The Tear of the Puppet

 

the justificationn of  a stylish choice

for writing “The Tail of the Mandarin” a play

about the Belgian Mandarin Paul Splingaerd

 

by Tone Brulin

 

 

 

Writing a play is a matter of fiction, even if it is based upon controlable facts. The writer guesses feelings, moods and  thinking of the characters.

He speculates. He takes risks. He inject breath into an artistic creation.

He blows – like God Almighty- spirit and soul in characters and actions. He is not (in the first place) concerned with history. His creations larger than history belong to a present and not to a yesterday.

If the past wants to be understood it must be adapted Performing Art is an art of actualizing. The motivation lies in relevance to the present. In the case of our hero, Paul Splingaerd, it lies in the ramifications of his unusual life story.

Belgium became independent in 1830. Only 12 years later Paul was born and his mother, (probably a maid) deposited the fatherless baby at the public service of Brussels, which in turn gave it for upbringing to farmers in the Flemish village of Ottenburg, south of the capital, at the language border between the speakers of Flemish and French.

So far one can only guess and compare Paul to other children who shared this fate, it must have had repercussions in their adult life. His neerlandophone (Flemish) education was elementary. Maybe the boy, then Polle instead of Paul, should be compared with heroes of world classics like “Oliver Twist “ or of Flemish heimat literature, like “De Witte” by Ernest Claes or “Pallieter” by Felix Timmermans. All these protagonists stand out as icons, because of the universality of their secret inner world. In the summer heat they are eager to plunge into the local river or steel eggs from the neighbour. If nobody listens they embrace a big tree and whisper: “ Brother Tree (Bruur Boem)”. We know what to expect from Polle. He can’t be so different from the heroes described in books and films about this period of hunger and immigration, equal to the misery of Ireland. His comrades might have teased him by crually calling out in singsong: “He has no father!, he has no father!”. In adult life a search for this absent father must have been cardinal and in his dreams a mysterious inviting gate to find his father must have tempted him often. In vain. There is a constant invisible distress, an eternal search into the unknown for the parent who isn’t there. Once an adult this constant sorrow  dissolves. He forgets becoming at the end a good father for his own kids. This young Pol is a friendly and helpful chap. He is a willful redhead, ready for a practical joke. His reputation got him praise. He has a future.

One evening the French Belgian radio commented on “La Grande Aventure des Belges en Chine” by Jo Gérard. One never expect from the Belgians “Great Adventures” in China. Except for Paul Splingaerd, who became a “straw man” by occasionally advising Leopold II where and what to buy.

There was more. The radio mentioned his courage during “The Boxers’ Revolt” in 1900. He followed a group of moslim revolutionaries with the aim of freeing 80 virgins abducted from catholic institutions. This  commander of a group of Chinese soldiers saved them and brought them all back. Paul wasn’t young anymore.

Flabbergasted, my fantasy started working. I didn’t see the reality, but the humor of the story. It became a comedy act. The hero should be conceived for a Puppet Theatre or a Peking Opera. Both forms seen as “Art Brut“ (Théâtre Brut) and “Art Naif” (Théâtre Naif) . On the fringes of  History of Art, close to Dada and the Surrealist Movement. developing into free manifestations of sorts, like Improvisations and Performance Art. Paul Splingaerd, a Chinese mandarin in the streets of Brussels produces the surrealist picture of an actor like Orson Welles, before the turning of an absurd filmscene.

In 2009 appeared in the streets of Antwerp in Belgium a giant puppet girl. All her movements, her steps, the turning of her neck and even her eyelids were regulated by an army of sweating labourers pulling strings for each of her movements, in plain view of the audience. One should expect that this destroyed the poetic fairy tale illusion. Not at all. Beside me a real girl of 10 years among the spectators started sobbing when a tear rolled over the cheek of the puppet and she cried: ”Look, mama, the poor girl is crying !”. It broke my heart.

And it explains all about art and theatre art. None of the spectators ever complained that it was not realistic and that the organisers addressed them as children.

Years before more giants of another kind fabricated by the American “ Bread and Puppet Theater” had danced in the same streets to protest against the Vietnam war. I travelled to their home near the US-Canadian border in order to participate in their way of creating protest power. And speaking of important artistic communication, there is that marvelous Italian comedian, Dario Fo, who went to learn in the beautiful puppet theatres of Sicily. To the surprise of many, this old comedian got his reward for a lifetime of stupendous creations that stirred the emotions of the Nobel Prize committee.in Sweden. The Nobel prize for a mere comedian-puppeteer?

Yes; these are my examples. Actors, dancers, singers and acrobats mingle in a magic world with frightening painted faces. Most recently in this respect “Le Cirque du Soleil” made headlines.

Paul Splingaerd returning from a heroic battle brandishing a magic flaming sword that protects all innocent virgins from the cruel harems of moslims. That small boy of an unknown village in Flanders grew to become a flamboyant hero for which I seek attention in the play: “The Tail of the Mandarin”. The reverend Spae, priest of the Order of Scheut, gave the information I needed to roughly reconstitute the life of Paul Splingaerd that will serve my aim. He wrote for the Academy of Science that our candidate went to China with the first missionaries of the Order of Scheut as a handy man. Shortly before as a regular conscript of the Belgian army he became friendly with pastor Verbist, the founding father of the first genuine Belgian religious order (remember the independence) who got the protection of the Duke of Brabant, the later King Leopod II. Verbist - who was a banker’s son - became his first substitute father and others of this kind would follow. After three years in China Verbist died; exhausted by the difficulties he under- estimated. Young Paul had to fight for himself and was fortunute to find a job in assisting the Prussian explorer von Richthofen; another surrogate father. During many years of traveling in parts of immense China, he learned the trade of negotiating and compromise. A loyal von Richthofen expressed his thanks in an introduction note to his scientific oeuvre (“ I achieved these results thanks to him.”). Paul. was by then firmly launched and trained not only in the use of Chinese languages and dialects, but also in the dealing with local chiefs and administrators.

Let us return to the departure of the Scheutists from Belgium in 1865 and go to a crucial document. The missionaries decided to approach the Vatican to seek the blessings of the pope. And Polle, by then Paul, wrote a letter to his friend Lewieke Devroey, who was to become the verger of the chapel of the village of Scheut where the order originated. This document became an eye-opener.

Young Paul doesn’t master the Dutch language and sprinkles it with his Flemish dialect. The mix is captivating only for those who understand it. It is a stream of simple, strong poetry.

When at the end of his life Paul returns to his motherland, he steps from the boat shouting in outmoded Ottenburg dialect: ” throw my luggage in a taxi”. The Antwerp reporters at the quay are surprised. The traveller, dressed like a Chinese and speaks a Brussels Flemish dialect. His children and grand-children seem at ease in French. They seem to overlook his flemish origin, stressing that he was above all Belgian. This is undoubtedly true, because of his unrelenting devotion to his beloved King Leopold II, despite his majesty’s refusal to nominate him as “Ambassador of the Congo” and to not receive him in audiece during his visit in 1906, which most probably broke his heart and caused his death.

Let’s return to the letter Paul wrote from Rome. In my imagination it was projected that day on a screen mounted on the St.Jansplein, one of the most popular places in Antwerp, when the giant puppet was shown there. This equally giant letter was by no means a publicity stunt for the Order of Scheut. The content proved the immense trust of a man in the love of the human kind, the father of all, the pope. The letter drew the attention of the giant puppet girl approaching on tiptoe to read it attentively. There was a silence. One could see her lips repeating the words while she was reading. Some of the spectators could also see the workers sweating by pulling the cords connected to her lips. Until finaly through more labour by strong men pulling strings and cables, a tear rolled out of her eye. The public was moved. A child next to me reacted: ”See, mama, the puppet is crying!”.

What made the giant puppet cry? Was it the understanding of the message of love by Paul Splingaerd, surprised by the simplicity of the life-style of the representative of Jesus-Christ on earth? The holy man gave him a picture of himself, whispering pathetically “Show this to the Chinese. They are all orphans. Tell these heathen to kneel, because they don’t know yet that I am their real father”. And here Paul most probably understood that millions of Chinese at the mere sight of a postcard would recognize and embrace him as their absent father, who they suddenly discovered behind the open gate. Their search for a father would be over. This made the giant girl at the St Jansplein cry, because she was also brought into this world without parents. She was only a Mechanical Robot producing a tear for our enjoyment when we discover a painful truth about ourselves. That day we cried for different reasons.

Although we know that in China events took a different turn. In spite of the Old Ascetics in the Vatican, who feel guilty for the sins of humanity, particularly for the many Chinese “orphans”. On many important corners where the traffic whirls and turns huge pictures hang of a Much Adored Guide, resting his eyes upon the modern unruly crowds. The catholic missionaries since long have left for Japan and it is not the picture of the pope of Rome, once given to Paul Splingaerd to multiply and distribute, that has moved people to tears. It was the giant picture of their own helmsman.

 

Par Fou084 — Travail personnel, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=66149237