Occasionally there will be not only the detachment from the block, but there will be the accompaniment of a split in the rib. There will be in this instance a preliminary cleansing of the split and joining together before proceeding with the other part. The reason for doing this is that the pressure on towards the block is apt to widen instead of closing the crack. The most usual way of mending a crack, or there may be more than one, is by the use of a small hand vice. A piece of stout card placed between the teeth of the vice to prevent an imprint, the part to be joined will, after cleaning and glueing, be brought closely as possible together and the vice screwed up. For this process the help of another person will be almost absolutely necessary, as two hands will be required for holding the parts together while the second person holds the vice and turns the screw to order. When dry and unscrewed the parts joined will require a little scraping of the superfluous glue, washing away at a thin part as this is would be dangerous; if brought together neatly the rib can then be pressed on the block in the manner before explained.
The same process will be gone through when a portion of fresh rib has to be inserted at this part, owing to loss of a piece through violence or the ravages of the worm. In the latter case searching inquiry should be made with a pointed wire or pin and the direction of the boring operations ascertained, as it may be necessary to insert a larger piece than was originally intended to avoid a large smash or general collapse at the part where the greatest strength should be. There is often too great a tendency shown in repairing, especially in preparation for the market, as, for instance, when an old master has been unearthed in some farmhouse or out of the way place on the Continent, to make a clean sweep of a somewhat riddled part, the repairer trusting too much to his imitative powers on new wood with new varnish, and we may say with new ideas on old facts; it is seldom that the result is far from hideous. Better trace the tortuous course of a whole family of worms and fill up with a cement or plugging than, as is too often the case, cut a huge slice away, for if so the instrument according to the extent begins to assume a composite character, it may be ten out of twelve parts gem of an old master and two parts modern trash, hateful to the eye of the connoisseur.
While touching upon the subject of worm-holes, a few words more may not be out of place when contemplating the ravages of these voracious creatures. Almost all devotees to the "gentle art" of fiddling have a great horror of the possible presence or the ungauged depths of the mysterious tunnellings the entrance or exit to which will cause a start of dismay in a searcher after the beautiful, when, in an otherwise perfectly preserved specimen of art by one of the giants of old, his eye alights upon that sharply defined circular hole, cut with no uncertainty of purpose, but with a ruinous intent, for it is business with the boring party to consume the whole, if possible, at its leisure and in quietude. This last is an important item in the consideration of the circumstances under which the "gem of art, old master, Cremona, real Strad," or whatever title the wooden structure may have been sailing under. Those who have suffered much from the Italian fiddle-hunting mania—a condition mostly chronic or quite incurable—but who may have kept their "considerating cap" well poised on their head, will know that the worm-eaten fiddles are often devoid of evidence of usage, sometimes even in the absolute sense of the term.
Such a one we may suppose before us now; after lying neglected for generations, or since the time when it was bought by one of our periwigged ancestors from the maker, perhaps after a little haggling about the price, which most likely was one hundredth part of its commercial value at present. It was placed many years since in its present comfortable case, after being taken out of the old ragged leather covered one, with the brass nails along its side. Tradition has it that in long bye-gone days it used to hang suspended from a nail in the oak panelling of the "old house at home," but that during a more recent generation and less musical one, it was placed aside in the old case, as being somewhat interesting from having been brought over to England from some place in Italy during the reign of James II. Later on it was taken from this old case, and placed in one of modern construction, and occasionally was taken out for musical people to see, some of whom expressed their admiration for its elegant form, others for the singular transparency of its varnish. None had come forward with the request to hear what it had to say for itself or what its tone was. But the day came round at last when someone more inquisitive than usual, by nature as well as by training, having inquired as to the possibility of seeing the antiquity, was afforded the rare opportunity and treat of seeing a perfectly preserved Cremona, nearly as possible untouched; the connoisseur was informed that no one had been known to have played upon it. The case is brought forward and opened, the violin, with perhaps one very brown string dangling from it, is taken gently up, the left hand encircling the neck, while the forefingers and thumb of the right, hold the lower part near the tail-piece.
The violin is turned first one way, then the other, and sideways for viewing the ribs and the beautiful play of light through the varnish, the fine curl of the maple with the slightest movement, almost giving an impression of hastily shifting from one row to another, in fact, looking as if the wood were gifted with life. Steadily turning it about, the connoisseur at last breaks out with the exclamation, this is the most wonderful thing I have met with in my life, it is almost perfect, practically new, looks, perhaps, but a dozen years old. What a beautiful design, what colour, and splendid wood, both the pine and maple, the workmanship, too, having that wonderful freedom of handling which moderns find so impassable a barrier to success with their "imitations of the antique!" Lost in admiration for some minutes, the connoisseur's critical faculties after a while begin to assert themselves, and he is on the look out for flaws or defects that may mar the completeness of the whole; it might be a little more this or that with advantage, not quite so fine in one respect, although perhaps better in another than the one owned by his friend Smith; but oh! a wormhole! that settles it, done for! perhaps the thing is riddled, or even "honeycombed" in parts. The delight at finding a work of art in apparently so perfect condition is succeeded by a more than counterbalancing sense of frustrated hopes, schemes for acquisition of the gem being dissipated at once by that small circular opening just at the under part of the edging there near the corner. Our friend takes his departure, but cannot help talking of the "find" to the dealer and repairer of whom he purchases his strings. This person takes another view of the affair, and resolves to see the thing and perhaps acquire possession, so that like his customer, he gets permission to inspect the violin. It is brought out as in the other instance and he turns it about, gives it a sly pinch here and there, looks for any light coloured dust or powder inside and does not see any, a shake or two with the same result. The subject of parting with the instrument at a fair price is at length broached to the owner, who would like to know what Mr. —— would be prepared to give for it, but this party means business and not valuation gratis for the owner; he therefore dilates upon the difficulties attending the keeping of a large stock of such articles, besides the thing having been bored so much by worms can never take its place again among prominent examples of the maker, and it would want a lot of playing upon even if possibly well restored. Mr. —— finally departs as owner of a finely preserved Cremona violin, not exactly for a "mere song," but a few judiciously selected sentences and fewer pounds. Out of the house his steps are lighter and swifter as he gets nearer his premises. When arrived he takes it to the repairing room; removing it from the case he again examines it, and with a smile says to his chief repairing help—here, what d'ye think of that? This workman, who has not studied as an enthusiastic connoisseur during the many years of his working on the premises, takes it up, looks it well over, and then observes—"well, at first I thought it was a good modern copy, but now if I don't think it's a real one! Well, I never! it is, too! look at that stuff all over it." This was his manner of criticising varnish when it seemed to him of good quality. "I would like to have some of that! a worm-hole though. Don't know how far that goes." "We'll soon see," says the other. After a few turns over again amidst remarks of admiration expressed in different ways, the fiddle is brought into a good light and preparations made for opening it. "Why, I don't think it's ever been opened before," says one. "Certainly not," says the other. "Now," says the dealer, "you had better do it," and the workman proceeds thus—first removing the tailpiece and with a "post setter" lifting the sound post out carefully through the right sound hole, he removes the tail pin, and holding the instrument to let as much light as possible into the interior, looks through the pin hole and observes—"No patch in this, Mr. ——, fresh as a new-laid egg—original bar too,—however, let's go ahead." The fiddle is then laid face downwards on a cushion or soft pad and held in position with the extended palm of the hand. The operator then takes what has been once in use as a table knife, but is now thin and smooth with wear, keeping the left hand firmly in position and the knife in the other, he casts his eye round for any portion that may seem looser or more lightly glued than the rest. It has been very neatly done however, and one part seems as good as another. "Stop a moment," says his companion, "let's have another look inside, maybe we shall see how the worms have been going about by the light passing through."
It is taken again to a window; the sun fortunately is streaming in and so enables master and man to proceed under favourable conditions. The dealer patiently turns the violin about so that the rays of the sun may penetrate wherever possible through the material; after a while he hands the violin to his workman—"you have a look, James, I cannot see any traces—I don't think the worm has gone very far, seemingly only a short distance from the opening." James looking again, and coming to the same conclusion, the violin is again taken to the operating table and the knife taken in hand.
CHAPTER X.
WAYS OF REMOVING THE UPPER TABLE AND THE NECK—CLEANSING THE INTERIOR—PRESERVATION OF THE ORIGINAL LABEL—CLOSING OF CRACKS IN UPPER TABLE.
I recollect many years back, when in company with a violinist of some note, we were talking over various details in connection with the reparation and regulation of violins of a high class, particularly those of the great masters. The fact of so many fine instruments having fractures of the same kind and in the same position was remarked as being curious, why so numerous as to form a very large majority? Well, said the professor, at one time cracks were really fashionable, and an instrument well endowed with them was thought to emit its tone more freely, especially if it had been somewhat stiff before. This might account for some, but not so many coming from all parts, I observed, from their similarity I am inclined to their being due to one principal cause, that of carelessness on the part of repairers in former times and some even of the present. It is through hurry or want of method in removing the upper table, should it be necessary. A repairer once confessed to me that he had sometimes caused these fractures in his impetuousness while going through this preliminary; his excuse was one frequently made for all sorts of bad work, clumsiness and want of judgment, that people would not pay for proper time and care being expended, and so when he cracked the front while taking it off, he glued it up again.