“The intervals will not be perfect.”
“No,” said he, “for the stones are worn.”
I struck that old sixteen-note scale again and again. I tested the
close intervals of the middle section. I listened with my delicate aural
nerves strained to the uttermost.
We talked excitedly. I fear it was I who said the most. But that was
natural enough. For I know my subject, and he does not. I told him the
legend that thousands of years ago a perfect stone chime was found in a
pool, and that it has since been used to give the correct pitch to all
Chinese instruments. The known history of the twelve _liis_ gives the
lie to this, of course; but the legend is quaint. I think I must have
given him also a rough history of the _liis_, and of their semimythical
origin in the life of the prehistoric king who measured off a length
of bamboo tube with millet grains and produced a tone by sucking air
through it, and then got his complete scale by cutting other tubes of
half the size, a quarter the size, and so on. I remember giving him
a minute explanation of the relation of our piano octave and of the
Chinese octave to the fixed acoustic laws; and I told him why the
Chinese octave is flat.... It got dark while we stood there.
Finally we returned to his study.
He got this Pien Ch'ing, it appears, from a Mandarin shortly after the
revolution of 1912. He did not give me the details, and of course I did
not press him; though it would mean a good deal to me to know from what
palace they were taken, and as much as could be discovered of their
history. And, for a wonder, he gave me no idea at all of their cost to
him. Quite apart from their historical value, the jade alone--sixteen
very large pieces, of an even green color without a streak or flaw that
my eye could detect--is worth a fortune in any market from Peking to
London.
It must have been his dinner-time.
He said:
“I am exceedingly glad, Dr. Eckhart, that you approve of my purchase.
I had to use my own judgment, you see. Now let me ask you--Is not your
Foundation establishing a museum of ancient musical instruments?”
“Decidedly we are!” I cried.
My pulse was racing like mad; and I know my forehead was sweating, for
every few minutes, it seems to me, I was wiping my spectacles. Indeed,
my handkerchief became quite useless for the purpose, and I had to
borrow his.
All the possibilities of this most unexpected situation were dancing
in my mind at once. What if he should give this treasure to the
Foundation... a perfect specimen of the basic musical scale of the
Eastern World! I could not be insensible to the fact that some credit
would attach to me, should he make the benefaction through me. For this
sort of activity is precisely the sort that financial directors are
peculiarly fitted to understand. Scholarship and research worry them a
little; they are eager for what they call “results.” And if any man in
the entire field of musical research has ever produced so tangible and
valuable a “result” as this ancient and perfect Pien Ch'ing, I have yet
to learn of it.
And I was thinking of flattering ways in which his name could be
identified with the gift. For we men of science may be what is called
“impractical,” but we early learn the proper methods of managing our
benefactors.
He went on, studying me with his eyes:
“You think, Dr. Eckhart, that the Foundation would regard these stones
as an acceptable gift?”
“So acceptable,” said I, “that I should consider it one of the
great opportunities of my life to act as their representative in the
transaction.”
“Suppose then,” he concluded, “you write me a letter embodying a request
for the gift, and suggesting the best method of arranging the matter.”
I meant to return to the hotel. But it proved quite impossible. I was
altogether too excited for that. Instead, I hailed a rickshaw and drove
straight for the little hotel near the German _glacis_. I rushed up to
Heloise's room, and knocked.
She was within, eating a solitary dinner off a tray.
I told her of my find. I did n't feel like sitting down, but walked
about the room as I talked. I described the stones to her. I imitated,
as nearly as I could with my strident voice, the sound of the
stones--singing the scale for her, “Poom!--poom!--poom!--poom-m-m!”
Heloise sipped her coffee, and followed me with her eyes. She did
n't smile very much. To be quite candid, I don't believe she is much
interested in Pien Ch'ings. Though I realize now that I did break in on
her abruptly, all full of my triumph, without a thought as to what her
mood might be.
Come to think of it, I did n't even ask her if she got her traveler's
checks all right.
I went away rather crestfallen. She suggested that I sit, but I did n't.
I could n't adjust myself, for some reason. All my life I have dreamed
of seeing even an incomplete Pien Ch'ing. It was one of my goals in this
journey. And I don't believe I am altogether to be blamed if the
sight of a perfect one, the opportunity to tap it with these very
hands--coupled with the thought that I am to be the means of bringing it
to America and placing it within the walls of the institution to which I
am devoting these best years of my life--
I am not to be blamed if this experience has stirred me into some
excitement. It does n't mean that I have forgotten any of the other
things.
Why, von Stumbostel himself may have to come to New York to see it!
But to-night I am upset. God knows I don't want to disturb Heloise! God
knows I don't want to give her a moment's extra unhappiness! I would
gladly bear all her sorrows, if I could.
*****
Hindmann is helping me draft the letter.
When I told him about it, he just sat back in his chair and grinned, and
grinned, and grinned.