is a clear image
of her desire). She then comes on stage still wondering if it is ‘proper’ for the
Emperor to be waiting at her brushwood door, like a young lover. She takes a
position centre stage, while Tsubone crosses over to sit beside the Councillor.

She next thanks the Emperor for his visit, comparing him to the moon
shining on the capital which also makes itself visible here in her retreat. He tells
her he.has come because he heard that she has seen with her own eyes the natures
of the Six Realms – five of them inhabited respectively by thb hungry ghosts of the
unappeased dead, by sinners being tortured, by the ashuras (a race of magical
giants who are constantly at war with the gods), by beasts, and by men – the sixth
being Paradise. The Emperor says that this puzzled him because the Six Realms
should not be visible to anyone until they have become at least a Boddhisattva,
and his tone politely implies that that is the last thing he could imagine the
Empress becoming. When we reflect, too, that the rumour can only derive from the
Empress herself – an act of sheer egotistical self-advertisement – we are quite sure
she is not yet anywhere near Buddhahood and we are reminded of the seemingly
innocent comparison of herself earlier to the Buddha gathering herbs.

128

The Empress complains that she feels that her life is aimless, like an

uprooted water-plant or an unmoored boat drifting down the river. She goes on to

explain, with the help of the chorus, that she has not really seen the Six Realms,

but feels that her life has in effect taken her through them. Briefly she enjoyed

Paradise in the early years of their marriage but the clan wars intervened. She

recalls the events leading up to the battle of Dan-no-Ura: the clan tossing on the

waves with no water to drink were like hungry ghosts; the shrieks and

lamentations of the soldiers as the high waves threatened to smash their boats

against the rocky coast were like those of the tortured souls; the clash of warriors

was like the terrifying battles of the gods and the ashuras; the pounding hoofs of

numberless galloping horses reminded her of the realm of beasts; and all these

torments were suffered in the realm of man. She feels she is at the end of a life that

has turned into nothing but pain.

The Emperor politely says that hers must indeed have been an incredible

experience. Then, since he was not present, he asks her to tell him about the last

moments of their son, the young Emperor. The moving account that follows takes

the place of the usual climactic dance, for this is one of the few nob plays without

any dances. She tells how the Heike (Taira) attempted to withdraw from the battle

but found the tide against them. Then, as it became plain they would not survive

the battle, one warrior cast his arms around the necks of two companions and

leapt into the sea, crying ‘die with me!’ He was followed by Councillor

Tomomori, who wound the anchor rope around himself and used the anchor to

pull him down as he jumped. At that moment Lady Nii, her mother, declared she

would never fall into enemy hands, nor would the young eleven-year-old Emperor,

and taking him by the hand she led him to the side of the ship. When he asked

where they were going, she said that they were leaving this vile world to go to the

Realms of Bliss below the waves. He said ‘I understand’, then turning to the east

he bade farewell to Amaterasu, goddess of the sun and his ancestor, and turning to

the west he called ten times on the name of Amida Buddha. He then delivered a

poem ending ‘deep beneath the waves there lies another capital’ and the two of

129

them plunged into the depths. Kenreimon-in had tried to follow them and also

jumped, but a Genji warrior pulled her out of the water ‘adding unwelcome days

to a worthless life.’ She declares that she is ashamed to be weeping, but his visit

has unnerved her. She leans forward and hides her head in her arms.

The chorus then tell us the Emperor’s followers are urging him to start for

home. The Councillor bows to the Emperor, who rises and proceeds towards the

hashigakari. At its foot the palankeen bearers, who have risen with him, hold the

canopy over him, and the Councillor leads the procession up the walkway. As he

goes, the Empress also rises and watches him go, her hand resting on one of the

pillars of her hut. The chorus ends by telling us that she gazes after him for a while

and then re-enters her hut, but the image we are left with is of her standing beside

the hut and weeping.

Sad though the ending is, particularly when the Emperor leaves and passes

by her without even a glance, it is clear that the Empress is the victim of an

improper pride which blinds her to spiritual realities. Indeed, when she comes to

speak about her son’s death, her emotions are so strong that it is plain she is very

far from accepting what has happened. That is why the Cloister of Quiet Radiance

(an ironical name) is described as being in ruins. Clearly the Emperor is rightly

sceptical about her claim that she has become a Boddhisattva and she has merely

been” over-dramatising aspects of her own life. After giving her account of the
battle she declares that she is ashamed to be overcome by emotion and therefore so

far from true enlightenment: her ego, and her sexual response to her former

husband, reveal themselves as obstacles in the way. Her ‘whatever will people

think of his coming to visit me’ is completely on the egotistical plane of public

image. That is why she is ‘a plant uprooted from the brow of the shore’ and ‘an

unmoored boat upon the river’ which by implication means she is being swept

downward by the current of time and emotion: in short, she lacks spiritual roots.

But at least she is beginning to realise these things by the end of the play. The

contrast provided by her young son’s acceptance of his death and his certainty

about the superiority of the ‘world beneath the waves’ is striking. The young

130

man’s wise death, consecrated to the goddess of the sun, his ancestress, and Amida

Buddha, his hope of salvation, is also a contrast to the pointless deaths of the

other clan members in the interests of what they believe is their ‘honour’: they are

not seeking any kingdom beyond the waves, they are blinded by the possible

shame of defeat in battle, and die for purely selfish reasons – damned like all

warriors – and, indeed, according to local legends, their unquiet spirits still haunt

the sea and the shore near Dan-no-Ura in the form of oni-bi or demon-fires

flickering above the waves.

The ‘lunatic’ play – The Bird-Scaring Boat (Torioi-Buney

The fourth play, the play of lunacy and derangement, is a late sixteenth-century

piece called ‘The Bird-scaring Boat’ (Torioi-bune). Untypically in this play the
waki, who is a lord, arrives late and the waki’s companion (wakitsure), who is
playing the lord’s steward, takes a very active part in the action.

The play opens with the lord’s wife (the shite) and his young son (a kokata
or child actor’s role) entering and kneeling in front of the chorus, virtually in the

waki’s normal place. The wife wears a middle-aged and slightly worried mask; the
son is unmasked. The lord’s steward then enters down the hashigakari and stops
to introduce himself beside the ‘earth’ pine. He tells us that his lord’s fields which

lie beside the river are being ravaged by flocks of birds from the nearby marshes,

and that it is necessary to send out bird-scaring boats every year to drive them off.

However, this year his lord is away pursuing a lawsuit in the capital and he has no

servants available for the job, so he intends to ask his lord’s son, Hanawaka, to

perform the task. Granted the feudal society this is Iese majeste of the highest
level, an insubordinate act of ‘madness’ for which the steward would normally

pay with his life

Ile advances to the naming-place to attract his lady’s attention and, having

obtained it, goes and kneels centre-stage. He makes his proposal, which is greeted

by the shocked mother with a stem reminder that the young man is also his lord.

131

He indicates that the situation is critical. Lord Higurashi has now been away for
ten years pursuing his law-case – clearly another act of’madness’ – and he fears
that, if the crops are not saved, the estate will have to be closed down and both
she and her son will have nowhere to live. She admits that he has a point, but says
that Hanawaka is too young to go bird-scaring by himself and that she will go with
him. The steward points out that whereas the use of the boy might be overlooked,
the presence of a noble lady out on the marshes scaring birds would be bad for the
family’s reputation. Nonetheless she insists, and the steward says that the boat
will be waiting for them in the morning, and retires. When he has gone the wife
laments the way in which her son has fallen into servitude and declares that they
are both so upset by the idea that it has made them weep. The two of them cross
the stage to the foot of the hashigakari, make a gesture of weeping, and go off.

Lord Higurashi (the waki) now enters, followed by his servant (a kyogen
actor). They both carry swords. At the naming-place he declares that he has come
home and mentions the melancholy feel of autumn in the air. He says who he is
and tells us that he has won his lawsuit after ten years and is returning in triumph.
He says he can hear flutes and drums being played loudly and asks his servant to
go and find out what all the noise is about. He then crosses to the waki position
and kneels there. The servant goes to the foot of the hashigakari and has a
convers~tion with some imaginary people offstage, then he turns to tell his lord
that the bird-scaring boats are just being sent out and are well worth seeing. The
lord agrees that they are one of the main attractions of Kyushu. He says he will go
and have a look at them and orders the servant to precede him and tell people he is
coming. The servant says he will and retires to the rear of the stage. As he does so
a stage-assistant brings on an elaborate openwork ‘boat’ structure, with an arched
frame in the middle of it from which hang bells, clappers and a drum, He places it

near the naming-place.
The son .and wife enter. They have changed their outer robes into something

more practical and the wife wears a wide-brimmed straw hat like a peasant. The
steward is with them carrying a boating pole and with one shoulder bared, to

132

show that he is about to be involved in strenuous work. They enter the boat
structure, with the son in the front and the steward at the rear. There is a short
passage where the steward poles the boat and describes the ears of grain and the
intrusive birds while the wife and son mime beating a drum to scare them off. The
wife and son describe how they have built a guard hut in the marshes to live in
while they are bird-scaring. The wife reflects on how human beings are as
temporary as bubbles on the waves which suddenly appear and just as quickly
dissolve again. She describes gulls bobbing on the water, and says that it has rained
so much she thought the skies would never clear. She wishes she could sail across
the River of Heaven (the Milky Way) and see her husband again – doubtless
recalling the Star Festival when the Herdboy and the Weaving Maiden are allowed
to meet on the bridge of birds provided by the gods.

The steward lays down his pole and retires to the rear of the stage. The wife
takes off her hat and says her lord will never return and the future holds no hope
for her, though it is not herself she grieves for but her son. She makes the gesture
of weeping. Her son turns to her and blames the steward for being heartless. He
declares that he hates him and will tell his father about him. The wife says
however important the lawsuit was, they would never have had to suffer this
humiliation if his father had stayed at home. They both make gestures of weeping.

The steward comes forward and speaks harshly to them, saying that the
neighbours’ fields are clear of birds but theirs arc still thick with them. He steps
into the boat. The wife and son and the chorus describe the bells and clappers and
drums sounding all around, the rising clouds of birds, the wind whipping the
waves to a white foam. The wife then looks at her son and, in an aside to the
audience, admits her overpowering desire for her husband and her growing
bitterness at his absence. She says that even the full moon cannot dispel the
darkness in her heart – clearly meaning that even her kindest memories of him
cannot relieve her longing. She watches the birds fly away and they remind her of
parting and separation. The steward says all the birds have at last been driven off
their fields and he invites them to take a rest. They all sit down in the boat.

133

The lord says that he has been so fascinated watching the boats that he has

forgotten that he should be hurrying home. However, he is intrigued as to where

the most picturesque boats have come from. He will call one over. He does so. The

steward wonders who is speaking with such authority and he describes and mimes

poling the boat towards Higurashi. Then he looks up and recognises his master. He

drops the pole. Higurashi does not at first recognise the woman and child in the

boat, nor they him, but his son Hanawaka tells him the whole story and he is very

angry. He says he feels his son’s keen disgrace at doing this menial task, blames

himself for staying so long in the capital, and declares his intention of killing the

steward. He grasps his sword and steps towards the man, reproving him for what

he has done and asking him if he has anything to say in his own defence. The

steward is silent. Higurashi draws his sword and moves to centre stage. The

steward retreats to the shite pillar and bows.
At this point Higurashi’s wife comes forward and tugs at his sleeve, saying

that what has happened is not the steward’s fault but his own for having been

away so long. He turns to face her. She steps back and they sit facing one another.

She compares his absence to the story about a countryman who stepped into a

magical hermit’s hut for what he thought was only half a day, but came out again

to fin~ that a hundred years had passed. She begs him to forgive the steward for

both their sakes and she and her son put their hands together in supplication. He is

convinced and pardons the steward, handing him his sheathed sword. The steward

goes to stage centre and bows to him. The chorus ends the play by saying how

Hanawaka in due course inherited his father’s estates and became a virtuous

warrior. As they do so, husband, wife and son exit up the hashigakari, leaving the
steward centre stage with Higurashi’s sword over his shoulder.

This relatively slight and simple play, with its message of forgiveness,

begins to lift the heavy weight of unresolved longing which began with Kanehira’ s

anguish. The wife does not hold the steward’s actions against him, but blames her

husband for his long absence in pursuit of legal redress – but the husband has

already recognised his own shortcomings and it is implied that his example of

134

honesty and clemency morally strengthened the young boy’s character for the

future. The compassion shown to the steward is a first step along the path of

enlightenment, while the false pride attached to honour and possessions gets a

drubbing and is put into perspective.

The ‘demon’ play – The Valley Rite (Taniko) 2

The ‘demon’ play of the programme, in which evil is seen to be overcome
by the teachings of Buddha, is called Tanika or The Valley Rite. It centres upon the

unusual custom of a group of yamabushi (warrior priests) which is to throw any

member of the party who becomes sick on their mountain pilgrimage to his death

in the valley below. The play is unique because there is no shite in the first four

sections and the action mostly takes place between the waki who is the leader of

the priests and a young boy (another kokata role). The yamabushi, with their

belief in their magic powers, are very appropriate characters to find in this kind of

noh play because they were traditionally called upon by villagers to exorcise evil

spirits, but the audience would certainly not expect what happens in this story,

where the yamabushi themselves become the focus of evil.

The play begins with a young boy and his mother entering and crossing over

the stage to the waki position where they both kneel with the son upstage of the

mother. She wears a slightly-worried middle-aged mask, while he is unmasked. The

leader of the yamabushi then comes down the hashigakari as far as the pine near

the stage, where he declares his intention of visiting his young disciple

Matsuwaka, who is living with his widowed mother nearby, to tell him that he is

about to make his yearly pilgrimage into the mountains and to say goodbye. He

regrets that Matsuwaka’s mother still keeps the boy so much tied to her apron

strings. He proceeds to the naming-place and faces the mother, asking if anyone is

at home. Matsuwaka rises and goes to centre stage. The leader asks him why he

has not come to the temple for such a long time, and the boy explains that his

mother has been ill. The leader enters to speak to her and she asks him if he is

135

going to take Matsuwaka up the mountain with him. He says he will not, because

it is a very difficult and arduous trip undertaken as an act of penance and self-

mortification and quite unsuitable for a young person. However, as he moves to

leave, the young boy follows him and begs to be taken up the mountain so he can

pray for his mother’s health. Since it is a matter of filial piety, the leader returns

and asks the mother for permission to take him. She is very loth to allow it, saying

that he is now all she has to live for since her husband died, and she begs the boy

not to go but, when it becomes obvious how keen he is, she eventually agrees,

only asking him to hurry home again. He departs with his master in the direction

of the shite pillar, while the mother rises and watches them leave, taking one or
two longing steps after them – the chorus voicing her sadness at being parted from

him for the first time. Master and disciple depart up the hashigakari and after a
brief pause the mother follows them.

A stage assistant sets up a platform about three feet by six near the naming

place with a sapling rising from each end of it. The yamabushi leader enters with

his deputy, young Matsuwaka, and five of the pilgrims. They are all carrying

rosaries and the leader is wearing a short sword. They cross to the chorus side of

the stage, where the leader introduces Matsuwaka to the other pilgrims and they

form two rows, to left and right of the stage, facing each other. Without moving,

the leader and the pilgrims deliver a michiyuki speech describing their ascent into

the mountains, the chill wind, the plover’s cry and the coming of dusk. The leader

takes a few steps forward and then returns to his position to indicate that they

have reached the end of their day’s journey. They describe how they spread their

priestly robes on the dew of the mountain and sit down to rest.

At this point they break ranks and make a semicircle facing the audience in

front of the musicians, with the leader and Matsuwaka to the audience’s right.

Matsuwaka tells the leader he is feeling ill, the leader hushes him and Matsuwaka
removes his cap and outer garment and lies down with his head in the leader’s lap.

The deputy, to the audience’s left, rises and asks the leader if it is not true that

Matsuwaka is ill, the leader says he is merely tired. The deputy says he is glad

136

and retires. However, one of the other pilgrims says that the leader is only making

excuses and reminds the deputy that they have all taken vows to hurl any person

who has become impure by falling sick into the valley below. The boy should now

be cast into the valley as their traditions require. The deputy rises again and tells

the leader that the Valley Rite must be observed. The leader says that he will

explain what must happen to Matsuwaka. He does so and Matsuwaka says he

could ask for nothing better than to surrender his life on such a pilgrimage.

Gathering round the boy, they all declare how sorry they are and the leader weeps

openly, raising both hands before his face. The chorus underlines his dilemma and

then speaks for him. Through them he quotes a famous passage from the sutras

which describes how ‘all things shift with the changing world, like dreams and

wraiths, like foam, light and shade, like dew or the lightning flash’ – but he says he

has never realised what this truly means till now. He feels like a bereaved father

and the desires of humanity torment him. The deputy, however, urges him on and

the chorus describe how they hurl the boy into the ravine, rolling logs and rocks

after him to bury him. While this account is chanted they place the boy on the

platform and push it down to the sight-directing pillar nearest to the audience on

the left. A stage-assistant covers the boy with a robe signifying his death.

The deputy now declares that it is morning and they must be on their way,

but the leader refuses to move and tells them to throw him into the valley after the

boy, because his grief is an impurity as bad as sickness. They will not countenance

that, but one of the pilgrims suggests that they should pray to the founder of their

order, En the Ascetic, to bring the boy back to life. The leader agrees and they

gather in a group facing the audience and invoke their founder, vigourously rubbing

their rosary beads with a circular forward motion of the hands. They then return

to their positions in the semicircle in front of the musicians.

En the Ascetic (shite tsure) now enters to the sound ofa flute. He wears the

mask of an angry old man, with a long white wig and a Chinese hat, and carries a

pilgrim’s staff. He declares that the three poisons of greed, anger and

thoughtlessness are all successfully purged away by the exertion of journeys into

137

the mountains and declares that the moon of Buddha’s enlightenment will

illuminate the man who has piled up merit. He declares further that Matsuwaka’s

life was an unequalled example of filial piety and for that reason he will restore

him to life, thus showing how Buddha in his mercy responds to even the deepest

needs of man. He then invokes Ginyo, the god of the ancient gigaku dance, to

revive the child.

To a rapid flute accompaniment the god (shite) descends the hashigakari.
He is richly dressed and wears a frowning demon’s mask and a red wig, which is a
characteristic of many noh gods. In his hand he carries an axe. As the chorus
describe his actions, he first kneels before En the Ascetic; then rises and bows to
him. After that he leaps up onto the platform, where he dances, miming lifting
away the rocks and logs piled upon the boy and cutting down the two saplings
with his axe – which are removed by stage assistants. As the chorus describe him
tenderly parting the soil and lifting up the boy unhurt, he grasps and removes the
robe laid over Matsukawa and the boy rises. He embraces him and takes him to En
the Ascetic, near the waki position, who touches his head with his rosary,
commends him for his loving, filial heart, and commits him to the leader’s keeping.
The Ascetic then exits along the hashigakari, followed by the god. The chorus
describe them flying away over the mountains and vanishing from sight and, when
the god reaches the exit curtain, he stamps to imply their final disappearance
before he goes off. All the other players stay on stage till the music ends and then
depart up the hashigakari.

It is an unusual demon play, because the demon who is involved represents
creative energy and does only good. The ‘evil’ destroyed is plainly the death-
dealing Valley Rite, which is the typical product of a sect of holy men who believe
themselves to have an exclusive view of the truth and freeze what should be
compassion into an inhuman ‘perfection’ which, in this extreme case, leads them
to destroy anybody that illness renders imperfect. By swearing to do this, quite
apart from disobeying their Buddhist vow not to take life, they place far too
much stress on the honour of their order. The boy joins them for compassionate

138

I
\
I
\

reasons, to pray at the mountain summit for his sick mother. Very properly, the

leader is overcome with remorse when he considers what their rite has ‘forced’

them to do: but his proposal to be thrown into the ravine himself is an egotistical

act that would have damned him and all who helped him. More sensibly, they all

repent their action and call upon En the Ascetic, a being of true insight and

wisdom, to come to their aid and resurrect the boy and, with the help of the god of

the gigaku dance, his restoration to life is achieved. This is certain to set everyone

involved on the direct route to self-denial and ultimately nirvana, a route on which

the young boy, in his innocence, is already far ahead of the rest. This play, like the

first, ends with an aspiration towards heaven shown by the Ascetic and the God

flying upwards, and the resurrection of Matsuwaka brings the cycle of plays as

close to its ideal starting point as possible.

After the last piece, to complete the programme, and emphasise the constant

struggle for enlightenment, there would be the usual extract from another god play.

This could well be the popular chorus from the end of the play Takasago:

The pleasures of a thousand autumns gladden the people,

The joys of ten thousand years give them new life.

The wind in the Twin Pines

Softly sighs, giving voice to songs of great delight,

Softly sighs, giving voice to songs of great delight.

And the audience would leave the theatre in a calm and positive mood.

NOTES

1 Those who want to read the five plays described here will find them at the end of 20
Plays of the No Theatre, edited by Donald Keene, Columbia, I 971, pp 253-332.

. 2 This play inspired Bertold Brecht to create two teaching plays (/ehrstiicke) in one of
winch (Der Jasager • ‘He who says Yes’) the boy agrees to his death as in the original, and in the
other of which (Der Neinsager – ‘He who says No’) he does not. ‘

Worship pavilion (hai-den)

About U.5 feet x U.5 feet

Elevation

Early noh stage

About U.5 feet x U.5 feet
Elevation

Floor plan Floor plan
i===t

E::3

Later noh stage
Main stage about 18 feet x 18 feet

Elevation Floor plan

Rear stage

Fig 2. Development of the noh stage.

——-~- —-

:t: “‘ “‘ ~~p. i:: L

~c~c <:) L.. §, ~~ ~ <:)~,._ llO!J!SOd !>’11.IOlf:) :t: ~ l:l, .s ‘- I

·-= .:: ~~ e l:l, l:l, –~ <:) -::.: :t: i: -.i .liJdV/d iJJ11Jd ~i::: ~ '-l

……
.s r 11111.1p .tiJpJ11011s r -;:– ,,; “‘ “‘ IU11.lfl ll!H “‘ ~ L.. .5 6 l,., ~ i::: ::I

~ 11111.1p ‘f;J!JS ~ :i::: … b,O
“‘”‘i:::

:i::: :t: ~ &~ ~ … “‘ 0 ~ ~ c;;s::: OJ)
L.. ti ~ ~ … t .;!

~ ., ~
,Q

& .c … ., “i
~

L.. ~ L.. ~ L.. -“‘i::: OJ) ~
i::: -!:: ” :i::: ~ -~ :::: .S: ::::: ~== … …

~~ “‘ ·e ~ l:l, i:::… l:l, .c
d ~ -~ •§ b,O ~~ 0 ~ t3 .:.; C !l

~
~ ~ …
~

….
0

.!. C -.::: ~ -~ a: ~ ..;. ee :t:
OJ) :i:::

~ ~:f l i::: =: o,; l:l,

<:)

i: ) L.. ~
~

Fig 5. A typical noh mask •.
This is the ko-omote

the mask of a young woman

The dark smudges 011 the brow
represent eyebrows. According
to the custom at court the real
eyebrows were painted out anti
this make-up replaced them.

Boxes

Temporary hanamichi

I S:JXO[I

“‘ ;; ~ ~ 2~ -5 c ;,..
~ ~”‘ :;~ … .~ ~ :: ~ ~ ..:::..::: C•L..
Q, ·E~ ~ ! t
” ” ~§~~~ …
” -~ ~..::: ~ ~ “‘ ti 00::’;: ;g ‘::’;;”‘;:;~

~
~

_§ ~;S; §
:-St;~~ ·z;;

a.i 0 6S~’S5 c:. i:,.,.,::~-a ell
1;; .. “‘ …. ~ .S,. ~ ~ … – 0 ~~;S~ti “‘ s ::2 et ~ ~..s-~ ~ ·= ::I ..: t–.: ~ ‘t ::: .c g “‘ .t,e § e.t “‘ ~

.::: .s ti; e.t~ ti .:,:
“‘ -~ ~ ~ ~ § ,:; ” ..c: et c~t:s ~tJ – Z; ~~g~~ ‘- “‘ 0

::2 – C .._ ~ – = ~~~..;9, C ,Q ~ ,1::l §…, .s ,:;
12 ~ Ei·:: § “‘J a
i::· ~”‘::·-;a- C. ~ C ~-!==~ 0 .e t; :; ~ -~ ·.:: ‘ii
C . 5 ~ ~ §~

..
” ,:; ” “‘…,”‘::”‘ “C .::: £: ~ g ~ .t,e ,:; ;; ~ ::: Q ~ -s ..c: ….

~ ~-~ ~: – ” ell E 6 ti -~ ~ C .. ..::: wt’}–;S ! -~ … ~ S..::: I,,, 0
0 ~s-~ ~ ..c: C “‘ .. i:,., ~ “‘ “‘ ii: C ~

u s u u ~-,—–·– ;2.

r
s I

I 0 I :!) ~ I i::· :r. I I rJJ ~ ::=:• ” :r. I rJJ = …. “‘- et I … 2 ~ I ~ : : ,-: r;.i I ” —·•—- et ::2 … Z; = CL “‘ ,Q ~ _;,; :i:: 12 :i:: ·a :.- . u .::: = .: 0 .;,: z 0 .. J;,J
.(.11113 .\.IJ113 .\.JJll3

1
;
l
:i
-I
:j
-~

;—~ _, ~,…,.,_ _ _,,.._.__,…,.. …

Boxes

Temporary
hanamichi

i.: ~ – ~

“O

C
e:
0
f”l
0() – …
C

Sol ~ t Oil ~ e: ::: Sl – ~ E “‘ :i
.c
e:
.:=::
‘?. …
‘c.
>, – e: …
C
C
e: .~ E::: t::~ I tl11.1.L l QO ~ ~ Oil I::)., …
ti: 0-()”‘ ::: 0-()

‘i: ·== !IJJ!llllllWJJ ~ ==
·== ~~ ~ t.; s :::: …
:..

E
~

SJ.\’Of{

I
‘

Fig 9. Kumailori make-up – a villain’s face.

The lines shown here as grey arc in fact blue.
A hem’s make-up would be black and red.

Matsuomaru ‘s first make-up i11
71,e Secret o/Sugmmra’s Calligrapl,y
(Sugawara JJe11j11 Tenaral Kagaml)

I
I

-·–~

I
I

… ,

I
I
I
!

..
… SJ
~§·
“”~ c,,,

i::

~~
f::’.”f ….

:.::: …c: ·-“‘ ii-;; …. ~ — —
‘ ;:

~ ~
~~

~ i::

~~
·- .. .. ./::: s~

§ > D l:
a§§

ti , i:: ,

i;.

–
<:)

~ °’
~
Cl,I

…,

§§§ .c
-i:: -i:: B

–
-“‘ ~

“”
=

-S-~ ~ \
.:,: ~

~
~

~
i;.

~ .-s
t

~’c,
-i::

ii = ..c
~ ~ ii ~

!= g ii ii
i;.

!. .s
Cl,I

;! ~

“O

<:)""

::,.

<::,

..
“‘””‘ …, ~ ~ \ .:.:~”” 6

~
s

“” ‘”.:.: ~ {;

“” ·E ~ <=> ·._
i:: “‘

::,.

.s
‘-

“‘ E i:J t4..:;: g == ii – .. i:: ~
e

&!§
0

<:)

s-,,
-i:: -:::

.s -::s–
:;.

C
i::

;t 6
~

-~ == ..,. ti ..,.

<:)

…, tE ‘- j {;
“& s-,,

i::
0

-~
15

§.
:;:;

s-,, –
.:.:

I
01)

!:I
c,,,

ii:
i::

~
/ ~ :; “‘ i ..:; §§B -e: “.:: / <:) ~ \ 0. §g~ ..,/ ""

§§a
,!::

CHINESE THEATER

From Its Origins to the Present Day

Edited by

Colin Mackerras

UNIVERSITY OF HAWA II P RESS • HONOLULU

Manufactured in the United States of America

PREFACE

INTRODUCTION

CONTENTS

Colin Mackerras and

Elizabeth Wichmann

EARLY CHINESE PLAYS AND THEATER

Wtlliam Dolby

II YUAN DRAMA

Wtlliam Dolby

III MING DYNASTY DRAMA
JohnHu

IV THE DRAMA OF THE QING DYNASTY

Colin Mackerras

V THE PERFORMANCE OF CLASSICAL THEATER

A. C. Scott

VI THEATER AND THE MASSES

Colin Mackerras

VIl

118

145

VII TRADITIONAL THEATER IN CONTEMPORARY CHINA 184

Elizabeth Wichmann

CONTRIBUTORS 203

GLOSSARY 205

INDEX 209

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Illustrations follow page 126
Main entry under title :

Chinese theater.

Includ es bibliographies and index .
Contents : Earl y Chinese plays and the ater I

William D olby-Yuan drama I W illiam Dolb y-
Ming D ynasty drama I J ohn Hu-[ etc.]

1. Theater-China . 2 . Chin ese drama-Histo ry
and criti cism . I. Mackerras, Colin.
PN2 87 1. C534 1983 79 2′. 0951 83-6687
ISBN 0-8248-081 3-4

PREFACE

THIS BOOK OUTIINES the major aspects of Chinese theater from its
beginnings to the present . Although it is in no way intended to be
difficult and will most certainly have failed if its readers find it eso-
teric, it does assume some knowledge of China’s history and civiliza-
tion . The chapters provide a historical survey of theater in traditional
China as well as a topical discussion of developments in the twentieth
century. The range of coverage varies enormously, in that the first
chapter scans thousands of years from the dawn of Chinese history
down to the thirteenth century, while the seventh focuses on a mere
thirty-three years from the establishment of the People ‘ s Republic to
1982. The periods considered are not necessarily a unity in theatrical
terms . The Han and Song dynasties are both treated in the first chap-
ter and yet are vastly different from one another in many respects .
The chapters on the Yuan , Ming, and Qing dynasties specifically draw
attention to differing schools or subperiods . Chapter VI , even more
strikingly, charts a distinct movement, the Cultural Revolution, and
the inevitable reaction to it.

Since theater is produced and maintained in popularity by the
society it reflects, the chapters in this text try to identify both the
artistic values intrinsic to a theatrical tradition and the social values or
forces related to this tradition . Analysis of aesthetic qualities is thus
usually combined with observation of social and political factors
that have decisively influenced the development of Chinese theater.
Chapter VI , for example , deals with the masses’ relationship to the
theater, linking the period of the Republic (1912-1949) and the war
against Japan (1937-1945) with that of the People ‘ s Republic. Revo-
lutionary theory on the ,!lrts, and revolutionary theater itself, were

V1l1 PREFAC E

born in the Republican years . Marx ‘ s concept that the new society is
produced in the womb of the old makes good sense in this case , espe-
cially since the great significance of amateur theater in post-1949
China is based upon the institutionalization of practices that proved
extremely effective during the war against Japan and the later civ-
il war.

Two other topical chapters describe the performance techniques
and training methods of the Beijing opera (chap . V) and the aesthetic
principles and values of traditional theater performance in contempo-
rary China (chap . VII). The author of the former deals with the Bei-
jing opera “as it was staged before 1949,” yet most of what he says
about performance and the categories and skills of actors would in
fact also hold true for traditional operas of the postliberation period .
The latter describes the characteristic aesthetic patterns of traditional
theater forms and addresses the difficulties posed by these patterns as
practitioners attempt to adapt traditional artistry to the requirements
of contemporary politics and audience preferences .

Some technical matters require comment . The first is that this
book uses the pinyin system of romanization consistently throughout.
Since the Chinese themselves began using this system in their foreign-
language publications at the beginning of 1979 , most books and jour-
nals in the West have adopted it , and there seems no point in adher-
ing any longer to the Wade-Giles system .

All drama titles are given in English translation , but the romanized
Chinese title is included also , the first time each is mentioned . Chi-
nese terms are normally rendered into English, but some of them are
untranslatable . A term such as zaju means literally “mixed dramas ,”
which gives little idea of the word ‘ s true meaning . Good sense sug-
gested it be left in the original.

It is m y pleasure to thank all who have helped prepare this book ,
especially my fellow contributors .

CHINESE THEATER

CHAPTER VII

TRADITIONAL THEATER
IN CONTEMPORARY CHINA

Elizabeth Wichmann

IT IS CLEAR from the preceding chapters that ideological and political
concerns have affected theatrical development throughout Chinese
history, becoming even more influential in the twentieth century.
Since 1976, changes in official policy toward theater have led to a
great increase in the range and variety of theatrical activity in China.
Although spoken drama, sung drama , and dance-drama-forms
based upon Western models and therefore new to this century-have
returned to favor, this variety is provided primarily by a broad spec-
ttum of increasingly active forms of traditional theater. These forms
all share certain aesthetic principles and values which constitute their
link to Chinese theatrical tradition but also limit their appeal to new
audiences . In the present-day competition for audiences among vari-
ous forms of entertainment, the development of traditional theater
will depend upon the way in which its basic aesthetic features can be
adapted to altered social conditions .

AESTHETIC FEATURES OF CONTEMPORARY THEATER

Beijing opera, described in detail in chapter V, has been the nation-
ally dominant form of theater in China for at least one hundred years .
However, it is only one among more than 360 indigenous, or tradi-
tional , forms of Chinese theater currently being staged. l The majority
of these forms are regional in nature, differing from one another in
dialect, musical system and its adaptation to that dialect , musical
accompaniment, play content, and numerous performance features
including staging, acting, and movement practices. It is nonetheless
possible to say that these forms are basically similar in certain major

TRADITIONAL THEATER IN CONTEMPORARY CHINA I 8S

ways , and immediately recognizable as qui.te distinct fr?m the new ,
Western-influenced forms that developed 10 the twentIeth century.
Practitioners of these traditional theater forms invariably ascribe this
readily perceivable distinction to three basic aes~hetic princi~les
shared by all traditional forms: synthesis, conventIon, and styhza-
tion. 2

Song, music , dance and pantomime, story, and speech are all pres-
ent in every traditional theater form; many make use o~ acrobatIcs t.o
varying extents as well. The presence of th~se ele~ents IS n.ot the pn-
mary characterizing feature , however. It IS theIr ~ynthesis (~o~ghe
xing) , rather than presentation in sequence, that IS characteflStIc of
traditional theater.

Song in performance is inextricable from its musica.l accompani-
ment and from the choreographed movement of the s1Oger; panto-
mime is interwoven on the stage with percussion accompaniment, as
is speech. While the story may be told aurally in some passages and
visually in others, if the focus at a given moment is aural, a~ on a
singer relating a sad separation from a loved one, that song IS per-
formed within the complementary visual fabric presented by the un-
ceasing, gentle synchronized movements of eyes, hands, torso, feet,
and often the body through space . And if the focus is visual, as upon
a brave warrior ascending a steep mountain , that pantomime is
within a texture of percussive sound provided by the orchestra. The
same sort of percussive sound, but with different applications , forms
a similar aural punctuation to speech; and the speech is performed
within a visual fabric of movement punctuation as well. Extended
speech or song without choreographed movement or accompanying
sound rarely occur in traditional theater, nor does extended move-
ment, dance, or pantomime without musical or percussive accom-
paniment . .

The term convention (chengshi xing) refers to practIces that have a
specific meaning ascribed by tradition, and hence serve t? .signal that
meaning to the audience . Traditional theater forms utilize a great
many conventions, some of which are immediately understandable to
an uninitiated audience , while others require preknowledge for com-
prehension .

Movement conventions most frequently fall in the former category,
especially pantomimic actions such a~ open.ing and. closing of d?ors
and windows, mounting and descend10g stalfS, tend10g fowl, seWing,
and movement over rough terrain and in conditions of darkness,

186 Elizabeth Wichmann

heat, cold, rain , and wind-these actions are directly communicative
and require no informed expertise on the part of the spectator. Other
movement conventions are more formal, such as the act of walking in
a large circle , which connotes travelling a great distance, and the
straightening of costume and headdress parts upon entrance to signal
the presence of an important character who is about to speak . The
conventional movements of certain costume parts , such as water
sleeves and pheasant feathers, may also have either dramatic or for-
mal meanings .

The simple staging of traditional theater achieves its highly plastic
nature through the use of conventions. The table and chairs , through
their placement and use, serve as conventions for a city wall, a moun-
tain, a bed, a throne, or simply a table and one or two chairs. Con-
ventional use of stage properties frequently signals the presence and
use of larger objects not visually present on the stage; a whip signals
the presence of a horse , an oar that of a boat , and large blue banners
swung in wide arcs close to the stage floor that of rushing water.

Perhaps the single most important convention is that of role types ,
which serve as both a convention in themselves and as a focus for
headdress , costume, and makeup conventions . The role types of Bei-
jing opera are fairly representative of those of traditional theater as a
whole, though some theater forms may blend role types, or feature
certain ones more predominantly than others . Each of the four princi-
pal role types, and even more specifically their numerous subcatego-
ries, are indicative of a particular age , sex, and social status or class .
The conventional use of design and color in the headdresses , cos-
tumes, and makeups of each role type serves to directly state these
characteristics . The makeup conventions for jing, or painted face
roles, are even more specific, signalling the personality and tempera-
ment of the wearer as well.

Stylization (xiangzheng shoufo) is probably the aesthetic principle
closest to the heart of traditional theater. It refers to the divergence
between the behaviors of daily life and their presentation on the stage
-the nontealistic representation of those behaviors in performance,
within a particular style . All forms of traditional Chinese theater are
stylized . However, whereas conventions are for the most part shared
among all the forms, having the same meanings in each , it is primar-
ily through differences in the manner of stylization that the various
forms of traditional theater can be distinguished from one another.

Both physical and vocal aspects of traditional theater performance

TRADITIONAL THEATER IN CONTEMPORARY CHINA 187

are stylized, and it is within the various role types and their subcate-
gories that the specific stylizations occur. Physical stylization tends to
be fairly similar for each role type throughout traditional theater
forms, and hence more indicative of a particular role type than of a
particular form of theater. The distinctive Beijing opera walking styles
of the dan and sheng, described in chapter V, are readily recognizable
in other traditional forms , as are the stylized hand and eye move-
ments of the huadan. While some regional forms do not include cer-
tain role types-the jing being the type most frequently excluded-
the posture, walk, and gesture style of every role type included in
each form can definitely be recognized as belonging to that role type ,
throughout the various forms of traditional theater. Vocal stylization,
however, is in many instances markedly different from one theater
form to another, being simultaneously indicative of a particular role
type and of the particular form of theater. In Beijing opera the young
female speaks and sings in a clear, piercing falsetto, produced in the
forehead and front of the face . Other forms utilize quite different
vocal range and production for young female roles, including ex-
tremely high natural register production , midrange chest-supported
nasal production , and a type of vocal production nearly resembling
the yodel, in which the performer must have a very wide vocal range .
Through their combined imagery, the vocal and physical stylizations
of each role type convey the primarily Confucian values and resulting
behavior patterns traditionally deemed appropriate by society for
each type of role thus portrayed .

Musical stylization is even more important than vocal stylization in
distinguishing among the forms of traditional theater. It occurs with-
in two basic patterns. Beijing opera’s pihuang style, with its charac-
teristic accompanying musical instruments , two predominant modes,
prescribed metrical arrangements, and characteristic melodic patterns
is an excellent example of the major pattern for theater music in con-
temporary China . The music of many traditional theater forms is
devised according to this pattern, each utilizing a particular musical
style and its accompanying instruments, associated modes , and metri-
cal arrangements, and having its own unique characteristic melodic
patterns produced by the combination of that musical style and the
dialect used by that form . Some traditional theater forms use the
older pattern characteristic of kunqu , in which entire tunes within
specific modes predate given plays, for which lyrics are then com-
posed . But whichever pattern is used , the musical style of each form ,

188 Elizabeth Wichmann

when coupled with its dialect , produces a musical stylization unique
to that form . 3

Finally, the overall aesthetic aim of all traditional theater forms is
rooted in stylization. Traditional theater in contemporary China is a
performer-oriented theater ; the script serves primarily as a vehicle for
performance. Every major performer in each performance must pre-
sent a constant stream of expression; all internal aspects of the charac-
ter being portrayed must be made external. Generally speaking,
speech furthers the plot, while movement elaborates upon it and
song deepens it by expressing emotion . A case can be made for the
social origins of this phenomenon; Chinese society is basically one in
which direct expressions of emotion are frowned upon. Speech is used
in the theater for interaction, much as it is in daily life , although sty-
listically in a somewhat different manner, while movement and song
are used to express subjective experience and inner feelings to the
audience. The strength of the performance is therefore in music and
movement; while a Western-style spoken drama may use ten thou-
sand words in its script, the longest traditional plays contain only half
that number, and most average about twenty-five hundred words .4

The combined aim of the physical, vocal, and musical stylizations of
traditional theater is to convey the essence and spirit of life, rather
than to present its realistic likeness.

In post-1976 China, all traditional theater forms pursue this aim,
utilizing playscripts that fall within three basic categories .5 The first
type , called “traditional plays” (chuantong xz), are plays that were
already in performance before 1949 and were therefore usually de –
vised or written without the intention of conveying particular ideo-
logical viewpoints . Some of them have been altered somewhat to
remove or replace objectionable attitudes and situations, particularly
those with erotic content , and are therefore termed “revised tradi-
tional plays . “6 All such plays fully utilize and in fact exemplify the
aesthetic principles and performance techniques of traditional the-
ater.

The second category is called” newly written historical plays” (xin
biande lishi ju). The term “historical” is used loosely here-while
some of these plays do concern historical figures, many have mytho-
logical heroes such as the Monkey King Sun Wukong and the legend-
ary Judge Bao. These plays are written to consciously embody ideolog-
ical viewpoints and attitudes and are distinguishable from traditional
playscripts on that basis. While none were produced between 1966
and 1976 , they are currently the major focus for contemporary play-

TRADITIONAL THEATER IN CONTEMPORARY CHINA 189

wrights . In terms of performance, the important characteristic of
newly written historical plays is that they are set in the past and can
therefore use the entire body of traditional performance techniques ,
including the costumes and stage properties and the full repertoire of
conventional and stylized movement which they facilitate . To an au-
dience unfamiliar with the texts of traditional plays , newly written
historical plays and traditional plays therefore appear essentially iden-
tical in performance.

The third category of plays is made up of those termed” contempo-
rary plays” (xiandai xz) . Like newly written historical plays, contem-
porary plays consciously embody ideological viewpoints . However,
their plots , themes, and characters are all of the twentieth century.
The performance of contemporary plays cannot therefore rely entirely
upon traditional aesthetic principles and performance techniques .
Much of the traditional conventional and stylized movement is sim-
ply not practicable without the traditional costumes and stage proper-
ties; such movement problems are compounded by the addition of
realistic scenery, since conventionalized movements intended to con-
vey the physical environment on a bare stage become superfluous .
Perhaps even more fundamental is the problem presented by role
types; developed to portray Confucian values and their resulting be-
havior patterns at different levels of social status , the role types are
often inappropriate for the portrayal of postliberation characters. The
performance of contemporary plays therefore requires the creative
development of new performance techniques. Though there were of
course ideological reasons for there being so few model revolutionary
contemporary Beijing operas developed during the Cultural Revolu-
tion, these performance considerations were certainly a major contrib-
uting factor as well. And while a number of contemporary plays were
written to criticize the Gang of Four between 1977 and 1979, many
more newly written historical plays have been composed since 1976
than have contemporary plays . However, cultural officials continue to
express a need for and to give respect to plays written to express con-
temporary themes in a modern setting. 7

The range of stylization in traditional theater forms combined with
the very different subject matter of the three types of plays performed
in traditional theater means that many specific aesthetic values are
particular to just one form or type of play. However, three fundamen-
tal aesthetic values shared by all forms and plays of traditional theater
are evident.

The first concerns posture and movement, both of various parts of

Elizabeth Wichmann

the body in isolation , and of the entire body in or through space .
Straight lines and angles are to be avoided ; the aesthetic aim is the
presentation of a three-dimensional network of circles, arcs, and
curved lines.

In stasis, this means for instance that an outstretched arm will be
held in an extended curve unbroken at either the shoulder or elbow
by angles . In movement, this aesthetic applies to action as small as
the gaze of an eye, and as large as the blocking of principal characters.
In many role types, the actor’s eyes are used to focus the attention of
the audience, to lead it with the movement of a gaze . In such an
instance, if the performer intends to indicate an object on the
ground, the gaze of his or her eyes will begin away from the object ,
sweep up first, and then curve down to rest on the object . Conversely,
if the gaze is to end in an indication of something above eye level, it
will travel down as it moves toward that object, and then sweep up to
light upon it. This same use of the arc is made in pointing gestures,
which first curve away from the direction in which the hand will ulti-
mately point; a pointing directly in front of the body will begin with
a sweep into the body before curving out, a pointing to the left will
begin with a sweep to the right, and vice versa. In movement through
space, the performer similarly avoids straight lines and angles . A
move from downstage center facing out to an upstage center chair is
therefore made by circling to either the left or the right while gradu-
ally turning to face upstage, moving diagonally to the side of the
chair, and then circling again in the opposite direction to return to the
front face position, this time directly in front of the chair. The result-
ing s-shaped curve has been compared to the movement of a mario-
nette puppet, necessary in order to keep the puppet’s strings from
entangling, and hypotheses have been drawn on this basis concerning
the origins of theater movement in puppet theater.8 Whatever the
causal relationship, such curved movement patterns are a basic aes-
thetic of traditional theater.

A second aesthetic value concerns both movement and vocal pro-
duction . Whether in dance, pantomime, acrobatics, song, or speech,
the actor’s performance must at all times appear effortless. Any hint
of strain at hitting a high note, performing a complex series of somer-
saults and flips, or speaking an extended declamatory passage with-
out apparent pause for breath is perceived as indicating that the
performer ‘ s command of technique is insufficient. The appearance of
strain or effort is uncomfortable for the audience and undercuts the

TRADITIONAL THEATER IN CONTEMPORARY CHINA

aim of conveying the spirit and essence of life in performance . The
rigorous training program described in chapter V remains critical to
the development of stage artistry, for only such a program can bring
about the control needed for apparently effortless performance of the
physically strenuous and complex techniques of traditional theater.

The final fundamental aesthetic of traditional theater applies to all
aspects of performance-everything on the stage, everything within
the world of the play, must above all be beautiful. In terms of cos-
tume , this means that a beggar in a traditional or newly revised his-
torical play will be dressed in a black silk robe covered with multicol-
ored silk patches, rather than in actually dirty or tattered clothes . And
in a contemporary play, the clothes of the poorest peasant are clean
and neatly patched , while a soldier just in from days on maneuvers
will at most be marked by a few strategically placed tears and conven-
tionally suggested blood stains on an othetwise crisp and clean uni-
form . In terms of acting style, the absolute requirement for beauty
means that the actress portraying a young woman who has just
received heartbreaking news will on no account cry real tears , for the
accom.panying red eyes and tunny nose are considered anything but
beautiful. The act of crying will instead be presented in a stylized
fashion, and if the actress is good , will be quite moving . In training
schools and rehearsal halls, the criticism heard with much the great-
es: fre~uency, directe.d at speech , song, movement, and acting style
ahke, IS that the partIcular sound or action being performed is incor-
rect because it is not beautiful. And the highest praise which can be
given a performance is to say that it is beautiful.

Because they are all based upon these aesthetic principles and
values , traditional theater forms are both fundamentally similar to
one another and quite distinct from the newer forms of the twentieth
century. The spoken drama (huaju) , sung drama (geju) , and dance-
drama (wuju) of the twentieth century are based to varying extents
upon the aesthetics of several Western models, and are therefore
immediately distinguishable from the traditional forms . But since the
Western forms of theater that serve as models are quite different from
one another, twentieth-century forms are not usually viewed in China
as being a discrete categoty in themselves. In fact, whereas the tradi-
tional forms are collectively referred to in contemporary China by the
generic term xiqu, twentieth-century forms as a group are generally
referred to only by the broad term xiju, or theater, a concept which
naturally includes traditional forms as well. It is the extent to which

Elizabeth Wichmann

aesthetic principles and values of the traditional theater are present in
each of the newer twentieth-century forms, and the way in which they
are blended with the aesthetics of the Western models , that most
illuminates both the individual and Chinese natures of each of these
newer forms .

Spoken drama is the most thoroughly West~r~- based fo~m . As
such, it utilizes certain aesthetics of Western realIstlc theater, 1Oclud-
ing the demands for realism in the portrayal of its characters and in its
staging techniques, as well as for an emphasis Up~? well-made plots
in its scripts . Since it is further in nature from tradltlonal theater, con-
taining neither song nor dancelike movement, it re~~cts the least
influence of the aesthetic principles and values of tradltlonal theater;
there is essentially no synthesis in the manner of traditional theater,
and very little convention and stylization . To say there is no such
influence , however, is to deny the sinicization of the Western models
in their adaptation to Chinese content and to deny the force of those
traditional aesthetic principles and values within the broad range of
Chinese theatrical activity. Spoken drama, like traditional drama,
holds beauty as a primary aesthetic value. In the creation of beauty
within the context of spoken drama, conventions and stylizations
have been adopted for the portrayal of actions and situations which,
if performed thoroughly realistically, would jar with that aest.heti~ .
Stylized conventional gestures of pain, anger, sadness, and. heroIsm 10
the face of physical adversity may trouble the Western VIewer when
seen in the performance of Western-style spoken drama, but they are
well within the Chinese theatrical tradition .

Sung drama and dance-drama present more obvious blends of Chi-
nese and Western forms , techniques, and aesthetics. In the former,
Western opera influence may be seen, as well as the influences of both
traditional Chinese theater and folk music. In the latter, elements of
Western ballet and modern dance blend with Chinese folk dance and
traditional theater movement . In both, Western realistic staging tech-
niques are combined with conventional staging elements of the tradi-
tional theater. The basic aesthetic values of apparent effortlessness
and beauty are evident throughout .

PATTERNS AND PROBLEMS OF DEVELOPMENT

The strength and ubiquity of traditional theater aesthetics, substan-
tially affecting even the Western- based forms of Chinese theater, are

TRADITIONAL THEATER IN CONTEMPORARY CHINA 193

perhaps the reason that creation , in the Western sense of bringing
into existence something that is more or less totally new , is not a
major attribute of Chinese theater. The conscious creation of new
forms of theater determined to break completely with the past, such
as the romantic, realistic, expressionist, impressionist, and surrealist
movements of the late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century West-
ern theater, do not have Chinese parallels . Though the early history of
spoken drama in China resembles somewhat the beginnings of its
Western counterparts, it differs in a crucial aspect : the theater form
being supported was an imported , already proven Western one rather
than a new indigenous development . Creativity in Chinese theater
has consisted rather in making creative changes and developments in
and among already existing forms of theatrical expression.

Creativity within a traditional theater form is perhaps best exempli-
fied in this century by the work of Mei Lanfang. Originally perform-
ing in qingyi roles, he later combined the techniques of qingyi,
huadan, and wudan in various ways to produce young female charac-
ters ovetwhelming in both their theatricality and subtlety, featured in
plays that gave the performer the opportunity to demonstrate his
superlative command of acrobatic , song, speech , movement , and act-
ing techniques. For these plays he commissioned scripts that are of
exceptional literary quality for Beijing operas, as this form is not
noted for its emphasis upon text , and developed new costumes and
dances based upon historical models. On his death he left Beijing
opera more highly developed and regarded than he found it , and in
the course of his career he raised the stature of young female roles in
that form to the importance of those of mature men .9

Such creative development and assimilation has in the past given
rise to new forms of traditional theater as well. Wei Liangfu ‘ s work in
developing Kunshan music, incorporating his knowledge of both
northern and southern theatrical music, gave rise to the music of
kunqu, which became the dominant national theatrical form and
held that position for three hundred years, as described in chapter III .
The creative combination of techniques from several regional tradi-
tional theater forms gave rise to kunqu ‘s successor, Beijing opera , as
documented in chapter IV

The “model revolutionary contemporary Beijing opera” plays of
the Cultural Revolution are the most recent example of creative ex-
periment in traditional Chinese theater. While strictly speaking they
are a new type of play rather than a new form of theater, their perfor-

194 Elzzabeth Wichmann

mance is appreciably different from that of traditional Beijing opera
plays , using as they do a creative combination of Western staging
techniques and orchestration, traditional musical style , traditional
and spoken drama movement and speech, as well as musical and
movement elements from regional traditional theater forms and folk
performances.

It is clear from essays in the official press during the period 1978-
1982 that the present official aims regarding theater are to preserve
traditional forms, primarily in the production of traditional plays,
and to creatively develop these forms in the production of newly writ-
ten historical plays and contemporary plays. Forms that made their
appearance in twentieth-century China are also given encouragement
to develop creatively. 10

Preservation is of course of critical importance. Traditional theater
forms constitute a major portion of China’s traditional cultural heri-
tage . Additionally, creative development based upon these tradi-
tional forms absolutely requires their healthy survival. However, pres-
ervation alone would very likely result in museum piece theater,
certainly a much lesser achievement than the continued existence of a
living , developing body of national theater forms .ll

While it is possible that superlative actors will arise , capable of
creatively expanding the techniques of traditional theater forms in
the manner ofMei Lanfang’s contribution to Beijing opera, it is unre-
alistic to rely upon such a chance development . This is especially true
in contemporary China; practice and training have had only five years
of relative normality after the extended break caused by the Cultural
Revolution, and practice and training are critical for the development
of the technical expertise such a performer would require to contrib-
ute substantially in this manner. Furthermore, the type of theatrical
production developed in the Cultural Revolution, with its emphasis
on committee work and revision rather than on individual contribu-
tion , is still the primary working method, further reducing the likeli-
hood of individual performers singlehandedly bringing about sub-
stantial artistic changes . It is much more likely for development
within existing forms, as well as the development of new forms , to
occur as a result of creative borrowing between forms and assimilation
offolk and Western techniques.

The enormous range of theatrical forms and techniques in contem-
porary China, coupled with the variety of Western dramatic and the-
atrical elements becoming increasingly familiar in China, present a

TRADITIONAL THEATER IN CONTEMPORARY CHINA 195

rich field for creative borrowing and assimilation . A literally innu-
merable array of musical, acting, movement and dance, and staging
possibilities present themselves .

While the most ambitious and far-reaching example of this sort
of creative development to date remains the model revolutionary
contemporary plays of the Cultural Revolution, other examples are
already evident. The dance-drama Tales of the Sdk Road (Sllu hua-
yu), discussed in chapter VI, is a good case in point. The drama com-
bines Chinese and Western musical insttuments and styles for accom-
paniment ; blends ballet , modern, and folk dance movements, as well
as movements created from postures in Tang dynasty murals in its
dances ; and has costumes based on those murals and modified by folk
costumes and contemporary Chinese moral and aesthetic values con-
cerning dress. In doing so, a production of great popularity was
created, which has been in continuous performance in a number of
Chinese cities since 1979 . Furthermore, aspects of creative assimila-
tion in this production have already found their way into other, tradi-
tional theater forms .

In a 1980-1981 production of the newly written historical play
Wang Xl/eng Disrupts Ningguo Prefecture (Wang Xl/eng danao
Ningguofu) , performed by the Jiangsu Provincial Beijing opera
troupe, a costume based upon those created for Tales of the Sdk Road
was designed for one of the principal female opponents of the main
character (see plate 40). New movement patterns in the style of tradi-
tional Beijing opera movement were developed to use that costume to
full advantage in the Beijing opera form . 12

Other developments include the many scenic devices of spoken
drama that have been adapted for use in traditional theater, primarily
in the production of newly written historical plays, although they do
occur at times in traditional play productions as well. Lighting and
sound effects, multiple-set realistic scenery, rear projections, and spe-
cial effects such as smoke and flash pots, are among them (see plates
41-43). Such developments, however, do not generally concern actual
performance technique .

Substantial creative development within traditional theater forms,
with the major exception of the model revolutionary contemporary
Beijing operas, remains scarce. The scarcity of contemporary plays is
partly the result of the performance difficulties they pose for practi-
tioners of traditional theater, as discussed above. Throughout the
various forms and play types of traditional theater, it is due largely to

Elizabeth Wichmann

the problem of authenticity and to the question of subject matter in
scripts .

Each of the more than 360 forms of traditional theater is well
defined, having its own characteristic musical style and method of sty-
lization. Especially in light of the emphasis upon preservation of tra-
ditional theater forms , extensive creative development particularly in
performance technique presents a critical problem ; it runs the risk of
exceeding the parameters of the particular form . To do so would be to
lose the authenticity, the characteristic “flavor” of that form . Experi-
ments in utilizing techniques from other traditional theater forms
and from folk forms may be criticized as diluting the purity and
integrity of the original form, as blurring those distinctions between
it and the others that give it its uniqueness. Experiments in incor-
porating elements from the more Westernized twentieth-century
forms may provoke the criticism that the resulting performance is
merely spoken drama with singing tacked on; that the original form
has lost an appreciable portion of its Chinese character-an extremely
sensitive issue. 13

The second primary difficulty involved in creatively developing
theater forms is the question of subject matter and resulting scripts.
Plots , themes, and characters are of the utmost relevance to the cre-
ative development of performance techniques, since the script pro-
vides the vehicle for performance . At the same time, it is the script
that allows for the projection of value systems through images, a con-
scious and major concern of the Chinese authorities . It is not currently
possible to produce a script solely from performance considerations;
the ideological content remains of considerable importance. However,
particularly in the area of contemporary plays, the specifically desired
ideological content and the manner in which it is to be presented are
uncertain . In terms of their scripts , contemporary plays during the
Cultural Revolution and until the fall of the Gang of Four were used
exclusively as ideological vehicles; the value system they projected was
the highly and purely political one of those leftists in power at the
time . The slow process of disengaging the category, “contemporary
play,” from the personal politics of Jiang Qing and her comrades , as
well as from its definition as a literary form synonymous with pure
propaganda, is still underway. Until this process is completed, the
question of subject matter for contemporary plays will remain highly
problematic, as to a lesser degree will that for newly written historical
plays. Only the traditional plays are essentially free from the current

TRADITIONAL THEATER IN CONTEMPORARY CHINA 197

problem presented by the relationship of politics to dramatic content ,
since they originated before the conscious inclusion of specific ideo-
logical content in playscripts . It is therefore not surprising that the
majority of traditional theater productions currently use traditional
playscripts, and that far fewer contemporary plays are being written
and staged than are newly written historical plays. 14

In addition to these uniquely Chinese problems, the influences of a
more general problem facing world theater as a whole are also being
felt in China; stage art is increasingly in competition with film and
television for its audiences . In China, a major reason for this dichot-
omy and resulting competition is the difference between the overall
nature of contemporary life and that of the period during which the
traditional theater forms originally developed.

Qing dynasty China was a thoroughly rural and nonindustrial soci-
ety, experiencing appreciable Western cultural influence only during
its waning years . Contemporary China, on the other hand, while still
having a population based primarily in the countryside, is marked by
industrializing cities as well as a growth of industry in rural areas, by
the current campaign for the Four Modernizations, and by increasing
Western cultural influence on many fronts. The “speed of life” in
contemporary China is considerably faster than it was when the tradi-
tional theater forms now extant arose .

Theater is by definition a reflection of life . It is produced and
maintained in popularity by the society that it reflects. The perfor-
mance-oriented theater forms developed to convey the essence of life
in Qing dynasty society, with their lack of emphasis upon plot and
extensive use of convention and stylization, are less action- and
speech-oriented, more leisurely, and more indirect than is contempo-
rary life. Television and film, much more realistic forms which are
action- and speech-oriented, simply reflect contemporary life more
accurately and immediately. In the case of foreign imports, they give
their Chinese audiences a chance to see what life in other cultures and
societies is like. 1 ~

Spoken drama is the theater form which at present most readily
competes with the screen arts . Like them , it is basically realistic and
oriented toward plot . Unlike the traditional theater forms, it can
respond quickly to changes in ideological criteria for content-in fact,
often more quickly than can film and television produced in China . It
is therefore capable of being the newest performance art, in terms of
both form and content, playing in a given town at a given time. And

Elizabeth Wichmann

“new” is a critical drawing factor for an audience deprived of variety
for more than ten years .

Sung dramas and dance-dramas are also relatively Western , and
therefore realistic, in Chinese terms . At the same time, they contain
elements of performance deemed inseparable from theater in China
for centuries, elements that spoken drama lacks-music and choreo-
graphed movement . Their combination of these new and old ele-
ments currently draws for them a sizeable audience .

It is, then, traditional theater that faces the most immediate com-
petitive threat from the screen arts. Contemporary plays are at present
problematic. Traditional and newly written historical plays are un-
avoidably “old,” are too thoroughly grounded in a past society to
apply directly to the needs of the present day. Some forms of regional
traditional theater, such as yueju of Zhejiang province, pingju of the
northeast , and huju of Shanghai fare a bit better in this respect than
do major national traditional forms such as Beijing opera and kunqu.
Due primarily to the liveliness of regional dialect in their speech, they
are closer to the lives of their audiences than are the national forms ‘
they contain specific characteristics of their regions and are therefor~
more congruent with the tastes of audiences in their regions. None
has as yet, however, risen to prominence outside of its own region.
Whether or not any of them will be able to do so is in question; the
very reasons for their regional popularity make them somewhat re-
moved from the broad national audience . 16 In most forms of tradi-
tional theater, including the major national forms, experiments with
realis~ic sets and scenic effects for newly written historical plays, and
occasIOnally even for traditional plays, have perhaps temporarily lured
audiences through their novel use of technology and their” realism.”
However, practitioners, officials, and audiences have already begun to
question this practice, since it necessitates a warping of aesthetic prin-
ciples and values. 17

Though attendance remains high at traditional theater perfor-
mances, theater officials see this as a relatively short-range phenome-
non . They view it as being due primarily to the curiosity appeal of the
old society and traditional performance techniques seen in the pro-
duction of traditional and newly written historical plays, no matter
what staging techniques are used, after the ten year hiatus produced
by the Cultural Revolution. Since 1979, there has been a steady
decrease in the length of time a traditional or newly written historical
play can run and command sufficiently large attendance to make it
worthwhile. Also, audience composition has been changing during

TRADITIONAL THEATER IN CONTEMPORARY CHINA 199

the same pe~iod . ~hile i.n 1978 , various age groups were generally
represented 10 audiences 10 the same proportions as in the society at
large, s~ectators o.ver the age oHorty-five have since come increasingly
to domlOate audience membership . IS The general decline in atten-
dance at these plays and the mounting loss of younger members of
the audience may stem from the distance between the type of Chi-
nese society reflected by the traditional theater and the contemporary
population, especially those too young to have acquired serious tastes
for traditional theater prior to the Cultural Revolution. While no sta-
tistics are available to demonstrate that people who fail to attend tra-
ditional theater performances are in fact viewing twentieth-century
forms or screen arts instead, there are some indications that this is in
fact the case . Perhaps most telling is the marked preference among
traditional theater performers under forty-five years of age for spo-
ken drama , films, and television as recreational viewing on their
nights off. 19

Such a preference for more contemporary forms of performance
should not be taken to signal a lack of interest on the part of these
younger performers in their own performing art, however. This same
group of performers also overwhelmingly indicated interest in and a
desire to do further work with contemporary plays in their own tradi-
tional theater forms . Such a desire may in part be predicated on the
personal, emotional investments made by these people in the model
revolutionary contemporary plays of the Cultural Revolution-their
elders were much less involved with these plays. However, there is a
large element of practicality in such a view , as shown by the ongoing
official support for contemporary plays. Dealing as they do with twen-
tieth-century people and events and using a potentially much broader
range of performance techniques, contemporary plays stand a much
better chance of competing successfully with twentieth-century forms
and the screen arts for audiences.

Contemporary plays offer the opportunity for the presentation of
contemporary characters in plots and on themes directly applicable
to the needs of the present day. Simultaneously, they present abun-
dant possibilities for the blending of new, more realistic and action-
oriented aesthetics and techniques with the centuries-old aesthetic
principles, values, performance elements, and resulting techniques of
traditional Chinese theater. While the creative and ideological prob-
lems presented by contemporary plays are undeniably formidable,
they are probably the main hope for a living theater based in the
indigenous Chinese theatrical tradition.

2.00 Elizabeth Wichmann

NOTES

I. The figure is from an interview with provincial-level theater officials inJiangsu
Province, October 28 , 1980 .

2. Most of the data and opinion in this chapter are based upon two years of field
research in China, primarily in Nanjing,Jiangsu Province , but also in Beijing, Shang-
hai, and Lanzhou, Gansu Province, from August 1979 to August 1981. Only where
data are specific to one interview or observation situation, rather than drawn from the
notes and tapes of the total research period , is it noted below .

3. For a more detailed English language analysis of traditional Chinese theater
music in the twentieth century, see Rulan Chao Pian, ” Aria Strucrural Patterns in the
Peking Opera ,” in J. I. Crump and WiIJiam P. MaIm, eds ., Chinese and Japanese
Music-Dramas (The University of Michigan Center for Chinese Studies , Michigan
Papers in Chinese Studies No . 19, Ann Arbor, 19 75), pp . 65-98 .

4. The figures are from lectures given to srudents majoring in traditional play
directing at theJiangsu Provincial Traditional Theater School in the spring of 1980 .

5. While the three categories of plays have been recognized as such since the estab-
lishment of the Drama Reform Committee in July of 1950, the current policy of “san
zhe bing ju,” or “simultaneously develop the three,” is associated with Zhou Enlai’s
policies of the 1950s and early 1960s regarding theatrical development . For a fairly
comprehensive history of theater in China since 1949 as viewed from the current per-
spective of culrural officials, see ” Zai Zhongguo xijujia xiehui disanci huiyan daibiao
dahui shang , Zhao Xun tongzhi zuo ju xie gongzuo baogao ,” Renmin Xlju 12
(1979):8-16.

6. Mei Lanfang, ” Zhongguo xiqu yishu de xin fangxiang,” Wenyi baa 16 (1952) :
10-14 . An abbreviated version is also available in English as ” Old Art with a New
Future ,” China Reconstructs 4 (September-October, 1952):21-24 .

7. Numerous examples of official support and encouragement of contemporary
plays have been published since 19 76. A representative piece is : Huo Dashou , “Ji-
cheng gexin , wenbu qianjin-quan guo xiqu jumu gongzuo zuotanhui ceji,” Renmin
Xlju 9 (1980):3-7. More recent expression can be seen in: ” Wenhua bu zai Ning
zhaokai xiqu xiandai xi zuotanhui-ba jutuan chengli xiqu xiandai xi yanjiu hui ,”
Renminxifu 1 (1981):57.

8 . See Sun Kaidi , Kuilei XI· kaoyuan (Shangza, Shanghai , 1952) , for a well-
supported thesis aiming to prove that puppetry was the origin of theater in China ,
and that theater therefore imitates the techniques of puppetry. See Sun Rongbai ,
jingju changshi jianghua (Zhongguo xiqu chubanshe , Beijing , 1959), p . 7, for a
description of s-shaped movement patterns in Beijing opera .

9. For more information on Mei Lanfang in English, see A . C. Scott , MeiLanfang ,
Leader of the Pear Garden (Hong Kong University Press , Hong Kong, 1959) ; Wu
Zuguang, Huang Zuolin , and Mei Shaowu, Peking Opera and Mei Lanfang (New
World Press, Beijing, 1981); and William Dolby, A History of Chinese Drama (Paul
Elek, London , 1976) . In Chinese, see Mei Lanfang, Wutai shenghuo sishi nian
(Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, Beijing, 1980); and Qi Rushan , Qi Rushan quanji (Qi
Rushan xiansheng yizhu bian yi n weiyuanhui, Taibei, 1964) .

10. One of the most comprehensive analyses to date on the considerations involved
in preserving and creatively developing traditional theater is : Liu Housheng, “Xiqu

TRADITIONAL THEATER IN CONTEMPORARY CHINA W I

bixu yo ngyuan rui chen chu xin ,” Renmin XI”jU 4 (1979): 5-9 . A shorter analysis from
the sa me yea r by Zhu Hong is in Guangming nbao, October 16, 1979, p. 3.
Throughout the year 1980 , Renmin Xlju carried at least one article per month on this
topic , listed in each index under the section heading, ” Tui chen chu xin, ” or “Weed
Through the Old to Bring Forth the New .” Representative articles o n the develop-
ment of spoke n drama include those by Li Moran in Guangming n·bao , June 11 ,
1979 , p . 3, and Ding Haiping in Guangming nbao , June 2, 1980 , p. 3.

11 . A representative statement of support for the preservation of traditional Bei-
jing opera plays, and a study of the problems involved in such preservation , ca n be
found in : “Jingju yishu de jicheng , gexin yu fazhan-Shanghai jin gj u yis hu go ng-
zuozhe zuotanhui jiyao,” Renmin Xlju 11 (1979):23-27, 37.

12 . Between the November 1980 and January 198 1 runs of this production , com-
ments by participant performers, officials , and members of the audience led to fur-
ther adaptation in both the costume itself and the move ments of the performer who
wore It .

13 . Practitioners frequently discuss such criticisms , and the problems posed by
them , in working meetings . Mention of these criti cisms and resulting problems ca n
also be found in the official press, e.g .: “Jingju xiang he chu qu-jingju yishu
zuotanhui fayan zhaiyao, ” Renmin Xlju 1 (1980) :2-13.

14. For an analysis of the co nsiderations involved in creatively developing the liter-
ature of Beijing ope ra, see: Wang Zengqi , “Cong xiju wenxue de jiaodu kan jingju
de weiji,” Renmin Xlju 10 (1980) :22-24 .

15. The issue of theater and its relationship to contemporary life is probably the
major one being discussed by practitioners of traditional theater forms , especially
Beijing ope ra and kunqu , at the present time. Represe ntative publications on this
topic include: “Jingju guanzhong ping jingju- jingju guanzhong daibiao zuotanhui
fayan zhaiyao,” Renmin xiju 2 (1980):2- 6; ZhangJunqiu , et aI. , “Jingju yanyuan da
jingju guanzhong ,” Renmin Xlju 3 (1980) : 25 – 32 ; and Tong Zhiling, “Wei jingju
zhengqu gengduo de guanzhong ,” Renmin Xlju 6 (1980):4-6.

16 . The possibility of major national forms assimilating characteristics of regional
forms is a real one, however. For discussion of the relationship of regional traditional
forms to major national ones , see Renmin xiju 11 (1979):23-27, 37; and 10 (1980):
22-24.

17. Reflection s in the official press of the controve rsy ove r sce nery in traditi onal
theater ca n be found in: Luan Guanhua , ” Xiqu bujing chuangzuo de jicheng yu
gexin,” Renmin Xlju 10 (1979) :40-41 ; “Ben kan du zhe dui jingju wenti de yix ie
yijian-duzhe lai xin zongshu ,” Renmin Xlju 5 (1980):42-44; and Luan Guanhua ,
“Jie hou fuxing de jingxiang-guangan ‘ Shoudu wutai meishu sheji zhanlan ,’ ”
Renmin Xlju 1 (1981):33- 34.

18. The critical problem of anendance at traditional theater performance , particu-
larl y in the case of Beijing o pera, is a major topic of discussion amo ng practitioners
and officials. It is also featured in the official press: see Renmin xiju 1 (1980) :2-13; 2
(1980):2 – 6 ; 3 (1980):25 – 32; and 6 (1980):4-6.

19. This tendency is no t shared by performers ove r forty-five , who ovetwhelmingly
indicated their preference for viewing their ow n or othe r forms of traditional theater
when time permits.

A CHIVALROUS MAN IN /I SHIBARAKU,”
ONE OF “THE EIGHTEEN BEST PLAYS /I

Reproduction of th r> coror print by
Toyokuni Utagml.-‘u the first (1769-
1″825)

owned by the Theatrical
Arts Museum at Waseda University

I
1

I
I
I ,

KABUKI DRAMA
BY

– –
SHUTARO MIYAKE

JAPAN TRAVEL BUREAU
TOKYO

– — ‘-..

D ecember, 1948 j February, 1952;

Febru ary, 1953

Prinfed by IlOSOKAWA PIUNTING CO .. Tokyo, Japan

~ N

~ ( 12 L/-. S-
f<3 ms- f,1\ft= It ~ r

tblTORIAL NOit

The purpose of the Tourist Library Series is to give
to the pass ing tourists and other foreigners interested in
Japan a basic knowledge of various phases of Japanese
culture. When completed, the Series is expected to in·
elude a hundred volumes or so, and will give a complete
picture of J ap anese culture, old and new.

The Library was started in 1934 by the Board of
Tourist Industry and was transferred to the Japan Travel
Bureau in 1943, when 40 volumes had been completed.

From the beginning the Library attained a high rep-
ut a tion as a concise but reliable interpreter of Japanese
culture, and the demand for the volumes steadily increas-
ed both in Japan and abroad . Unfortunately, however,
the old volumes are all out of print. The Japan Travel
Bureau, therefore, has begun a new series,-revising and
reprinting some of the old volumes, and issuing others
on entirely new and equally interesting subjects.

Each volume in the Library is the work of a recogniz-
ed authority on the subject, and it is hoped that by
perusing these studies of Japanese life the reader will
gain some insight into the unique culture that has
developed in thi s country throughout the ages.

The present volume, ” Kabuki Drama,” is the work
of Mr. Shlltaro Miyake, who is an acknowledged au-
thority on the Bunraku Puppet Playas well as the
Kabuki Drama. He is also well known as the regular

~66,46/2

drama crItIc of’ the Mainichi Newspaper and a membel:
of the specjal council of the Cultural Proper ties’ P ro –
tection Commission .

h ~~iS four~h ed ition , p ubli shed only half a year after
t / t Ird rev.lsed edition went to press, is an evidence
;h t?e ever-mcreasing interest sh own by foreign en-

f
UJsIasts, both here and abroad, in thi s grand old art

o apan.

The new edition has an added fea ture in the fine
grade o~ art paper that is use d for most of the photo-
graphs Il1 the text. This, toaether with th ” d

. . b. ” e up-to- ate
reVISIOns and colored photoaraph s add I” .
, d b’l ‘ b, S great y to ItS lea a I Ily. ”

December, 1952
THE EDITOR

CONTENTS

Pa ge

1. How to Appreciate Kabuki. . . . . . . . . . . . 11
An Analysis of the Kabuki-A Land of
Dreams-” Daikon”-Its Powe r of Exp ression.

II. Characteristics of the Kabuki. . . . . . . . . . . 16
Female Roles-Their No ted Playe rs-High-
born Dau ghters-Courtesans.

JII. :Machinery Peculiar to the Kabuki Stage.. 33
Curtains – ” Hanami chi” – The Revolving
Stage – ” Ki ” – “Chobo ” – Geza”-“Deba-

h,” “1r ” yas 1 – \..uro go

IV. Principal Kabuki Plays . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45
The Eighteen Best Plays- “Ara goto ” -Clas-
sical P Ia ys-“Sew amono ” – “Kizew amono”

V. Technique Peculiar to the Kabuki. . . . . . . 52 ,
The Pantomime Show-“Koroshi”-“Michi-

k ‘” ” T h’ .” ” M .” I yu 1 – ac Imawan – 1 onogatan – n-
spection of the Head – Revue Element-
“S .” d “T “”S I” awan an surane – eppu cu

VI. Symbolism and Impressionism in the
Kabuki …………… . … ….. . 69

The Black Curtain-” Yabudatami”-“Nami-
ita”-The Story of Rice.

“VII. The Story Value of the Kabuki. . . . . . . . . 72
“S ukeroku”-“Kuma gai’s Camp”-“Kampei”

“VIII. Practical Guide to the P resent-day Kabuki. 78
Appendix (Notes on Some of the Famous

Kabuki Plays)…………… . . . .. 85
Index ……………. …. … …. ” 121

Ancie nt Sketches of Kabuki Al’fO~

” ,J

ILLUSTRATIONS

A Chivalrous Man in “Shibaraku” (Color Print)’
. . . . . . . Frontispiece

Page

The Fa~ade of the Kabukiza Theater. . . . . . . . . . . 13
The Interior of the Kabukiza Theater. . . . . . . . . . . 14
Players on the Passage to the Stage . . . . . . . . . . . . 14
Utaemon Nakamura as a Woman-servant-from

“K . J’ h'” agaml I S 1 ………………..••..• 17
A Lion’s Dance-from “Kagami Jishi”

(In Colors) ……………………. 18, 19
Children Actors and Tokiz6 Nakamura as a Wet

Nurse …………………………. . 20
Baik6 Onoe, as Princess Yaegaki-hime ……… . 21
A Female Impersonator Preparing for the Stage 22, 23
Wig-dressers in the Dressing Room ……….. .
A Scene from “Sukeroku” ……………… .
A S f “II h- N” – h’k-” cene rom onc 0 IJUS 1 0 ……..••••
“Kumado’ri,” Special Make-up Used in Kabuki ..
Varieties of “Kumadori” (In Colors) ……… .
The Authentic Curtain Used on Kabuki Stages … .
Actors on the H anamichi . . . ……………. .
A Samurai Rises onto the H anamichi by the Trap-

lift … . , .. . …………………….. .

2(1.

27
27

31
33
35

35
A Part of the Revolving Stage. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 36
Chobo Musicians. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 39
Kiyomoto Musicians. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 39
A Kurogo , Black Hooded Attendant. . . . . . . . . .. 40
From the Eighteen Best Plays. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43, 44
“Chiishingura” and “Sugawara Denju Tenarai-

) kagami” ………………………… 47

II. CHARACTERISTICS OF THE KABUKI

[The Kabuki was first created by an actress by the ‘
name of Okuni who lived in Izumo about .. four centuries ·
ago. In its original form the Kabuki ‘was not a play,

~ but a type of primi6ve dance called Nembutsu Odori, or
” d ” prayer ance.

Shortly afte.·ward, the drama was monopolized by
male actors, and features of the Noh, a classical play of
music and dance, were incorporated into the Kabuki .
The present stage of development has .. been attained
through the efforts of male players alone . The earliest
period of the Kabuki,@en it consisted of dancing only
by female players, was of short duration. After the cast
came to be made up entirely by male players, the Kabuk

play was designed to tell a story and it was enriched
in its contents . The fo un dation of the present-day
Kabuki was thus l aid in those early days.

Because of the all -m al e cast the best-looking actors
naturally come to take the roles of female characters.
Such actors are called onnagata, or oyama. THis art
of female impersonation by men has made remarkable
progress during the past three centuries. Onnagata are
trained for their work from early childhood . Before the
Meiji Restoration (1868), onnagata, dressed in female
costume off the stage as well as on and every effort was
made by them to be like a woman in everyday life. The
result was a marked advance in the

16 r.w

Utaemon Nakamura, prominent female impersonator, as a fair
woman.servant, performing a donee with a lion’s mask-from the
first scene of “Kagami Jish i,” popular dance play (see P. 116)

—- 17

A spirited lion (center) sports with the butternies, nitting about among the peony nowers – a performance that typifies the symbolism
of Kab uki ort . This manly dance of the lion played in the second scene of “Kagomi Jishi” (s ee P. 116 ) contrasts grea t ly with
the graceful dancing of the pretty maiden acted by the sam e actor in the fir ‘ cene as shown on the pre v ious page. “” 19

Children acto~s often take important roles in the Kabuki play-
a son of feudal lord (Tight) and his wet nurse (cente?’) played
by Tokizo Nakamura, veteran female !mpersonator of today,
in a scene from /I Jitsuroku Sendaihagi, ” treating cf fe ud al
f omily troubles in the 17th century,

20.–..

. 1

Princess Yaega~ i-hi me, one of the three most diHicult “ohimesama”
(high-born daughters) ro le s played by Bai ko Onoe,’ popular
f e ma Ie i mpe rsona to r, in the ” Ji sh uko” (t h e i ::cense bu rn ing)
sce ne fr om ” Honch o Nijushiko,” a noted classical r-:ay (see P. 94)

—- 21

making it possible for trained actors to represent women
of all sorts and condition s on the stage. This is one of
the most conspicuous features of the Kabuki play.

Even today there are no actresses in a Kabuki play
and it remains untouched by, modernism. All parts are
taken by male players, who are far superior to th~ ac-
tresses of present-day Japan. .

But how can an onnagata, who at first see ms un- .
natural , do better acting th an an a( ;— ,~~ , ? no bebo-in

.. j —

with, the Kabuki is ar.. u m” ~ : tit: , t; it is an ar t of
bold outlines. The women 01 oJ “at . as a rule, are small
in stature and lacking in dominati .. . c r.~atures. They are
not, therefore, fitted ,for the Kabuki, which requires
strong personality in its players.

The masculine element in the onnagata fits in with
the symbolism of Kabuki. Besides, having been trained
from childhood in the manners of the fair sex, the onna-
gata knows woman from A to Z-even better than a
woman knows herself. ……. Centuries of application and
tradition have resulted in such perfection in make-up,
costume, and stylization that the onnagata elicits admira-
tion and compels respect. Today there are fewer onna-
gata of distinguished skill, most of the more illustrious
ones having passed away …””.. Among the living there are
Tokizo Nakamura of Tokyo, a veteran player, and Utae-
mon Nakamura, Baiko Onoe and Tomoemon Otani of
Tokyo, who are outstanding female impersonators of
great popularity from the yo~mger group . These latter
three usually play the parts of young girls, ohimesama
(high-horn daughter) or GQu,rtesans. The ability of these

P>-‘ 25

young actors compares very favorably with that of the
greatest of the masters of the past.

It may be mentioned in passing that in the Kabuki,
an ohimesa ma, wh ich means a daughter of a family of
high social position, is an acti ve participant in the play.
The role is often quite wonderful. A Kabuki play which
features an ohimesama is generally one which comes
under the head of Maruhommono.

A Maruhommono means a form of mu sical drama
which is performed not by human beings but by doll s.
The art was created in Osaka more than two hundred
years ago throu gh the collaboration of Monzaemon
Chikamatsu (1653-1724 ), a playwright of rare genius,
and Gidayu Takemoto (1651-171 4 ) , a reciter of J oruri
accompaniment. Joruri means the tellin g of the story of
the puppet play by a chanter. The proper name for thi s
sort of play is Ningyo -joruri.

The Ningyo -joruri is of as much artIstIc merit as
the Kabuki play. Though puerile at fir st sight, because
it is after all but a play involving toy-like puppets, Nin-
gyo -joru ri was developed into a musical drama of high
excellence because it was fortunate in having as the com-
poser of its play-books, one of the greatest geniuses the
dramatic world of Japan has ever had-the celebrated
Chikamatsu, the Shakespeare of Jap an .

Almost immediately after the birth of the Ningyo –
joruri, some of its plays were reproduced in flesh and
blood on the Kabuki stage with considerable success.
Today we find that the better Kabuki plays are those
wh ich h ave been borrowed from Ningyo -joruri rather

26 —

. ce n e
Agemaki (center) , the courtesa n , In a s ~~-nr”””’–”;–”””””~7fl

. , .:.! t ” one of the m:st difficult ohimesama roles in Kabuki.
Yaega lohlm e ( cen erJ IS

, ‘”‘” 27

“K d ‘ ·, uma On, ‘ the specia l make-up used in K .
characters _ r e d Ii neg for braver I I’ abu~l to represent definite

28 “”-‘ y, ) ue hnes for evLl pe r sons or spiri·., etc.

than tho se of pure Kabuki origin.
In the Kabuki plays of Ningyo-joruri onglO, the

ohimesama fi gures conspicuously. She usually is the
hero ine of a love story and enlivens the stage with color
and romance . Kabuki’s three most noted ohimesama
are : Yaegakihime, who appears in the ” Jishuko”.
(incense burning) scene in “Honcho Nijushiko,” a play
based on the strife between the Uesugi and Takeda
houses in the 16th century; Yukihime of the “K inkaku-
ji” (Golden Pavilion) scene in “Gion Sairei Shink6ki,”
a drama treating of a 16th-century family trouble, and
Tokihime in “Kamakura Sandaiki,” a trage dy concern-
ing the siege of Osaka . Another typical example of the
ohimcsama is Hinadori in “Yamanodan,” a Japanese
rendition of the Romeo and Juliet theme from “Imose-
yama Onna Teikin ,” a story concerning the sins and
puni shment of a tyrannical mini ster of state who lived

in the seventh century.
The oiran (courtesan) is another of the chi ef parts

taken by onnagata players. In feudal Japan, an oiran
was an inhabitant of the pleasure quarters . P eople paid
respect to her as an object of beauty. In the Kabuki
plays of Kabuki origin she is made much of, and as in
the case of the ohimesama, she help s a good deal in
creating an atmo sphere of roman ce on the stage .

From among the plays of Kabuki Ol’igin, the eigh teen
which were most successful on th e Edo stage h ave been
selected and are known as “Kabuki Juh achiban ”
(Ei ghteen Best Plays ). “S ukeroku” is one of the
masterpieces of the group . Agemaki, the QLran, plays

— 29

opposite Suk eroku in the title role . The courtesan is
the symbol of the esthetic taste and culture of the Edo
period (1600-1867). She is spectacularly attired in
shikake, a gown, under which she wears kimonos of gor-
geous splen dor. The characteristic features of the onna-
gata are fully displayed when an onnagata player is
enacting the role of Agemaki . In such a character are
embodied feminine charms, brought out in strong relief
and as unreal as the h~auties of Ut amaro, the celebrated
color-print an The wig the actor wears for acting this
female part may v\Teigh as much a8 2S pounds on account
of its grand display of decorations. Such a heavy burden
would almost break the neck of a J ap’anese actress.
With a man-woman, however, the unwieldy wig becomes
but an element that goes to’war ds the building up of
beauty and character harmony. In fact, the onnagata
has made it possible for the Kabuki play to present a
type of feminine beauty impossible in ordinary con·
ditions.

The geisha is another favorite role of the onnagata.
The geisha represents a gay-quarter beauty more delicate
than the oiran. The onnagata has succeeded in repre-
se ntin g on the stage a geisha even excelling that of
real life in beauty of form and refinement of manners.

From the foregoing it will be seen that the Kabuki
play is a highly refined product of Edo culture and hence
a comparat ively modern form of Japanese drama.

30 ~

VARIETIES OF “KUMADORI”

a kite impersonator

I a loyal
warrior

an evil nobleman

a revengeful ghost a chivalrous man

A CHIVALROUS MAN IN /I SHIBARAKU,”
ONE OF “THE EIGHTEEN BEST PLAYS /I

Reproduction of th r> coror print by
Toyokuni Utagml.-‘u the first (1769-
1″825), owned by the Theatrical
Arts Museum at Waseda University

I
1

I
I
I ,

KABUKI DRAMA
BY

– –
SHUTARO MIYAKE

JAPAN TRAVEL BUREAU
TOKYO

– — ‘-..

D ecember, 1948 j February, 1952;

Febru ary, 1953

Prinfed by IlOSOKAWA PIUNTING CO .. Tokyo, Japan

~ N

~ ( 12 L/-. S-
f<3 ms- f,1\ft= It ~ r

tblTORIAL NOit

The Library was started in 1934 by the Board of
Tourist Industry and was transferred to the Japan Travel
Bureau in 1943, when 40 volumes had been completed.

~66,46/2

drama crItIc of’ the Mainichi Newspaper and a membel:
of the specjal council of the Cultural Proper ties’ P ro –
tection Commission .

h ~~iS four~h ed ition , p ubli shed only half a year after
t / t Ird rev.lsed edition went to press, is an evidence
;h t?e ever-mcreasing interest sh own by foreign en-

f
UJsIasts, both here and abroad, in thi s grand old art

o apan.

The new edition has an added fea ture in the fine
grade o~ art paper that is use d for most of the photo-
graphs Il1 the text. This, toaether with th ” d

. . b. ” e up-to- ate
reVISIOns and colored photoaraph s add I” .
, d b’l ‘ b, S great y to ItS lea a I Ily. ”

December, 1952
THE EDITOR

CONTENTS

Pa ge

1. How to Appreciate Kabuki. . . . . . . . . . . . 11
An Analysis of the Kabuki-A Land of
Dreams-” Daikon”-Its Powe r of Exp ression.

II. Characteristics of the Kabuki. . . . . . . . . . . 16
Female Roles-Their No ted Playe rs-High-
born Dau ghters-Courtesans.

JII. :Machinery Peculiar to the Kabuki Stage.. 33
Curtains – ” Hanami chi” – The Revolving
Stage – ” Ki ” – “Chobo ” – Geza”-“Deba-

h,” “1r ” yas 1 – \..uro go

IV. Principal Kabuki Plays . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45
The Eighteen Best Plays- “Ara goto ” -Clas-
sical P Ia ys-“Sew amono ” – “Kizew amono”

V. Technique Peculiar to the Kabuki. . . . . . . 52 ,
The Pantomime Show-“Koroshi”-“Michi-

k ‘” ” T h’ .” ” M .” I yu 1 – ac Imawan – 1 onogatan – n-
spection of the Head – Revue Element-
“S .” d “T “”S I” awan an surane – eppu cu

VI. Symbolism and Impressionism in the
Kabuki …………… . … ….. . 69

The Black Curtain-” Yabudatami”-“Nami-
ita”-The Story of Rice.

“VII. The Story Value of the Kabuki. . . . . . . . . 72
“S ukeroku”-“Kuma gai’s Camp”-“Kampei”

“VIII. Practical Guide to the P resent-day Kabuki. 78
Appendix (Notes on Some of the Famous

Kabuki Plays)…………… . . . .. 85
Index ……………. …. … …. ” 121

Ancie nt Sketches of Kabuki Al’fO~

” ,J

ILLUSTRATIONS

A Chivalrous Man in “Shibaraku” (Color Print)’
. . . . . . . Frontispiece

Page

“K . J’ h'” agaml I S 1 ………………..••..• 17
A Lion’s Dance-from “Kagami Jishi”

(In Colors) ……………………. 18, 19
Children Actors and Tokiz6 Nakamura as a Wet

lift … . , .. . …………………….. .

2(1.

27
27

31
33
35

) kagami” ………………………… 47

A scene from “Koibikyaku Y amato Orai”. . . . . .. 48
A Scene from “Shinju-Ten-no- Amijima” . . . . . . .. 51
A Scene from “Sannin Kichisa” ………… ” 51
‘A Pantomime ·Show. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 52
A “M,ichiyuki” . (Travel of Two Lovers) . . . . . . .. 55
A SW,ord . Fight. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55
Inspe9ting a Severed Head. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 56
Tales of Princess Usuyuki. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 56
“Kumagai Monogatari” by Kichiemon Nakamura

(In Colors) ………………………. 59
A Scene from “1\1usume D6j6ji” ………… ” 63
A Chorus Dance. . . . . . . . . 64
A Scene from “Kirare Yos~;” . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 67

The Harakiri Scene from “Chij~hi’n~~~~;’: : : : : :: 67
A Scene from “Sukeroku” 73
The “.Michiyuki” Scene fr~l~’ ;’Chij~hi’n’g~~~;’ : : : : 75
A Scene from “Ichinotani Futabagunki”. . . . . . .. 76
Poses of Well-known Kabuki Actors. . . . . . . . . 81-84.
At the Kabukiza Theater ………………. 107,108
Scenes from the Popular Kabuki Plays (8 photos)

…… …… …… . …………. ” 109-112

A Scene from “Kamakura Sandaiki”. . . . . . .. 109
The Sushi Shop Scene from “Yoshitsune Sem- .

bonzakura” …………………… ” 109
The “Kinkakuji” Scene from “Cion Sairei

Shik6ki” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 110
The Amagasaki Scene from “Ehon Taik6ki”. .. 110
The Mustering Scene from “Benten Koz6”. . .. 111
A Scene from “K6chiyama to Naozamurai”. . .. 111
“Fujimusume,” the Dance of a Wistaria Maiden 112

. The Katsuragi Mountain Scene from “Tsuchi-
gumo” ………………………… 112

I ‘

i. HOW TO APPRECIATE KABUKI

f3hat is Kabuki?
An answer for the uninitiated may be supplied by

the study of the etymology of the word itself, which
shows that (!abuki” is a type of acting based on the
arts of singing and dancing. It will thus be seen that
Kabuki is not acting, pure and simple; it is fundamen-
tally different from Western dramiJ

fln the Kabuki play, singing and dancing occurs dur-
ingThe course of the development of a story characteriz-
ed by dramatic elements, and the whole performance is
executed as a highly refined art. To be exact the Kabuki
may be described as a play more like a revue than a
drama, in the European sense-a play in which a clas-
sical story is enlivened with spectacular scenes .

m.e Kabuki is a classical play for the masses and
is rich in artistic qualities. It naturally follows that the
Kabuki is presented in large theaters, and not, as with
modern plays of the West, in a small theater intended
to serve the sale purpose of art for its own sake’:]
–i\1oreover, the Kabuki is a very complicated dramatic

form . A Kabuki play contains material not in accordance
with reason, and its classic style is but a feeble excuse.
Foreigners seeing a Kabuki play for the first time in-
variably think it is “wonderful.” And “wonderful” is
a fitting epithet for the irrational element in KabukU So
a theater built with the principles of modern stage science

~ll

In m~nd is far from approprIate for the presentadon of
a Kabuki play. (!or a f ull appreciation of the Kabuki,
therefore, one must prepare oneself, before entering the
play-house, for a tfip to a land of dreams-to a land of
poetic vision. One’s mind should be prepared to receive
the poetic and the beautif~

:Modern common sense, scientific analysis, logical
reasoning, and rational examination-all should be for –
gotten for the nonce by a spectator of a Kabuki play.
One might as well climb a tree in quest of fish as to
expect l ogic and rationality in a Kabuki play.

To the critic of modern drama, there is much non-
sense in the Kabuki, but this very nonsense is a quality
that must be place d on the credit side.

Viewing the performance with an eye for logic is
not the proper attitude for the enjoyment of a Kabuki
play. It is to be und ersto od as an art intended to appeal
to the senses and the perception, an art to feast the
pe rather than to satisfy the intellect. In this sense the
{Kabuki is decidedly not tobe classed with modern drama
which is entirely based on the story structure, but with
music, dancing, painting, and scul pture of the classical
typ e. The life of the present-day Japanese is only
scantily represented in a Kabuki play.
– Being a classical aft, the Kabuki play cannot be said
to have a direct app eal to the modern mind. Though its
appeal is indirect , it is capable of giving es thetic pleas-
ure; thou gh it is non sense , it is capable of giving conso-
l ation to the people-so it is a play rich in elements of
recrea tion which are enjoyed by the general public. In its

12 ‘””-‘

The fa<;:ade of the Kabukiza Theater.

“”‘ 13

A view of the interior of the Kabukiza Theater.

Players on the pas~age to the stage.

14 ‘”

combining of general app eal with a considerable amou.nt
of artistic merit, it may not inaptly be compared to the
plays of Shakespeare. The Kabuk i play is so compli-
cated in its nature that it is a difficult task to define it
in a few words. Kabuki plays are also known as
“kyugeki,” or plays of the old school.

[The Kabuki is then an artistic play. It is a play
expected to be rendered with skill. Here artistic expres-
sion reigns supreme. In no other form of drama is the
actor so ashamed of his immature execution and inferior
caliber. In Kabuki circles, a poor actor is called “dai-
kon” and a Kahuki actor feels most humiliated when he
is called a “daikon.” To attain perfect expression in his
performance is hi s supreme ideal. He aims at making a
strong appeal to the audience by bringing to esthetic
perfection the histrionic art so peculiar to the Kabuki.

From the foregoing it will be seen that to appreciate
a Kabuki play emphasis must be placed not on the story
and the contents, but on the ability of the actors to
make the characters live in the’ classical manner.

This appreciation is not easy to attain; it requires
preparatory knowledge. The beginner must be ready for
a trip to fairyland, for such is the atmosphere of a
Kabuki play. If so prepared, a Kabuki play, which is a
spectacle, highly colorful in presentation and mystic in
form, yet at the same time a dance and a story, will leave
il pleasant impression in the mind of the Western
playgoer.

“””‘ 15

A CHIVALROUS MAN IN /I SHIBARAKU,”
ONE OF “THE EIGHTEEN BEST PLAYS /I

Reproduction of th r> coror print by
Toyokuni Utagml.-‘u the first (1769-
1″825), owned by the Theatrical
Arts Museum at Waseda University

I
1

I
I
I ,

KABUKI DRAMA
BY

– –
SHUTARO MIYAKE

JAPAN TRAVEL BUREAU
TOKYO

– — ‘-..

D ecember, 1948 j February, 1952;

Febru ary, 1953

Prinfed by IlOSOKAWA PIUNTING CO .. Tokyo, Japan

~ N

~ ( 12 L/-. S-
f<3 ms- f,1\ft= It ~ r

tblTORIAL NOit

The Library was started in 1934 by the Board of
Tourist Industry and was transferred to the Japan Travel
Bureau in 1943, when 40 volumes had been completed.

~66,46/2

drama crItIc of’ the Mainichi Newspaper and a membel:
of the specjal council of the Cultural Proper ties’ P ro –
tection Commission .

h ~~iS four~h ed ition , p ubli shed only half a year after
t / t Ird rev.lsed edition went to press, is an evidence
;h t?e ever-mcreasing interest sh own by foreign en-

f
UJsIasts, both here and abroad, in thi s grand old art

o apan.

The new edition has an added fea ture in the fine
grade o~ art paper that is use d for most of the photo-
graphs Il1 the text. This, toaether with th ” d

. . b. ” e up-to- ate
reVISIOns and colored photoaraph s add I” .
, d b’l ‘ b, S great y to ItS lea a I Ily. ”

December, 1952
THE EDITOR

CONTENTS

Pa ge

1. How to Appreciate Kabuki. . . . . . . . . . . . 11
An Analysis of the Kabuki-A Land of
Dreams-” Daikon”-Its Powe r of Exp ression.

II. Characteristics of the Kabuki. . . . . . . . . . . 16
Female Roles-Their No ted Playe rs-High-
born Dau ghters-Courtesans.

JII. :Machinery Peculiar to the Kabuki Stage.. 33
Curtains – ” Hanami chi” – The Revolving
Stage – ” Ki ” – “Chobo ” – Geza”-“Deba-

h,” “1r ” yas 1 – \..uro go

IV. Principal Kabuki Plays . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45
The Eighteen Best Plays- “Ara goto ” -Clas-
sical P Ia ys-“Sew amono ” – “Kizew amono”

V. Technique Peculiar to the Kabuki. . . . . . . 52 ,
The Pantomime Show-“Koroshi”-“Michi-

k ‘” ” T h’ .” ” M .” I yu 1 – ac Imawan – 1 onogatan – n-
spection of the Head – Revue Element-
“S .” d “T “”S I” awan an surane – eppu cu

VI. Symbolism and Impressionism in the
Kabuki …………… . … ….. . 69

The Black Curtain-” Yabudatami”-“Nami-
ita”-The Story of Rice.

“VII. The Story Value of the Kabuki. . . . . . . . . 72
“S ukeroku”-“Kuma gai’s Camp”-“Kampei”

“VIII. Practical Guide to the P resent-day Kabuki. 78
Appendix (Notes on Some of the Famous

Kabuki Plays)…………… . . . .. 85
Index ……………. …. … …. ” 121

Ancie nt Sketches of Kabuki Al’fO

” ,J

ILLUSTRATIONS

A Chivalrous Man in “Shibaraku” (Color Print)’
. . . . . . . Frontispiece

Page

“K . J’ h'” agaml I S 1 ………………..••..• 17
A Lion’s Dance-from “Kagami Jishi”

(In Colors) ……………………. 18, 19
Children Actors and Tokiz6 Nakamura as a Wet

lift … . , .. . …………………….. .

2(1.

27
27

31
33
35

) kagami” ………………………… 47

The authentic curtain in KaSuki s tages has wide green, rllst and black s1ripes

III. MACHINERY PECULIAR TO
THE KABUKI STAGE

1. Curtains

The leading theaters where the Kabuki plays are
staged are also used for performances of the modern
school. In view of thi s circumstance, the managements
of most of such theaters find it convenient to use the
European curtain. But if possible, the European curtain

r-..- 33

which works up and down is avoided. Instead, a maku
(curtain) of simple-patterned cotton is regularly used.
This curtain is not of the lift type, but is pulled aside.
In Tokyo theaters, when the maku is used, it is usually
striped with thick lines of green, red -b rown, and black,
while in the Kansai, there is more variety and color in
the design of the traditional Kabuki stage curtain . The
simple-patterned curtain of the Kabuki stage is termed
joshiki-maku (“proper curtain”), and it is considered
by competent critics to be in perfect keeping with the
spirit of the Kabuki.

2. “Hananlichi”

Hanamichi, or “flower way,” is a passage leading to
the stage through the left section of the theater. There
is diverse opinion as to the history of the hanamichi, and
no detailed account of it can be given here. Suffice it
to say that the hanamichi has been in use for about two
centuries . Crhe passage of the actors on to the stage
over the hanamichi is called de (advance) and the pas-
sage back from the stage to the exit screened with a small
curtain termed agemaku, is called hikkomi (with-
drawal[] The use of the hanamichi is considered very
important and productive of histrionic effect. Foreigners
are unanimous in their praise of this particular feature
of the Kabuki stage. It is said that a Russian dramatist,
Meierchold , who deeply appreciated the Kabuki, was
so much pleased with the hanamichi that he adapted it
in a modif-ied form in a Russian theater with which he
was connected . The hanamichi is sometimes doubled to

“”””””

Actor s pause dramatically on the” hanamichi . .

A sam u rai appea r s on the” hanamichi” by ‘th<' "seriagc" or trap-lift.

“-‘ 35

Two samu r ai enact a scene while rising on the “seriage.”
The curved line on stage shows a part of the revolving stagt’o

36 —

enhance the spectacular effect and maintain closer coIl-
tact with the audience. The auxiliary passage, kar.i-
hanamichi (“provisional £-lower way”), runs parallel on
the opposite side of the main passage, and it is narrower
than the hanamichi by about one-third. These two
passages are sometimes used by actors to great advantage
in such scenes as the one called “Numazu”no -b a” (At
Numazu) from the Kabuki versjon of “Igagoe Dochu-
sugoroku” (Vendetta on the Iga Pass), a puppet play.
The hanamichi, a theatrical device peculiar to Japan, is
no doubt a valuable adjunct to the Kabuki.

3. The Revolving Stage

This is a device for the rapid sbifting of scenes~
bringing to view, by means of a mechanism similar to
the turntable, the scene ‘which is ready behind the stage.
This device is caned maL{)ari-hutai, or , revolving stq.ge .
Its invention is ascribed to Sh6z6 Namiki (1730-177.’3L
a playwright of Osaka, who lived some two hundred
years ago. The mawari-lmtai makes for much economy
in time, by shortening the intervals between acts~ and is
deservedly well commented on by Western play-lov,ers .

Another device, which like the mawari-hutai, is a
time saver, is the seriage, or platform on which a charac-
ter is raised to the stage from underneath. There is also
a device which reverses the process, so that an actor may’
disappear from the stage into the ground. It is ~allE; d
the serisage . , Such inventions, products of the fertile
brain of Sh6z6 Namiki, add Lo the uniquenes s of the

Kabuki~~

~ ~37

4. “KP’
In the Kabuki, ki or wooden clappers invariabiy ac-

company the pulling on and off of the curtain. Ki or
hyoshigi are a pair of square- shaped sticks made of hard
kashi wood. The clapper is about three inches thick
and about a foot lon g. The hyoshigi are clapped by a
kyogenkata, who is a sor t of as sistant to the stage
manager. The peculiar, sharp sounds of the h yoshigi,
like the sound of the bell or the gong of the Western
plays, are used to punctuate the beginning, close, or
intervals of a play. Simple as it may seem, co nsider-
able skill is really required for the proper operation of
the h yoshigi.
~ the Kabuki, the climax of a piece of acting is

accentuated by an impressjve pose in which the actor
becomes statue-like with hi s eyes wide open . This posing
is called mie. It effectively heightens esthetic appeal.
A good Kabuki actor must be skilful in this posing. iI/lie
is seen at its best when perfoqned by Kichiemon Naka-
mura, a well-known modern Kabuki actor.

A mie is emphas ized by the striking of the wooden
clappers against a thick board by th e assistant stage-
manager, who sits on one side of the stage. The sound
of the wooden clappers is called tsuke. I ts function is
to call attention to the posing of the actor. In fact, the
hyosh’igi is part of the fahl-ic of a Kabuki play, and a
neglect of their value keeps the audience from under-
stand ing much of the charm and sign ifi cance of a Kabuki
dram a.

38 ,-…-

Chobo musicians ( right) – a reciter ~~ a samisen player.

Kiyomoto musicians ( right) in a ” michiyuki .. sce ne.

r- 39

A kUrogo, the black hooded attendant w ho assists the actors on the stage.

5. “Choho~ ~
This music is an indispensable adjunct of the Kabuki

dramas of puppet-play origin. Chobo means Gidayu or
loruri music which dates back some three hundred
years. Gidayu stands highest in arti stic merit among
various kinds of music in Japan. The term chobo is u sed
only when Gidayu is performed in accompaniment to a
Maruhommono, or a Kabuki drama of puppet-play
origin. The words are recited by a tayu and the mu sical
accompaniment is supplied by a samisen player. A
singer and musician form a group and occupy a section
of the stage . They are always attired in kamishimo, a
costume dating from feudal time s. Choho is essential to
the effective rendering of a Maruhommono play. The
chobo players, though in the sight of the audience , app ear
without any other make-up or disguise than the kami-
shimo already mentioned. The reciter has a play-book
before him resting on a k endai, or small decorati ve des k,
from which he reads in a highly dramatic manner. Some-
times the chobo mu sicians p e rform behind a bamhoo
screen which is situatefl on one side 01′ the s tage.

6. “Geza”
A geza is a kind of music box. It is on the opposite

side of the stage from the chobo whi ch is alway s on the
stage . The box is in con spicuously placed, so it often
passes unnoticed by the audience. It is manned by a
number of musician s, whose work is specialized. The
saniisen is the chief instrument used. The box men signal
for the entrance and exit of actors, and are responsible

lor the effects and various musical incidents which occur
in the course of a play. They make sound imitation as
in a radio broadcast by simulating with their instruments
the noise of water, rain, bells, etc. to add to the reality
and impressiveness of the performance on the stage .
The mu sical features other than the chobo are supplied
by the box, and they are of considerable variety.

7. “Dehayashi”
This is a sort of visible orchestra, and is chiefly used

when there is a dance. The members, whose number
varies according to circumstances, are located in the
middle bank of the stage or on the right or the left side.
The kinds of music they perform are Nagauta, Tokiwazu ,
and Kiyomoto, all consisting of an emotional recital with
samisen accompaniment.

S. “Kurogo”
The kurogo corresponds to the prompter of the Euro-

pean stage . A kurogo is attired and hooded in black so
as to make him self most unobtrusive ; hence the name
of kurogo, or kurombo (lit. black man) . The work
of a kurombo is done by one of the assistants of the stage
manager. His duty is to aid the actors during a stage
performance. When an actor remembers his words
imperfectly, the kurombo stands behind him and acts as
prompter. He also attends to the p] acing of the aibiki,
a kind of chair often used by an actor in a leading role .
Besides the kurombo there is another stage assistant
called k6ken . He is more dignified looking, for he
shows his face and is in hakama.

42 ~

. -.”” ‘ .. .

FROM THE
/I EIGHTEEN

BEST
PLAYS ”

– 1 –

/I Shibaraku ”

(ab ove)

II Yanone ”

(bel ow)

fROM THE
1/ EIGHTEEN

BEST
PLA YS ”

– 2 –

‘ I Kanjinch6 /I

(above)

/I Sukeroku /I

(below)

44 —

. .
… ” . ~ ….

IV. PRINCIPAL KABUKI PLAYS

1. The Eighteen Best Plays

As already mentioned, the eighteen masterpieces se-
lected from the plays of Kabuki origin staged since the
birth of the Kabuki about two centuries and a half ago
are collectively styled “Kabuki Juhachiban.” These
eighteen were the repertoire of the nine generations of
the illustriou s Ichikawas from the first Danjuro of the
Genroku period (1688-1703) .to the ninth in the Meiji
era. The plays have been the monopoly of the Ichikawas,
and even now the rights of printing and staging them
are in the hands of the present representive of the
family. About ten out of the eighteen are now staged,
the re st havin g died a natural death. The following
seven are considered by general consent to be of greatest
mer it :-“Sukeroku” (The Love of Sukeroku, an Edo
Beau), “Kanjincho” (A Faithful Retainer), “Shiba-
raku” (Stop a Minute !) , “Yanone” (The Arrow-head),
“Kenuki” (Hair Tweeze rs), “Narukami” (Thunder) ,
and “Karnahige” (Shaving with a Large Sickle) .

Of the se seven, “Sukeroku” and “Kanjincho” are
the most di t’ tinguished, being the best of the plays of
Kabuki origin . All the plays of the “Kabuki Juhachi-
ban” are charac terized by the spirit of hero-worship , and
are labelled Aragoto, or plays of masculine character,
and are th eatrical products peculiar to Edo .

A CHIVALROUS MAN IN II SHIBARAKU,”
ONE OF II THE EIGHTEEN BEST PLAYS I

~
–

Reproduction of thp color print . by
Toyokuni Utagawo the first (1769-

-1825), owned by the Theatrical
Arts Museum at Waseda University

\
I

~
~

I ,
l

r
i

,
1

I
1

r
l
1

KABUKI DRAMA
BY

– –
SHUTARO MIYAKE

JAPAN TRAVEL BUREAU
TOKYO

– — ……….

Published ‘in April, 1938; revised in

December, 1948 j February, 1952;

February, 1953

Printed b¥ fj:OSOKAWA PRINTING CO,! Tok yo, Japan

“””>N
r {,/2. Lj, S’

1<3 ms- f,N't= It ~ r

EDITORIAL Nai

The purpose of the Tourist Library Series is to give
to the passing tourists and other foreigners interested in
J lipan a basic knowledge of various phases of Japanese
culture. When completed, the Series is expected to in-
clude a hundred volumes or so, and will give a complete
picture of Japanese culture, old and new.

The Library was started in 1934 by the Board of
Tourist Industry and was transferred to the Japan Travel
Bureau in 1943, when 40 volumes had been completed.

From the beginning the Library attained a high rep-
utation as a concise but reliable interpreter of Japanese
culture, and the demand for the volumes steadily increas-
ed both in Japan and abroad . Unfortunately, however,
the old volumes are all out of print. The Japan Travel
Bureau, therefore, has begun a new series,-revising and
reprinting some of the old volumes, and issuing others
on entirely new and equally interesting subjects.

Each volume in the Library is the work of a recogniz-
ed authority on the subject, and it is hoped that by
perusing the se studies of Japanese life the reader will
gain some insight into the unique culture that has
developed in this country throughout the ages.

The present volume, “Kabuki Drama,” is the work
of Mr. Shiitaro Miyake, who is an acknowledged au-
thority on the Bunraku Puppet Playas well as the
Kabuki Drama. He is also well known as the regular

66462

drama crItIc of the Mainich i Newspaper and a member
of the spec jal co un cil of the Cultur al Properties’ Pro-
tection Commiss ion .

This fo “th d” . h -. Ul e It1On, p ublIshed only half a year after
t .e thIrd revised edition went to press, is an evidence
of t~e ever-increasing interes t shown by foreign en-
thusIasts, both here and abroa d, in this grand old art
of Japan.

The new editi on h as an added fea t . -h fi ure m t e lne
grade o~ art paper th at is used for most of the photo-
graphs m th e text. Thi s, tog~ther with the up-to-date
revisions and I d h co ore p otographs, adds greatly to its
readabili ty.

Dece mber, 1952
THE EDITOR

,
1
t

I
I

CONTENTS

Pa ge

1. How to Appreciate Kabuki. . . . . . . . . . .. 11
An Analysis of the Kabuki-A Land of
Dreams- ” Daikon”-Its Power of Expression.

II. Characteristics of the Kabuki. . . . . . . . . . . 16
Female Roles-Their No ted Players-High-
born Daughters-Courtesans.

JII. l\1achinery Peculiar to the Kabuki Stage .. 33
Curtains – “Hanamichi ” – The Revolving
Stage – ” Ki” – “Chobo” – Geza” – ” Deba-

h,” ” t T ” yas 1 – Auro go

1V. Principal Kabuki Plays. . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 45
The Eighteen Bes t Plays-“Arago to”-Clas-
sical P lays-“Sewamono”-“Kizewamono”

V. Technique Peculiar to the Kabuki . . . . . . . 52
The Pantomime Show-“Koroshi”-“Michi-

k'” ” T h’ .” “l\I,r t’ ” I yu 1 – a c Imawa n – l lono gaa n – n-
spection of the Head – Revue Element-
“Sawari” and ” T surane”-“Seppuku”

VI. Symbolism and Impressioni sm m the
Kabuki … …… . ….. .. …….. 69

The Black Curtain-“Yabudatami”-“Nami-
ita”-The Story of Ri ce .

-VII. The Story Value of the Kabuki. . . . . . . . . 72
“Sukeroku”-“Kumagai’s Camp”-“Kampei ”

VIII. Practical Guide to the Present-day Kabuki. 78
Appendix (Notes on Some of the Famous

Kabuki Plays)… . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 85
Index …………… . …………. 121

Ancient Sketches of Kabuki Actor&-

ILLUSTRATIONS

A Chivalrous Man in “Shibaraku” (Color Print)’
. . . . . . . Frontispiece

Page

The Fagade of the Kabukiza Theater . . . . . . . . . . . 13
The Interior of the Kabukiza Thea ter. . . . . . . . . . . 14
Players on the Passage to the Stage ……….. . 14
Utaemon Nakamura as a Woman-servant-from

“K . J’ h'” agamI I S 1 .. … ……… . ………• 17
A L · ‘D f “K . J’ h'” IOn s ance–rom agamI IS 1

(In Colors) ………. . …… . ……. 18, 19
Children Actors and Tokiz6 Nakamura as a Wet

Nurse . . …. . …. … …………….. . 20
Baik6 Onoe, as Princess Y aegaki -hime ……. .. . 21
A Female Impersonator Preparing for the Stage 22, 23
Wig-dressers in the Dressing Room ……….. .
A Scene from “Sukeroku” ……………… .
A S f “II h- NT” – h ‘k- ” cene rom onc 0 IJUS 1 0 ……….. •
“Kumadori,” Special Make-up Used in Kabuki ..
Varieties of “Kumadori” (In Colors) ……… .
The Authentic Curtain Used on Kabuki Stages … .
Actors on the H anamichi . …… .. ………. .
A Samurai Rises onto the Hanamichi by the Trap-

lift …… . ……………………… .

2 rl.

27
27

31
33
35

35
A Part of the Revolving Stage. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 36
Chobo Musicians. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
Ki yo m oto Musicians. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 39
A Kurogo , Black Hooded Attendant . . . . . . . . . . . 4-0
From the Eighteen Best Plays. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43, 44
“Chushingura” and “Sugawara Denju Tenarai-

I kagami” ………………………. . . 47

A scene from “Koibikyaku Yamato Orai” …… . 48
A Scene from “Shinju-Ten-no-Amijima” ……. . 51
A Scene from “Sannin Kichisa” ………….. ‘ 51
A Pantomime ·Show ………………….. . 52
A “1\1)~l).iyuki” . (Travel of Two Lovers) …… ” 55
A Sw.ord . Fight : . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55
Inspe~t.ing a Severed Head. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 56
Tales of Princess Usuyuki. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 56
“Kumagai Monogatari” by Kichiemon Nakamura

(In Colors) ………………. .. … …. 59
A Scene from “Musume Dojoji” ………… ” 63
A Chorus Dance. . . . . . 64
A Scene from “Kirare y~~~;,’ …………. ” 67
The Harakiri Scene from “Chfr~hi’n’g~~~;’: : : : : : : 67
A Scene from “Sukeroku” 73
The ‘~Michiyuki” Scene fr~l~’ ;’Chfr~hi~’g~~~;’ : : : : 75
A Scene from “Ichinotani Futabagunki” . . . . . . .. 76
Poses of Well-known Kabuki Actors. . . . . . . . . 81-84.
At the Kabukiza Theater. ……………… 107, 108
Scenes from the Popular Kabuki Plays (8 photos)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 109-112
A Scene from “Kamakura Sandaiki”. . . . . . .. 109
The Sushi Shop Scene from “Yoshitsune Sem- .

bonzakura” 109
The “Kinkakuji~;’ S~~n’e’ . fr~~ . ~’G’i~~ . ‘S’ail:~i

Sh ‘k-k'” 1 0 1 ” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 110
The Amagasaki Scene from “Ehon Taikoki”. .. no
The Mustering Scene from “Benten Kozo”. . .. 111
A Scene from “Kochiyama to Naozamurai”. . .. 111

. “Fujimusume,” the Dance of a Wistaria Maiden 112
The Katsuragi Mountain Scene from “Tsuchi-

gumo” ………. . …………. . …… 112

I
j •

L HOW TO ApPRECIATE KABUKI

~hat is Kabuki?
An answer for the uninitiated may be supplied by

the study of the etymology of the word itself, which
shows that (gabuki” is a type of acting based on the
arts of singing and dancing. It will thus be seen that
Kabuki is not acting, pure and simple; it . is fundamen-
tally different from Western dramiJ

rln the Kabuki play, singing and dancing occurs dur-
ingThe course of the development of a story characteriz-
ed by dramatic elements, and the whole performance is
executed as a highly refined art. To be exact the Kabuki
may be described as a play more like a revue than a
drama, in the European sense-a play in which a clas-
sical story is enlivened with spectacular scenes .

@.e Kabuki is a classical play for the masses and
is rich in artistic qualities. It naturally follows that the
Kabuki is presented in large theaters, and not, as with
modern plays of the West, in a small theater intended
to serve the sole purpose of art for its own sake.:J
–i:\1oreover, the Kabuki is a very complicated dramatic

form. A Kabuki play contains material not in accordance
with reason, and its classic style is but a feeble excuse.
Foreigners seeing a Kabuki play for the first time in-
v ari ably think it is “wonderful.” And “wonderful” is
a fitting epithet for the irrational element in KabukD So
a theater built with the principles of modern stage science

~ 11

FROM THE
/I EIGHTEEN

BEST

PLAYS ”

– 2 –

1/ Kanjincho /I

(above )

/I Su keroku /I

(belo w)

44 “‘-‘

IV. PRINCIPAL KABUKI PLAYS

I. The Eighteen Best Plays

As already mentioned, the eighteen masterpieces se-
lected from the plays of Kabuki origin staged since the
birth of the Kabuki about two centuries and a half ago
are collectively styled “Kabuki Juhachiban .” These
eighteen were the reperfoire of the nine generations of
the illustrious Ichikawas from the first Danjuro of the
Genroku period (1688-1703) .to the ninth in the Meiji
era. The plays have been the monopoly of the Ichikawas,
and even now th e rights of printing and staging them
are in the hands of the present representive of the
family. About ten out of the eighteen are now staged,
the re st having died a natural death. The following
seven are considered by general consent to be of greatest
merit:-“Sukeroku” (The Love of Sukeroku, an Edo
Beau), “Kanjincho” (A Faithful Retainer), “Shiba-
raku” (Stop a Minute!), “Yanone” (The Arrow-head),
“Kenuki” (Hair Tweezers), “N arukami” (Thunder) ,
and “Kamahige” (Shaving with a Large Sickle).

Of the se seven, “Sukeroku” and “Kanj incho” are
the most di ?tinguished, being the best of the plays of
Kabuki origin. All the plays of the “Kabuki Juhachi –
ban” are characterized by the spirit of hero -worship, and
are l abelled Aragoto, or pl ays of masculine character,
and are theatrical products peculiar to Edo.

2. Classical Plays
l id aimono is th e general name fo r Kab uki plays with

hi storical background s. Most of these plays are tho se
of puppet-play origin . A Jidaimono is usually only
part of a play-one act taken from a longer story. To
the mo st distingui shed, being the best of the p] ays of
name r epresentati ve K abuki plays of the lidaimono type
there are “Sugawara Denju Tenaraikagami” (The Suga-
wara School of Penmanship), “Kanadehon Chuu shin-
gura” (Treasury of the Loyal League) by Izumo Takeda
(1691-1756 ) and “Shin tTs uyuki Monogatari” (Tales
of Princess Usuyuk i) by Koiz umo Takeda (d. 1753?),
son and p upil of I zumo. These were originally written
for the puppet stage ab out two hundre d years ago. Plays
of true Kabuki Ol”igin incl ude such ma sterpieces as
“Sukeroku” and “Kanjincho” but these are only one-
act plays while tho se of classical loruri origin usuaJly
contai n mo re than five acts.

“Kanadehon Chushingur a,” famous for its arti stry in
technique and plot , is an eleven-act play. Becau se of its
length, the play is usually performed in abridge d form
-only the fir st seven acts of the eleven be ing give n. The
present tenden cy is toward s longer performances, and
in the autumn of 1947 the firs t nine acts of tbi splay
were performed in Tokyo.

It will be remembered that John Mas efield produced
an Engli sh vers ion of thi s play under the title of “The
Faithful.” The Ac t from “Sugawara Denju Tenarai-
kagami” called the “Ter akoya” has been made into a
play and staged in America and Germany. -This is proof

46 ~

” C hushingura ” (upper) and” Sugawara Dcnju Tena!alKag all l1, —
both typical plays of the ]id a i’!!ono (c1ass;cal) type,

– ,….. 47

“Koibikyaku Yamato Orai,” revised version of .. Meido no Hikvaku”
(An Attemp t to Elope to th e Other World) . . .

48 “-‘

, I
I
I
I
I

! ,
I·
I ,
t
I
)

that among the hi storical Kabuki plays are to be found
dramas of universal appeal. The reader is reminded
that the chobo, or classical musi c, plays an important
part in the effective presentation of these dramas.

3. “Sewamono”
In contrast with the historical plays, there are genre

plays dealing with love and other affairs of every-day
life, and though they seem classic they are very realistic.
These plays may be also regarded as adaptations from
puppet plays. As briefly referred to in a preceding pas-
sage, the dramatic genius, l\10nzaemon Chikamatsu wrote
a number of genre plays of extraordinary merit for the
puppet stage, expressing in them scenes from contem-
porary life. He li ved in Osaka in the Genroku period,
the last quart er of the 17th century, when people in that
commercial capital were enjoying luxurious living.

There are “Shinjll Ten-no-Amijima” (A Double Sui-
cide at Amijima) and “Meido no Hikyaku” (An Attempt
to Elope to the Other World), to mention only a few.
These were made into Kabuki plays with more or less
modification. Genre plays were created’ and developed
in Osaka, and even in present-day Osaka, actors are noted
for their special skill In performing them.

4 . “Kizewan1.ono” . .
These plays were first produced in Edo about 130

years ago, and so were called Kizewamono in order to
distingui sh them from Sewamono, mo st of which were
products of · Osaka. Kizewamono means later genre
plays and they are more r eali sti c than similar Osaka

pIa ys. Aii of the Kiz~wamono are of Kabuki origin, and
belonging as they do to later times, they have no connec-
tion with the puppet play. The pioneer writer of this
type of play was the fourth Namboku Tsuruya (1755-
1829), who flouri she d in the Bunka and Bunsei eras, or,
to be more exact the first quarter of the nineteenth cen –
tury. Shortly bef~re the Restoration of Meiji, another
famous playwright appeared . His name was Mokuami
Kawatake (1816-1893), who might be called a pupil of
N amboku. By the time of his death in the middle of the
Meiji era, he had given to the world a number of plays,
the majority of which were Sewamono. Contempora-
neou s with him were such great luminaries of the stage as
the fourth Kodanji Ichikawa and the fifth Kikugoro Onoe
(father of the sixth Kikugoro, d. 1949 ). Mokuami wrote
plays with a view to providing the se actors with fitting
parts. As a writer of plays of Kabuki origin, he was one
of the greatest, if not the greatest Japan has ever known .
All hi s plays portray contemporary life and culture in
Edo and they are made much of even in these days. Edo
being their birthplace, these plays are see n at their best
when acted by Tokyo actors. Mokuami was very skilful
in combining hi s plays with appropriate music. Espe-
cially is he noteworthy for his mastering of stage tech-
nique. He is almost without a peer in this respect. Hi s
representative plays are “Murai Choan” (Murai Choan,
a Fiendish Quack-Doctor), “Sannin Kichisa” (Three
Robb ers ), “Kamiyui Shinza” (A Villain Barber Shinza)
and “Kochiyama to Naozamurai” (Two Rogue s in Con-
spiracy) .

50 —-

.. Sannin Kichisa,” one of the Kizewamono P lays.

“Shinju-Ten-no-Amijima,” one of the Sewamono plays.