tives which sway men in the concerns of every-day life, and novelists and playwrights therefore are content to make their characters move, act, and converse at will, without troubling themselves to make a psychological study of the thoughts which influence them. Thus even in the best plays the characters are moved about in a somewhat disconnected and arbitrary way to suit the design of the author, too often in defiance of the probabilities, and with a total disregard for the old-fashioned unities. But if they are unable to reach a high standard of dramatic writing, they show consider able skill in inventing incidents and in introducing clever and humorous dialogues. Thus they startle and amuse more than they interest, and cater for the eye and ear rather than for the mind.

As among the ancient Greeks, there are never more than two interlocutors on the Chinese stage at once, except in very rare instances. This, coupled with the absence of scenery, make it necessary for the players, when first presenting themselves, to describe their circumstances and condition, as is common in the Normandy peasant plays of the present day, but none the less awkward. The dialogues are written in the colloquial language which, in the case of the plays of the Yuen Dynasty (1260-1368), is that spoken in the north of China at the present time. Throughout the play are interspersed short lyrical pieces, in which the principal actor gives vent to his opinions on the surrounding circumstances, and directs the thoughts of the audience in the channel desired by the author. In this way they serve the purpose of the Greek chorus, from which, however, they differ in being uttered by one man, and that one of the actors.

To illustrate these remarks we will briefly review a drama taken from the collection known as the "Hundred Plays of the Yuen Dynasty," and entitled "The Flower of the Inner Hall." The piece is a domestic tragedy, and is a good specimen of the best style of Chinese dramatic composition. The first scene. opens with the appearance on the stage of an old nobleman, who explains his position and the surrounding circumstances in these words: "I am a native of Peenleang, and my name is Chaou. My household consists of two persons besides

myself, namely, my wife and her relative Wang, who manages my affairs. This morning I received as a present from the Emperor a young girl named Tsuy, who is accompanied by her mother. I don't quite know what my wife will say to this, so Wang shall take the girl to her, before I formally receive her into my household."

Accordingly Wang receives his orders, and when the stage is cleared Mrs. Chaou enters and thus describes herself : "I am Chaou's wife, and am of a very unyielding temper. Every household matter is invariably submitted to my decision, and I am surprised therefore that Wang has not been to consult me for these last two days." This gives the cue to Wang, who enters with the two women and explains his mission. The beauty of the young girl gives rise to a pang of jealousy in the unyielding bosom of her childless rival, who thus soliloquizes," This girl is very pretty. If she gain the affection of my husband and presents him with a son, what will become of me. And a daughter would be nearly as bad. I have determined what I will do: (calls) Wang, take those women and either strangle them or otherwise kill them, for they must die. See them killed yourself, and come and report to me."

Although a reprobate, Wang is unwilling personally to execute the imperious order of Mrs. Chaou; and in his difficulty he bethinks himself of "that drunken sot Le, with whose wife he had been carrying on an intrigue ;" and who, by threats, might easily be induced, he thought, to perpetrate the double murder. The scene now changes to Le's house, at least the audience are led to believe so by the appearance of Mrs. Le, who thus explains herself: "My surname is Chang, and I am the wife of Le. We have one son, named Futung, who is unfortunately dumb. As for his father, he is a drunkard, who utterly neglects his business at the Yamun (or office of the local official), where he serves as a subordinate to Wang." this point Wang enters, and indicates his whereabouts by the simple expedient of exclaiming, Here I am at Le's house." A knock at a door, as imaginary as Bottom's wall in "Midsummer Night's Dream," brings out Mrs. Le, who in

At

vites him in, and to whom he pours out his difficulty. With the instinctive cunning of a dissolute woman, she sees in the circumstances a means of carrying out her adulterous designs. "Wang,' she says, "if you wish that we should be man and wife, I have a plan. You came to tell Le that Mrs. Chaou orders him to kill the two women. I see you don't wish to hurt them, so I will take their head ornaments, and persuade Le to let them go. You come in three days to inquire as to their fate; he will say he has murdered them; you answer, 'You scoundrel, you took their head ornaments and let them go!' When he denies it, turn to me and say, 'Your wife must know about it;' then take a stick and threaten me. I will say, 'Don't strike me and I will tell you the truth: my husband insisted on taking their head ornaments, and then let them go.' Then you frighten Le, and say, Do you want to be forgiven?' He will say, Of course I do.' You reply, ' If you do, you must divorce your wife.' I will, but who wants her?' You say, 'I want her.' And when once I am divorced we will be man and wife forever. What do you say to this?"

Le

The ingenuity of this scheme is only equalled by the success which attends it. Everything, except the final settlement, turns out as the plotters desire. makes one piteous appeal to Wang's better feelings before signing the bill of divorcement, but his only answer is an imperative order to put pen to paper instantly. Le still, however, strives for a few moments' respite :

"Your servant wishes to comply with your commands, but he has no pencil." But Mrs. Le is again equal to the occasion. "Here," she replies, "is an ornamental pencil."

"I have no paper," persists the husband.

"Here is a shoe pattern piece of paper," responds his wife.

"I have no inkstone."

"You can easily rub some ink without one," says the guilty woman.

This cold-blooded treachery is too much for Le, who breaks out into bitter reproaches against his wife; and gradually working himself up into a state of virtuous indignation, refuses to sign the paper, and threatens to report the matter NEW SERIES.-VOL. XXXI., No. 3.

to the Prefect. Wang that he murders him on the spot ; and having put the corpse into a sack, throws it into the well of the house. The scene now changes, and Seaou, the landlord of the Lion Inn, is seen standing at the door of his hostelry, in the twilight. Presently Tsuy enters, and informs the audience that she has lost her mother in the streets, and that she is in search of a night's lodging. Seeing Seaou, she asks him for a room, and is shown by the landlord into the "first room." The beauty of the girl excites first the admiration and then the passion of Seaou, while her loneliness, instead of appealing to his pity, encourages him in his intentions. He first attempts to cajole her into compliance with his wishes, but finding that unavailing he seizes an axe to frighten her. 'If you won't I will kill you. (He strikes her and she falls.) Why don't you speak?'' (He looks into her face.) "1 intended only to frighten her. How can one who is beautiful be so fond of death? It is very strange. I will put a piece of charm-paper from the doorpost into her hair, and will throw her into the well."

This menace so alarms

66

This is a specimen of the passionless way in which the characters in Chinese plays act and speak at moments calculated to stir the blood of the most callous. The authors seem incapable of introducing either eloquence or passion into their writings; and we are left to contemplate people of both sexes and of all ages performing deeds of atrocity and horror, of virtue and glory, with an absence of emotion which can only be equalled by the wooden figures of a child's Noah's ark.

Scarcely has Seaou taken up his place again at the door of the inn when Tsuy's mother appears in search of a night's lodging, and is shown into the "back

room.

"Fancy such a coincidence," remarks the landlord to himself. "I hope nobody else will come."

Before the words are well out of his lips there enters a young gentleman, who introduces himself to the audience in the following terms: "My name is Lew, and I am a native of Loyang. I have been studying Manchoo literature, but have not as yet made for myself a repu tation. tation. As the spring examinations are

23

approaching I have packed up my musical instruments and books in my box, and am on my way to Court to seek promotion. I have got as far as Peenleang, and as it is getting late I will go to the Lion' for the night." (Sees host.) "I want a room for to-night."

Musical instruments are the common accompaniments of books in the boxes of scholars, for the Chinese consider that the knowledge of sounds and the science of government are very nearly allied, and that only those who understand the science of music are fit to perform the duties of rulers. "If one wishes to know if a kingdom is well-governed, and if the manners of the people are good or the reverse, let him examine the music that obtains at Court," said Confucius.

The exigencies of the moment compel the landlord to show the musical scholar into the room which was the scene of the murder, and there he presently leaves him over a bottle of wine. The materials for an explosion are now all collected. The body of the murdered girl and the murderer, the mother of the victim, and a young traveller who might be supposed to be ready to espouse the cause of unfortunate beauty, are all under one roof. A spark only is required to set the whole in a blaze, and the author calls to his assistance the supernatural to supply the

taper.

Suddenly, while Lew is sitting sipping his wine, Tsuy's ghost taps at his door and asks for a light. Lew recognizes the voice as being that of a girl, but having a reputation to make by virtuous conduct as well as by Manchoo literature, he replies, with a prudence not unmixed with fear, "I will give you a light through the cranny in the door." He does so, but the ghost blows it out; and after another attempt with a like result he loses patience and exclaims, "I have lit it for you twice, and now you had better come in and light it for yourself. The ghost, which is a faithful reproduction of the luckless Tsuy in all her beauty, excites the admiration of the scholar, and so flatters his vanity by telling him that hearing he was there she had come to see him, that his original intention of getting speedily rid of her is exchanged for an invitation to

supper.

Lew. I am unworthy to excite such curiosity. Will you join me at my repast, that we may en joy an intellectual conversation?

Tsuy's Ghost. I will obey your honorable decree. (She sits down.) May I ask if you have written any pearls of literature?

Lew. My abilities are small. How dare I repeat my compositions in your presence? I have, however, written a piece called "The Flower of the Inner Hall," and will read it to you if you wish. (Reads.)

"Her luxuriant hair resembles a flock of crows, Her silken petticoat cages her red gauze garHer deeply frowning eyebrows resemble a

ment,

wrinkled willow leaf,

The color of her cheeks is like the morning dew,
Her dress betokens mourning, on her feet she
Where in fairy-land does she dwell?"—" The
wears light stockings,
Flower of the Inner Hall," written by Lew.

Tsuy's Ghost. Very clever; I will compose a piece in imitation of it. (She writes.) I have finished and will read it to you. (Reads.) But in dreams I return to my home, Dejected I pass my time in a maze, Nowhere can I see a goose,* Though I have searched everywhere, even among the frogs at the bottom of the well. For the blue peach-blossom stuck sideways in my hair, I deeply mourn as for part of myself." The Flower of the Inner Hall," written by Tsuy.

To Lew's

While the two convives are thus amusing themselves, Tsuy's mother, being unable to sleep, wanders about the house, and happening to pass Lew's door hears her daughter's voice. In reply to her call the ghost returns an answer and then disappears, leaving Lew alone to confront her mother, who bursts into the room and demands her child. reiterated assurance that he knows nothing of Tsuy the old lady turns a deaf ear, and is confirmed in her suspicions of his guilt by seeing the two pieces of poetry, one bearing her daughter's signature, on the table. These she seizes, and declares her intention of reporting the affair to the Prefect.

The scene now changes to the house of the old nobleman Chaou, who inquires from his wife and Wang what has become of Tsuy and her mother. After much prevarication Wang confesses that he handed them over to Le. Not being satisfied with this explanation, Chaou sends for the Prefect Paou, who sings as he obeys the summons, "I received the imperial order to take office in the south, to dispense the law, and to examine into

*Geese are popularly believed to carry letters.

villainy. Though I clothe myself with light skin garments and ride handsome horses, who will dare to impute peculation to me? On the contrary, when the people see their virtuous officer pass by, they fear as the shadow of Paou Lungtoo* falls upon them.'

To this mirror of justice Chaou relates the story of his reception of Tsuy and of her disappearance, and directs him to in quire into the matter. His suspicions at once fall upon Wang, whom he takes with him to his Yamun. While on the way thither, Tsuy's ghost raises a whirlwind, which the Prefect at once recognizes as the work of a supernatural being, and abjures it to depart. At this moment Tsuy's mother arrests his progress with cries for help, and accuses Lew, whom she has brought with her, of having decoyed away her daughter. The Prefect orders these other litigants to follow him to the Yamun, where he at once ascends his judgment-seat.

The production of the pieces of poetry is strong evidence against Lew, but his full explanation and repeated professions of innocence cause the Prefect to study Tsuy's verses, in which he sees an indication that she has met with foul play. He therefore orders Lew to return to the inn for the night, and in case the ghost should again appear to him to bring something away as evidence of the truth of his story. In due course the ghost appears as before, and gives him the bit of peach-blossom paper which she wears in her hair, and with which he returns to the Yamun in the morning. As however Wang confesses that he handed Tsuy over to Le, a policeman is sent to search the house of that reprobate, and finds in the well a sack evidently containing a corpse. Believing it to be the body of Tsuy he goes back in triumph to the Yamun, and in full court opens the sack and rolls the body of a bearded man on the floor of the hall. This unexpected incident further complicates a matter already sufficiently entangled, and the policeman is sent back to the house to arrest anybody he may find there. He shortly returns with Le's dumb son, who instantly recognizes the corpse, and explains by signs that it is that of his father.

* A magistrate of antiquity celebrated for his justice and purity.

The scholar Lew is now brought up for re-examination, and produces the piece of peach-blossom paper taken from the ghost's hair, which upon examination proves to be one of a set of four charmpapers commonly hung on the doorposts of houses. A policeman is therefore sent to search out the doorway from which this particular charm-paper is missing, and such proves to be the case at the Lion Inn. A search is accordingly made in the premises, and Tsuy's body is discovered in the well. This discovery is the signal for the arrest of Seaou, the landlord, who finding the evidence irresistibly strong against him confesses his guilt, and by so doing exonerates Wang from the charge. The Prefect therefore sends for Wang to grant him his acquittal, but no sooner does he appear in court than Le's dumb son with wild gestures seizes hold of him. A new light is now thrown on the scene. Boy, is this the murderer of your father?" asks the Prefect. Boy (who in his excitement recovers his speech). "Yes, this is the man who with my mother murdered him."

The crooked places being now all made plain, it only remains to report the result to Chaou. This the Prefect does in person, taking with him the culprit and witnesses. Having listened attentively to the whole story, Chaou gives judgment in these words: "I now understand the business. Hearken while I give my decisions. As a reward for Paou's exertions I shall petition the Emperor to promote him three steps. The mother of the unfortunate Tsuy shall receive a thousand taels of silver. Lew is acquitted, and shall be granted rank in the state. Tsuy shall be buried in a tomb built on purpose for her, and incense shall there be offered to raise her soul into bliss. The boy Futung shall be supported by the wealthy people of the town, and Seaou shall be punished according to law. And whereas Wang and Mrs. Le planned the murder of the woman's husband, they shall both be executed without mercy, and their disgrace shall be published at the four gates of the city, that all may know of it."

In reply the Prefect returns thanks, and having sung a short eulogy on his own diligence and sagacity, exeunt omnes.The Contemporary Review.