NO FEAST IS COMPLETE IN BALI without music and elaborate dramatic and dance performances; no one would dream of getting married, or holding a cremation, or even of celebrating a child's birthday, without engaging troupes of dancers and actors to entertain the guests and the neighbours. During the anniversary feasts of the temple there are always dances that last throughout the night and may even continue for days, with a different type of show every afternoon and night. At the great feastof Taman Badung, the death temple of Den Pasar, there were shows every night for an entire month.

The Balinese love night-life and it was rare when after. ten at night someone did not come to us with news of a show somewhere, or when we did not hear distant music in the village. We became such enthusiastic tbeatre-goers that we had, sometimes, to make a point of staying home to catch up with lost sleep. Even the tired peasant who Works all day in the fields does not mind staying up at night to watch a show, and the little children who invariably make up the front rows of the audience remain there until dawn for the end, occasionally huddled togetber taking naps, but wide awake for the exciting episodes of the play.

MUSIC
The Village orchestras

Next to having good orchestras, a fine group of dancers is an almost organic need for the spiritual and physical life of the community. Besides the passion they show for their music and dancing and the important part these play in the ritual, to have a skilful and famous group of dancers brings pride and social prestige to the village ward, the bandjar. The young men of today are fond of football games, but all other attempts to introduce foreign amusements have failed in Bali. The rare movie shows in the two large towns are patronized almost exclusively by the foreign population, and not even the rich princes like phonographs, although there are excellent records of Balinese music. I do not know anyone who has a radio.

Balinese dancing is essentially for exhibition: dancing to entertain an audience and for display of skill, a stage of development that belongs to an advanced civilization, but that in Bali goes hand in hand with the ritual-magic dances characteristic of primitive peoples. Thus the survival of the primitive in a developed society, a characteristic of everything Balinese, shows itself in the dancing as well as in the general mode of life. In the religious dances the community amuses itself at the same time that it tries to propitiate the gods and ward off evil spirits. There are even violent self-sacrificial dances in which the performers in a trance simulate self-torture with knives or walk on fire to appease the bloodthirsty evil spirits and to show their supernatural powers.

The Balinese attribute a divine origin music and dancing. It is said that Batara Guru, the Supreme Teacher, invented the first instruments, and that Indra, the Lord of the Heavens, originated dancing when he created the incomparably beautiful dedari, the nymphs of heaven, to dance for the pleasure of the gods. In the Ardjuna Wiwaha it is mentioned that the seven principal dedari were made from a precious stone that,was split into seven parts. Before dancing for the assembled gods, the nymphs, the legend says, walked three times around them in the usual respectful manner; the gods became lovesick, and since their. dignity prevented them from turning around, Indra sprung many eyes, and brahma developed four faces.

Balinese dancing was, perhaps, originally restricted to the ritual, but the religious dance has become more and more theatrical; characters that were once frightful demons are now tamed to perform for the amusement of the crowd. There are, however, still many purely religious or magical dances; local priests (pemangku, kabayan, and so forth) of the old communities still dance solemnly at temple feasts, in front of the altars, holding incense-burners, even going into a trance and walking in fire, Only in Bali have I seen wrinkled old women with white hair dancing to amuse the gods, splendidly unashamed of what would be normally the attribute of youth. At temple feasts they perform the mendet and the redjang, two dances mainly for " aged " women - married women - with offerings of food to the visiting deities.

Although there are dances of a purely demonstrative type that interpret the music, dancing in Bali cannot be considered as an art separate from the theatre. In fact, the arts of the theatre are so closely allied that there is no word in Balinese meaning " theatre." No Balinese would think of separating a show into its component parts or, on the other hand, think a show complete that did not contain, music and dancing. They divide their. theatre rather according to the style of the story, which'in turn dictates its music and the style of its technique. So, for example,, the stories of the Ramayana take the shadow, or wayang wong form, the historical plays are the topeng, and love stories the ardja, and so forth. The following are the most important Balinese dances and plays:

LEGONG, Music: full pelegongan orchestra. Dance-pantomime by two or three young girls playing Lasem and Semaradhana stories.

TJALONMUNG Pelegongan with large flutes. A great exorcizing drama of the story of Rangda Tjalonarang, with dialogue, singing, and dancing.

BARONG Pelegongan (called bebarongan in this case). A dancepantomime of the adventures of a fantastic, holy animal, ending usually in a wild kris dance (rebong, ngurek) by men in trance. Also an exorcism.

DJAUK Pelegongan orchestra. Dance-pantomime by male masked actors. Danced in the legong technique, with any story. Masks do not represent special characters. Characteristic head-dress.

DJOGED Pediogedan, an orchestra of the pelegongan type, but made of bamboo. A purely demonstrative, flirtatious dance without a story. Called gandrung when performed by a boy in girl's clothes.

MENDeT and REDJANG Orchestra: semar pegulingan or pelegongan. Two offering dances performed by elderly women and priests during temple feasts.

SANGHYANG Music: songs by a chorus of men and women'. An exorcizing trance dance of the legong style performed by little girl mediums.

WAYANG kulit Orchestra: gender wayang. Shadow-plays by pup

pets. Stories of the Mahabharata, Ramayana, and others. A storyteller chants recitative.

WAYANG WONG Gender wayang with drums and other percussions.

Ramayana episodes by masked actors dancing and singing in classic Kawi.

BARIS Gong. Ritual war dances with spears (baris gede). There

is a modernized version (baris pendet) in which heroic plays are performed in dance-pantomine with incidental dialogue and singing.

TOPeNG Gong. Masked actoris playing local historical plays (ba

bad); mostly pantomine, but with dialogue by the comic cbaracters.

KEBIYAR Gong kebiyar. A modem dance purely demonstrative in

character, performed by a boy dancer who interprets musical moods.

GAMBuH Gamelan gambu'h; flutes, violin, and percussions. The

classic technique for dramatic performances. Stories from the
Malat, with much singing. Other plays of a similar character arc
the tantn, tjupak, basur, and parwa.

ARDJA Gamelan ardia; flutes and percussions. The ardia is a modernized gamb6h playing romantic stories like Tiandra Lasan, Salya, Sidapaksa, Galolikuh,.and Chinese tales like Sampik and Tuan Wei.

BARONG LANDONG Gamelan batel flutes and gongs. Giant puppets of a religious character, playing humorous stories, the adventures of an old woman (djero luh) and a black giant (diero gede). ' DJANGER Gamelan djanger; flute, gong, and drums. A modern musical comedy with many foreign elements, performed by boys and girls.

kECAK Large groups of men singing in chorus, moving and dancing to the rhythm of the music. Occasionally performing episodes of plays. Derived from the sanghyang and dianger.

All these forms will be described later, divided for easier recognition according to our custom under the headings of " dance,plays, opera," and so forth, by their most characteristic features.

Like music, dancing has developed to a standard of technical perfection that makes of it a difficult science, requiring years of special physical training and practice. Although strict rules are followed and the structure of the dance is made up entirely of traditional gestures that leave no room for improvisation or Individualistic styles, there is a certain margin of freedom allowed for the dancer. Sound and gesture become one, definite movements ruled by the most rigid discipline. The excellence of a performer does not depend only on his skill, but also on his personality' his emotional intensity, and the expressiveness of his features. Only clowns (bebanyolan) have no special technique and no program

Personality and the spirit of surprise are expected of them.

Obviously there is Javanese influence discernible in. the Balinese school of dancing, but they have drifted so far apart in spirit and in social function that they have little in common today. In Bali dancing is still a living popular art, while in Java, where dance of the higher order was dying until rescued in recent years by the sultans, today it is only in the high courts of the Javanese princes that fine dancing can be seen. In Java the fine dancer is a specialist attached to the court, often a prince himself; in Bali be is an ordinary villager with talent and skill who performs for the prestige of his community and for the entertainment of his neigbbours. In Bali as well as in Java, it is a part of the education of a prince to dance, act, and play musical instruments, but in Bali a prince who organizes a theatrical group mingles with the common people and performs for their amusement. It is amusing to hear the Javanese and the Balinese deride each other's theatre: the Balinese think the dances of Java are meaningless, dull, and dead, but the Javanese are shocked at the " noisy " music of Bali and look upon their dancing as the product of rude and primitive peasants.

The Balinese have constantly injected new life into their theatre, in contrast to the Javanese, who, perhaps because of Mohammedan influence, have allowed the art to come to a standstill so that their acting suggests imitation of the movements of their archaic marionette shows (wayang purwa) . The Javanese actor cannot express emotion except by the most conventional gestures, and his face remains fixed and mask-like. The Balinese act in an exactly opposite manner. They are gay, exuberant, and fond of gestures and slapstick comedy. Javanese masks are stylized, with long, sharp noses and slit eyes that eliminate all sense of the realism frowned upon by Islamism. The Balinese make masks of amazing expressiveness, often realistic in character, studies of standard types. I have seen a masked play with masterfully carved masks that were caricatures of Chinese, Arabs, and Europeans.

A theatrical group is organized by the villagers into a society along the same lines as a musical club. Contributions of money are made, instruments procured, and musicians trained. The future dancers are selected from the boys and girls of the community, taking into consideration their pleasing personal appear

ance, their physical fitness, and their potential talent for a particular dance. For that most typical of Balinese dances, the legong, for example, the little girls chosen should be from five to eight years of age, and if they can be found to look alike, it is taken for granted that they will make a very fine legong.

When the dancers are assembled, a teacher is called to train them. He is generally a former great dancer or an orchestra leader who knows the dance to the last detail. The most elementary routines are taught at first, and repeated until the dance has " gone into the pupil." The teacher is often assisted by his more accomplished pupils, slightly older dancers from other villages. The method of training consists in guiding the movements of the pupil, leading them energetically by the wrists until by sheer repetition the pupils acquire the " feeling " of the gesture and can do the movements by themselves. At the'beginning the teacher chants the tunes, but formal rehearsals with the full orchestra are held later.

The teacher works tirelessly for weeks and months at a time and it is typical of Bali that be is not necessarily paid for his efforts. If be receives a monetary reward for his work, it is insignificant and is meant rather as expense money while in a strange community. Instead of a fee, be is lavishly feasted and treated as an honoured guest. If his home is in another village, be is lodged in the bandjar where he teaches and at the end of every rehearsal is presented with trays of Chinese cakes, coffee, cigarettes, and betel-nut. It is not unusual for a famous teacher like Ida Bagus Boda of DenPasar to be called to give the finishing touches to a well-trained group. The various styles of teaching are so definite that it is not difficult for a Balinese connoisseur to guess the teacher of a given legong.

Physical training plays an important part in the dancer's education; while the pupil learns the elemental sequence of the dance ' the basic steps, and general movements of the arms, he exercises regularly to acquire suppleness of every muscle and control over each member until his body becomes practically double-jointed.

When a society has enough money for costumes and the dancers are ready to make a public appearance, the village association, on an auspicious day, gives an inauguration festival (malaspasin). The costumes are blessed before they can be worn for the first time, and the group makes offerings to launch the new organization successfully. An actor, a dancer, or a story-teller undergoes the same ceremony by which a priest or magician adds power to his soul. In the case of a dancer the ceremony is a magic purification and beautification in which a priest with the stem of a flower inscribes magic syllables on the face, head, tongue, and members of the future dancer to make him attractive to the eyes of his public. It is not only on this occasion that dancers pray for success; before every performance they make small offerings to the deities of the dance, Dewa Pergina, and to the nymphs of heaven the dedari Supraba and Tilotama. In the temple Mertasari in Semawang (near Sanur) there is a small stone shrine shaped like a dancing helmet (gelunggan), and often legong dancers go there to deposit offerings. Oncea year,aday (tumpak wayang) is dedicated to the theatre, when all theatrical accessories, the costumes, masks, and marionettes as well as musical instruments, receive offerings, perhaps to restore their original effectiveness. On this day theatrical organizations all over the island give feasts, but no performance of any kind is permitted. There is also a day when literary manuscripts receive offerings; the day is dedicated to Saraswati, goddess of learning, science, and literature, when no one may read.

The size of the crowd is the only indication of whether a performance is successful or not. The Balinese do not applaud or show their appreciation of a performer in any other way. This seeming lack of encouragement does not influence the enthusiasm for the art, and it is my impression that the dance and the theatre of today are even more developed than in the past. judging from, old reports, it seems that there are more performances, the shows are more elaborate and varied, and their are many new styles besides that of the jealously preserved classic theatre. There is hardly a village that does not have some sort of dancing organization, and even the fact that the old custom of exempting actors and musicians from payment of taxes has been abolished by the Government has not diminished interest in dancing and acting. There is not even the incentive of commercial gain for the individual; the small amounts received at private festivals go to the society's fund for new costumes, new instruments, and the communal feasts.

The Legong Dance

As the arcbe type of the delicate and feminine, the legong is the finest of Balinese dances. Connoisseurs discuss the comparative excellence of various legongs as intensely as we discuss our dancers, and I have beard solemn arguments among princes as to whether the group of Bedulu was finer than that of Saba, or the school of Sukawati superior to that of Badung.

The legong is performed at feasts, generally in the late afternoon when the beat of the day has subsided. At the first rumour that there is going to be a legong in the central square or, if it is at a private feast, in the middle of the street, the crowd begins to gather. Women and children come first to secure the best places, crowding around a long, rectangular space left free for the dance. The dancing-space is often decorated with a canopy of palm-leaf streamers or shaded by an awning of black, red, and white cloth, the tail of one of the giant kites. On one end of the " stage " the orchestra entertains the gradually growing crowd with preludes until it is time for the show to begin.

Three little dancers, with an air of infinite boredom, sit on mats in front of the orchestra. They are dressed from bead to foot in silk overlaid with glittering goldleaf and on their heads they wear great helmets of gold ornamented with rows of fresh frangipani blossoms. Enormous ear-plugs of gold, an inch in

diameter, pierce their prematurely distended ear-lobes. Their melancholy little faces are heavily powdered, and they wear a white dot (priasan), the mark of beauty in dancers, painted be tween the eyebrows, which are shaved and reshaped with black paint.

The rich costume of the two principal dancers, the legongs, consists of a wrapped skirt, a tight-sleeved vest, from which hangs a long, narrow apron, and yards of strong cloth cut in a narrow strip that binds their torsos mercilessly from the breast to the hips. This is in turn covered by another sash of gilt cloth. The tight, corset-like binding gives line to the dancers' bodies and supports their backs. The costume is completed by a stiff short vest of tooled and gilt leather worn over the shoulders, -a collar set with coloured stones and little mirrors, a silver belt, and scarfs and ornaments of tooled leather hanging from each bip. The little girl who sits between the legongs, the tjondong, their attendant, is dressed in simpler clothes.

When a large enough crowd has assembled, the orchestra begins the dance music and the tjondong gets up lazily and stands in the middle of the dancing-space. Suddenly, at an accent from the orchestra, as if pierced by an electric current, she strikes an intense pose: with her bare feet flat on the ground, her knees flexed, she begins a lively dance, moving briskly, winding in and out of a circle, with an arm rigidly outstretched, fingers tense and trembling, and her eyes staring into space. At each accent of the music the whole body of the tjondong jerks; she stamps her foot, which quivers faster and faster, the vibration spreading to her thigh and up her hips until the entire body shakes so violently that the flowers of her head-dress fly in all directions. The gradually growing spell breaks off unexpectedly and the girl glides with swift side-steps, first to the right, then to the left, swaying from her flexible waist while her arms break into sharp patterns at the wrists and elbows. Without stopping, she picks up two fans that lie on the mat and continues dancing with one in each hand, in an elegant winding stride.

At a cue from the music, the two other girls straighten tip and begin to dance with their bands, neck, and eyes, still kneeling on the mat. Then they rise and dance with the tjondong, forming intricate patterns with six arms and thirty fingers until the musical theme ends. Then the tjondong hands a fan to each of the legongs and retires into the background.

The orchestra plays a more vigorous melody and the legongs dance again, with the open fans fluttering at such a speed that their outline is lost like the wings of a bumming-bird flying suspended in space. The two dancers seem the double image of one,so much alike are their movements, their necks snap from side to side in such perfect accord, synchronized in double time to the flashes of their eyes. The most absolute discipline controls their sharp, accurate movements. Each motion follows the last in
perfect rhythmic sequence, technical perfection transformed into beauty and style. At times the music becomes playful and delicate; the two girls come together, bringing their faces close to each other and delicately " rubbing noses " (ngara's) , following this by a flutter of the shoulders, a thrill of pleasure. This represents a love scene, a kiss, done to a special musical theme (pengipuk) .

After a pause the orchestra plays the Lasem theme and the actual play begins. The story is based on an episode from the Malat, the Balinese Thousand and One Nights, in which Princess Rangkesari is stolen by the arrogant King Lasem, her despised suitor, while he is waging war against her father. Rangkesari spurns Lasem's advances even after he promises to give up the war if she will yield to him. He threatens to kill her father, but still she will not submit. Enraged, the king goes to carry out his threat, but during the battle that ensues, a blackbird flies in front of him, a bad omen, and Lasem is killed.

The dancers enact the various characters of the story that everyone in the audience knows by heart. The acting of the legong is abstract pantomime with such stylized action and economy of gesture that it becomes merely a danced interpretation of the literary text, which is recited by a story-teller, who chants the episodes and dialogues while the dance is in progress.

The dancer who plays Lasem enters, followed by Rangkesari (the two legongs) . Lasem, tugging at her skirt, tries to force the princess, but she strikes him with her fan. This is repeated until Lasem grows impatient and, after a struggle, retires enraged. The princess is left alone, wiping her tears with the edge of her apron and slapping her thigh with a fan, a gesture of grief. As the girl kneels., Lasem reappears, angry and defiant, on his way to continue the war against Rangkesari's father; the closed fan becomes a kris which be points threateningly at his imaginary enemy. In the following episode the attendant, the tiondong, puts on her arms a pair of golden wings made of leather, to portray the unlucky crow; she' dances sitting on the ground, fluttering her wings with lightning speed, advancing on her knees with birdlike leaps, and beating the earth with her wings. Lasem besitates for a moment at sigbt of the ominous bird, but goes on with his kris drawn; the bird dashes at him, obstructing his progress and hampering him in the battle. The dramatic end of the epi sode is left to the imagination, and the three little girls end with a relaxed dance of farewell. The performance has lasted well over an hour and at the end the girls appear perfectly calm, unfatigued after their strenuous dance.

From the treatment of the story, conventional dance formulas to represent actions and emotions explained by a story-teller, one could deduce that the legong is an elaboration of the archaic shadow-plays, the,wayang kulit. It hints at an attempt by human beings to perform dramatic stories like those played by marionettes, as is perhaps the case of the Javanese wayang wong - "' human wayang or actors that play in the wayang style. It is interesting to note that while the old records speak of other forms of Balinese theatre, no mention is made of the legong, which may not, after all, be an ancient dance.

A very popular dance that seems related to the legong is the djoged, performed by a girl in a variation of the legong costume and in the traditional legong steps. The dance is considered _erotic by the Balinese because the girl entices the men from the audience by " making eyes " at them during the course of the dance. The man invited must dance with her in postures that represent a love game of approach and refusal (nibing) , in which the man tries to come near enough to the girl's face to catch her perfume and feel the warmth of her skin, the Balinese form of a kiss. As the audience becomes worked up, other men " cut in " and dance with her. I have seen performances of dioged that had an intoxicating effect on the crowd, especially in the more decadent form called gandrung, when it is a boy in girl's clothes who performs. Fights among the men of the audience at gandrung dances are not unheard of, a procedure, which is extremely un-Balinese. The djoged could easily be a modernized, decadent version of the ancient mating dance still to be found''

in the village of Tenganan, stronghold of native tradition. There, once a year, a dance called abuang is performed in which the unmarried girls of the village appear dressed in their best, wearing gold flower bead-dresses (reminiscent of the paper scallops that decorate the back of the dioged head-dress) and meet bacbelor boys who posture with the girl of their preference in a short dance in which the gestures make one think of a chaste and restrained dioged. Curiously enough, the dioged is forbidden in Tenganan.

But there is still another dance, undeniably of ancient origin, that is even more closely related to the legong: the sanghyang dedari (to be described later), a magic dance in which the little girls dressed in legong costumes go into trance, supposedly to be possessed by the spirits of the heavenly nymphs, to bring luck and magic protection to the village through their performance. The steps of the sanghyang are exactly the same as those of the legong and it is disconcerting and eerie that at no time have the little girls received dance training, and that when in trance they are able to perform the difficult steps that take months and even years of practice for an ordinary legong.

The Baris Dance

An indispensable part of the ritual feasts of the old villages is the baris gede, a stately war dance in which ten or twelve middle-aged warriors with their beads covered with flowers, wearing magic scarves, and carrying long spears tipped with peacock feathers, dance in double line, grimacing and striking heroic poses until the music becomes violent, when they enact a sham battle with their black and silver spears.

No dance in the world can be more manly than the baris. Just as the legong is the representative feminine dance, so the baris typifies the strong elegance of the male and is the source of material for all masculine dances. When the first turkey came to Bali, the Balinese inmediately named it siap baris, the " baris bird." Remaining essentially a war dance, the style of the ritual baris was later adapted to the performance of heroic plays in the baris pende't, in which individual dancers play the military heroes, using dramatic dialogues to accompany their movement.

Every well-educated prince must be able to dance the baris when he enters middle age, having undergone a rigorous training to obtain the necessary skill and flexibility. To be in trim to dance the baris, one must be able to sit on one's beels keeping the knees spread wide apart in line with the body. A good dancer of baris., besides a finished physical training and an expressive tace, must also have a cultivated, sonorous voice. It is essential that an actor with a " fine " face, who plays youthful heroes, have -a high-pitched voice, while an actor who plays " strong," rough characters should have a deep, resonant voice to match the qualities of his face. A good dancer of baris, according to Balinese standards, is rare. We never tired of watching-,the princes Dewa Gede' Rake of Batuan and Gusti Ngurah Regog of, tegal tamu when they acted together.The music for the baris, played by a. gainelan gong, consists, of striking standard melodies with contrasting interludes that indicate the steps and the moods portrayed by the dancer, Every part of his body, from his toes to the tips of his fingers, is in action during the dance. Every muscle of his -face is controlled at will to render the storm of passions expressed by the quickrtempered warrior; expressions of admiration and wonder at aninvisible magic world all around him, surprise and rage at imaginary enemies, pleasure, tenderness, and love. But as the music grows more violent, the dancer becomes more and more tense, raising himself.on his toes until he gives the impression of growing in height; his eyes seem ready to jump from their sockets, his whole body trembles, making the flowers of his headdress shake violently. So raised on his toes and with his whole body at high nervous tension, he slaps. his thigh and points an accusing finger at his enemy, as with wild yells of "Wahl " " Adoh, adoh! " be draws his kris and struts aggressively towards his foe, who comes forward at the same moment; before they meet, the dancers stop defiantly, cursing each other, and when the clash comes, with tiger-like grace they perform a stylized duel to music, in which the routing of one of the characters indicates the end of the dance.

The ritual baris gede, baris tumbak-, has an exorcizing character and is invariably danced at important cremations and,in the feasts of the un-Javanized villages. It appears to be a native of Bali. There is a particularly magic baris, called baris tekok djgo, in which the dancers are dressed in magic black and white chequered cloth (Polen) and gringsing scarfs, which is prescribed for cremations in Badung; but in Sanur there is a group that dances in all-white clothes.

The Topeng Dance

The most popular afternoon (matinee) entertainment, especially with the more serious type of men, is the topeng, a masked play dealing with the exploits of local kings and warriors, episodes of the wars and intrigues of Balinese history (babad) . Two or three actors, usually aged men, play all the parts and impersonate all sorts of characters with great skill, from the halfwitted servants and petulant prime ministers, to the heroic kings and cultured young princes. It was like magic to see an old man transform himself into a graceful young prince simply by putting on a mask and dancing with delicacy, only to come out again as a lisping and idiotic clown.

There is a curious variety of topeng, the padjegan, played by a single actor who impersonates all the characters. For this the usual curtain booth for the actors' changes is erected at one end of the " stage," while the orchestra plays at the other end. The actor sits inside'the booth, already in costume but not yet wearing a mask; there he prays, making an offering to the characters about to be played. He lights a stick of incense, dedicates the small offering be has brought with him, and decapitates a small chicken, spilling the blood on the ground. The gamelan begins to play. The masks are arranged in the required order on a basket, each wrapped in a piece of cloth. The actor takes the first mask, puts it on, still wrapped, holding it with his teeth by a wooden knob, or a leather strap, fixed to the back of the mask. Before uncovering it, he stiffens and seems to go into a sort of trance, " to enter into the character," making dancing gestures with his head and hands. Suddenly he tears off the cloth, gets up, and after dancing for a short while behind the curtain, makes his appearance. This is done for each character, and each mask is carefully wrapped and put away after it is used. This is not for showmanship since it is always done inside the booth and out of sight of the public.

As the play develops, the various characters are introduced, starting with the usual clowns, the servants of the prime ministers of the kings involved.Only the clowns speak in topeng performances and they wear half-masks that leave the mouth free, while the finer characters use pantomime. The absurd clowns are clumsy, with stiff wild hair and bulbous noses: one is a shy little man with eyes bulging, who lisps and moves with birdlike gestures; the other is a coarse character with terrifying hollow eyes, large holes in his mask, through which the- actor's own eyes can be seen. He has an unkempt moustache:and a monstrous -hare-lip. After them appear the refined old men with red faces and masses of white hair, high-tempered prime ministers, and young princes with smiling,

But the curious part of the performance comes at the close. Children in the front ranks begin to show alarm and, when the play is about to end, some get up and leave. The gamelan plays a special melody and the curtains part again. This time the pengedjokan appears; be wears the white mask of a grinning old man with protruding teeth, a mysterious smile, friendly and terrifying at the same time. He shakes constantly with laughter and shows a large roll of kepeng, pennies, with which be tries to lure the children, who all run as if for their lives. He goes

after them, chasing them far into the road, and if he captures one, carries him back to the dancing-place and gives the money to his frightened victim. I asked repeatedly for the significance of this curious character, but I never received a satisfactory explanation. The pengedjokan's other names are Djero Dalam Pegek and Djero Dalam Truna (truna: bachelor), perhaps derived from some authentic character, a bachelor king of legend who liked children, but frightened them because of his appearance. To be a bachelor after middle age is considered abnormal in Bali. The mask is very holy, or rather has magic power, and no one would dream of selling it. In general a good set of topeng masks is a treasure, since only the bests sculptors can make them. Learned Balinese have a high regard for the top6ng as an art.

THE BALINESE OPERA: THE ARJA

A performance by a good ardja ensemble is a social event in the village. It is at ardja shows that young people meet and love affairs are started, helped by the romantic atmosphere of the love stories and the late hours. The performance never begins before midnight, and the villagers wait patiently, gossiping, flirting, listening to music, or munching peanuts until the actors have eaten their interminable dinner and are finally dressed.

The play begins with the appearance of the tjondong, the female attendant of the putri, the eternal princess. The part of the tjondong is usually played by a middle-aged, homely, male actor dressed as a girl, who walks in an effeminate way, singing praises to his mistress and begging her to come out. She is finally persuaded; the curtains of the little booth at the end of the dancing-space part and the much heralded beauty appears. In progressive ardjas she may be a young girl dressed in gold, with a great flower bead-dress; but generally beautiful young girls cannot -sing very well and in " good " ardjas the part is played by a male actor famous for his high falsetto. Slowly the two work their way across the stage, dancing and posturing, the servant occasionally kneeling before the princess, all the while singing and talking in high, wailing voices. After this, they go d9 off-stage " simply by sitting on a mat in front of the orchestra.

Deep hollow laughter is heard from behind the curtain, followed by a song announcing the patih, the prime minister of the great prince, the hero of the play. The patih draws back the curtain and after what seems like unsuccessful attempts to come out, be finally emerges, very impressive and sure of his importance. He struts and grins, singing his own praises, laughing pompously. His abused and browbeaten younger brother Kertalah comes out meekly after him. He is a pitiful little figure dressed in an old football sweater and what look like the old clothes of the patih. Instead of a gold kris, he carries a stick or some sort of agricultural implement. His face is crossed with dabs of white paint over his nose and upper lip to indicate that be is a clown. They hold long dialogues, giving hints of the story to follow. The patih in his hollow, pretentious manner postures and struts like a turkey; Kertalah lisps or stutters. They joke about topical and local matters, much in the style of circus clowns, with the patih playing " straight " and acting as foil for the clown. They are the favourites of the crowd and every time an " off-colour " joke is made, it is the women and children who laugh the loudest, while the men blush.

Finally it is time for the prince, the ratu', to appear; the patih recites his praises and with clasped hands begs him to enter. He describes the prince's beauty as contrasted with his own ugliness, and flatters him, in standard phrases such as: ". I am so happy to be the patih of such a prince, ha, ha, ha! Come out, Excellency, the road is clear, please come out, I wait for my master

The prince appears, glittering with gold and tinsel, singing in kawi, dancing in the refined style. The patih and Kertalah follow every one of his gestures in awe, trying to imitate them, but succeeding only in a burlesque. By now it is about three in the morning and time for the story to begin. The ardja stories are romantic episodes of memorable love affairs of princes -and
princesses, generally full of fantastic situations and with a distinct erotic flavour. The distinguished characters speak and sing in kawi, which is translated into common Balinese by the come.
dians for the benefit of the unscholarly crowd. The comedy is incredibly funny and rough slapstick, sprinkled with all sorts of bawdy jokes. Besides the traditional stories, there are popular new plays such as Sampik and Tuan Wei, adaptations of Chinese love stories that started in 1924 as bastard performances with actors in European clothes playing on mandolins. Eventually these stories became thoroughly Balinese and were incorporated in the ardja.

THE JANGER DANCE

An inevitable sight for the newly arrived tourist every Saturday morning was the djanger. Under the hanging roots of a great waringing, or banyan tree, in the central square of the village, sat a dozen boys and a dozen girls in groups of six, forming a square, the girls facing the girls, the boys opposite each other; a dance master, the daag, sat in the centre. The boys wore blue sashes and red hibiscus over their ears; the girls had great fanshaped head-dresses of flowers and were wrapped in gilt cloth from the armpits to the feet. The boys shouted and shook while the girls sang with baby voices, flinging their hands and flashing their eyes. After a while a girl appeared dressed as a prince, singing and posturing, quarrelling with a wild-looking bird, an actor with a frightful mask, wings, and a bright-coloured tail. The show ended with the death of the bird, shot by an arrow of the prince. Half of the tourists looked on, while the other half snapped pictures furiously. The performance was picturesque and justified the fee, but somehow it did not ring true. Despite the fact that the elaborate show was held on the open road, it attracted only a few children, and the dancers seemed bored and indifferent.

On our first night in Bali, strolling on the outskirts of DenPasar, we heard again the same syncopated, persistent beat of drums and gongs we had heard in the morning. Following the sound, we came upon a great crowd watching a show, and after a good deal of pushing, we managed to make our way to the front rows. There were the dancers of the morning, but it was the djanger for the Balinese. Instead of tourists comfortably seated on folding chairs, the nude torsos of a great mob of eager people pressed us on all. sides until we could not move a band and were nearly suffocated by the constant blast of human breath, overpowered with heat and the heavy perfumes that emanated from the dense crowd. Children climbed on walls and trees or crawled over our feet, trying desperately to see something. Instead of the " traditional costume worn for tourists, the girls wore tight chiffon blouses, their flower crowns framing their heavily powdered faces. The boys were dressed in European shirts, neckties, shorts, golf socks, and football shoes. Over their shoulders they wore a sort of chasuble of black velvet with applique's of gold braid, spangles, and epaulets of gold fringe. They had red flowers on their bare beads and incongruous false moustaches on their chalky faces. Only the dance master wore the usual theatrical costume of brocade, but with an added shirt and bow tie. Like the others he wore a huge moustache.

.We never discovered the purpose behind the absurd costume; perhaps it was only fun, perhaps to caricature Europeans. But the insanity of the costume was surpassed by that of the performance: to the serpentine melody of a bamboo flute and the syncopated beat of drums and gongs, the girls sang nonsensical songs about flowers, rice cakes, and so forth, many words without meaning, simply to create rhythm: " djange - djange djangerere . . . " while their hands flew, the flowers on their head r shook, and their eyes snapped in unison with their necks. The boys, the ketjak, swayed and shook, shouting: " Ketjakketjakketjak - tjak! tjipo - oh! tjipo - oh! a-ha-aha! " much in the manner of a college yell, but growing faster and faster, underlining the tempo of the gongs and drums. The dance master darted wild glances in all directions with gestures of anger and
astonishment, moving like a frantic automaton. The whole moved with the rhythm of a locomotive at full speed - Balinese jazz that intoxicated both performers and audience in a spell of syncopated movement. At calmer moments two girls stepped out of the ranks and danced around the dance master, who registered amazement when the girls made love to him. Then the most incongruous nonsense ensued: like a flash, the ketjaks jumped to their feet in acrobatic poses, athletic pyramids, a boy in a back-bend while another stood on his chest. They climbed on each other's shoulders, shaking and shouting. Suddenly the dance master whirled on his seat as if be could not stand it any longer, and yelled: " Daaag! " The -whole show stopped dead. After a pause the play began, an ardja story with the usual, princes, prime ministers, and clowns.

Later I found out that the di2nger was a recent development. It had started suddenly, when, about 1925, the first company of Malay operettas (stambul) visited the island. The Balinese immediately created their own version of the pantomime, and the djanger spread like an epidemic; everywhere djanger groups were formed and soon every bandjar could boast a djanger club. It was the first time that boys and girls joined to dance for the fun of performing together, their first social dance. Every district developed its own style. In Buleleng there was a group in which the girls wore shorts, showing their legs, a rather shocking exhibition for the Balinese, who called it djanger melalong, the naked djanger," but it was popular among, the rich Chinese of Buleleng. The djanger was then the most popular entertainment. Nobody cared to see anything else and every girl in Bali hoped to become a djanger and bummed the songs all day. We feared that the djanger would kill other forms of Balinese dancing, but on our return two years later, we were surprised to find that there was no more djanger; all the famous groups had stopped. Some of the girls had married, and since there was no more demand, the groups were not reorganized. The most exhilarating show of the Balinese was dead and forgotten. Only a sleepy group remained: the djanger for the t6utists, still avidly photographing what they called " temple dancers."

With the passing of the djanger, the classical forms of theatre regained popularity, and during our second visit it was the ardja that had again become the favourite. The style of the djanger was a puzzling departure from the refinement of the Balinese theatre. The singing was obviously derived from the magic sanghyang songs, and the costumes and acrobatic figures might have been copied from the Westernized Malay shows, but the general mood, the seating arrangements, and the movements can only be explained as a throw-back to the Polynesian spirit.

The case of the djanger was an interesting example of the attitude of the Balinese towards their arts: their love of novelty and easy following after all new ideas, which are soon assimilated into their traditional forms. This enables the islanders to create new styles constantly, to inject new life steadily into their culture, which at the same time never loses its Balinese characteristics.