Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 67 Chen Jitong

Albert chuckled a few times, but when he noticed that Lionel not only didn't laugh along, but his face was as black as the bottom of a pot, he awkwardly stopped laughing.

This was the first time Lionel had truly been angered by Albert. He barely managed to restrain himself from slapping Albert across the face and patiently said, "I hope there won't be a next time."

After saying that, he turned and left, leaving a bewildered Albert standing there.

Albert watched Lionel's retreating figure, a surge of anger welling up within him, but then he remembered what his father had written in the letter... He quickly put on a smile and caught up with Lionel: "Hey! Lionel, you should have said earlier that you had a good impression of the Chinese!"

I have a cabinet full of porcelain at home, all genuine pieces that my uncle brought from China in 1860. You can go and see for yourself if you're interested…”

Before he could finish speaking, Albert saw Lionel's face darken even further. Not knowing what he had done wrong, Albert could only shut his mouth again and slink behind Lionel.

Arriving at the Sorbonne's Gothic teaching building, I indeed saw the lecture notice poster for today. This morning, the lecturer was someone whose name was roughly pronounced "Tcheng ki-tong," and the lecture topic was "Chinese Drama."

According to the poster, this "Tcheng ki-tong" has studied in several European countries, including France, Britain, and Germany. He is fluent in French and is currently studying at the Sorbonne Law School. He also served as the translator for Guo Songtao, the Qing Dynasty's envoy to Britain and France.

Lionel's furrowed brows relaxed slightly. In this era, those who could study in Europe were no ordinary people, and later, many outstanding talents emerged.

If my memory serves me correctly, the Chinese spelling of "Tcheng ki-tong" should be "陈季同", a member of the Qing Dynasty's government-sponsored students studying abroad.

Albert, seeing him linger in front of the poster for so long without glancing at the obviously more appealing one next to it, asked cautiously, "Leon, you want to listen to this pig... Chinese man's lecture?"

Lionel didn't speak, he just nodded. He also wanted to see what kind of mentality the Chinese elites of this era would exhibit.

Chen Jitong's lecture was held in a small auditorium at the Sorbonne, with fewer than a hundred seats, originally intended for small ceremonies by aristocratic families; Anatole France's lecture, on the other hand, occupied the largest auditorium, which could accommodate three times the number of people.

As expected, when Lionel arrived at the small auditorium, it was sparsely populated and not fully occupied until the lecture began. Several Sorbonne teachers were also there out of courtesy.

The person who invited Chen Jitong to give the lecture was Charles-Antoine Latour, an elderly scholar who had always been curious about Eastern culture. He hoped that through this Chinese diplomat who was fluent in French and well-versed in European culture, the students could understand a real China that was different from what Europeans imagined.

When Chen Jitong entered the classroom accompanied by Professor Latour, the previously buzzing discussion suddenly rose, then fell into an odd silence. He was dressed in a well-fitting dark Western-style suit, with a dignified appearance, upright posture, and composed demeanor, and a polite smile on his young face.

However, the jet-black, neatly combed braid at the back of his head was like a thorn, instantly piercing the eyes of many Sorbonne teachers and students filled with a sense of superiority, and Lionel's inner feelings were particularly complicated.

In the eyes of mainstream European society at the time, this braid was a symbol of "uncivilized," "barbaric," and "submissive" behavior, and a signature symbol used in cartoons and satirical plays to vilify the Chinese.

A few suppressed snickers came from beside him, filled with undisguised contempt. Several of Albert's henchmen exchanged mocking glances, and one of them exaggeratedly imitated Albert's braid-swinging motion, eliciting a low chuckle from the surrounding crowd.

Albert was extremely embarrassed and quickly put on a stern face: "You bunch of idiots, if you don't shut up I'll beat you up!" He then raised his fist.

The henchmen then stuck out their tongues and quieted down.

A hint of embarrassment flashed across Professor Latour's face, but he did not reprimand him. Perhaps in his view, it was just harmless "humor" from a young person.

He cleared his throat, and in a solemn tone, briefly introduced Chen Jitong's identity, praised his knowledge, and then invited Chen Jitong to stand in the center of the auditorium stage.

Chen Jitong seemed oblivious to the noise, his gaze calmly sweeping across the room. He began his speech in fluent, impeccable French, even with a Parisian accent: "Respected Professor Latour, respected professors, dear students—"

I am honored to be invited to this Sorbonne, a temple of knowledge and reason, to discuss Chinese theatrical art with you all today.

My motherland, China, boasts a theatrical tradition as long as that of ancient Greece and Rome. Today, I am not here as a curious visitor, but as a student who loves theater and yearns to bridge these two great cultural traditions, to share my observations with you.” His opening remarks, neither humble nor arrogant, instantly captured the attention of most of the audience, and Lionel felt reassured—Chen Jitong's performance was more composed and organized than he had expected, showing no signs of stage fright whatsoever.

Lionel could even sense a familiar, deeply hidden contempt in his eyes and tone, a contempt that only a Chinese person could understand, as if all the French people in the hall were insignificant barbarians, and only he possessed civilization and truth.

Chen Jitong began by briefly outlining the origins of Chinese drama, from ancient sacrificial rituals and storytelling arts to the maturity of Song and Yuan dynasty zaju (a type of Chinese opera). He mentioned the names of Guan Hanqing and Tang Xianzu as naturally as Europeans would mention Aeschylus or Shakespeare.

"You are all familiar with the splendor of European drama, the passion torn apart by fate in Racine's plays, the biting wit and satire in Molière's plays, and Shakespeare's vast and boundless depiction of human nature."

However, all of this is built upon the foundation of 'imitation,' pursuing a realistic illusion on stage, a profound analysis of characters' psychology, and the logical progression of the plot.

He paused, and seeing some students' knowing or even slightly superior expressions, he smiled and raised his voice slightly: "But Chinese drama has taken a different path."

We call it 'freehand'. It does not pursue an exact replication of the real world on stage. Our actors, through stylized movements, unique singing styles, symbolic facial makeup, and minimalist sets, construct vast armies, pavilions, towers, and rivers in the minds of the audience.

A table and two chairs—that's the whole world. A horsewhip—that's a thousand-mile journey. The core of Chinese drama lies in 'capturing the spirit,' in stimulating the audience's imagination, and in conveying the richest emotions and artistic conceptions through the most refined visual imagery and the most exquisite auditory experience.

As he spoke, Chen Jitong elegantly mimicked the "opening a door" gesture from Peking Opera.

Then Chen Jitong cited the example of Du Liniang's "Dream in the Garden" in "The Peony Pavilion" to describe how a young girl, on an empty stage, can make the audience feel the beauty of spring and the deep longing in her heart through her eyes, movements and lyrics.

"This is not simplistic, gentlemen; it is a highly condensed philosophy of art. Impressionist painters like Monet from your country did not capture the precise outlines of objects, but rather the fleeting sensations of light and color, the atmosphere and the mood."

Chinese drama, through sound, movement, and symbolism, depicts the 'impressions' of the soul within the flow of time.

This analogy, comparing Chinese drama to the Impressionist movement, a cutting-edge art movement in Europe at the time, was novel and bold, finally eliciting thoughtful expressions from some of the audience. Professor Dupont Vidal even nodded in approval.

His explanations were clear and fluent, drawing on numerous sources, and his profound understanding of European drama left many of the French students in the audience feeling inferior.

At that moment, a piercing sound rang out—

"Ha! 'Impressionism'? It sounds more like an excuse to cover up the inability to build a truly magnificent theater like the Paris Opera, doesn't it? After all, His Majesty's subjects are probably more concerned with how to fill their stomachs than with appreciating some 'impression of the soul'!"

Everyone looked in the direction of the sound and saw a young student dressed in rather elegant clothes standing up, his head held high.

“Louis Alphonse? What’s wrong with him?” Albert muttered.

The man who stood up was Louis-Alphonse de Montferrand, a noble student in the class like Albert, but his family had successfully connected with the Republican government, producing a minister and two members of parliament.

He's usually quite low-key, so I don't know why he's making such a bold move today.

Lionel's expression remained expressionless as he calmly watched Chen Jitong on stage—it wasn't a skill to stand on stage and speak eloquently; the real skill lay in being able to confront the pervasive discrimination against Chinese people in Europe during this era.

(Between 1877 and 1890, Chen Jitong gave many public speeches in Europe, especially in Paris, which left a considerable impression. The record of his contempt for Europeans during his speeches comes from the notes of his friend Anatole France.)
　Chen Jitong (1851-1907) was a diplomat in the late Qing Dynasty. His courtesy name was Jingru, also known as Jingru, and his pen name was Sancheng Chake. His Western name was Tcheng Ki-tong (Chean Ki Tong). He was from Houguan, Fujian (now part of Fuzhou). In 1866, at the age of 15, Chen Jitong entered the Qiushitang Art Bureau School attached to the Fuzhou Shipyard. Most of the teachers at the school were French, and the lessons were taught in French, using French textbooks, thus Chen Jitong developed a solid foundation in French. He graduated in 1875 and was hired by the Shipyard due to his "outstanding Western learning." That same year, he accompanied the Frenchman Giuseppe to England and France for study and observation. He returned to China at the end of 1876 and became a teacher.

　　The following year, he entered the French Political Academy as a translator, studying "public law" as one of the government-sponsored students studying in Europe. Later, he served as counselor to Germany and France, acting minister to France, and concurrently as counselor to Belgium, Austria, Denmark, and the Netherlands, residing in Paris for 16 years.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)