Returning to the double-bass before us, we must admit that the numerous large basses made in Italy and England, as well as during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, was surprising. The conventional mind of the English can rarely create anything for itself in art, but must for ever imitate. Thus when they discovered that the Italian players who came to England used much larger double-basses than they were accustomed to, the order went forth at once: “Make ours large too!” The arrival of Gariboldie in London, in the reign of King George III., was the signal for much agitation amongst the King’s musicians, for it was understood that he was accompanied by an unusually large double-bass. Mr Nilbone, the principal bass, was in particular most anxious, and wrote the following letter to the eminent maker, William Forster, upon the matter[1]:—
Windsor, July 4th, 87 [1787].
Sir,—By his Majesty’s order you are to form a plan for a new double-bass; it is to be at least four inches wider, if not more, than that which you made and the depth according. You are to make it as well as possible—so as not to let any exceed it in England—as Gariboldie has sent to Italy for an uncommon large one both in goodness and size by the performance at the Abbey next year....[2]
For what exact purpose these monster instruments were used it is difficult to surmise, unless for the amusement of some “Giants of mighty bone and bold enterprise.” Perhaps some descendant of Anak, Og, or Goliath was the first owner of this monster; some colossal virtuoso who made his fellow-artists tremble—like jelly in a bowl—when he arbitrarily forbade them to take their encores. Certainly the advertisement columns of The Daily Advertiser some two hundred years ago contain so many announcements of giants, that one might easily be led to suppose that they were a drug in the market at that time.
An account of a bass which must have been quite as massive—possibly larger—as the one before us is given in his “Memoirs” by the Baron de Pollnitz, an Austrian nobleman, who visited many courts during the latter part of the eighteenth century. He received a particularly gratifying reception at the court of Duke Maurice of Saxony, whom he discovered to be an enthusiastic collector of musical instruments, and more especially of bass-viols. In the following passage the Baron describes his visit to the Museum where they were stored:—“The Prince conducted me into a hall which was hung with bass-viols from the bottom to the top, in the same manner as an arsenal is with helmets and breastplates. In the middle of the hall was a viol which was distinguished from all the rest. It reached up to the very ceiling, and there was a ladder set, which such as had the curiosity to take particular view were obliged to ascend, for surely it was the most stately instrument of the kind that was ever made. The Duke made me take particular notice of it, and was pleased with the admiration I expressed of it.”
In an interview with one of the Duke’s gentlemen-in-waiting which followed the reception at the palace, the Machiavelian-like use to which this double-bass had been put is revealed with startling clearness: “As for my august master,” remarks the garrulous courtier, “his fancy runs only on bass-viols, and whoever solicits him for employment or any other favour cannot do better than accommodate his arsenal with one of these instruments. That large one which you saw in the room where all the viols are kept was presented to him by one who wished to be a Privy Councillor. His petition was granted, and had he asked for anything else he might have had it.”
Another huge double-bass is described by Mr William Gardiner, of Leicester, in his delightfully chatty book, “Music and Friends.” He recounts coming across the monster in his native town in 1786, and says: “It was of such a height that Mr Martin [the maker] was obliged to cut a hole in the ceiling to let the head through; so that it was tuned by going into the room above.”
If either of these instruments had by chance found its way to the East, what a sensation it would have created! The Oriental in all generations has cherished a fine reverence for bulk, apparently measuring the intellect by the dimensions of the body, and this is no doubt his reason for constructing his gods in such awe-inspiring proportions. Not only does he make them large, but he also carefully preserves the traditional history of his country with which they are intertwined, and it is interesting to observe what a goodly part music plays in these annals. For instance, to the assumed founder of the Chinese Empire, B.C. 3000, the God Fohi, called “The Son of Heaven,” is assigned the invention of several stringed instruments, while their musical scale—distributed in the manner of the black notes on the piano—was derived from a miraculous bird rejoicing in the name of Foung-hoang.
The Brahmin traditions of the Hindus inform us that the God Nareda invented one of their most popular instruments now in use—the vina—while speech and musical sounds were the creation of Brahma’s amiable and intellectual consort, Saraswati. Turning to the legendary history of Ceylon, we again find allusion to musical invention. The most ancient myth of this island concerns the doings of Rama—a physical incarnation of the God Vichnou—and Ravenan, the giant king who is credited with the difficult achievement of inventing the first stringed instrument played with a bow, five thousand years ago. This Ravenan, besides being of great strength and rejoicing in several heads, considered himself such a sweet and virtuous soul, that he established himself as a divinity, and invited his subjects—like a hot-pie man—to “gather round.” The request—if an arbitrary command can so be called—met with a speedy response. They not only “gathered round,” but they worshipped, and the foolish giant became exceedingly puffed up. Indeed, so great was his exaltation when he saw the growth of his proselytes, that he at length conceived the plan of making conquests farther afield. But—to borrow from Mr Bernard Shaw—“You never can tell.” You start scaling the Alps with a high heart, and a conviction that you will reach the top, when a nasty avalanche descends upon you and you are extinguished as easily as a farthing dip.
This was the case with the many-headed Ravenan. Whether the strain of thinking with seven heads at a time destroyed his judgment, or whether he did not think at all but allowed his conceit to get the better of him, we do not know, at any rate the avalanche was at hand in the form of his enemy, Rama. The moment that God heard of Ravenan’s intentions, he cried aloud with Jovelike fury: “By Brahma, it shall not be!” and there and then bore down upon Ravenan with his army. A great battle ensued, but alas! to no purpose as far as Rama was concerned. He was not only routed by the Cingalese soldiers, but his consort, Sides, was carried away to the enemy’s camp. Other encounters followed the first, but still Ravenan’s army conquered. Probably they might have gained the final victory had not Rama assumed a Siegfried characteristic. He appealed to Brahma and obtained from him a magic spear, with which he ended Ravenan’s despotic reign.
Of course in these so-called enlightened days, the Oriental tradition of the ravanastron (Ravenan’s invention was named after him) is laughed down. But after all one must own the truth of the saying: “There is no smoke without a fire,” and also allow that even the most poetic fancy must have some species of realism to give it birth. Possibly this instrument attributed to Ravenan was but the “rushy Zampogna” alluded to by Sir Roger North[3] as employed “to stir up the vulgar to dance.” Call it by what name you will, specify the fingers that made it to be dusky or white, there is no doubt that our grave and learned historians of the subject give evidence of the existence of a stringed instrument played with a bow in India at a very early date. The first duty of all historians—as we know—is to be truthful, therefore, when they reiterate the statement that the fiddle-bow is mentioned in Sanskrit characters which cannot be less than two thousand years old, we must believe implicitly. And then again, we are told that the description of India’s musical instruments found in Sanskrit treatises, reveal that the forms of the instruments there mentioned, have scarcely altered during the last thousand years. Here is another point in favour of the ravanastron’s Indian origin. Finally, Monsieur Pierre Sonnerait—the oft quoted—in his “Voyages aux Indes oriental” (Paris, 1782), records that this identical instrument was then in use among a religious sect called the Ponderons.