If we would see this rabab mentioned by our Persian author, we have but to look on the right-hand side of the big bass before us, and there behold the identical thing suspended from a hook, like a misfit in a tailor’s shop. But before we begin discoursing upon its history it would be as well to glance at the Chinese fiddle, called the Ur-heen, hanging to the left of the bass. In shape it is almost the counterpart of the ravanastron; the same broomstick neck and fingerboard combined, the same round minute body. Here, however, the resemblance ends, for the body of the Chinese instrument is made of half a cocoanut shell (curiously enough the monkeys’ favourite repast), covered with gazelle skin, while the body of the ravanastron—as though desiring to accentuate its relationship to the violin family—is constructed of a cylinder of sycamore wood hollowed out. It may be remembered that M. Fetis, in his “Notice of A Stradivari,” makes a very decisive remark about the ravanastron: “If we would trace a bow instrument to its source,” says he, “we must assume the most simple form in which it could appear, and such as required no assistance from an art brought to perfection, and such a form we shall find in the ravanastron.”
Fig. 3.—RABAB
Accepting this theory then as our basis, we must behold in this insignificant-looking construction (Fig. 1), devoid of classic line or Stradivarius curve, the progenitor of the violin family—or, shall we say: “The Violoncello family”? There is certainly some foundation for giving the deeper instrument precedence; first: the earliest pitch was low, and, second: if this is doubted, evidence comes to hand in the primitive stringed instruments played with a bow being too insecurely constructed to have borne the pressure of a tight—and consequently high-pitched—string. Another significant testimony is also to be found in the tuning of India’s fiddle, the sarange. Its highest string does not exceed middle C, and, besides this, it is held vertically, like the violoncello.
But we have hung over this thrice-told tale of India’s supposed contribution to the history of the violoncello overlong, we must turn our attention to the waiting rabab (Fig. 3). Comparing this with the ravanastron, a glance is sufficient to realise the development made in the right direction. Here the length of neck is curtailed, and more attention given to the sound arrangement. The outline of the body partakes no more of the American “meat-can” type, and there is an attempt at assuming those drawn-out corners and exquisite curves which, under the masterly touch of Amati and Stradivarius, finally developed into unassailable perfection. According to the Persian parrot’s story, we might be led to suppose that this was also a Hindu invention, but it is probably more correct to conclude it to be the Arab development of the ravanastron, for truly:
“... all Arabia breathes from yonder box.”
Yes! Not only does it breathe, but also whispers of that stalwart race of warriors, awakened from the lethargy of years and thrilling to Mohammed’s sublime cry: “There is one God alone!” speaks of the majestic growth of civilisation and chivalry among them, which emanated from the Prophet’s teaching: tells of the conquest of Persia in the seventh century, from whence they gathered wealth and culture, and of the subsequent subjugation of the whole of Egypt, Assyria, and India under one vast Empire. In this manner did the more advanced knowledge of the vanquished become disseminated among the conquerors and—keeping pace with the newly kindled spirit of progress—receive impetus at their hands. The Persian system of music was taken by the Arabs en bloc; likewise their musical instruments, and those of India and Egypt, consequently they became possessed of a a numerous and varied assortment. Of their prime favourite el oud (lute), alone, they are said to have counted thirty varieties, and of stringed instruments played with a bow they had fourteen different types. At the present day, only two out of this array exist from which to draw conclusions: the Persian kemangeh à gouze (ancient place of the bow[6]), and the Arabian rabab, which was possibly derived from the Indian ravanastron through the kemangeh.
Fig. 4.—KEMANGEH A GOUZE
In the eighth century, the Arabs enlarged their dominions still further by the addition of Spain, and it was there more particularly, amid the bewildering wealth, the luxurious self-indulgence and unrivalled magnificence, that music—“the language of love”—became indispensable. Mahommed might frown upon the art: might decry it as a device of the devil; might thunder that it caused “hypocrisy to grow in the heart like as water promoteth the growth of corn,” but to no avail, the placid Moslem found some means of reconciling his love of sweet sounds to the teachings of his religion. In Cordova, which was then the capital of Spain, “from every balcony in the evening time sounded the tinkling of lutes, and the melody of voices, so that the city seemed wreathed in musical airs after the bazaars were closed and the evening recreation had begun. The Caliph, secluded from public curiosity in his voluptuous retreat of Zehra, passed his hours of recreation amid scenes that may well recall the description of fable. The ‘pavilion of his pleasures’ was constructed of gold and polished steel, the walls of which were encrusted with precious stones. In the midst of the splendour produced by lights reflected from a hundred crystal lustres, a sheaf of living quicksilver jetted up in a basin of alabaster and made a brightness too dazzling for the eye to look upon. Amid the decorations of rare and stupendous luxury was a musical tree—a similar construction is said to have existed at Constantinople and one at Bagdad—the branches of which were made of gold and silver. On eighteen large branches and a number of twigs beneath them sat a multitude of birds shaped out of the same precious metals. By an ingenious mechanism inside the golden tree the birds were made to sing in a most melodious chorus, to the delight and amazement of the listeners.”[7]