do occasionally. And so real is this clock-work moon that we
are deceived into imagining that it is the moon, the actual moon. But
the deception is not pleasant; in fact, it almost gives you indigestion
to see a moon, and such a moon, careering over the whole sky in half an
hour. In Japan they would not occupy themselves with making you believe
that a moon on the stage was a real one--they would consider such false
realism as a bit of gross degradation--but they would take the greatest
possible pains as to the proper placing of that palpably pasteboard moon
of theirs, even if they had to hold it up in the sky by the aid of a
broom-stick.

[Illustration: WATCHING THE PLAY]

In Japan the scenic work of a play is handled by one man alone, and that
man is the dramatic author, who is almost invariably a great artist. To
him the stage is a huge canvas upon which he is to paint his picture,
and of which each actor forms a component part. This picture of his has
to be thought out in every detail; he has to think of his figures in
relation to his background, just as a Japanese architect when building a
house or a temple takes into consideration the surrounding scenery, and
even the trees and the hills, in order to form a complete picture,
perfect in balance and in form. When a dramatic author places his drama
upon the stage, he arranges the colour and setting of it in obedience to
his ideas of fitness, which are partly intuitive and partly traditional.
It is probably necessary that his background should be a monotone, or
arranged in broad masses of colour, in order to balance the brilliancy
of the action, and against which the moving figures are sharply defined.
And it is only in Japan that you see such brilliant luminous effects on
the stage, for the Japs alone seem to have the courage to handle very
vivid colours in a masterly way--glorious sweeps of gold and of
blue--vivid, positive colour. No low-toned plush curtains and what we
call rich, sombre colour, with overdressed, shifted-calved flunkeys,
stepping silently about on velvet carpets, shod in list slippers, and
looking for all the world like a lot of burglars, only needing a couple
of dark lanterns to complete their stealthy appearance.

Then, there are no Morris-papered anterooms and corridors in Japan, as
we have here--sad bottlegreens and browns leading to a stage that is
still sadder in colour--only a sadness lit up by a fierce glare of
electric light.

The true