Chinese history furnishes the greater portion of
the tales and traditions which are introduced
upon the stage. It is not always easy to
disentangle the truth from the fiction of these
dramatised stories, except, indeed, where the
supernatural is introduced, as is often prodigally
done. Few of the authors are known, but many
of the pieces are of considerable antiquity, and
are often faithful records of the usages of past
times. The words of the drama are usually
uttered with a sort of sing-song monotonous
recitation, interspersed with poetry, sinking now
and then into a scarcely audible utterance, and
anon rising into outbreaks of most impassioned
rage and violence. Loud crashes of dissonant
music, vehement beating of gongs, the rolling of
kettle-drums, and the squeaking of wind instruments,
fill up the insterstices with intolerable
discord. Only a small part of the dialogue is heard
by the audience. The pantomimic action is,
however, so excellent, that the story is tolerably
understood. The clang and the clatter which is so
discordant to the European ear, is most acceptable
to the Chinese. It is especially when battles
are fought on the stage that the shouting and
the crashing are beyond endurance ; but noise
is an element in which the Chinaman revels, and
of which he can never have enough.

No Oriental women dress with such comely
modesty as the Chinese; their garments cover
the bosom and reach up to the chin; but the
language used on the stage is often gross and
unlicensed, and the exhibitions which are most
applauded are sometimes far too licentious to be
tolerated by European opinion.

The painted scenes are seldom or never
changed — unity and continuity of action are
generally preserved — but when a change of place
is needful to the progress and development of
the drama, something is introduced to show that
the actors are transported to another locality;
one man is seen scampering over the boards,
riding on a wooden stick, sometimes with a
horse's head, and sometimes without, and he
whips the supposititious beast as he crosses and
recrosses the stage. Sometimes a real horse is
introduced, sometimes a sedan conveying the
rider, or the occupier, to the appointed place, so
that the line of continuity may not be broken.
If he have to pass a bridge, he paces first up
and then down, the bridges in China being
generally not level, but with steps ascending and
descending. If he have to cross the water, he
shows in his gestures the rolling motion of a
boat, and shaking himself as evidence of his
weariness, announces that he has reached the
end of his journey in safety, and that the scene
is transferred to the spot at which he has
arrived. And here we may ask had Shakespeare
ever heard of the Chinese theatrical devices, as
most assuredly no Chinaman ever heard of
Shakespeare? Yet Bottom's scheme of making
"some man or other to present wall, with some
plaster, or some loam, or some rough cast about
him to signify wall," is practically and actually
carried out in China — as, for example, when a
beleaguered city is the scene of action, then men
are heaped upon one another, and form "the
wall" which is to be scaled or overthrown, and
it is by mounting and tumbling over these bodies
that the attacking and victorious heroes make
their way into the stronghold.*

* See Barow's Travels in China, p. 220.
Williams's Middle Kingdom, ii. 86.

The belief in witches, ghosts, good and
evil spirits, is almost universal in China. The
popular almanacks, which have an immense
circulation, have many pages filled with pictorial
representations and descriptions of strange
creatures, " Gorgons, and hydras and chimeras
dire," who frighten children and women; genii
who bless or curse, with instructions as to the
means of thwarting their mischievous, and
conciliating their benevolent purposes. How to
win the affections of another; to obtain sleep at
night; to succeed in a commercial enterprise;
to make a journey in safety; to prognosticate
the weather; to win at a lottery; to secure the
birth of male children; to reach a happy old
age; such, and almost any other objects of
desire, are to be obtained by the supernatural
agencies which are introduced to the readers.

It is a general superstition in China that
multitudes of hungry demons in various hideous
forms are constantly wandering over the earth,
being the souls of wicked men, who can find
neither rest nor domicile; and the superstition
affords abundant elements with which to move
the popular mind. Spectral appearances and
monsters of all sorts form, naturally enough, a
considerable part of the theatrical machinery.
They are, in fact, associated with all the
business of life. At the entrance of every
public office, of every temple, there are images
of fierce dragons, and fanciful beasts and
reptiles, intended to inspire the passers-by with
awe and terror. On the floor of the stage there
is a trap-door, through which ghosts and spirits
mount to take their part in the proceedings, but
they usually announce their coming by
unspiritual vociferations, and ask for help from above
to be pulled up by the shoulders, or to be pushed
up by aid from below. As there is no delay over
the shifting of scenes or the falling of curtains,
the story pursues its uninterrupted course.

Examples throwing light on other characteristics
of the Chinese drama will form the
commencement of another paper.

A FIGHT WITH FEVER.

WHEN, three years and a half ago, we told
the story of the London Fever Hospital,** the
season was healthy, and the great value of its
shelter and care, even in sickly times, was less
understood than it now is. Then there were
not more than about thirty patients in its wards.
Within less than a year from that time a severe
epidemic raised the thirty to one hundred and
seventy, and we told then how, at peril of their
own lives, the officers and nurses of the
hospital were engaged in mortal struggle with a

** See Growth of a Hospital, vol. v., page 475.