You will see the Mandarin, (Mandarin appears, bows, and disappears) rich, proud, majestic, with eyes for everything that may tend to make him more powerful, but superbly blind to virtue and worth in the humble.
Kwen-lin, his daughter (Kwen-lin appears, bows, and retires) is swayed by love alone; a dangerous practice usually, but in this story, one begging your approval. Do not judge her harshly, in that her heart leads her. Remember she is a woman. Much may be forgiven women.
(The Property Man appears, bows, and looks inquiringly at Chorus, who hesitates an instant, and then, as if fulfilling a rather unpleasant duty, proceeds.) I would I might ignore the Property Man. He composed a version of this poetic tale, putting in all the ugly truths, and serenely forgetting all the possible flower like episodes. As artists we could not consider it. (Property Man with a slight shrug leaves stage.) The Property Man is not sufficiently large minded to accept our ripe and impartial opinion. He is superbly indifferent to the luminous fruit from his successful rival's quill, and will probably sulk through his duties. That you may not be disturbed by his presence, we have clothed him invisibly in black, and you will therefore be spared the pain of seeing him at all.
I fear I have kept you all too long from the feast prepared for your delectation. If my brothers behind the curtain show not that histrionic merit you so rightly demand, I pray you be lenient, and listen with ears, and see with eyes, not too critical. I conduct you at once to the moon-lit garden of the wealthy Mandarin, where Chang-sut-yen is loitering, hoping to meet there the Mandarin's beautiful daughter, Kwen-lin, who smiles on him. Is it not traditionally the fashion of women to adore most that youth who is forbidden?
I bow to you for your attentively honorable ears. I bow. I bow. (Gong-bearer strikes gong. Chorus walks to left of stage, and curtains are pulled apart, revealing Chang-sut-yen standing before the back drop.)
Chang-sut-yen—(Singing.) Bor lo un doy, bor lo un doy, chin lo, chin lo, bor lo un doy. Kwen-lin will know that song. It is nothing, it says nothing, therefore it is pregnant with meaning, and my Bright Water-lily will understand. (Singing.) Bor lo un doy, bor lo un doy, chin lo, chin lo, bor lo un doy. She will come, dancing like sun-rays on the flowers of my mind, and I will press my honorable lips to hers, and our solemn breaths will mingle. Though I seem but a servant, I am Chang-sut-yen, son of Chang-won-yin, the Great, ruler of this province. (Gong-bearer strikes gong.) I am also the most glorious lover the Gods have made. My soul was fashioned from the wind of Heaven, and the purple fire of the mountain peak. My illustrious body is the sturdy tree to which maidens will ever sigh their timid love.
Chorus—It is the Mandarin who walks this way.
Chang-sut-yen—(Singing.) Bor lo un doy, bor lo un doy, chin lo, chin lo, bor lo un doy,—who comes? Alas, not Kwen-lin the fragrant, but my master. He will spit anger that I linger in the garden. I must summon my snake tongue to puzzle his cow-brain, lest he suspect I wait for her. I will divest myself of my honorable senses, and speak with an empty head. I will be gloriously fool possessed. (Singing.) Bor lo un doy, bor lo un doy, chin lo, chin lo, bor lo un doy.
(Enter Mandarin.)
Mandarin—The night is full of chill. If the God of Frost bites his sharp teeth into my fruit trees, they will perish. Br-r-r, cold!