The orchestra and its instruments E-Book

Esther Singleton

• Herausgeber: Librorium Editions
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

There is something very fascinating about a violin. This graceful, delicate instrument, which is a marvel of strength, notwithstanding its frail appearance, is beautiful to look at and its voice is lovely to hear.
It is often said that the voice of a violin is so greatly admired because its tones offer the nearest approach to the human voice; but if you think the matter over you will, perhaps, agree with me that the tones of a beautiful violin do not resemble those of a human voice and that they are infinitely more beautiful in quality. There is a mellowness, a softness, a richness, a liquidity, a glossy clearness and a warmth peculiar to the violin and very far away from anything that the human throat can accomplish.

Leseprobe

THE ORCHESTRAAND ITS INSTRUMENTS

KING RENÉ OF ANJOU WITH HIS COURT MUSICIANS

THE ORCHESTRAAND ITS INSTRUMENTS

BY ESTHER SINGLETON

© 2024 Librorium Editions

ISBN : 9782385747206

THE ORCHESTRA AND ITS INSTRUMENTS

PREFACE

THE ORCHESTRA AND ITS INSTRUMENTS

THE ORCHESTRA AND ITS INSTRUMENTS

PRELUDE

CHAPTER I THE VIOLIN

CHAPTER II THE VIOLA

THE FLUTE

THE PICCOLO

THE OBOE

COR ANGLAIS

THE BASSOON

THE DOUBLE-BASSOON

THE CLARINET

THE BASSET-HORN

BASS-CLARINET

THE HORN

THE TRUMPET

THE TROMBONE

THE BASS TUBA

THE KETTLEDRUMS

THE SIDE DRUM

THE BASS DRUM

THE TRIANGLE

THE CYMBALS

THE TAMBOURINE

THE TAMBOURIN

THE CASTANETS

THE CARILLON OR GLOCKENSPIEL

THE CELESTA

THE XYLOPHONE

THE WIND-MACHINE

THE RATTLE

THE ANVILS

THE CUCKOO

BELLS

CHAPTER VIII THE ORCHESTRA

CHAPTER X THE HARP

FOOTNOTES

INDEX

PREFACE

The purpose of this book is to give music-lovers and young musical students a more intimate acquaintance with the Symphony Orchestra and its instruments than they, perhaps, possess.

The instruments are described one by one; and, finally, the Orchestra, which is, itself, treated as an instrument on which the Conductor may be said to play.

Attention should be called to the description of Lully’s famous Orchestra and to the interesting group of artists who played in it, such as Descoteaux, the tulip-fancier, described by La Bruyère in his Caractères, and Marin Marais, one of the greatest virtuosi of the Seventeenth Century.

It is often said that the virtuoso-conductor did not appear until the Nineteenth Century. I think the facts given here will prove that Lully was the first of the “star-conductors”; and that our Symphony Orchestras may be said to have their origin in the “Twenty-Four Violins of the King,” one of whom is represented in the illustration facing page 160.

It should also be noted that the illustrations have all been photographed especially for this work,—many of them from rare volumes and old prints.

I wish to offer my grateful thanks to Mr. Walter Damrosch for having so kindly read the page-proofs and to Mr. Harry Harkness Flagler for the interest he has taken in the preparation of this book.

E. S.

New York,October 4, 1917

THE ORCHESTRAAND ITS INSTRUMENTS

THE ORCHESTRA AND ITS INSTRUMENTS

PRELUDE

We have just arrived in the Concert Hall, have taken off our wraps and are comfortably seated in our chairs waiting eagerly for the concert to begin.

The Orchestra is entering from the doors at the sides of the stage.

Here come the Violins. They all sit in a group together. These in front of us and on the left of the Conductor’s stand are the First Violins; these on the right of the Conductor’s stand are the Second Violins. These ten men who seem to carry very large violins are the Violas and they are taking their seats by the side of the Second Violins. Opposite them ten Violoncellos are taking their seats by the side of the First Violins. Behind the Violoncellos stand the Double-Basses.

In the meanwhile, the players of the Woodwind have entered and have seated themselves in a row facing the Conductor,—the Clarinets by the Violas; then the Oboe and Cor Anglais (English Horn); and then the Flutes. Behind the Flutes are the Bassoons; and behind the Oboes and Clarinets are the French Horns. In the back row are Trombones, Trumpets, Drums, Triangle, Cymbals and other Percussion instruments. On the right, behind the First Violins, is the Harp.

They are all here now, each instrument in its own group, or family.

We cannot understand what any great city is like if we do not know something about the people who compose that city. Take New York, for instance; or London, or Paris, or Boston, or Washington, or Chicago, or San Francisco. Each city has a personality of its own; and so we speak of New York, or London, or Paris, or Boston, or Washington, just as if we were talking of an individual.

It is exactly the same with an Orchestra. Though composed of a collection of individual instruments, the Orchestra has an individual character of its own. It is a personality that speaks to us in the beautiful and inspiring language of music; and, therefore, after we learn about the instruments and what part each instrument has to play in forming this little orchestral city, as it were, we shall then turn our thoughts to the Orchestra itself.

The Orchestra is composed of three groups, or families, and one accessory group. Each of these three groups forms a choir of its own, of four parts,—soprano, alto, tenor and bass.

The most important group is that of the stringed instruments, or “Strings,” as this family is called. The Violins sing the soprano; the Violas, the alto, or tenor; the Violoncellos, the bass; and the Double-Basses, the deeper bass. All of the “Strings” are played with the bow.

The family next in importance is the “Woodwind,”—instruments consisting of a long tube made of wood through which the performer blows. Some of these are held horizontally, others longitudinally. These also play in four-part harmony, as it is called,—soprano, alto, tenor and bass.

The Brasswind family comprises the Horns, the Trumpets and Trombones. It forms another set of four voices—soprano, alto, tenor and bass. The performers blow through the tubes of these instruments. These instruments are usually spoken of as the “Brass.”

Last of all come the instruments of Percussion,—that is to say instruments that are beaten, or knocked, or struck, or thumped, or shaken, such as the Drums, Triangle, Cymbals and Tambourine. This group is also called the “Battery.”

With these three separate choirs grouped into three separate families, each with its special characteristics and accomplishments, the composer is able to do many wonderful things. For example, he can let any choir, or any instrument in that choir, sing a melody while the other choirs accompany it with lovely harmonies, or dispute with it, or start up another melody in opposition to it, or even make comments, pleasant or ill-natured, on it, as it were. Then, in addition, the composer has the “Battery” of beaten instruments to accent the rhythms, or to add sharp, bright, penetrating notes; dull, soft, deep thuds; mutterings and crashes.

The Harp does not belong to any family, or group.

The other instruments are very indifferent about him. Perhaps they regard him as an interloper. The Harp is not a regular member of the Orchestra: he is only an occasional guest. Although a stringed instrument, the Harp does not belong to the “Strings.” He comes from another line, another race,—from the minstrels and bards. The Harp has a poetic and a passionate utterance all his own, which is of an entirely different kind of poetry and passion from that of the Violin tribe.

Applause! Here comes the Conductor! He bows, walks to the stand, bows again and steps upon the platform. Now he turns and looks at the audience. His quick glance sweeps the whole house—from top gallery to parquet—and takes in everything, everywhere. He has now commanded the attention he desires. Everybody is getting quiet. We did not notice—perhaps because we were contributing to it ourselves—that there was a general rustle and chatter and movement. Now that there is a hush over everything we notice the contrast. But the Conductor is not quite satisfied. Some persons are still talking in the box above us. He looks at them and waits for them to finish. He does not have to wait long. They notice the reproof and their chatter ceases suddenly. Now all is quiet.

The Conductor turns and faces his men. He lifts the little, white stick that was lying beside the score on his desk, raps on the desk to command attention from his men and raises his right hand.

What is the first number? Let me see the programme. Thank you. Mendelssohn’s Overture to Midsummer Night’s Dream. Such lovely opening chords! How silvery, delicate, faint and far-away are those soft, gentle harmonies that melt into one another like the tender hues of sunset clouds! They are, indeed, “the horns of Elfland faintly blowing.”

As we hear them we are transported into another world,—a world of fancy and delight. We enter Fairyland ourselves!

Listen to the Violins! Can we not see the tiny flower-fairies, myriads and myriads of them? Here they come,—tripping, dancing, twirling, winding, flying, floating, laughing, singing and running lightly in rhythmic steps to the gay melody on the Strings. The horns call again; and again the fairies come, myriads and myriads more of them,—tripping, dancing, twirling, winding, flying, floating, laughing, singing and running lightly in rhythmic steps to the gay melody as did the first merry troupe.

Again the Elfin horns! Could anything be more enchanting than those lovely, melting harmonies of the fairy sentinels and little body-guard of Queen Titania?

We seem to have left the Concert Hall now. We are in a beautiful English forest glade where the grass is very green and where the beech trees throw out upon the sward great, long, gnarled and snaky roots covered with emerald moss. And here, on a bank canopied o’er with luscious honeysuckle and sweet musk roses and eglantines, and where the nodding violets and sweet-smelling thyme make us drowsy with their delightful perfume, we see Titania and her tiny Elfin train gather. They charm away the spotted snakes with double tongue, thorny hedgehogs, weaving spiders and beetles black, so that their Queen may sleep in peace. Off they go on various errands, leaving near the softly-breathing Titania a little fairy sentinel standing on an eglantine and holding a sharp spear of grass. Again we hear the delicate, silvery horns of Elfland; and, with the last lingering chord, the Enchanted Forest vanishes.

These subtle harmonies touched our imaginations and evoked that lovely picture!

The Conductor lays down his bâton. All is over!

We have often read in Fairy Tales how only those who had tasted dragon’s blood could understand the language of birds and animals.

It is precisely the same with regard to Orchestral music. Only those whose ears are educated can appreciate all its meaning and its beauty. When we taste dragon’s blood, so to speak, we understand the language of music and enter into a new world of delight that is closed to the uninitiated.

The Orchestra throws open for us magic casements that look upon a realm beyond that of everyday reality; and the more we know of the Orchestra, the greater will be our power to enter that sphere of enchantment. Therefore, our first step will be to inquire into the history and capacities of the instruments that give the Orchestra its very existence.

CHAPTER ITHE VIOLIN

Charm of the violin; voice of the violin; parts of the violin; construction of the violin; bridge, bass-bar and sound-post; ancestry of the violin; the vielle, or viole; evolution of the violin; corners and bouts; the sound-holes; birthplace of the violin; Brescia; Gasparo di Salò; Maggini and the characteristics of his violins; Efrem Zimbalist’s Maggini; Cremona; the Amati family and their violins; Antonio Stradivari; house of Stradivari described by Haweis; the Stradivari violin; the Guarneri; Joseph del Gesù; Carlo Bergonzi; Jacobus Stainer of Absam; importance of wood for violins; Joachim’s opinion of the Stradivari violin; strings of the violin; the fingerboard and “positions”; harmonics—natural and artificial; portamento; the sordino; the right hand’s work; bowing; pizzicato; position of violins in the Orchestra; the First Violin; Lavignac on the violin; Berlioz on use of violins in the Orchestra; François Tourte, the Stradivari of the bow; evolution of the bow; Corelli, Tartini, Tourte, Viotti, Paganini; Tourte’s model; the bow of to-day.

There is something very fascinating about a violin. This graceful, delicate instrument, which is a marvel of strength, notwithstanding its frail appearance, is beautiful to look at and its voice is lovely to hear.

It is often said that the voice of a violin is so greatly admired because its tones offer the nearest approach to the human voice; but if you think the matter over you will, perhaps, agree with me that the tones of a beautiful violin do not resemble those of a human voice and that they are infinitely more beautiful in quality. There is a mellowness, a softness, a richness, a liquidity, a glossy clearness and a warmth peculiar to the violin and very far away from anything that the human throat can accomplish.

Let us think of the violin’s voice as something individual; and as something delightful and dear to us because it is an individual voice and not because of any fancied resemblance to a high soprano. Indeed, very few of the greatest singers could ever produce such velvety, sweet, poignant, vibrant and insinuating notes as we hear from a luscious Stradivari, a sweet Amati, or a rich Maggini under the bow of a master-violinist.

Everything about a violin appeals to us. There is something so mysterious and ingratiating about the little instrument, neat and trig and curved at the waist, with lines as clean as those of a high-bred race-horse and nerves as tense with excitement, ready to be set quivering at the touch of the bow.

Moreover, the very fact that age improves it, and that the longer it lives the sweeter and richer and lovelier it becomes, gives us almost a feeling of awe towards the violin. This delicate little instrument defies Time and disaster. In that it is superior to man himself: the violin is, therefore, almost superhuman!

How many hands have touched this precious treasure! What scenes has it passed through! How many countries has it visited! How many thousands have listened to its voice!

The violin has outlived them all, generation after generation. If it could only tell us all its experiences and adventures since it was taken down from its nail in a Cremona workshop and pronounced ready for the purchaser who had ordered it!

FIRST VIOLIN, SYMPHONY SOCIETY OF NEW YORK

Alexander Saslavsky

Romance, romance, romance, and nothing but romance, clings around old violins, just like the scent in an old Chinese rose-jar. You cannot get rid of the aroma. And, moreover, you do not want to. This atmosphere of the Past gives enchantment to a violin as it does to a Ming vase.

Then there is something very thrilling in the fact that the violin has a charmed life. Nothing can hurt a violin very much. If it is smashed into a thousand bits, a clever repairer can put all the pieces together again; and the instrument is little the worse for the shock.

Then, too, a valuable old Cremona seems to defy theft. If a thief runs away with one, he has trouble to get rid of it, because few are willing to buy it from him. The pedigree of every famous violin is known; or, in other words, the name of every one of its owners is on record. A fine instrument can be identified eventually.

All violins may look alike to you now; but not after your eyes have been taught to know them. No two violins were ever made that were exactly alike; although, of course, all those that were made by any one maker have, generally speaking, the same characteristics. These characteristics are what one has to learn, in order to become an expert, or a connoisseur. All the celebrated makers gradually developed a “model,” as it is called; and experts and connoisseurs can tell almost at a glance from what workshop any instrument came. Not only the model, or pattern, or shape, as we might call it, declares the maker, but every maker had a special varnish. Every maker also had a special way of carving the scroll, or head, and of cutting the sweeping f-holes that give the violin so much expression.

And what would the violin be without these graceful f-holes?

It would not only lose its tone, but much of its beauty. These sound-holes are of the utmost importance. Their shape, width and position have all been determined through years—centuries indeed—of experiment.

The whole system by which the sound-waves are set in motion in the inside of a violin and the way they cross each other and issue forth from these sound-holes is strange in the highest degree. It is a miracle!

Altogether, the violin is a very charming, fascinating, mysterious, romantic, delightful, and lovable instrument.

Although the violin may appear to your eyes as a very simple instrument, it is really a very complex one.

If I asked you to describe a violin you would probably tell me that it has a back and front, sides and strings. Perhaps you might mention the bridge and, perhaps, you would not think about this small article. Perhaps, too, you might mention the f-holes on either side of the bridge. And there you would stop.

You know very little about a violin, or you would speak of the belly and not the “front” and of the ribs and not the “sides.” And you have not mentioned anything inside the violin. Perhaps you think it contains nothing!

A violin consists of seventy different pieces.

Fifty-seven belong to the construction and thirteen are moveable fittings.

The back (sometimes in two pieces), the belly (sometimes in two pieces), the blocks (six), the ribs (six, sometimes five), the linings (twelve), the bass-bar, the purfling (twenty-four pieces), the nut, the fingerboard, the neck, and the head and scroll (sometimes called the lower nut).

The thirteen moveable fittings are: the tail-piece, the loop, the button, or tail-pin, the screws, or pegs (four), the strings (four), the sound-post and the bridge.

The wood used is of three kinds: maple, or sycamore, for the back, neck, ribs and bridge; pine, or soft deal, for the belly, blocks, linings, bass-bar and sound-post; and ebony for the tail-piece, fingerboard, nuts, pegs and button. The purfling, that narrow edging that outlines the shape of the instrument on both belly and back, is made of thin strips of ebony and maple (sometimes, but not often, whalebone is used).

The parts are put together with the finest glue and invisible joinings. Finally, comes the varnish, which is of the utmost importance.

The violin is, indeed, as a lover of this instrument[1] has said, “a miracle of construction; and as it can be taken to pieces, put together, patched and indefinitely repaired, it is almost indestructible. It is, as one might say, as light as a feather and as strong as a horse. The belly of soft deal and the back of hard sycamore are united by six sycamore ribs supported by twelve blocks with linings. It appears that the quick vibrations of the hard wood married to the slower sound-waves of the soft wood, produce the mellow but reedy timbre of the good violin. If all the wood were hard, you would get the tone light and metallic; if all soft, it would be muffled, or tubby. There is every conceivable variety of fibre both in hard and soft wood. The thickness of back and belly is not uniform. Each should be thicker towards the middle. But how thick and shaved thin in what proportion to the sides? The cunning workman alone knows.”

And now let us consider carefully the three important and highly mysterious organs of the violin. Yes, I am calling them organs. Perhaps I had even better say organs and nerves. These are the bridge, the sound-post and the bass-bar. The two latter are invisible. The bridge, a delicately cut little arch of maple, or sycamore, higher on one side than on the other, perforated curiously but according to a form learned through the experiments of centuries, has been called the “tongue of the violin.” The treble foot of the bridge stands firm and rigid on that part of the belly made rigid by the sound-post. The bass foot of the bridge rests on that part of the body, or belly, which vibrates freely, these vibrations being increased and regulated by the bass-bar. Through this bass foot of the bridge the vibration of the strings is communicated to the belly and thence to the mass of air in the violin. The treble foot of the bridge is the centre of vibration. The action of the bridge, however, really depends upon the sound-post.

A LITTLE SAVOYARD IN PARIS WITH VIELLE, OR HURDY-GURDY

The sound-post has been called “the soul of the violin.” It is a little pine stick, a few inches long, about the size of a large cedar pencil. It is placed upright about an eighth of an inch to the back of the right foot of the bridge.

“Through it pass all the heart throbs, or vibrations, generated between the back and the belly. There the short waves and the long waves meet and mingle. It is the material throbbing centre of that pulsating air-column defined by the walls of the violin, but propagating those mystic sound-waves that ripple forth in sweetness upon ten thousand ears.”[2]

The bass-bar (or sound-bar) has been called “the nervous system of the violin.” It is an oblong piece of wood glued lengthwise to the belly. It runs in the same direction as the strings and acts as a beam, or girder, to strengthen the belly against the pressure of the left foot of the bridge. The bass-bar has to be cut and adjusted to meet the requirements of every violin; and only long experience can determine how long, how thick and exactly where the bass-bar should be made and placed. The fraction of a line makes all the difference in the world.

The bass-bar is the only member, or organ, of the violin’s body that has undergone any change since the days of Antonio Stradivari. Owing to the increased pitch (higher tuning) of the present time, the tension, or pull, of the strings equals eighty pounds! Think of it—this frail-looking, delicate, little violin stands a strain of eighty pounds!

In Stradivari’s time this tension was sixty-three pounds. So in modern times it has been found necessary to strengthen the bass-bar by giving it extra depth in the centre and adding to its length.

Now we know exactly what happens. This tremendous strain of the strings (equalling eighty pounds) is resisted first by the arch of the belly; then by the ribs, strengthened by the upright blocks and linings; and, lastly, by the supporting bass-bar.

Another change that has been made in the last century is the lengthening of the neck. This was done on account of the increased technique of modern performers. The scroll, or head, remained unchanged.

The scroll is very indicative of the maker. Any expert by looking at the scroll can tell its maker. Truly we can repeat the words of Mr. Gladstone: “to perfect that wonder of travel—the locomotive—has, perhaps, not required the expenditure of more mental strength and application than to perfect that wonder of music—the violin!”

The violin is three hundred years old, and it is the only musical instrument that has remained unchanged during that time! It has seen viols, lutes, spinets and harpsichords go out of fashion; it has seen many wind-instruments disappear and new ones take their places; it has seen a few developments in the harp; and it has seen the birth of the piano. But the model of the violin that was brought to perfection by the old makers of Cremona, particularly Antonio Stradivari, is so beautiful in form and so exquisite in tone that it has been impossible to improve it.

The violin did not spring into existence under the clever hands of the Italian workmen. It had been developing for a hundred years before the Cremonese makers added their finishing touches. What they did was to take the model that already existed and improve it; and their improvements were so great that they practically made a new instrument of it.

The violin has had a long ancestry. It would take several hours to describe all the peculiar instruments from which it could have been derived. We should have to go back thousands of years, to ancient Egypt and Greece and Phœnicia and even to India. And everywhere we would come across an instrument that is best described as a long box of wood over which a string is stretched, or, in some cases, several strings are stretched.

We date our violin from the Thirteenth Century, a time when many great changes were taking place, when great cathedrals were being built and when Dante was living. Perhaps it would be better to say that the characteristics of our modern violin begin to appear about that time—six hundred years ago—when the Troubadours began to flourish in the south of France, in beautiful Provence, the land of roses and nightingales.

The Troubadour, who was a poet as well as a musician and who wrote the words of his songs as well as their melodies, played upon a viole, or vielle. Another name for it is guitar-fiddle. The instrument was a kind of guitar, fiddle and hurdy-gurdy all in one, as you will see if you look at the picture of the Little Savoyard in Paris facing page 14, made in 1827; for the hurdy-gurdy of the wandering player is a survival of the old vielle. Its body was pear-shaped and over it five strings were stretched. The vielle was a queer instrument indeed; sometimes it was played with a bow; sometimes it was plucked with the fingers; and sometimes it was played by turning a wheel. It was chiefly used by the Troubadours to support the voice, so it was an accompanying, rather than a solo, instrument. Gradually the vielle was made larger; and during this same Thirteenth Century, when there were many new ideas springing up in the world, somebody got the idea of cutting out the sides of the long instrument to form a kind of waist. And this waist was the first step towards our modern violin.

In the Fifteenth Century—two hundred years later—something else happened,—something of importance for the whole future of music. People began to make bowed instruments corresponding to the various kinds of human voices; consequently, these were the treble, or discant, viol; the tenor viol; the bass viol; and the double-bass, or violone.

The next thing that happened—also in this Fifteenth Century—was the invention of corner blocks, which followed naturally from the cutting of the waist, although it took a long time to think of it. You will notice if you look at the illustrations facing pages 22, 24, 30, 34, and 38, that a violin has two sharply projecting points on each of its sides, one at either extremity of the f-holes at the waist of the instrument. These sharp corners mark the position of triangular blocks inside the violin. These blocks are glued to the back and to the belly of the violin and the ribs of the violin are glued to the blocks. These blocks are the very corner-stones of the construction of a violin; and they add very much to the strength and the resonance of the instrument.

ST. CECILIA

By Jan and Hubert van Eyck

If you look at the violins and other bowed instruments in many old Italian and Flemish paintings you will see that they have only single corners, as, for instance, the large viol the Angel is holding in the picture of St. Cecilia facing page 18. Nobody seems to know whether single, or double, corners came first; but after a time only double corners were used.

The use of these double corners produced something else that was new. This was the curving of the ribs at the waist forming a hollowed-out place called bouts; and these bouts gave the right hand of the player more freedom to move up and down with the bow. Up to this time the position of the performer’s hand was stiff and cramped unless there was a tremendously high bridge to carry the strings. So when the ribs were curved and the bouts cut, the player’s hand could move more easily and naturally.

But even so, the shape of the violin was not fully determined. These bouts were made according to the idea of every individual maker. They were small and deep in some instruments, long and shallow in others. They were often of enormous size and out of all proportion to the general form of the instrument. Pictures of these old models look very queer to us now.

About the beginning of the Sixteenth Century long and shallow bouts were universally used and the violin began to take the simple and graceful form with the double corners with which we are familiar. But, notwithstanding all these improvements, we have not yet arrived at our perfect violin. The sound-holes, those two curved openings called f-holes, on either side of the bridge, were not yet in their proper place.

These f-holes were subject to a great deal of experimenting. Strange to say in the old vielle, or viole, of the Troubadours they were often very nearly in the place they occupy to-day, that is to say partly in the waist and partly in the lower part of the instrument; but the invention of the bouts displaced them, and, sometimes (indeed very often), they appear right down at the very bottom of the instrument near the tail-piece, as you will see if you look at the picture facing page 70. Makers had an idea that the belly should be left as strong as possible and that the cutting of these f-holes made it weaker. At first they used a round sound-hole, like that of a guitar, right in the middle of the instrument. Then they made a pair of crescents, or large C’s turned face to face, as you will see if you look at the Angel playing in the picture of St. Cecilia facing page 18; and they liked this so much that they used these C’s for a hundred years (in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries). Then came the “flaming-sword” as in the viola d’amore facing page 50; and then the f-hole. But at first the f’s were placed back to back. Finally, about 1580, the Italian makers cut their f-holes front to front.

By the middle of the Seventeenth Century, about the time that our own country was being settled by the English and Dutch, the violin was ready for the great makers to improve it in beauty of outline and qualities of tone.

The violin is, therefore, almost exactly the age of our own country!

The birthplace of the violin is in one of the world’s loveliest spots—in the fertile plain of Lombardy, in the northern part of Italy, where the eyes of the traveller that have feasted on emerald meadows and sapphire lakes look upward to the snowy Alps, where grew the pines, maples and sycamores from which the old makers obtained the woods for their instruments. The very trees were saturated with beauty as they grew on the mountain slopes. Is it any wonder that the instruments made from such wood should sing?

In this district and in the Tyrol little colonies of lute-makers and viol-makers had lived and worked for centuries, supplying Europe with such instruments as we find represented in old illuminated manuscripts and described in song and story.

Two towns became especially celebrated for their violins,—Brescia and Cremona.

Brescia was famous for two makers: Gasparo di Salò and his pupil, Giovanni Paolo Maggini.

Gasparo di Salò’s real name was Gasparo Bertolotti. He was born in 1542 in the little town of Salò, on the shore of the Lake of Garda, about twenty miles from Brescia.

Brescia was in those days a pretty town, hidden behind fortified walls with the usual belfry, palace and Cathedral soaring above them. The Cathedral was famous for its music and its fine orchestra. The monks were very friendly with the instrument-makers, who had carried on their art and trade from generation to generation ever since the beginning of the Fourteenth Century. In Brescia Gasparo di Salò settled and became well known for his viols and violins. He probably had many orders from the monks, with whom he was evidently on good terms; for when he was ill, at one time of his life, they took care of him. He made most of his instruments from 1560 to 1610, when he died.

His name is of great importance in the history of the violin. The violins of Gasparo di Salò are the earliest that are known. They are very rare, however. The most famous di Salò was owned by Ole Bull, the great Norwegian violinist. It is now in the Museum in Bergen, Norway. Instead of the ordinary scroll it has an angel’s head, which is said to have been carved by Benvenuto Cellini, the gifted silversmith.

“The violins of Gasparo di Salò are of somewhat large build with strong curves and varnished with a dark brown varnish; but their shape corresponds little with that adopted by the great Italian makers. The middle bouts are cut very shallow; the corners project but little and are strongly rounded, while the sound-holes are large and parallel to each other—a feature which is peculiar to the Brescian School. Gasparo selected for his bellies wood of an extraordinary uniformity of regularity of grain.”[3]

VIOLIN

By Gasparo di Salò

By him the present form of the violin was definitely fixed, as you will see by looking at the Gasparo di Salò facing page 22. His tenors and double-basses are superior to his violins and are much sought after.

Maggini was a native of Brescia and worked there from 1590 till 1632, when he is supposed to have died of the Plague. His early violins resemble those of Gasparo di Salò; but gradually the sound-holes grow narrower and by the end of his life Maggini produced violins that were pure in outline and beautifully finished. Moreover, they are famed for their grand, deep, melancholy tone. Maggini had learned to be extremely careful in selecting the wood. In early days the Maggini bellies were cut across the grain like Gasparo di Salò’s; but, after a while, Maggini cut with the grain like Amati. His sound-holes grew more delicate, but they were bevelled inwards (an idea that the Cremona makers rejected). Maggini violins are also distinguished for their clear, golden-brown varnish and for their purfling, which is usually double. Very often Maggini indulged his fancy for ornamentation by twisting the purfling into a graceful clover-leaf pattern on the backs of his violins.

Maggini violins are very rare. The last one to come to light was discovered by Efrem Zimbalist about a year ago. The way it came into his possession is as romantic a story as was ever told about a violin.

Zimbalist happened to be at Lake George. A policeman came to him one day and said: “Mr. Zimbalist, I have an old violin that has been in the garret for about seventy or eighty years. I have just been offered a hundred dollars for it and I want you to tell me if I shall take it.” “Bring the violin to me,” said Zimbalist, “and I’ll try it.” The policeman returned with a dark, dirty old instrument, unstrung and in bad condition. It was not prepossessing, but Zimbalist strung it and tried it.

“I’ll give you,” he said to the policeman, “a hundred and fifty dollars for it now; and if I find that it is what I think it is, I will give you a hundred and fifty more.”

Zimbalist brought the violin to New York and took it to a repairer, who worked over it and at length brought it back to its original state. Delighted with the violin, Zimbalist sent the policeman five hundred dollars. Soon afterwards the violin repairer offered Zimbalist five thousand dollars for it. The old, black, neglected violin had turned out to be a beautiful Maggini.

Not very far away from Brescia is the town of Cremona on the river Po. Cremona! The very name gives us a thrill! The town, though small, was an artistic centre. Its school of painting was nearly as famous as that of Bologna, and in its stately Cathedral just as beautiful music was heard as in the Cathedral of Brescia. The wealthy prelates and learned monks encouraged and trained musicians of the first rank; and naturally there was a great demand for fine instruments. Cremona had long been a rival of Brescia in the production of viols and violins and now that Maggini had made so many improvements, the Cremonese makers were quick to follow, so quick indeed and so skilful that Cremona went ahead of Brescia and became the centre of violin-making for the whole world from 1560 to 1760—two hundred years! And it is thrilling to realize that in this little town, in three workshops side by side, on the Piazza San Domenico, all the great violins of the world were made and in friendly competition by the three families of Amati, Stradivari and Guarneri.

VIOLIN

By Maggini

The Amati family was of good position. Their name goes back in the records of Cremona to the year 1097. The first one of interest to us is Andreas Amati, who was born in 1520 and who died in 1611. He may have been a pupil of Gasparo di Salò and then again he may not. At any rate, his model differs very much from Gasparo’s and marks a great advance, although it still retains the stiff, upright Brescian sound-hole. Andreas Amati chose a smaller model with belly and back very high. His outline was very graceful; his scroll beautifully cut; his varnish of an amber color; and he was noted for his careful selection of wood. Very few of his works have survived. His sons, Antonio and Geronimo (Antonius and Hieronymus as they are also known), improved on their father’s style. To them is due much of the reputation of the Amati violin; for they reduced the outlines to beautiful curves; were careful about the wood they used; and they perfected a rich, clear varnish. These brothers worked together and apart and produced a model that for artistic design and sweetness of tone has never been surpassed.

Then came Nicolò Amati (1576-1684), greatest of them all. He was the son of Geronimo. First he copied the family model and then developed a style of his own, producing an even more graceful outline, a richer and deeper varnish and a greater power and clearness of tone, without sacrificing the peculiar sweetness and charm that is characteristic of all the Amati violins. Nicolò, as a rule, made rather small violins, but he also made some large ones. These are known as the “Grand Amatis” and they are very highly prized to-day.

“Most of the Nicolò violins before 1645 are of the smaller pattern, but after this date down to 1684, the year of his death, the eye of a connoisseur will notice an increase in size, a finish in workmanship and a more delicate purfle (never double). The model is still somewhat high in back and belly, but with an increasing tendency to get flatter; the side grooving is less pronounced, whilst the corners are noticeably drawn out into finer points full of character, arresting the eye, lightening, as it were, the model and giving the whole physiognomy of the instrument a piquancy hitherto unattempted.”[4]

In his workshop on the Piazza San Domenico Nicolò Amati had many pupils and apprentices. Among them were the Guarneri brothers and Antonio Stradivari.

Everybody has heard of Stradivari, or Stradivarius, for he is often called by the Latin version of his Italian name. Stradivari was the greatest of all violin-makers; and his violins are to-day as valuable as jewels.

CREMONA IN 1830

By Caporali

What Stradivari really did during his long and industrious life was to take the model of Nicolò Amati and improve it, searching ever to get intensity of tone without sacrificing sweetness. In other words, he was doing just what Nicolò Amati had done before him; and he applied all his life, all his energies and all his thought to this purpose.

“Stradivari’s main improvements consisted of (1) In lowering the height of the model, that is, the arch of the belly and in altering this flattened curve to a more uniform arch, so as to afford greater resistance to the pressure of the strings. (2) In making the four corner blocks more massive, in an improved method of dove-tailing the linings at the blocks, and in giving a quarter curvature to the middle ribs, the result of which is to make the curves more prominent in the outline and to increase the tension of the parts. (3) In altering the setting of the sound-holes, giving them a decided inclination to each other at the top, thus following the general upward diminution of the pattern and in fixing the position of the sound-holes relatively to the corner blocks. (4) In making the scroll more massive and prominent, thus rendering it less liable to split at the peg-holes and forming more of a counterpoise in the hand of the player.”[5]

Antonio Stradivari came from an old Cremonese family, members of which held public office as early as 1127. There is not much to tell about his life. He was born in 1644 and died in 1737 at the age of ninety-three. When he married in 1667, he left Amati’s workshop and opened his own a few doors away. When Nicolò Amati died, he left Stradivari all his tools. By this time Stradivari had bought a house, No. 2, Piazza San Domenico (No. 1, Piazza Roma from 1870 until it was pulled down), and there in the top loft, or garret, he worked so industriously that the people of Cremona had a proverb “rich as Stradivari.” No authentic portrait of him is known. According to tradition, he was tall and thin. In winter he wore a white woollen cap and in summer a white cotton one and he always wore a white leather apron over his clothes when he was at work.

Mr. Haweis, some years ago, went on a special search for the house of Stradivari and found it, after much difficulty; for the people of Cremona had forgotten all about the man who made their town famous. However, he succeeded in discovering the house. He takes us directly into this romantic spot: “I stood in the open loft at the top of the house where still in the old beams stuck the rusty old nails upon which he hung up his violins. And I saw out upon the north, the wide blue sky just mellowing to rich purple and flecked here and there with orange streaks prophetic of sunset. Whenever Stradivari looked up from his work if he looked north his eyes fell on the old towers of S. Marcellino and S. Antonio; if he looked west the Cathedral with its tall campanile rose dark against the sky; and what a sky! Full of clear sun in the morning, full of pure heat all day and bathed with ineffable tints in the cool of the evening when the light lay low upon the vinery and hanging-garden, or spangled with ruddy gold the eaves, the roofs and frescoed walls of the houses. High up in the air with the sun his helper, the light his minister, the blessed soft airs his journeymen through the long warm days worked Antonio Stradivari.”

Stradivari is supposed to have made two thousand instruments! He also made lutes, mandolins and guitars and every detail of his instruments, including the pegs! In those days princes and other rich amateurs ordered their violins; and they would come themselves, or send some important deputy, to the instrument-maker to talk it all over, and, often, indeed, to give the measurements of their arms and bodies so as to get a violin that should be exactly suited to the performer. In those days the best concerts took place in private homes; and the wealthy patron of art liked to own many fine instruments for his own little orchestra to play upon, and still choicer ones for guests, who, in those troublous times of war, rarely took their own valuable instruments travelling with them. Stradivari, like other makers, was frequently asked to supply “a chest of viols,” or a “set of instruments.” He was, therefore, very busy, filling orders all the time. Meanwhile, he was thinking out, as he filled his orders, the great problem of how to get a more carrying and penetrating tone without sacrificing beauty and sonority. To give an idea of the work he used to have, the King of Poland, in 1715, ordered twelve violins for his court orchestra; then Cardinal Orsini (afterwards Pope Benedict XIII) ordered a violoncello of Stradivari in 1685; and in 1687 the Spanish Court ordered a set of stringed instruments that were ornamented with ivory purfling. One of these found its way into the hands of Ole Bull and was afterwards sold to Dr. Charles Oldham of Brighton.

Stradivari, in his early period, followed the Amati style, with, however, a freer sweep of the scroll. He began to sign his violins, that is to say to put a label, or ticket, inside of them, about 1700; and from that date to 1725 he created his master-works. He gradually diminished the arch under the bridge and, finally, produced the flat model. Stradivari only ceased to work in the last year of his life. For those great violins that are now known by special names, the “Messiah,” the “Pucelle,” the “Viotti,” the “Bossier,” the “Dolphin,” the “Hellier,” and so on, that are now worth fortunes, the maker was paid from fifty to two hundred dollars apiece!

What would old Stradivari say could he know the prices that are given for these violins when they change hands! He would be amazed beyond measure; but his delight would be greater if he could hear the rich tones that are given forth from his instruments mellowed with age. Moreover, violinists did not play in Stradivari’s time as they play now. Could the old Cremonese maker see and hear the violins that he made and learned to know and love as they took shape beneath his skilful touch in the hands of Fritz Kreisler or Efrem Zimbalist—what would he think!