Taiwan Today

The scene: a hillside overlooking Neihu (Inner Lake) on the upper reaches of the Keelung River in the northeastern suburbs of Taipei. The time: dawn, and preferably a misty one. The dramatis personae: two hundred teenagers screaming at the top of their lungs. Purpose: the training of young voices for the rugged life of a Chinese opera performer. Those who fail should have no trouble making the grade as chief cheer leader at any football university in the United States.

This is the National Fu Hsing Opera School, the only institution in the world teaching classical Chinese drama in the traditional manner. It takes eight years to develop an apprentice Chinese opera performer. Ability to sing in falsetto, in a rumbling bass or with a break in the voice to simulate the male passing into adolescence is only the beginning. There are hundreds of gestures to be learned. Each has a meaning of its own and each must be performed in precisely the same way every time. Music and musical theory are to be mastered. Of some 400 operas in the repertoire, a score or more must be memorized. Facial make-up is the most complicated known in drama. Every performer must be able to do his own and help others.

Fu Hsing was a private school for 11 years, the single-handed creation of Wang Chen-tsu, who was steeped in Chinese opera while a college student in Peiping. He came to know some of the greatest performers in the history of the Chinese theater. A refugee in Szechwan during the War of Resistance Against Japan, he continued his dramatic studies as a pupil of performers who stayed in the Wang household. At the war's close in 1945 he became director of a group which performed for President Chiang Kai-shek, a life-time admirer of the Chinese classical drama.

Wang's troupe reached Taiwan virtually intact but subsequently broke up. Many of the members went into the Armed Forces troupes. Wang took over the management of a movie house. But his heart was still in the legitimate theater. The early 1950s was a bad time for Chinese opera. Not so many actors and actresses had escaped the Communists. The audience was small. Native-born Taiwanese had their own form of theater and not much interest in the Peiping style of drama. Older players were retiring. Except for the training provided by the Armed Forces troupes, there was no way in which a youngster could learn to be a Chinese opera performer. Even those who loved the Peiping theater shook their heads and pronounced it a dying art.

Wang Chen-tsu found a contribution here and a loan there. In 1957, he put together in an abandoned feather processing plant at Peitou, north of Taipei, the predecessor of the National Fu Hsing School. There were never enough buildings. The students, who lived in dormitories at the school, complained that there weren't enough beds. Food was usually on the skimpy side. Out of a love for one of the world's most fascinating theaters, 120 young people and their principal persevered. That school endured for more than a decade. Its first class of 81 was graduated in 1964.

Along the way, Chinese opera interest was revived in Taiwan. The existence of Fu Hsing and its performances was an important factor. Another was the advent of television in 1962. The Chinese theater is perfectly adapted to the small screen and especially to color TV. Chinese operas are seen regularly on all three Taiwan networks. The Armed Forces made new fans out of some of the young men serving their country in uniform. The classical theater lives on in Taiwan and only in Taiwan. On the Chinese mainland the ancient plays are no longer seen or have been distorted to serve the purposes of Chinese Communist propaganda. The musical score of "Red Detachment of Women," the favorite of Mao's wife, Chiang Ching, has a Western pop flavor. This is about as close to Chinese opera as acid rock is to "Aida."

One of Wang's first problems was the recruitment of pupils. The stage has not been held in high esteem as a calling for China's best families. Interest in the theater was at a nadir. Wang undermined old prejudices by putting his own daughters into opera training. Many of his first students were orphans or had lost one parent. A number were refugees from the Communists. Free board and room was an important attraction to those with little means.

The Peitou school stood on government land. The government also provided a small cash subsidy. Some money was raised from performances, but not nearly enough to feed 120 hungry boys and girls who had been exercising from dawn to dusk. In the years of its private existence, the Fu Hsing money problem was never overcome. Yet the school persisted and had a number of notable successes. Performance tours of the Philippines, Thailand and the United States were highlights.

The 1962-63 tour of the United States, Canada and Latin America was the greatest triumph of the old Fu Hsing school. Expenses ruled out a big troupe. Only 30 players could be taken, plus 5 musicians, 2 make-up specialists, Wang Chen-tsu and his secretary-interpreter daughter. The original plan was for two months of performances beginning at the Seattle World Fair in October of 1962. As things turned out, the company was on the road for nearly 12 months and made it almost to Tierra del Fuego.

The American bible of the entertainment business, Variety, saluted the New York performances with a review that might be equaled but could scarcely be surpassed when an older and much bigger Chinese opera troupe goes to the United States in September of 1973. The reviewer wrote in part:

"This Chinese 'opera' is a melt of song, ceremonial dance, tumbling, quarterstaff dueling, pantomime, juggling and action drama. If it goes back, as the program notes, to the 14th century, then in addition to gunpowder and printing, the Chinese surely must have been the creators of showmanship. For it contains fine buildups and act curtains, imaginative pantomime, well-done clashes of arms and music synchronized to movements far ahead of Max Steiner.

"As a b.o. attraction it lacks the universality that English would have given it, but for its day-day stay on Broadway and for the burgeoning audience for ethnic culture, it is an okay item with the frequent spots of pop appeal. Starring is a young beaut. Miss Wang Fu-jung, who plays the Cinderella of the ancient drama and performs a teapot & tray juggling act, spinning and flipping her props until the audience almost audibly asks: 'Is the pot fastened to the tray?' With commendable cognizance of showmanly values, she tops her performance by hoisting the pot free to a wow hand. Tumbling exhibitions worthy of the Grade-A Syrian troupes of yesteryear are indulged in by a group of young men and, incidentally, despite prop beards and a.k. makeup, the entire company is youthful. There is a standout combo of flag-twirling and acrobatics, too. Costumes are lavish to point of comment, including status symbols which look like the first hula hoops. Makeup and masks are frequently fearsome or comic, by U.S. standards.

"Aside from Miss Wang Fu-jung, femmes in the company have little to do, but they provide a bright spot, backing her in a ribbon-twirling scene, similar to that introduced by the American dancer Loie Fuller, in early 1900's. Love interest is supplied by Chang Fu-chien and Tsao Fu-yung, splitting the role of the general, the first as a warrior and the second as courtier. Chen Fu-wen, as far as an Occidental unacquainted with the Mandarin dialect could judge, is both terrifying and funny as the venal Prime Minister. Feh Fu­-yung belies his name as the elder statesman and Hsieh Fu-hain is the bounciest of tumblers."

Other reviewers were equally enthusiastic. Allen Hughes wrote in the New York Times: "The Greeks may have had it, Richard Wagner and others wanted to create it, but it is Nationalist China that has sent it to us for our enjoyment here and now - total theater that offers pure enchantment.

"The Fu Hsing Theater combines drama, music, dance, spectacular costumes and makeup, youth, humor and vitality in one gorgeous package that makes the theater what Claudia Cassidy once said it ought to be - a place where it is Christmas every day."

Walter Kerr, usually an acerbic critic, wrote in the New York Herald-Tribune: "How soothing it is to spend an entire evening in which very little dialogue is spoken and what little there is spoken in a tongue you cannot reasonably be expected to understand.

"I do not mean this as a mere backhanded compliment to the Fu Hsing Theater of Nationalist China, by the way. The visiting company of porcelain-pink youngsters, some of whom stroke beards that resemble painted waterfalls, does indeed dispense with a great deal of what has been ailing most of us most seriously of late. But it is charming in its own innocent, elegant right as well - fastidiously animated, gentle in its jesting, somehow deeply gracious in addition to being effortlessly graceful."

Elliot Norton of the Boston Record American pronounced the show "delightful." He said the players had wit and humor and danced "with stately grace," bounded and bounced through remarkable acrobatic stunts and wore a great many richly handsome costumes.

"Their play, which has been adapted for Westerners, is simple and, once you learn a few tricks from the program, easily followed. It is delightful on any terms.

"The love scenes are exquisitely delicate and amusing. The dance sequences are equally charming. Although the music of the small Chinese orchestra is dissonant, it seems less so than it once did; in the meantime we have learned to accept - or perhaps to endure - the dissonance of many modern composers of our own.

"The art of the Chinese theater is many hundreds of years old. As presented by Fu Hsing, however, it is meaningful and magic now."

Leo Sullivan of the Washington Post called the Fu Hsing production "total theater." He wrote: "It's something like seeing the tradition-bound Swiss Guards suddenly ignited by the pipes of say, the Grays and Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders into the acrobatic shenanigans of a Doug Fairbanks opus. The whole of which frames a succession of charming dances, at least one of which brought to my mind the inspired choreography of 'The Little House of Uncle Thomas' from 'The King and I.'

"In other words, this theater is no stale slice of culture, but a very much alive blending of music, story-telling, dance, mime, singing and the joviality of a circus. Vastly shortened and from what one has been told to expect of the Oriental theatrical tradition, this production also dispenses with the black-clad, ever-present prop man and remains informal enough to invite the laughter and applause that frequently united the widely separated groups of spectators."

Critics of Latin American countries had similar words of praise. Central and South American cities were seeing their first opera performances by free Chinese. Communist companies had made Latin American tours. Newspapers pointed out that the youngsters from Taiwan were free to go anywhere, see anything and talk to anyone. Troupes of acrobats and others from the Chinese mainland were isolated and not allowed to speak freely; watchdog secret police were with them continuously.

The Fu Hsing players learned many new opera production tricks during the course of the tour. How do you present a massed battle scene with only 30 people? That's easy. Fifteen go through their gyrations while the other 15 duck into new costumes. The 15 newly clad soldiery rush on stage, rout the original 15, who rush off to change their costumes in 10 seconds, and so on. The children returned to Taipei as seasoned troupers.

Their marks for behavior equaled those for theatrical performance. They stayed in American homes at Waverly, Iowa, and were described as "little gentlemen and lovely, gracious ladies." With the bus ready to pull out, two of the boys were missing. They were found sweeping and dusting their bedroom. Their American guide on the tour said he wished American youngsters had an equal sense of responsibility and discipline.

Wang Chen-tsu hoped that success of the American tour would end problems of Fu Hsing support. It did not. Money remained scarce. Teachers were dedicated to Chinese opera but couldn't afford to work for nothing. The school struggled on, but the end seemed not far off.

Then came the Chinese Cultural Renaissance as conceptualized by President Chiang Kai-shek and launched throughout Taiwan and overseas Chinese communities on the centennial of the birth of Sun Yat-sen, the founding father of the Republic of China. Classical literature, music, drama and art were given encouragement and increased financial support.

Special interest was shown in Chinese opera -­ not only its performance but also its revision and publication. New research was undertaken. As the Cultural Renaissance proceeded, the need for a permanent, strongly supported, professional school of Chinese opera became obvious. What better way to accomplish this purpose than by taking Fu Hsing as a nucleus and building the institution which Wang had long foreseen?

The National Fu Hsing Opera School was opened at the new site - close to the theaters of Taipei but in the countryside for the peace, the quiet and the wide-open spaces required for the conditioning of singers - in 1968. Technically speaking, this is a senior vocational school. The course is of eight years, beginning with the last two years of elementary school and extending through junior and senior high school. As at the old school, students live on campus and receive free board and room. The demand for enrollment is high. Teachers now receive a living wage.

This is no mere trade school. Students take regular academic courses along with their opera training. They must master the reading and writing of the Chinese language. Their civics, history, math and other courses are the same as they would receive in academically aligned schools. In the first years, opera training is restricted to two hours a day, mostly devoted to singing and acrobatics. The academic opera courses are concerned with beginning dramatic theory and the literature of the ancient poets and dramatists.

Junior high school students spend 24 hours weekly in theater studies. They take up instrumentation and the writing of Chinese opera melodies. One course goes into the theory and writing of the k'un ch'u, a melodic line of Yuan dynasty origin which is a principal basis for Peiping opera music. Study of make-up, costuming, and stage settings and properties begins. Devotion to the plays themselves continues.

In the last three years, the hours given to the theater rise to 40. Acrobatics must be perfected. This is the period when performance reaches full flower. The proof of learning is what happens on the operatic stage. Individual study and tutoring are mandatory. Increased attention is given the singing. The history of the Chinese theater is learned, and there is work in the writing and revision of scripts.

Fu Hsing has the assigned task of producing writers of Chinese opera as well as performers. The music is no problem. It is nearly the same for every play. The melodic line is bent to the drama and to the role. Stories are another matter. Most deal with military exploits and with problems which, except for those of love, are not of abiding interest to the modem audience. Some of the writing is poor and the best of it does not rank with great literature. If Chinese opera is to be saved and enter upon a period of renaissance, rewritten and wholly new plays are essential.

The school is both a command post and clearing house for the improvement and modernization of Chinese opera but without destroying the qualities which have kept the art alive and thriving for so many centuries. Old scripts are compiled, then edited or rewritten. Materials and references no longer understood are eliminated. Some of the more earthy references are cleaned up. New scripts are invited. Publication and performance are possible for promising works.

Fu Hsing is an experimental center for the teaching of Chinese opera. Up to a generation ago, performers were trained in the theater. They learned directly from professionals. Nothing was written down. Scripts of plays existed but the literature on how to play them was scanty. This has handicapped teaching because of the emphasis placed on repetition and the current dearth of great actors. Textbooks have been written and published by the teachers and administrators of Fu Hsing. Today's student can turn to a book to get help with a certain gesture. In former times he would have had to go to the theater or ask someone skilled in that particular mannerism.

But if Fu Hsing has made Chinese opera training more academic and professional, it has not been able to curtail or discourage the yelling sessions. This is not to imply that the Peiping theater is an exercise in shouting down an antagonist. The intention is to develop lungpower and strengthen the vocal chords for the heavy demands which are placed upon them in performance. Phrasing, expression and enunciation also must be perfected. Color and life are brought into the voice. The song will not only be heard in the farthest corners of the hall, but will fall on the listener's ears pleasantly. The trained singer will be able to lift a clear voice - falsetto or natural - ­above the racket of madly ringing gongs, beating drums and clashing cymbals. Two vocal lessons a day are common for advanced students.

Almost every Chinese opera performer is a competent acrobat. Many are much better than good. Juggling and the handling of weapons have to be learned along with feats of tumbling. A performer with a repertoire of any size is sure to be called upon for leaps, flips, somersaults and the twirling of swords and lances which come within a fraction of an inch of touching but never do. Conditioning is not so different from that of ballet. The first goal is to loosen up the legs so they can be raised to ear level or higher. Both girls and boys reach the point where they can hold a foot as high as their head for 15 minutes, then do the same with the other foot.

Those who are going to be warriors must attain perfection in somersaulting across the stage, making leaps to rival those of Rudolf Nureyev, standing on their head, walking on their hands and engaging in all manner of other contortions. A well-trained acrobat will be able to stand on his hands atop piled-up tables and chairs, somersault from this unstable platform and land lightly on his feet.

To complicate matters acrobatically, these feats often must be performed while wearing built-up shoes, an insecure headdress and four battle flags strapped to the back. Dancing on skis or turning a flip on stilts would be no less difficult. Acrobats ordinarily do not fill the starring roles in Chinese opera, yet that very fact makes them all stars. Their outstanding showmanship is one of the unforgettable attractions of the Peiping theater.

Fu Hsing is also in the business of character development. Although repetition is at the core of great performance, it is still the individual who brings the drama to life. No matter how perfect the gesture, it is nothing without the impact of the personality which lies behind it. Once the magic of communication has been established between player and the members of his audience, a star is born. That is the same in Chinese opera as it was with Judy Garland, a performer who could have been a great Chinese opera ingenue. "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" has a Chinese opera flavor and thought.

Costuming has to be learned - not only the styles and the history, but also how to wear the often heavy regalia. Air-conditioning is overcoming the problem of such costuming in a tropical climate. However, some Fu Hsing graduates will be performing for the military forces and in smaller communities where cooling systems are unknown. Players must be conditioned to stand up under the punishment of brocades. There are pheasant plumes to be manipulated as well as the full sleeves which convey so much meaning. Experimentation with costumes also is in order for Fu Hsing. If a modern drama evolves, the dress of T'ang or Ming times would not be appropriate.

Make-up is a subject not to be acquired in less than several years. Students must learn the meaning of every color, every dot and every slashing stroke of paint. Having come to understand why faces are painted in this way or that, they have to acquire the skill of application. More than 500 facial designs were used in the Peiping opera of the early part of this century. The number is now smaller but the mastery of face painting is still a difficult challenge.

Or consider the matter of beards for some of the male roles. These are made of hair fastened to a wire frame fitting over the ears and resting on the upper lip. One type of beard hangs in five separate portions. There are dozens of beards which must be known to the actor playing such roles. On top of this, the performer has to accustom himself to singing through a hairy strainer.

One of the reviews of Fu Hsing in America spoke of pantomime, meaning the gestures which provide so much of the Chinese opera's richness and fascination. Hundreds of these must become a natural part of the performance and be carried out by the numbers, so to speak. Sleeve movements alone may preoccupy an opera student for years. The so-called water sleeves are cuffs of thin white silk left open at the seam and attached to the ends of the ordinary sleeves. The length of these sleeve extensions ranges from 18 inches to 2 feet. The longer they are, the greater the difficulty of manipulation. Movement of the sleeves is or should be as beautiful as the undulations of the arms and hands of a ballerina. Many emotions may be shown with the sleeves. Holding them in front of the face with the head slightly inclined symbolizes the acting of weeping. If the body is slightly bent and the sleeves are held at face level and made to quiver rapidly, fear is represented.

There are seven principal hand movements. One of these - pointing - has more than 20 subdivisions. The complications are more than equivalent to those of hand languages. Two examples may be cited. The hand is rounded a little, with the thumb bent under the first finger and the palm downward, and then waved once or twice. The directive is to summon someone. The fist is clenched with the thumb inside the bent fingers but lightly held and the right sleeve grasped in the left hand. This means the performer is about to strike someone. Pointed finger movements are done in time to the music.

Foot movements vary with the role played, as do all the other gestures of the Peiping drama. If the arms are lifted horizontally on either side and the performer moves sideways in a tripping motion, the character portrayed is going swiftly about important affairs. Intoxication or dizziness is symbolized by placing the left foot apart from the right foot and then drawing it to the right three times in succession; the movement then is repeated in the other direction. Or one foot may be crossed over the other several times while the body sways drunkenly.

Arm movements are numerous. To signify being very cold, the right hand is held below the left wrist while the arms are extended from the body, elbows bent. The arms are then moved to the right and left. Many arm and sleeve movements are signals to the orchestra. The whole head is involved in gestures. So is the beard. There is a whole repertoire of maneuvers for warriors sporting pheasant plumes in their headdresses. The great Peiping actors of yesterday would sometimes invent new bits of stage business. This is also a possibility at Fu Hsing and will be augmented by researches into opera history and the performances of outstanding artists.

Chinese opera will not be able to survive without replenishment of the audience. Followers of abbreviated TV versions of the classical drama tend to be mainlanders over the age of 50. The effect on young servicemen remains uncertain, although it is hoped that the Armed Forces troupes have created understanding and made friends for their form of artistic expression. Fu Hsing is doing its part with regular performances for junior and senior high school students at the 2,000-seat auditorium of the Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall in Taipei.

Another step toward a more modern look is the Fu Hsing regard for the production as an integrated whole controlled by the director rather than as the vehicle of a protagonist. The new approach is closer to that of the nonmusical theater and filmmaking. Thought has been given not only to the elements that make the opera popular but also to those which contribute to disinterest or make the theater objectionable.

The Chinese theater is worthy of preservation. Chinese music is believed to be about 5,000 years old, although no examples of that great age have come down to the present. Music helped the founder of the Han dynasty, Liu Pang, defeat his principal rival. The army of the Kingdom of Ch'u, led by Hsiang Yu, was surrounded by Liu Pang's forces. Liu Pang had his men sing the songs of Ch'u one night. As the songs echoed back and forth between the hills, Hsiang Yu exclaimed, "Can the army of Han have taken Ch'u? And the men of Ch'u are so many! " Hsiang Yu's demoralized forces were defeated and their leader was killed. This happened more than 2,000 years ago.

Music underwent great development during the Han (206 B.C.-221 A.D.). The Imperial Office of Music was created by Emperor Wu (141-87 B.C.). Rules of performance were exacting. All kinds of music was controlled: ceremonial, folk, scholarly and military melodies as well as the national songs. The feudal system vanished and a new gentry showed augmented interest in culture, which came to include choral dancing. Ssu-ma Ch'ien wrote of entertainment in his history of China. In a chapter on comedy, he tells of Yu Meng, who lived about 600 B.C., a court jester of Ch'u. The surname Yu went into the language as a theatrical performer. Han expanded westward and barbarian instruments were added to the orchestra. The p'i-p'a and hu-ch'in of the barbarians are heard today in Chinese opera.

Culture and the arts flourished as never before during the nearly 300 years of the T'ang dynasty (618-906). Emperor Hsuan Tsung (713-756) was a music lover and established the "Pear Garden" to train young men as musicians, singers and dancers. A separate school was set up for girls. His court orchestra was said to number more than 700 players and his troupe of musicians and singers for outdoor performances exceeded 1,000. Hsuan Tsung donned a jester's costume on occasion to please his favorite concubine, Yang Kuei-fei.

True drama was born in the Sung dynasty (960-1126). The reign of Chen Tsung (998-1023) saw stories acted out during the intermissions of musical shows and other entertainments. These at first were called tsa chu or "mixed performances." Choral dances, songs and instrumental music subsequently were combined with the acting. The combination of dance, music and song became increasingly popular in Southern Sung (1127-1279). This style of theater was called nan ch'u or "southern drama."

When the Mongols conquered North China, they found choral dancing and storytellers who spun their yarns in verse form to the accompaniment of simple music. The new rulers showed a liking for storytelling. Scholars began to write new material in the colloquial style, which was easier for the Mongols to understand than the literary language. Out of the storytellers' art grew the "northern drama," which came to be performed in cities and towns during the Mongol period. Temporary stages were set up in markets, courtyards and palaces.

The Peiping style emerged during the long reign of Ch'ien Lung (1736-1795) in Ch'ing times. Combining popular aspects of many provincial theaters, it came to be the chief drama of China, although regional operas have not died out. Taiwanese opera remains popular, especially in the countryside, and Cantonese opera is performed in Hongkong.

If drama has a long history in China, so does the place of its presentation. The earliest permanent stages were those of temples. They were made of stone and brick and had ornate roofs. The simple platforms without curtain or proscenium were raised high above the ground. Spectators stood or sat in the open courtyard to see the performances, which were paid for by wealthy patrons. This stage was to be the prototype of both public playhouses and the private stages of the Imperial Court, nobles and rich businessmen. Private patronage of the theater lasted into the Republican period.

The Empress Dowager's theater at the Summer Palace in Peiping was of three stories. Evil spirits could rise to the stage from below while celestial beings descended from above. Commoners were not admitted to such performances. Most public theaters were temporary structures of planks, bamboo poles and matting which could be set up in a matter of hours and dismantled just as quickly. These theaters are still to be seen in Taiwan. Troupes even come into the neighborhoods of Taipei to set up stages that draw people away from color television sets. No admission is charged by these peripatetic players; they solicit contributions from the crowd.

In a book published in 1857, Robert Fortune gave this account of the Chinese traveling theater of that time: "In the afternoon the play began and attracted its thousands of happy spectators. The subscribers, or those who gave the play, had a raised platform placed about 20 yards from the front of the stage, for themselves and their friends. The public occupied the ground on the front and sides of the stage, and to them the whole was free as their mountain air; each man, however poor, had as good a right to be there as his neighbor. And it is the same all over China; the actors are paid by the rich, and the poor are not excluded from participating in the enjoyments of the stage. The Chinese have a curious fancy for erecting these temporary theaters in the dry beds of streams. In traveling through the country I have frequently seen them in such places. Sometimes when the thing is done in grand style, a little tinsel town is erected at the same time, with its palaces, pagodas, gardens and dwarf plants. These places rise and disappear as if by the magic of the enchanter's wand but they serve the purposes for which they are designed and contribute largely to the enjoyment and happiness of the mass of the people."

Permanent theaters originated in the teahouse. The teahouse stages of the Ch'ing dynasty lasted for a couple of hundred years and didn't vanish until this century. Audiences sat on stools at tables and drank tea as the performance proceeded. The tables did not necessarily have a good view of the stage. That was unobjectionable, because conversation and social exchange was as important as the play. The price of admission was the ch'a ch'ien or "tea money." Slips of paper were passed out to indicate the names of the plays to be staged that day. A whole table subsequently was "sold" to a theatergoing party, much as a box would be purchased in the Western theater. Guests might request the giving of a specific drama and pay extra for the privilege.

The Kuang Ho Lo theater in Peiping was built during the reign of K'ang Hsi (1661-1722). The nearly square stage was covered by a roof supported by lacquered columns. The elevation was several feet and there was a low wooden balustrade about 2 feet high. At the rear were two doors on either side. Between these was a crimson embroidered curtain. Oil lamps were used for illumination until the coming of gas, which then gave way to electricity. Suspended from the roof was a horizontal bar for the use of acrobats. The auditorium had tables and stools in the center. On each side was a verandah where people sat on long benches. Another verandah was located at the rear. A second-floor verandah was divided into boxes, each with room for about 12 persons. When women were first allowed to attend the theater, they were restricted to these boxes.

Theater architecture changed only after the National Revolution of 1911. The proscenium was introduced, although the first modern stages were semicircular and protruded into the auditorium. For a while experiments were carried out in the introduction of scenery, especially at Shanghai. This never quite caught on, perhaps because so many conventions of the Chinese theater had been invented to take the place of the realism supplied by scenery, sets and props.

The backstage hustle and bustle of the Chinese theater has to be seen to be believed. Stage management is an art in itself to control the huge cast and the constant comings and goings. Greenrooms are places of ceaseless activity. The smell of powder and make-up hangs heavy in the air. In olden times, the greenroom was filled with superstitions, some of which have survived to this day. Troupes of former times formed their own court to judge players for misconduct. The leader of the orchestra was the judge and the highest penalty was dismissal. No women were allowed on stage before a performance. Actors made their bows to a small shrine before entering the greenroom. Some still do. Opening of an umbrella backstage was bad luck. Umbrellas were called yu kai ("rain cover") rather than san ("umbrella") because the character for "separate" has the same sound as that for umbrella and thus might bring the misfortune of a troupe dissolution. In Ch'ing times, drama was prohibited for a period of 100 days after the death of the Emperor. For another 100 days the actors could appear only in ordinary clothes and wore blue silk scarves around their head.

These are some of the traditions which lie behind the troupe appearing in American cities this fall. And these are also the origins which provide continuing motivation for the efforts of the National Fu Hsing Opera School as well as the other institutions, troupes, clubs and individuals engaged in perpetrating and improving a theater which has survived in living form whereas the Greek drama has not.

The dramas chosen for the U.S. tour include excerpts from some of the most popular plays as well as from those considered to be artistically superior or outstanding as spectacles. The practice of excerpting has gained ground in consequence of the extreme length of some Peiping operas. The longer dramas would put Wagner's "Ring of the Nibelungen" to shame. With stage sets no problem, it is possible to have acts and scenes without number. The tendency of today is to coalesce these and to cut away some of the dead wood that slows up the action.

What began in the "Pear Garden" is blooming again for American audiences. The success of the 1973 tour is expected to have more than a little to do with boosting the morale of Peiping drama lovers in the Republic of China and assuring a new lease on life for one of the most entertaining and inventive forms of drama in theatrical history.