Tang Rong-sheng is recognized as the master Peking Opera prop designer in the Republic of China, and his specialty is - you guessed it – weapons. In the hundreds of Peking Operas there are many fighting scenes; many of the stories are specifically about battles. And when it comes time to dramatize fighting, bare hands are not enough. There are nine main categories of weapons - knives, spears, swords, whips, maces, axes, cudgels, clubs, and (in a manner of speaking) banners. To add the spice to variety, there are thirty-two additional types of weapons; some are rare and unusual, and some are used exclusively by a single character.
Master Tang, who was born in Shanghai 64 years ago, learned the arts of prop, weapon, and mask making, and wood carving, from his father. He can make all the props, masks and weapons called for in the entire repertory of Peking Opera.
Master Tang's creations are purchased by all of the major opera companies in Taiwan. The day we went to visit him, he was working on a ten-page order for weapons from the Fu Hsing Opera Company, which is preparing for a tour abroad. In addition, he makes weapons, masks and other props for television and movies.
As we approached his workshop, he rushed out to greet us, his Mandarin thickened by a Shanghai accent: “Come in, Come in! Have something cold to drink. I've got everything here!" He gestured to the props lying about: “Everything! Just the place is too small.” His workshop was about the size of a compartment in a first class railroad coach, but it had enough in it to furnish a supermarket.
Colorful decorations grace the stage; they once embellished ancient battlefields.
The room looked like Santa's workshop. An old and worn workbench was buried beneath hundreds of wood working tools – T-squares, chisels, files, gouges… and spools of thread -and took up half the room. Half finished swords, spears and banners lay about waiting for renewed attention. Stacks of completed swords, spears, masks, bludgeons etc. were everywhere. As if the place wasn't already crowded enough, Master Tang found the room to squeeze in a tropical fish tank and a pet turtle.
However, there was some order in this chaos, an order that only Master Tang understood. He was anxious to show us his treasures, so he leaped smoothly to the top of his workbench, reached up overhead and brought down a box filled with masks from the loft. The masks, of papier-mâché, were brightly lacquered. The first mask to emerge was that of a Buddhist arhat (Luo Han), with a pink round face. Master Tang quickly slipped it on. During a stage battle, the masks can easily slip off, necessitating an accessory to solve the problem. Master Tang pulled this item, a helmet made of woven wire, out of the box, and filled it snugly to his head. Over it went the mask of the arhat. He jumped around a bit to show us the mask's new- found security.
The God of Thunder - A warning to the mischievous.
Master Tang now took out a fat-faced gold demon mask with round eyes, which is held in place by the teeth of the actor, who bites a bamboo bit affixed to the back of the mask. He put on the mask and, by moving his teeth, made it wiggle eerily. Then out came the God of Thunder, Lei Gong. His dark blue mask came to points at the chin and the top of the head. As every Chinese child knows, Lei Gong gets mad when children misbehave and don't listen to their parents. And when he gets mad, he sends lightning and thunder to let them know it.
The masks were only the appetizers. Now it was time for the main course:
Weapons! Long swords, spears, head choppers and an eight sided mace! The weapons for Peking Opera are made of various woods, bamboo and rattan. Master Tang makes them all himself, by hand. A spear with a four-foot handle sported a two-foot rounded blade, fashioned from a block of wood. Master Tang cut out the center of the blade, leaving an outline, which he filled in with rounded wire mesh. He attached a small carved, ebony lacquered wooden dragon, billowing smoke and fire. The center of the blade is replaced with mesh, he explained, because a solid blade of that size and thickness is too heavy for deft stage use. Another spear, not quite so elaborate, featured a wide silver blade, rounded at the tip and carved paper thin.
From the mask, you know the personality.
There was a weapon like a pineapple, mounted to a pole, with menacing looking spikes. Master Tang, seeing a speculative look on my face at the sight of this frightful weapon, hastened to show me that it wasn't dangerous al all. “Look, rubber.” He reached over and bent the spikes back with his fingers, then lifted the weapon and hit himself smartly on the head with it – “See, it doesn’t hurt!"
In a corner was the magic shrinking-cudgel used by the Monkey King character from the classical novel Journey to the West, and the oversized rake used by his accomplice, Piggy. The cudgel was a staff, wrapped in purple felt with golden ends; the rake was made of plain wood.
Master Tang then displayed an odd looking weapon, made with a horse's stirrup. He told us how the weapon originated. Once a hero was attacked in an ambush. He had no weapons to defend himself, so he grabbed his horse's stirrups and, using them effectively, managed to beat off his attackers. When the Emperor heard of the heroic battle and improvised weapon, he ordered such a weapon made for his own arsenal - a spiked stirrup mounted on a pole.
Flagons of rich hues are always on hand.
The eight-sided mace he showed us next was a black octagonal shape mounted on a short staff. On each side of the octagon were painted geometric designs. This hardly seemed a weapon al all - it looked more like an oversized baby rattle. The octagon was a bamboo frame covered with papier-mâché. I said skeptically, “It doesn't seem very sturdy to me," To show me I was wrong, Master Tang picked it up and gave the wall a whack that made it shake. Then he tossed the mace to the ground and jumped on it with his full weight. He gave it back to me to inspect. After all that abuse, which no Bic pen or Timex watch could have survived, it was undamaged.
A very important prop in Peking Opera is the horse whip. Since there are no horses or carriages on stage, whips represent them, tell what sort of person is riding the horse or carriage, and indicate motion and travel from one place to another.
Master Tang makes such whips by taking rattan and hand-tying a macrame of brightly colored thread around it. The whip is divided into about five sections by knotted segments of macrame, festooned with tassels spaced six inches apart. The entire length of the whip about four and a half feet - is covered with macrame so finely knit, it appears to be very difficult work, hard on the eyes. I said as much to Master Tang, who shrugged it off: “I can make one a day. No problem!"
Examining a sword - Ready to take its place in the imagination.
We accompanied Master Tang to the Armed Forces Cultural Activity Center to see some of his weapons in action. Scheduled that evening was a performance by the graduating class of the Lu Kuang Peking Opera School. Master Tang's creations were in resplendent array backstage. Attendants scurried back and forth, lining up his weapons, getting them ready for a battle that was soon to begin. At that moment, the most eye-catching of the props were Master Tang's banners of embroidered silk, mounted spear-like on wooden shafts. One type, hand-held, was to be carried by the generals' retinues. The other type, a frame of five banners, would be mounted on the generals' backs.
In Peking Opera, each character is costumed and made-up uniquely to match his specific role. Master Tang makes his weapons in the same vein. The tradition in Peking Opera, of each character using his own traditionally correct weapon, is so strong that it now occasioned a number of small incidents. When photographers began asking the actors (who were already in costume, made-up and ready to go on stage) to pick up nearby weapons and pose, the answer more often than not was negative: “I’m sorry, I can’t pose with that weapon, I’m playing a character from the Sung Dynasty; that weapon was popular in the Han Dynasty." "How about that one; pose with that one," pleaded a photographer, pointing out a lethal-looking executioner's ax. "Absolutely not," said the actor, "that is only used by ghosts and evil spirits."
A weapon for all seasons, but more fearful in conception than construction.
Master Tang is a man of many skills, who has not been limited to one activity. As we descended from the stage into the theater, he slapped the front edge of the stage and said proudly, “Do you know who did this woodwork? I did! A long time ago when I first came to Taiwan." He pointed to the ceiling, showing me a uniquely decorative molding that he had made for the beams. He commented that he had brought this skill with him from the mainland to Taiwan, and that he has since trained countless craftsmen. These, in their turn, have used the knowledge to refurbish Taiwan's ancient temples.
Master Tang turned around and looked at me, swelling his chest and clenching his fists, "I do everything myself; I make all these things with my bare hands. Thai's how I make my living."