sation. Indeed, the civilization of a people his head. As the commissioner is an old must be highly advanced before it can be made to yield up much in this way. In order to talk well there must be something to talk about, and the Chinese life is peculiarly barren of great themes. Nobility of thought, Shakspere's subjective search for the infinite secrets of the heart, is nowhere to be found; the atmosphere of Chinese art is everywhere pervaded by a fantastic spirit of unrest. Besides, most of the Chinese acting plays are, like those of the early Italian stage, the merest "outlines," the dialogue in most cases being left almost entirely to the spontaneous improvisation of the actor. Yet, strange enough, the conversations do not seem to lose much by the process, and appear quite as pointed and confined to the action as if they had been committed to memory. Indeed, in spite of the fact that there are often five or six characters on the stage at the same time, no one of the actors interferes with the other, the whole performance having the deliberate air of preparation.* From a Fu-Cheng frequently played in the Chinese theaters of San Francisco is taken the following scene : The Emperor of China is at war with a feudatory vassal; but thus far, owing to the abilities of an opposing general who is the military governor of a fortified place of great strength, the advance of the Emperor's troops has been effectually checked. It becomes a matter of some importance to win this general over. The Emperor, therefore, appoints a commissioner of great learning and tried diplomatic ability with a view to this end. Arrived at the city's gates, the commissioner is received with great courtesy by the governor, who, it seems, is an old friend and formerly a good subject of the Emperor, but one who, embittered by imaginary wrongs and misled by false counsel, had gone over to the enemy. The commissioner is invited to partake of a repast; but, once fairly seated at the governor's table (or, rather, at his own, for there is a separate table for each guest at a Chinese dinner), he delicately broaches the subject of the treaty which is the object of his mission. The governor, who is a soldier merely, and distrusts his ability as a diplomat, refuses to discuss the question, remarking, by way of parenthesis, that he has made a law that any one who even mentions the name of the country the commissioner represents, much less anything relating to its affairs, shall receive for the first offense four lashes; for the second, eight; and for the third, he shall lose friend, he hopes that he will not push him to extremities, a word to the wise, as it were. The commissioner is quite unruffled by the governor's words, and replies gravely, "You are perfectly right; a law is a law, and must be obeyed." He immediately, however, violates the law. The sheriff approaches him and leads him out to be lashed. The orchestra plays a mournful air; the four lashes are distinctly heard; and the commissioner returns very sore and in great pain. The governor is visibly affected, but controls himself with an effort. "I am very sorry," he says, "and I have to apologize for the pain I have caused you; but you should have paid attention to what I said." "Your order must be obeyed," replies the commissioner, with a low bow; "and if I have violated the laws, it is only right that I should take the consequences." But, after some further conversation, the laws are again violated. The governor is this time fairly transported with rage. Down comes his fist upon the table. "Give him eight lashes," he bawls out. The sheriff again approaches. "Eight lashes?" asks the aged commissioner of that functionary. "That is the order." "But, Mr. Sheriff, I tell you, I can't stand it; I could hardly stand four! It must be, eh? Well, if it must, I suppose it must. Let's go quickly and have it over with as soon as possible. But I say, my good fellow," continues the commissioner in a lower tone, "go easy this time, will you?" Again the commissioner leaves the stage. Again there is a moment of dread suspense. The eight lashes are indicated by the orchestra as before, and the commissioner returns. This time, as he enters, he fairly falls down on the stage ge with exhaustion, and is hardly able to take his seat. The governor is melted with sympathy, though he is out of all patience with the commissioner's obstinacy. "You ought to have better sense. You are an educated man. You ought to be able to regulate your tongue. I tell you, once for all, this order must be obeyed." "What you say," replies the commissioner, "is perfectly true. The mountain does not yield! The sun and wind do not stop! Your order must be obeyed." But in spite of his expressed respect for law and order, the commissioner perversely * It is a curious fact, not generally known perhaps, that the actors of the Italiens of Paris insisted, as late as 1783, on having "outlines" from the pen of Goldoni in lieu of his more finished pieces. "By the Goddess of Mercy, it is high time Special Notice. - Four genuine girls will draw the junk. I was doing some thinking. See here, friend of mine, it is true that I have violated your To conclude with a short piece entitled: order three times; but you, look you, have THE FISHERWOMAN KILLS HER WICKED violated three laws of nature. It is you there fore who ought to be lashed and have your head cut off." "I!" replies the governor with great astonishment. "Certainly. I will convince you of this, under three heads. "First. You do not belong to this country. You belong, on the contrary, to my country. And yet you fight for this country against yours and mine! Are you not a traitor? "Second. You are not without family ties in your country and in mine - you have a brother and sister, yea, a father, even. Are you not unfilial? “Third. We were old schoolmates together, the same as brothers. And yet you gave me four and eight lashes, and now you seek to chop my head off! Is not this a violation of the principle of fraternal love? And have you not therefore violated the three natural laws of being?" This extraordinary exordium proves quite too much for the man of war. He breaks down completely, in fact, and is persuaded to accompany the commissioner. So they both throw their legs over their imaginary steeds, and are off to the Emperor's court. THE question is often asked, Have the Chinese any spectacular plays? In one sense of the word they have not. Music invariably accompanies the action, and rude scenery and "properties," such as they are, are introduced when needed. But the Chinese have hardly arrived at the point where they would play a piece merely for the purpose of exhibiting the scenery. The nearest approach to anything of the kind is advertised in the play-bill, of which the following is a close translation: TAN-SAN-FUNG. (Red Mountain Peacock.) 29th day. Performance day and night continuously. New Play for the Matinée, entitled: CHE YOUNG KWONG This play is, of course, a Fu-Cheng; but, from the fact that the dramatic portion is made subordinate to certain details, it perhaps merits being called spectacular. It is performed generally on Saturdays, and, whenever produced, draws large crowds. In construction it is not unlike the Fu-Cheng of Tin, Tau, and Chung. There the action hinged on the search for the wonderful peach and its presentation to the Goddess of Mercy. In this play also the thread of construction is slight, being little else but the building of a bridge. The especial feature of the performance is undoubtedly the progress of the Goddess of Mercy in a marvelous junk, which, as the play-bill truly announces, "sails on land." The Dragon and Peacock junk is certainly a wonderful object; but its chief "drawing” power, if one may be pardoned the bad pun, are the four "genuine" girls. It is easy to see from the pretentious advertisement that the Chinese have no real objection to the appearance of women on the stage, and that it is the lack of intelligence of the women rather than the sense of propriety of the audience that keeps them off. Indeed, there is already one Chinese actress in San Francisco, who, whenever she appears, is received with acclamation. She is attached to the Jackson street theater, and, it is safe to say, earns a much larger salary than if she were a man. The "leading lady" mentioned in the bill is, of course, not a woman, but in fact the principal male actor of the theater. The necessity of the Goddess of Mercy being suitably represented no doubt occasions his appearance in the cast. A beautiful incident of the performance is the "Cloud Ballet." The raison d'être of this ballet is the necessity of the ocean's being BUILDS A SHIP THAT SAILS ON LAND. calm enough to allow the building of the bridge. The King of the Eastern Ocean has been consulted, and has promised to keep the wind down. The ballet begins. Supernumeraries enter completely clothed in white, each carrying in his hands two lanterns skillfully painted in imitation of clouds. After moving gracefully about the stage for a time, meeting and retreating as if in recoil, the movement becomes definite, the clouds coming together by twos and fours, until, in the process of this movement, they spell out in five tableaux (each tableau representing a Chinese character) the glorious sentence of charity and love: vice, too, is not without its touch of humor. The old Buddhist priest who has the thing in hand chants away at the service, invoking all the gods nether and upper; but, unfortunately, he forgets in his enum eration a deity of well- "Peace on earth, good-will toward man." The allegory is complete, the clouds are resting, and the ocean is calm. The final building and dedication of the bridge is worked out with much spirit and no little fidelity to nature. We are afforded glimpses of the folk-life of China and character sketches of junk-peddlers, market-women, and street gamins. The dedication ser little bell rings three times, and the bridge is consecrated. A dramatic event at the close is the appearance of an evil spirit, who is driven off by a scholar who has received the first degree at the imperial examination. The obstacle is but momentary, therefore the surging crowd pass over and the play ends. A curious feature of the Chinese stage is its minutely divided cast. Every actor has his particular "line" of characters, from which he seldom departs. This makes it necessary to have very large companies, which adds little to the artistic side of the performance and greatly to the expense account. A complete list of these different rôles is a rather complicated affair; but without some little knowledge of their strange and conventional classification, a performance would be abso An Acrobat (who plays the roles of strength: thief, burglar, etc.) Women. One Principal Military Character and three Assistants. Female Acrobat. Supernumeraries of all classes, called "Great Eastern Melons." The costumes worn by these different characters are not only effective on the stage, but they bear the test of close examination, the gold cloth of the more costly being picked out and heightened by innumerable silk threads of many different colors, all blending harmoniously and exquisitely. They do not, indeed, vary much in general cut, and are for the most part chiefly distinguished from each other by some difference in the head-dress or minor ornament. The emperor and his suite wear huge hoops or circlets, which gather in their robes just below the knee; and it is de rigueur that the actor who personates these rôles should, when sitting, turn his shoes out well, so as to display the costume to the best advantage. But the most distinctive of all these costumes is the general's. In his head-dress are four dragons rampant, and on the flap in front a lion's mouth. In time of action his sleeves are rolled up, and his loins are girded with a sash and rosette of light-blue silk. An enormous butterfly laps over and partly covers the side-pieces that protect his thighs. His boots are high-soled and add much to his stature. Two long feathers sweep from his helmet behind. As a symbol of power he wears four flags in his back, and as a token of strength a cockade of black silk on his forehead. The convention of painting the face is applied in so many ways that it is at first rather puzzling. All barbarians, or "outlanders," are represented with painted faces. This is necessary conventionally, if for no other reason, to distinguish the commander of the enemies' forces from that of the home or imperial troops. This distinction serves in place of a difference of costume, and is about the only way the Chinaman recognizes on the stage the existence of any nationality other than his own. Besides this primary use of the painted face, it is used also to indicate moral |