Born in 1664, and employed for years in the factory of the Amati, Straduarius began his own separate career, by imitating their models; but, at the commencement of the eighteenth century, taking leave of his masters, he changed the proportions of his instruments—adopted a larger size, with a diminished convexity—and was as studious about the gradations of thickness, as in the choice of his wood. Nothing was omitted, that the careful mind of this artist could devise, for the production of the finest quality of tone. His instruments, nicely-balanced, provoke no unseemly opposition of character among the four strings. Add to these advantages, a graceful outline—high finish in the details—a brilliant harmony in the varnish—and you have the accomplished, the complete Straduarius.
Giuseppe (Joseph) Guarnerius, the most distinguished among a family noted for the construction of bowed instruments, belongs, in date of birth, to the latter end of the seventeenth century. He is said to have studied his art in the factory of Straduarius, although the products of his hand shew none of the high finish characteristic of that maker. His build is often very slovenly; the f holes are cut almost straight, and with angularity about the ends; the fillets are badly traced—and, indeed, there is so little in the look of his violins to proclaim the master, that one might be tempted to attribute their fine quality to the excellence of the materials he used, rather than to any bestowed workings of his mind. Close examination, however, has decided that he must have been guided by some positive principles, howsoever attained, and that his productions have an originality derived from these. Of his violins of the large pattern, there are but few: those of the smaller size, which are more numerous, exhibit very little convexity, and are thicker, in the thick parts, than those of Straduarius. The effect of his instruments is more gratifying at a little distance, than at “close quarters.”
The art under consideration seems to have gone on in Italy with hardly any change, since the time of the above two celebrated makers—their successors having been content with one or the other of them, for model. Lorenzio Guadagnini, of Placentia, a pupil or apprentice of Straduarius, copied the small-pattern fiddles of his master. His instruments give a round and clear tone from the first and second strings—but are dull on the third. He had a son, who worked at Milan, till about 1770, after his father’s mode, but with smaller success. The Gagliani were also imitators of Straduarius, but were far from equalling his instruments, and were not very scrupulous in their selection of wood. Ruggeri and Alvani, who were among the copyists of Joseph Guarnerius, have produced good violins, but none that could attain the estimation enjoyed by their prototype.
Of the noted Tyrolese fiddle-fabricants, Jacob Steiner, a man of chequered fortunes, was the ingenious chief. Born about 1620, at Absom, a village near Inspruck, he had, as an instrument-maker, a career marked by three distinct epochs. At first, under the Amati at Cremona, he produced some violins of admirable finish, but now very rarely to be met with. Their convexity is still more decided than that of the Amati; while the heads, or volutes, are less prolonged, and broader in the anterior part—and the labels within them are written and signed by the artist’s own hand. His second epoch is when, married, and settled at Absom, he produced, from 1650 to 1667, a prodigious number of instruments, constructed with little care. Even then, however, after languishing for some years in misery, and personally hawking about his violins, for which he could get no better price than six florins, he regained his position through some rays of aristocratic patronage that suddenly shone upon him; and, with his genius thus revived, again produced some fine instruments, distinguished by their scrolls, ornamented with heads of animals—by the close fibres of the belly-wood—and by the varnish of red mahogany-colour, browned by time. Steiner’s third epoch commences when, on losing his wife, he retired to a monastery. In that tedious seclusion, he resolved to signalize the end of his artistic career by some first-rate doings. Having obtained, through the influence of the Superior, a supply of most exemplary wood, he made sixteen violins—the intended concentrations of every gathered perfection—and sent one to each of the twelve Electors of the Empire, presenting to the Emperor himself the remaining four. These sixteen instruments, whereof but three are (so far as is known) extant, have acquired the name of Elector Steiners. A pure, ringing, ethereal tone, comparable to that of a woman’s perfect voice—a shape of elegance—studied finish in every detail—a diaphanous varnish, of golden hue—such are the characteristics of these productions of Steiner’s third, or last epoch. Their labels, unlike those of his second period, which are printed, bear his autograph inscription and signature.
The imitations of the instruments of Steiner by the brothers Klotz have reference to his second epoch, and are distinguishable from his own manufacture by the varnish, which, instead of being red, is of a dark body, with a tinge of yellow. From the pupils of the Klotzes, likewise, have resulted numerous Tyrolese imitations of the Cremona patterns—but always discernible by the inferior quality of the wood, by the duskiness of the varnish, and the want of clearness and power in the tone.
The high market-value borne by the best instruments of the best Italian and Tyrolese makers, is a point well known to those who take a particular interest in the violin. It has formed the subject of admiration to all, of exultation to a few, and of disappointment to many. The money that would buy a house, has been sometimes demanded for a fiddle! The subjoined passage from Mr. Gardiner’s “Music and Friends, ” will serve (among other purposes) to illustrate in some degree this exorbitancy:—
“Mr. Champion, an Amateur, had just purchased a Stradivari violin and tenor (in one case), for which he gave three hundred guineas. They seemed to have been untouched since the day they were made. They were of a beautiful yellow colour, inclining to orange, and appeared to have ripened and mellowed into excellence. Mr. Salomon’s violin was the celebrated one that belonged to Corelli, with his name elegantly embossed in large capital letters on the ribs. Probably three such valuable Cremonas were never before brought together. There can be no question that the instruments made by Stradivari are superior to those of any other Maker in the world. Dragonetti’s double-bass was made by the same artist. Mr. Salomon, the Jew, has offered him eight hundred guineas for it; but he will not part with it for less than a thousand.”
As in their own country, so in others, the great Italian and German Makers have had their “servum pecus,” their crowd of imitative followers, who have sometimes copied with a plausible neatness, and sometimes caricatured with a coarse barbarity. The most prominent names in France are, successively, those of Bocquay, Pierret, Despons, Véron, Guersan, Castagnery, Saint-Paul, Salomon, Médard, Lambert (whose rough and ready doings got for him the name of “Le Charpentier de la Lutherie”), Saunier, Piete (whose instruments were given as prizes to the pupils of the Paris Conservatory, at the commencement of the present century)—and, lastly, Lupot, a studious artist, whose instruments, finished with a loving care, have a real value in the eyes of the discerning, and are in request where a good Cremona is unattainable. For one of Lupot’s best instruments, an offer equal to sixty guineas has been known to be refused.—Of the English Constructors, a scanty knowledge limits me to a slender account. Richard Duke, who belongs to the middle of the last century, flourished in Red Lion Street, near Gray’s Inn Passage. The Forsters, old and young, grandfather and grandson, have, in their department of art, a name that lives. Banks, of Salisbury, also claims notice. His violoncellos (observes Mr. Gardiner) are of the finest quality of tone—not so strong and fiery as old Forster’s, but, in sweetness and purity, excelling them. Banks’s are more adapted to the chamber, and Forster’s to the orchestra. The names of Betts, Davis, Corsby, Kennedy, and Hart (all London Makers) are likewise entitled to respect.
Although the great Italian and German Constructors, who have so long served as models and guides, did unquestionably somehow arrive at certain proportions highly favourable to the development of beautiful sound, it does not appear that those proportions, observed (as they were) with mathematical exactness, were founded upon any clearly understood philosophic principles. “Until recently,” says Monsieur Fétis, from whose ingenious labours are derived some of the details in this chapter, “the art of making bowed instruments has perceptibly been cultivated, in turn, by inspiration, and imitation. Science, as an element, did not enter into their construction. We have now reached an epoch of transformation in this respect, though perhaps rather, as yet, in the way of establishing principles, than of attaining results.” Into this subject, it behoves us to enter with some particularity.
At about the same time as that of the publication of Otto’s little book in Germany, an ingenious Frenchman made known the results of some experiments he had undertaken with reference to the principles of construction. M. Chanot, officer of maritime engineers, and amateur of music, professed to have discovered a method for determining invariably the processes to be employed in the construction of bow-played instruments.