The address is readily given, and the instrument duly taken round to our chief and his assistant. The statement having been made as to recommendation, after an inspection of the very nice restoration of his friend's violin, the new-comer takes out his violin from its case and places it before the chief, who turns it over and over, looking at each fraction of an inch without seeing much the matter with it.
The owner at last breaks in with the remark that a violin maker residing where he lately came from had told him that the instrument would never go properly unless the back was re-lined—that was perhaps the term used.
The chief then rejoins: "I think the repairer was very likely hitting the mark when he said that; this is one of those old violins of the Brescian school, which are often too thin in the back for modern usage, and there is no other resource but that of lining—or veneering, some would call it—the back. If you like I will open it, and ascertain whether it is so with this instrument."
Consent is given, and the chief goes to the back of his premises, and returns with a much-worn table knife. Sitting calmly down before the new arrival, and resting the instrument face downwards on his lap, he proceeds with sundry slow but strong thrusts of the knife round the junction of the ribs with the upper table; the cracking sounds emitted as the knife gradually works its way along are rather trying to the owner, who, however, has confidence in the reputation of the master-hand at the kind of work. After a little extra pushing here and there, and lifting gently to ascertain whether the parting is complete, the upper table is at last lifted quite clear of the rest.
The owner at once asks, "Is the back in a very bad state?" "Well," is the reply, "it is in such a dirty condition that it is not possible to tell.—Here, James, bring me that water and sponge!" These being at once brought, with a cloth in addition, the chief at once begins bathing the inside, giving a heavier rub in different parts, as some appearances suggest the extra treatment.
At last, after some few minutes of this application, the cloth is applied, and the interior assumes a cleaner aspect.
"Never being cleaned out since it was made, I should think," is the observation, "excepting once," he adds, as his practised eye lights on a small, but thick stud resting over a small crack at one side, "and that was a very long time ago, possibly a hundred and fifty years." "Does it require the 'lining'—I think that is what it was called?" "Yes, it will be so much better for it, almost necessary."
The owner soon after departs, and the chief and his assistant proceed to work upon the violin. In general condition it happens to be very good, the one opening referred to being the time at which the modern bar had been attached in place of the very old and small-sized one. The fingerboard being old is easily removed by a sudden pull or jerk. After further cleaning with the aid of a hog-hair brush, this being adapted for getting more completely into the corners, both parts of the violin—they have both had a cleaning and looks more wholesome—are placed aside to dry.
When this has taken place to the satisfaction of both master and man, the back is rubbed over with an oiled rag, the object of this being to prevent the mould now to be taken from sticking to it.
Some good plaster of Paris is mixed, and a sufficient quantity placed on it till a coating an inch and a half in thickness is produced; this amount is necessary owing to the tendency to get out of form or warp if too thin, failures having often resulted therefrom.