and the Black Snake” (Po She Chuan), taken from a novel of the same
name. Two snake demons took on the form of lovely virgins. One day they
quarreled and the White Snake said to the black, “If you can defeat me
in a fight I’ll serve you, but if you are beaten you shall be my slave.”
The White Snake won and according to the agreement the other became
her servant. In a former incarnation a certain young man had saved the
life of the White Snake and she decided to reward him by becoming his
beautiful and loving wife. Their marriage was indeed a very happy one
for a time. It is a Chinese custom on the fifth day of the fifth month
to drink a cup of wine containing a certain blossom which acts as a
charm against venomous animals. Hsü Hsuan, the husband, followed this
custom and gave some also to his unsuspecting wife. The White Snake felt
uncomfortable after this draught and retired early. Hardly had she gone
to sleep when she lost her human form and was changed into a snake. When
her husband later on parted the curtains of their bed, he saw a huge
white snake lying there, raising her head toward him and spewing fire.
Hsü Hsuan was so frightened that he fell to the ground dead. Aroused by
the noise, the Black Snake came on the scene and awoke her mistress, who
on awakening once more took on human form. When she realized what she had
unwittingly done, she burst into tears; but she soon recalled that on the
mountain dominated by the God of Long Life there grew an herb capable of
restoring the dead to life. She hurried to this mountain to steal a bit
of the herb. But the God of Long Life saw her and in great anger pursued
her. By means of enveloping her in the fumes of a charm against snakes he
captured her; but on learning for what purpose she had come to steal he
not only released her, but presented her with the herb. By means of it
the dead man was soon restored to life.
The two demons wished to please Hsü Hsuan in every way, but in doing
him favors they harmed the community. They robbed the state treasury to
enrich their favorite; but the treasurer was beheaded in consequence.
Thereupon they opened a drug store and in order to make the business
prosper they spread various diseases in the village. But the abbot of a
nearby monastery discovered their tricks. He visited Hsü Hsuan under the
pretense of collecting alms and warned him that he had better come for
a time to the monastery to be freed from the influence of evil demons
that were besetting him. Hsü Hsuan, who remembered only too well his
experience on the fifth day of the fifth month, was glad to go. He told
his wife that he was going to the temple to worship.
But when her husband failed to return, the White Snake decided to go
to the monastery to seek him. On the way she confessed to her servant
that she was soon going to give birth to a child, an event which she
hoped would give great pleasure to Hsü Hsuan. The two snakes in human
form rode in a boat to the monastery which was located on an island.
The abbot met them and sternly ordered them off lest he destroy them
utterly by means of his magic power. Full of anger the two demons drew
their magic swords against the abbot, but the latter tossed into the
air his cane with a dragon’s head, which was changed immediately into
a living dragon and attacked the two snakes so savagely that they were
forced to flee for their lives. But by means of their magic they sent a
flood which threatened to destroy the island. The abbot, surrounded by
all his priests, spread his garment at the edge of the water, thereby
causing the island to rise in the same degree as the water. At this point
K’uei Shing, god of the literati, arrived like the _deus ex machina_ of
a Euripidean play. He had been sent by Wen Chang, the god of science and
literature, to put an end to the quarrel because the son of Hsü Hsuan and
the White Snake was destined to obtain the highest degree in the literary
examinations. Thus the island was saved and the snakes returned home
unscathed.
Hsü Hsuan, on the abbot’s advice, also set out for home, and met his wife
with her servant on a bridge. The Black Snake drew her sword to avenge
on him the humiliation done her mistress, but the White Snake protected
him from the fury of her servant. Both were overcome by their emotions;
they wept in silence, unable to put their feelings into words, in this
struggle between love and fear. Soon afterward the son was born; but
three days later the god Wen Chang abducted the two demons to his magic
pagoda, while Hsü Hsuan was left in wistful happiness with his promising
son, the greatest boon in the life of a Chinese.
This charming story, by the way, forms the basis of Grimm’s tale, “The
White and the Black Snake.”
I have never seen the first part of this play, but on several occasions
I saw the visit of the snakes to the island monastery called “Chin
Shan-tze.” One of these performances was at the annual benefit for the
poor riksha-runners of Peking organized by that widely beloved American
missionary, Mrs. Goodrich. As the play was given at the theater of the
foreign community, many of the crudities and incongruities of the Chinese
stage were absent. The orchestra was not sitting on the stage and was
muffled somewhat. Back and side drops with good lighting effects served
to set off well the colorful robes of the shaven-headed monks praying
before an immense image of Buddha. The fighting staged by the demon
warriors was an exhibition of graceful and acrobatic movements that would
do credit to a Russian ballet. The story with all its pathos was very
well acted, so that the whole formed a memorable performance such as
would, I am sure, delight American audiences if a theatrical manager were
to engage Mei Lan-fang with his troupe for a tour.
In Chapter Six are mentioned the many seasonal plays of the Chinese
theater which make of this institution a true folk theater. In concluding
this chapter I shall quote a synopsis of the libretto of “Ch’ang-O Pin
Yüeh” (Ch’ang-O’s Flight to the Moon). This playlet is one of those into
which Mei Lan-fang has woven his graceful dances, an innovation on his
part on the Chinese stage. I follow the translation given on the program
at a performance before the American College Club on November 17, 1917.
FOREWORD
The youthful Emperor Ho Yi of the Hsia Dynasty (about 2,000 B.C.) being
of divine origin, as a child played with fairies. When he grew to
manhood, he was in a dream led by fairies to the palace of the Heavenly
Queen, Hsi Wang Mu, who gave the young Emperor the Elixir of Life.
Ch’ang-O, the Imperial Concubine of Ho Yi, famed for her grace and
beauty, learned of this precious gift and in childish innocence drank
it, scarcely realizing what she had done. Filled with remorse and shame,
upon being apprised of the gravity of her offence, she flew to the moon,
where because of her wonderful beauty she was elected by the moon fairies
as their queen. The scene of the play is laid in the moon and has to do
with the preparations for and the celebration of the Mid-Autumn Festival
with Ch’ang-O, the Queen of the Moon, as the central figure and the moon
fairies and their invited guests as participants.
SYNOPSIS
FIRST ACT.—The scene depicts a garden blossoming in celestial
flowers, with Ch’ang-O plucking the flowers to be used in
making the wines for the Mid-Autumn Festival Banquet.
CH’ANG-O opens with a song in praise of the beautiful surroundings in
which she is about to pick flowers. (_Speaks_) Since arriving in the
Moon, I have had a very pleasant time. The hot summer is now past and
Mid-Autumn is come. In preparation for the celebration of the Festival,
I look forward with delight to the making of wine for the entertainment
of the fairies whom I am inviting to my feast. (_Sings_) Deftly though I
roll up my sleeves and lightly though I pluck the flowers, I cannot help
brushing off the bees and butterflies. This sprig is full of fragrance
and is weighed down with abundance and splendor. That one is yet in bud.
And when I lift up my eyes I behold above me a tree that reaches to the
clouds. Lifting my hand I begin to pluck the flowers. (_Speaking_) Ah!
How beautiful! I have so soon filled my basket with flowers, and now I
must carry them home to make my wine. (_Singing_) How thickly do the
butterflies follow in my trail!
SECOND ACT.—The Moon Fairies invite other fairies to the
Banquet.
THIRD ACT.—The invited guests proceed to the Banquet Hall.
FOURTH ACT.—The Moon Palace. The Moon Fairies dust the Palace
and make preparations for the coming Banquet and the receiving
of their guests.
FIFTH ACT.—The Banquet. Ch’ang-O, under the influence of wine,
soliloquises on the lonesomeness of her life amid her present
surroundings and yearns for the companionship of mortals and
more particularly of Ho Yi.
CH’ANG-O (_singing_). Forsaking the mortal world, I have come to the Moon
to be Queen of the Fairies. My time has passed so pleasantly and fast
that I have lost all count of time. I have gathered flowers and made
wine, and have invited other fairies to join me on this festive occasion.
(_Sitting in meditation_) Spring and autumn come and go, as the evening
follows the morn. My time has flown by pleasantly amidst these beautiful
surroundings. Once a year the moon is fullest on this night. Heaven
and earth are happy in mutual enjoyment. (_Speaking_) This day is the
Mid-Autumn Festival. I have directed the Palace to be dusted and cleaned.
The attendants have conveyed the invitations to the fairies to share with
me in my happiness. You, attendants, await their arrival. (_The fairies
arrive and sit down to feast._)
FAIRIES. O Queen! behold the mortal world! See how every family on earth
prepares its delicious food and wine to offer to thee as sacrifice?
(_Ch’ang-O speaking_) Let me look. (_Ch’ang-O is moved and the fairies
speak._)
FAIRIES. Why, Queen, dost thou feel so sad?
CH’ANG-O. Look at the mortals and see how they celebrate in couples. A
hundred times better are they than we who lead a lonesome life.
FAIRIES. Do not speak thus, O Queen! But partake more of this beautiful
wine and drown thy sorrow.
CH’ANG-O. Then let us drink. (_Lifts her cup._)
(_Ch’ang-O is overcome with wine and the fairies take their leave._)
CH’ANG-O. When we were feasting I perceived how mortals celebrated this
happy occasion in couples and enjoyed each other’s company. The thought
of my lonely life fills me with sorrow. (_Singing_) I go down by marble
steps and part the crystal curtains to see how mortal couples live and
prepare fresh fruits and delicious wines to celebrate the Festival.
Here I see a family feasting and chatting, there a group walking hand
in hand, and others while away their time in their modest homes, while
I sit in my Palace, lonely and companionless. Ah! who is there to pity
me? (_Speaking_) Deeply do I regret my offence of stealing the Elixir of
Life. As punishment I am now destined to spend my nights in sorrow.
(_Fairies reappear to escort Ch’ang-O to visit the Heavenly Queen, Hsi
Wang Mu._)
(_Exeunt all._)
[Illustration]
CHAPTER FIVE
MODERN TENDENCIES
During the last decades of the Ch’ing Dynasty, that is to say about forty
years ago, many of the idle and rich members of the ruling class, the
Manchus, developed an interest in the theater. The government provided
these men with an income but imposed no duties on them; and while a large
number filled the time that hung heavy on their hands by smoking opium,
others imitated the work of the socially disinherited actor. Sometimes
princes of the royal family appeared on the stage in much the same spirit
of a search for new sensations in which others impersonated beggars on
the streets. Naturally enough, such undignified behavior was highly
disapproved of in government circles, and therefore the idlers who spent
most of their time in the theaters found it more expedient to perform in
private when their artistic natures felt the itch for self-expression.
For this purpose clubs were formed called _p’iao yu_, friends of the
theater or amateurs. It is interesting to note that many of the palaces
of the princes of the Manchu Dynasty in the vicinity of Peking are
provided with stages where the theater lovers could perform in private.
Many wealthy merchants followed this fashion set by the princes, and in
recent years also a large number of students have devoted their leisure
time to the study of acting. To-day the number of amateurs in Peking is
enormous; there is such a craze for acting that every photographer’s
shop is provided with costumes and other theatrical paraphernalia in
order that the _p’iao yu_ may have his picture taken in the rôle of his
favorite character.
Among this class of amateurs the tendency is to be very conservative.
When a club is formed the members hire an old and experienced actor who
teaches them to sing and to act in the traditional manner. Once a month
performances are given at which the amateurs show what they have learned.
Frequently, too, these tyros are given opportunities to act at weddings,
funerals, or other festivities held in private homes or in restaurants.
To belong to such a club is within the reach of even the ordinary clerks,
for the dues are about four dollars a year. I have known former members
of the diplomatic corps who had spent many years abroad as well as
ten-dollar-a-month clerks among the ranks of the amateurs.
When an amateur goes over to the professional stage the Chinese call
it “_hsia hai_”, going down to the bottom of the sea, an expression
that indicates the low esteem in which the professional actor is held.
However, in these days of the Republic, when the social disqualification
of the actor counts for very little, and what is more important, a good
actor can command the equivalent of a princely income of the days of the
Empire, the actor is no longer despised so thoroughly as in former days.
Formerly an actor who could read and write was a notable exception, while
now occasionally a fairly well-educated man goes on the stage.
I know, for example, a youth of twenty who had been carefully trained
by a devout American lady in the Christian way in which he was to go.
She had taught him stenography and typing, and Percy, as all Americans
called him, worked in an office in a modest but useful capacity. Suddenly
rumor had it that he was going to go on the stage and, to be sure, an
enterprising manager had offered him about forty times the sum the office
was paying him. Many of the pious folk felt grieved when Percy accepted.
[Illustration: AMATEUR ACTORS IN AN OLD-STYLE CHINESE PLAY
The face painting of the actor on the right shows him to be a wicked man,
probably a robber. The other is the hero of the piece, a young warrior.]
Percy’s going on the stage was perhaps more of a surprise to some other
people than to me, for I had not only seen him perform several times with
other amateurs at weddings, but I had also observed him during office
hours studying Mei Lan-fang’s acting in the Market Theater. One hot
summer night I went to a feast where Percy had told me that he was going
to play. In the first courtyard of the host’s large residence a score of
guests were eating delicious Chinese food and drinking cool beer, while a
temporary stage had been erected in the second courtyard. Accompanied by
loud music from the orchestra an indifferent play was going on; therefore
I set out to find my hero of the evening. I found Percy seated at a table
back of the stage busy with his make-up. On his head he was wearing a
wig, his eyebrows were penciled, his cheeks rouged, and he was busy
painting his eyeballs.
“Good heavens, Percy,” I said. “What are you doing to your eyes?”
“I have to put Chinese ink into them to make my pupils large and black.”
“Doesn’t it hurt like the very Satan?”
“Oh, yes, it hurts pretty badly, but when it’s done it looks lovely.”
How I wished that Percy’s missionary sponsors might have seen the
show! As imitator of Mei Lan-fang he played the rôle of the maid, and
he certainly looked beautiful. The maid in this particular farce (“Yi
Tsai Hua”, one of the plays forbidden by the police!) is sent by her
mistress—who is minded to improve her husband’s absence—to induce a
handsome young man to come to the lady’s boudoir. But the maid prefers,
unlike John Alden, to speak for herself! So she sets about destroying
the young man’s virtue, while the efforts of the youth to escape her
coquettish wiles supply the comic element. It was a bedroom farce, and
I noticed with pride the effects of Percy’s Christian training—he used
sheets on his bed!
But in recent years other groups of amateurs have arisen with the
definite purpose of reforming the Chinese theater. In 1915 a group of
returned students from Japan who had derived their inspiration from
modern European dramas they had seen in Tokyo founded a dramatic club in
Shanghai called “The Spring Willow Dramatic Society.” Their aim was to
educate the taste of the public both as regards modern drama and modern
staging. They introduced non-musical, spoken drama acted on a stage with
footlights and scenery. “La Dame aux Camélias” and “Uncle Tom’s Cabin”
formed part of their repertoire. But they found only a small following
composed of students and people who had been abroad, and therefore
this effort was discontinued after one year. Shanghai is the logical
spot for such modern theaters—there have been quite a number of others
since—because Occidental influence is stronger in this city than anywhere
else in China, and the Southerners on the whole are less conservative
than the Northerners.
One of the idealists of the “Spring Willow Society”, on finding that
the audiences were not yet ready for drama in the European style, began
to act in the Chinese theater the rôle of the ingénue (_Ch’ing-I_ and
_Hua-tan_). However, he made the reform of avoiding all plays that taught
superstitions and of turning to social plays with a purpose. But this
experiment did not succeed very well either, and therefore in 1920 he
accepted the position of director of the dramatic club in Nantun, in the
province of Kiangsi, endowed by Mr. Chang Chien, one of the wealthiest
business men in China. This gentleman believes that the theater is an
instrument of great potential force in making over society and that
through the proper kind of theater his fellow countrymen can be made
honest and patriotic. Nantun is an industrial city and an educational
center with ten middle schools and three colleges, and therefore a
favorable location for an experimental theater. Moreover, through Mr.
Chang Chien’s influence, a course in dramatics has been made a part of
the curriculum in all the schools, in order that every student may learn
to act. The students, Mr. Chang Chien hopes, will spread the message of
the modern drama far and wide by giving performances in their native
towns and villages.
Such a tour of student actors, from quite another educational center, to
be sure, was described to me by one of my students, Mr. Jung Tu-shan.
The lad undoubtedly had considerable talent as an actor—I remember
particularly a performance of “Maître Patelin” given at the Peking
Union Medical College in which he played the leading part with great
success. In the year 1917, thirty-six students, all from the vicinity
of Wusih, set out to perform plays in all the villages in the district.
They carried with them some painted scenery and each student supplied
his costumes and traveling expenses. The families of different students
acted as hosts to the whole company in the various villages visited.
Performances were given in the afternoon. In the course of the morning
the stage was gotten ready—usually the stage at the village temple. Four
coppers admission fee was charged to pay for the cost of transporting the
scenery, and the surplus was given to various charitable enterprises.
The audiences numbered from two hundred to eight hundred spectators.
The plays were propaganda against opium smoking and foot binding or—as
this was the time of the patriotic fervor of the students—anti-Japanese
agitation. The most popular play was “The Sorrowful Korean”, in which
the maltreatment of Koreans by the Japanese was graphically portrayed,
together with the warning that the same thing would happen to the Chinese
if they did not show more patriotism. After the representation of the
pulling out of finger nails or other tortures, the cry of “boycott the
Japanese” would arise among the spectators, and those who had had the
forethought to provide themselves with Japanese-made umbrellas would
start a bonfire with them. Next, everybody would swear never again to
buy Japanese goods. At times, too, improvised plays would be given in
which the foibles or crimes of certain natives of the village would
be castigated. Some professional blackmailers whose machinations were
publicly exposed became very angry at the students, but since they were
sons of wealthy and influential men they could not harm them. It is quite
a favorable testimonial for the native ability of the Chinese as actors
that such plays could be gotten up at a moment’s notice; the method of
the students was for one of the members to tell the story in the morning,
while in the afternoon those who had been awarded the various parts would
act it out. Mr. Jung Tu-shan is of the opinion that for his illiterate
countrymen such performances are of vast educational value, especially
since newspapers are few and travel is rather restricted.
It would lead too far afield to enumerate even a small number of the
professional companies and student clubs now presenting “modern drama”,
i.e. drama in imitation of the present-day drama of the West. Moreover
most of these undertakings are very short-lived. The professional
companies are generally found in Shanghai where many a modern European
or American drama has been presented for better or for worse. The best
work among the student dramatic clubs has been done by the one at Nankai
College, Tientsin. In the _Quarterly_ of that institution many plays have
been published dealing with Chinese life in imitation of the manner of
Ibsen, Tolstoy, Shaw, and other moderns. One play from this school, “The
New Mayor”, was singled out for particular praise by a revolutionary
critic, because it overthrew one of the ancient traditions of the Chinese
drama—the villain is not punished at the end of the play. This play too
is quite realistic and “peculiarly” Chinese.
Mr. Tsao, the mayor of a village, together with three other unscrupulous
men, agrees to sell to a European company the land around the village
temple on which are situated the huts of many poor people. The agents of
the foreign company begin to drive off the poor people and cause untold
suffering among them. At this point a nephew of the mayor appears on
the scene. He has been studying in a “modern” school in Shanghai and
has acquired some conceptions of honesty and pity. He takes the matter
of the illegal sale to court and when he appears followed by a mob of
the poor the court annuls the contract of sale. There is even some talk
of punishing the four guilty scoundrels. In this crisis the son of the
mayor rushes to one of the three other villains, named Hou, in order to
plan for his father’s safety. Mr. Hou tells him that the only thing to
do is to bring him $4000 for bribes, with which he says he can save the
situation. The family of the mayor sell all their property in order to
raise this large sum, so that only the hope of future extortions stands
between them and absolute poverty. After what has passed the mayor is
forced to resign, but Mr. Hou promises to do all he can to influence the
election to the effect that the son succeed his father as mayor and the
office remain in the family. With this understanding the mayor’s family
pay out the $4000. But when the votes are counted it is found that the
new mayor is none other than Mr. Hou!