how to reform the Chinese theater. Professor Soong Tsung-faung of the
National University, Peking, for many years a student in France, Germany
and Switzerland, in his book “La Littérature Chinoise Contemporaine”
makes suggestions as follows: 1. Music and drama should be separated,
performances of operas and plays should be made as distinct genres; 2.
An approach should be made to the Aristotelian unities; 3. The false
morality of the stage should be replaced by a realistic presentation of
life; 4. More attention should be paid to effective dialogue; 5. Male and
female rôles should be played by actors of the two sexes respectively;
6. The stage and auditorium of the Chinese theater should be reformed to
resemble that of the modern European theater.
“Europeanize the theater” is, in short, what Professor Soong suggests.
Much the same thing, from a somewhat different angle, is said by Doctor
Hu Shih, professor of philosophy in the same university. He argues that
literature is constantly changing and that such a change is a gradual
progress from low origins to classical perfection. The history of Chinese
drama represents a continuous struggle against formal restrictions which
have been gradually overcome. But in the course of this advance useless
survivals remained intact owing to the conservatism of the Chinese. As
such survivals he mentions ballad singing, military plays (acrobatics), a
conventional manner of walking on the stage, facial painting in a highly
unnatural manner, use of falsetto speech, and musical accompaniment.
These ought to be eliminated, just as the chorus, the mask, and the aside
have long gone out of style in the Western theater. Furthermore, since
progress in literature generally comes about through contact with foreign
literatures (he quotes here the influence of Ibsen on the English stage),
China ought to learn from the Occidental drama. Two things especially
China is in need of: first, the conception of tragedy to take the place
of the eternal happy ending; and second, a conception of dramatic economy.
This same critic has himself written a play, which he modestly calls a
farce. It has been acted very successfully by student dramatic societies
in Peking and other cities. Doctor Hu Shih does not pride himself
particularly on this effort of his, yet, in my opinion, it is by far
the best “modern” play written by a Chinese under the influence of the
Western drama, including some published in American magazines. I shall
reprint it here as an index, showing the direction the Chinese drama of
the future may take. The influence of Mei Lan-fang, as Professor Soong
notes in his book, is in the direction of art for art’s sake, while the
drama of the students and reformers is the play with a purpose.
[Illustration: HU SHIH
Doctor of Philosophy, Columbia University. Professor of Philosophy,
National University, Peking. Author of first critical history of Chinese
philosophy, giving a new evaluation of the ancient sages. Editor, poet,
and author of play reprinted in chapter five. His most important work
was his campaign for the introduction of the vernacular in place of the
dead language of the scholars, a reform that will be of inestimable
consequence in democratizing knowledge among China’s four hundred
million.]
THE GREATEST EVENT IN LIFE
A Farce in One Act by Doctor Hu Shih
_CHARACTERS_—Mr. Tien, a gentleman and scholar.
Mrs. Tien, his wife.
Miss Tien Ah-may, their daughter.
Lee Fuh, their old servant.
A fortune-teller (blind).
_SCENE—A parlor in Mr. Tien’s home. A door on the right leading
to the hall; a door on the left leading to the dining room.
Sofa at the back end. Armchairs. A round table in the center
with flower-vase and writing materials on it. Two chairs beside
the table. A writing desk at the left side of the stage._
_On the walls are hanging rolls of Chinese painting and
writing, together with framed Dutch landscapes, bespeaking the
complexity of taste in a partially modernized Chinese family._
_As the curtain slowly goes up, there is heard the voice of the
fortune-teller, who is seated by the table, and the final notes
of his accompanying string instrument are still audible. Mrs.
Tien is seated on one of the armchairs._
MRS. TIEN—I don’t quite understand what you say. Tell me, what do you
think of this match.
FORTUNE-TELLER—I only speak the truth, Mrs. Tien. We all speak the truth.
You see—
MRS. TIEN—But what is the truth?
FORTUNE-TELLER—I am sorry to say that this match is undesirable. It would
be a very unhappy marriage if your daughter should marry this young man.
MRS. TIEN—Why so?
FORTUNE-TELLER—Well, you see, I only speak the truth. This young man was
born in the year of the Tiger and your daughter was born in the year of
the Rabbit. In the books of fortune-telling, this is called “conquering
the rabbit by the tiger.”
The wife would live in constant fear of being swallowed up. And, as the
conquest is complete, the wife will probably die long before her husband.
I have examined the Month and the Day and the Hour, and found no way to
escape it. Of course I am only telling the truth: please don’t blame my
frankness.
MRS. TIEN—Not at all. I like truth spoken in frankness. I know what you
said is true. For the Goddess of Mercy said the same thing yesterday.
FORTUNE-TELLER—So the Goddess of Mercy also disapproved of this union?
MRS. TIEN—Yes, she said that this couple, if married, will not live long
together.
FORTUNE-TELLER—That’s exactly what I said.
MRS. TIEN—What the Goddess said must be true. But you see, this is a very
important matter; it is the greatest event in my daughter’s life. We
parents cannot take too much care in selecting the best possible mates
for our children. So, having known the Goddess’s opinion, I sent for you
to see if there is any possible escape. You know the words of the gods
are always very brief: one may not be sure of their exact meaning.
FORTUNE-TELLER—Quite so, quite so.
MRS. TIEN—I am glad that you have confirmed the Goddess’s judgment.
(_Rises and hands him some money_) Thank you; here is your pay.
FORTUNE-TELLER—(_Groping for the money_) No, no, that is not necessary.
Thanks, thanks. I am glad that the Goddess has confirmed my truth.
(_Rises_)
MRS. TIEN—Lee Fuh! (_Enter Lee Fuh from the right-hand door_) Show him
out. (_The fortune-teller goes out led by Lee Fuh_)
MRS. TIEN—(_Taking up the red paper on which are written the dates of
the young couple, folds it and puts it back into a drawer of the writing
desk_) It’s a pity!—it’s a pity!—
(_Miss Ah-may Tien enters by the right-hand door. She is a young woman of
about twenty-four, tastefully dressed and wearing a rather anxious look
on her face_)
MISS TIEN—Mother, are you consulting fortune-tellers again? I met one at
the gate. Have you forgotten that father had forbidden fortune-telling in
our house?
MRS. TIEN—Just once more, my dear.
MISS TIEN—But you have promised father never to call fortune-tellers into
our house.
MRS. TIEN—I know that. But you see I can’t help doing it just once more.
I have sent for him to see if you and Mr. Chen—
MISS TIEN—Oh, Oh!—
MRS. TIEN—You see this is the greatest event in your life, and you are my
only child. I can’t let you marry a man with whom you can’t live long.
MISS TIEN—But we _can_!
MRS. TIEN—No, you can’t. The fortune-teller says so.
MISS TIEN—What does he know about us?
MRS. TIEN—And the Goddess of Mercy says so, too.
MISS TIEN—So you have asked the Goddess too? What would father say to
this?
MRS. TIEN—I know your father would object to this, as he always objects
to everything I do. But how can we old folks decide a matter which
concerns your entire life? We are liable to make grave mistakes. But the
gods cannot deceive us. Moreover, the fortune-teller has confirmed what
the goddess said. (_Going to the desk and opening the drawer_) Let me
show you what the goddess said.
MISS TIEN—Oh, no! I don’t want to see it!
MRS. TIEN—(_Closing the door reluctantly_) My dear, don’t be too
obstinate. I like your young man whom you have known during your stay in
Japan. He seems to be a fine fellow. You say you know him well. But you
are young and inexperienced. Even we old folks dare not trust our own
judgment in such important matters. That’s why I went to the Goddess of
Mercy and sent for the fortune-teller. They both said that this match
would be undesirable. It must be true. The fortune-teller said that this
is a case of conquering the rabbit by the tiger, because you were born in
the year of—
MISS TIEN—Please don’t say any more of it. (_Sobbing_) I don’t want to
hear it. I know father will not agree with you. I know he will not.
MRS. TIEN—I will tell him what I have done. He must not give away my
daughter against my wish. (_Approaching her daughter and trying to dry
her tears with a handkerchief_) Now, don’t cry. I’ll leave you to think
it over. Your father will be back soon; I go to see if dinner is ready.
Be a good child and cry no more. (_Goes by the door leading to the dining
room._
_A pause. As Miss Tien looks up, Lee Fuh appears at the door. She beckons
him to come near_)
MISS TIEN—Lee Fuh, I need your help. (_Lee Fuh bows amicably_) My mother
does not want to let me marry Mr. Chen.
LEE FUH—It’s a pity, a great pity. He is such a fine gentleman. He even
bowed to me when I met him this morning at the street corner.
MISS TIEN—Yes, he saw you bring in the fortune-teller and he was afraid
of any sudden change. So he telephoned to me at the school and followed
me back in his motor-car. He may still be waiting at the street corner.
Go and tell him that my mother has made up her mind not to let us marry.
Of course father will help us. Tell Mr. Chen to move his car to the next
street and wait for further news. Go quickly. (_Lee Fuh bows to go_) Come
back. Tell him—tell him—not to be anxious. (_Lee Fuh bows smilingly and
goes by the right-hand door_)
MISS TIEN—(_Goes to the desk and opens the drawer; looks at its contents
without taking it out. Then looks at her watch_) Father ought to be back
now; it is almost twelve. (_Mr. Tien, a man of about fifty, enters by the
right-hand door_)
MISS TIEN—(_Quickly closes the drawer and rises to meet him_) Oh, father,
you are back! Mother was—(hesitates) mother has something to say to
you,—something very important.
MR. TIEN—What’s that? Tell me first what it is.
MISS TIEN—Mother will tell you. (_Runs to the dining-room door and
calls_) Mother, mother, father is back.
MR. TIEN—What’s in this now? (_Sits down in the armchair. Mrs. Tien
enters_) Ah-may told me that you have something very important to say to
me.
MRS. TIEN—Yes, something very important. Now don’t contradict me.
(_Sitting down by the table_) It is about Mr. Chen’s proposal to marry
Ah-may.
MR. TIEN—Yes, I have been thinking about it too.
MRS. TIEN—Good, we all ought to be thinking about it. It is the greatest
event in her life. I was simply overawed at the idea of its importance.
It is true that Ah-may has known this young man for some years during
their stay in Japan. But we don’t know him. How can we be sure of his
character? He is wealthy, but many wealthy young men are simply awful. He
is well-educated, but I have heard many returned students abandon their
wives.
MR. TIEN—What are you driving at?
MRS. TIEN—My point is this. We should not trust our own poor judgments.
At least I can’t, I dare not trust myself in this matter. So I went
yesterday to the Temple of the Goddess of Mercy.
MR. TIEN—What! Have you forgotten what you promised me?
MRS. TIEN—I can’t help it. I did it merely for the sake of our daughter.
MR. TIEN—Pooh, pooh! Go on.
MRS. TIEN—I went there and asked for a Divine Stick. It says that this
match is undesirable. Let me show you the poem on the Stick. (_Going to
the desk_)
MR. TIEN—Pooh, pooh! I don’t want to see it. I’ll have nothing of this
stuff! If you don’t trust yourself, how can you trust such an important
matter to wooden images and clay idols?
MISS TIEN—(_Cheering up_) I know father doesn’t believe in all this.
(_Going to him_) Thank you, father. We should trust our own judgment,
should we not?
MRS. TIEN—But it isn’t the Goddess alone that says no.
MR. TIEN—Who else then?
MRS. TIEN—I still had my doubts, so I sent for the best fortune-teller in
this city.
MR. TIEN—Ahem! You have broken another promise to me.
MRS. TIEN—I know it, but you see this is the greatest event in Ah-may’s
life, and I want to clear up every little doubt in my mind.
MR. TIEN—But, for heaven’s sake, why did you create the doubt by going to
the Goddess? Why didn’t you come to me?
MRS. TIEN—Don’t be blasphemous. Well, the fortune-teller said exactly the
same thing as the Goddess of Mercy. Wasn’t that wonderful?
MR. TIEN—Oh, come. Don’t be foolish. You have no confidence in your own
eyes, so you go and put complete confidence in those who have no eyes at
all!
MISS TIEN—I quite agree with you, father. I knew you would be on our side.
MRS. TIEN—(_To her daughter_) How dare you talk in that manner about
your own marriage? “Our” side? Whose side is “our” side? For shame! You
all conspire against me! (_Putting her face into her handkerchief and
sobbing_) Have I no right to decide my own daughter’s greatest event in
life?
MR. TIEN—Just because this is our daughter’s greatest event in life,
we must go about it in a sane and intelligent manner. We must not be
deceived by wooden images and clay idols,—and blind fortune-tellers. Am I
not right, Ah-may?
MISS TIEN—You are quite right, father. I knew you would not believe in
all this.
MR. TIEN—Now, let us talk seriously. (_To Mrs. Tien_) Don’t cry. No
more childish superstitions! (_To Miss Tien_) Sit down and we’ll have a
serious talk. (_She seats herself on the sofa. A pause_)
MR. TIEN—Ah-may, I don’t want you to marry Mr. Chen.
MISS TIEN—(_Greatly agitated_) Oh, father, you don’t mean it!
MR. TIEN—Yes, I do mean it. This union is impossible. I am sorry.
MISS TIEN—Have you found anything against him?
MR. TIEN—No, I like him very much. I could not possibly choose a better
son-in-law. So much the more I am sorry.
MISS TIEN—(_Puzzled and grieved_) And you don’t believe in the gods and
fortune-tellers?
MR. TIEN—Oh, no.
MRS. TIEN AND MISS TIEN—(_At the same time_) What is it then?
MR. TIEN—(_To Miss Tien_) My child, you have been abroad for so long that
you have forgotten our own custom and etiquette. You have even forgotten
the law of our ancestors.
MISS TIEN—What is the law of our ancestors that forbids our marriage?
MR. TIEN—Let me show you. (_Goes out by the dining-room door_)
MRS. TIEN—What could it be? But I am glad that he is opposed to this
union.
MISS TIEN—(_Reflecting, then suddenly showing determination_) I know what
to do.
MR. TIEN—(_Enters with a set of big folio volumes_) Here is our
genealogy. (_Turning over the leaves_) Look at this long line of our
ancestors and see if there has been any marriage between the Chens (陈)
and the Tiens (田).
MISS TIEN—Why couldn’t there be any marriage between the two families?
MR. TIEN—Because it is the custom of the country to forbid intermarriage
between persons bearing the same family name.
MISS TIEN—But our family is Tien and Mr. Chen’s family name is Chen: we
are not of the same family name.
MR. TIEN—Yes, we are of the same family name. About two thousand five
hundred years ago, these two words, Tien and Chen, were pronounced in the
same way, and our family name was sometimes written in the form of Chen
and sometimes in the form of Tien. As the ages passed by, these two words
came to be pronounced quite differently, and the two branches of our
family had all the appearances of a separate origin. But the philologists
know it, and our family records show that the two families have sprung
from one and the same stock. The law of both the Chen family and the Tien
family forbids intermarriage between them.
MISS TIEN—Does this prohibition apply to persons whose relationship dates
back two thousand five hundred years?
MR. TIEN—Unfortunately it does.
MISS TIEN—Oh, father, surely you don’t believe in the reasonableness of
such a custom.
MR. TIEN—I don’t, but society does and the old scholars do. A story was
told of a peasant woman of the Tien family who married a Mr. Chen by
mistake. But after her death, she was not allowed to occupy a seat in the
ancestral temple until her name was changed into Shen (申) by prolonging
the middle stroke of the word Tien (田).
MISS TIEN—I am willing to prolong the middle stroke of my family name, if
that is the only objection.
MR. TIEN—You are willing, but I am not. I don’t want to be criticized by
the old scholars of our clan on your account.
MISS TIEN—(_Sobbing_) But we are _not_ of the same family!
MR. TIEN—Our genealogy says we _are_, and the old scholars say we _are_.
I have consulted a number of scholars on this point, and they all oppose
this union. You see, in a matter of such importance, although one must
not be deceived by the wooden gods and blind fortune-tellers, one must
respect the opinion of old scholars. And then, your young man is from
a very wealthy family. I don’t want people to think that I sold my
daughter to a rich man at the cost of sacrificing my family name.
MISS TIEN—(_In despair_) Oh, oh! Father! You have destroyed the idols of
superstition, but you bow to the idols of tradition!
MR. TIEN—You are angry with me? Well, I don’t blame you. I understand
your feelings. (_Lee Fuh enters_)
LEE FUH—Dinner is ready. (_All rise except Miss Tien_)
MR. TIEN—Let us talk it over after dinner. Come, I am hungry. (_Goes into
the dining room_)
MRS. TIEN—(_Going to her daughter_) Don’t cry now. We all wish for your
best. Compose yourself and come to dinner.
MISS TIEN—I don’t want dinner.
MRS. TIEN—Don’t be obstinate. We’ll wait for you. (_Goes into the dining
room. Lee Fuh closes the door after her_)
MISS TIEN—(_Looks up and sees Lee Fuh standing_) Is Mr. Chen still
waiting in his car?
LEE FUH—(_In a low voice_) Yes, here is a note for you. (_Hands her a
note_)
MISS TIEN—(_Reads_) “This concerns us alone. Decide for yourself.”
(_Repeating the last sentence_) “Decide for yourself.” Yes. I must decide
for myself. I must! (_To Lee Fuh_) Tell father and mother not to wait for
me. I’ll join them after dinner. (_Lee Fuh bows knowingly and retires.
Miss Tien rises and puts on the cloak which she had taken off when she
first entered. Goes to the desk and writes a note which she leaves under
the flower vase; then she hurries out by the right-hand door. A pause_)
MRS. TIEN—(_From within_) Ah-may, you must come and have dinner with us.
(_Enters_) Where are you? Ah-may!
MR. TIEN—(_From within_) Leave her alone for a while: she is angry with
us. (_Enters_) Where is she?
MRS. TIEN—Where is she? She has gone with her cloak on.
MR. TIEN—(_Seeing the note under the vase, takes it and reads_) “This is
the greatest event in my life. I must decide for myself. I am gone with
Mr. Chen in his car. Good-by!”
(_Mrs. Tien sinks into the armchair. Mr. Tien rushes to the door and then
hesitates. Curtain._)
[Illustration]
CHAPTER SIX
EXTERNAL ASPECTS OF THE CHINESE THEATER
Foreigners in general regard the Chinese theater as noisy, dirty, and
dull, and therefore as a most unattractive spot; yet the Chinese must
think differently about it, for the houses are always crowded. When still
at a great distance from the theater one can hear a horrible racket
of drums, cymbals, and screeching string instruments. On entering the
building one is struck by the lack in the Chinese of the sense of how
to make things attractive, for, just as one enters a Chinese restaurant
through a dirty kitchen, so one often enters a theater through the
laundry; four or five men are seen in the “foyer” bending over steaming
tubs, washing towels, essentials in a Chinese theater the use of which
the spectator is soon to learn. On entering one finds the house—which,
by the way, is arranged like a beer garden with the spectators seated at
little tables—packed to the last seat. But the usher says nothing about
S. R. O.; he leads you somewhere and as the other spectators seem to
telescope you are asked to sit down either at a table or on a bench which
has before it a board to hold the teapot and watermelon seeds that arrive
the minute you have taken your seat.
As you settle down and look about, you find yourself in the usual kindly,
dirty, ill-smelling, smoking, talking, shouting, eating crowd that
one finds everywhere in China. Everybody is glad to give the newcomer
information or a match; the inimitable, gentle Peking old men with their
pairs of walnuts in their right hands which they roll around to keep
their fingers supple for writing Chinese characters, drink tea, and smoke
pewter water pipes, smiling the carefree smile that old age has graven
on their faces. Waiters are continually walking around, jostling the
spectators and shouting the merits of their tobacco, candy, fruit or what
not, and depositing teapots and steaming dishes of food wherever they
are wanted. The most spectacular thing is the manner in which the towels
arrive. One waiter throws them to the other in tightly wrapped bundles,
the pitcher standing near the entrance and the catcher near the stage
or wherever people need to wipe their hands and faces. In hurling these
bundles they show an unfailing aim and in catching they never miss. Even
though one of these soggy masses of steaming cloth seems headed straight
for your face, you need not dodge, for without fail a waiter’s hand will
always be stretched out to catch it and all that the drama lover will
ever suffer is to have a fine mist sprinkled over his face. Needless to
say for this he neither expects nor receives any sympathy—not even a
passing notice. A great many soldiers—about whom the Chinese says the
worst thing he can think of, that they are “rough”—are admitted free, not
because the manager is exceedingly patriotic, but because he thinks that
discretion is better than having the door kicked in. In the gallery are
seated the women, also eating, drinking, smoking and chattering. How much
attention does this audience pay to the play? About as much as we do to
the music in a restaurant. They don’t come for a few hours’ excitement,
they come to pass the day that hangs heavy on their hands. As one French
returned student put it, “In Europe one works during the day and amuses
oneself at night; in China one amuses oneself during the day and sleeps
at night.”
[Illustration: A TYPICAL PEKING AUDIENCE WITH THE INEVITABLE TEAPOTS
From Jacovleff, “Le Théâtre Chinois”]
The returned student finds the Chinese theater very little to his taste,
but yet he goes because Chinese social life is so dull that there is
nothing better to do. Comforts in our sense are lacking absolutely in
these theaters. You sit on stools without backs, your feet rest on stone
slabs when the thermometer is hovering about zero and the cold wind is
blowing down on Peking from Mongolia; there is absolutely no effort
at heating or ventilation—it is Chinese animal heat that keeps the
spectators comfortable and in a frame of mind to enjoy the performance.
Yet these discomforts are felt only by those used to Western standards of
life, for nine out of ten who leave the theater after the last villain
has been duly punished go to houses that are likewise unheated and have
no light, no agreeable company, and of course no play to charm the soul
away from reality.
Peking is the real center of Chinese drama, the city that sets the
style for the rest of the country so far as native drama is concerned.
Innovations of Occidental nature generally have their origin in
Shanghai and are adopted later on in Peking; such imitations of Western
institutions are, for example, the amusement arcades called in both
cities “The New World”; boxes in the theaters in which men and women
sit together; and, of course, motion pictures, at first imported from
Europe and America, but in recent years manufactured by Chinese firms in
China. But as regards the native theater, Shanghai learns from Peking.
The language of the theater, in general, is the Peking dialect spoken
by actors all over China. Famous actors from Peking regularly visit
Shanghai. It is only in Peking and the treaty ports that regular theaters
exist. The vast majority of the four hundred million also have their
plays, but they are dependent for them on traveling companies, that set
up their mat-shed theaters wherever the citizens are willing to pay them
for acting. Thus the political capital Peking is also the leading city
for Chinese drama.