Part 9

One of the finest violoncellos made by Nicolo Amati came into Herr Klengel’s possession after a good many years of obscurity. The story runs that a young Russian student at Leipsic, discovering his finances to be in a very exhausted condition, bethought himself of a violoncello which had been in his family for many years, but about which he knew nothing. Thinking that the old instrument might possibly have some value, he boldly took it to a pawnbroker’s on the chance, and demanded a loan of £5 on it. The pawnbroker in his turn was unable to estimate whether the violoncello was worth such an amount, and, to be on the right side, consulted some experts before giving a reply. The experts quickly realised that they had a very fine Nicolo Amati violoncello before them, and through the medium of the pawnbroker offered the young student £200 if he would sell the violoncello outright. The sum was agreed to by the delighted young Russian. Twenty-four hours after he sold it, Herr Klengel became its owner for about double that sum. Profits in the fiddle trade are certainly swift, but they are not always honest.

Speaking of pawnbrokers, by the way, it is not often that they meet their match in shrewdness. One of the neatest swindles ever perpetrated took place in New York a few years ago, and victimised a well-known, “three-balls” gentleman to the extent of over £30. According to _The New York Sun_, it was one day in May 1902, that a well-known pawnbroker of Allen Street was visited by a shabbily dressed man who asked for a loan on his violin and bow.

“I vas a blayer from Poland,” he said, “and my fiddle vas most waluable. I vouldn’t lose it for anything.”

The pawnbroker offered him something like a guinea on it, and the young violinist accepted it, saying at the same time: “Don’t wrab it up. Chust hang it ub der for I vil come and taig it out to-morrow.”

The fiddle according to his request was not wrapped up, but placed on a shelf behind the counter. The next day a man with long black hair streaming over his shoulders, and wearing gold-rimmed glasses, entered the pawnshop to inquire the price of some silver-ware. He turned it about, found it was not what he wanted, and, chancing to see the fiddle, asked if he might look at it. The violin and bow were handed to him for inspection and he began to examine them critically.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, “at last I haf foundt von of dem! Gott in Himmel! but it is a grandt one.”

“A grand what?” asked the pawnbroker.

“A real genuine Rubinsky violin,” replied the enraptured foreigner, and whipping it quickly under his chin began suddenly to play.

The more he played the more the pawnbroker became convinced that the instrument was extraordinarily valuable.

“If you will sell dis fiddle to me,” said the player, pausing, “I vill gif you tree hundredt dollars for it.”

“I can’t do that,” said the pawnbroker, “because it is not mine to sell. It was only pledged yesterday.”

The violinist thereupon demanded the address of the owner, but the pawnbroker, seeing the chance of a “deal,” said he could not do that, but, instead, he himself would see the proprietor of the fiddle and ask him if he would sell.

“Ferry vell,” said the Polish virtuoso, “here is dwenty dollars to bint the pargain. Eef he vill sell, I vill bay the pallance ven I kome to-morrow.”

“Mein Gott!” said the owner of the violin when the pawnbroker visited him the same evening and approached him on the subject of buying the instrument. “I could not pard vid the violin for less than two hundert dollars. It kost me fife hundert tollars in Polandt.” The two men sat some time bickering about the sum expected and the sum offered, and at length the pawnbroker laid down $200 and departed with the delightful intention of asking _his_ customer $280.

The next day passed, however, without the expected visitor putting in an appearance.

Also the day following passed in the same manner, and the next and the next.

At last the pawnbroker felt a twinge of anxiety. He flew to the address given him by the would-be purchaser and found that no such person was known there. A visit to the house of the former owner of the violin also proved fruitless, for the bird had flown.

The pawnbroker, it is said, did not seek sympathy, well knowing that none is extended to his fraternity, but he occupied himself for some months in trying to straighten his accounts. We could easily light upon numerous tales of swindles in the fiddle trade without difficulty, but as our time is now short, we will content ourselves with quoting this one anecdote, and return to Cremona and its _luthiers_.

Contemporary with Stradivarius, Italy claimed many fine fiddle-makers, indeed, as a matter of fact, there was scarcely a town in Italy that did not possess some adept at the art. In Cremona itself there were many who lived almost at the threshold of Stradivarius’ house. Next door to him were the Begonzi family, and adjoining them was the house of Andreas Guarnerius. Then, but a few steps away in the busy square of St Domenico--now the _Piazza Roma_--Ruggieri, Amati, and Storioni had their workshops. They must have been a hardy lot to remain and compete with the gigantic industry and talent of Stradivarius, but they came through the ordeal in some cases grandly. Andreas Guarnerius, for instance, was a steady workman, who made several violoncellos, though nothing calculated to “strike one all of a heap.” One of his best violoncellos was that which was preserved for many years in Mr Gillot’s collection, but even this did not command a higher sum than £73 (including a nameless Italian violoncello), at the sale by auction which took place after Mr Gillot’s death in April 1872. Another violoncello by the redoubtable Andreas belonged to Beethoven’s patron, Prince Joseph Francis Maximilian. This instrument, with several other interesting gambas and lutes, was found in the old chapel of the deserted castle of Prince Lobkovitz in the last days of October, 1872, curiously enough but six months after the sale of Mr Gillot’s Guarnerius. The instrument discovered in the chapel was considered so excellent that it was selected to be shown in the Cremonese section of the Vienna Exhibition in that year.

Peter Guarnerius, brother of Andreas’ son Joseph, also worked in Cremona during the latter years of Stradivarius’ life. He made some especially good violoncellos, large and broad in model, with original, well-cut scrolls, and excellent purfling and varnish. He got hold of some grand timber, which he used for the bellies of many of his violoncellos; wood wide in grain, but beautifully even. We saw a handsome violoncello by this maker but a few days ago in the hands of Miss May Fussell, who has employed it for all her concert work since 1894. The tone is full and rich.

In the same city another eminent maker, the eldest member of a large family of _luthiers_, Francesco Rugger, was a worthy rival of Stradivarius. He occupied a prominent position as a maker, and inscribed himself on his tickets “Francesco Rugger detto il Per, Cremona, 16--” Various definitions of the true significance of the _il Per_ adopted by Rugger have been put forth. Some claim that he thereby announced himself as the “eldest” or “father,” others that it alluded to his partiality for pear-tree wood as material for his instruments. Read literally, one might easily imagine that the “il Per” belonged to some catch phrase or proverb, possibly a nickname by which the maker was familiarly known to his friends. All the old fiddle-makers adopted some trade-mark--generally extracted from the calendar of saints--Rugger’s “il Per” might therefore have been a familiar sobriquet which acted for him in this capacity.

The work of this maker is quite after the Amati type, though in advancing this statement we do not for a moment intend to charge him with being a copyist. Delicacy, finished workmanship, a graceful sound-hole, transparent varnish well laid on, these are the chief characteristics of Rugger’s work. Like Stradivarius, he at first went with the times, modelling his violoncellos on a large scale (31-5/16 inches in length), but he appears to have seen the error of his ways before his contemporary, as previous to 1700 he made small violoncellos measuring but a little over 28 inches in length.

An exceptionally fine violoncello of Francesco Rugger was the cause of a lawsuit some years ago, on account of its falling a victim to false labelling, whereby it purported to be the work of Antonio Stradivarius. This handsome instrument belonged at one time to King George IV., who was an enthusiastic amateur violoncellist but scarcely an adept. There is a story told that when King George was Prince of Wales he played the violoncello one day before Handel, and desiring to hear what the great man thought of his performance inquired, “How do you think I play?” It was impossible to reply to such a question truthfully, coming as it did from a royal interrogator, so the wily Teuton had to temporise, “Like a Brince, your Royal Highness,” he answered with warmth, “like a Brince!”

The Duke of Cambridge was the next owner of the pseudo Stradivarius, after which it passed into the hands of Mr Corsby, by whom it was sold to Mr Shuttleworth. In 1877, the same instrument was sold by auction among the collection of musical instruments put upon the market by the death of Mr Parera of Manchester. It figured in the catalogue as an Antonio Stradivarius, and realised the sum of £370.

Several eminent artists have employed Francesco Rugger’s violoncellos for concert work. Ladislaus Zelenka, professor of the violoncello at the Conservatoire at Odessa, and former pupil of Herr Hugo Becker, possessed a very fine violoncello by this maker. Mr Bertie Withers has also an excellent “il Per” instrument dated 1679, and the favourite violoncello of the eminent English violoncellist, Mr W. E. Whitehouse, is a very handsome, small-sized Rugger, in a high state of preservation.

Pietro Giacomo Rugger, who was at work in Brescia at the same time as Francesco of the same name, pursued his labours in Cremona, was another member of the family who made violoncellos of modified dimensions. There are so many points of similarity between his instruments and those of Johannes Baptiste Rugger, who worked both at Cremona and Brescia, that conjecture credits them with joining forces. The violoncellos of Giacomo are distinguished by beautiful varnish and elegant sound holes, but the scrolls lack breadth and boldness. Signor Piatti owned a fine characteristic example of this maker’s work which passed into the possession of Miss Muriel Handley. It is dated 1717. The gamut of prices realised from time to time by this violoncello is one of the many revelations of the caprices of fiddle dealing. Before Signor Piatti became its owner, it had been sold for £30, Piatti parted with it for £500 (!), and after that it was insured for £800.

Milan boasted a favourite pupil of Nicolo Amati, Paolo Grancino, an excellent violoncello-maker, who, doubtless, was one of those who found the competition too much for him in Cremona and sought fresh fields. His instruments are reminiscent of his master, the wood and workmanship good, but the tone is hardly suited to a concert hall. A better craftsman was his son, Giovanni, who also practised his art in Milan in 1703.

In Naples there was Alessandro Gagliano whom the Prince Joussupoff, in his “Luthomonographie” (Frankfort, S.M., 1856), announces to have been the son of a marquis of that name. According to this author, Gagliano, at the beginning of the eighteenth century, was compelled to flee from Naples, in order to escape the vigilance of the police, who were endeavouring to capture him on account of a murder he had committed. The hunted man withdrew to a forest in the neighbourhood of Marghanetto Borgo, and while there, passed the weary hours--for want of better occupation--in carving violin-shaped instruments on the trunks of the trees. Discovering by this means that his hand was apt at such work, he adopted the profession of violin making, and as soon as the police had grown weary of the pursuit boldly established a workshop in Naples. We cannot vouch for the veracity of this story; fiddles have a trick of creating romances, but Gagliano’s sojourn in the wood is generally considered to have been the cause of his excellently chosen pine, and good quality sycamore.

Alessandro’s son, Nicolo, made some remarkably good violoncellos resembling Stradivarius’. The varnish is much darker than his father’s.

Venice claimed one of the best makers of violoncellos of his time, in Stradivarius’ pupil, Domenico Montagnana. The “mighty Venetian,” as Mr Charles Reade called him, found the market too much monopolised by his master, and after a short trial in Cremona removed to Venice. He soon attained great popularity there, and during the latter part of Stradivarius’ life sent out magnificent basses and violoncellos from his workshop. His knowledge of thicknesses, material, and varnish, which he brought with him from the great Cremona school, placed him head and shoulders above his Venetian contemporaries. The gentle curves of his model, the grandly cut scroll--which even surpassed the beauty of his master’s work--and, above all, the rich tone, are the qualities which combine in making Montagnana’s violoncellos perfect instruments. The late Mrs Lewis Hill was the owner of one of the finest known violoncellos by this maker. It belonged for many years to the French musician and composer, Félicien David (born 1810, died 1876), and after his death it was sold to the well-known French violoncellist, M. Francois of Douai, who retained it for some years and then sold it to an amateur, Signor Parenti, who ultimately sold it to Messrs Hill & Son. In 1902, Mr W. H. Squire purchased it of that firm on behalf of Mrs Lewis Hill, in whose possession it was employed to complete her fine Quartet, consisting of two Stradivarius violins, an Amati viola, and this violoncello. The instrument is a typical example in every way, the proportions being untouched, and is now the property of Mr W. H. Squire, to whom it was bequeathed by Mrs Hill.

Rome claimed David Tecchler as the maker, _par excellence_, in Stradivarius’ time. He continued to be the most prominent maker of that city of dried bones and priests, for quite half-a-century, and gained repute as a maker of handsome basses and violoncellos--the latter mostly large sized. He also gained experience in Venice, and Salzburg, gathering his knowledge of good timber from the first, and an unfortunate stiff sound-hole from the second.

Returning to Cremona towards the latter years of Stradivarius’ life we find a new and excellent maker--his pupil, Carlo Bergonzi--firmly established near his master. At one time he was deemed Stradivarius’ best pupil, whereas the Cremona master’s son, Francesco--whose work has been frequently attributed to Bergonzi--in reality surpassed his. The beauty of form and rare quality of tone which characterise Bergonzi’s violoncellos bear testimony to the great school in which he was trained. He believed in putting plenty of wood in his instruments, a practice which has allowed them to withstand the wear and tear of centuries of usage better than those of many of his contemporaries. The Manchester violoncellist Herr Carl Fuchs--a favourite pupil of Davidoff--had a grand Bergonzi violoncello, a couple of years ago, and the instrument usually employed for concert work by Mr W. H. Squire is also a fine example of this maker, which he purchased from the widow of Herr G. Libotton.

While all these makers were occupied in developing the instrument itself, there were other influences working to bring it to more worthy uses. The rapid progress in violin playing, and the establishment of a clearer and better method of fingering, had its effect on the violoncello. With a surer system of shifting came a firmer grip of the hand and a more sonorous tone. The old violists could think of no other way of balancing the incongruity of sound which existed between the “shrieking violin” and its duller companion, than by the use of double the number of bass-viols to prevent its “outcrying” the lower parts. Never employ the violin, cautions Thomas Mace, “but with the proviso, viz. Be sure to make an equal provision for them by addition and strength of basses so that they may not outcry the rest of the music (the basses especially).” A thorough musician, and an artist, _jusque au fond_, Corelli was one of the earliest composers to realise the ineffectual use of the bass-viol with the violin; and did not scruple to discard its services for that of the violoncello. Besides his employment of it in his numerous sonatas for _due violini e violoncello_, etc., he also adopted the custom of an accompanying violoncello for his solo performances. For a long time this rôle of travelling about and accompanying violinists, was played by violoncellists, who--although they were not always exact in their execution or accompanying--by this means, at least, raised it out of its low position in the orchestras. The possibilities of the instrument for solo purposes began to suggest itself to performers, and the shortcomings of the gamba more comprehended. As early as 1691, tentative efforts to bring the violoncello forward as a solo instrument were being made, and a method, or treatise, on the art of playing the instrument in this manner was written by a gifted artist in Parma in that year. Among the many works in connection with this subject which we have perused, we lately came across a rare pamphlet describing three interesting old musical instruments--_i.e._ a harp, a carved violin, and a carved violoncello--preserved in the Museum Artistico Estense in Modena. This little _brochure_ came from the pen of Count Valdrighi--one of the most industrious and indefatigable of musical historians--and was printed for private circulation only. It is altogether a most fascinating little pamphlet, and, although numbering but fifteen pages, lacks none of the flowing metaphor and grace so indelibly associated with Italian literature; moreover the description of each instrument is supported by excellent photographs. The exquisitely carved violoncello of which we have a picture before us (p. 174), owes its rich ornamentation to Domenico Galli of Parma, a wood-carver of great repute at the end of the seventeenth century and the beginning of the eighteenth. According to Count Valdrighi, Galli made this sumptuous violoncello for Frances II., Duke of Modena, and presented it to him together with a treatise on the violoncello as a solo instrument entitled _Trattenimento musicale sopra il violoncello a solo ausaciato all’ Altezza Serima de Francesco II. duc di Modena Reggio_. The title-page of this interesting MS., which is preserved in the Bibliothèque of the Estense Museum, is gracefully decorated by Galli himself, and the date, 8th September 1691, furnishes us with the information that this work is the earliest known attempt at a method for the violoncello. The wealth of carved ornamentation on Galli’s violoncello and violin were designed with a special purpose. Thus, while the exquisite little figure of Orpheus which adorns the centre of the back of the violin alludes to the peace enjoyed by the people of Modena under the temperate government of Frances II. and also to the musical tastes of the Duke, the violoncello dabbles in politics and religion. Hercules slaying the hydra is meant to depict the character of the Duke’s nephew, while the figure of Minerva with the cloak of Pallas about her shoulders represents Mary Queen of England, who had assumed her father’s rights. The lions are symbolical of Mary’s father, James II., at that time an alien under the protection of Louis XIV., _Le Roi Soleil_, portrayed by the sun supported by two figures, over the carved form of Hercules. Besides the main point which Galli strove to represent--namely, a strong desire that the Catholic party might be victorious and the house of Este restored to the throne of England--the violoncello is covered with delicately carved representations of all things appertaining to the mineral, vegetable, and animal world. Flowers, fruits, shells, nymphs, satyrs, form a thickly encrusted background to the main theme. The fairylike execution of these is amazing, and worthy of a Grinley Gibbons. If fault were to be found it lies alone in the over-generous details of the design, yet the whole is so skilfully wrought that this cannot be looked upon as a defect. Not a petal of the flowers, not a line in the delicate shells, not a lock in the sirens’ hair that is not perfect, and well fitted to be the satellite of the main scheme. The ribs of the violoncello are as profusely covered with similar embellishments as the back.

[Illustration: CARVED VIOLONCELLO BY GALLI. MODENA, 1690.]

Truly “a thing of beauty is a joy for ever,” and time only increases its loveliness when it is cherished. Galli’s _chefs-d’oeuvre_ will always find admirers, as indeed will all the gracefully decorated musical instruments of past centuries. Look at this _gamba de luxe_, one can call it nothing less, close beside us. Where will you find more faultless inlaying in ivory and tortoise-shell? Most pleasing to the eye, is it not? Yet its very beauty exemplifies one of the greatest pitfalls of the older _luthiers_. To the ancient maker, ornamentation was as irresistible as was the Lorelei’s golden hair to the sailors of the Rhine. Most Italian makers had realised the deleterious effects of inlaying and carving before Stradivarius’ time, but many of the great Cremona master’s German contemporaries were still caught in its delusive toils. Dwelling in Hamburg there was an unequalled stringed-instrument maker named Joachim Tielke, who fashioned his lutes of real ivory and ebony, inlaid the necks thereof with gold, and silver, and mother-of-pearl, while the pegs were formed of the finest tortoise-shell. These lutes were destined for the slim hands of the satin-clad dilettanti of the day, who boldly faced the many difficulties and intricacies of the instrument for the sake of its beauty. According to Mattheson,[31] if a lutanist attained the age of eighty, one might be certain that he had spent sixty years in tuning; a tedious operation, as the lute never remained long in tune. An older writer, Thomas Mace, in his “Musick Monument,” London, 1676, discussing the shortcomings of the lute, seriously advises that it should be kept, in the daytime, between the rug and blankets of a bed which was constantly used. It is hardly surprising that the exasperating sensitiveness to atmospheric changes to which this instrument was subject was at once the delight and despair of its votaries, and that makers observing these difficulties should attempt to please their patrons by ornamenting other less fragile instruments in lute fashion. Tielke of Hamburg at all events transferred his lute decorations _en bloc_ to his gambas, as this instrument and some others reveal.