“I have seen your honourable parents act,” gravely replied Hong. “When the ignorant scoff I have reproved them. The actor’s life is a good one, although in my country we receive no honour, being accounted as the lowest of the low and not being allowed to compete in the examinations; but in your country your King even honours actors, ennobling their ancestors and giving them lands and titles. Is it not so?”
Jack replied that it undoubtedly was so, not knowing himself, but not wishing to throw any doubt on Hong’s knowledge.
“Such actions show merit in a king, and this insignificant person feels sure that the Son of Heaven would be pleased to hear of such pious acts being performed by rulers beyond the Middle Kingdom.”
Jack looked rather bored at this digression, so Hong hastened to continue.
“In this country the actor is never certain of making money for any length of time, and for quite a while my particular troupe suffered great privations. No one wanted stage plays just at that time, and we wandered about, earning a few cash here and there by juggling and reciting, and I spent much time in learning new parts.”
“I have read a story,” Jack interrupted, “in which a clown describes his sorrows at having to be funny on the stage while his wife was dying at home, so I think an actor’s life must often be a sad one.”
“No,” interposed Hong, “I think on the whole it is a merry one. The clown you speak of, if he were a true actor, forgot his sorrows while on the stage, infinitely more so than the merchant who has troubles at home. The true actor feels the part he is acting, whereas the merchant is always himself.”
“Yes: but when you play sad parts do you feel sad?”
“Undoubtedly while playing the part one could cry, but afterwards one can laugh, and there is always the feeling that one has done it well if at the time the sadness was really felt.”
“But what satisfaction does the man who plays the wicked part feel?”