The Japanese Theatre and the Story of the Thunder Cat. Treating also of the Quiet Places and the Dead Man in the Street
TO the theatre we went, through the mud and much rain. Internally it was nearly dark, for the deep blue of the audience’s dress soaked up the scanty1 light of the kerosene2 lamps. There was no standing3 room anywhere except next to the Japanese policeman, who in the cause of morals and the Lord Chamberlain had a corner in the gallery and three chairs all to himself. He was quite four feet eight inches high, and Napoleon at St. Helena could not have folded his arms more dramatically. After some grunting4 — I fear we were upsetting the principles of the Constitution — he consented to give us one chair, receiving in return a Burma cheroot which I have every reason to believe blew his little head off. A pit containing fifty rows of fifty people and a bonding-layer of babies, with a gallery which might have held twelve hundred, made up the house. The building was as delicate a piece of cabinet work as any of the houses; roof, floor, beams, props5, verandahs, and partitions were of naked wood, and every other person in the house was smoking a tiny pipe and knocking out the ashes every two minutes. Then I wished to fly; death by the auto-da-fe not being anywhere paid for in the tour; but there was no escape by the one little door where pickled fish was being sold between the acts.
‘Yes, it’s not exactly safe,’ said the Professor, as the matches winked6 and sputtered7 all round and below. ‘But if that curtain catches that naked light on the stage, or you see this matchwood gallery begin to blaze, I’ll kick out the back of the refreshment-buffet, and we can walk home.’
With this warm comfort the drama began. The green curtain dropped from above and was whisked away, and three gentlemen and a lady opened the ball by a dialogue conducted in tones between a ‘burble’ and a falsetto whisper. If you wish to know their costumes, look at the nearest Japanese fan. Real Japs of course are like men and women, but stage Japs in their stiff brocades are line for line as Japs are drawn8. When the four sat down, a little boy ran among them and settled their draperies, pulling out a sash bow here, displaying a skirt-fold there. The costumes were as gorgeous as the plot was incomprehensible. But we will call the play ‘The Thunder Cat, or Harlequin Bag o’ Bones and the Amazing Old Woman, or The Mammoth9 Radish, or The Superfluous10 Badger11 and the Swinging Lights.’
A two-sworded man in the black and gold brocade rose up and imitated the gait of an obscure actor called Henry Irving, whereat, not knowing that he was serious, I cackled aloud till the Japanese policeman looked at me austerely13. Then the two-sworded man wooed the Japanese-fan lady, the other characters commenting on his proceedings14 like a Greek chorus till something — perhaps a misplaced accent — provoked trouble, and the two-sworded man and a vermilion splendour enjoyed a Vincent Crummles fight to the music of all the orchestra — one guitar and something that clicked — not castanets. The small boy removed their weapons when the men had sufficiently15 warred, and, conceiving that the piece wanted light, fetched a ten-foot bamboo with a naked candle at the end, and held this implement16 about a foot from the face of the two-sworded man, following his every movement with the anxious eye of a child intrusted with a typewriter. Then the Japanese-fan girl consented to the wooing of the two-sworded man, and with a scream of eldritch laughter turned into a hideous17 old woman — a boy took off her hair, but she did the rest herself. At this terrible moment a gilded18 Thunder Cat, which is a cat issuing from a cloud, ran on wires from the flies to the centre of the gallery, and a boy with a badger’s tail mocked at the two-sworded man. Then I knew that the two-sworded man had offended a Cat and a Badger, and would have a very bad time of it, for these two animals and the Fox are to this day black sorcerers. Fearful things followed, and the scenery was changed once every five minutes. The prettiest effect was secured by a double row of candles hung on strings19 behind a green gauze far up the stage and set swinging with opposite motions. This, besides giving a fine idea of uncanniness, made one member of the audience seasick20.
But the two-sworded man was far more miserable21 than I. The bad Thunder Cat cast such spells upon him that I gave up trying to find out what he meant to be. He was a fat-faced low comedian22 King of the Rats, assisted by other rats, and he ate a magic radish with side-splitting pantomime till he became a man once more. Then all his bones were taken away,— still by the Thunder Cat,— and he fell into a horrid23 heap, illuminated24 by the small boy with the candle — and would not recover himself till somebody spoke25 to a magic parrot, and a huge hairy villain26 and several coolies had walked over him. Then he was a girl, but, hiding behind a parasol, resumed his shape, and then the curtain came down and the audience ran about the stage and circulated generally. One small boy took it into his head that he could turn head-over-heels from the Prompt side across. With great gravity, before the unregarding house, he set to work, but rolled over sideways with a flourish of chubby27 legs. Nobody cared, and the polite people in the gallery could not understand why the Professor and I were helpless with laughter when the child, with a clog28 for a sword, imitated the strut29 of the two-sworded man. The actors changed in public, and any one who liked might help shift scenes. Why should not a baby enjoy himself if he liked?
A little later we left. The Thunder Cat was still working her wicked will on the two-sworded man, but all would be set right next day. There was a good deal to be done, but Justice was at the end of it. The man who sold pickled fish and tickets said so.
‘Good school for a young actor,’ said the Professor. ‘He’d see what unpruned eccentricities30 naturally develop into. There’s every trick and mannerism31 of the English stage in that place, magnified thirty diameters, but perfectly32 recognisable. How do you intend to describe it?’
‘The Japanese comic opera of the future has yet to be written,’ I responded grandiloquently33. ‘Yet to be written in spite of the Mikado. The badger has not yet appeared on an English stage, and the artistic34 mask as an accessory to the legitimate35 drama has never been utilised. Just imagine The Thunder Cat as a title for a serio-comic opera? Begin with a domestic cat possessed36 of magic powers, living in the house of a London tea-merchant who kicks her. Consider ——’
‘The lateness of the hour,’ was the icy answer. ‘To-morrow we will go and write operas in the temple close to this place.’
. . . . .
. . . . .
To-morrow brought fine drizzling37 rain. The sun, by the way, has been hidden now for more than three weeks. They took us to what must be the chief temple of Kobé and gave it a name which I do not remember. It is an exasperating38 thing to stand at the altars of a faith that you know nothing about. There be rites39 and ceremonies of the Hindu creed40 that all have read of and must have witnessed, but in what manner do they pray here who look to Buddha41, and what worship is paid at the Shinto shrines43? The books say one thing; the eyes, another.
The temple would seem to be also a monastery44 and a place of great peace disturbed only by the babble45 of scores of little children. It stood back from the road behind a sturdy wall, an irregular mass of steep-pitched roofs bound fantastically at the crown, copper-green where the thatch46 had ripened47 under the touch of time, and dull greyblack where the tiles ran. Under the eaves a man who believed in his God, and so could do good work, had carved his heart into wood till it blossomed and broke into waves or curled with the ripple48 of live flames. Somewhere on the outskirts49 of Lahore city stands a mazy gathering50 of tombs and cloister51 walks called Chajju Bhagat’s Chubara, built no one knows when and decaying no one cares how soon. Though this temple was large and spotlessly clean within and without, the silence and rest of the place were those of the courtyards in the far-off Punjab. The priests had made many gardens in corners of the wall — gardens perhaps forty feet long by twenty wide, and each, though different from its neighbour, containing a little pond with goldfish, a stone lantern or two, hummocks52 of rock, flat stones carved with inscriptions53, and a cherry or peach tree all blossom.
Stone-paved paths ran across the courtyard and connected building with building. In an inner enclosure, where lay the prettiest garden of all, was a golden tablet ten or twelve feet high, against which stood in high relief of hammered bronze the figure of a goddess in flowing robes. The space between the paved paths here was strewn with snowy-white pebbles54, and in white pebbles on red they had written on the ground, ‘How happy.’ You might take them as you pleased — for the sigh of contentment or the question of despair.
The temple itself, reached by a wooden bridge, was nearly dark, but there was light enough to show a hundred subdued55 splendours of brown and gold, of silk and faithfully painted screen. If you have ever seen a Buddhist56 altar where the Waster of the Law sits among golden bells, ancient bronzes, flowers in vases, and banners of tapestry57, you will begin to understand why the Roman Catholic Church once prospered58 so mightily60 in this country, and will prosper59 in all lands where it finds an elaborate ritual already existing. An art-loving folk will have a God who is to be propitiated61 with pretty things as surely as a race bred among rocks and moors62 and driving clouds will enshrine their deity63 in the storm, and make him the austere12 recipient64 of the sacrifice of the rebellious65 human spirit. Do you remember the story of the Bad People of Iquique? The man who told me that yarn66 told me another — of the Good People of Somewhere Else. They also were simple South Americans with nothing to wear, and had been conducting a service of their own in honour of their God before a black-jowled Jesuit father. At a critical moment some one forgot the ritual, or a monkey invaded the sanctity of that forest shrine42 and stole the priest’s only garment. Anyhow, an absurdity67 happened, and the Good People burst into shouts of laughter and broke off to play for a while.
‘But what will your God say? ‘asked the Jesuit, scandalised at the levity68.
‘Oh! he knows everything. He knows that we forget, and can’t attend, and do it all wrong, but he is very wise and very strong,’ was the reply.
‘Well, that doesn’t excuse you.’
‘Of course it does. He just lies back and laughs,’ said the Good People of Somewhere Else, and fell to pelting69 each other with blossoms.
I forget what is the precise bearing of this anecdote70. But to return to the temple. Hidden away behind a mass of variegated71 gorgeousness was a row of very familiar figures with gold crowns on their heads. One does not expect to meet Krishna the Butter Thief and Kali the husband-beater so far east as Japan.
‘What are these?’
‘They are other gods,’ said a young priest, who giggled72 deprecatingly at his own creed every time he was questioned about it. ‘They are very old. They came from India in the past. I think they are Indian gods, but I do not know why they are here.’
I hate a man who is ashamed of his faith. There was a story connected with those gods, and the priest would not tell it to me. So I sniffed73 at him scornfully, and went my way. It led me from the temple straight into the monastery, which was all made of delicate screens, polished floors, and brown wood ceilings. Except for my tread on the boards there was no sound in the place till I heard some one breathing heavily behind a screen. The priest slid back what had appeared to me a dead wall, and we found a very old priest half-asleep over his charcoal74 handwarmer. This was the picture. The priest in olive-green, his bald head, pure silver, bowed down before a sliding screen of white oiled paper which let in dull silver light. To his right a battered75 black lacquer stand containing the Indian ink and brushes with which he feigned76 to work. To the right of these, again, a pale yellow bamboo table holding a vase of olive-green crackle, and a sprig of almost black pine There were no blossoms in this place. The priest was too old. Behind the sombre picture stood a gorgeous little Buddhist shrine,— gold and vermilion.
‘He makes a fresh picture for the little screen here every day,’ said the young priest, pointing first to his senior, and then to a blank little tablet on the wall. The old man laughed pitifully, rubbed his head, and handed me his picture for the day. It represented a flood over rocky ground; two men in a boat were helping77 two others on a tree half-submerged by the water. Even I could tell that the power had gone from him. He must have drawn well in his manhood, for one figure in the boat had action and purpose as it leaned over the gunwale; but the rest was blurred78, and the lines had wandered astray as the poor old hand had quavered across the paper. I had no time to wish the artist a pleasant old age, and an easy death in the great peace that surrounded him, before the young man drew me away to the back of the shrine, and showed me a second smaller altar facing shelves on shelves of little gold and lacquer tablets covered with Japanese characters.
‘These are memorial tablets of the dead,’ he giggled. ‘Once and again the priest he prays here — for those who are dead, you understand?’
‘Perfectly. They call ’em masses where I come from. I want to go away and think about things. You shouldn’t laugh, though, when you show off your creed.’
‘Ha, ha! ‘said the young priest, and I ran away down the dark polished passages with the faded screens on either hand, and got into the main courtyard facing the street, while the Professor was trying to catch temple fronts with his camera.
A procession passed, four abreast79 tramping through the sloshy mud. They did not laugh, which was strange, till I saw and heard a company of women in white walking in front of a little wooden palanquin carried on the shoulders of four bearers and suspiciously light. They sang a song, half under their breaths — a wailing80, moaning song that I had only heard once before, from the lips of a native far away in the north of India, who had been clawed past hope of cure by a bear, and was singing his own death-song as his friends bore him along.
‘Have makee die,’ said my ’rickshaw coolie. ‘Few-yu-ne-ral.’
I was aware of the fact. Men, women, and little children poured along the streets, and when the death-song died down, helped, it forward. The half-mourners wore only pieces of white cloth about their shoulders. The immediate81 relatives of the dead were in white from head to foot. ‘Aho! Ahaa! Aho!’ they wailed82 very softly, for fear of breaking the cadence83 of the falling rain, and they disappeared. All except one old woman, who could not keep pace with the procession, and so came along alone, crooning softly to herself. ‘Aho! Ahaa! Aho!’she whispered.
The little children in the courtyard were clustered round the Professor’s camera. But one child had a very bad skin disease on his innocent head,— so bad that none of the others would play with him,— and he stood in a corner and sobbed84 and sobbed as though his heart would break. Poor little Gehazi!
收听单词发音 |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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props
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| 小道具； 支柱( prop的名词复数 )； 支持者； 道具； （橄榄球中的）支柱前锋 | |
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winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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sputtered
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| v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的过去式和过去分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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mammoth
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| n.长毛象；adj.长毛象似的，巨大的 | |
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superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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badger
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| v.一再烦扰，一再要求，纠缠 | |
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austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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austerely
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| adv.严格地，朴质地 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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implement
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| n.(pl.)工具，器具；vt.实行，实施，执行 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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seasick
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| adj.晕船的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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comedian
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| n.喜剧演员；滑稽演员 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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chubby
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| adj.丰满的，圆胖的 | |
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clog
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| vt.塞满，阻塞；n.[常pl.]木屐 | |
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strut
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| v.肿胀，鼓起；大摇大摆地走；炫耀；支撑；撑开；n.高视阔步；支柱，撑杆 | |
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eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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mannerism
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| n.特殊习惯，怪癖 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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grandiloquently
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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drizzling
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| 下蒙蒙细雨，下毛毛雨( drizzle的现在分词 ) | |
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exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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Buddha
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| n.佛；佛像；佛陀 | |
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shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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shrines
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| 圣地，圣坛，神圣场所( shrine的名词复数 ) | |
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monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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ripened
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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hummocks
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| n.小丘，岗( hummock的名词复数 ) | |
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inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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Buddhist
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| adj./n.佛教的，佛教徒 | |
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tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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prosper
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| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
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mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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propitiated
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| v.劝解，抚慰，使息怒( propitiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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recipient
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| a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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pelting
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| 微不足道的，无价值的，盛怒的 | |
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anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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71
variegated
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| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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72
giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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74
charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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75
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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76
feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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77
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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78
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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79
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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80
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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81
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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82
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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84
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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