As a geisha she was, to be sure, already something of an actress, and she was already well-known in Japan since her virginity had been sold to no one less than Japan's great statesman Hirobumi Ito.
A man of the world, he knew how to do things properly. The tradition was for the "deflowerer" to spend some time each evening massaging his young charge's thighs with egg white. Each evening he would reach a bit further so that when the moment eventually arrived, it was not such a shock.
Though this method was a bit like cutting off the dog's tail by inches to spare it the pain, the successful operation gave the young geisha an instant eclat: She was now the mistress of the future prime minister.
But the "willow way" -- the way of the geisha -- was never smooth. There came a time when the thoughtful but preoccupied Ito had other things to do, and young Sadayakko had to turn to others. Among those she turned to was an actor named Kawakami Otojiro. As impetuous as he was energetic, he and his theater troupe had many an up and down. Eventually, the depths became more frequent than the heights. He, Sadayakko and his tiny troupe decided to sail into more friendly waters: those of the United States, the land of enterprise. It was here that Sadayakko first put on the stage.
Shortly, she was performing nightly in the sliced-up kabuki in which Otojiro specialized. The big San Francisco number was "Dojoji," the Japanese-dance version of which Sadayakko already knew. The bell, the monks and the serpent were all contrived from memories of performances seen. The local audience had nothing with which to compare it, and even Matthew Arnold, oddly in the audience, was reportedly impressed.
The modest success was augmented by an amount of hype. Otojiro let it be known that "the most famous geisha in Japan," one who had triumphantly appeared at imperial functions, was now with him, and that they were the Sir Henry Irving and Ellen Terry of Japan. Though he admitted that had a Japanese seen the performance, he or she would have been thought it strange, still "it was intended for foreigners, so it was OK."
Downer calls this "a brilliant piece of marketing." Product placement came next. There was a "Yacco" perfume by Guerlain, there was even "Yacco" candy and an expensive "Kimono Sada Yacco." This was a knee-length garment made of pongee with a cross-over collar and narrow sleeves, more lounge pajama than kimono but emblematic of the attitude of the actors.
Sadayakko herself approved it, taking for granted that things must be altered to Western tastes, just as she altered her "kabuki" plays. And, indeed, as they continued their triumphant tour -- Europe, after America -- they met with little but enthusiasm.
The future King George V of England "stroked the exquisite dancer's hair with a plump, beringed hand and told her how lovely it was"; the young Pablo Picasso did a poster; Paul Klee compared her to a Tanagra figurine; Giacamo Puccini followed her around hoping for inspiration of the coming "Madame Butterfly; and Andre Gide, carried away, said that her act "was as fine as Aeschylus."
Contemporary dance pioneers Isadorah Duncan and Ruth Saint Denis were observant and tucked away many a memory to stick into their own acts. Essayist and caricaturist Max Beerbohm, enacting the famous Greek myth The Judgment of Paris, said he awarded Sadayakko his prizewinning apple.
So just how good was Sadayakko? Downer is the last person to ask. Identification of author with subject here is complete. Not only is her "exquisite" beauty, her "heart-shaped face," continually placed before us, but her art is constantly defended without ever being defined.
In addition, empathy with the heroine is so extreme that her emotions are publicly eviscerated. Here is a rendition of an early emotional setback: "She must have endured the most terrible, gut-wrenching pain, loss and emptiness. Her life had become hollow. Everything had lost its color and meaning and become utterly pointless." Maybe this is part of the ploy. Downer is author of the excellent "Geisha: The Secret History of a Vanishing World," and she knows her milieu. In addition she has done an impressive amount of research to collect everything to be known about her subject.
At the same time (and here perhaps the publishers put in a word), chatty books on geisha sell quite well. Why not give the public one that is gut-wrenching as well as heartfelt?
The story is fascinating, the heroine is interesting, and I feel that something less heightened, less gushy and certainly more objective, would have rendered these qualities even more apparent.
With your current subscription plan you can comment on stories. However, before writing your first comment, please create a display name in the Profile section of your subscriber account page.