Antonio Stradivari

by Horace Petherick

Fig. d. See Page [50.]

But if the name of Carlo Bergonzi is brought into the field of speculation—granting for a moment that Stradivari was not very likely to step aside occasionally from his accustomed groove—then we have much more of a possibility or even probability in the matter. It has always been asserted, and I believe never contradicted, that Carlo Bergonzi was for a time actually working in the atelier of Stradivari—whether as pupil or only assistant matters not—but we have in the fact of his presence a distinct factor in any of the supposed anomalies of the later periods of the grand Cremonese master. To this, however, we may put some consideration further on. There is further in these later scrolls a modification, alteration, or supposed attempt at improvement in the edging of the turns, these being left a trifle stouter than at the commencement of Stradivari's career.

This is continued along over the top and down the back of the scroll to the shell, which seems to be a little less elongated than the early specimens. It may be more apparent than real in most instances in consequence of the bolder edging. The hollowing of the "shell" is seemingly less delicate, but this may be taken as a natural result of the foregoing. Further on these details will come in again for review.

To continue our remarks on the question of "thicknesses and their adjustment" with each other. This is a department of the luthier's art, to which perhaps much more attention has been directed by theorisers than by practical workers. The latter class have no doubt been influenced by the former to a considerable extent, oftentimes having their views expressly carried out under their personal supervision. By musical amateurs it is found to be a good theme for conversation when the excellencies of the works of various masters are dilated upon. That the richness of quality in a "Joseph" is the result of his having left "his wood" thick in certain parts and not so much in others, and that this, combined with the flat modelling, was the secret, and that it was written that some of the Josephs were too thick in the back, and therefore the freedom of the vibration was checked and the tone to some degree stifled and deficient in penetrative power.

Among my early musical acquaintances, I remember an amateur violinist who would "wax eloquent" on the power of his Strad, asserting that it was owing in a great measure to its having been "left thick by the maker" all round near the border. This, no doubt, many other amateurs, acquainted with what used to be in print on the subject, will recognise as being in opposition to what had been accepted as being the rule generally observed by Stradivari, that the arching in its thickness gently decreased towards the border where it was about a third less than at the centre. This gentle gradation was said to be the cause of the beautiful "silky" and "sympathetic" quality so prominently characteristic of his instruments. The explanation of "the thing in action," as mechanicians would term it, was thus—the greatest thickness being at the part all round by the feet of the bridge, was able to sustain the vibration, or the successive shocks caused by the bow, which were transmitted through the wood of the upper table and were gradually lessened in intensity as the thickness decreased toward the border, where they subsided, or were lost.

I do not know what explanation was given, if any, of the "system" of thickness adopted much by some of the Milanese school, which was that of hewing away the wood until it was thinnest at the part all round by the feet of the bridge and thickest by the lower wings of the sound holes. Judging by the before mentioned assertions as to the association of power of energetic vibration with the thickest wood under the bridge, these Milanese makers were acting very wrongly, but, strange to say, many instruments of very great power were made by them under these conditions.

Many years ago I was conversing on the subject of thicknesses with an English maker of experience and who seemed to believe in certain "thicknesses," and having then as yet made no practical experiments myself in the matter, I put the following to him. There are many violins to be met with that through ill-usage and pressure on the bridge have depressions instead of the level wood at the part we should expect it to be, and yet the tone is considered fine, how is this? The answer was remarkable, and not unworthy of the class of makers to which he belonged—that although the wood had become thinner from pressure, "the original amount was all there," it was only squeezed closer together. The instruments were, no doubt, "rightly gauged" in the first instance. "Now there," he said, pointing to a 'cello hanging up almost out of reach and looking in rather a woe-begone condition, is a bass that "never would go well because it was badly gauged when first made." Age and usage were to be of no avail in bringing this wretched piece of workmanship up to the standard of the average.

This last assertion might have been of considerable weight had the maker been a personal pupil of Stradivari, but the public verdict has been that there was a great gulf between the two, and that the first had not been initiated into the secret of the others. Foreign as well as English makers have announced in the most impressive manner at their command that their instruments were identical in all respects, including the system of thicknesses in the originals, buy them, use them, and be convinced that in time they would be just as good as the real thing.

The foregoing is perhaps enough to indicate whether or not the secret of Stradivari, or indeed any of the other Italian masters, great or small, had been discovered by caliper measurement. It is strange that the impression has held sway so strongly that the genius of the great master lay in his manner of distribution of the thick and thin parts of the upper and lower table. The first thought in this direction would be that if the theory was good, its practical application with ordinary skill and care would be sure to bring about the desired result. But more than this has been done in experimenting on originals and copies from time to time. We have within a mile of Charing Cross no lack of workmen capable of gauging and copying with sufficient exactness the thicknesses of any Stradivari brought to them, if that were all, or the principal means necessary for reproducing the famous qualities of the great Cremonese. It seems to be forgotten that hundreds of clever workmen have lived since his time, in his own as well as other countries, who have given the most assiduous application to the making of exact copies and with a like result—that of total failure. For a moment let us turn our thoughts to the nature of the materials comprised in the sum total of the structure known as a violin. We have for the upper table, or front, a thin slab of wood known as pine, from a species of tree that grows all over the world. The varieties are, however, innumerable and the purposes to which they are put, equally so. For the lower table, or back, a more dense and tough wood is used. That the particular kind used in the construction of the famous instruments of the great masters, and mostly that known as curled maple or "hare wood," was chiefly on account of its beauty, is evident from the fact that all the best Italian makers had recourse at times to other and less showy wood. Beech was occasionally used by Carlo Bergonzi. Other tough woods grown in Italy, even poplar, have been used by some makers, seemingly when the supply of better looking material ran short. That there are extant some "Strads" with backs of some plain wood other than maple is more than likely. We have, then, for the upper table of the violin a wood of soft but elastic consistency, the strength of which lies mainly in the threads running lengthwise, and which, when the wood is cut in the manner usual with all violin makers since its invention, serve the purpose of small joists running from end to end of the upper table. The soft material lying between these is very susceptible to damp, especially when fresh cut. Thus, if a piece of pine be cut ever so smooth with a sharp gouge or chisel, a slightly wetted brush drawn along the surface will at once cause the softer parts to swell and so leave a ribbed or "corduroy" appearance when it is dry. This will serve to show how far this wood is suitable for regulating by such very minute differences as would be necessary when the thicknesses theory is confided in and efforts made to reduce it to practice. The exactness reasonably expected of such a master of quality as Stradivari would be upset in an instant by the application of a little moisture, and which either by accident or during the process of repairing would be fairly certain to occur some time or other to every violin that left the hands of its maker.