and replying

I want to emphasize this teaching, want to impress you with the conviction that all the excitement we are seeking in our most modern style of music is but a reversion to our original instinctive desire for a dynamical excitement,—not an excitement merely æsthetical and phychical, but actually moving, forceful, elemental; a true barbaric love of stir and thrill,—and rightly so. If you think, you will find in all our modern ways a tendency to this reversion to a belief in and a culture of our original instincts. The realism of the day is the expression of a desire to understand life as it is to the individual. The hideousness of a merely conglomerate community is making itself felt upon every plane of society, and the concurrent aspiration is to be more human.

Culture will one day exhaust the conventional, and in music the tendency is apparent. The vast volume of choral sound we listen to stirs us with contagious emotion. Our pleasure in grand organs with their roll of diapasons and arresting challenge of trumpets and tubas; our willing yielding up of ourselves to be swayed hither and thither for hours in the power of the massive orchestra, that wonderful machine of nerves and muscles,—what does it mean? It is all dynamical, all barbaric. It is not only the ear that is concerned in listening, the whole being is under strain and stress. Do I hence imply that it is wrong, is reprehensible so to employ music? By no means. The moral of it is that the strong innate tendencies of our nature are best recognized, and used; nay, that they will be, will force themselves to the surface, and that under culture we may train them to our advantage. For civilization must go forward, is not content to-day with that which contented it yesterday. The appetite grows by that it feeds on; more and more we ask for intensity of excitement.

A scientific writer of an earlier generation, I think it was Leslie, defined the ear as an organ of touch, which we now under the evolutionary investigation of development understand it to be; and this is what I would have you recognise, that sound is able to touch us, able to awaken a net-work of nerve organization, to make the lip tense, to cause the eyelids to quiver and the heart to throb; the breath to come and go in accord with the aërial pulsations,—as a hand that is laid upon us to arrest or to exalt, to invigorate or to soothe. Hearing is an exalted feeling.

The Chinese, long before Englishmen existed, found delight in the dynamical influences of great sounds. Their largest and most potent sources of music were bells and chimes, gongs and drums. These supplied them with that excitement which is afforded us by the masses of sound from our large orchestras and grand organs. We say that their music is nothing more than deafening noise. They say that our music is no music; it is bad noise. So it is only matter of choice how you shall be stimulated. It’s all the same,—opium or whisky: purely a racial question.

Very early the Chinese attained great skill in the making of bells; and it may be that among these people the art of Bell Founding originated, and from the east extended over Europe. Bells are particularly associated with religious ceremonials in all countries, and have generally superstitious credentials. The Chinese frighten dragons with them; and the Christians exorcise devils with them. The Russians, who bridge the earth between Europe and China, are especially reverential to bells. The great bell at the Kremlin, Moscow—over 21ft. in height and 67ft. in circumference—is world famous, as we have known since we were boys.

The inevitable Ling Lun was ordered to cast twelve bells to correspond to the twelve lüs. Metal, the Chinese say, is one of the five elements, and necessarily has its place in music. The bell metal is composed of six parts of copper and one of tin. When melting, the alloy appears to be of an impure dark colour, soon changing into a yellowish white, which gradually passes to a greenish white, and when this last has become green the metal is ready for pouring into the mould. There is in the South Kensington Museum a large and very handsome bell from a Japanese Buddhist temple, which is a fine example of the colour desired. The bells have not clappers, but are struck with wooden mallets.

Smaller bells, however, have clappers, and the little “Fêng-ling” or “wind-bells,” which hang at the eaves of houses and pagodas, are ingeniously contrived to secure effect, light silk ribbon streamers being attached to their clappers so that the softest breezes awakened the sweet sounds. The wind-bells were often hung in halls and corridors for sake of these effects.

Bells of all sizes, from those weighing fifty tons down to the small ones which swing on the eaves of pagodas, used to be found all over China. Some are ornamented with characters, some with designs and symbols; some are round, some are square; and all are mainly used for religious purposes. At the door of each Buddhist temple a bell is seen which the believers on entering strike “to call the attention of the sleeping gods.”

The most ancient Chinese bells were quadrate in form. Bells belonged originally to the Confucian religion, but the Buddhists also adopted their use, and they are commonly to be found in the temples of both. At the temple of Confucius is a great bell which the Chinese say is made to correspond with the very big drum; the one is not used without the other, for the drum had to give the signal to begin, and the bell had to announce the end of the hymn at the ceremonies. This bell is called the Yung Chung. There is another suspended upon a single frame, which has to give the note at the beginning of each verse in order “to manifest the sound” or give the pitch. This bell is called the Po Chung, and is here illustrated. The shape, as will be noticed, differs from that of modern bells.

All their bells are cast to produce a sound definite in pitch, and in their sets of smaller bells and gongs the primitive scale of sounds and its successive order was intended to be kept to so far as the means at command enabled them to secure accuracy, or as near as ceremonial usage required them to be—for with these people ceremonial is religion.

The next illustration is of the Yung-lo or “gong chimes,” composed of ten little gongs suspended upon a frame by silk cords. In making gongs the Chinese are marvellously expert, and specimens of the genuine ancient sort are highly prized here; the tone has a richness and endurance which moderns fail to equal. These little gongs are all of the same diameter, but differ in thickness. The Yung-lo is used at court, mainly on joyful occasions. The larger sized gongs—sometimes they are two feet in diameter—are remarkably fine, and are very generally in use in processions and at various social functions, as well as in temples to waken the gods. He must be a rare sleeper who would be deaf to such a call.

CHAPTER XX.

In Ancient China.

THE FLUTES OF THE CHINESE.

Flutes I hold to be without doubt the earliest of wind instruments. They are found all over the world; no race however ancient, no tribe however rude, but possesses some instrument of this class. And if we may credit some stated example in museums, they may belong to the prehistoric age, the bones of bird or beast being adapted by man to whistling or fluting. There are two distinct styles common to flutes: the one is blown at the end, and is of the sort we use and call pipes or whistles; and the other is blown across a side hole near a closed end, and is with us the flute proper, or flûte traversière. But in addition to these, the Chinese have a flute which is quite unique, being an open tube, blown across centrally.

Given a land where river reeds are to be found, or a land where the bamboo flourishes, and we need no myths of origin nor tales of inventions to be assured that savage man would by observation of nature be led to convert the tubes to the purpose of producing sounds; and the gradual development from a simple pipe to one with additional side holes would in process of time be unavoidable. Travellers tell us that in the bamboo forests the rushing wind makes a wild music as it passes the stems of broken bamboos. The Pan’s pipes might well have been in its earliest form a collection of such broken tubes. Here up to this stage, therefore, nature was the guide. The Chinese were, it is said long in making the advance to the next stage,—that of cutting or piercing holes, to obtain more sounds from one tube by temporarily closing two or more holes. The first step counts for much; and with most races a long period may have elapsed before this step was taken, inevitable as it was.

Indeed the change from the use of two fingers of each hand to the use of three fingers must be regarded as a very significant advance. A long stretch of time was doubtless necessary before a pipe of six holes took a position in musical performance or supplanted the four holed pipe, for it could not be otherwise than an educational advance.

The bamboo is ranked by the Chinese as a product of special class, being neither tree nor plant; but intermediate by nature, and of peculiar value to human wants. Hence the bamboo occupies one of the divisions in their scheme of natural sonorous bodies, and in music is dedicated to flutes; although often flutes are made of marble, of jadestone, and of copper.

The dancers’ flute (called the Yueh) was a short flute and probably one of the most ancient. It had but three holes, recalling our flute of European usage, which was played accompanied with the tabor for dancing, and for marking time by rhythm. At present this Chinese flute is but a rudimentary survival, being held as a stick or bâton for directing the movements of the dancers. There is a shepherd’s flute Ch-iang-ti, and one Heng-ti; both blown traversely. The Hsiao, said to have been invented by Yeh Chung during the Han dynasty, is a flute of dark brown bamboo, about twenty inches in length, having five holes on the upper surface and one at the back. The use of this is now restricted to ritual music, being played at the Confucian ceremonies on the “Moon Terrace,” six being played simultaneously. There are various flutes with four, five, seven, or eight holes, both for popular and for ritual use.

The most popular of flutes is the Ti-tzu; it is bound with several rings of waxed silk to preserve the bamboo from splitting. It has eight holes, one for embouchure, six for the fingers, and one covered with a thin membrane peeled off the interior of reeds; this membrane, like that which our recorder flute had, is intended to give a particular character to the tone; and it is curious how often we find such an adaptation, although in our modern custom quite obsolete. The Ti-tzu is frequently ornamented with long silk tassels when possessed by the wealthy people. It is used alike in theatrical performances, in funeral and in marriage processions, and is indispensable to every Chinese orchestra.

The Dragon flutes, ornamented with a dragon’s head and tail, are essentially for ritual service, and not permitted for ordinary use. The illustration shows the awe inspiring aspect of these instruments.

Pictures of the Chinese show performers playing upon flutes with an embouchure at the middle of the length, and with holes both to the right and left of the embouchure. This flute is peculiar to the Chinese, and was described by Father Amiot. But, though the appearance of the style is maintained, the integrity of the instrument is seldom adhered to; so that it had come to be a doubt whether such a flute was playable, or even had been actually observed by Father Amiot. For, in modern hands, a plug near the middle converted it into a double ended flute of the ordinary method of playing only requiring a few holes in addition. M. J. A. Van Aalst names this flute Ch-ih; says that the number of holes varies from six to ten, and even more. But M. Victor C. Mahillon, describing more elaborately the ancient instrument, names it Hwang-chông-tché and reproduces a description of it given by Prince Tsai-Yu, in 1596; and to this I am indebted for details, and also for the illustration, which I copy from that by M. Victor Mahillon in his most interesting catalogue of the Brussels Museum of Musical Instruments.

I remember seeing one of these flutes at the Chinese Court at the Fisheries or other of the Kensington exhibitions years ago, and wondered, much perplexed, how the playing was to be accomplished. If my memory serves, there is a specimen now at the South Kensington Museum; though for all practical enquiry, many instruments might as well be absent, there being no sufficient light to enable the visitor to see what he is in quest of in that department either by night or day.

Prince Tsai-Yu states that this flute is very difficult to play; which would account for its neglect, so that now the playing is a lost art. He says that it was constantly in use during the period of the three first dynasties (2205-1122 B.C.). It is fully described in “Tcheu-ly,” an old volume treating of the ceremonial of the Tcheou during the rule of the dynasty occupying the throne of China in those early days. So that this instrument takes us back more than four thousand years. Its scale consists, according to M. Mahillon’s investigation, of six equal tempered semitones:—

This curious flute necessitates a peculiar attitude on the part of the player. The flute is open all through; and, as you see, in order fairly to distribute his energies, the performer should place himself between the two ends, playing a scale by alternating the fingering, producing the notes in order, first from one hand and next from the other hand, according to the figures accompanying the illustration.

The instrument was constructed by M. Mahillon after the indications of the ancient writers, and found by him to be so exact in accordance with them, that he has no doubt that it was intended to be a standard of measurement for the pitch of the instruments provided by imperial decree for ceremonial use. The circumference of this flute equals that of the coins bearing the imprint Kai-Yuen, and the length is that given by fourteen of these coins placed in line one beyond the other. The diameter of the coins inscribed Kai-Yuen is one thumb’s breadth, ten of these being the length of the ancient Chinese foot measure, and consequently the length of the flute is one foot and four thumbs. The interior diameter of the tube is seven lines, and the embouchure is one half of that, whilst the lateral holes are again one half of diameter of embouchure. The question of dimensions is of great importance in respect of all matters of pitch; since the larger the embouchure the higher will be the degree of power exercised and acting upon the column of air in the interior of the tube, and consequently the sharper the pitch of tone elicited. So that for estimating a standard of pitch great accuracy in dimensions is of paramount necessity. The embouchure is placed precisely at the middle of the length. The holes marked 5 and 6 occupy points corresponding to one third of the length. Those, 3 and 4, are placed at one quarter the length, and 1 and 2 represent exactly one sixth of the length.

This picture is by a native artist. It is quite modern yet the archaic air about it seems at once to take us into an older world. The modernity of the artist is evident, he has represented a degenerated type of the flute “tche,” not the ancient authentic. The white spaces are not intended for holes, they merely show the intervals between the rings of dark silk which are customary as preventing the bamboo from splitting. Correctly, the player should be shown with one hand to the right of the mouth and one to the left, the fingers covering either side three holes. So you will have to imagine the still more curious picture that would have been presented by a Chinese performer in the olden time.

This symmetry in proportions is very remarkable and interesting. When the flute is blown across, with the six holes closed, a note is produced which was, estimated as d, but is really e♭; and when, in addition, the thumbs close the end orifices, then the note is an octave lower, nearly. Absolute precision we should not expect except from an expert Chinese player, as a different management of the lip may be an important factor in deciding the actual tone intended, and may differ as much from the European mode of management as the voices of the Chinese differ in character from those of Europeans. For, however exact in design such standards of pitch may be, experience teaches us that scientific exactitude in pitch can only be secured when the pressure of wind producing the note is weighed, as in our organ pipes. With lip blown flutes, when a certain pressure is exceeded, the pipe blows its octave and thus no doubt the player is warned, and custom enables him to restrain his breath to the correct force. The Chinese are wonderfully methodical in their systems, but they have not in these matters ever attained to the accuracy of practical scientific demonstration. It should be remarked that E♭ E flat. is the standard of pitch according to another pipe which was described by Amiot; and, as I have shown in my investigation, was the leading pitch note in the system of the Sheng. A pipe which I had made to the dimensions of that standard pipe, but made with organ pipe mouth, also gave the same note; and a fourth below that is the lowest in that scale.

The aforesaid standard pipe of the imperial archives is blown after another fashion. It is an open pipe, and is blown at one end in such a way that the lip of the player forms the base, corresponding to the languid in the organ pipe, a semi-oval or V shaped piece being cut away from the end of the pipe, over which the stream of air is directed; the opening taking, in fact, the function of the mouth of the organ pipe. The mode of blowing is not altogether, or peculiarly, a Chinese method, for the Egyptian Nay may be considered an approach to similarity; but there is a little pipe found in Bolivia, in use among the Indian Quechas, which is exactly the counterpart of the Chinese Lu pipe as regards construction, and the mode of blowing is the same.

The little pipe is called the Krena; it is made of bamboo, and has six holes, the successive opening of which gives the notes following, the lowest being the end note of the pipe:—

Here is an illustration of the Krena; it is of one in the Brussels Museum. Being recently in the British Museum, I lighted upon an instrument on this principle, having two holes only, but in other respects the same; comes from Donga in the Niger region, and is called the Lera. The Japanese have a flute called the Siaku-hachi which is of this nature, and is evidently traceable to the Chinese. The fact of a pipe cut in this particular fashion being adopted as the standard by authority for music, and for measures, indicates a very early usage for this kind of flute pipe; perhaps it came next in succession to the Pan’s pipes. Indeed, I have seen some specimens of Pan’s pipes, found with the people in the Malay Archipelago, which are double cut in this way.

The Rev. F. W. Galpin, the well-known enthusiastic collector of musical instruments, possesses some of this type obtained from Indian tribes of the North West of America, which I have heard him play as to the manner born. The wide diffusion of this type raises curious questions of the dispersion of races, as against that of a common instinct leading to similar development.

The Tche is undoubtedly an instrument concerning which, both practically and historically, a fuller knowledge is to be desired; it involves some curious acoustical problems which would form an interesting study. Certified as being one of the most ancient of Chinese musical instruments, it indicates that when it first was introduced a high degree of civilization must have been attained, and a very keen intelligence have been directed to musical problems, before so complete a system of relation of tones, and measurement of pipes, could have been worked out on a fixed method.

In the accounts received from travellers who attempt to estimate the scales and character of the native music heard by them, we are accustomed to find a prevalence of the minor mode always affirmed, and the statement is generally accepted as one based upon definite knowledge. It seems to be considered that the mournful and the plaintive in song and in music reflect the temperament of the people, and are its natural expression. I am inclined to question this; for I may doubt the keenness of the observer, doubt his musical capability of ear or mental power of analysis, may perceive a tendency of mind to take a stand on foregone conclusions, and may not be satisfied that the writer is competent upon the subject upon which he writes very positively.

Experience has shown me how frequently statements of this kind are not borne out by facts, although the statements have been made in perfect good faith. In this aspect there is a paper by J. F. Fillmore (an American author) which has a peculiar significance. He made a study of the music of the Indian tribes in America, having very special facilities for his work; and he also harmonised many of the melodies, with much satisfaction to the Indians. He says that,—

And then at the end we have this naïve conclusion:—

The truth is that scales are so elusive that they may be read so as to mean anything a system maker desires, and such scrutiny is about as reliable as the reading of character and destiny by the systems of astrology and palmistry.

Chinese melodies are never definitely major or minor; are never intended to be so. The intervals are not the same as ours, and our notation does not express them with accuracy such as scientific analysis requires.

On the subject of the growth of scales my conclusions have been previously recorded, but I think that here, at the end of the pipe investigation, a brief repetition is desirable to impress the memory with the special view which is of importance to the musician’s survey.

Whether in the east the tetrachord or the pentatone had priority in development cannot be determined, for it may well have been that both were developed independently; I favour the idea that the pentatonic is the rudest in character, and originated with the wilder tribes of the east in a very primitive era, whereas the tetrachord seems by its nature to accord with early pastoral life. I am only concerned with the question of scales from the instrumentalist’s point of view; and I explain the prevalence of the pentatonic scale as growing out of the nature of the instrument,—first for the pipe there was one note, then there were two, and so on. Voices and pipes imitated one another, and the perception of the relation we call an octave seems to have been everywhere an instinctive perception.

I suppose it will generally be conceded that man is naturally lazy. Well, he will not exert his voice more than is necessary for his immediate purpose; so he takes more easily to the interval of the fourth, for to rise to the fifth means greater effort. Place your fingers on a pipe; the spread is not equal, there is a marked enlargement of space between first and second fingers. If holes are cut to correspond with this finger difference, then the result is contrary to the pipe’s need, for nature for equal tone interval wants the upper holes of the pipe to be nearer together: so the note turns out to be a tone and a half higher instead of the one tone distance. As with our keyboard, a long time passed before the thumb was brought into recognition to do finger work; so in the pipe, the use of the thumb was an after thought. Thus on the under side of the pipe a hole was introduced dividing equally or unequally this wide upper interval, itself forming another wide interval with the second note below; and in effect an overlapping arises in the pentatonic structure whereby the pentatone can be dissected into two tetrachords within the octave. Sometimes the distance of the first hole from the lower end of the pipe is greater, and makes the interval (a neuter third) appear at the beginning or end, according as we reckon the progression. In whatever way it may be, the pipe in the beginning made the scale.

There are many varieties of pentatonic construction, and the wide intervals may be in any position. Our best representative is found in the black keys of the pianoforte. We may commence on either F♯ or C♯, and thus vary the relations in progression of the scale.

A plaintive character in the music of native melodies is greatly due to the existence in the instrument of those imperfect intervals, the three-quarter tones, and the little leaps of tones that seem to fail to attain their aim, and never satisfy the listening ear of the European.

CHAPTER XXI.

In Ancient China.

THE FAVOURITE OF CONFUCIUS.

The stringed instruments which are of Chinese origin are but few in number, and they are not capable of producing any great volume of sound. They have several forms of guitar—a “balloon guitar,” a “moon guitar,” and an octagonal guitar. These possess four strings each, and are fitted with frets, and are struck either by the finger nail or by a plectrum. They have also a three stringed guitar with a long neck, but without frets. But compared with European instruments of the same class, they are poor and rude, both in tone and workmanship, and scarcely seem to have advanced beyond the primitive condition as to musical value. Similarly we notice their so-called violins, consisting of a bowl of some kind—half a cocoanut shell, or part of a gourd, or hollow piece of bamboo—to which a long bent neck is fitted, and with a drum kind of top of snake-skin covering the open bowl. The bow used is little more than a bent stick, strung as a bow is for arrow shooting. In playing, it passes between the strings. Sometimes there are four strings, but the most popular instrument has only two, and is almost devoid of resonance. The wonder to us is how a people so ingenious should have left their most popularly used instruments without improvement in any direction. It is true that some little attempt at decoration is made, but there is no lavishing of skill, no lifting of the commonplace to the region of art.

Very different, however, is the treatment of another class of instrument, represented by the Ch’in and the Sê. These are “many-stringed” and may be called oblong in shape, and many specimens are really beautiful in ornamentation. The art worker with illimitable patience, bestows upon them the resources of industrial skill and the loving care of artistic designing in many coloured woods, and ivories and lac, and metal. Perhaps because these instruments are used in temples and palaces, and in the abodes of the great ones of the nation. The art of playing upon them is only acquired after the devotion of much time in learning “systems” overloaded with complicated directions, many of them associated with allegorical meanings, inattention to which would make the music of none effect, the “system” being as onerous as state etiquette.

The instruments described in an earlier chapter are classed by the Chinese—“the stone chime” as representative of Winter, and distinctively as stone, the first of sonorous bodies; and the “bell chime” as belonging to Autumn, and as the second of sonorous bodies, “metal.” The stringed instruments do not come, as we should expect, under the heading, “wood,” but are allotted to Summer, under the heading of “silk,” because the silk strings are the sound producers, and silk is third in rank of natural productions. So you will see by this how very logical the Chinese are, notwithstanding the fantastic notions with which they embroider every kind of knowledge. The strings are made of many strands of silk, and the numbers of the strands to be dedicated to each particular string are stated to be subjected to written laws. Thus, the thickest string was to have 240 threads, and represented the sovereign; the second and fourth strings each to have 206 threads; and the third and fifth, 172 threads; and the reasons are given for such allotments according to poetical affinities and symbolical meanings. This essential formalism in the Chinese character has been the hindrance to artistic, as it has been to the industrial, development in the nation; and yet, strange to say, the rigid injunctions which verbally still rule, are in practice, outside the circle of authority, only nominally regarded.

Instruments of the dulcimer class have wire strings,—brass or copper drawn very fine: but they—although good specimens are to be seen, some highly ornamented—are not considered national Chinese instruments, but as in some sense foreign intruders. The dulcimers are more related to Assyria, and in point of fact that land may be held to be their original home. Yet, as we shall see, there has been some intimate association with Assyria and Babylonia in very early times, for the instrument, the Ch’in or Kin, here illustrated, betrays in one particular feature a resemblance which can hardly be supposed to have arisen accidentally.

The Ch’in, or scholar’s lute, is so called because it was the chief favourite of their great law giver, Confucius. In his time it was of great antiquity, and is frequently named in the classical works and in the annals of the first rulers of China. It was invented by Fu Hsi (2852, B.C.), and its name implies “restriction” or “prohibition,” because “its influence checks the evil passions, rectifies the heart and guides the actions of the body.” The dimensions, number of strings, the form, and whatever is connected with the instrument, had their principles in nature. Thus the Ch’in measured 3·66 ft., or 366/10 of an inch, because the year contained a maximum of 366 days.

The number of the strings was five, to agree with the five elements. The upper part was round to represent the firmament. The bottom was flat to represent the ground. The thirteen studs stood for the twelve moons, and the intercalary moon; and so on.

In view of its design, it certainly, simple as it is, is a most perfect instrument, and its simplicity is its beauty. The upper surface, from end to end, is not round, but presents a hollow curve, being rounded only across. But as no bridges are employed in playing the instrument, this curve is finely laid, so that wherever the strings are pressed, they nowhere else touch, and are free to vibrate to the pluck of the finger. At the wide end, at the extreme length of the strings, there is a fixed bridge, generally for all the strings, which is of solid form, arched; behind it the strings pass through to the back, where they are attached to the drilled wood stems, from which long scarlet silk tassels depend. The strings do not conform to their primary limit; some wise philosopher increased their number to seven.

The instrument which I possess has seven strings, and I have had it many years, as also had its former possessor; and the nacre studs are arranged, not in the formal relation here depicted, but at distances corresponding to the half of the string, to two thirds, to three fourths, to four fifths, and so on. Any division of the string can, however, be made at the pleasure of the performer, these studs serving only as guides; for the strings are tuned at will, and kept taut only by tying on two large pegs fixed in the back. The back, half an inch in thickness, seems to be of camphor wood, and it still sends forth its fragrance inherited from generations long ago.

Now comes a curious detail in the fitness of the instrument to its design, which I have not seen noted at all. The upper surface consists of thin wood, black japanned, and under this a layer of cork. It was a scholar’s lute, for meditative hours, for no other hearers,—the playing upon it being almost in the nature of religious exercise—secluded from the world, alone. This was Confucius’s idea of its purpose, and it is the recorded tradition that he was so enraptured with its tones that he could neither eat nor drink; lovesick with melody, he lived for weeks shut up in his room listening to the music that had a voice for him alone, and spoke only under his own fingers.

I do not wonder that this was the favourite companion of Confucius, especially when I reflect that with this reverend teacher, as with Buddha, the mood of meditation was invited and sought for, as the highest exaltation of human being. When I have chanced to while away an hour questioning this instrument, I must confess to the fascination that it has, how it grows upon one in an atmosphere of silence,—

There is a certain weirdness in the low tones that seems to tell of depths beyond possibility of present experience; exciting a quiet longing, heard with a listening ear for something beyond, which has been left incomplete; full of mysterious breathing like the soft “susurrus” of the wind dreamily stirring the leaves of the forest. If I say it seems to suggest to me that I should like to hear a movement from one of Beethoven’s symphonies or a Schubert’s played upon a “consort” of these simple instruments, do not laugh—I really mean it; for the sounds, faint as they are, gather about them an infinite suggestiveness of the unattainable, which is the behest of the highest music to evoke in our nature. We talk of “unheard music,” and the cynic smiles; but we well know what we mean, and I say that this music of the sacred Ch’in is the nearest approach to,—indeed, takes us to the very borderland of—the unheard.

The Sê is a larger instrument, is in fact the largest stringed instrument in use among the Chinese, and had originally fifty strings. Tradition goes that a certain professional young lady was one day performing, and attracted the attention of the Emperor Huang Ti. The music impressed him so sorrowfully that he forthwith ordered the number to be reduced one half. A sensible ruler was Huang Ti. If we could reduce our sorrows and vexations by one half on the same principle, what a wonderful relief it would be; probably to the extent of halving the insanity of the country. So the Sê now in use has twenty-five strings, and these are divided amongst five colours; but instead of colouring the strings, they colour the bridges,—five blue, five red, five yellow, five white and five black. For although the Sê, like the Ch’in, is an instrument to be plucked, the strings are not subjected to pressure to bring them to playing pitch; but are lifted on to bridges, one for each string, which bridges the player places according to judgment, to determine the various vibrating lengths under demand. The bridges are placed in a general order, but have not a fixed position like frets, since the tension of the string at the times of playing can be, and is made variable; so each bridge is moved to the point that satisfies the ear as to the particular pitch required for each string. On removal of the bridges the strings are comparatively slack, at all events are safely lowered in tension.

Four kinds of Sê are in use, they differ only in size, and in number of strings, the principle being the same; and it is customary that they should give the sound of two notes at the same time, generally octaves, so that on state occasions no doubt the effect is imposing, as the instruments possess considerable resonance. That which seems to be the most permanent variety has thirteen or fourteen strings only, quite sufficient for the modern skill and modern musical requirements. In this form it is preserved by the Japanese, with whom it is named the Taki-Koto. The example in my possession I have more than once made mention of, and recounted some of its beauties. Its breadth is 10in., its length 6ft. 4in., depth 1-3/4 in. The wood is nearly half an inch thick, both the upper and the lower planks; there is no thinning of the wood, but the upper one is made to arch over in its breadth by having the under side of it fluted. This fluting process is marvelously well adapted for the end in view; the thickness of the sound-board, as we immediately recognize it, is the opposite of that which we pursue in stringed instruments. The wood is of a beautiful mellow brown, and is a riven plank. No plane has touched it; it remains as it was riven from the tree, showing as it were an embossed fibre,—so clear it is, and so purely natural. It has splendid resonance, remarked by every hearer for lovely quality of tone. A thick silk cord is laid upon the end-bearing bridge, and the strings set on this cord, so that the vibration is communicated only through the moveable bridges belonging to each string. At the ends of the cord are silk tassels of a quiet green colour, with some strands of pale buff intermixed: all in perfect harmony with the inlaid woods and ivories. The strings are plucked by the aid of two little ivory plectra, shaped like a half filbert or almond, stayed upon the fingers by a narrow band of leather: thus the silk strings escape being affected by moisture.

The choice of thick wood intuitively by the Chinese is a lesson in acoustics for moderns. If we try woods of thickness with a tuning fork, the resonance obtained is often finer than any derived from thin cut pieces of the same.

The sonorousness of these large instruments marks by contrast the evident purpose of the designer of the Ch’in and concerning the latter there are yet some interesting particulars to mention to bring its nature clearly before those who have not had an example under hand.

We observe in old Chinese illustrations of the instrument that, for the time of playing, the Ch’in is placed upon a table, which it overlays, so that the tassels hang down. The instrument is not allowed to touch the table, but is supported on two soft pad rolls, so that no resonance may be communicated or be enhanced by contact with its surface. It is very remarkable, this layer of cork lining the upper surface, for I have never seen it mentioned that such was the construction. My usual curiosity prompted me to place my hand inside, and feel what the substance of the wood was, and by the yielding to the indentation of the finger nails I discovered that instead of being wood the material was cork; and a most admirable subduer it is. The consequence is that not only is the quality of tone most delicately soft, but it is devoid of that fringe of sound, that twang which accompanies the alliance of vibrations of wood with string when strings are plucked.

The case of my Ch’in has a painting in gold, showing ladies playing the Koto. They are in the open air, seated on the ground and evidently having a merry time. One lady is singing, another playing, another listening, and an attendant is handing cups of tea. I cannot tell how old this case is, but I see that the head dresses of two of the ladies are precisely in the same fashion as the hats trimmed here in London. Truly the world moves in circles, and old things become new.

On grand days at the Confucian festivals, six Ch’in are used at the ceremonies of the temple, three on the east side of the hall and three on the west.

The Ch’in, though very easily played, is nevertheless a difficult instrument to learn according to the Chinese requirements, long study being necessary to master all the subtle distinctions which determine how the strings should be sounded; whether for a particular note a string should be plucked to the right or to the left, and which strings are allowed to be sounded together; and quite a vocabulary of instructions to learn, in order to be accomplished in an elegant style after the dictation of the pedants and guardians of the laws.

The strings were in ancient times tuned

c——d——e——g——a——c——d

They are said to be in the present day tuned

g——a——c——d——e——g——a

Whatever the tension of the strings, the little inlaid nacre studs serve to indicate the relative divisions. They guide the player but do not restrict him; since, if a string gets slack he can judge by ear how much difference to make in distance,—thus shortening the sounding length in order to obtain the pitch required for conformity to the other strings. Also a firmer pressure on the string will raise the pitch, and the practice is resorted to by the player as an embellishment often desirable.

The strings are of silk, and are set at very low tension, and are merely pulled by the hand up to pitch and tied with an ordinary knot on to two pegs at the back on the left hand, four grouped to one peg and three to the other,—most primitive, but apparently quite satisfactory. On the right hand the strings are knotted on to thick green silk cords, each cord being threaded through a little drilled cylinder of wood in a manner effectually preventing slip. Each of these little drilled stems carries a scarlet silk tassel thirteen inches long. Consequently these little ornamental cylinders serve as hitch pins for the strings; the strings are first drawn, tightly bearing on these when set for playing, yet slack as regards tuning, and in that state may be left when unused, just as a violin needs to have its strings slackened when out of immediate use. Then each string is brought to tune by ear, the cylinder being pressed down to a right angle, at which it stays, clipping the string downwards a quarter of an inch, and thus increasing the tension to the degree that practice has determined to be required for playing. After playing, the cylinder can be tipped back to the slack position. Simple and ingenious, since silk strings, although waxed are, like those of gut, affected by atmospheric changes, against which some provision has to be made.

The tasselled end of the instrument, it should be observed, is placed to the right hand of the player.

Fig. 42.

Why tassels? Well, these Asiatic people have a great fondness for such ornaments. My two Japanese flutes have heavy crimson silk tassels quite eighteen inches long. Curiously, too, we find in very early Assyrian representation of hand harps on monumental slabs in the British Museum, exactly the same set of tassels—seven or eight in a series—depending from the bar upon which the strings are tied: knotted in fact to the tassels. And thereupon we wonder what community of intercourse was there between the ancient Assyrians and the Chinese that this same custom should be adhered to by both people, in times so very far back: for Fu Hsi, the inventor, ruled 4746 years ago, and the instrument, bespeaks a very high civilization as then existing, and a refined state of learning and philosophy. It is worth reflecting upon; a simple fancy such as that perpetuated for well nigh fifty centuries.

The Assyrians have passed away utterly, and the Chinese crowd the earth, to this day reproducing the old traditional forms, the veritable instruments decorated after inherited customs, the music limited to the simplicity of primitive aims. No great nation was ever so barren of monuments as the Chinese. But what monuments need they? They themselves are the permanent archaic, and livingly represent their ancestors.