Chapter I: Anomalous Position of the Violin

It would be difficult to present the subject of tone in a manner calculated to inspire both appreciation and confidence without first making an effort to rescue the violin from its present position of uncertainty, and the player from influences detrimental to an impartial judgment of the instrument as a tone-producing medium. This position has been forced upon the violin gradually; has become more menacing with the passing years; and is due to the addition of an interest which it did not originally possess, and which has finally become so paramount that tone, when considered at all, actually plays second fiddle in a dual value. The violin may still be the “King” of instruments, but this added interest has made it of even greater value as a curiosity. Thus has its position come to be extraordinary and without counterpart in the world of art.

This dual interest is, of course, well known. When associated with certain special instruments it is harmless enough. But what is not fully appreciated by players is the pernicious influence this world-wide curio interest exercises over _all_ violins when the attempt is made to value them from a purely tonal point of view.

Mr. Hart says in his book, “The Violin, Famous Makers and their Imitators:” “In those days when the old Brescian and Cremonese makers flourished, the only consideration was the tone-producing qualities of their instruments; the violin had not then taken its place among curiosities.” So, then, tone was once the only value considered, presumably because the instrument was originally made to satisfy the requirements of players, and not the curiosity-hunting instinct of collectors. And the player’s interest in tone has never wavered. It still overshadows every other consideration, and is the object of constant search. Tone being the player’s elementary necessity, the desire for tone has always eclipsed interest in the merely curious. But being a curiosity, the old violin with the finest tone is placed practically beyond the player’s reach, and this has made the pursuit of even good tone, in all old violins, an uncertain and financially hazardous enterprise.

Let us now explain how this curio value originated; how it advanced; the mighty interests surrounding it; how it usurped the position of tone; and how it has come about that the old violin is valued, bought, and sold entirely regardless of its tonal capacity.

Between the years 1550 and 1875 there worked in Italy and elsewhere some seven hundred makers of violins and kindred instruments who were sufficiently well known to warrant the inclusion of their names in modern books of reference. As a large number of existing old fiddles are by unknown makers; as no amount of research will unearth all who made violins during that period, it is safe to add as many more as would make the total nine hundred. Among these nine hundred makers two take the first rank, closely followed by three or four who take second place, and a dozen or so who occupy the third position as creators of really great tone in the violin. Let us say the total is twenty, and we shall then have eight hundred and eighty violin makers of olden times who simply “made fiddles.” Upon the violins turned out by the twenty who rank as “Old Masters;” whose instruments, and especially choice specimens of them, were always few in number when compared with the productions of their more numerous confrères, and are to-day almost priceless; upon these violins was founded a cult, pioneered by one Luigi Tarisio in the early years of the last century. Tarisio was a carpenter by trade; never made a violin, and could play the instrument but indifferently. In due time, however, he began the collection and sale of violins by the famous old makers of Italy and became the chief instrument in spreading the cult over France and England. Originally founded upon the great master violins, first one and then another of the lesser known makers has been embraced, until now all old fiddles of every country are included, whether the maker be known or not, and regardless of whether the instrument has anything other than age to recommend it. This cult is scarcely distinguishable from any other cult, whether of furniture, pottery, or stamps. It differs only in the object upon which it is founded. It has its experts, dealers, collectors, and its host of followers. It is due to the scarcity of fine old master violins that the more plentiful supply of minor old fiddles, many of which are tonally worthless, is so diligently exploited. Without them the cult could not now be kept alive for a single day.

Among experts, dealers and collectors--but not among players--there has always existed a tendency to deal with the old violin more as a curio than as a musical instrument, and this tendency has brought it perilously near the status of old furniture, the value being centred in the object rather than in any tone merit which the object may possess. This view of the commoner old fiddle, so widely held by dealers of the present day, is due to the fact that the really fine toned old master violins, upon which the cult was founded, did possess some rare type of tone which, with much confidence upon the part of everybody concerned, could be taken for granted, and there was no need, even if an expert could be found capable enough, to pass any judgment upon its tone-value. In most cases the tone was there. It was absent only when visible evidence in the form of cracks, etc., indicated otherwise. It was sufficient to secure the object and tone of the right sort followed as a matter of course. Here, then, the expert acted not without reason in basing value upon what could be seen rather than upon what could be heard.

Therefore, when the violins of the masters were succeeded, for the purpose of trade, by those of lesser tonal worth, it was but natural that this method of valuation should be extended to these fiddles. It was the time-honoured custom, and remains to this day the only system of valuation in existence. It had always satisfied the collectors, for whom it was invented, and who collect for reasons other than tone because, in many instances, they could not play the violin at all. The great players accepted this toneless method of valuation with some show of reason. They were thoroughly competent judges of tone; could select their ideal from the works of the masters with unerring accuracy and, if they paid a high price for curio value, it was to secure what was of much greater importance to them, tone value. But how about the more numerous section of tone lovers: the aspiring young artists, the leaders of orchestras, the ambitious students, and the amateur soloists? To these tone is of importance, to say the least. Many a promising career is jeopardised through the lack of it, and progress in a difficult study retarded for the same reason. A poor toned violin will bind the soloist to a commonplace voice, and may even set up for the beginner a false standard as an ideal of tone. It is this great body of players who are obliged, under existing circumstances, to place their tonal wants at the mercy of a system not intended to cater for their needs, but to the needs of the curio-hunter. Let us now explain this method of valuation more fully in order that the violin player may see exactly where he stands in relation to a system under which he is, perforce, obliged to secure his tone.