The Playfulness of the Opera
by 鲁迅In the span of twenty years, I’ve only had the chance to watch Chinese opera twice. For the first decade, I steered clear of it, lacking both the desire and the opportunity. Both experiences occurred in the latter half, yet neither left a lasting impression before I departed.
The first encounter was in the inaugural year of the Republic when I first set foot in Beijing. A friend, keen on sharing the city’s cultural offerings, suggested that I broaden my horizons by experiencing a performance. Intrigued by the prospect of an enchanting evening, we headed to a local theater, the resonant beats of the drums greeting us before we even entered. Upon stepping inside, a whirl of vibrant colors danced before my eyes, followed by the sight of a sea of heads beneath the stage. As my gaze adjusted, I spotted a few vacant seats in the center and made to sit down, only to be informed by a nearby patron that they were already taken.
We retreated to the rear, where a well-groomed man with a braid guided us to a side area and indicated a spot for us. To my dismay, the so-called seat was a narrow bench, its seat a mere three-quarters the width of my thigh and its legs extending two-thirds longer than my own. I hesitated, envisioning the cruel devices of private torture chambers, and decided to retreat instead.
After walking a considerable distance, my friend’s voice reached me, inquiring about our continuous walking. I explained that the incessant drumming had drowned out his words, leaving me unable to respond.
Each time I reflect on this, I am struck by the peculiarity of the experience. It seems either the opera was profoundly unengaging, or I have become ill-suited to the environment beneath the stage.
The second occasion, whose exact year now escapes me, was during a fundraising event for flood victims in Hubei, a time when the renowned performer Tan Jiaotian was still among the living. The charitable initiative offered a ticket to the first stage for a donation of two yuan, where a cast of prestigious performers, including Xiao Jiaotian, would grace the stage. My ticket purchase was more of a courtesy to the fundraiser than a genuine interest in the opera. However, influenced by the enthusiasm of others who insisted on the unmissable talent of Jiaotian, I found myself at the first stage, partly driven by the reluctance to waste an expensive ticket.
I learned that Jiaotian’s appearance was anticipated to be late, and the modern design of the first stage eliminated the need to vie for seating. This put me at ease, and I arrived around nine o’clock. To my surprise, the venue was packed to capacity, with barely any room to stand. I ended up watching from a distance as an elderly female performer, adorned with lit wicks at her side, sang on stage. She was flanked by a ghostly attendant, and after much contemplation, I surmised she might be the mother from the tale of Mulian, as a monk soon made his appearance.
Unfamiliar with the identities of the performers, I turned to inquire of a portly gentleman to my left. He dismissed me with a scornful glance and replied, “Gong Yunfu!” Chastened by my ignorance, I resolved not to ask further questions and simply observed the various acts—young female leads, young female roles, old male roles, and others I couldn’t identify—along with chaotic battles and duels. From nine to ten, then to eleven, and from eleven to half past, the hours dragged on until midnight approached, yet Jiaotian had not made his appearance.
Never before had I endured such patient anticipation for any event. The labored breathing of the gentleman beside me, the relentless drumming, and the dizzying swirl of colors on stage, coupled with the late hour, led to a sudden epiphany: this was not a place where I belonged. Mechanically, I turned and, with a forceful push, found my way out of the venue. The streets were nearly deserted, save for the carriages waiting for the patrons, and a small crowd at the entrance, either engrossed in the playbill or anticipating the emergence of the actresses. Yet, Jiaotian had still not arrived…
The night air, however, was refreshing, a true “soul-soothing” experience. It was as if I was encountering such pure air in Beijing for the first time.
That night marked my farewell to Chinese opera. Since then, I have not given it a second thought, even if I occasionally pass by an opera house, we are as distant as the North and South Poles in spirit.
But a few days ago, I inadvertently came across a Japanese book, unfortunately, I’ve forgotten the title and the author, but it was about Chinese opera. One essay, in particular, suggested that Chinese opera, with its loud beating, shouting, and jumping, was not suited for the confines of a theater but had a certain charm when viewed from afar in an open setting. These words resonated with me, as I distinctly recalled enjoying an opera in the wild during my youth. Perhaps my two subsequent visits to the opera house in Beijing were influenced by those memories. Regrettably, I cannot recollect the name of the book.
The time when I witnessed that delightful opera was indeed “long, long ago,” when I was likely no older than eleven or twelve. In our town of Lu, it was customary for married daughters who had not yet taken charge of their own households to return to their natal homes for the summer. At that time, although my grandmother was still in good health, my mother had already taken on some domestic responsibilities, preventing her from visiting for extended periods. She could only stay for a few days after the tomb-sweeping festival. I would accompany my mother to my grandmother’s house in Pingqiao Village, a remote, riverside hamlet near the sea, with fewer than thirty households, all engaged in farming and fishing, and a single small grocery store. Yet, for me, it was a paradise where I was not only treated with kindness but also exempted from the task of reciting “Orderly and dry, the deep southern mountains.”
My companions were many young friends, who, due to my visit, were granted permission by their parents to reduce their work and join in the games. In the small village, a family’s guest was almost a communal one. We were all of similar age, but in terms of seniority, I was at least an uncle to some, and to others, a great-grandfather, as the entire village shared the same surname. However, we were friends, and even if we occasionally quarreled, no one in the village, regardless of age, would think of the concept of “disrespect.” Moreover, ninety-nine percent of them were illiterate.
Our daily activities typically involved digging for earthworms, threading them onto small hooks made from copper wire, and crouching along the riverbank to catch shrimp. Shrimp, the simpletons of the aquatic world, would fearlessly use their pincers to hold the hook and guide it to their mouths, allowing us to catch a large bowl in no time. These shrimp were, of course, meant for my consumption. Next, we would go cow herding together, but perhaps due to their status as higher animals, the yellow and water buffaloes would bully me, a stranger, and I dared not approach them closely, only following from afar and standing idly by. At such times, my friends would no longer excuse my ability to read “Orderly and dry,” instead, they would all mock me.
As for the event I most anticipated during my stay, it was the opera performance at Zhao Village. Zhao Village, located five miles from Pingqiao Village, was a larger settlement that could afford to host its own performances, while our small village had to contribute a sum annually to be part of the event. At the time, I did not ponder the reason behind their annual performances. Now, I suspect it was a spring festival or a community opera.
The year I was around twelve or thirteen, the much-awaited date finally arrived. Unfortunately, we were unable to secure a boat in the morning. Pingqiao Village had only one large boat that ran early and returned late, and it was not available for our use. The remaining boats were too small and unsuitable; inquiries to neighboring villages also proved fruitless, as all boats had been reserved by others. My grandmother was quite upset, blaming the family for not making arrangements in advance and complaining incessantly. My mother, in turn, comforted her, saying that the operas in Lu Town were far superior to those in the small villages, and that we could watch them several times a year, so it would be best to forgo today’s performance. Only I was so anxious that I was on the verge of tears. My mother tried her best to reassure me, saying that I must not pretend to be upset, as it would anger my grandmother, and she also forbade me from going with others, fearing my grandmother would worry.
In summary, it was all over. By the afternoon, my friends had all departed, and the opera had already begun. I could hear the sounds of gongs and drums and knew they were enjoying soy milk under the stage.
On that day, I did not shrimp, and I ate very little. My mother was at a loss, with no solution. At dinnertime, my grandmother finally noticed and said that I should be unhappy, and they were too negligent. It was something that had never happened in the etiquette of treating guests.
After dinner, the teenagers who had watched the opera all gathered and happily talked about the opera. Only I didn’t speak; they all sighed and showed sympathy. Suddenly, the smartest one, Shuangxi, seemed to have a sudden realization and proposed, “The big boat? Isn’t it back from Eighth Uncle’s trip?” More than a dozen other teenagers also suddenly realized and immediately encouraged each other, saying that we could take that big boat to go with me. I was delighted. However, my grandmother was concerned that we were all children and unreliable; my mother also said that if an adult went with us, they would all have work during the day, and it would not be reasonable to ask them to stay up late. In this hesitation, Shuangxi saw the essence again and said loudly, “I’ll vouch for it! The boat is big; Xunge has never run around carelessly; we all know how to swim!”
Indeed! Not one of these more than a dozen boys did not know how to swim, and two or three were even good at tide surfing.
My grandmother and mother also believed it and no longer objected, both smiling. We immediately rushed out of the door.
My heavy heart suddenly became light, and my body seemed to stretch to an indescribable size. As soon as I went out, I saw a white-sailed boat moored under the moonlit flat bridge. Everyone jumped onto the boat, Shuangxi took the front pole, A Fa took the rear pole, the younger ones accompanied me in the cabin, and the older ones gathered at the stern. When my mother came out to tell us to be careful, we had already cast off the boat, knocked on the bridge stone, retreated a few feet, and then moved forward out of the bridge. Then two oars were raised, one for two people, changing every mile, with laughter and shouting, mixed with the sound of the boat’s bow splashing water, flying straight to Zhao Village in the river surrounded by green bean and wheat fields on both sides.
The fragrance of the green beans and wheat on both banks and the water plants at the bottom of the river, mixed with the water vapor, blew on our faces; the moonlight was dim in this water vapor. The dark undulating continuous mountains seemed to be like the eager iron ridges of beasts, all running far behind the boat, but I still thought the boat was slow. They changed hands four times, and the faint Zhao Village gradually came into view, and it seemed that singing could be heard, along with a few points of fire, which were presumably the opera stage, but perhaps they were fishing fires.
The sound was probably a flute, graceful and melodious, which calmed my heart, but also made me lose myself, feeling that I wanted to blend with him in the night air containing the fragrance of beans, wheat, and algae.
The fire approached, and it was indeed a fishing fire; I then remembered that what I saw before was not Zhao Village. It was a cluster of pine and cypress trees directly in front of the boat’s head. I had visited there last year and saw the broken stone horse lying on the ground, and a stone sheep crouching in the grass. After passing through the forest, the boat turned into a forked port, and Zhao Village was truly in front of us.
The most eye-catching was a stage standing on the open land outside the village by the river. It was vaguely visible in the distant moonlight at night, and it was almost indistinguishable from the space, making me suspect that the fairyland I had seen in paintings had appeared here. At this time, the boat went faster, and soon, characters appeared on the stage, moving in red and green. The dark canopy of the boats of the people watching the opera by the stage could be seen at a glance.
“Not much space near the stage, let’s watch from afar,” A Fa said.
At this time, the boat slowed down, and soon it arrived. It was indeed not close to the stage, and everyone could only lower the pole, further away than the divine shed facing the stage. In fact, our white-sailed sailing boat did not want to be with the black-sailed boats, and there was no space anyway…
In the hurry of stopping the boat, I saw a black-bearded man with four flags on his back, holding a long spear, and a group of bare-armed people were fighting. Shuangxi said that he was the famous Iron Head, who could do eighty-four somersaults in a row, and he had personally counted them during the day.
We all crowded at the bow of the boat to watch the battle, but the Iron Head did not do any somersaults. Only a few bare-armed people did, and after a while, they all went in. Then a young female came out, singing “Yi Yi Ya Ya.” Shuangxi said, “There are fewer spectators at night, and the Iron Head is also slack, who is willing to show their skills for nothing?” I believe this is true because there were not many people under the stage at that time. The country people, for the sake of tomorrow’s work, could not stay up late and had all gone to sleep early. The sparsely standing ones were just a few idlers from this village and neighboring villages. The family members of the local gentry in the black-sailed boats were there, of course, but they didn’t care about watching the opera. Most of them came to eat cakes, fruits, and melon seeds under the stage. So it can be considered as nothing.
However, my interest was not in watching somersaults. What I most wanted to see was a person with a white cloth on his face, holding a stick-like snake head with both hands, which was the snake spirit, and the second was the person in a yellow cloth jumping like a tiger. But after waiting for a long time, I still didn’t see them. Although the young female went in, a very old young man came out immediately. I was a bit tired and asked Guisheng to buy soy milk for me. He went for a while and came back, saying, “There is none. The deaf man who sells soy milk has also gone back. There was some during the day, and I even drank two bowls. Now I will scoop a ladle of water for you to drink.”
I didn’t drink water and continued to watch, unable to say what I saw, only feeling that the faces of the opera performers gradually became a bit strange, and their facial features were no longer distinct, as if they had melted into one piece with no ups and downs. The younger ones yawned more, and the older ones talked to themselves. Suddenly, a clown in a red shirt was tied to a pole on the stage and was whipped by a man with a white beard. Everyone then cheered up and watched with a smile. In this night, I thought this was the best scene.
However, the old female finally came on stage. The old female was what I was most afraid of, especially when she sat down to sing. At this time, seeing that everyone else was also disappointed, I realized that their opinions were the same as mine. The old female initially just walked back and forth, singing, but later sat down on a chair in the middle. I was worried, but Shuangxi and the others were already cursing in a low voice. I waited patiently for a long time, and I saw the old female raise her hand, thinking that she was about to stand up. Unexpectedly, she slowly put it down in the same place and continued to sing. Several people in the boat kept sighing, and the others yawned. Shuangxi finally couldn’t bear it and said that she might sing until dawn and not finish. It’s better for us to leave. Everyone immediately agreed, as enthusiastic as when we started the boat, and three or four people rushed to the stern, pulled out the pole, retreated a few meters, turned the boat’s head, raised the oar, cursed the old female, and moved forward again towards the pine and cypress forest.
The moon had not set, and it seemed that the opera had not been going on for very long. However, once away from Zhao Village, the moonlight appeared particularly bright. Looking back at the stage in the light of the lights, it was like the first time we arrived, as ethereal as a fairy mountain palace, covered with red clouds, and the sound of the flute that reached my ears was very melodious. I suspected that the old female had already gone in, but I was too embarrassed to say to go back and watch again.
Soon, the pine and cypress forest was already behind the boat, and the boat was not slow, but the surrounding darkness was thick, indicating that it was already late at night. They discussed the opera performers on one hand, cursing or laughing, and on the other hand, they rowed the boat more vigorously. This time, the sound of the boat’s bow splashing water was even louder. The sailing boat, like a big white fish, carried a group of children through the waves. Even a few old fishermen who were fishing at night stopped their boats to watch and applaud.
About a mile away from Pingqiao Village, the boat slowed down. The rowers said they were very tired because they had exerted too much effort. Moreover, they had not eaten anything for a long time. This time, it was Guisheng who thought of it, saying that the Luo Han beans were in full bloom, and the firewood was readily available.
We could steal some to cook and eat. Everyone agreed immediately and docked the boat near the shore. The field on the bank was full of sturdy Luo Han beans.
“Ah, A Fa, this side is your family’s, and this side is Lao Liu’s family’s. Which side should we steal from?” Shuangxi jumped ashore first and said on the bank.
We all jumped ashore as well. A Fa jumped and said at the same time, “Wait a minute, let me have a look.” He felt around for a while, then stood up and said, “Steal from us, ours are much bigger.” With one response, everyone scattered in A Fa’s bean field, each picking a large bunch and throwing it into the boat. Shuangxi thought that if we stole more, A Fa’s mother would cry and scold if she knew, so each person went to Lao Liu’s field and stole another large bunch.
Some of the older ones among us continued to row the boat slowly, some went to the rear cabin to make a fire, and the younger ones and I all shelled beans. Soon the beans were cooked, and the sailing boat floated on the water’s surface, and everyone gathered around to eat with their hands. After eating the beans and starting the boat again, we washed the utensils, and the bean pods and shells were all thrown into the river, leaving no trace. What Shuangxi was worried about was that we had used the salt and firewood from Baba’s boat. This old man was very careful and would definitely know and scold. However, after everyone discussed it, the conclusion was not to be afraid. If he scolded, we would ask him to return the dead tree branch that he had picked up from the shore last year and call him “Eight Bald” to his face.
“Everyone is back! There won’t be any mistake. I said I would vouch for it!” Shuangxi suddenly said loudly at the bow of the boat.
I looked to the bow, and there was the flat bridge ahead, with a person standing at the foot of the bridge, but it was my mother, and Shuangxi was talking to her. I went out of the front cabin, and the boat also entered the flat bridge. When the boat stopped, we all got ashore one after another. My mother was quite angry, saying that it was past three in the morning, how could we come back so late, but she was also happy, smiling and inviting everyone to eat fried rice.
Everyone said they had already had a snack, were thirsty, and sleepy, so it would be better to sleep early and went back separately.
The next day, I didn’t get up until noon, and I didn’t hear any disputes related to the incident of Baba’s salt and firewood. In the afternoon, I still went to catch shrimp.
“Shuangxi, you little devils, you stole my beans yesterday, right? And you wouldn’t pick them properly, trampling on quite a few.” I looked up and saw Uncle Liu dropping his small boat, having sold the beans and coming back, with a pile of remaining beans in the belly of the boat.
“Yes, we entertained guests. We didn’t want yours at first. Look, you scared away my shrimp!” Shuangxi said.
When Uncle Liu saw me, he stopped the oar and smiled, saying, “Entertaining guests? —That’s what should be done.” Then he said to me, “Xunge, was yesterday’s opera good?”
I nodded and said, “Good.”
“Are the beans delicious?”
I nodded again and said, “Very delicious.”
Unexpectedly, Uncle Liu was extremely grateful, raised his thumb, and said triumphantly, “This is truly the person who comes from the big city and has read books, who knows the goods! My bean seeds are all carefully selected, but the country people don’t know good from bad and say that my beans are not as good as others. I will also send some to our aunt to taste today…”
He then rowed past.
When my mother called me to come back for dinner, there was a large bowl of cooked Luo Han beans on the table, which Uncle Liu gave to my mother and me to eat. I heard that he also praised me highly to my mother, saying, “He is young and has insight. He will definitely become a top scholar in the future. Aunt, your happiness is guaranteed.” But after eating the beans, I didn’t feel as good as the beans from last night.
Really, up until now, I have never eaten such good beans as that night, nor have I seen such a good opera as that night again.
(October 1922.)
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