A Century of Piano Melodies, A World of Sound – A Visit to the Dazhou Piano Museum
Note: In late October 2026, I went to see a collection of vintage pianos and to see how a museum preserves sound.
Nestled among the Bashan Mountains and the waters of Sichuan, elegant music has settled in eastern Sichuan, hiding a piano museum—a fact that carries an intriguing sense of displacement. Walking in from the Dachuan District Leisure Culture and Sports Park, one can see the white building from afar; its silhouette truly resembles a grand piano. Museum materials state that this is the world's largest piano-themed museum by area, with a total construction area of 26,000 square meters and a collection of over 300 pianos. Numbers are one thing, but walking inside is another.
A museum that preserves sound, yet the first impression is one of silence. Upon entering, you first step onto the set of black and white piano key stairs. Each step is designed like a piano key, alternating black and white, with a slight give when stepped on, and footsteps land on them with a muffled sound. This staircase runs through the entire museum, from the first floor to the third. Every time you go up a floor, you walk across a section of black and white keys, like some kind of silent prelude.
The first floor is quieter than imagined. The Twin-Star piano is placed in a prominent spot, entirely white, with two piano bodies connected together; it is said to be the only one in the world designed for a four-person, eight-hand duet. Next to it is Mendelssohn's "Airplane Piano," with a streamlined body imitating the posture of an airplane wing, the lacquer surface smooth enough to reflect the light from outside the window. This piano is not just for viewing; you can play it after scanning a code—I didn't scan it, but I watched others stand in front of the piano, raise their hands, and press the first note. When that note came out, several people in the exhibition hall who were looking down at the exhibit labels looked up, then looked down again. The sound was not long, quickly reclaimed by the silence. That moment of "an antique suddenly making a sound" is more convincing than any exhibit label text. In front of each piano stands a small nameplate, with the brand, origin, year, and material listed with restraint. I leaned over to look at a few; the ivory and ebony key covers presented two completely different kinds of age under the warm light: the ivory glowed with a gentle creamy yellow, while the ebony was deep and heavy, as if compacted by time.
The second floor is divided by piano type; square, upright, and antique pianos from various European countries are lined up in order, like quickly flipping through the evolution of piano design. In the Chinese musical instrument exhibition area, the yangqin, guzheng, and ruan occupy a corner, reminding visitors that this place collects more than just keyboards. Chinese and Western musical sounds meet here; each instrument and each melody is steeped in time. I didn't walk slowly—this floor is more like a background; what I was thinking about were the two pianos on the third floor that were repeatedly mentioned.
The third floor is the masterpiece exhibition area. The space is tighter, and the lighting is more focused. The piano for Empress Dowager Cixi's 60th birthday celebration stands in the center, slightly towards the back, with a sandalwood casing. The piano panel is painted with the scenery of Longevity Hill at the Summer Palace. The gilding is still there, but no longer dazzling, having settled into an aged gold color. The exhibit label next to it is very clear: In 1895, the German consul commissioned this Hoffmann grand piano from a German piano factory to celebrate Cixi's 60th birthday. In 1900, when the Eight-Nation Alliance entered Beijing, German soldiers discovered it was made in Germany and took it back to Germany. Since then, it has traveled through many countries, finally settling in Dazhou, eastern Sichuan, and entering this museum's collection. There is no mention of the piano bench on the label, and I did not see any seating marked as "original." The truly credible "traces" on this piano are the subtle cracks in the lacquer layer of the panel and the wooden base color revealed after the edges of the gilded patterns were repeatedly rubbed—these were left by transportation, display, and time itself, more direct than any additional narrative.
Another piano that made me stand for a long time is the Broadwood. The museum describes it as one of the pianos "customized for or used for life by Beethoven," without expanding on more details on the exhibit label. I had previously read records of Thomas Broadwood gifting a piano to Beethoven in 1817, but standing in front of that specific piano, I could not confirm if the one in front of me was that one. The wording on the label is cautious, and I chose to stop within the scope it provided. The piano body is preserved quite completely, the wood grain is deep and dense, and the piano action quietly maintains tension behind the glass. Whether someone who could not hear ever "heard" what they wrote on this piano, I have no way of knowing; but a piano that has been used, the wear on the edges of the key covers, the oxidation of the pedal brass parts, is itself a more honest "presence" than any legend. Music that crosses borders, not hindered by mountains and seas, quietly remains on this land in eastern Sichuan.
Before leaving the museum, I walked the piano key stairs again. When going downstairs, the black and white keys fell away beneath my feet one by one, and the footsteps were still muffled. Over 300 pianos, arranged from the 18th century to the 20th century, from different countries and piano factories, finally stopped in this park in an eastern Sichuan city. I didn't hear a complete performance. But that image is still there: someone pressed the first note, a few people looked up, then looked down again. The sound was quickly reclaimed by the silence, but it had happened.
The touch of the stairs, the words on the nameplates, the two kinds of age on the key covers, the clear trail of provenance in the exhibit labels, and that note that was pressed and then reclaimed by the silence. A century of piano melodies, a world of sound, the elegant music from afar has finally found a home in the heart of the Bashan Mountains. The rest is left for the next person to come, to see, to listen, and to judge for themselves.