Though I Adore the Ancient Melodies, No One Plays Them Any More.

Since the Spring and Autumn period this story has been popular among the people: Po Ya could express his profound visions through the ch'in, but only his close friend Chung Tsu-chi could appreciate it. But those well-versed in music are few, and after Tsu-chi died, Po Ya smashed his ch'in to express his grief, and never played again.

Sun Yu-ch'in hails from Fengtung County in Hopeh. Though his family was in mining, he had poetry as his companion from infancy, and got his first inkling of the ch'in in the ancient verses. At 17 he began studying art with Tien Shou-nung. Taking advantage of his home's--indeed, his village's--only radio, he listened to ch'in performances, and became drawn in from there. He gave up other instruments and focused on the ku-ch'in. In his youth Sun was immersed in the sound of the ch'in every day.

"This darned ku-ch'in is hard to study, easily forgotten, and grating on the ears," laughs Sun, repeating his own teacher's description of the ch'in.

Compared with the ku-cheng, which has 13 to 16 strings, each with two tones, the ku-ch'in has seven strings, each with 34 sounds. Just remembering where all the notes are requires considerable effort. If you don't practice one day, you forget what you've been taught. A hard working student studies for two years before being considered to have elementary knowledge. If you really want to get the spirit of it, that takes ten years!

Besides the large number of note positions, the fingering methods are copious--with no less than 100 types. "There was one fingering method, I spent a year before really grasping its subtlety," recalls Sun.

And ku-ch'in musical notation is a complete mystery to anyone who's never studied it. In The Dream of the Red Chamber, the hero Pao-yu visits the heroine Tai-yu. Looking at her books, he can't recognize a single character, saying, "Sister has really progressed--now she can read the Heavenly script." Tai-yu laughed and retorted, "Someone who studies as well as you, and you've never even seen ch'in music."

In fact, Tai-yu's book can be understood with a little explanation: the characters are composites of other, standard characters which, in combination, indicate which fingers to use where. But earlier texts are even more incomprehensible, and each school or style had its own system of notation. Further, the sheet music contains no indication of rhythm or time, so that the student can only follow the teacher note for note. This causes some students to give up halfway--or to not even get halfway.

With a light, low-volume sound suitable for playing in front of just a few aficionados, there are few performance opportunities for the ch'in. The number of students is small, and naturally so is the number of those who truly appreciate it. Sun's student Chen Wen indicates that compared to the nearly 100,000 people who have taken up the ku-cheng, those who study ku-ch'in must master the ancients' lament: "The singers spare themselves no pain, but are saddened only that those who are truly able to appreciate are so few."

How can one appreciate the ku-ch'in? The listener must be like the monk who tranquilizes the body, lips, and mind for meditation. And the player must take into account the weather, the geography, and harmony with other people.

With years of experience, Sun believes that the temperature must be moderate. If it is too hot, it is not only easy to get over-wrought, but the hands sweat and dampen the strings. When it's too cold the fingers are stiff. And rainy weather can obscure the sound of the ch'in. Humidity makes the strings muddy. Thus it is best to play on clear nights.

Geographically someplace dark and removed is foremost. Classic paintings often portray the hermit, sitting cross-legged deep in the forest, facing a waterfall, fingering the ch'in. But Sun says with a laugh, "Holding the ch'in on your leg like that is bad enough, but add to that the thunderous sounds of the waterfall, and it's really not fit for playing the ch'in. It's certainly less refined than 'Sitting alone deep in a bamboo grove; plucking the ch'in and singing softly; deep in the forest unknown to others; the moonlight comes to trade reflections.'"

With moderns surrounded on all sides by urban jungle, the selection of a ch'in studio is best done to avoid facing factories or main streets.

Even if the weather and geography are right, the people must be in harmony in their moods. If the artist is consumed by various emotions and desires, even if he or she can reluctantly be made to play, the results will be less than ideal. That is why Confucius did not perform music on the day of a friend's funeral.

Now 75, Sun's health has, for the past three years, not been as good as in the past. Respiratory and heart disease make an oxygen tank a constant companion. He almost never goes out; but students still come to see him. Already a great-grandfather, Sun is alone in Taiwan. At his side are only two thrushes and the oxygen tank. The best thing for relieving the loneliness is still the ch'in.

The longing for his family causes Sun to avoid playing as much as possible those melancholy songs that tell of one thinking of a home far away. It's best to play those that evoke nature, to induce feelings of peace and contentment. Since the government has allowed family visits to the mainland, Sun has exchanged letters, but dares not go back, for fear his body could not take the traveling or the emotional duress.

Sun has not changed since being selected as a Traditional Arts Master. On the one hand he sees fame to be "as fleeting as drifting clouds," and on the other hand the passing on of his art is his natural work, which he has never abandoned even for a day. "I only want that the teaching of the ku-ch'in be more than just technique. If there is no rapport between student and teacher, I am afraid it will be difficult to go deeper than technique." Sun's only hope is that the Ministry of Education will have different standards than those used to choose students for other traditional arts; instead of the strictest standards he would just have two or three really dedicated students to carry on uninterruptedly the noble and lucid song of the ch'in.

[Picture Caption]

Early works use natural images to explain fingering methods for the ch'in. Even with deep knowledge, they aren't easy to understand.

It's a happy moment when friends and students of the ch'in come together. (First at left is Tang Chien-yuan, a student of Sun Yu-ch'in, third from left is the Hong Kong ch'in artist Chen Lei-shih.)

Undecipherable ch'in sheet music only records the fingering method and string number, but has no rhythm or time signatures. Add to this that each school has its own method for writing the music, and students have no choice but to learn by following the teacher note for note.

Sun Yu-ch'in, alone in Taiwan, can't get around much because of illness.

Early works use natural images to explain fingering methods for the ch'in. Even with deep knowledge, they aren't easy to understand.

Early works use natural images to explain fingering methods for the ch'in. Even with deep knowledge, they aren't easy to understand.

Early works use natural images to explain fingering methods for the ch'in. Even with deep knowledge, they aren't easy to understand.

Early works use natural images to explain fingering methods for the ch'in. Even with deep knowledge, they aren't easy to understand.

It's a happy moment when friends and students of the ch'in come together. （First at left is Tang Chien-yuan, a student of Sun Yu-ch'in, third from left is the Hong Kong ch'in artist Chen Lei-shih.）