JAPANESE DRAMAS.* THIS is one of that kind of books
that are more interesting generically than individually. So short a time has elapsed since Japan was an almost unknown world, producing nothing but lacquer, fans, and teapots, and spoken of doubtfully as a place where foreigners were cut to pieces at sight, where the noblemen disembowelled themselves as whimsically as lizards cast their tails, and where everything occurred backwards or upside down, that sober-minded people, unaccustomed to see Rome built in a day, might conceivably feel surprised at being told that this dapper volume, with its neat binding, its tinted paper, its careful letterpress, and its generally sophisticated aspect, was written, printed, and published in the Mikado's empire. True it is, however, that less than twenty-five years ago, Sir Rutherford Alcock stood in peril of his life at the very place whence Mr. McClatchie's civilised and peaceable little book is now issued to the public. The mystery and the romance have been turned inside out, and translated into doggerel English, and do not appear so strange, after all ; and the things that moved us with horror and wonder yesterday, amuse us to-day as a tale that is told. The Japanese have their peculiarities, it is true, or rather, they have had them; but the analysis of them has yielded nothing essentially new, and save for the enjoyment of an expectation not destined to fulfilment, it seems as if we might well have done without Japan altogether.
Nevertheless, if there be one thing in Japan more worthy than another of a reasonable man's study, we might surely expect to find it in the folk-lore,—or what is in this case the same thing, in the drama, of which the folk-lore is the basis. A careful and judicious collection of these legends and tradi- tions, made with an especial eye to preserving the characteristic tone and flavour of the originals, could scarcely fail to possess genuine and permanent value. It was therefore with pleasur- able anticipations that we took up Mr. McClatchie's work, but we cannot say that it has in all respects won our approbation. In the first place, as the author tells us in his preface, his " rhymes " are not translations of the dramas to which they " allude." " They are merely efforts to sketch, in a cursory
* Japanese Plays (Versified). By Thomas H. H. McCiatchie, Interpreter, Consular Service, Japan. With Illustrations, drawn and engraved by Japanese Artists. Yokohama, 11379. London : Bernard Quaritch.
manner, the general outline of the plots of those dramas." Now, it is doubtless true, as he goes on to say, that a full and literal translation of a Japanese play (lasting, as it does, many hours, and sometimes whole days) would be possibly impractic- able, and probably uninteresting to the general reader, but it does not follow that such translation as is made should not observe faithfully the turns of expression and quality of thought of whatever passages it takes up. A Japanese brain, it may be presumed, can scarcely conceive an idea the equiva- lent for which cannot be devised by an English one ; and if the lucubrations of the former are too diffuse, a skilful process of condensation or selection would be apt to enhance, rather than to diminish, the characteristic humour of the original. We are, therefore, strongly disposed to question the wisdom of Mr. McClatchie's plan of turning his Japanese dramas into "Ingoldsby-Legend" verse. It is not merely that every man is not a Thomas Ingoldsby, or that the " Ingoldsby " verse is so intimately associated in our minds with the "Ingoldsby" wit and humour as to seem more than usually infelicitous without them,—all this and more might be condoned, were the genius of " Ingoldsby " in any way akin to the genius of Japan. But, as a matter of fact, no two geniuses could be more unsym- pathetic, and even antagonistic, and the consequence is that nothing of the Japanese play remains in Mr. McClatchie's sketches except those things which it was of least importance to retain,— a few Japanese names and words, that is to say, and a number of more or less coherent episodes. It seems to us, consequently, that he has thrown an enviable opportunity away, so far as the most promising aspects of it were concerned; and if he contemplates prosecuting his labours any further in this direction, we would ask him to consider whether the simple, childlike English of " Hop-'o-my-Thumb " and " Little Red Riding Hood " would not better suit the subject, than the fantastic and unsubstantial jingle which, in the present work, he has chosen to adopt. These dramas, which Mr. McClatchie, from the necessity of his case, turns into ridicule, are not ridiculous to the minds who framed them or to the spectators who beheld them ; and if we want to under- stand and appreciate them, we must put ourselves as nearly as we can at the native point of view. A translator has no right to be funny on his own account; and, it might be added, that if Englishmen are in need of a laugh, they do not need to send ten thousand miles for something to laugh at.
If these criticisms seem severe, we can only say that the severity is due to our dissatisfaction not with what Mr. McClatchie has done, but with what he has failed to do. His book, considered in itself, is amusing enough, and cleverly done, and will, we hope, be found generally readable ; but we cannot see much that is essentially Japanese in its construction, and we do not see why, such being the case, it was worth while to construct it at all. But if the poems, or whatever they are to be called, arc somewhat disappointing, the illustrations are admirable, and of themselves render the book emphatically worth buying. They are designed, as we are told in the preface, by a native official of the Japanese War Department, and engraved on wood by a native wood-engraver of Tokio. They are printed in brown ink ; and nothing could be more expres- sive and characteristic of Japanese pictorial art than they are.
When we add that there are eighteen of these full-page illus- trations in a volume of less than a hundred and forty pages, we shall probably have said enough to induce a good many people to become possessors of the book, for, so far as we are aware, nothing of quite the same kind has ever been brought out in England, and every one interested in genuine Japanese art will wish to improve the opportunity of examining such unique specimens. We have been especially charmed by the ghastly apparition of the " Haunted Well," opposite page 77, and we shall conclude this notice by giving an abstract of the story to which the picture refers.
A weathy nobleman, whose name was Otogawa, received from the King a treasure, shut up in a casket, and was told to guard
it faithfully until the King should want it again. But one day,
on going to the casket, he found that the treasure had been stolen out of it. As he was unable to tell the King who the thief was, Otogawa fell into disgrace at Court, and was compelled, in
company with his wife, Hanazono, to fly for safety to the house of a worthy young man by the name of Sampei. Now, Sampei was married, but poverty had compelled him to part for a time from his wife, who was living as a servant in the house of a former retainer of Otogawa, named Tessan. She was beautiful to look upon, and Tessan fell in love with her ; but she rejected his love with indignation. Then Tessan, who was a wicked man, resolved to be avenged. So he plotted with a henchman of his, named Chiuda, to accuse Okiku (as Sampei's wife was called) of having stolen one of the plates which had been en- trusted to her for safe-keeping. Poor Okiku denied the charge, upon which the box of plates was brought forth, and she was bidden to count them. She counted them accordingly, but, alas ! one was missing, as well it might be, since Tessan himself had taken it out previously. Okiku could only declare her innocence, but Tessan ordered her to be bound and carried to the brink of a well, into which, on her refusing finally to yield to his dishonourable proposals, this faithful wife and lovely woman was wickedly cast ; and there she died. But now an appalling prodigy happened ; for as Chiuda was wiping up the blood which had been shed at the brink of the well, and had just let down the bucket to get some fresh water for the purpose, he heard an awful voice down below,—it was Okiku's voice,
counting the plates .1 In terror, Chiuda hauled up the bucket, and the fearful shape which the artist has portrayed met his
eyes. Okikn's ghost was abroad ! Tessan took to flight, but, being now even more wicked than before, he plotted with a bravo, who was none other than an uncle of the worthy Sampei, to kill Sampei and all who were in Sampei's house. The uncle first made his attack on Sampei, but a friend of Sampei came in and ran the uncle through the back with his sword. At this, Sampei (as became an honourable young Japanese) pre- pared to disembowel himself ; but suddenly the figure of his beloved Okiku appeared before him and stayed his hand, but as he gazes at her she vanished. While he was marvelling at this adventure, Chiuda, the henchman of Tessan, rushed in, and grappled with him ; but just as he was getting the better of Sampei, the voice of Okiku counting her plates was heard, and the awful wraith appeared. Chiuda, beside himself with horror, in striking at the spirit, stabbed himself, and died miserably. From that moment all began to go well. Otogawa found the man who stole his treasure, and the King thereupon restored him to favour. The worthy Sampei married another wife, and was happy. Tessan died as miserably as Chiuda had done; and Mr. McClatchie appends two "morals," of which we give the last, as being a tolerably good specimen of his style :—
" Just a word to 'old residents,'—kindly enough ;
And that is,—should you chance to reside on the Bluff, Keep your weather-eye peeled' when it gets to be late, • See your watchman's on duty, and lock up your plate !"
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