The ideal of China is sincerity but an actor is a pretender. He
appears to be what he is not. Now our ancient wise men felt that
pretense of any sort must have a dangerous reactionary influence on the
character. If a man learns how to be a clever actor on the stage he
may be a skilled deceiver in other walks of life. Moreover, no one to
whom sincerity is as the gums are to the teeth, would wish to acquire
the art of acting as though he were some one else. Hence actors in
China have from ancient times been looked down upon. Actresses, until
the last decade or so, were unknown in China, and a boy who became an
actor could never afterward occupy any position of honor. He, his
children and his grandchildren might be farmers, merchants or soldiers,
but they could never be teachers, literary men or officials. The
Chinese feeling for sincerity, amounting almost to worship, has caused
the profession of an actor in China to be considered a very low one,
and so until the new regime the actor was always debarred from
attending any literary examination, and was also deprived of the
privilege of obtaining official appointment; in fact he was considered
an outcast of society. No respectable Chinese family would think of
allowing their son to go on the stage. As a natural consequent the
members of the Chinese stage have, as a rule, been men who were as much
below the level of moral respectability as conventionalism had already
adjudged them to be below the level of social respectability. Regard
anyone as a mirror with a cracked face and he will soon justify your
opinion of him. If the morals of Chinese actors will not bear
investigation it is probably due to the social ostracism to which they
have always been subjected. The same phenomenon may be seen in
connection with Buddhism. As soon as Buddhism in China ceased to be a
power the priests became a despised class and being despised they have
often given occasion to others to despise them.
I am aware that quite a different view is held of the stage in America
and Europe, and that actors and actresses are placed on an equal
footing with other members of society. This does not, of course, mean
that either America or Europe lays less stress on sincerity than China,
but simply that we have developed in different ways. I have heard of
the old "morality plays", I know that English drama, like the Egyptian,
Greek, and Indian, had its origin in religion, but this alone will not
explain the different attitude assumed toward actors in the West from
that taken up in China.[1] I am inclined to think that the reason why
actors are not despised in the West as they are in China is because the
West considers first the utility of pleasure, and the East the
supremacy of sincerity. Here, as is so frequently the case, apparent
differences are largely differences of emphasis. The West would seem
to emphasize the beauty of the desire to please where Chinese consider
the effect on character or business. The expensive dinners which no
one eats and which I discussed in a previous chapter are an
illustration. No one in China would spend money in this fashion
excepting for some definite purpose.
We Chinese like to flatter, and to openly praise to their faces those
whom we admire. Most Westerners, would, I think, please rather than
admire; most men and women in America and Europe enjoy applause more
than instruction. This recognition of the delicate pleasure of being
able to please some one else naturally attracts quite a different type
to the Western stage from the material usually found in Chinese
dramatic companies, and in a society where everyone acknowledges the
beauty of pleasing another, the position of the actor naturally becomes
both envied and desirable. When therefore a man or woman succeeds on
the European or American stage he or she is looked up to and welcomed
in fashionable society, e.g., Henry Irving had the entree to the
highest society, and his portrait was always found among the notables.
Newspapers published long notices of his stage performances, and when
he died he received as great honors as England could give. During his
lifetime he enjoyed the royal favor of Queen Victoria, who conferred a
knighthood upon him. After his death his biography was published and
read by thousands. All this is quite contrary to the spirit of the
Chinese who, no matter how clever a man may be as an actor, can never
forget that he is a pretender and that the cleverer he is the greater
care exists for guarding one's self against his tricks.
Actresses are no less respected and honored in the West, whereas in
China there are positively no respectable women on the stage. Yet in
the West it is a common occurrence to hear of marriages of actresses to
bankers, merchants, and millionaires. Even ballet-girls have become
duchesses by marriage. The stage is considered a noble profession.
Often, when a girl has a good voice, nothing will satisfy her but a
stage career. A situation such as this is very difficult for a Chinese
to analyze. The average Chinese woman lacks the imagination, the
self-abandon, the courage which must be necessary before a girl can
think of herself as standing alone in a bright light before a large
audience waiting to see her dance or hear her sing. Chinese actresses
were quite unknown until very recently, and the few that may be now
found on the Chinese stage were nearly all of questionable character
before they entered the theater. In the northern part of China some
good Chinese women may be found in circuses, but these belong to the
working class and take up the circus life with their husbands and
brothers for a livelihood.
The actresses of the West are different. They are drawn to the stage
for the sake of art; and it must be their splendid daring as much as
their beauty which induces wealthy men, and even some of the nobility,
to marry these women. Man loves courage and respects all who are brave
enough to fight for their own. In a world where self-love (not
selfishness) is highly esteemed, manhood, or the power of
self-assertion, whether in man or woman, naturally becomes a
fascinating virtue. No one likes to be colleague to a coward. The
millionaires and others who have married actresses--and as actresses
make plenty of money they are not likely to be willing to marry poor
men--meet many women in society as beautiful as the women they see on
the stage, but society women lack the supreme courage and daring of the
stage girl. Thus, very often the pretty, though less educated,
ballet-girl, wins the man whom her more refined and less self-assertive
sister--the ordinary society girl--is sorry to lose.
The suffragettes are too intent just now on getting "Votes for Women"
to listen to proposals of marriage, but when they succeed in obtaining
universal suffrage I should think they would have little difficulty in
obtaining brave husbands, for the suffragettes have courage. These
women, however, are serious, and I do not think that men in the West,
judging from what I have seen, like very serious wives. So perhaps
after all the ballet-girl and actresses will have more chances in the
marriage (I had almost written money) market than the suffragettes.
I may be mistaken in my theories. I have never had the opportunity of
discussing the matter with a millionaire or an actress, nor have I
talked about the stage with any of the ladies who make it their home,
but unless it is their superb independence and their ability to throw
off care and to act their part which attract men who are looking for
wives, I cannot account for so many actresses marrying so well.
What, however, we may ask, is the object of the theater? Is it not
amusement? But when a serious play ending tragically is put on the
boards is that amusement? The feelings of the audience after
witnessing such a play must be far from pleasant, and sometimes even
moody; yet tragedies are popular, and many will pay a high price to see
a well-known actor commit most objectionable imitation-crimes on the
stage. A few weeks before this chapter was written a number of men of
different nationalities were punished for being present at a cockfight
in Shanghai. Mexican and Spanish bullfights would not be permitted in
the United States, and yet it is a question whether the birds or the
animals who take part in these fights really suffer very much. They
are in a state of ferocious exaltation, and are more concerned about
killing their opponents than about their own hurts. Soldiers have been
seriously wounded without knowing anything about it until the
excitement of the battle had died away. Why then forbid cockfighting
or bull-baiting? They would be popular amusements if allowed. It is
certain that animals that are driven long distances along dirty roads,
cattle, sheep, and fowl that are cooped up for many weary hours in
railway trucks, simply that they may reach a distant market and be
slaughtered to gratify perverted human appetites, really suffer more
than the cock or bull who may be killed or wounded in a fight with
others of his own kind. What about the sufferings of pugilists who
take part in the prize-fights, in which so many thousands in the United
States delight? It cannot be pity, therefore, for the birds or beasts,
which makes the authorities forbid cockfighting and bull-baiting. It
must be that although these are exhibitions of courage and skill, the
exhibition is degrading to the spectators and to those who urge the
creatures to fight. But what is the difference, so far as the
spectator is concerned, between watching a combat between animals or
birds and following a vivid dramatization of cruelty on the stage? In
the latter case the mental sufferings which are portrayed are
frequently more harrowing than the details of any bull- or cockfight.
Such representation, therefore, unless a very clear moral lesson or
warning is emblazoned throughout the play, must have the effect of
making actors, actresses and spectators less sympathetic with
suffering. Familiarity breeds insensibility. What I have said of
melodrama applies also, though in a lesser degree, to books, and should
be a warning to parents to exercise proper supervision of their
children's reading.
Far be it from me to disparage the work of the playwright; the plot is
often well laid and the actors, especially the prima-donna, execute
their parts admirably. I am considering the matter, at the moment,
from the view-point of a play-goer. What benefit does he receive from
witnessing a tragedy? In his home and his office has he not enough to
engage his serious attention, and to frequently worry his mind? Is it
worth his while to dress and spend an evening watching a performance
which, however skilfully played, will make him no happier than before?
It is a characteristic of those who are fond of sensational plays that
they do not mind watching the tragical ending of a hero or a heroine,
and all for the sake of amusement. Young people and children are not
likely to get good impressions from this sort of thing. It has even
been said that murders have been committed by youngsters who had been
taken by their parents to see a realistic melodrama. It is dangerous
to allow young people of tender age to see such plays. The juvenile
mind is not ripe enough to form correct judgments. Some time ago I
read in one of the American papers that a boy had killed his father
with a knife, on seeing him ill-treat his mother when in a state of
intoxication. It appeared that the lad had witnessed a dramatic
tragedy in a theater, and in killing his father considered he was doing
a heroic act. He could, by the same rule, have been inspired to a
noble act of self-sacrifice.
After all, the main question is, does a sensational play exercise a
beneficial or a pernicious influence over the audience? If the reader
will consider the matter impartially he should not have any difficulty
in coming to a right conclusion.
Theatrical performances should afford amusement and excite mirth, as
well as give instruction. People who visit theaters desire to be
entertained and to pass the time pleasantly. Anything which excites
mirth and laughter is always welcomed by an audience. But a serious
piece from which humor has been excluded, is calculated, even when
played with sympathetic feeling and skill, to create a sense of gravity
among the spectators, which, to say the least, can hardly be restful to
jaded nerves. Yet when composing his plays the playwright should never
lose sight of the moral. Of course he has to pay attention to the
arrangement of the different parts of the plot and the characters
represented, but while it is important that each act and every scene
should be harmoniously and properly set, and that the characters should
be adapted to the piece as a whole, it is none the less important that
a moral should be enforced by it. The practical lesson to be learned
from the play should never be lost sight of. In Chinese plays the
moral is always prominent. The villain is punished, virtue is
rewarded, while the majority of the plays are historical. All
healthy-minded people will desire to see a play end with virtue
rewarded, and vice vanquished. Those who want it otherwise are
unnatural and possess short views of life. Either in this life or in
some other, each receives according to his deserts, and this lesson
should always be taught by the play. Yet from all the clever dramas
which have been written and acted on the Western stage from time to
time what a very small percentage of moral lessons can be drawn, while
too many of them have unfortunately been of an objectionable nature.
Nearly everyone reads novels, especially the younger folk; to many of
these a visit to a theater is like reading a novel, excepting that the
performance makes everything more realistic. A piece with a good moral
cannot therefore fail to make an excellent impression on the audience
while at the same time affording them amusement.
I am somewhat surprised that the churches, ethical societies and reform
associations in America do not more clearly appreciate the valuable aid
they might receive from the stage. I have been told that some churches
pay their singers more than their preachers, which shows that they have
some idea of the value of good art. Why not go a step further and
preach through a play? This does not mean that there should be no fun
but that the moral should be well thrust home. I have heard of
preachers who make jokes while preaching, so that it should not be so
very difficult to act interesting sermons which would elevate, even if
they did not amuse. People who went to church to see a theater would
not expect the same entertainment as those who go to the theater simply
for a laugh.
In China we do not expend as much energy as Americans and Europeans in
trying to make other people good. We try to be good ourselves and
believe that our good example, like a pure fragrance, will influence
others to be likewise. We think practice is as good as precept, and,
if I may say so without being supposed to be critical of a race
different from my own, the thought has sometimes suggested itself to me
that Americans are so intent on doing good to others, and on making
others good, that they accomplish less than they would if their actions
and intentions were less direct and obvious. I cannot here explain all
I mean, but if my readers will study what Li Yu and Chuang Tsz have to
say about "Spontaneity" and "Not Interfering", I think they will
understand my thought. The theater, as I have already said, was in
several countries religious in its origin; why not use it to elevate
people indirectly? The ultimate effect, because more natural, might be
better and truer than more direct persuasion. Pulpit appeals, I am
given to understand, are sometimes very personal.
Since writing the above I have seen a newspaper notice of a dramatic
performance in the Ethical Church, Queen's Road, Bayswater, London.
The Ethical Church believes "in everything that makes life sweet and
human" and the management state that they believe--"the best trend of
dramatic opinion to-day points not only to the transformation of
theaters into centers of social enlightenment and moral elevation, but
also to the transformation of the churches into centers for the
imaginative presentation, by means of all the arts combined, of the
deeper truths and meanings of life." Personally, I do not know
anything about this society, but surely there is nothing out of harmony
with Christianity in these professions, and I am glad to find here an
alliance between the two greatest factors in the development of Western
thought and culture--the church and the theater. The newspaper article
to which I have referred was describing the "old morality play,
Everyman" which had been performed in the church. The visitor who was
somewhat critical, and apparently unused to seeing the theater in a
church, wrote of the performance thus: "Both the music and the dressing
of the play were perfect, and from the moment that Death entered clad
in blue stuff with immense blue wings upon his shoulders, and the trump
in his hand, and stopped Everyman, a gorgeous figure in crimson robes
and jewelled turban, with the question, 'Who goes so gaily by?' the
play was performed with an impressiveness that never faltered.
"The heaviest burden, of course, falls on Everyman, and the artist who
played this part seemed to me, though I am no dramatic critic, to have
caught the atmosphere and the spirit of the play. His performance,
indeed, was very wonderful from the moment when he offers Death a
thousand boons if only the dread summons may be delayed, to that final
tense scene, when, stripped of his outer robe, he says his closing
prayers, hesitates for a moment to turn back, though the dread angel is
there by his side, and then follows the beckoning hand of Good Deeds, a
figure splendidly robed in flowing draperies of crimson and with a
wonderfully expressive mobile face.
"At the conclusion of the play Dr. Stanton Colt addressed a few words
to the enthusiastic audience, 'Forsake thy pride, for it will profit
thee nothing,' he quoted, 'If we could but remember this more carefully
and also the fact that nothing save our good deeds shall ever go with
us into that other World, surely it would help us to a holier and
better life. Earthly things have their place and should have a due
regard paid to them, but we must not forget the jewel of our souls.'"
I have, of course, heard of the "Passion Play" at Oberammergau in
Germany where the life of Jesus Christ is periodically represented on
the stage, but I say nothing about this, for, so far as I know, it is
not performed in America, and I have not seen it; but I may note in
passing that in China theaters are generally associated with the gods
in the temples, and that the moral the play is meant to teach is always
well driven home into the minds of the audience. We have not, however,
ventured to introduce any of our sages to theater audiences.
The theater in China is a much simpler affair than in America. The
residents in a locality unite and erect a large stage of bamboo and
matting, the bamboo poles are tied with strips of rattan, and all the
material of the stage, excepting the rattan, can be used over again
when it is taken down. Most of the audience stand in front of the
stage and in the open air, the theater generally being in front of the
temple; and the play, which often occupies three or four days, is often
performed in honor of the god's birthday. There is no curtain, and
there are no stage accessories. The audience is thus enabled to
concentrate its whole attention on the acting. Female parts are played
by men, and everything is beautifully simple. There is no attempt to
produce such elaborate effects as I have seen in the West, and of
course nothing at all resembling the pantomime, which frequently
requires mechanical arts. A newspaper paragraph caught my eye while
thinking of this subject. I reproduce it.
"The Century Theater in New York City has special apparatus for
producing wind effects, thunder and lightning simultaneously. The wind
machine consists of a drum with slats which are rotated over an apron
of corded silk, which produces the whistling sound of wind; the
lightning is produced by powdered magnesium electrically ignited;
thunder is simulated by rolling a thousand pounds of stone, junk and
chain down a chute ending in an iron plate, followed by half-a-dozen
cannon balls and supplemented by the deafening notes of a thunder drum."
Although, however, Chinese play-goers do not demand the expensive
outfits and stage sceneries of the West, I must note here that not even
on the American stage have I seen such gorgeous costumes, or robes of
so rich a hue and displaying such glittering gold ornaments and
graceful feathers, as I have seen on the simple Chinese stage I have
just described. Western fashions are having a tendency in our ports
and larger cities to modify some things that I have stated about
Chinese theatrical performances, but the point I wish especially to
impress on my readers is that theatrical performances in China, while
amusing and interesting, are seldom melodramatic, and as I look back on
my experiences in the United States, I cannot but think that the good
people there are making a mistake in not utilizing the human natural
love for excitement and the drama as a subsidiary moral investment.
And, of course, all I have said of theaters applies with equal force to
moving-picture shows.