Village Life in China: A Study in Sociology

by Arthur H. Smith

The person whose capital is used in the costumes, which are the main part of the outfit of a Chinese theatre, is called the “Master of the chest.” The whole outfit may be leased of him by an association of persons, who pay a fixed sum for the use of the costumes, which must be kept in good condition. In a first-class theatre, these costumes are very costly, and include what are called “dragon robes,” and “python robes,” each with double sets of inner garments, of fine quality, and handsomely embroidered. Of these there are at least two suits, five suits of armour, and numberless other articles of clothing, such as trousers, skirts, boots, buskins, etc. Another “chest” contains the accoutrements of the players, as swords, spears, and the like, made of gilded wood.

The value of all these various equipments, in a well-furnished theatre, is said to be fully $5,000, and in those of the cheaper sorts, two-thirds or half as much. Each of the three “chests” in which the stage accoutrements are stored, is in charge of three men, who are responsible for the security and the care of the contents of the cases.

The players are divided into classes which are called by different names, the members of each class receiving pay according to the dignity of their position. There are, for example, two individuals, one civil and one military, who represent high-class historical characters, like Chiang T‘ai-kung, etc. These actors are called lao-shêng. Another class styled hu-shêng, represent personages like Wên Wang, or Chao K‘uang-yin. A third class are assigned to characters like Lü Pu, etc., and these players are called hsiao-shêng. In addition to these are persons of less importance, who represent ladies, officials’ wives, young girls, or others. After these come what may be called clowns, who are termed “flowery-faced,” (hua-lien) subdivided into first, second and third. These represent the bad characters, such as Chou Wang, Ts‘ao Ts‘ao, and the like, down to the lowest class who take the most despised and hateful parts of all. In addition to these main characters, there is a considerable force detailed as soldiers, servants, messengers, or to personify boatmen, innkeepers, and the like. The rear is brought up with a large staff of cooks, water-carriers, etc., whose duty it is to provide for the material comfort of the players in their vagrant life.

Aside from the regular theatrical companies one frequently meets with companies of amateurs who have inherited the art of giving performances on a small scale called “a little theatre.” They are young farmers who delight in the change and excitement of stage life, and who after the crops are harvested are open to engagements until the spring work begins. There may be only fifteen or twenty in the band, but the terms are low, and the food furnished them much better than they would have had at home, and when the season is over they may be able to divide a snug little sum to each performer.

The manager, or lessee of the theatrical equipment, is called a chang-pan, and engages the players for a term of about ten months, beginning early in the spring, and ending before the close of the year. The whole company may number between fifty and a hundred men, and the best actors may be engaged for sums ranging from the equivalent of a hundred dollars for the most skilled, down to a few tens of dollars for the inferior actors, their food in each case being furnished. It is thus easy to see that the expense of maintaining a theatre is a vast drain upon the resources of the lessee, and presupposes a constant succession of profitable engagements, which is a presupposition not infrequently at a great remove from the facts of experience.

The lessee of the theatre supplies himself with the material for the development of actors, by taking children on contract, or apprenticeship, for a fixed period (often three years) according to a written agreement. At the end of their apprenticeship, these pupils are at liberty to engage in any company which they may elect, for whatever they can get, but during their term of indenture, their time belongs to the man who has leased them of their parents. The motive for such a contract on the part of the parents, is to secure a support for the children. Sometimes children run away from home and make engagements on their own account, attracted by the supposed freedom of the player’s life.

The amount which each child receives during the time of his apprenticeship, is the merest pittance, and it is said that in three months at most he can learn all that it is necessary for him to know. A large part of his duties will be to strut about on the stage, and mouth more or less unintelligible sentences in a grandiloquent tone. If the number of plays in which he appears is large, the tax upon the memory may be considerable, but Chinese children can learn by rote with amazing facility, and constant practice must in a short time fix in his memory everything which the young actor requires to remember.

From an Occidental point of view, it would be hard to imagine anything more remote from a life of pleasure, than the constant locomotion, routine drudgery, uncertain and inadequate remuneration of the average Chinese actor. We have never met one who did not admit that it was a bad life. A leading Japanese actor is quoted as saying that the popular notions in regard to the theatre of that country—which is probably in many respects analogous to that of China—are as different from the reality, as clouds from mud. “The hardships endured are as the suffering of Hades, and the world is not benefited a fraction by the actors’ exertion, so they are not useful to society. It is a life to fear and to dread.” There are probably very few Chinese actors who have progressed so far as to entertain, even for a moment, the thought whether their work is a good or an evil to “society.”

It is not uncommon to hear of an exceptionally intelligent District Magistrate who issues proclamations strictly forbidding theatrical performances within his jurisdiction, exhorting the people to save their funds to buy grain and relieve the poor, or to set up public schools. But the only way to enforce these sensible orders of an unusually paternal official, is for him to make constant personal inspection, and see that his commands are heeded. Otherwise, a sum of money judiciously spent at the yamên, will buy complete immunity from punishment. Free schools and charity are too tame for the taste of the people, who demand something “hot-and-bustling,” which a theatrical performance most decidedly is.

It is one of the contradictions which abound in the Chinese social life, that while play-actors are theoretically held in very light esteem, the representation of a play is considered as a great honour to the person on whose behalf it is furnished. Instances have occurred in China, in which such a representation has been offered by the Chinese to foreigners, as an expression of gratitude for help received in time of famine. The motives in such cases, however were probably very mixed, being composed largely of a desire on the part of the proposers to gratify their own tastes, while at the same time paying off in a public manner a technical debt of gratitude.