ry about it at all; these
little supers who appear to them so amusing are perfect little artists,
and are absolutely necessary to ensure the success of a scene. Suppose
Danjuro, the greatest actor in Japan, appears upon the stage dressed in
a most gorgeous costume, and takes up a position before a screen which
he will probably have to retain for half an hour: these little people
must be there to see that the sweep of his dress is correct in relation
to the lines of the screen. The placing of this drapery is
elaborately rehearsed by the supers, and when they step back from their
work even the globe-trotter is bound to admit that the picture created
by Danjuro and the screen is a perfectly beautiful one, and a picture
which could not have been brought about by merely walking up and
stopping short, or by the backward kick that a leading lady gives to her
skirt. These little supers may go, come, and drift about on the stage;
they may slip props under the actors and illuminate their faces with
torches; yet the refined Japanese gentleman (and he is always an artist)
is utterly unconscious of their presence. They are dressed in black:
therefore it would be considered as the height of vulgarity in him to
see them. Indeed, the audience are in honour bound not to notice these
people, and it would be deemed in their eyes just as vulgar for you to
point out a super in the act of arranging a bit of drapery, as to enter
a temple and smell the incense there. No Japanese ever smells incense:
he is merely conscious of it. Incense is full of divine and beautiful
suggestion; but the moment you begin to vulgarise it by talking, or even
thinking, of its smell, all beauty and significance is destroyed.

Everything connected with the stage in Japan is reduced to a fine art:
the actor's walk--the dignity of it!--you would never see a man walk in
the street as he would on the stage. And then the tone of voice,
bearing, and attitude--everything about the man is changed. I remember
once in Tokio being introduced to the manager of a local theatre, whose
performance so much pleased me that I begged the privilege of making a
few studies before the play began, hinting at the same time that I
should very much like one or two of the actors to pose for me. Then this
little gentleman began to think and frown and pucker his brow, secretly
proud that an artist should want to paint his work, and also not
unwilling to make a little money. At last, after much