M. Butterfly Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright Page

  act one

  act two

  act three

  afterword

  “A MAJOR PLAYWRIGHT ... One must be grateful that a play of this ambition has made it to Broadway.”

  —New York Times

  “Playwright David Henry Hwang has something to say and an original, audacious way of saying it.”

  —Wall Street Journal

  “A MANY-SPLENDORED THEATRICAL TREASURE. A THRILLING DRAMA. A SENSATIONAL REAL-LIFE STORY OF LOVE AND TREACHERY.”—UPI

  DAVID HENRY HWANG, the son of first-generation Chinese Americans, has emerged as one of the brightest young playwrights of this decade. His first play, FOB, originally staged at Stanford University during his senior year, was presented in a revised form in 1980 at the New York Shakespeare Festival’s Public Theater. Since then, he has had numerous plays staged, including the powerful and poignant M. Butterfly, for which he was awarded the 1988 Tony Award for Best Play, the Outer Critics Circle Drama Award and the Drama Desk Award for Best New Play. David Henry Hwang has also collaborated with composer Philip Glass on a science fiction musical drama entitled 1000 Airplanes on the Roof.

  To Ophelia

  PLUME

  Published by the Penguin Group · Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England

  Published by Plume, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  M. Butterfly was previously published, in its entirety, in American Theatre magazine.

  First Plume Printing, March 1989

  Copyright © David Henry Hwang, 1986, 1987, 1988

  All rights reserved. All inquiries regarding rights should be addressed to the author’s agent, William Craver, Writers & Artists Agency, 70 West 36th Street, #501, New York, NY 10018.

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Hwang, David Henry, 1957-

  M. Butterfly / by David Henry Hwang : with an afterword by the

  playwright.

  p. cm.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-07703-0

  I. Title.

  PS3558.W83M2 1989

  812’.54—dc19 88-29040

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

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  M. Butterfly, presented by Stuart Ostrow and David Geffen, and directed by John Dexter, premiered on February 10, 1988, at the National Theatre in Washington, D.C., and opened on Broadway March 20, 1988, at the Eugene O‘Neill Theatre. M. Butterfly won the 1988 Tony for best play, the Outer Critics Circle Award for best Broadway play, the John Gassner Award for best American play, and the Drama Desk Award for best new play. It had the following cast:

  Scenery and Costumes: Eiko Ishioka

  Lighting: Andy Phillips

  Hair: Phyllis Della

  Music: Giacomo Puccini, Lucia Hwong

  Casting: Meg Simon, Fran Kumin

  Production Stage Manager: Bob Borod

  Peking Opera Consultants: Jamie H. J. Guan & Michelle Ehlers

  Musical Director and Lute: Lucia Hwong

  Percussion, Shakuhachi, and Guitar: Yukio Tsuji

  Violin and Percussion: Jason Hwang

  Musical Coordinator: John Miller

  Playwright’s Notes

  “A former French diplomat and a Chinese opera singer have been sentenced to six years in jail for spying for China after a two-day trial that traced a story of clandestine love and mistaken sexual identity.... Mr. Bouriscot was accused of passing information to China after he fell in love with Mr. Shi, whom he believed for twenty years to be a woman.”

  —The New York Times, May 11, 1986

  This play was suggested by international newspaper accounts of a recent espionage trial. For purposes of dramatization, names have been changed, characters created, and incidents devised or altered, and this play does not purport to be a factual record of real events or real people.

  “I could escape this feeling

  With my China girl...”

  —David Bowie & Iggy Pop

  Setting

  The action of the play takes place in a Paris prison in the present, and in recall, during the decade 1960 to 1970 in Beijing, and from 1966 to the present in Paris.

  act one

  scene 1

  M. Gallimard’s prison cell. Paris. Present.

  Lights fade up to reveal Rene Gallimard, 65, in a prison cell. He wears a comfortable bathrobe, and looks old and tired. The sparsely furnished cell contains a wooden crate upon which sits a hot plate with a kettle, and a portable tape recorder. Gallimard sits on the crate staring at the recorder, a sad smile on his face.

  Upstage Song, who appears as a beautiful woman in traditional Chinese garb, dances a traditional piece from the Peking Opera, surrounded by the percussive clatter of Chinese music.

  Then, slowly, lights and sound cross-fade; the Chinese opera music dissolves into a Western opera, the “Love Duet” from Puccini’s Madame Butterfly. Song continues dancing, now to the Western accompaniment. Though her movements are the same, the difference in music now gives them a balletic quality.

  Gallimard rises, and turns upstage towards the figure of Song, who dances without acknowledging him.

  GALLIMARD: Butterfly, Butterfly ...

  He forces himself to turn away, as the image of Song fades out, and talks to us.

  GALLIMARD: The limits of my cell are as such: four-and-a-half meters by five. There’s one window against the far wall; a door, very strong, to protect me from autograph hounds. I’m responsible for the tape recorder, the hot plate, and this charming coffee table.

  When I want to eat, I’m marched off to the dining room—hot, steaming slop appears on my plate. When I want to sleep, the light bulb turns itself off—the work of fairies. It’s an enchanted space I occupy. The French—we know how to run a prison.

  But, to be honest,
I’m not treated like an ordinary prisoner. Why? Because I’m a celebrity. You see, I make people laugh.

  I never dreamed this day would arrive. I’ve never been considered witty or clever. In fact, as a young boy, in an informal poll among my grammar school classmates, I was voted “least likely to be invited to a party.” It’s a title I managed to hold onto for many years. Despite some stiff competition.

  But now, how the tables turn! Look at me: the life of every social function in Paris. Paris? Why be modest? My fame has spread to Amsterdam, London, New York. Listen to them! In the world’s smartest parlors. I’m the one who lifts their spirits!

  With a flourish, Gallimard directs our attention to another part of the stage.

  scene 2

  A party. Present.

  Lights go up on a chic-looking parlor, where a well-dressed trio, two men and one woman, make conversation. Gallimard also remains lit; he observes them from his cell.

  WOMAN: And what of Gallimard?

  MAN 1: Gallimard?

  MAN 2: Gallimard!

  GALLIMARD (To us): You see? They’re all determined to say my name, as if it were some new dance.

  WOMAN: He still claims not to believe the truth.

  MAN 1: What? Still? Even since the trial?

  WOMAN: Yes. Isn’t it mad?

  MAN 2 (Laughing): He says ... it was dark ... and she was very modest!

  The trio break into laughter.

  MAN 1: So—what? He never touched her with his hands?

  MAN 2: Perhaps he did, and simply misidentified the equipment. A compelling case for sex education in the schools.

  WOMAN: To protect the National Security—the Church can’t argue with that.

  MAN 1: That’s impossible! How could he not know?

  MAN 2: Simple ignorance.

  MAN 1: For twenty years?

  MAN 2: Time flies when you’re being stupid.

  WOMAN: Well, I thought the French were ladies’ men.

  MAN 2: It seems Monsieur Gallimard was overly anxious to live up to his national reputation.

  WOMAN: Well, he’s not very good-looking.

  MAN 1: No, he’s not.

  MAN 2: Certainly not.

  WOMAN: Actually, I feel sorry for him.

  MAN 2: A toast! To Monsieur Gallimard!

  WOMAN: Yes! To Gallimard!

  MAN 1: To Gallimard!

  MAN 2: Vive la difference!

  They toast, laughing. Lights down on them.

  scene 3

  M. Gallimard’s cell.

  GALLIMARD (Smiling): You see? They toast me. I’ve become patron saint of the socially inept. Can they really be so foolish? Men like that—they should be scratching at my door, begging to learn my secrets! For I, Rene Gallimard, you see, I have known, and been loved by ... the Perfect Woman.

  Alone in this cell, I sit night after night, watching our story play through my head, always searching for a new ending, one which redeems my honor, where she returns at last to my arms. And I imagine you—my ideal audience—who come to understand and even, perhaps just a little, to envy me.

  He turns on his tape recorder. Over the house speakers, we hear the opening phrases of Madame Butterfly.

  GALLIMARD: In order for you to understand what I did and why, I must introduce you to my favorite opera: Madame Butterfly. By Giacomo Puccini. First produced at La Scala, Milan, in 1904, it is now beloved throughout the Western world.

  As Gallimard describes the opera, the tape segues in and out to sections he may be describing.

  GALLIMARD: And why not? Its heroine, Cio-Cio-San, also known as Butterfly, is a feminine ideal, beautiful and brave. And its hero, the man for whom she gives up everything, is—(He pulls out a naval officer’s cap from under his crate, pops it on his head, and struts about)—not very good-looking, not too bright, and pretty much a wimp: Benjamin Franklin Pinkerton of the U.S. Navy. As the curtain rises, he’s just closed on two great bargains: one on a house, the other on a woman—call it a package deal.

  Pinkerton purchased the rights to Butterfly for one hundred yen—in modem currency, equivalent to about ... sixty-six cents. So, he’s feeling pretty pleased with himself as Sharpless, the American consul, arrives to witness the marriage.

  Marc, wearing an official cap to designate Sharpless, enters and plays the character.

  SHARPLESS/MARC: Pinkerton!

  PINKERTON/GALLIMARD: Sharpless! How’s it hangin‘? It’s a great day, just great. Between my house, my wife, and the rickshaw ride in from town, I’ve saved nineteen cents just this morning.

  SHARPLESS: Wonderful. I can see the inscription on your tombstone already: “I saved a dollar, here I lie.” (He looks around) Nice house.

  PINKERTON: It’s artistic. Artistic, don’t you think? Like the way the shoji screens slide open to reveal the wet bar and disco mirror ball? Classy, huh? Great for impressing the chicks.

  SHARPLESS: “Chicks”? Pinkerton, you’re going to be a married man!

  PINKERTON: Well, sort of.

  SHARPLESS: What do you mean?

  PINKERTON: This country—Sharpless, it is okay. You got all these geisha girls running around—

  SHARPLESS: I know! I live here!

  PINKERTON: Then, you know the marriage laws, right? I split for one month, it’s annulled!

  SHARPLESS: Leave it to you to read the fine print. Who’s the lucky girl?

  PINKERTON: Cio-Cio-San. Her friends call her Butterfly. Sharpless, she eats out of my hand!

  SHARPLESS: She’s probably very hungry.

  PINKERTON: Not like American girls. It’s true what they say about Oriental girls. They want to be treated bad!

  SHARPLESS: Oh, please!

  PINKERTON: It’s true!

  SHARPLESS: Are you serious about this girl?

  PINKERTON: I’m marrying her, aren’t I?

  SHARPLESS: Yes—with generous trade-in terms.

  PINKERTON: When I leave, she’ll know what it’s like to have loved a real man. And I’ll even buy her a few nylons.

  SHARPLESS: You aren’t planning to take her with you?

  PINKERTON: Huh? Where?

  SHARPLESS: Home!

  PINKERTON: You mean, America? Are you crazy? Can you see her trying to buy rice in St. Louis?

  SHARPLESS: So, you’re not serious.

  Pause.

  PINKERTON/GALLIMARD (As Pinkerton): Consul, I am a sailor in port. (As Gallimard) They then proceed to sing the famous duet, “The Whole World Over.”

  The duet plays on the speakers. Gallimard, as Pinkerton, lipsyncs his lines from the opera.

  GALLIMARD: To give a rough translation: “The whole world over, the Yankee travels, casting his anchor wherever he wants. Life’s not worth living unless he can win the hearts of the fairest maidens, then hotfoot it off the premises ASAP.” (He turns towards Marc) In the preceding scene, I played Pinkerton, the womanizing cad, and my friend Marc from school ... (Marc bows grandly for our benefit) played Sharpless, the sensitive soul of reason. In life, however, our positions were usually—no, always—reversed.

  scene 4

  Ecole Nationale. Aix-en-Provence. 1947.

  GALLIMARD: No, Marc, I think I’d rather stay home.

  MARC: Are you crazy?! We are going to Dad’s condo in Marseille! You know what happened last time?

  GALLIMARD: Of course I do.

  MARC: Of course you don‘t! You never know.... They stripped, Rene!

  GALLIMARD: Who stripped?

  MARC: The girls!

  GALLIMARD: Girls? Who said anything about girls?

  MARC: Rene, we’re a buncha university guys goin’ up to the woods. What are we gonna do—talk philosophy?

  GALLIMARD: What girls? Where do you get them?

  MARC: Who cares? The point is, they come: On trucks. Packed in like sardines. The back flips open, babes hop out, we’re ready to roll.

  GALLIMARD: You mean, they just—?

  MARC: Before you know it, every last one of them—they’re stripped and spla
shing around my pool. There’s no moon out, they can’t see what’s going on, their boobs are flapping, right? You close your eyes, reach out—it’s grab bag, get it? Doesn’t matter whose ass is between whose legs, whose teeth are sinking into who. You’re just in there, going at it, eyes closed, on and on for as long as you can stand. (Pause) Some fun, huh?

  GALLIMARD: What happens in the morning?

  MARC: In the morning, you’re ready to talk some philosophy. (Beat) So how ‘bout it?

  GALLIMARD: Marc, I can’t ... I’m afraid they’ll say no—the girls. So I never ask.

  MARC: You don’t have to ask! That’s the beauty—don’t you see? They don’t have to say yes. It’s perfect for a guy like you, really.

  GALLIMARD: You go ahead ... I may come later.

  MARC: Hey, Rene—it doesn’t matter that you’re clumsy and got zits—they’re not looking!

  GALLIMARD: Thank you very much.

  MARC: Wimp.

  Marc walks over to the other side of the stage, and starts waving and smiling at women in the audience.

  GALLIMARD (To us): We now return to my version of Madame Butterfly and the events leading to my recent conviction for treason.

  Gallimard notices Marc making lewd gestures.

  GALLIMARD: Marc, what are you doing?

  MARC: Huh? (Sotto voce) Rene, there’re a lotta great babes out there. They’re probably lookin’ at me and thinking, “What a dangerous guy.”

  GALLIMARD: Yes—how could they help but be impressed by your cool sophistication?

  Gallimard pops the Sharpless cap on Marc’s head, and points him offstage. Marc exits, leering.