Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

I believe Sawamura Gennosuke passed away in April of the eleventh year of Showa (1936). Exactly one year later, Ms. Kimura Tomiko’s book titled *Flower Shadows, Flowing Water* was published. Ms. Kimura Tomiko—that is, Mrs. Kinka—could be considered the present Gennosuke’s stepmother; thus, her book ought to be reliable. It contains *Seigaku Yawa*, an unedited transcript of Gennosuke’s artistic reflections from his later years originally serialized in *Engei Gahō*. She also judiciously included photographs of his that carry particular significance. Indeed, Gennosuke had a talent for being photographed—a skill rooted in his sister’s background. Though their exact familial ties remain unclear, she had studied under Kitauchi Chikuba, father of Ii Yōhō, becoming a pioneer in Japan’s photography trade by operating a studio under the professional name Hana Yoshino in Shin-Tomichō. Through this connection, Gennosuke became adept at handling photographic work himself.

With Kawai Takeo’s recent passing, his artistic style would likely vanish now as well; however, this man was someone who took up the mantle of Gennosuke’s orthodox artistry and devoted himself to implanting it into the Shinpa School.
The father’s status was low, but he was Ōtani Bajū, who often shared the stage with Gennosuke.
When Kawai was young, he attempted to become an old-school actor (the external circumstances were unknown), rushed off to Osaka, and around that time, he had largely come under the influence of Gennosuke.
In Kawai’s movements and poses, Gennosuke’s method of exertion remained at work until his later years.
In any case, given that Kawai had been the one who most directly inherited Gennosuke’s style, now that Gennosuke had died and Kawai had departed this world, one keenly felt that Gennosuke’s artistic legacy would likely vanish entirely.

Gennosuke’s era lasted about forty years, during which villainous women—or, to put it succinctly—poisonous women roles became established as his signature art.
That style of artistry was easy enough to imitate in theory, yet for some reason, it seems to have vanished entirely now.
The fifth to inherit the name Gennosuke was still young; though more adaptable than his predecessor Ichikawa Matsutae, he had yet to reach that age.
As for looks, with that face—which had grown even worse—he lacked the primary qualification for villainous women roles.
A villainous woman role required one to possess the dignity suitable for portraying an Edo downtown wife—achieved through a stature that appeared tall even if not actually so, a beautiful face, and a well-modulated voice—if properly executed.

Next, where did Gennosuke’s art come from?
The first origin lay with Onoe Kikugorō V.
Kikugorō had influenced Gennosuke in male roles as well, but he particularly imparted greater influence through female impersonation techniques.
This stemmed from Gennosuke having frequently performed alongside Kikugorō during his formative artistic period and being exposed to his methods.
Now, as for Kikugorō himself—if we inquire from whom he acquired his female impersonator artistry—it would be Sawamura Tanosuke.
He had meticulously observed Tanosuke’s stage performances and skillfully refined them.
The Onoe family had descended as Kamigata female impersonators from their very arrival in Edo.
That Kikugorō V closely studied the artistry of Tanosuke and senior actors like Iwai Hanshirō IV proved him a rightful inheritor of the Onoe lineage.
One reason lay in the necessity to counter the ninth Danjūrō by assuming roles where Danjūrō faltered.
This was because Danjūrō remained fundamentally unsuited for female impersonation roles.

Throughout his life, Gennosuke relied too heavily on his inborn looks and talent; instead of undertaking grueling study so intense it could draw blood, Kikugorō’s influence manifested in him. What he had acquired consisted solely of the forms of Kikugorō V. Yet in terms of physical appearance, there can be no doubt that Gennosuke far surpassed Kikugorō V. Moreover, he was less a faithful imitator of Kikugorō V than one who endlessly analyzed the impressions he had received.

Sawamura Gennosuke was born on the southwestern edge of Osaka’s Nakanoshima district; he would have been ten years old in Meiji 1 (1868). It was near Momenbashi Bridge. Meanwhile, on the seaside, a few entertainments were being staged around this time. In that vicinity, alleys were scattered here and there, and there were residences of entertainers. It is indeed certain that he was born to Tomitaya’s Oyu, whose residence remains in Sōemonchō to this day. It is said that he was the child of a wealthy patron from Nakanoshima’s Senba district, but when one looks at Gennosuke’s features, he bears a striking resemblance to Nakamura Sōjūrō of Osaka, with his beautiful face marked by a slightly protruding jaw. Generally speaking, kabuki actors, much like children born in the pleasure quarters, have tenuous parent-child relationships. To me, he seems unmistakably like Sōjūrō’s child. Nakamura Sōjūrō was a man who, even when coming to Tokyo, refused to yield to the ninth [Danjūrō], treating himself as an equal—yet this very person took notice of Gennosuke and attempted to mold him into a full-fledged female impersonator.

Although he was born in Osaka, Gennosuke came to Tokyo as a young child, became the child of the then Gennosuke (the third), and took the name Genpei—a prestigious name in the Sawamura family. He made his stage debut at age twelve in Meiji 3 (1870), appearing in the role of Yoshidaya’s daughter in *Yūgiri Izaemon*. The first proper role he performed was as Yukari in *Akarasu* at age fourteen—though the role itself was far too ordinary—which must have been due to his voice changing or some other circumstance. At this time, Tanosuke was performing in Uraura. Since Tanosuke was also in proximity, Gennosuke’s artistry likely did not become merely an imitation of Kikugorō’s techniques; however, in reality, he had little direct contact with Tanosuke. Even after turning twenty in the eleventh year of Meiji (1878), Sawamura Gennosuke was still performing roles that lacked distinction. In a production of *Senbonzakura* featuring actors such as Danjūrō and Kikugorō, he performed the roles of *Kinomi no Ko-sen* and *Sushiya no O-Sato* as a substitute for the lead female impersonator Iwai Hanshirō IV. With this, he gained a reputation for having succeeded for the first time. Even if one could perform the role, since physical appearance becomes a critical factor, in Gennosuke’s case, it was likely his looks and bearing that carried him through. Then, in Meiji 15 (1882), at age twenty-four, he changed his name and succeeded to his adoptive father’s name “Gennosuke.” (The name Gennosuke also existed among the Nakamura and Mimasu families, but all have now vanished.) He persisted with this Gennosuke from age twenty-four until his death. Rather than saying he lacked interest in changing his name, it was more that he also had no opportunity to do so. It was an exceptionally long tenure as Gennosuke—exactly the same as Osaka’s Ganjiro, who persisted with the name Nakamura Ganjiro from his youth until his death. Admittedly, this was also due to Ganjiro having failed to succeed to the name Utaemon—…

In the summer production of July 1885, Bando Iekichiku—younger brother of Onoe Kikugorō V (who died in his prime without achieving particular artistic distinction but was remembered as a genial actor)—was top-billed, with stars including Fukusuke (later Utaemon VI) gathering for the performance.
At this time, Gennosuke was performing the lead role of O-Hyaku in *Dahhi no O-Hyaku*.
The killing scene in this play—where a woman single-handedly murders a man among other role variations—maintained villainous dominance until the final curtain.
That Gennosuke, barely past twenty, assumed O-Hyaku’s role was attributed to his recognized appearance and bearing.
In Kabuki’s world where family lineage reigned supreme, “Gennosuke” within the Sawamura line was not an inferior name, yet somehow it had acquired an unimposing quality.
It is said Gennosuke had inherited the Sawamura main family’s emblem, though this was later transferred to Sōjūrō.
While Gennosuke remained a weighty name in Sawamura tradition, his performance in *Dahhi no O-Hyaku* marked an era when his roles reached their peak and fortune appeared guaranteed.
His co-starring with Iekichiku signified a remarkable career ascent.

From then on, he gradually began taking on wife roles for major actors and served for a long time as the wife role for Kikugorō, Danjūrō, and the previous Sadanjū.
Due to that connection, he also had a deep relationship with Sadanjū, who had recently passed away.
During the period when he played wife roles for Kikugorō, Gennosuke was able to freely express what suited his physique.
When it came to Danjūrō’s productions, female impersonator roles were apparently quite arduous.
It was precisely during Gennosuke’s transition from youth to prime adulthood that Danjūrō began performing Living History Plays and Sakurachi—who had been behind Mokuami—emerged into prominence; one could say it was an inopportune timing.
He did not follow Danjūrō.
While Living History Plays are regarded as a heresy in theater history, I find more interest in them than what people generally say.
From Gennosuke’s perspective, he should have devoted himself to thorough study at this time.
He persisted in both stage and life with the old actor mold.
The period from around Meiji 17–18 until approximately Meiji 20, when he left Tokyo, marked Gennosuke’s artistic zenith.
When speaking of Gennosuke’s competitors, there was Fukusuke—later known as Utaemon—of that time. While he was refined and his artistry unforced, in terms of allure, he was no match for Gennosuke.
Therefore, had he continued as he was, he would likely have risen to a position even higher than Utaemon’s.

When actors develop gravitas, they come to overwhelm the audience through sheer presence, much like Uzaemon does today. That is due to appearance. Actors begin to perfect their stage face once they pass fifty. As their artistry matures, the contours of their face refine themselves—precisely as they enter the twilight of their careers. For ordinary people, the time when they begin to acquire an old man’s face is when actors are at the peak of their prowess. For male lead actors, this period is relatively long. People may marvel at Uzaemon having such a stage face at his current age, but there is nothing strange about this. Uzaemon’s face is slightly pointed. It was fortunate that he had acknowledged the angularity of his own face from the very beginning. For male lead actors, it’s acceptable if their cheekbones become slightly prominent under such circumstances, but for female roles, it becomes unbearable. Therefore, female impersonators decline relatively early. In their thirties and forties, [their] stage face remains underdeveloped. Just when you think it has improved, it comes to an end.

Gennosuke committed a grave error in his professional life as an actor during his prime years. While there may have been discretion against openly stating his reason for going to Osaka, he himself performed the role of Kanaeya Koume (Hanai Oume) from Iharu Seiseien’s work—an incident that ultimately served as the primary motive for his relocation. *Flower Shadows, Flowing Water* recounts that he went to Osaka with Kikugorō and remained there after being dissuaded by Ganjiro, though there were likely reasons for framing it thus. He relied on Nakamura Sōjūrō when moving to Osaka, where Kado no Shibai held superior status at the time, followed by Nakashibai. He subsequently stayed for years in Dōtonbori—then lined with five theaters—in a manner befitting his stature, joining a troupe that included Nakamura Tokizō (later Utaroku) and Ichikawa Onimaru (later Asao Kuzaemon), akin to the later Miyato-za company.

I distinctly recall seeing Gennosuke’s portrayal of Chūjōhime at Asahi-za—a role originally perfected by Tanosuke, making this casting not without precedent. Though ill-suited to his own artistry, he performed roles associated with those he revered. At the time, I was in third grade but still remember witnessing the Hamamatsu Outcast Hut scene from *Asagao Nikki*, where Gennosuke played Asaka the wet nurse battling villains to her death; only his fight before the hut remains etched in memory. Years later at Taima-dera, I discovered with nostalgia the votive plaque he dedicated during *Chūjōhime*, bearing his youthful depiction of the character in embossed cloth. After five years centered at Asahi-za, he returned to Tokyo around Meiji 29 as public interest waned—coincidentally the same year Kikunosuke of *The Story of the Lingering Chrysanthemum* fame returned from Osaka following an accepted apology. During this interval, Fukusuke had flourished remarkably, while even Onoe Eizaburō (later Umejaku), far his junior, began undertaking substantial roles.

The plays Gennosuke performed after returning to Tokyo were fascinating to us, but according to the *Zokuzoku Kabuki Chronicles*, during this period, political activist plays became quite refined, and Yamaguchi Sadao was performing *Honchō Nijūshi Kō*.
Gennosuke performed *Koshimoto Nureginu* and *Hashimoto-ya no Shiraito* there.
Sugi Gan’ami’s theater reviews were generally not ones to offer much praise, but he hailed *Hashimoto-ya no Shiraito* as a supreme skill.
For improvisational actors like Gennosuke—those who thrive on spur-of-the-moment performance—there are times when they miss the mark, but in domestic plays, their success rate tends to be higher.
Because life itself could become the stage.
And this reputation ended up constricting Gennosuke’s artistic scope.

Long afterward, in November of Shōwa 12 (1937), Suzuki Mondo’s play was staged at the Meiji-za after a long interval.
Mondo was Sōjūrō, and Shiraito was Tokizō.
In his later years, Gennosuke—constantly feeling he was on death’s doorstep—thought it best that he be allowed to perform his signature roles. Yet due to what one might call the producers’ questionable judgment—or some similarly peculiar reasoning—this never materialized.
The five-part revolving scene had been incorporated into Suzuki Mondo’s play.
Gennosuke played a connoisseur.
Having Tokizō portray Shiraito while he himself took this role marked Sawamura Gennosuke’s farewell performance. When he reflected on having played Shiraito of Hashimoto-ya back in Meiji 29 (1896), over forty years had since passed; even an actor of his easygoing nature must have felt something indescribable.

Now, around the time Sawamura Gennosuke returned from Osaka to Tokyo, Kabuki theater was already transitioning to a new phase.
It was also around that time that "chinco" plays (children's theater) by actors like Yoshieimon and Matagorō (Nakamura) came into being.
In Meiji 30 (1897), Sawamura Gennosuke appeared at the Kabuki-za after a long absence—at Danjūrō's invitation—to perform in Sakurachi's *The Chivalrous Merchant's Spring Rain Umbrella*.
This play followed *Sukeroku*'s formula but set in Yoshiwara, with Fukusuke as Katsuragi and Sawamura Gennosuke playing Chōzan—a coquettish courtesan.
Ihara Seiseien documented this period in *Waseda Bungaku*.
At that time, Fukusuke—deeply influenced by living history plays—portrayed refined courtesans, while Gennosuke risked resembling a post-station prostitute through miscalibrated acting.
Fukusuke grew increasingly dignified and refined, ceasing to perform courtesans in domestic plays for many years.

From the perspective of his artistic stature, Sawamura Gennosuke stood at a juncture where he could have risen to any height, and there were many roles that only he could perform. Yet it seems he was ultimately constrained by the very foundations of his career. To begin with, the actor Sawamura Gennosuke performed the artistry he had honed in Kamigata with exceptional precision. Therefore, I think it would have been better had Gennosuke been further tempered through his time in Osaka. His original neglect of period plays and specialization—if one could call it that—in improvised domestic dramas of the moment likely proved his weakness. I believe Gennosuke should have devoted himself more earnestly to period plays. Though it is said that Osaka natives assimilate into Tokyo’s style upon arriving there, the artistry he cultivated after returning to Osaka suited him perfectly. When performing Tajū no Ayatsuri, he displayed flexibility in certain parts, but roles like the elderly Koshiji in Kōtora Haizen caused him great struggle. His features—jet-black pupils and refined facial contours—never evoked the essence of a Villainous Woman. I suspect that due to the minor acclaim young Gennosuke received for his performance in *Dahhi no O-Hyaku* following Tanosuke’s death, he mistakenly spent his entire career typecast as a Villainous Woman actor.

Regarding Gennosuke, we must also discuss his male roles.
Even as he aged and declined as a female impersonator, he remained beautiful in male roles.
Sawamura Gennosuke began performing male roles after Meiji 29 (1896), which too stemmed from observing Kikugorō’s artistry and imitating it.
Notable among his male roles was Yoshidaya no Izaemon; in such plays, I think he may have been influenced less by the elderly Kikugorō and more by Kataoka Nizaemon, who was slightly his senior in age.

Ultimately, the influence of Tanosuke and Kikugorō fatefully led to the regression of Sawamura Gennosuke’s artistic qualities. Yet when it came to the rhythmic vitality of domestic plays, he stood as the foremost figure of his later years. Though his voice lacked refinement, its husky timbre possessed what was considered an exemplary theatrical tone.

Two

In the Satta Pass scene of *Kirare Otohime*, there was a line: "If it's for the house's sake, I'll discard charm and must speak harsh words even if hated."
I think this line expresses a certain characteristic of female impersonators.

Recently, I read Mr. Ozawa Ryōzō’s treatise on female impersonators and found much to learn from it.
However, for my part, I wish to speak without reference to Mr. Ozawa’s ideas.
Among female impersonators, there are those who are beautiful and those who are not.
Through male roles and female impersonators, truly beautiful people in their natural appearance emerged only after the Meiji era; Ichikawa Shinjūrō even remarked that actors as beautiful as Iekitsu and Eizaburō had never existed before.
This can be understood by examining photographs from the Meiji era—though this may partly stem from the primitive state of photographic technology at the time—but generally speaking, there were many female impersonators with unappealing natural appearances.
While Iwai Hanshirō IV is said to have been beautiful, I think there remains considerable doubt as to the extent of that beauty.
For example, Bandō Shucho, who recently passed away, was a beautiful female impersonator, but his predecessor Shucho—though he played female roles opposite Danjūrō and Kikugorō—was by no means handsome, with a pale face and a hollow at its center.
Jitsukawa Shōchō of Osaka was also a renowned female impersonator, but being corpulent and inflexible in his artistry, he could only perform roles such as wives in their thirties or samurai wives. While he was somewhat better than Tokyo’s Shucho, he was not beautiful.
The adoptive father of the current Ichikawa Danjozō—an actor who changed his name from Onna Tora to Kadonosuke—emerged from Izumo, joined Kamigata theater, and further attained considerable status through Danjūrō. Yet he too was an unsightly actor; no matter what artistry he performed, he never looked beautiful.
Given that such a group comprised the leading female impersonators of the time, even someone like Ichikawa Enjo—an elderly female impersonator affiliated with Ganjiro—had no abnormalities in his facial features but was not particularly beautiful.
Moreover, his physique was also masculine.
Even Shibasue, who became Jakuemon and later died, did not have a good face, but being flexible in his roles, he had many moments where he looked beautiful.
He was originally a young female impersonator, and due to his usual attentiveness, there were times when he looked beautiful.
The previous Kikujirō was also among this group.
Such were the female impersonators of old; beyond them, there were many others so unattractive one couldn’t tell if they were women or some grotesque creatures.

Nowadays, female impersonators had generally become beautiful.
However, beauty was a separate matter from artistry; by old-fashioned standards, it was something to be scorned.
Ichikawa Matsutae, who recently passed away, was a small-statured and beautiful female impersonator—so much so that one might have thought he would end his career playing maiden roles.
But Matsutae’s beauty was merely that of an amateur.
Such beauty did not shine through artistry honed through training; it was natural beauty—indeed, the kind an actor ought to feel ashamed of.

From the perspective of traditional beauty, one's innate physical beauty must not be exposed bare.
I believe even the current Nizaemon's natural good looks are problematic.
Together with this foundation, there must be visible not only constructed beauty above it but also beauty born of rigorous training surpassing that.
In other words, when artistry becomes beautiful, one's physical appearance too will appear beautiful.
Though contemporary female impersonators are generally beautiful, that non-beautiful female impersonators can also exist with distinction is something that ought to be boldly declared for Japanese Kabuki's sake.
Through this principle, both spectators who watch and actors who are watched can engage in artistic competition on equal terms.

The ugliness of female impersonators as depicted in Sharaku’s prints was the ineradicable ugliness of a man’s “woman” when rendered in art. Sharaku, I believe, had a keen interest in the ugliness of such female impersonators and painted numerous such pictures. However, that was by no means an exaggeration, for the female impersonators of Kamigata theater and its theatrical prints possessed features in both countenance and physique that truly evoked Sharaku.

In essence, while appearing beautiful through artistry might seem commonplace, it remained fundamentally vital. Therefore, I believe we had to qualify any consideration of female impersonators evoking purely real women. In Kabuki theater, even female impersonators must not be womanly women. Even male roles—the actors themselves were men who differed in some way from ordinary men in society. They had to be women suited to the men of that theatrical world and must not be women of the real world. That was precisely why a female impersonator like Matsutae became unsuitable—such was the principle. Umejū was acceptable because his era lagged behind the times, but had he been active earlier, one would have sensed his natural beauty but not the beauty of a woman harmonizing with the male actors on stage.

Tokyo’s female impersonators became beautiful performers who closely resembled women from early in the Meiji era onward.
The late Utaemon’s performance of a female student role—whether in Kosugi Tengai’s *Hatsusugata* or *Kobushi*—where he bared his upper torso to apply makeup onstage was, from a theatrical perspective, decidedly unorthodox.
This stemmed both from Utaemon’s profound confidence in his innate comeliness and from audiences’ delight in such displays.
Though utterly unconventional for a female impersonator when considered objectively, Utaemon presented his natural beauty as inseparable from his artistry.
In this respect, he proved a master of cultivated illusion.
His excessive handsomeness and unshakable faith in this asset imbued his performances with gravitas—a quality partly born of his body’s declining mobility in later years—which ultimately confined him to roles requiring minimal physicality.
Thus I believe Utaemon navigated his entire career without ever distinguishing true mastery from mere competence within orthodox traditions.
Baikō too was a beautiful female impersonator whose sole flaw—a protruding lower lip—paradoxically enhanced his stage presence.
This exemplifies beauty emerging through strategic emphasis on inherent imperfections.
Through such transformations, Tokyo’s beautiful female impersonators gradually came to approximate actual actresses.

But even now in Osaka, there exist unattractive female impersonators.
When speaking of the most beautiful female impersonator in modern Osaka, it must undoubtedly be the current Nakamura Umejaku.
The beauty of Umejaku during his Seijirō period, when he performed Yaegaki-hime in Tokyo in Meiji 30, was truly splendid.
Generally speaking, those involved with Tokyo theater held Osaka theater in great contempt, disparaging anything associated with Osaka. Yet even these supremely confident Tokyo spectators had to concede this point without complaint.
Admittedly, recent young female impersonators have become dreadful beyond merely being past their prime.

There was no female impersonator as beautiful as this in Osaka.
When considering Nakamura Kaisha—formerly known as Naritayū—who frequently performed female roles in Sawamura Gennosuke’s plays during his forties, his natural appearance might not have been remarkable, but his stage face remained superb even then.
However, beyond this exception, modern Osaka possessed no beautiful female impersonators.
If one looked back further than Umejaku, Kaisha, or even Jakuemon, beautiful female impersonators were utterly nowhere to be found.
The era I witnessed marked a decline for female impersonators—most had become monstrous, cat-like figures.
Moreover, in Kabuki theater, actors appearing onstage functioned as symbolic entities for audiences; whether their faces were beautiful or ugly mattered little so long as they moved upon the stage, after which spectators would freely construct their own fantasies to shape the drama.
Thus, it could be said that the beauty or ugliness of female impersonators’ faces had never been a significant issue in earlier times.
This remained a fact widely applicable to contemporary film actors as well.
In Tokyo, Sawamura Gennosuke—who combined a naturally fine appearance with an almost perfect stage face as a female impersonator—had been preceded by Sawamura Tanosuke, another famously beautiful female impersonator, while Iwai Hanshirō IV was celebrated as an actor with “Eyes Worth a Thousand Ryō.”
One could discern that Edo-period female impersonators had exhibited a tendency toward early cultivation of beauty.
Regarding Gennosuke’s beauty, Gan’ami’s critique—written when he portrayed O-Ō no Kata in *The Ogasawara Disturbance* staged in Meiji 35 (1902)—offered insight: “He perfectly embodied the role of ‘a beauty that could topple nations,’” referring to the character’s transformation from grass-cutter to daimyo’s concubine.
This beauty had been supremely suited to female impersonators specializing in poisonous woman and villainous woman roles.
After Tanosuke and Hanshirō IV, there had been none but Gennosuke to succeed them.

As previously stated, this was why Sawamura Gennosuke had a history of performing *Dahhi no O-Hyaku* from his youth—a role in which people delighted in seeing the phantom of Tanosuke. This was a script written in Meiji 6 (1873), originally created for Tanosuke; after Tanosuke’s time, it passed through Mitsugorō before ultimately being assigned to Gennosuke. In the late Edo period, when the poisonous woman and villainous woman roles were on the verge of extinction, Gennosuke was temporarily made to perform them as a stopgap measure—but this ended up solidifying his typecasting. Thus did Gennosuke make a splendid debut, answering the people’s fervent desires—yet this very triumph proved, in another respect, an unfortunate turn of events for him.

III

Since ancient times, Kabuki theater has not treated women portrayed by female impersonators as villains.
Among lead female impersonators and young maiden roles, there have historically been few villains.
Audiences of old did not seek to see villainous women.
There emerged a new discovery in late Edo-period Kabuki.
That women onstage performed evil deeds meant their co-actors were bullied proportionally—and audiences vicariously relished this through self-projection. To state it plainly: this constituted a form of masochism that held crucial interpretive significance for Gennosuke’s artistry.
This expansion of female impersonators’ domain also proved vital for Edo Kabuki’s development.

Female impersonators, as human beings, were surprisingly not virtuous individuals.
For example, even among villain roles, those like the lead villain (*tachigataki*) were major roles on par with lead male roles (*tateyaku*); thus on stage they carried themselves with gravitas and refrained from wanton hitting, striking, or speaking impertinently.
A gentleman differed in no way from a *tateyaku*.
Yet when it came to minor villains, they indeed performed all manner of detestable acts.
However, offstage they resembled simpletons and were without exception good people.
By this same logic, female impersonators who ought to have been virtuous on stage proved surprisingly villainous in real life.

The degree of virtue in minor villain roles was truly astonishing; in reality, every single one of them, without exception, were good people.
I too wondered if they became that way in real life as a reaction to constantly playing hateful roles on stage, but this did not seem to be the case.
In other words, they were intellectually near zero—a kind of simpleton, one might say.
I believe it was the virtue inherent in such simplicity.

Female impersonators were first and foremost quarrelsome without exception—there were those quick to fight, those with spiteful dispositions, those with troublesome drinking habits—all while embodying the spitefulness of petty women.
To this was added the influence of male vice.
Yet on stage, they were all virtuous.
Conversely, I believe Gennosuke—a female impersonator specializing in poisonous women and villainous women roles—was himself a good person.
Particularly in his later years, Gennosuke seems to have become a figure of serene character—one who had fully resigned himself and attained complete detachment.

Admittedly, this must be considered separately from female entanglements. Hanai Oume was a woman driven into an irreparable predicament by Gennosuke, and though there exist various other such female entanglements, this sort of frivolity stemmed from the collective character of actors in former times—thus there is no reason for Gennosuke alone to bear the so-called thorns in this regard.

In other words, it can be said that he was a good person precisely because he was not a true female impersonator.

In Kabuki theater, what are referred to as "worlds" or "eras" could be broadly divided into four categories. These four categories were: Royal Era plays (depicting courtly life from extremely ancient periods like Iruka and Kamatari), Historical plays (centered on the Genpei era with corresponding armor-clad costumes), Household plays (portraying daimyo lifestyles divorced from contemporary audiences’ and actors’ lives, slightly anachronistic for convenience), and Domestic plays (purely modern works drawn from urban life—though occasionally featuring samurai in isolated contexts or rural settings—primarily depicting downtown lifestyles closest to spectators’ and actors’ daily experiences). It was through these alone that actors’ conceptual frameworks were formed.

Kabuki theater had traditionally presented women who were entirely virtuous; however, within Historical plays and Domestic plays, women with elements of evil had appeared in small numbers since ancient times.
Roles such as stepmothers or second wives in daimyo households could not be performed by mediocre actors; thus, actors of considerable standing themselves took on these roles. For instance, Iwayane Gozen from *Kachiyama Koseki Matsu*, who tormented Chūjō-hime, was ordinarily a lead female impersonator’s role.
Furthermore, in *Asamagake Omokage Sōshi*, there was a scene where Tokidori—a concubine of the Asama family—was killed by an old woman named Nadeshiko. In such a case, if Kikugorō were to play Tokidori, Danjūrō would perform the role of Nadeshiko.
Even Kabuki theater that excluded villainous women could not remake long-established villainesses into virtuous characters, and it was through the presence of such jealous women that virtuous women were further accentuated.
Even in household plays, family disputes were often caused by women—for example, a stepmother secretly meeting a man behind her husband’s back being discovered by her stepchild, thereafter committing various misdeeds. This was an archetype that had existed in plays since ancient times and was also found in *sekkyō jōruri* narratives; it could not be changed.
Thus, through the repetition of such things, a certain special female disposition was formed.
That, in a way, became what was known as “Female Bushidō.”
I believe Sawamura Gennosuke was the actor most suited to “Female Bushidō.”
For example, roles like O-Fude in *Hiragana Seisuiki* were relatively lacking in highlight moments and left room for regret over not being able to fully showcase one’s abilities—yet I believe they were a perfect fit for Gennosuke.

“Female Bushidō” represented justice; at times attaining martial prowess, it constituted a lead female impersonator role portraying a middle-aged woman of attractive appearance.
When female impersonators gained influence, became central to productions, and were compelled to assume lead roles, the need for “Female Bushidō” emerged.
Moreover, under traditional theater programming where historical plays were staged in the morning and domestic plays performed in the afternoon—if historical plays embodied martial arts, there arose a desire to incorporate martial elements into domestic plays as well.
Thus within domestic plays emerged the figures of “poisonous women” and “villainous women” as manifestations of “Female Bushidō.”

The justice of theater need not align with morality’s righteous path; so long as it manifested as a splendid spectacle capable of dispelling the audience’s pent-up emotions, it became justice.
It was acceptable for women—who had until then been typecast as solely docile—to instead display violence.
Even without stage combat, things like murder or freely manipulating men sufficed.
As long as their hearts were laid bare, that sufficed—such justice fell within the realm of martial virtue.
It was from such circumstances that the figures of poisonous women and villainous women also emerged.
Whether it be the line from *Kirare O-Tomi*—“If it’s for my household’s sake, I must abandon charm and speak harsh words”—or performing what a female impersonator ought not to do, all was excused as being for loyalty’s sake.
Even when playing a poisonous woman there, it invariably reverted to reflecting female impersonators’ inherent nature as virtuous individuals.

When one speaks of “Villainous Woman,” the written characters suggest an elderly figure, but these are deeds performed by young women—issuing challenges, becoming female vagabonds, weaving deceptions and manipulations.
Originally a characteristic of Kamigata’s flower cart roles and Edo’s elderly woman roles—undeniably meant for old people—even though only the term persisted through long custom, they became roles for young performers.

This paralleled how Kamigata’s flower cart roles became performer’s roles; even the term “performer” came to signify brothel teahouse procuresses, though they were originally young wives. However, I do not believe these changes involved terms dating back to ancient times.

Amidst a multitude of men, a woman emerged who manipulated them all—this defined the Poisonous Woman and Villainous Woman roles. Yet even so, the scope of these roles was vast.
For example, heroic-type women like *Oni no O-Matsu* (premiered in Meiji 26 [1893]), which Gennosuke frequently performed, fell under Poisonous Women/Villainous Women. Then there were those like *Mō Oyoshi*, who bore no trace of wickedness yet still counted as Villainous Women, and characters such as Okaji from *Onna Danjūrō*—though virtuous—nonetheless fit the Villainous Woman archetype. Truly, they were diverse in nature.
If actors like Tanosuke and Gennosuke performed roles that previously lacked established archetypes, those roles invariably morphed into Poisonous Woman or Villainous Woman types—a tendency that became remarkably pronounced.

Gennosuke rarely took on maiden roles, being similar in this regard to Osaka’s Kaisha. Kaisha had gained acclaim by performing wife roles from around age eighteen.

Yet Gennosuke did frequently take on such roles in his youth: in 1884, he earned praise as Kariya-hime in the Dōmyōji scene of *Temari Kagami* (The Mirror of Handwriting), while his 1891 performance as Omiwa in *Imoseyama* (The Twin Peaks) drew criticism from Aibi Kōson, who wrote, “Gennosuke’s Omiwa—truly his definitive role—enhanced the troupe’s prestige and made the stage itself feel grander…” This unexpectedly fervent praise seemed incongruous for Gennosuke past forty; moreover, his recognition of maiden roles as definitive deserved attention.

The mainstream of present-day Kabuki theater lies in Takemoto theater—that is to say, Jōruri drama.
If one cannot master this orthodox path, a Kabuki actor would inevitably be deemed inauthentic.
Though Gennosuke in his youth had been capable of authentic Takemoto theater in this manner, he gradually distanced himself from it and shifted toward domestic plays.
That Gennosuke strayed from the orthodox path for honing himself as an actor was, I believe, the lifelong regret of his career.

These days, one comes across Kabuki theater being written about as “classical drama,” but to me, it never quite sits right—though perhaps to younger generations, something like Kabuki theater may indeed appear classical. Yet even after watching Kabuki theater for what feels like a lifetime, I cannot help but feel it remains fundamentally vulgar and crude.
I still question to what extent mainstream Kabuki theater has been transformed into classical drama.

IV

Next, I would like to contemplate something along the lines of a prototype theory of imitation concerning the predecessors that Gennosuke had.

I believe that for Gennosuke, neither his female impersonator seniors nor male lead actor seniors held particular value.
It was during his approximately five-year exile in Osaka beginning in Meiji 20 (1887)—prompted by that Hanai Oume incident—that he acquired his most authentic artistry.
For instance, roles like O-Tatsu—the wife of Tokubei in *Natsu Matsuri Naniwa Kagami*—embodied this authenticity.
In Tokyo, while Tanosuke and Kikugorō’s artistry most influenced him, Tanosuke alone stood as his immediate senior.
Tanosuke served both as senior within the Sawamura family and as the era’s most celebrated female impersonator.
Thus Gennosuke naturally studied under Tanosuke, powerfully inheriting the courtesan-style role traditions previously established by Iwai Hanshirō IV and Tanosuke himself.

The recognition of poisonous women roles also originated with Hanshirō IV. Works like Ojō Kichisa from *Sannin Kichisa* were originally written for Hanshirō IV and—similar to Benten Kozō, which later became Kikugorō’s signature role—should be classified as gender-ambiguous roles, though in overall tendency they belong to the villainous woman category.

Gennosuke emulated many techniques pioneered by Iwai Hanshirō IV, particularly those of Sawamura Tanosuke.
Though Tanosuke did not exclusively perform poisonous women and villainous women roles, the powerful impression left by his archetypes compelled audiences to demand their repetition even after his death—making it a natural progression for Gennosuke to inherit and fill that void.
Thus works like *Kuruwa Kaidan Shikishima Monogatari* (“Red-Light District Ghost Story: Tales of Shikishima”) and *Dahhi no O-Hyaku* (“Empress Dahhi’s O-Hyaku”) all belong to the female impersonator tradition of the Tanosuke and Hanshirō lineage.

The greatest challenge for Sawamura Gennosuke was that his proximity to Onoe Kikugorō V compelled him to fully adopt Kikugorō’s artistry. To begin with, the late Kikugorō was a man whose artistic scope appeared deceptively narrow yet was in fact broad; though fundamentally a male lead actor, he also extensively performed female roles—a duality Gennosuke largely replicated.

Even the current Kikugorō had recently taken up female impersonation, the signature art of his school, carving out a distinctive style despite his portly physique. In dance pieces, he expressed an excellent woman when performing short excerpts. Yet no matter how one assessed him, he could not become a true female impersonator. When compared to his predecessor, this current Kikugorō was an actor who appeared to have a broad range of roles but in truth possessed narrow scope.

Dance pieces were not Sawamura Gennosuke’s forte, so when the late Onoe Kikugorō performed many dance works such as *Ibaraki*, he did not replicate the numerous dance pieces such as *Modoribashi* and *Tsuchigumo* that the late Kikugorō had performed. However, being an actor does not mean he never danced at all. The reasoning was that there existed actors outside his sphere who made dance their main performance. Furthermore, villainous roles such as Murai Chōan and Kaga Tobi no Anma Dōgen—devoid of any alluring qualities—were ones that Gennosuke did not perform. In essence, he took on good-natured roles but avoided ill-natured ones. To be sure, while part of this may have been due to producers preventing him even when he himself wished to perform them, one could also say that as an actor, he possessed too much allure. Kikugorō’s artistry incorporated that of Ichikawa Kodanji IV, meaning it featured many realistic domestic plays, and it was this that Gennosuke inherited. And Sawamura Gennosuke went so far as to take on roles that did not suit his style. Inheriting roles such as Yosaburo from *Kirare* and Kiyokage was an utterly natural matter that warranted no suspicion whatsoever; however, there were quite a number of roles that Gennosuke himself took on merely because Kikugorō had performed them—roles he undertook without considering his own aptitudes. Examples include Tomizō the Noshū vagrant from *Yonsenryō Koban Ume no Ha*, Banzo from *Botan Dōrō*, and Jūbei the killer of Bun’ya at Utsuya Pass—these roles were such cases, performed solely because Kikugorō had done them, despite being fundamentally ill-suited to Gennosuke’s style.

Sawamura Gennosuke began frequently performing male lead roles around Meiji 36 (1903), when Onoe Kikugorō V died. This stood in stark contrast to when he had been compelled to inherit Tanosuke’s roles; here, he undertook it proactively of his own volition. In ghost plays such as Oiwa from *Yotsuya Kaidan*, Okiku the maid from *Banshū Sara Yashiki*, and *Koikurabe Ukai Ryō*, he succeeded in meticulously replicating the female impersonation techniques Kikugorō had performed. Fundamentally, because he possessed striking appearance and elegant demeanor, whatever he did came to be viewed as competent.

Kabuki theater actors generally shared this trait; the fifteenth Ichimura Uzaemon had only recently begun demonstrating splendid artistry along the orthodox path, until then having sustained himself solely through his beautiful countenance and delicate demeanor.
The current Matsumoto Kōshirō, too, relied entirely on that splendid appearance and imposing physique.
The recently deceased Ichikawa Sadanji was no exception.

When considering Sawamura Gennosuke’s acting, his artistry was always improvisational—to put it bluntly, he seemed to hold a superstition that beautiful forms would emerge spontaneously during performances without any prior rehearsal.
In other words, his failure to firmly grasp his roles and his insufficient reflection on his own artistry—these arose because Gennosuke himself possessed such an overabundance of external talent that he relied too heavily on it and neglected serious study; therein lay his greatest flaw.

The misfortune of Sawamura Gennosuke in his later years was, I believe, brought about by those very flaws I have described.
Of course he too suffered greatly from debt—so much so that in his desperation he came to perform in small playhouses; yet even when it was time he should have taken root in major theaters, he could not return to the Kabukiza Theatre and remained adrift in places like Asakusa.
For Gennosuke to have refined himself into a true master would have required discarding too many qualities that ultimately proved hindrances.
When we consider Sawamura Gennosuke as an actor today, we see clearly that he never became a master.
Yet given how strongly his presence lingers in our memory, we cannot regard him as merely ordinary.
What will ultimately endure most from Gennosuke’s legacy are surely his portrayals of Yoshiwara courtesans and pleasure quarter prostitutes.
Whether this reflected his innate talents remains impossible to state with certainty.
By the time his reputation in courtesan roles became established, however, his star had already waned.

When Uzaemon lost Baikō and temporarily partnered with Gennosuke to stage *Naozamurai Sazae*, Gennosuke certainly displayed fine artistry—yet even that had thoroughly faded. Therefore, in roles requiring minimal movement—such as the courtesan Yatsuhashi opposite Sano Jirōzaemon—he was truly unparalleled. I can well understand Jirōzaemon’s feelings, but since she herself had a lover in her heart, the coldness of the courtesan Yatsuhashi—who remained coldly composed no matter how ardently Jirōzaemon courted her—was unparalleled; there had never before or since been a Yatsuhashi so magnificently portrayed. Then there were also the roles of drunken women—such as Kashiku no Oito in *Akagōshi Chishio Funagoshi*, written for Gennosuke himself, and *Onna Ōshō*, written for the actress Ichikawa Kunamehachi—that he performed well. And thus, a portion of Gennosuke’s artistry was inherited by his quasi-disciple Kawai Takeo.

When anyone is enticed by a scoundrel urging matters outside their own affairs, they grow complacent and cannot help but get carried away. Afterward, from the shadows comes the sneer: “That’s that man’s vinegared tofu.” Even if he was ridiculed, there was nothing to be done. Now that I have spoken at such length, I cannot help but awaken to this self-awareness: I was a man of utmost shamelessness and thick-skinned ignorance of the world. Truly, this discourse of mine is nothing but vinegared tofu.