Chapter 24

Charles Lamb, on being asked how he distinguished his "ragged veterans" in their tattered and unlettered bindings, answered, "How does a shepherd know his sheep?" It has been observed that, "Touch becomes infinitely more exquisite in men whose employment requires them to examine the polish of bodies than it is in others. In music only the simplest and plainest compositions are relished at first; use and practice extend our pleasure--teach us to relish finer melody, and by degrees enable us to enter into the intricate and compounded pleasure of harmony." Thus it is with connoisseurship in Violins. Custom and observation, springing from a natural disposition, make prominent features and minute points of difference before unseen, resulting in a knowledge of style of which it has been well said "Every man has his own, like his own nose."

As an ardent votary of the Violin, regarded from a point of view at once artistic and curious, Count Cozio di Salabue takes precedence of all others. He was born about the time when the art of Italian Violin-making began to show signs of decadence, and having cultivated a taste for Cremonese instruments, he resolved to gratify his passion by bringing together a collection of Violins which should be representative of the work and character of each maker, and serve as models to those seeking to tread the path of the makers who made Cremona eminent as a seat of Violin manufacture. Virtuosity emanating from a spirit of beneficence is somewhat rare. When, however, utility occupies a prominent place in the thoughts of the virtuoso, he becomes a benefactor. The virtuosity of Count Cozio was of this character. His love for Cremonese instruments was neither whimsical nor transient. From the time when he secured the contents of the shop of Stradivari to the end of his life--a period of about fifty years--he appears to have exerted himself to obtain as much information as possible relative to the art, and to collect masterpieces that they might in some measure be the means of recovering a lost art. When in the year 1775 he secured ten instruments out of ninety-one which Stradivari left in his shop at the time of his death, he must surely have considered himself singularly fortunate, and the happiest of collectors.[3] That such good fortune prompted him to make fresh overtures of purchase cannot be wondered at. We learn from the correspondence of Paolo Stradivari that the Count had caused two letters to be sent by the firm of Anselmi di Briata to Paolo inquiring if he was willing to part with the tools and patterns used by his father Antonio, and that Paolo replied on May 4, 1776: "I have already told you that I have no objection to sell all those patterns, measures, and tools which I happen to have in my possession, provided that they do not remain in Cremona, and you will recollect that I have shown you all the tools I have, and also the box containing the patterns.... I place all at your disposal, and as it is simply a friendly matter" (Paolo Stradivari appears to have had large dealings in cloth and other goods with the firm of Anselmi di Briata, of Casale, a small city on the Po), "I will give you everything for twenty-eight giliati."[4] It does not appear that Paolo's correspondents were moved in their answer by any feelings of sentimentality or of friendship: on the contrary, the tone of the letter was clearly commercial, they having made an offer of twenty-three giliati less than demanded. Paolo Stradivari in his reply, dated June 4, 1776, says: "Putting ceremony aside, I write in a mercantile style. I see from your favour of the 13th ultimo (which I only received by the last courier), that you offer me five giliati for all the patterns and moulds which I happen to possess, as well as for those lent to Bergonzi, and also for the tools of the trade of my late father; but this is too little; however, to show you the desire I have to please you, and in order that not a single thing belonging to my father be left in Cremona, I will part with them for six giliati, providing that you pay them at once into the hands of Domenico Dupuy & Sons, silk stocking manufacturers. I will send you the things above-mentioned, conditionally that I keep the five giliati and use the other one to defray expenses for the case, the packing, and the custom-house duty, which will be necessary to send them, and I shall let you have back through Messrs. Dupuy, residing under the Market Arcades in Turin, any balance that should remain, or (if you like) you may pay the said Messrs. Dupuy seven giliati, and I shall then defray all the expenses, and send also the two snake-wood bows which I possess.--(Signed) PAOLO STRADIVARI."

[Footnote 3: These instruments and the tools appear to have been in the possession of Paolo from the year 1743, when Francesco died, and Paolo opened the shop in the Piazza S. Domenico as a cloth warehouse. He therefore seems to have only decided to dispose of his father's tools when he was in a feeble state of health, he having died, as already noticed, before the purchase was settled, aged 68.]

[Footnote 4: A giliati was a Tuscan gold coin bearing the arms of Florence, the value of which was 9s. 6-1/2d. Its present purchasing power would probably be three times as much, and therefore the sum asked by Paolo Stradivari would be equal to 38 pounds 12s. 10-1/2d.]

In reply to this interesting letter, Messrs. Anselmi di Briata appear to have written accepting the terms offered by Paolo Stradivari, and to have explained to him that they had been in treaty with a certain Signor Boroni, relative to the purchase of a Violin, and having come to terms they wished the instrument to be packed with the tools and moulds. Paolo, in acknowledging this communication, June 25, 1776, says: "In reply to your favour of the 10th instant, Signor Boroni will hand me over the Violin upon hearing that the money has been paid to Messrs. Dupuy. I shall then have no objection to place it in the same case together with the patterns and implements left by my father." From this and subsequent correspondence we learn that Messrs. Anselmi di Briata, being wholesale traders, were in a suitable position to act as intermediaries in the purchase of Violins on behalf of Count Cozio. Their business necessitated their visiting Cremona, and thus they appear to have seen the Violin of Signor Boroni, and also another belonging to a monk or friar named Father Ravizza, both of which were subsequently bought, as seen by the following extracts from a letter of Paolo Stradivari:--

"Cremona, July 10, 1776. We learn from Messrs. Dupuy of the receipt of the seven giliati, which you have paid on our account.... As we have already prepared everything, we shall therefore inform Father Ravizza and Signor Boroni; I have, however, to mention that I did not think I possessed so many things as I have found. It being according to what has been promised, it cannot be discussed over again.... It will be a very heavy case, on account of the quantity of patterns and tools, and consequently it will be dangerous to put the Violins in the same package." The writer refers to the two instruments before mentioned: "I fear without care they will let it fall in unloading it, and the Violins will be damaged; I inform you therefore of the fact.... You must let me know how I have to send the case. If by land, through the firm of Tabarini, of Piacenza, or to take the opportunity of sending by the Po." In passing, it may be remarked that the distance between Cremona and Casale by the river Po is about sixty miles. The later correspondence makes known the fact of the precious freight having been consigned to the firm of Anselmi di Briata by way of the Po, and that it was entrusted to the care and charge of a barge-master named Gobbi.

It is by no means uncommon to discover the memories of men kept green in our minds from causes strangely curious and unexpected. Many seek to render their names immortal by some act the nature of which would seem to be imperishable, and chiefly fail of their object; whilst others, obscure and unthought of, live on by accident. Imagine the paints and brushes, the pencils and palettes, the easel and the sketches of Raffaele having been given over to a Po barge-master, and that chance had divulged his name. Would he not in these days of microscopic biography have furnished work for the genealogist, and been made the subject of numberless pictures? Hence it is that the admirers of Stradivari cannot fail to remember the name of honest Gobbi, who carried the chest wherein were the tools with which the Raffaele of Violin-making wrought the instruments which have served to render his memory immortal.

Soon after the date of Paolo's last letter, he became seriously ill, dying on the 9th of October, 1776. The correspondence was then taken up by his son Antonio. He says in his letter dated November 21, 1776: "I shall send you the case with the patterns and tools of my late grandfather Antonio, which was packed and closed before my father was bedridden. You will find it well-arranged, with mark on it, and with red tape and seal as on the Violins already sent to you." He next refers to other patterns which he found locked up in a chest and which he believes were unknown or forgotten by his father, and offers to dispose of them, with a Viola, and concludes by promising to send the receipts, the copies of which show that the remnants of the tools and patterns were bought for three giliati.

It is unnecessary in this place to make further reference to Count Cozio as a collector, the chief information concerning him being spread over the section of Italian makers. The facsimile of one of the Count's letters here given will serve both as an interesting remembrance of him and as evidence of his keen interest in all relating to the art of which he was so distinguished a votary.

Probably the earliest collector of Italian Violins in England was William Corbett. He was a member of the King's orchestra, and having obtained permission to go abroad, went to Italy in 1710, and resided at Rome many years, where he is said to have made a rare collection of music and musical instruments. How he managed to gratify his desire in this direction seems not to have been understood by his friends, his means, in their estimation, not being equal to such an expenditure. Hence arose a report that he was employed by the Government to watch the Pretender. Corbett died at an advanced age in 1748, and bequeathed his "Gallery of Cremonys and Stainers" to the authorities of Gresham College, with a view that they should remain for inspection under certain conditions, leaving ten pounds per annum to an attendant to show the instruments. Whether the wishes of the testator were carried out in any way there is no information, but the instruments are said to have been disposed of by auction a short time after his decease.

The principal early collectors in this country were the Duke of Hamilton, the Duke of Cambridge, the Earl of Falmouth, the Duke of Marlborough, Lord Macdonald, and a few others. Later, Mr. Andrew Fountaine, of Narford Hall, Norfolk, became the owner of several fine Italian instruments, and made himself better acquainted with the subject, perhaps, than any amateur of his time. Among the Stradivari Violins which Mr. Fountaine possessed was that which he purchased from M. Habeneck, the famous professor at the Paris Conservatoire in the early part of the nineteenth century. Another very fine specimen of the late period, 1734, was also owned by him, a Violin of grand proportions in a high state of preservation, and of the richest varnish. The Guarneri Violins that he possessed were of a very high class. Among these may be mentioned a very small Violin by Giuseppe Guarneri, probably unique, which instrument was exhibited among the Cremonese Violins at the South Kensington Museum in 1872, together with another of the same size by Stradivari, and a third by the brothers Amati.

The number of rarities brought together by the late Mr. James Goding was in every respect remarkable. At one period he owned twelve Stradivari Violins, and nearly the same number by Giuseppe Guarneri, all high-class instruments. It would take up too much time and space to name the particular instruments which were comprised in this collection. The remnant of this group of Cremonese Fiddles was dispersed by Messrs. Christie and Manson in 1857. Mr. Plowden's collection was another remarkable one, consisting of eight instruments of the highest class.

The late Joseph Gillott was a collector, who, in point of number, exceeded all others. He did not confine himself solely to the works of the greatest makers, but added specimens of every age and clime; and at one time he must have had upwards of 500 instruments, the chief part of which belonged to the Italian School. When it is remembered that the vast multitude of stringed instruments disposed of by Messrs. Christie and Manson in 1872 did not amount to one-half the number originally owned by Mr. Gillott, some idea of the extent of his collection may be gained. Among the many curious instances of the love of collecting Violins, which sometimes possesses those unable to use them, perhaps that of Mr. Gillott is the most singular.

Notable collections, be they of Fiddles, medals, pottery, or pictures, have sometimes had their rise in accidents of a curious kind. Lord Northwick dated his passion for coins to a bag of brass ones, which he purchased in sport for eight pounds. His lordship ended by purchasing, in conjunction with Payne Knight, the collection of Sir Robert Ainslie, for eight thousand pounds, besides sharing with the same collector the famous Sicilian coins belonging to the Prince Torremuzza. The Gillott collection of Fiddles had its origin in a picture deal. Mr. Gillott happened to be making terms in his gallery at Edgbaston relative to an exchange of pictures with Edwin Atherstone,[5] poet and novelist, who collected both Violins and pictures. A difficulty arose in adjusting the balance, when Mr. Atherstone suggested throwing a Fiddle in as a counterpoise. "That would be to no purpose," remarked Mr. Gillott, "for I have neither knowledge of music nor of the Fiddle." "I am aware of that," rejoined his friend; "but Violins are often of extraordinary value as works of art." Mr. Gillott, becoming interested in the subject, agreed to accept the Fiddle as a make-weight, and the business was settled. A few months later the floor of his picture gallery on all sides was lined with cases, single and double, containing Violins in seemingly endless profusion. It was about the year 1848 he conceived the notion of bringing together this mammoth collection; and in about four years he had made himself master of the largest number of Italian instruments ever owned by a single individual. He suddenly relinquished the pursuit he had followed with such persistency; he disposed of a great number, and laid the remainder aside in his steel-pen works at Birmingham, where they slumbered for upwards of twenty years. The time at last arrived when this pile of Fiddles was to be dispersed. It fell to my lot to classify them, and never shall I forget the scene I witnessed. Here, amid the din of countless machines busy shaping magnum-bonums, swan-bills, and divers other writing implements, I was about to feast my eyes on some of the choicest works of the old Italian Fiddle-makers. Passing through offices, warehouses, and workshops, I found myself at a door which my conductor set himself to unlock--an act not often performed, I felt assured, from the sound which accompanied his deed. To adequately describe what met my eyes when the door swung back on its hinges, is beyond my powers of description. Fiddles here!--Fiddles there!--Fiddles everywhere, in wild disorder! I interrogated my friend as to the cause of their being in such an unseemly condition, and received answer that he had instructions to remove most of the instruments from their cases and arrange them, that I might better judge of their merits. I was at a loss to understand what he meant by arranging, for a more complete disarrangement could not have been effected. Not wishing to appear unmindful of the kindly intentions of my would-be assistant, I thanked him, inwardly wishing that this disentombment had been left entirely to me. The scene was altogether so peculiar and unexpected as to be quite bewildering. In the centre of the room was a large warehouse table, upon which were placed in pyramids upwards of seventy Violins and Tenors, stringless, bridgeless, unglued, and enveloped in the fine dust which had crept through the crevices of the cardboard sarcophagi in which they had rested for the previous quarter of a century. On the floor lay the bows. The scene might not inappropriately be compared to a post-mortem examination on an extended scale. When left alone I began to collect my thoughts as to the best mode of conducting my inquiry. After due consideration I attacked pyramid No. 1, from which I saw a head protruding which augured well for the body, and led me to think it belonged to the higher walks of Fiddle-life. With considerate care I withdrew it from the heap, and gently rubbed the dust off here and there, that I might judge of its breeding. It needed but little rubbing to make known its character; it was a Viola by Giuseppe Guarneri, filius Andreae, a charming specimen (now in the ownership of the Earl of Harrington). Laying it aside, I pulled out from the pile several others belonging to the same class. Being too eager to learn of what the real merits of this huge pile of Fiddles consisted, I rapidly passed from one to the other without close scrutiny, leaving that for an after pleasure. So entirely fresh were these instruments to me, that the delight I experienced in thus digging them out may well be understood by the connoisseur. After thus wading through those resting on the table, I discovered some shelves, upon which were a number of cases, which I opened. Here were fine Cremonese instruments in company with raw copies--as curious a mixture of good and indifferent as could be well conceived. Not observing any Violoncellos, when my attendant presented himself I inquired if there were not some in the collection. I was unable to make him understand to what I referred for some little time, but when I called them big Fiddles, he readily understood. He had some faint idea of having seen something of the kind on the premises, and started off to make inquiry. Upon his return, I was conducted to an under warehouse, the contents of which were of a varied character. Here were stored unused lathes, statuary, antique pianos, parts of machinery, pictures, and picture-frames. At the end of this long room stood, in stately form, the "big Fiddles," about fifty in number--five rows, consequently ten deep. They looked in their cases like a detachment of infantry awaiting the word of command. Years had passed by since they had been called upon to take active service of a pacific and humanising nature in the ranks of the orchestra. Had they the power of speech, what tales of heroism might they have furnished of the part they played at the "Fall of Babylon" and the "Siege of Corinth," aye! and "Wellington's Victory" (Beethoven, Op. 91). A more curious mixture of art and mechanism could not easily be found than that which the contents of this room exhibited. With what delight did I proceed to open these long-closed cases! The character of the Violins naturally led me to anticipate much artistic worth in the Violoncellos, and I had not judged erroneously. Bergonzi, Amati, Andrea Guarneri, Cappa, Grancino, Testore, Landolfi, and men of less note, were all well represented in this army of big Fiddles. Having glanced at the merits and demerits of these instruments, I observed to my conductor that I imagined I had seen all. "No," he answered; "I was about to mention that there are a few Violins at Mr. Gillott's residence, and perhaps we had better go there at once." I readily assented, and in due time reached Edgbaston. There seemed no doubt as to the whereabouts of these instruments, and I was at once ushered into the late Mr. Gillott's _bedroom_. Pointing to a long mahogany glazed case occupying one side of the chamber, the attendant gave me to understand I should there find the Violins. At once I commenced operations. Pushing aside the first sliding door, I saw a row of those cardboard cases made to hold the Violin only, which many of my readers will doubtless remember seeing at the time of the sale at Messrs. Christie's. By this time it may readily be imagined that an idea had taken possession of my mind, that I had not, after all, seen the best portion of the collection. The circumstance of Violins being deposited in the sleeping apartment of their owner was sufficient to give birth to this conjecture. Upon removing the lid of the first cardboard case, my eyes rested on a charming Stradivari of the Amati period, a gem of its kind. Gently laying it on the table, that I might examine it later, I opened the next case. Here rested a magnificent Giuseppe Guarneri, the instrument afterwards bought by Lord Dunmore, date 1732. Pursuing my delightful occupation, I opened another case, the contents of which put the rest completely in the shade--here rested the Stradivari, date 1715, the gem of the collection. Unable to restrain my curiosity, I rapidly opened sixteen cases in all, from which I took out six Stradivari, two Guarneri, one Bergonzi, two Amati, and five other Violins of a high class.

[Footnote 5: Edwin Atherstone, born 1788, died 1872; was the author of "The Fall of Nineveh" and "The Last Days of Herculaneum," two poems in blank verse, and of a novel, "The Sea Kings of England," of which Sir Walter Scott wrote approvingly.]

It was observed at the time of the sale of this remarkable collection, which took place shortly after the dispersion of Mr. Gillott's gallery of pictures, that "Every well-ordered display of fireworks should have its climax of luminous and detonating splendour, throwing into shade all the preliminary squibs, crackers, and rockets, the Catherine wheels, the Roman candles, and the golden rain. The French, with modest propriety, term this consummation a _bouquet_." I cannot find anything more applicable than this word to the scene I have attempted to describe. It only remains for me to say, in reference to this array of Fiddles, that I passed a week in their company, and a more enjoyable one I have never had during my professional career.

Dr. Johnson, who understood neither Fiddling nor painting, who collected neither coins nor cockle-shells, maggots nor butterflies, was clearly of the same opinion as the author of "Tristram Shandy," that there is no disputing against hobby-horses. He says: "The pride or the pleasure of making collections, if it be restrained by prudence and morality, produces a pleasing remission after more laborious studies; furnishes an amusement, not wholly unprofitable, for that part of life, the greater part of many lives, which would otherwise be lost in idleness or vice; it produces a useful traffic between the industry of indigence and the curiosity of wealth, and brings many things to notice that would be neglected."

SECTION XIV Sketch of the Progress of the Violin