Remember that at the time of my investigation—now thirty years ago—I had no means of knowing what the scale should be, and I had to calculate from the relative lengths of the thirteen slips what the notes of the speaking pipes would be; and when in after years I came to possess other specimens of the instrument, I found that all my conclusions had been correct.

A very impressive result is the discovery that the old Chinese musical basis was that of the Greeks,—the tetrachord; and the complete scale of this, one of the most ancient of Chinese instruments, consists of two conjunct tetrachords and one disjunct tetrachord; which scale, as I have said, being founded upon a natural law of progression from or through a connected series of proportional lengths, exhibits unchanged its record of evolution. For pipes of certain length give now the same tones and the same actual pitches as they gave thousands of years ago. They do not change, though modes and customs, peoples and empires change. How remarkably suggestive is this taken with the presence of the Pan’s pipes and the Phœnix, to which your attention was given in a previous chapter, as pointing to a common origin in some ancient era ere history began. Helmholtz notes that Olympos (circa B.C. 660-620), who introduced Asiatic flute music into Greece and adapted it into Greek tastes, transformed the Greek Doric scale into one of five tones, the old enharmonic scale,

b  ^‿  c— —e  ^‿  f— —a

This, he says, seems to indicate that he brought a scale of five tones with him from Asia. And this same scale you will find in the scale of the Sheng. I gave all this evidence respecting the scale of the Sheng more than twenty-five years ago, to Mr. Ellis; but it was a long time before he could bring himself to believe that Amiot and other leading writers had given altogether misleading statements. He went and pored over the big folio volumes of Amiot’s “Mémoires des Chinois” (1780), utterly confused; and only in later times, when investigating for his work of marvellous patience, “On the Musical Scales of Various Nations,” did he see that truly the tetrachord was the basis of Asiatic music as it was of Greek music.

How was it that Amiot, living with the Chinese, gave a wrong drawing of the free reed used in the Sheng? How came he to say with authority that its thirteen pipes were a succession of semitones? How came he to select f as the tonic of the scale? Engel falls into the same notion of thirteen pipes giving the same octave of semitones as ours, but says that the e and b were exceptional notes, only used occasionally.

Order of the Pipes as they Stand in the Sheng.

Scale of the Sounds of the Sheng.

The scale really comprises one octave and a fourth and the master pipe is the e♭, it being so marked on every instrument I have handled, as shown in the illustration at pipe 14. This is the pipe giving the note corresponding in pitch to the imperial standard pipe, yet it is one fourth less than that in length, because, though both are cylindrical, the one is whistle or flute blown and the other reed blown—such is the law of these reed pipes—whilst the real standard length standing beside it, No. 15, gives a sound a fourth lower, and is the lowest in sound in the scale.

Yet b♭ is not the tonic; the Chinese have not in their music our kind of reckoning; but their e♭, at the junction of the two tetrachords, corresponds to the mese or middle note of the Greek scale. And in passing let me say that in the middle tetrachord you leave out in descending the notes 10 and 4, and in ascending leave out 12 and 13, according as the conjunct tetrachords are formed in the upper or in the lower part of the scale; and thus the conditions required by the tetrachord are maintained. Although, to make exposition easy, the notes are here presented in our modern notation, you should still bear in mind that the relations of note to note are not the same, are not exact in ratios; most of the notes are flatter or sharper than indicated, for the simple reason that there is no other ratio of interval than the fourth taken in relation to intervening upper or lower octaves; and since two fourths will not comprise an octave, each successive step in fourths that are perfect takes us away from diatonic accuracy. Thus the g given as a fourth above d♭ looks odd; yet it is from that actual pitch length, as one may say, that the c above is derived. The c is a flat note not expressed by our notation, but we have to signify the notes in the nearest terms we can for convenience, none being quite accurate. A very curious puzzle, you will answer; but very clear I can assure you when you have once found your way through the labyrinth.

Writers upon the Sheng all say that the pipes in the range numbered 2 and 6 are mere duplicates, and also 4 and 8. But they are altogether mistaken; they give not any intimation whatever why they exist. If it had been so then speaking lengths would have been in duplicate, which they are not. But I can demonstrate why they are there; and that they are not duplicates either as regards length or in pitch, but are necessary in the evolution. There is nothing fantastic in the arrangement; all the notes come naturally from one to the other; they are necessary; not one too many to complete the idea, not one left out; and, in truth, that last one in the sequence given of evolution—which I have marked ♭^v_{a}, to indicate an extra flatness—has every suggestion of being an afterthought. For the pipe No. 2 in the order exists for no other reason than to make an A♭ that shall be a true fourth to the high D♭; a sounding pipe, for which a place is found where otherwise a second mute pipe would have been, corresponding with that on the opposite side. Why are there two pipes with the ventage hole turned inwards to be closed by a finger of the right hand? Because the thumb ranges over several pipes, but could not properly close more than one at a time; and to meet the difficulty, pipes 3 and 4 have the closure operating behind. So that when required for making fourths or thirds with 2 or 5 or 6 or 7, in the order that comes under the thumb of the right hand, then the finger comes to aid in producing the simple concords desired. Certainly the contrivance in its directness and efficiency is very clever.

The scale therefore is, after casting out the alternatives not required in ascending, as follows. See how very Greek it is.

And in the alternative:—

Here the fx makes a perfect fourth to ^♭b, but would not to c below; and ♭a^v makes a perfect fourth to ♭d above, but would not to ♭e below. Each c is to be taken as much nearer the b♭ than in our notation. The pentatonic is obtained by skipping over the half tones. These mysteries you can unravel if you care to take the trouble to cut strips of paper as I did of wood. Number them all at the bottom, and from the 9-7/8in. length you will get its fourth,—that is to say, three quarters of its original. Write on each the name of the note. And so on, getting octaves and fourths above or below, in the sequence I have given. As you go on, cut the strips to the lengths found and fold each strip in length into four; and then when you lay them out these curious tonal relations are made manifest. Thus you see why the sounds are what they are. The true lengths would prove in sounds perfect fourths if the diameters of the pipes had carried the geometrical law.

Strangest of all remains the fact that my blind sticks proved true prophets, and led me in the way of evolution, the pitches of the pipes corroborating at every step.

Reverting now to the details of the Sheng, there is one little hint too important to be omitted if any reader should happen to have the opportunity of measuring the actual pipes. He will find that the pipe that is longest in the speaking length—that is to say reckoning from the lower end of the slot—will be 10-1/8in. in length, instead of 9-7/8in. This excess of a quarter of an inch is common to all the pipes, and is that portion extended beyond the hollowed part of the foot which only reaches to the base of the metal tongue, and is therefore the real limit of the column of air. Consequently, this quarter should be allowed off each pipe when measured, because if computed in the speaking length it would affect the accuracy of the half lengths. In my first analysis, I found difficulties arose when comparisons were instituted between the pipes themselves and the slips of wood of the lengths evolved as a problem; because, as I soon became aware, upon halving the total lengths as taken actually from the pipes, the half of this quarter inch was entering into every calculation, and was of course misrepresenting by an eighth of an inch the real speaking length to be credited to the half length and the three fourths length; and with the shortest of the pipes the discrepancy became serious.

Time also, I found, had occasioned a little variation, as the bamboos in drying lengthen a little; but it is a mere trifle.

One or two points I must not forget to direct attention to. Notice that the reeds in the Sheng have their faces turned to the wall of the bowl, and in this way a reflecting surface acts to the advantage of the reed; the air also acts less wildly than might be the case if the reeds were turned toward the centre of the bowl. The reed tongues are very thin, and are not lifted from the level of the plates; consequently they may be caused to sound both by drawing with the breath and by blowing, although the latter is prohibited in practice, as the moisture from blowing condensing on the reed alters the pitch, and corrodes the metal. Any excessive forcing of the tone the reeds are not liable to, because the air is passing at the same time through all the pipes, those that are sounding and those that are not.

Fairly, then, I think that I may claim to have transformed myself into an early Chinaman, and to have shown that I possess a sympathetic, inquisitive, barbarian sort of a mind, and ought to have lived years ago. The plan that I hit upon in a wild, instinctive way appears to be identical with the plan upon which the Sheng was evolved; for no other seems so easy and natural as this, alike in regard to the origin of the instrument and to the development of the music.

CHAPTER XVII.

In the Land of Siam.

THE SIAMESE “PHAN.”

Geographically the three empires of China, Japan and Siam, may be considered as one region, and therefore, without doubt the Sheng, the Sho, and the Phan have a common origin; and within the confines of these lands this kind of instrument has its home. There is no other type of the free reed, nor does it seem to have strayed beyond its home until after the lapse of many centuries—how many we cannot with any certainty say. Somewhere in the land of China the free reed had its origin; the first instance, too, of the employment of metal as a vibrating tongue to produce musical sound; and, as I said, the reed stamped out in metal was bound to be a free reed. Yet it is curious that no other nation had for music a metal reed, when we note that, as Mr. W. St. Chad Boscawen has stated, the working of metal had been practised as early as 3000 B.C. in Chaldea. He tells us of earliest Chaldean inscriptions being certainly as ancient as 4000 to 5000 B.C., and that one of our earliest Chaldean sculptures contained a representation of the harp and the pipes which were attributed to Jubal. The last half dozen lines are a repetition from the first chapter, merely because it is desirable to have the facts they set forth born in mind in this part of the exposition also.

The instrument here illustrated, the Siamese Phan, is of the same family as the Chinese Sheng and the Japanese Sho. The principle is the same as regards the production of sounds in each instrument. Although the Phan in appearance is so different, yet details of its construction are the same,—viz., a collection of bamboo tubes forming a related series of pipes for a succession of musical sounds; a bowl into which these pipes are inserted, the bowl having an aperture for breathing purposes; and each pipe possessing a little free reed cut in a plate metal, and the sounds of the pipes only to be elicited when a small lateral aperture at the side of each pipe is closed by the finger of the player. The pipes are also slotted, and are of superfluous length, so much so that one is at a loss to account for the purpose or the advantage supposed to be derived from the excessive length; in fact, the illustration does not show the length to which some of the bamboos actually extend. The Siamese may be able to give a reason, but we are not; and the instrument being rarely found in this country, there are no facilities for investigation of the musical effects.

The instrument is apparently a rude survival of an early period when China alone was the civilising influence upon the natives of Siam; the little free reeds used presume access to an already established industry in the working of metals, and may have been obtained by the natives by way of barter.

An instrument in the Brussels Museum of Musical Instruments is described by Mr. Victor Mahillon, and the scale is set out as below. The tubes are fourteen in number, fixed in two parallel rows of seven, as will be seen; and upon the right hand is the flat face of the bowl where the player places his mouth, and inspires the air from the interior, setting the reeds in motion in any of the pipes the lateral hole whereof shall have been closed. These are the notes:—

Scale of the Phan.

Notice the prominent relation of the fourth ♭a, ♭d, and that there are two notes alike,—♭e. These would, I expect, if tested, prove to be slightly different, so that one might be a true fourth to ♭a above, and the other a true fourth to ♭b below; each derived by a different progression, in the way that I have pointed out in the evolution of the Sheng.

The Phan belongs to the same family as the Sheng, and it is for that reason only that it has been brought to notice here.

CHAPTER XVIII.

In the Land of Japan.

JAPANESE PITCH PIPES AND THE JAPANESE CLARIONET AND THE SHO.

The Japanese are a curious people, blending as they do in their manners and customs, in their ways of thought and mental tendencies, in their childish acceptances and intellectual eagerness, naive simplicity and artistic perceptivity; a strange union of the primitive, the ancient, and the modern, all instinct with present vitality. In their musical system and musical practice, they inherit a long past, prehistoric; and, in their way upward through the centuries, seem to have developed an absorbing power, enabling them to acquire the new without foregoing the ancient, and to blend all that they acquire with a spontaneous ease that is less art than happy nature, making in every sense the best of everything. Adhering to the traditional, yet unfettered by the pedantic formality which so cripples the progress of the Chinese, they are able to advance with freedom, and to affiliate whatever seems to them good. In the Japanese musical system, we find the ancient pentatonic scale, the old Greek scales, and the equal semitonal division of the octave, all coexisting; the latter being to them indistinguishable from our equal temperament, which we assume to be so modern. Hence our pianoforte is naturally acceptable to them for its progression of scale, although their ears do not yet make the demand for harmony which is characteristic of the western nations.

The illustration given is full size. It is of a set of Japanese pitch pipes, consisting of six little bamboo tubes, threaded at the middle on a copper wire, which, merely flattened at the ends, serves to hold all the pipes together. At each end of each pipe is a little hollow plug, which fits in tightly; and at the point which is cut on the slant a small brass plate is fixed, as shown in the sketch at top, which is drawn twice the size of the original; and in the middle of the plate is a tiny reed, cut in the plate by a fine chisel. This reed lifts up its tip in a fine delicate curve, like the curve of “my ladye’s eyelash”; and each of these minute hairlike reeds is formed to give the desired pitch for one of the twelve semitones of the compass of the octave. To obtain exactness, the tips of some of the reeds have a tiny bit of beeswax, loading them to the degree of the slower movement of vibration which the artist’s ear demands.

The plate itself is fixed on the point of the bamboo plug by beeswax,—nothing more; so simple and efficient is this primitive construction, yet answering every purpose of the musician. At the twelve ends are the names of the notes in gold, stamped in Japanese characters; but these the engraver has not attempted, lest unknowingly some bend or twist or dot might be such as to give some signification not fit for ears polite: for we are aware in our own language how the omission or insertion of a single vowel may alter the whole meaning and be a source of lamentable error. The pipes turn on the copper rod, permitting either end of each pipe to be brought round to the lips as wanted. The reeds only sound by suction: you draw the breath through, and that sets the reed vibrating and sounding, whilst the note on an instrument is being tuned. To blow through on to the reeds would horrify the native musician, because the moisture of the breath would lodge and injure the durability of the reed. To have a set of pipes as these, is as it would be to us if we had a dozen tuning forks in a case to tune our pianos by for ourselves. All the stringed instruments in Japan require to be properly tuned every time they are played; so one can appreciate the utility of this pretty little companion in its simple case, and dagger fastening all complete for the pocket. Or, as one should say, for the sleeve; since it is the sleeve that is the receptacle for all the odds and ends, the impedimenta, which civilization carries with it in every land.

The scale as nearly as we can represent it is:—

We must not look at these as we do at our fourths and fifths. The intention in the scale is that the player, according as he is going up or down, should by some traditional rule be able to substitute a sharp interval for a flat one. Thus, he takes in the course of his melody a flat fourth D to G, or by taking G♯ gets a sharp fourth; or again a flat fifth from C♯ down to G; and the flat fourth B down to to F♯ seems a favourite essential interval. We should remember that the harmony or concord is confined to octaves, fourths and fifths, and that, the tones of the instruments being faint and quickly vanishing, a mistuned fourth or fifth is little worse than perfect intervals. The sharp thirds are not unpleasant, but have a peculiar breezy effect heard upon the Sheng, and the Sho.

There is a great tendency in Eastern scales to make flat fourths and sharp fifths. This same flat fourth is given by my set of Chinese bells, and I remember how Sir F. Gore Ouseley caught it instantly when he heard it. He had the keenest ear for pitch that I ever met. The A and A♭ depart from our relation of pitch. But the Japanese are so accustomed to freedom in altering their scales that the Koto, though tuned accurately, is during playing altered to the passing fancy of the player, who is allowed to pull the strings below the bridge or to press them just as the moment dictates, sharpening or flattening any interval. The classical scales used in religious and royal ceremonials and the popular scales are quite distinct, which shows how in course of time the music itself has changed.

My bells above named give F♯, A, B, C♯; the F♯ to C♯ making a fifth, the F♯ to B making a flat fourth, the A to C♯ a sharp major third. We may reckon bells to be true carriers of pitch, scarcely, if anything, affected by age.

Mr. A. J. Ellis traces the old Greek tetrachords in the Japanese scales, and remarks upon one, “it is interesting to observe that this hiradio-shi scale, which consists of a tone and two conjunct tetrachords, each divided approximately into a semitone and its defect from a fourth, presents us with a survival of the oldest Greek tetrachord. Perhaps Olympos himself tuned no better than the Japanese musician I heard.” He also infers that the pentatonic scale was later than that of the tetrachord. He says “that China and Japan introduced nothing new beyond the original limitation of the scale to five notes, which arose in fact from divisions of tetrachords into two parts only. For instance, a semitone and major third, like those of Olympos (whose very division we find in the popular music of Japan), or else into a tone and a minor third; the thirds arising in each case as defects of the first interval of a fourth. Such tetrachords were then either conjunct or disjunct; but they were always capable of being completed into Greek scales, as has been actually done in Japan and China. On the other hand, Japan at least, and China also, have attained a system of twelve more or less exact equal semitones.”

The Japanese have twelve semitones to the octave, as the Chinese have, the root of their civilization being the same. But in music ancient equal temperament and modern equal temperament are not quite the same thing; nevertheless, the approachments come very near. The scale, however, is not used to play music proceeding by semitones, but is used for the purpose of transposition of melody to high or low position, which changes never trespass beyond a range of fourteen sounds for such melody. Our necessity for equal temperament arose in like manner from the desire for transposition, but it was for the needs of harmony. This distinction we should never forget when considering Eastern systems of music. Moreover, our modern method of counting from the low note upwards seems to be an inversion of the more primitive method, which proceeded from above downward. Hence when the fourth below was taken it has been our custom to assume that the note was obtained as a fifth upwards from the octave note below, and much confusion of interpretation has resulted therefrom. There is a significant passage in Mr. A. J. Ellis’s notes to Helmholtz:

I often had arguments with Mr. Ellis upon these points, and after the study of Arabic and Persian scales for his comparative examination of “The Musical Scales of Various Nations” he came at last to the same conclusion. The fourth always seemed to me the most naturally selected interval for the origin of the primitive scales. It prevails in Arabia, Persia, China, and the East generally.

The instrument which is here illustrated is Japanese, and is called a clarinet on account of the similarity in the relation of its sounds, its second series being 12ths, not octaves. The most noticeable peculiarity of the little instrument is its reed, which is as broad as the tip of our bassoon reed; but unlike that, is broader at the bass end, which is inserted in the pipe (as you will understand by the drawing, which shows the reed cut through at mid-section).

The vibrating portion is at the tip, to the extent downward of three eighths of an inch, which evidently has been pinched together and then dried in some particular way. The two lips from the centre expand outwardly under moisture, and leave a fine ovate opening, which, under the suction of the passing stream of air closes, and then reopens by its own elasticity. The reed does not consist of two separate parts bound together, but is itself tubular, its diameter at the bottom being three eighths of an inch.

Then a little clip of cane with bound ends forms a ligature to keep the lips of the reed in proper relation during blowing; and as it is pressed down tightly or loosely, affects in some degree the pitch. Also the lower end of the reed is bound with a strip of soft paper, where it fits into the pipe; and so, whether it is allowed to be set far into the pipe or not, will likewise affect the pitch considerably. This will account for some discrepancies in the statements as to the normal pitch of the Hichi-riki. Again, in China, the same kind of instrument is found differing in length, and having the name Kwan-tze, The Japanese instrument is no doubt a refined copy of the Chinese model, which itself is so ancient that it may have been brought from some region of the Caucasus. My own instrument measures in pipe length 8in., and with the reed fitted in, 9-1/8in. In the Brussels Museum, one is noted which is 8-5/8in. in pipe length, and the lowest note is F; but this instrument has another thumb hole between the third and fourth holes in addition to the hole which appears in my pipe between the sixth and seventh hole.

The pipe also, it should be remarked, is not cylindrical, but in a musical sense is more so; since, by its being a cone inverted, the flattening influence of form on the pitch is increased. As it was in the old German flute, which, like this, was an inverted cone, and so conduced to the better production of the lowest notes.

The scale of the Hichi-riki, on the authority of the Musical Institute of Tokio, is given with the following tablature:—

The open pipe length for the lowest note would therefore be twice the length of this pipe, so we say that the Hichi-riki speaks double depth tone. And when blown with higher pressure, the first series of harmonics is not one of octaves, but of twelfths. An interesting circumstance is that when a smaller reed such as we use for the oboe is inserted, then the tone leaps a fourth (not an octave) higher, and its harmonic series is one of octave relation; in fact, it is the original twelfth acting, slightly modified by being elicited by a smaller reed, and hence emphasizing the compound nature of results from pipe and reed associated. With one reed, I remember that the pipe rose a fifth, its twelfth being then really transfigured only, yet becoming its octave, being, as elicited, the same note.

Another curious fact connected with the Hichi-riki is that—if the upper end of the pipe is placed full within the mouth, and is blown through without any reed whatever, and without any action of the lips—clear and powerful notes are elicited, varied as the openings of the holes are varied; provided one of the upper holes is left open. Then the pitch of the issuing notes corresponds to such as are calculated according to the length between the distant holes as an open pipe length. It is, further, indifferent whether the end of wide diameter or that of narrow diameter is taken into the mouth; either way sounds are readily produced. The upper finger hole thus corresponds to the twelfth hole in the clarionet—according to the argument upon this question in a previous chapter—and the length of pipe above it is to be disregarded.

Within my knowledge there is no other pipe instrument that, blown through, will produce sound in this fashion with no visible vibrating agent. It appears reasonable to estimate that the air issuing from the upper hole takes upon itself the vibratory action of a reed or lamina; and very likely the shape of the hole (which is a long oval), and the thinness of the substance of the tube (which is cane or bamboo), may both be favourable to such action. The instrument is very simple, yet it is of beautifully finished workmanship, and is altogether curious and interesting.

This illustration shows the cap of the reed of the Hichi-riki separately. The cap is merely a piece of soft wood very deftly hollowed to fit the reed, and the curves of the opening will show you the shape that is presented by the tip of the reed which the cap is intended to preserve. The two lips have during playing absorbed moisture, and have expanded to the shape shown in these curves; but immediately after playing the cap is placed on the tips, and then these lips in drying set together in a pressed form, as two straight lines closely adhering, again taking the curvature as soon as moistened. We often find reed instruments with caps and covers, but rarely I think fulfilling this office of preserving the form in suitable state in which the reed is best left to dry gradually. The caps upon the old cromornes, pibgorns, and stockpipes, although they tended to preserve the reeds, were otherwise different in purpose, being used to convey air to the reed, which was not placed in the mouth. Compared with modern instruments, these Japanese instruments are very simple; but there is a wonderful sense of fitness about the arrangements, and the workmanlike finish of the instruments makes the handling of them delightful.

Three reeds are provided for each pipe, and the reeds are each differently cut at the tip; one being cut straight at the edge, another with curved margin, another almost semicircular; the object being to cause variety in the quality of tone,—one being suited for songs of martial character, another for dance, another for songs of love.

It is noteworthy that the oval hole is preferred by eastern peoples. The Greek auloi preserved in the British Museum possess oval holes, as do the pipes of Egypt, the arghool pipes, the Lady Maket pipes; and in truth the oval is the form naturally derived by cutting upon a circular surface, and it is also well adapted to the fingers; nothing but a formality for elaborating could have induced the modern habit of making round holes. Primitive instruments were often so played as that the holes were covered, not by the tips of the fingers but by the fleshy part of the second joint of the finger, as may be seen at the present day among the rural population of Italy and Spain. In the grand work on Egypt (fifteen folio volumes) published by order of Napoleon the First, this same instrument is depicted full size, with section of reed and all details, and is given as a native Egyptian instrument.

From a recent publication by “The Egypt Exploration Fund” I find that a six-holed pipe has been discovered in a temple in Egypt (Diospolis Parva), made from the horn of some small deer, and very possibly was of this kind, although from the imperfect state of the mouthpiece we cannot say for certain, and this pipe is as old as about 1500 B.C. The photograph of it shows the same peculiarity of form of tube, the lower end being of the smaller diameter, and the indications to the expert eye are that a reed set up the vibrations. So the type is undoubtedly Egyptian, and we see how natural it was to derive the inverted cone form of tube from the adaptation of the horn.

At the same time it would accord with the view I have taken of the common source of origin of the Chinese and Egyptians, to consider this instrument to have been developed by the Egyptians independently, and the Chinese to have developed theirs, alike from some prototype common to both at an early prehistoric era.

The Japanese seem to have carried the workmanship of their instruments to a higher degree of refinement than the Chinese, and to have a much keener musical perception, and a sense of the fitness and relation of things in art and mechanism.

You will remember that in describing the reeds of the Japanese pitch pipes, I likened the delicate upward bend of the dainty little reeds to the curve of my ladye’s eyelashes; well, I can find no truer similitude, and you would say so if you saw them,—the reeds, I mean, not the eyelashes, which must be left to imagination. The practical purport of the device is what I would have you notice, because it shows the intuitive sense of fitness which guided the designer; for the tongue is so curved upward that it will not reverse and bend the opposite way as the flat reed does. Thus it is secure against fluctuations of pitch, a very requisite provision, since in this case each pipe is designed to be sounded alone, and is subjected to the full force of whatever suction may be brought to bear upon it. A small reed of straight tongue could not be relied upon for pitch under such a stress: hence experience taught the designer by a happy device how to secure the end he had in view.

In Japan, we find the Sho, which is there a national instrument, is practically the same as the Sheng, only differing in that two of the mute pipes are made available to extend the scale, and that there is a little humouring in the pitch, probably from a familiarity with modern equal temperament; because this is, after all, only a reversion to a system with which scholastically their teachers were well acquainted in theory.

The Sho maintains its traditional office in ritual and in ceremonial affairs, and its scale, with little differences, is the same as that of the Sheng: hence we may infer that the tunes in use, which have been handed down from a very early date, are common to both.

The Japanese recognise in their music two systems, the classical and the popular, and these are in everyday use. The scales are essentially traditional, and are kept quite distinct. In the main they are Chinese, as also are the instruments; yet there is a strange mingling of the ancient and the modern in everything connected with the Japanese. In art, the Japanese are undoubtedly superior to the Chinese; the Sho that I once had and gave to a friend was most beautifully made, and in every particular delightfully finished. A large Japanese Koto, a thirteen stringed instrument that I possess, is a marvel of beauty, with lovely lac pictures running along the sides, and inlays of ivory and tortoiseshell and variegated woods in thousands of pieces, silver bosses, bronze dragons, and silk tassels, altogether a delight to the eye. The Koto of Japan, though carried to more artistic perfection, is the same in construction as the musical instrument called the Sê in China, and will be found further described in the section given to the Chinese Kin, the favourite of Confucius.

The Japanese have several other instruments both of the wind and string classes, but only those which I have introduced seem tributary to the purpose of this treatise.

CHAPTER XIX.

In Ancient China.

CEREMONIAL INSTRUMENTS.

Bells, Chimes and Gongs are held in high esteem by the Chinese, they are indispensable in their Ceremonies and Ritual, in their Festivities, national and social. So ancient is their use that the order of their coming into existence, or the date of origin are mythical, each kind of instrument seems equally old, still they had to be accounted for in Chinese logic of history.

One of the most curious traits in the character of the human animal is an unfeigned delight in super-exaggerated noise. Other animals are affrighted at noise, but the human animal makes a deliberate orgie of noise as a special means by arrangement for obtaining a sensual satisfaction of the ear. Amongst savage tribes and barbarous nations, and amongst nations emerged from barbarism well banded in social communities, everywhere we find that this sheer delight in noise, called music, is manifest and on record. Not merely called so, but dignified and accepted as music. ’Tis true that the Indian savage says his music is to frighten away devils and evil spirits, and the Chinaman tells us that his earsplitting distracting music is to make night horrible to the dragons threatening to devour the moon; but depend upon it, the devils and dragons are quite subsidiary to the main desire for indulgence in noise; and the excuse, we, perfectly well knowing the innate hypocrisy of the human animal, can complacently allow to pass. The love of noise belongs to us. Nature’s gift—like the love of art for art’s sake, is a love of noise for noise’ sake; it is only a change of phrase. We should not decry this, nor should we plume ourselves upon our civilization as freeing ourselves from this original taint of barbarism. I confess to thoroughly enjoying a thunderstorm, my nature is absorbed in an energy greater than the individual, and I revel in it. Man’s love of power is the basis of such satisfaction.

Into this mood of meditation I was drawn the other evening after listening to Wagner’s “Procession of the Gods.” How the music takes hold of you, dips you in a sea of noise, and makes you feel alive all over. For this reason Wagner’s grand music is grand,—is greater than you. Your whole frame is plunged into an elemental excitement to which every nerve fibre thrills, and you feel conscious that latent impulses native to your being are awakened into activity; the barbaric strain in us responds, and exalts us beyond our conventional state. Noise or music? Well, technically we make a distinction. Ask a casuist what is the difference between virtue and vice, and he will tell you it all depends,—one may be as bad as the other. So of noise and music, one may be as bad as the other; aye, even worse. By all accounts much music is; but that may be prejudice. I have heard that some people decry Wagner’s music as a saturnalia of hubbub and noise. But it has one redeeming folly,—it lives: hence the censors, being human, often live to pardon.

Our scientific definitions of noise and music serve the purpose of science, but the truth is that with nature noise and music are identical in origin. There is orderly noise and disorderly noise, and music is of the orderly kind,—that is all. Discording noise, undiscording noise. Milton understood this, writing of singing