Two neighbors, the clowns in the piece, enter and after much discussion suggest that the women settle the disagreement by shaking dice. Three dice are used, and the wife throws a score of seventeen. The concubine then prostrates herself before the house god and when her dice are counted it is found that she has eighteen points. She is victorious!

Probably about as much as one fourth of the drama played in China at the present time deals with religious or mythological subjects. Kuan-yin, the goddess of mercy, the Buddhist madonna, very frequently figures in these plays, releasing unfortunates from punishments and otherwise doing deeds of kindness. A direct contrast to her is found in the cruel judge of the lower world. In the Field Museum, Chicago, there are exhibits portraying a number of Chinese religious plays and the curator, Doctor Berthold Laufer, has written an excellent guidebook dealing with these theatrical representations having for their aim the inculcation of better morals through the fear of punishments in the hereafter. I cannot resist quoting from Doctor Laufer on the typically Chinese attitude toward this form of religious drama:

A favorite example of the mythological drama is the story of “The White and the Black Snake” (Po She Chuan), taken from a novel of the same name. Two snake demons took on the form of lovely virgins. One day they quarreled and the White Snake said to the black, “If you can defeat me in a fight I’ll serve you, but if you are beaten you shall be my slave.” The White Snake won and according to the agreement the other became her servant. In a former incarnation a certain young man had saved the life of the White Snake and she decided to reward him by becoming his beautiful and loving wife. Their marriage was indeed a very happy one for a time. It is a Chinese custom on the fifth day of the fifth month to drink a cup of wine containing a certain blossom which acts as a charm against venomous animals. Hsü Hsuan, the husband, followed this custom and gave some also to his unsuspecting wife. The White Snake felt uncomfortable after this draught and retired early. Hardly had she gone to sleep when she lost her human form and was changed into a snake. When her husband later on parted the curtains of their bed, he saw a huge white snake lying there, raising her head toward him and spewing fire. Hsü Hsuan was so frightened that he fell to the ground dead. Aroused by the noise, the Black Snake came on the scene and awoke her mistress, who on awakening once more took on human form. When she realized what she had unwittingly done, she burst into tears; but she soon recalled that on the mountain dominated by the God of Long Life there grew an herb capable of restoring the dead to life. She hurried to this mountain to steal a bit of the herb. But the God of Long Life saw her and in great anger pursued her. By means of enveloping her in the fumes of a charm against snakes he captured her; but on learning for what purpose she had come to steal he not only released her, but presented her with the herb. By means of it the dead man was soon restored to life.

The two demons wished to please Hsü Hsuan in every way, but in doing him favors they harmed the community. They robbed the state treasury to enrich their favorite; but the treasurer was beheaded in consequence. Thereupon they opened a drug store and in order to make the business prosper they spread various diseases in the village. But the abbot of a nearby monastery discovered their tricks. He visited Hsü Hsuan under the pretense of collecting alms and warned him that he had better come for a time to the monastery to be freed from the influence of evil demons that were besetting him. Hsü Hsuan, who remembered only too well his experience on the fifth day of the fifth month, was glad to go. He told his wife that he was going to the temple to worship.

But when her husband failed to return, the White Snake decided to go to the monastery to seek him. On the way she confessed to her servant that she was soon going to give birth to a child, an event which she hoped would give great pleasure to Hsü Hsuan. The two snakes in human form rode in a boat to the monastery which was located on an island. The abbot met them and sternly ordered them off lest he destroy them utterly by means of his magic power. Full of anger the two demons drew their magic swords against the abbot, but the latter tossed into the air his cane with a dragon’s head, which was changed immediately into a living dragon and attacked the two snakes so savagely that they were forced to flee for their lives. But by means of their magic they sent a flood which threatened to destroy the island. The abbot, surrounded by all his priests, spread his garment at the edge of the water, thereby causing the island to rise in the same degree as the water. At this point K’uei Shing, god of the literati, arrived like the deus ex machina of a Euripidean play. He had been sent by Wen Chang, the god of science and literature, to put an end to the quarrel because the son of Hsü Hsuan and the White Snake was destined to obtain the highest degree in the literary examinations. Thus the island was saved and the snakes returned home unscathed.

Hsü Hsuan, on the abbot’s advice, also set out for home, and met his wife with her servant on a bridge. The Black Snake drew her sword to avenge on him the humiliation done her mistress, but the White Snake protected him from the fury of her servant. Both were overcome by their emotions; they wept in silence, unable to put their feelings into words, in this struggle between love and fear. Soon afterward the son was born; but three days later the god Wen Chang abducted the two demons to his magic pagoda, while Hsü Hsuan was left in wistful happiness with his promising son, the greatest boon in the life of a Chinese.

This charming story, by the way, forms the basis of Grimm’s tale, “The White and the Black Snake.”

I have never seen the first part of this play, but on several occasions I saw the visit of the snakes to the island monastery called “Chin Shan-tze.” One of these performances was at the annual benefit for the poor riksha-runners of Peking organized by that widely beloved American missionary, Mrs. Goodrich. As the play was given at the theater of the foreign community, many of the crudities and incongruities of the Chinese stage were absent. The orchestra was not sitting on the stage and was muffled somewhat. Back and side drops with good lighting effects served to set off well the colorful robes of the shaven-headed monks praying before an immense image of Buddha. The fighting staged by the demon warriors was an exhibition of graceful and acrobatic movements that would do credit to a Russian ballet. The story with all its pathos was very well acted, so that the whole formed a memorable performance such as would, I am sure, delight American audiences if a theatrical manager were to engage Mei Lan-fang with his troupe for a tour.

In Chapter Six are mentioned the many seasonal plays of the Chinese theater which make of this institution a true folk theater. In concluding this chapter I shall quote a synopsis of the libretto of “Ch’ang-O Pin Yüeh” (Ch’ang-O’s Flight to the Moon). This playlet is one of those into which Mei Lan-fang has woven his graceful dances, an innovation on his part on the Chinese stage. I follow the translation given on the program at a performance before the American College Club on November 17, 1917.