Still the 19th. Very late.

I HAVE been greatly surprised.

When I was shown into the drawing-room at the Legation residence, the Minister himself greeted me. He is a not unattractive man—past middle life, rather stout, with many of the familiar mannerisms of the prosperous man of business who has reached a point in life where he feels he can afford to indulge and, perhaps, educate the gentler side of his nature.

I suppose his present position is a reward for generous contributions to the expenses of his party. Though I should personally regard it as a punishment.

He and his lady (a person of some real charm) have surrounded themselves with attractive objects of Oriental art. The large rug in the drawing-room is as fine an example of Chinese blue and white weaving as I remember having seen. I had an opportunity—when the Minister stepped out of the room for a moment, and before the ladies came in—of turning back a corner and counting the threads. They ran twenty and twenty-one to the inch, using my thumb-joint as a rough measurement; which is pretty close weaving, especially when you consider that the rug is at least sixteen feet by twenty-four in size.

The chairs and tables were all of carved blackwood and teak stained black, very elaborate, and pleasing in an ornate way. One nest of tables, in the corner, was far and away the finest example of Chinese carving I have seen, barring small objects of ivory and such, where the work is all on a minute scale and therefore more delicate in design and workmanship. There were two exquisitely carved wooden screens, and a great number of small vases, each on its wooden stand. The most beautiful objects in the room were two immense blue and white vases, standing all of seven to eight feet high on their pedestals. The Minister says they are of the Ming period. And while he did not exactly speak of them in terms of money value, as we Americans are prone to do, he did refer casually to another pair, similar to these except that the glaze was distinctly inferior, that sold in New York for sixteen thousand dollars.

I mean to give more time to the study of Chinese porcelains later on, when settled down in my work, as well as to the history of their painting and draw ing. The early musical forms of a people are so inextricably linked with all their other folk-habits that one must understand something of all of them in order to arrive at a really thorough knowledge of any one. Otherwise one would be a mere narrow-rut scientist, like an oculist who git es no thought to the general health of a patient or the stomach specialist who has no regard for the condition of the teeth.

I fear I was a little stiff at first, even severe, when tea was served. The talk was general. But I could not forget that somewhere on that nan's shelves stood von Westfall's work. Of course though, the Minister is the merest dilettante. I saw that right away. The sort of man who uses his money to build up an atmosphere of understanding and refinement about himself, without being altogether successful at it.

Some other outsiders had come in, ladies from the hotel, and officers of the Legation Guard; and when these rose to go, and of course I with them, the Minister asked me to stay. He led me to his office, seated me comfortably, and gave me a cigar—the best cigar, in fact, I have smoked since landing at Yokohama. Out here, it is impossible to get much besides the rather rank Manila article that comes wrapped in tinfoil. This was a real Havana, however, carefully preserved in a humidor. Then he said:

“I have known for some time of the work your Foundation is doing in the study of primitive music, Dr. Eckhart. And it is, I may say, a subject that greatly interests me.”

I would not speak what was in my mind. Not yet—for he had not yet thrown that book at my head. It was not yet the time to insult him. It would be distinctly unreasonable to insult him at this stage. So I inclined my head, and waited.

“I have read some of the older works on the subject of Chinese music—Van Haalst, Elton, Avard, Pegrew, and so on—and have looked forward rather eagerly to the more complete results of modern research. A book was recommended to me when I was home last year—a book by von Westfall, of Bonn.”

I smoked hard and fast. He went on:

“It was recommended as an authoritative work. But I find it, in certain respects, quite unsatisfactory.”

I sat right up in my chair and stared at him. He continued, rather apologetically—

“Of course, I am an utter amateur in these matters, Dr. Eckhart. But it is disturbing to me to find this supposed authority referring to the twelve liis as giving the twelve equal semitones of the octave. Why, that is Van Haalst's old error. I know better than that myself. I have sounded the liis in the Confucian temple, and they give out very uneven intervals, ranging over an octave and a half, at least.”

I jumped to my feet and waved my cigar at him. And my voice rang out shrilly. I could n't help this; my surprise was so sudden and so complete.

“An octave and three quarters, very nearly,” I cried. “From about our a to the f of the second octave above.” And I added, “von Westfall is a faker—a cheap scoundrel masquerading in the robes of the scholar—a man who rushes his guesses into print before the honestly prepared work can be completed. He is not an authority. He never was. It is I who am the authority. I, and perhaps von Stumbostel, of Berlin. Ask Boag! Ask Ramel, Fourmont, de Musseau! Ask Sir Frederick Rhodes, of Cambridge!” And I laughed.

The Minister was impressed. I will say that for him. He got up too, and seized my hand.

“I am delighted,” he said. “You confirm my own rough conclusions. Come with me. I have something here that will interest you. At least, I should be glad to have your opinion of it.”

He led the way into a small room across the hall, unlocking the door with a key from his pocket. I followed him in. He raised the window shades, then turned with a gesture.

There, against the wall, stood an object the precise like of which I had never expected to see outside of the Imperial palace and possibly a temple or two at Peking or Nanking.

It was one of the old stone chimes. The very first glance assured me that it was authentic. The stones were all of the same size, shaped roughly like the letter L. They hung in a double row, in a carved frame of wood, each separate stone suspended by a metal ring—gold, I think—that pierced the stone at the angle. They were all the same size, of course, for the difference of pitch is accounted for by the varying thickness of the stones. I counted them; there were sixteen—the notes of the twelve liis, and the first four notes of the grave series.

And each of these large stones was a perfect piece of green, translucent jade!

“The Pien Ch'ing!” I cried.

He bowed.

I stepped forward and examined the stones. They were very old; hard as jade is, the corners and edges were worn down here and there. I tapped them softly. I simply could not believe my eyes.

The Minister handed me the little wooden mallet that lay at the base. This too was very old, though of course a thing of this week as compared with the stones. My mind was racing back into dim periods of Chinese history. It would be interesting to know where those jade stones have been—in what old royal palaces of Peking, Nanking, Hangchau, Sian-fu—through what wars they have lain buried or have passed from one conquering hand to another—in what stately caravans they may have been transported across a swarming, prostrate land. From their appearance they must have been in existence long before the destructive hand of the old Emperor Che Huang-ti was raised against every book and every instrument of art or music in the land.

I struck the stones, slowly, one after the other But first I said—

“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.

I think he knew about the Pien Ch'ing, all the time.