Note.—As Dr. Crosby’s paper is unfinished, we append to it a letter from the celebrated Tartini, which was translated and published by Dr. Burney in 1779, as “an important lesson to performers on the violin.”When Ole Bull was once speaking of his experiences in Italy, in 1834, he said: “I tried, if possible, to hear some player of the old Italian school. I happened to come in contact with an old man of ninety years, a pupil—amateur pupil, I will add—of Tartini. I paid him my respects, and asked to see his violin and hear him play, as it was my intention to study the Italian method. With infinite grace he took up an old Amati violin, the sight of which made my eyes water, and putting the bow on the strings, he produced tones which were an exact reproduction of the Tartini method as published by that great master in a letter which was shown me. Ah! so different from the modern school! Why, the violinist of to–day serves his instrument as though it were a slave, and must be driven to duty with the lash. The player should treat his violin as a tender child—fondle and caress it, not beat it. The beauty of a performance lies in exacting from the instrument tones corresponding with the deep love a true artist feels for his art.”
Note.—As Dr. Crosby’s paper is unfinished, we append to it a letter from the celebrated Tartini, which was translated and published by Dr. Burney in 1779, as “an important lesson to performers on the violin.”
When Ole Bull was once speaking of his experiences in Italy, in 1834, he said: “I tried, if possible, to hear some player of the old Italian school. I happened to come in contact with an old man of ninety years, a pupil—amateur pupil, I will add—of Tartini. I paid him my respects, and asked to see his violin and hear him play, as it was my intention to study the Italian method. With infinite grace he took up an old Amati violin, the sight of which made my eyes water, and putting the bow on the strings, he produced tones which were an exact reproduction of the Tartini method as published by that great master in a letter which was shown me. Ah! so different from the modern school! Why, the violinist of to–day serves his instrument as though it were a slave, and must be driven to duty with the lash. The player should treat his violin as a tender child—fondle and caress it, not beat it. The beauty of a performance lies in exacting from the instrument tones corresponding with the deep love a true artist feels for his art.”
The letter referred to by Ole Bull was the one translated by Dr. Burney, which reads as follows:—
Padua,March 5, 1760.
My very much Esteemed Signora Maddalena,—Finding myself at length disengaged from the weighty business which has so long prevented me from performing my promise to you, a promise which was made with too much sincerity for my want of punctuality not to afflict me, I shall begin the instructions you wish from me by letter; and if I should not explain myself with sufficient clearness, I entreat you to tell me your doubts and difficulties in writing, which I shall not fail to remove in a future letter.
Your principal practice and study should, at present, be confined to the use and power of the bow, in order to make yourself entirely mistress in the execution and expression of whatever can be played or sung, within the compass and ability of your instrument. Your first study, therefore, should be the true manner of holding, balancing, and pressing the bow lightly, but steadily, upon the strings; in such a manner as it shall seem to breathe the first tone it gives, which must proceed from the friction of the string, and not from percussion, as by a blow given with a hammer upon it. This depends on laying the bow lightly upon the strings at the first contact, and on gently pressing it afterwards, which, if done gradually, can scarcely have too much force given to it, because, if the tone is begun with delicacy, there is little danger of rendering it afterwards either coarse or harsh.
Of this first contact and delicate manner of beginning a tone you should make yourself a perfect mistress in every situation and part of the bow, as well in the middle as at the extremities; and in moving it up as well as in drawing it down. To unite all these laborious particulars into one lesson, my advice is, that you first exercise yourself in a swell upon an open string, for example, upon the second string; that you beginpianissimo, and increase the tone by slow degreesto itsfortissimo; and this study should be equally made with the motion of the bow up and down, in which exercise you should spend at least an hour every day, though at different times, a little in the morning and a little in the evening; having constantly in mind that this is, of all things, the most difficult and the most essential to playing well on the violin. When you are a perfect mistress of this part of a good performer, a swell will be very easy to you; beginning with the most minute softness, increasing the tone to its loudest degree, and diminishing it to the same point of softness with which you began, and all this in the same stroke of the bow. Every degree of pressure upon the string which the expression of a note or passage shall require will by this means be easy and certain; and you will be able to execute with your bow whatever you please. After this, in order to acquire that light pulsation and play of the wrist, from whence velocity in bowing arises, it will be best for you to practice every day one of theAllegros, of which there are three in Corelli’s solos, which entirely move in semiquavers. The first is in D, in playing which you should accelerate the motion a little each time, till you arrive at the quickest degree of swiftness possible; but two precautions are necessary in this exercise: the first is, that you play the notesstaccato, that is, separate and detached, with a little space between every two, for though they are written thus—
etc.
etc.
they should be played as if there was a rest after every note, in this manner—
etc.
etc.
The second precaution is, that you first play with the point of the bow; and when that becomes easy to you, that you use that part of it which is between the point and the middle;and when you are likewise mistress of this part of the bow, that you practice in the same manner with the middle of the bow; and above all, you must remember in these studies to begin theAllegrosor flights sometimes with an up–bow, and sometimes with a down–bow, carefully avoiding the habit of constantly practicing one way. In order to acquire a greater facility of executing swift passages in a light and neat manner, it will be of great use to you if you accustom yourself to skip over a string between two quick notes in divisions, like these—
etc.
etc.
Of such divisions you may play extempore as many as possible, and in every key, which will be both useful and necessary.
With regard to the finger–board, or carriage of the left hand, I have one thing strongly to recommend to you, which will suffice for all; and that is, the taking a violin part, either the first or second of a concerto, sonata, or song, anything will serve the purpose, and playing it upon the half–shift, that is, with the first finger upon G on the first string, and constantly keeping upon this shift, playing the whole piece without moving the hand from this situation, unless A on the fourth string be wanted, or D upon the first; but in that case, you should afterwards return again to the half–shift, without ever moving the hand down to the natural position. This practice should be continued till you can execute with facility upon the half–shift any violin part not intended as a solo, at sight. After this advance the hand on the finger–board to the whole–shift, with the first finger upon A on the first string, and accustom yourself to this position till you can execute everything upon the whole–shift with as much ease as whenthe hand is in its natural situation; and when certain of this, advance to the double–shift, with the first finger upon B, on the first string; and when sure of that likewise, pass to the fourth position of the hand, making C with the first finger upon the first string; and indeed this is a scale in which, when you are firm, you may be said to be mistress of the finger–board. This study is so necessary, that I most earnestly recommend it to your attention.
I now pass to the third essential part of a good performer on the violin, which is the making of a good shake, and I would have you practice it slow, moderately fast, and quick, that is, with the two notes succeeding each other in these three degrees ofadagio,andante, andpresto; and in practice you have great occasion for these different kinds of shakes, for the same shake will not serve with equal propriety for a slow movement as for a quick one; but to acquire both at once with the same trouble, begin with an open string, either the first or second, it will be equally useful; sustain the note in a swell, and begin the shake very slow, increasing in quickness, by insensible degrees, till it becomes rapid, in the manner following:—
But you must not vigorously move immediately from semiquavers to demi–semiquavers, as in this example, or from these to the next in degree—that would be doubling the velocity of the shake all at once, which would be a skip, not a graduation; but you can imagine between a semiquaver and a demi–semiquaver intermediate degrees of rapidity, quicker than the one, and slower than the other of these characters; you are therefore to increase in velocity by the same degrees in practicingthe shake, as in loudness when you make a swell. You must attentively and assiduously persevere in the practice of this embellishment, and begin at first with an open string, upon which if you are once able to make a good shake with the first finger, you will with the greater facility acquire one with the second, the third, and the fourth, or little finger, with which you must practice in a particular manner, as more feeble than the rest of its brethren. I shall, at present, propose no other studies to your application; what I have already said is more than sufficient, if your zeal is equal to my wishes, for your improvement. I hope you will sincerely inform me whether I have explained myself clearly thus far; that you will accept of my respects, which I likewise beg of you to present to the Prioress, to Signora Teresa, and to Signora Chiara, for all whom I have a sincere regard; and believe me to be, with great affection,
Your obedient and most humble servant,Giuseppe Tartini.
BY OLE BULL.
Ole Bull had long contemplated revising and filling out his fragmentary notes on the violin and its construction, jotted down at various times. Excepting some slight rearrangement they are now presented as he left them, unfinished and incomplete. As they stand they are genuine and characteristic, and doubtless indicate part of the general design he was not permitted to complete.
Aided by peculiar physical and nervous force Ole Bull presented that rare combination,—excellence in thetechniqueof the left hand, with equal excellence in that of the bow. No difficulty in the fingering of double, treble, and quadruple tones seemed to exist for him. The fact that the violin is not best calculated for the powerful demands of a four–part passage, and that, therefore, the effect in a large hall is apt to be hazy and indistinct, should in no way detract from the wonderful skill required for its performance. In executing a trill he showed no partiality for a particular finger: the pulsation was always even and clear. His scales were extremely smooth, both in ascending and descending. He excelled in executing whole passages in any fixed position, also in rapid shifting from a low position to a high one andvice versâ, and in pizzicato with the left hand. In the management of the bow he was unrivaled. His staccato was peculiar to himself, and was simply perfection. Whether the bow was impelled in a succession of little rippling bounds or of detachedmarteléstrokes, each note possessed wonderful distinctness andimpetus. In the arpeggio the notes were never slurred together, and the double accentuation of the lowest and highest notes imparted a full rhythmic swing to such passages. The tremolo andsautillédisplayed the delicate flexibility of his wrist. His tone was pure, elastic, and sympathetic.
In his compositions the various motives are always well worked out, and abound in broad and beautiful effects. As they were written for himself, they exemplify his peculiarities of fingering and bowing. Like Paganini’s, they are almost unplayable; for, apart from the difficulties oftechnique, without thevis vivaof the master they lack their greatest charm.
To his remarkable personal magnetism was added a grace and dignity of appearance, an unvarying amiability and courtesy of manner. He met few whose feelings towards him, however antagonistic at first, did not speedily become warm and friendly, and little children loved him.
Walter E. Colton.
The country which affords us the most ancient memorials of a perfect language, of an advanced civilization, of a philosophy in which all phases of human thought find expression, of a poetry rich in every style, and of a musical art corresponding with the lively susceptibilities of the people—India—appears to have given birth to bow instruments.
Classical antiquity, in its forms of sculpture and bas–relief, contains no suggestion of the instrument. A little figure of Apollo playing upon a kind of violin with something like a bow, exhibited in Florence, has been proved to be of modern production. This is the only known piece of sculpture reputed ancient, in which anything like a bow can be found. Ancient painting, while giving many delineations of musical instruments, inevery case fails to represent that indispensable adjunct of the violin proper,—the bow.
As to India, no conjecture based on obscure interpretation of record or delineation is needed, for the veritable instruments exist to–day, preserving, in the main, their original characteristics. The first or simplest form of bow instrument seems to have consisted of a little hollow cylinder of wood covered at one end with a piece of skin tightly stretched, and furnished with a neck and bridge, the whole being very much like a modern banjo. A slip of bamboo, bent so as to hold tense a bundle of hairs, furnished the bow. The number of strings was variable, according to the purpose of the instrument. Thus, in the case of the virtuoso, one string was deemed sufficient, while for the uses of the common people two or three were permitted. The antiquity claimed by Indian writers for this form of bow instrument is almost incredible; one tradition relates that it was invented by one of the early kings of Ceylon, at a period about five thousand years before the Christian era. In that dawn of history the migratory tides flowing from the East to the West, from India through Asia, Persia, Arabia, thence through northern Europe, and thence across the Danube and the Rhine, have left other memorials than the stormy history of their wars. The polite arts of to–day find their crude germs in that ancient time. And although, by the ready interchange of ideas achieved by modern civilization, a modern invention may embody suggestions gathered from all countries and all times, it is possible to examine each component part, to follow up each relative train of thought which has here found practical expression, until we arrive at the single idea, the main–spring,as it were, of the whole mechanism. In music the violin may be traced back through a thousand varied forms until it finds its beginning in therevanastron, or, as I have called it, the banjo–fiddle of India. At the time of its invention, it was undoubtedly designed for nothing higher than an accompaniment to the voice. As such it exists to–day in parts of India and Arabia, and in such menial capacity it was retained until about the 12th century. In fact, bow instruments did not come into special notice in Europe until about the 13th or 14th century.
At that time the natural divisions of the human voice, long recognized, were definitely classed into soprano, tenor, alto, and bass; and music began to be considered in the true dignity of its position as an art to be scientifically cultivated. With the scientific division of the voice, bow instruments became at once similarly divided into their four registers. The form of instruments was still arbitrary; the number of strings and manner of tuning varied with every new caprice; but the instrumental combinations of that day contained the nucleus of the modern quartette.
Still, despite the progressive steps and more popular diffusion of musical knowledge, the instruments of the violin family at that time, and for a period of nearly two centuries, held but a precarious tenure of existence in the rivalry with the more robust fellow–members of the orchestra; for the musical susceptibilities of the people appear to have been more cordially appealed to and drawn out by the sonorous blasts of the brazen trumpet and the artillery of the kettle–drum, than by the sweet and subdued tones of the bow instruments of the day.
It is related that King Henry the Eighth of England,in the year 1530, was entertained at Cardinal Wolsey’s palace with “a concert of drums and fifes.” This is nothing compared with the heroic endurance of his daughter Elizabeth, who was “daily regaled during dinner with twelve trumpets, two kettle–drums, which, together with fifes, cornets, and side–drums, made the hall ring for half an hour together.”
Between the latter part of the 15th century and the first half of the 16th, the instruments of the viol family, with the introduction of theviol d’amourand theviol di gamba, reached the terminus of their servitude as appendages to the voice, and at one step culminated in the invention of the violin as we have it to–day. The new curvatures of the top and back; the deep indentures of the sides for convenience of the bow; the sweep of the outline; the scroll; the removal of the frets on the finger–board,—an ancient distinguishing feature, perpetuated in the arrangement of the neck of the guitar,—all these innovations upon established conventionality seem to have been made at once. Since that time the violin has steadily, and without retrogression, advanced to its present position in popular estimation,—the aristocrat of musical instruments. Laboring under difficulties not encountered by the voice, it is yet capable of presenting a rhythmic musical picture, which the mind can take up and at once translate to the feelings in intelligible language.
The form of the violin varied with the epoch in which it was used. The lifetime of Tartini (bornA. D.1692, diedA. D.1770) marks the period during which the powers of the violin in all varieties and styles werecompletely developed. The violin–makers had to adapt their instruments to the wants of the performers. The efforts of Stradivarius and Guarnerius contributed in a marked degree to assist Tartini in creating a new era for the violin. The best epoch of Stradivarius was from 1700 to 1720 or 1725. It was during Tartini’s lifetime that considerable rise in the pitch took place. This, in the violin, necessitated a new arrangement to withstand the greater strain. The instrument kept pace with the new demands made upon it. In consequence of the increased powers of the general orchestra, the old delicate sweetness of the Amatis ceased to be the chief desideratum, a more masculine and heroic tone gaining the preference. This quality of tone reached its climax in Joseph Guarnerius.
When Francis I. was in Rome and heard the choir of the Vatican Chapel, he was so charmed with the violin, that he induced the lutier Gaspar Duiffoprugcar, also, as I believe, called Da Salo[28]after his native town on Lake Garda, to accompany him to Paris, there to make violins, violas, and contrabasses for his court. It is known of Gaspar’s history that he was quite unable to endure the climate of Paris, and therefore removed to Lyons; so that his instruments date from three places,—Brescia, Paris, and Lyons.
His instruments, at least those made during his life in Italy, are for the most part roughly constructed. His varnish is of a brownish yellow color, exceedingly fineand soft. The thickness of wood in the top and back is so adjusted as to give to the tone quality, power, and solidity, and great variety of color. Da Salo violins of any of his periods are very rare.
The viol in Raphael’s “Parnassus,” where Apollo is represented as playing it, was introduced in honor of the then admiredimprovisatoreand violist Giacomo Sansecondo, who had inspired in Raphael so great an admiration for the viol that he considered it worthy of being placed in the hands of the god of song. In Giacomo Sansecondo’s time the violin had been already introduced, and he was doubtless able to play that instrument. As Gaspar da Salo was then living, it is probable that the viol in the picture was drawn from a model supplied by him. In the first changes from the form of the viol to that of the violin, the new offshoot retained many of the peculiarities of its older kindred, notably in the broad, full oval of the back and top, and the pointedfholes.
The violins of Gaspar da Salo and Joseph Guarnerius have the sound of a trumpet, horn, or flute; those of Stradivarius have the sound of the oboe and clarinet; and those of the Amati family, of the English horn and the human voice. The Steiner violins have the greatest diversity of color between the upper and lower strings, and resemble a sharp oboe. The violins of Maggini are grand but somewhat hollow in tone, inclining to the viola; this quality is due to their curves and large proportions.
Andrew Amati, the earliest of the Cremonese makers, is supposed to have learned the principles of his art in the Brescian school. He made violins for the courts of France, Italy, and Spain; and these instruments wereoften ornamented by gilding or painting—covered with devices in gold, Latin adages, and in some instances the coats of arms of the different courts for which they were made. His violins are all of high model. His workmanship in all the details of outline, swells,fholes, scroll, etc. is exceedingly fine. They have enough wood at the centre of the top and back, but are rather thin at the extremities. The tone is sweet and vocal, but sometimes inferior on the G and D strings. He discarded the serious cathedral style of Da Salo and Maggini, together with the broad, thick, and strong extremities of their instruments; and it must be said that his narrow, hollow, rounded, thin violins were admirably adapted to their purpose; the sweet and subdued tone harmonizing with that of theviol d’amourand its kindred in the interpretation of the ballad music of the royal chambers.
Antonius and Hieronymus Amati, the two sons of Andrew, at first worked together in the style of their father, but later they adopted a model somewhat flatter at the edges. These violins combine great beauty of form with superior wood, and have a fine and brilliant though delicate tone. After some years the brothers ceased working together.
I have seen several violins of Antonius Amati. They were all of rather high model. The wood of the back and sides was frequently of pear–tree, but they were made quite strong in wood, and therefore possessed a rather strong tone, particularly on the G string.
The violins of Hieronymus Amati are of larger pattern and flatter model than those of his brother, but are not so finely finished. Their tone, however, is much finer.
Nicholas Amati, son of Hieronymus, was the most celebrated maker of the family. In his large instruments he flattened the model somewhat, carving it sometimes, however, rather abruptly to a ridge in the centre, and making the curve an inch from the edges all around slightly concave. His workmanship was always most careful, and his finish exquisite. In these respects, he has never been excelled by any of the Italian makers. The tone, while often sufficiently powerful, lacks the breadth of the Gaspar da Salo, or Joseph Guarnerius. The varnish is generally yellow, and somewhat thin in body. Of all the Amati family, Andrew had the best varnish, it being more intense and rich in color and having greater body than that used by his sons.
Antonius Stradivarius was a pupil of the Amatis. His life has been divided into three periods,—his pupilage, his emancipation from the old rules, or artistic period, and his old age. He made a great many violins. He originated a new outline, flattened the model, did away with the excessive gutter or hollowing out at the edges, and selected his wood with regard to beauty as well as quality. His violins of the second period are marvels of neat, attentive workmanship. The varnish has a beautiful warmth of color, and great flexibility. But although the tone is wonderfully even and full, it is tinctured with a peculiar nasal quality. For this reason, though I have owned several fine specimens of this maker, among them one of a quartette made for the court of Spain, I have never played on them in public.
Of the Guarnerius family, I shall only mention Joseph, the nephew of Andrew. Rejecting the new form of Stradivarius and the older traditions of theAmatis, he seems to have chosen Gaspar da Salo and Maggini for his models; but his violins, while combining the peculiarities of these two makers, preserve the stamp of his own genius. The salient points of the Brescian school are noticed in the pointedfholes, the sweep of the outline, and the curve of the back. His violins are generally flat in model. The workmanship in its minute details is not always careful. The purfling is irregular, the edges not well finished, the outline awry, thefholes irregular, and the scrolls show the marks of the chisel; but all is thoroughly characteristic. The varnish is of every color,—yellow, red, and brown, and generally of fine intensity of color and great body. The tone, like that of Da Salo, is full and masculine. Those instruments which were produced during one not very long period of his life are by far his best; those made at other times are inferior, and in some cases almost unrecognizable as his productions. Possessing more genius than Stradivarius, he wasted his abilities, and rumor asserts that he led a life of idleness and dissipation, broken only, under pressure of want, by fitful periods of industry.
Once after a rehearsal in Breslau, in the year 1862, an old amateur and esteemed friend, Amtmann Zoller, who had purchased a collection of violins, wished me to look at them. I went, in company with a violin–maker, and saw the collection. The instruments were very fine, but I said, “The pearl of all is this Gaspar da Salo.” The Amtmann answered,“I think so myself, and I am much pleased to find you agree with me. But the connoisseurs here are unwilling to see any special merit in the instrument, and if it should be sold I do not think it would bring so much as some of the others.” When we left his house,—we had breakfasted with him,—the violin–maker said, “Why did you praise that violin so highly? You surely did not think that a superior instrument?” He then asked me why I did not offer to buy it. I said I could not think of offending the Amtmann by offering to purchase, for I did not suppose the violin was for sale. I consented, however, that he should ask him. The following morning he came to me, saying he had been to the Amtmann, who wished to see me. At our interview, in answer to his question whether I thought the instrument would entirely suit me, I assured him that it was a violin the tone of which could be graded in all different colors, and that I was in love with it. He then offered it to me at the price he paid for it (800 thalers); an offer I immediately accepted. A German musician, Lansberg by name, had been living in Rome for some twenty years, and had there made a collection of ancient violins. At his death, these were sent to his home in Breslau. The Amtmann Zoller purchased about a dozen of them, and among these was the Gaspar da Salo. Since I purchased this violin I have used it in all my public concerts.
I have another violin by a maker contemporaneous with Gaspar da Salo—in all probability Matteo Bente, Brescia, 1580. It very much resembles my concert violin in the model andfholes. I received it in Rome in 1835, from the librarian of the Vatican, Michael Angelo Lanzi. During my stay in Rome I had givensome lessons to a boy who was a favorite of his, and who had some talent for playing. As a return, he presented me this violin from the Vatican. In the Vatican vocal music only was given, and formerly violins and basses and violas were used in training the choir–boys. Of late years, this method falling out of use, the instruments gradually found their way into the hands of performers. I have not used this violin in concerts. It has a very peculiar flute–like tone, not capable of great variety of expression, but always in the whole range or compass preserving the same character. Nor is it capable of filling a large hall. The small turns of thefholes are very near together, the large ones correspondingly far apart. This nearness of the upper turns necessitates a narrow bridge, which interferes with the development of a great tone. It is evidently specially adapted for playing in company with flutes, guitars, mandolins, and other soft–toned instruments.
I purchased this instrument in London in the year 1861. It had belonged to Sir W. Curtis, a director of the East India Company.
There is an anecdote of George the Fourth, that, as he played the violoncello, and wanted a quartette by Amati, and of course of the best, he applied to Sir W. Curtis, who sometimes played with him, and was financially his creditor in large sums. On the king’s inquiring if he would sell his violin, he replied that his majesty could not afford to buy it, as he did not wish to see him sink deeper in debt. From Sir W. Curtis the violin passed into the hands of a Mr. Oliphant, also an East India director. I purchased it from his son. Mr.Plowden, of London, a violin collector of great judgment, was much annoyed on finding I had become the owner of the violin. He pronounced it the finest specimen of Nicholas Amati in the world, and declared that he had waited forty years for the chance of being its possessor. He further offered in its place the choice of any two violins from his collection.
The position of the bridge should be such as to affect the whole violin equally, and not to favor one tone more than another. The centre of the bridge should be always directly over the centre line of the top. Whether it should stand slightly backwards or forwards of, or directly on a line drawn across the top from the inner notches of thefholes, will depend upon the character of the instrument, and can only be determined experimentally. It should incline toward the tail–piece in order to better withstand the forward pull of the strings in tuning.
The construction of the bridge has great influence upon the tone. Thinness of the centre of the bridge tends to make prominent any nasal quality or shrillness latent in the instrument. A proper solidity conveys sweetness and compactness, but too great thickness muffles the tone.
High–built violins mostly require low bridges, and such should be particularly thick at the edges where the strings rest.
The bridge should be perfectly flat on the side toward the tail–piece. It may be slightly convex on the other side.
The material of which the bridge is made should beinvariably maple. That which is known as the silver–gray maple is preferable to the brown or yellow, as having a more close and elastic grain.
The incisions in the sides of the bridge should extend each one third of the distance toward the centre. The French model of Aubert of Mirecourt, though open to some objections in special cases, is one of the best. These bridges are made of excellent wood, and are thick and strong.
The top of the bridge should be thick. Properly constructed, a bridge may be made quite heavy, and so made it will always convey a rounder and fuller volume of tone. The distance measured along the top, between the G and the E strings, should be 1–10/32 inches. The G string should be 8/32 of an inch above the finger–board at its larger extremity; the E string, 5/32 of an inch. The average height of the feet of the bridge should be about 3/16 of an inch. The thickness at the base, a scant 5/32 of an inch; at the top, a full 1/16 of an inch. The feet should be 7/16 of an inch long.
In general, the sound–post should stand from 1/8 to 1/4 of an inch to the rear of the right foot of the bridge. Its outer edge should be in line with the outer edge of the foot. From this position its upper or lower end, or both, may be moved with advantage to secure certain qualities of tone. It should in all cases fit the curves of the top and back absolutely. Moving the lower end toward the centre favors the lower strings. If the lower strings are weak and the upper at all sharp or hard in tone, then a very loose post should be used. If the reverse is the case, a long and tightly fitting sound–post isrequired. Moving the upper end outward will help all the strings, if the tone before was hard and shrill; but if the upper strings happen to be dull and heavy, then the post should stand a little inside the line of the foot of the bridge, and a little further back. The sound–post should be made of fine–grained soft spruce. The grain should cross that of the top, as this will prevent the marring of the inner surface of the top in putting the post in and adjusting it.
I use a bow longer by two inches than the ordinary standard. A powerful, heavy bow is required for four–string passages and manytours de force. The bow, while elastic, should be extremely stiff, so that if dropped upon the strings the rebounds are very rapid. It should have weight to give force to these rebounds, as in many passages the weight of the hand cannot be applied to assist the bow; as in the tremolo, arpeggio, and staccato volante. In this last example the bow is thrown upon the strings and runs its length in a series of little rebounds, neither the fingers nor wrist having anything to do with the result. In order to graduate, as it were, the different colors of sound, we favor certain overtones by causing the hair to act at greater or less distances from the bridge. The nearer we approach the bridge the more the upper overtones, and the nearer the neck the more the lower overtones will be favored. In the first instance, the resulting tone resembles that of the trumpet; and in the second, that of the horn and clarinet. With a heavy bow, in forte passages, only slight assistance is needed from the hand. The wrist is not cramped or stiffened in producing thepressure. In piano passages, the little finger should partially sustain the weight, and the stick should be inclined toward the neck, so that only part of the hairs act upon the strings.
The great stiffness and elasticity of the heavy bow gives a freer, clearer tone than can be produced by one of a lighter and more sluggish nature.
The length of the bow is two feet, six inches; the length of the hair two feet, four inches. The number of hairs is about one hundred and sixty. Half of the hairs are put in one way, the other half the other. It is known that the hairs, as seen when magnified, have little sawlike teeth running in one direction. By thus dividing the hairs, they present the same friction on either the up or down stroke. The best hair is from Normandy. It should be round and even, and not flat in places.
The principal object of the bar is to resist the pressure of the strings upon the top. All old violins require to be rebarred, owing to the height of the present musical pitch over that of one hundred years ago. The old short bars are no longer adapted to the greater strain, and more powerful ones are needed. From long continued strain, the pulling of the two extremes toward the centre, and the downward pressure of the bridge at that point, the tops of many old violins have bulged up at the ends and sunk down in the centre. The adjustment of a new bar will have a tendency to remedy this. As the bar was originally placed by Gaspar da Salo, so it should be placed now; that is, not in the direction of the fibres of the top, but obliquely, the end under the finger–board being nearest the centre.In this position it appears to give ample support to the bridge and to allow a fuller and richer tone.[30]
In a search after an elucidation of this so–called lost art, three facts immediately present themselves: first, this varnish was employed by the very earliest of the Italian makers as well as the later; second, its use was common only in Italy; third, it ceased to be applied to violins afterA. D.1750–1760.
In texture this varnish is extremely supple; it will yield to pressure, but breaks or scales off under a sudden blow. It is entirely transparent, and of all shades of brown, red, and yellow. The vehicle in which the gums and colors are dissolved is an oil. Applied to a violin, it compacts the tone together, without rendering it shrill or harsh, and gives additional beauty to the wood. That its ingredients were indigenous to the Italian soil is out of the question. It is well known that much of the maple used by the violin–makers of that day came from Turkey. Imported to Venice, it was employed in the construction of oars, etc. The extremely curly pieces, owing to their liability to fracture under rough usage, were consequently rejected, to be appropriated by the violin–makers. Venice and Genoa held great command over the entire Eastern trade, and undoubtedly through these ports came the various gums and coloring substances of which this varnish was made.
Turning to other countries of Europe—Germany, France, and England—and examining the productions of their most celebrated violin–makers contemporaneous with the Cremonese school, scarcely a trace of the Italianvarnish is to be met with. In German instruments, the varnish is distinguished by extreme hardness, a glassy lustre, and an absence of all delicate shades of color. The vehicle or menstruum, moreover, is alcohol. In France, the coloring was sometimes good, but in general too pronounced. The varnish of the old English makers lacked transparency. In both these countries the vehicle was oil, but the varnish in quality and texture differed essentially from the Italian.
Three questions occur: first, was this manufacture a secret? second, how was this secret lost? third, are there any writings or clues for perusal and examination? Answers to these questions should clear up the mystery of this so–called lost art.
To begin, then, with the first question, was the manufacture of this varnish a secret? There is no reasonable doubt that it was, but only in a certain way. For a period of about two hundred years, from the time of Gaspar da Salo to that of the Bergonzi, the varnish was common to every Italian violin–maker. Cremona had no monopoly, for the knowledge and use of it extended to Padua, Venice, Rome, and Naples. It is impossible, therefore, during this long time to say that the selection of ingredients or the methods of preparation employed in the manufacture of this substance, so well known and widely used, were in any sense a secret. But a little later quite a change is observable. From a hundred Italian instruments of this later date, only a notable few can be selected as possessing the true varnish; and that this marked characteristic in the case of these few is not the result of mere chance is apparent from the fact that the artists who made them have consistently applied it to all their productions. From about1745 to about 1760, then, the manufacture of this varnish may be properly called a secret, as being confined to a chosen few.
A bitter rivalry had always existed between the Neapolitan, Venetian, and Cremonese schools. Alessandro Gagliano, probably a pupil of Stradivarius, had established himself at Naples. Dominico Montagnana and Sanctus Seraphino were the masters of the art in Venice. The Cremonese makers seem to have relied on their sonorous, well selected wood, their established principles of construction, and their ancient reputation; the Venetian, on the beauty of their wood, and careful finish; and the Neapolitan, on their exceedingly low price.
As a knowledge of the varnish became at last confined to a few, instances are not wanting of the persecution of such by their less fortunate fellow–workmen. It is quite evident, that, apart from any considerations of beauty, the importance of the varnish as an acoustic element was well recognized.
The second question now presents itself: how was the secret lost? A careful and repeated examination, extending to a vast number of objects, reveals the fact that the varnish of the Italian violin–maker of the time of Stradivarius and before him was common to the painter, the varnisher, and the gilder as well. Let an ancient piece of Italian furniture—a chair, a cabinet, the case of a spinet or harpsichord—be examined, and, provided it has escaped modern retouching, the varnish might be by Stradivarius himself. Generally it is colorless, then the quality and texture are the indications; but occasionally it is of brilliant hues, and then it proclaims itself to the eye at once. Let specimens of alater date, say 1760, be examined; here is no such varnish. This is smooth, fairly lustrous, hard, and durable. The chair of 1725 presents a surface broken and worn away; that of 1760, one comparatively smooth, and fairly able to endure further vicissitudes of time.
Between the years 1740 and 1760, great changes in the manufacture of varnish were introduced. The old soft gums and their menstrua, capable in themselves of dissolving them, were discarded in favor of newer and more complicated processes, producing a result more durable and unchangeable under exposure and rough wear.
The old fashion of ornamenting all articles of furniture, whether of ornament or utility, with carvings, had given place to a more sober style. Broad, unrelieved surfaces, depending on the intrinsic beauty of their material, were found a relief to the eye tired with unraveling the mazes of complex carving or painted arabesque. The old, soft, badly wearing varnish no longer sufficed for protection and covering of such surfaces; hence the new processes, and, for such utilitarian purposes, superior results. The hard copal gums, hitherto undissolvable or only partially so, were found to yield entirely on proper heating and fusion. In 1750, a patent, covering a period of twenty–five years, was granted by the King of France to one Simon Martin, a fan painter, for a process of making varnish from amber, by driving off the succinic acid by means of heat, and the subsequent combination of the residue with oil. From that day to the present, various improvements in this art have gone on uninterruptedly. The field of discovery, the gates to which were opened by such pioneers as Simon Martin, being once entered, the problem of durability, hardness,and unchangeableness was soon solved. But with the laying aside of the old receipts, the Italian violin varnish became a lost art. The knowledge of its composition, naturally confined to the general manufacturers, was forgotten. There is no doubt that some of the Cremonese and other makers knew how to prepare it, but, as has been shown, its use was not confined to them. The new ingredients—the copals, amber, etc.—would naturally supersede the old as articles of import, and so by degrees those who possessed the secret—for a secret it was certainly regarded by its latest possessors—would find increasing difficulty in obtaining the old constituents. Moreover, the days of violin–making in Italy were over. England, France, and Germany were eager competitors; the stolid build of the first, the gaudy color of the second, the baked wood of the Mittenwalder, or artist of the Black Forest, and the general cheapness of all, held the market. And so it has happened that the art of the old varnish is not lost, but buried in the dust under the wheel of progress. For two hundred years it was in the hands of a nation; and though now a desire for this forgotten knowledge is confined to only a few, it would be absurd to say that persistent inquiry must fail to unravel a skein of so many ends.
The third question now presents itself: Are there any writings or clues for perusal and examination? There are many. An ingenious Frenchman, who long ago wrote a treatise on varnish, has given the following excellent list of authors who have treated upon this subject:—
“Alexis,” Piedmontese [real name of author, Hieronymus Ruscellaī]:Secrets des Arts; Milan, 1550.
Fiavoranti:Miroir Universel des Arts et des Sciences; Bologna, 1564.
Auda:Recueil Abrégé des Secrets Merveilleux; ——, 1663.
Zahn, Jean:Oculus Artificialis, etc.; Nuremberg, 1685.
Morley, C.: Collections; London, 1692.
Coronelli, Vincent:Epitome Cosmographique; Venice, 1693.
Pomet:Histoire Générale des Drogues; Paris, 1694 (reprinted, 1736).
Buonanni, Phillipe:Traité des Vernis; Rome, 1713.
Here is a succession of treatises, the earliest written about the time of Gaspar da Salo, and the latest during that of Stradivarius. Here are hundreds of genuine receipts. Is any one of them the right one? Patience and perseverance are necessary, much fitting of old names to their new nomenclatures, and many tiresome comparisons. But these once made, the desired result may be obtained, and the new varnish may possess the old coveted lustrous softness and suppleness. And the colors? the brown, the red, and the yellow?—hidden under quaint and obsolete names, they are all indicated by one and another of these authors, and all are soluble in the one vehicle, forming a colored oil varnish, clear and transparent, which, however long kept, will let fall no sediment.
There is still another branch of this subject which has never, or very rarely, been specified, and this is theground–toning. In all Italian instruments the wood appears to be permeated with a color varying in intensity from pale yellow to almost orange. This color is quite distinct from that of the varnish; for, however faded by exposure and other causes the latter may be, the ground–tone almost always retains its color. The violinswith red varnish afford the finest examples of this ground–toning. On such, its tawny yellow is the most intense, and offers a splendid foil to the superimposed color, toning and giving life to it. How it was composed or applied, whether as a wash or stain, or as a distinct varnish, none of the authors give any information. But from their miscellaneous lists of the drugs, dye–stuffs, and coloring matters common to the Italian markets, it is quite possible that a selection could be made which would fulfill all the required conditions of color and stability.
But though supplied with the ground–tone, another element is needed before the exact reflex of the Italian varnish can be reproduced; and that is the natural color of the old wood.
The problem of the old varnish is solvable by any one who deems the reward worth the trial of patience and perseverance, two elements most effective in the task of interlining the broken sentences of tradition.
No one can thoroughly understand Paganini without an educated appreciation of melody and the art of giving life and expression to it. Without a knowledge of the Italian art of singing, it is impossible to properly appreciate his playing. Contemporary with Pasta, Pizzaroni, Rubini, Malibran, Paganini rivaled them, singing on his violin melodies, many of which had been sung by those artists, and astonishing eventhemmore than the public. In fact, his style was so original, and the means by which he produced his stirring effects was so varied and so unexpected, his music so filled with ever new episodes of startling beauty or original quaintness, that the violinists of the day stood confounded.
Half the conceited virtuosos would not condescend to study the mysteries of the violin and the soul of melody, or his principles of fingering and manifold colors of tone and expression, but called all they could not comprehend and themselves execute “tricks” and “playing for the multitude.” Nothing has been produced equaling his twenty–four “Studies,” either in beauty, originality, or difficulty of performance. They stand unrivaled. Liszt has arranged many of them for the piano in a most masterly manner. He became so inspired on hearing Paganini, that he composed a fantasia on the main theme of his “Rondo Campanella.” In his obituary notice of Paganini, published in Paris, he places him above all virtuosos. As some of Paganini’s pieces required the violin to be tuned higher than the normal pitch, it was necessary that his strings should be thinner than ordinary to endure the increased strain and give a free vibration. Tuned in this way, for some effects they possessed a peculiar timbre and far–reaching tone, particularly the G string, which, for some occasions, he tuned up to C natural. The violinists of that day used thick strings. They seemed to consider the greatness and variety of the tone to be a result of sheer muscular force, and thus loaded the string with a weight which retarded its vibration. The heavy strings certainly gave a louder tone, but it was much more gross, and, besides, required such effort that often the disagreeable friction of the bow could be distinguished mixed with the tone. The humidity and heat of the concert–room often caused the E string to break in the midst of a performance. After Paganini had been heard, the adoption of thinner strings became general.
Paganini’s style of bowing and producing the tonewas founded on Tartini’s exquisite method. He held his upper arm close to his body, using mainly his lower arm for the bow stroke, keeping the wrist extremely flexible. From his peculiar build he could cross his elbows readily. The elbow of his left arm he brought very much to the right in playing. This singular flexibility greatly assisted him in his incredible flights, and made easy for him passages impossible for another. His hand was rather small and thin, and the little finger peculiarly long. The strings of his violin were rather high from the finger–board; this enabled him to give forte passages with great effect, and without the rattling and false vibration always accompanying force when applied to strings close to the finger–board. Owing to his narrow chest and peculiar way of holding the violin, it was easy for him to reach the upper notes. He manipulated the strings at the upper end of the finger–board as easily as other violinists could in the first position. His bow was made after the old Italian style, of a somewhat later shape than that of Tartini’s. When strained to the proper tension, the stick was nearly straight. Vuillaume, when he saw this bow, laughed and inquired who could play with such a thing. When Paganini brought it to him to be repaired (he had broken the upper end), Vuillaume offered to make him another, but he was much displeased with the idea, and most decidedly declined the gift, saying he could not think of using any other bow. Paganini especially excelled in giving life to the simplest melodies, in giving to his tone the quality of the human voice; in contrasts of light and shade, and expression, now plaintive, now brilliant and gay, now fantastic. He was unequaled in producing pizzicatos with the left hand, arpeggiopassages, the tremolo, and the gettato. He was the first to establish the rules of artificial harmonic playing, and his numerous passages in single and double harmonics attest the wonderful skill with which he applied them.
In his time it was demanded of artists that they should not only play the compositions of the masters with elegance and nobility of style, but also should be equal to any emergency and ready to improvise embellishments and harmonious variations. Before Rossini no composer wrote out the cadenzas, rather leaving them to the talent of the artist.
The report, circulated in Vienna, that he was a mere charlatan, preceded Paganini’s first appearance in that city. So unfavorable an impression had been formed of him that his first concert was but poorly attended. But at the end of the first part, the impression he made upon his few listeners was so great that several of the musicians in the audience ran out into the coffee–houses and hotels, exclaiming enthusiastically that he was a perfect marvel, and that all must come to hear him. The result was that at the performance of the second part the house was nearly full. Afterwards, partly from wonder, and partly from jealousy, all sorts of stories were told about him. It was said that when his mother died, he made her breathe her last breath into his violin; that he was a culprit who had spent years in imprisonment with only his violin for a companion; that he had gradually worn out all the strings but the G, hence his wonderful skill in playing anything on that one string. It seemed of little avail that he procured and published official testimonials from his native town to the effect that he had never been in prison. Nor didhe put an end to the story of his mother’s death, by publishing a letter from her, showing that she was still living.
At a soirée given by Troupenas, the music publisher, in Paris, in 1830, Paganini gave one of the most wonderful exhibitions of his skill. Rossini, Tamburini, Lablache, Rubini, De Beriot, and Malibran were of the party. Malibran, after singing one of her spirited arias, challenged Paganini, who said “Madam, how could I dare, with all the advantages you possess in beauty and your incomparable voice, take up your glove?” His declining was of no avail; the whole company, aware that such an opportunity might never occur again, urged him most strongly, and finally persuaded him to send for his violin. After an introduction, in which gleamed now and then the motive of Malibran’s song, he gave the whole melody with additionalfiorituras, so that the audience, amazed and overwhelmed, could not help confessing that he was the master. I heard this from several of the persons who were present, and Malibran herself was the most emphatic of all in proclaiming him the victor.
Paganini’s last Parisian concert occurred in the year 1832, at the Grand Opéra. He played three pieces. Habeneck, professor of music at the Conservatoire, on this occasion wielded the bâton. He had been instrumental in introducing the symphonies of Beethoven for the first time, in opposition to the opinions of the other professors of the Conservatoire. The orchestra was composed of the professors, and such pupils as had taken the first prize; it was justly regarded as the finest orchestra in Europe. Habeneck wished to introduce Beethoven, but had hitherto failed in excitingan appreciation for his mighty works. Finally he hit upon a strategem. It was his birthday, and he invited the members of the orchestra to a collation to be given in the concert–hall of the Conservatoire, and he begged them to bring their instruments. When his health was proposed, he suggested in response that, if they really wished to give him great joy, they would consent to play the “Allegro in C minor” from the first symphony of Beethoven. He explained to them beforehand how he would have them handle the principal motive. Of course all agreed. He knew his success from the manner in which they struck the first chords. Exclamations of admiration followed the close of the Allegro, and the concluding movement of the symphony was played with enthusiasm to the end. Now they requested that the symphony should be played at the next concert, and after twenty rehearsals it was given with immense success. Such was the man who conducted on this occasion. He was a leader of great ability, and the players, the majority of them graduates of the Conservatoire, were entirely under his command. Paganini played, as far as I can remember, his “Concerto in B minor,” with the “Rondo Campanella,” also two variations of Haydn’s famous “Austrian National Hymn,” and concluded with his “Moto Perpetuo.” The public were accustomed to applaud (I have the whole scene before me as if it were to–day) when he appeared at the side. When his shadow was seen approaching, the audience applauded as usual, but to their astonishment Paganini did not appear, but instead a man in black, with a music–stand, which he placed on the stage near the conductor. Again a shadow was seen on the wall, and again theapplause sounded. A man appeared clad in livery; he bore two candles, which he placed on the stand and lighted. He disappeared, amid the laughter of the audience. Then came the first fellow in black, this time with a manuscript in his hand. The house behaved as before, evidently confusing the black fellow. Finally came another shadow, and this time it was Paganini, but the applause was now withheld, and he was not recognized until he came forward to the foot–lights. There he made a forced salutation, accompanied with a contraction of the facial muscles, seeming much puzzled at his silent reception. He had been in another room, and knew nothing of the ludicrous scene which had preceded his appearance. Immediately Habeneck raised his bâton, as if to give his order to the orchestra, but Paganini shook his head. He took his bow in his left hand together with his violin, and thrust his right into the recesses of the pockets of his swallow–tailed coat, and brought out a pair of dark–green gloves, which he transferred to his left hand. He shook his head again, and, after a deeper plunge, produced a large white handkerchief, which he also placed in his left hand, accompanying the action with an audible expression of dissatisfaction. A still deeper thrust revealed a brown box, which he regarded with a nod and a smile, and added to the other things in his left hand. He now went through the same deliberate motions in passing the handkerchief and gloves back to his pocket. He then opened the box and took out a pair of spectacles, meditated a moment, apparently considering the next move, and finally, taking the bow in his right hand, and bending a little, put the spectacles on and looked about in a complacent manner. But how changed he was!The glasses were dark blue, giving a ghastly appearance to his emaciated face; they looked like two large holes in his countenance. Raising his foot and bringing it down promptly, he gave the signal to begin. It had been announced as his last concert in Paris for the season, and a true foreboding seemed to thrill through his listeners that they would not again see that lank, angular figure, with its haggard face, or hear again the wondrous witchery of his violin.
Note.—(Page363). The oblique position of the bar has not been generally adopted. The bar is ordinarily placed with its outer side on a line parallel to the centre line or glue–joint of the top, and at a distance from it about equal to one half the width of the bridge, measured from the outer extremities of the feet. A slight spring is given to the ends of the bar, so that when glued to the top it produces an upward pressure at the centre, under the foot of the bridge. This pressure should equal the downward thrust of the bridge, the force of which will depend upon the angle of the strings over its top. Practice soon discovers a certain modicum of spring which agrees fairly with a certain height of bridge. An entirely successful result is not always insured, but a positive failure is avoided. But in the case of the oblique bar, no such common factor can be found to fit all cases even averagely well. Each instrument presents its own particular problem. The spring at each end must be accurately determined by mechanical means, which will take into account both the resistance of the top, due to its comparative strength of fibre, and the resistance due to the form of modeling. The same degree of obliquity, and position relative to the foot of the bridge which it supports, will not answer equally well in all cases. But when the required conditions are fulfilled, the oblique bar does, beyond doubt, very greatly increase the depth and volume of tone, particularly of the lower strings. Mr. Bull spent many years in endeavoring to formulate the rules which govern this most perplexing part of the organism of the violin. His observations and experiments demonstrated to him the correctness of the oblique position; and though, as was his wont, he franklyowned to more failures than one, his instances of success, illustrated by his Da Salo and many other instruments, bore most convincing witness to the truth of his theory.
Walter E. Colton.
Ole Bull, in the last interview which he had with Mr. Colton, said to him: “You have the tools, the knowledge, and the time for this work, and you will be able to give at last a rule by which less skilled workmen may be guided in the placing of the oblique bar.” After Mr. Colton had sent the above note, a query addressed to him brought the following response, which it is hoped he will pardon us for printing, as it gives just what ought to be known in order to save violins from being injured in the hands of ordinary workmen claiming to understand the principle of the oblique bar:—
The second attempt in placing the bar would be, in the hands of the ordinary repairer, nearly as much of an experiment as the first. In the first place, he lacks the apparatus for determining the spring. In regard to the position relative to the foot of the bridge and degree of obliquity, these appear to be governed by the height of the top and thickness of material. The higher the top, the more the obliquity; the thicker the top, the more the bar can be removed from under the foot of the bridge. I presume I have placed a hundred bars, and have used up many cheap violins in trying to arrive at something like a governing principle, and even now the first attempt may not be all I could wish. Mr. Bull, aided by his own experience, and by some marvelous intuition, compared to which the knowledge of the average repairer is mere clodhopperism, appeared to be able to determine the requirements of an instrument submitted to him. One reason why I did not speak more strongly in favor of the general adoption of the oblique position was because, apart from the spring, the ratio of which and means of determining it I believe I have settled, I could not lay down a positive and definite rule regarding the place and degree of obliquity which would apply to all cases. So I did not like to advocate on my own account, or by inference, that of Mr. Bull, the immediate advisability of an operation the result of which might be in any way doubtful. When I think of the horror with which the connoisseur contemplates even the idea of removing the top of his valued instrument, I feel that, beyond sticking stoutly to the truth of Mr. Bull’s theory, I am not in a condition to competently advise.
Mr. Bull’s second attempts were almost always successful. I honestly think I should not fail more than once. But if I say this, I am calling attention to my own work, Mr. Bull having passed away, when it belongs to him.
Walter E. Colton.