Albert chuckled a few times, then awkwardly reined in his laughter when he saw that Lionel not only wasn't laughing along but also had a face as black as a pot.
This was the first time Albert had truly enraged Lionel.
He barely managed to suppress the urge to slap Albert across the face and patiently said,
"I hope there won't be a next time."
With that, he turned and left, leaving a bewildered Albert standing there.
Albert watched Lionel's retreating back, a surge of anger threatening to erupt, but then he recalled what his father had written in his letter...
He quickly put on a smile and caught up with Lionel:
"Hey!
Leon, you should have told me you liked Chinese people!
I have a cabinet full of porcelain at home, all genuine pieces my uncle got from China in 1860.
If you're interested, you can go..."
Before he could finish, he saw Lionel's face darken even more.
Albert, not knowing what mistake he had made, could only close his mouth again and slink along behind Lionel.
Arriving at the foot of the Gothic teaching building of the Sorbonne Faculty of Letters, they indeed saw the poster for today's lecture.
The morning speaker was someone whose Chinese pronunciation was roughly "Tcheng ki-tong," and the lecture topic was "Chinese Drama."
According to the introduction on the poster, this "Tcheng ki-tong" had studied in various European countries, including France, Britain, and Germany, was fluent in French, and was currently studying at the Sorbonne Law School, while also serving as an interpreter for Guo Songtao, the Qing envoy to Britain and France.
Lionel's tightly furrowed brows relaxed slightly.
In this era, those who could study in Europe were not ordinary individuals; many talented people would emerge later.
If his memory served him right, the Chinese characters for "Tcheng ki-tong" should be "Chen Jitong," one of the Qing dynasty's government-sponsored students abroad at the time.
Albert saw him stop for a long time in front of this poster, not even glancing at the seemingly more attractive poster for France's lecture nearby, so he cautiously asked,
"Leon, do you want to listen to this pig... Chinese person's lecture?"
Lionel didn't speak, just nodded.
He also wanted to see what kind of mental state the Chinese elites of this era would present.
Chen Jitong's lecture was held in a small auditorium at the Sorbonne, with fewer than a hundred seats, originally used by noble families for small ceremonies; France's lecture, however, occupied the largest auditorium, capable of accommodating three times as many people.
As expected, when Lionel arrived at the small auditorium, it was sparsely populated, and it never filled up completely even when the lecture began.
Several attendees were Sorbonne teachers who were present out of politeness.
The person who invited Chen Jitong to speak was Charles-Antoine Latour, an old scholar who had always been curious about Oriental culture.
He hoped that through this Chinese diplomat, who was fluent in French and well-versed in European culture, students could learn about a real China, different from European imagination.
When Chen Jitong, accompanied by Professor Latour, entered the classroom, the buzzing discussions suddenly intensified, then fell into an awkward silence.
He was dressed in a well-fitting dark Western-style suit, handsome and tall, with a composed demeanor, and a proper smile on his young face.
However, the glossy black, neatly combed queue at the back of his head pricked like a thorn into the eyes of many Sorbonne teachers and students, who were full of a sense of superiority, and Lionel's inner feelings were particularly complex.
This queue, in the eyes of mainstream European society at the time, was a symbol of "uncivilized," "barbaric," and "subservience," a characteristic emblem used to caricature Chinese people in cartoons and satirical plays.
Several suppressed snickers came from beside him, carrying unconcealed disdain.
Several of Albert's cronies exchanged playful glances, and one of them, like Albert just now, exaggeratedly mimicked the action of swinging a queue, drawing low sniggers from the surroundings.
Albert was extremely embarrassed and quickly straightened his face:
"You idiots, if you don't shut up, I'll beat you!"
He said, shaking his fist.
The cronies then stuck out their tongues and quieted down.
A trace of embarrassment flashed across Professor Latour's face, but he did not reprimand them, perhaps thinking it was just harmless "humor" from young people.
He cleared his throat, and in a solemn tone, briefly introduced Chen Jitong's identity, praised his erudition, and then invited Chen Jitong to stand at the center of the auditorium's podium.
Chen Jitong seemed not to hear the murmurs, his gaze calmly swept across the audience, and in pure, fluent French, even with a Parisian accent, he began his speech:
"Distinguished Professor Latour, esteemed professors, dear students—
Thank you for the invitation; today, in this temple of knowledge and reason at the Sorbonne, I can discuss the dramatic art of China with you.
My homeland, China, possesses a dramatic tradition as ancient as that of ancient Greece and Rome.
Today, I am not here as an exotic curiosity-seeker, but as a student who loves drama and yearns to bridge two great cultural traditions, to share my observations with you."
His opening remarks were neither humble nor arrogant and immediately captivated the attention of most of the audience.
Lionel also felt relieved—Chen Jitong's performance was unexpectedly calm and orderly, showing no signs of stage fright.
Lionel could even sense a familiar, deeply hidden disdain from his gaze and tone, which only Chinese people could understand, as if the French people in the entire auditorium were insignificant barbarians, and only he held civilization and truth.
Chen Jitong first briefly outlined the origin of Chinese drama, from ancient sacrificial rituals and storytelling arts to the maturity of Song and Yuan zaju.
He mentioned the names of Guan Hanqing and Tang Xianzu as naturally as Europeans would mention Aeschylus or Shakespeare.
"You are familiar with the brilliance of European drama, the passion torn by fate in Racine's pen, the poignant and witty satire in Molière's plays, Shakespeare's vast, ocean-like depiction of humanity.
But these are all built upon the cornerstone of 'imitation,' pursuing a realistic illusion on stage, a deep psychological analysis of characters, and a logical progression of plot."
He paused, seeing some students reveal expressions of understanding, even slight superiority, then smiled and raised his voice slightly:
"Chinese drama, however, has embarked on a different path.
We call it 'xieyi,' or 'freehand style.'
It does not pursue precise replication of the real world on stage.
Our actors, relying on stylized movements, unique singing styles, symbolic facial makeup, and minimalist sets, construct vast armies, pavilions, and mountains and rivers in the minds of the beholders.
A single table and two chairs can be the entire world.
A horsewhip can signify a thousand-mile gallop.
The core of Chinese drama lies in 'expressing the spirit,' in stimulating the audience's imagination, in conveying the richest emotions and artistic conceptions with the most refined visual images and the most beautiful auditory enjoyment."
As he spoke, Chen Jitong elegantly demonstrated a virtual "opening a door" movement from Peking Opera.
Chen Jitong then cited the example of Du Liniang's "Dream in the Garden" from The Peony Pavilion, describing how a young girl on an empty stage, through her gaze, posture, and lyrics, made the audience feel the vibrancy of a spring garden and the profound longing of love.
"This is not simplistic, gentlemen, this is a highly condensed artistic philosophy.
Like your country's Impressionist painters such as Monet, they capture not the precise contours of objects, but the momentary sensations of light and color, the atmosphere and artistic conception.
Chinese drama, in the flow of time, uses sound, movement, and symbolism to depict the 'impressions' of the mind."
This novel and bold analogy of Chinese drama with Impressionism, a pioneering European art form of the time, finally made some listeners show thoughtful expressions, and Professor Dupont-Vidal nodded repeatedly in approval.
His exposition was clear, fluent, and well-substantiated, and his profound understanding of European drama made many French students present feel inferior.
At this moment, a harsh voice rang out—
"Ha!
'Xieyi'?
Sounds more like an excuse to cover up the inability to build truly magnificent theaters like the Paris Opera House, doesn't it?
After all, the subjects of your Emperor are probably more concerned with how to fill their stomachs than with appreciating 'impressions of the mind'!"
Everyone looked in the direction of the voice, only to see a well-dressed young student standing up, his head held high.
"Louis-Alphonse?
What's he going crazy about?"
Albert muttered.
The person 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.
However, he was usually quite low-key; it was unclear why he chose to be a show-off today.
Lionel's face showed neither joy nor sorrow, calmly looking at Chen Jitong on the stage—talking eloquently on stage was not the real skill; facing the pervasive European discrimination against Chinese people in this era was the real skill.
(Between 1877 and 1890, Chen Jitong gave many public speeches in Europe, especially in Paris, leaving a rather good impression. Records of him showing disdain for Europeans during his speeches come from his friend Anatole France's accounts.)
Chen Jitong (1851-1907) was a diplomat in the late Qing Dynasty.
His courtesy name was Jingru, also known as Jingru, and his pseudonym was Sansheng Chake.
His Western name was Tcheng ki-tong (Chean Ki Tong).
He was from Houguan, Fujian (now Fuzhou).
In 1866, at the age of 15, Chen Jitong entered the former school of the Qiushi Hall Arts Bureau affiliated with the Fuzhou Navy Yard.
Most of the teachers in the school were French and taught in French, using French textbooks, so Chen Jitong laid a solid foundation in French.
In 1875, Chen Jitong graduated and was employed by the Navy Yard for his "excellent Western learning."
In the same year, he accompanied the Frenchman Prosper Giquel to visit and study in Britain and France, returning to China at the end of 1876 to become a teacher.
The following year, he accompanied government-sponsored students to Europe as an interpreter to study "public law" at the French School of Political Science.
He later served as counselor to the German and French legations, acting minister to France, and concurrently counselor to Belgium, Austria, Denmark, and the Netherlands, residing in Paris for 16 years.
(End of Chapter)
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