From street to seat, and a new world appears, the audience kneeling down on the cushions of the small boxes, packed in like sardines in the narrow confines—faces, faces everywhere, from the patient standing people of the highest gallery to the close-set heads of the first row in the pit. Immediately, the piles of clogs and soggy umbrellas that must be sorted out before the dispersal of the audience, the blustering gale without, even the deafening roar of the unceasing rain upon the roof of the theatre are forgotten, as attention is focussed upon the vivid characters of the Kabuki plays. Or to leave the dusty, traffic-worn city in the yellow glare of noon, and entering the chaya become lost in Kabuki’s dreamland, is a pleasant sensation. The old world wags. Afternoon gives place to evening, and by the time the playgoer issues forth again into the sphere of actualities, a chorus of thanks from the tea-house attendants for his coming sounding in his ears, the stars are bright in the canopy of darkness. At the time of O-Kuni, the founder of Kabuki, shibai meant to sit on the grass or earth, and something of its out-of-door origin still remains. The buildings never at any time give the impression that the play is being enacted in some stuffy, mouldy subterranean cavern. Especially in hot weather the audience has a sense of airiness and freedom. Going to the theatre in midsummer is made agreeable and comfortable. White curtains cover the galleries; the audience is clothed for the most part in cool, white cotton kimono, and the entire auditorium is a-flutter with white fans. The playgoer may look away from the stage and rest his eyes by the sight of a moonlit sky, even bats and moths venturing in from their night resting-places, attracted by the bright interior. Sunlight slants through the audience and falls on the upturned faces in the pit, and is reflected in the well-oiled and perfectly arranged coiffure of the Japanese woman. Patches of brilliant sunshine stray upon the stage, touching a golden screen or sumptuous costume. The wind blows, moving the fragile paper lanterns suspended from the galleries or in rows over the stage, shibai’s most characteristic decoration. The heads of the kneeling people in the galleries are outlined against an open space of blue sky, trees, and roofs. Afternoon fades, and the background behind the playgoers changes to dark blue velvet imperceptibly melting into the blackness of night as the play proceeds.