The mystery of the violins made by the great master Stradivari has haunted several generations of researchers from around the world for three hundred years. And finally, scientists were able to penetrate the ancient secret. Danish experts managed to determine the reason for the wonderful unique sound of the instruments made by Antonio Stradivari. They believe that the uniqueness of the master's violins and their main secret is contained in the wood that Antonio Stradivari used to create his masterpieces. To conduct the study, Danish scientists used a modern scanning medical x-ray unit. The results obtained showed that the density of wood used to make Stradivari violins is much higher than the density of wood used to make modern instruments. According to experts, the seventeenth-century trees used to make violins grew in different climatic conditions than today. It must be said that this is far from the first theory that explains the secret of the violins of the talented Italian master Antonio Stradivari. Last year, the well-known journal Nature published an article about a biochemist who practices at the University of Texas Mechanics and Agriculture, one Joseph Negivari. According to the biochemist, the uniqueness of the sound of violins is due to the preliminary chemical treatment that the wood was subjected to before use. Joseph Negivari came to these conclusions after a detailed analysis of shavings from seventeenth-century violins made by Stradivari and his colleague Guarneri. Their chemical composition was different from that of the wood used in later times. An analysis using NMR and an infrared spectrometer showed that the Stradivari violins, as well as Guarneri, are made of wood, the molecules of which are split. This is possible only if the process of hydrolysis or oxidation has taken place. Joseph Negivari believes that the great master Stradivari boiled violin blanks in a complex chemical solution. And, most likely, this was originally done in order to combat fungi and tree beetles, which, at that time, caused a whole epidemic in southern Europe. What was the composition of the solution used, now one can only guess, one thing is known for sure - it protected one hundred percent from fungi and other pests. A side effect of this kind of processing was the amazing sound of the instruments. This is due to the fact that the tree, after processing, became stronger, but at the same time, lighter, which gave additional sonority. A violin made from such wood only improves its acoustic qualities over the years. But the professor of the St. Petersburg Conservatory, Semyon Bokman, is sure that it is stupid and unscientific to explain the secret of the instrument by a banal fight against worms. After all, the young Antonio Stradivari, then still a student of Amati, made his first violin in 1667. But it took several more decades to find their own model. These were years of research and creative experimentation. Only after 1700 did his violins acquire their unique look and sound, which we still admire today. The Stradivarius violin, to which the master dedicated thirty years of daily hard work to perfect, remains unsurpassed to this day. The instrument has an amazing timbre and amazing “range”, which allows you to fill any huge hall with sound. The violin has an elongated shape, and inside the body contains many irregularities and kinks, which enriches the sound with the appearance of high overtones. The soaring, enchanting sound of the instruments of the great genius could not be reproduced by either ancient or modern masters.
(1644 )Antonio the Great Stradivarius(ital. Antonio Stradivari, or Stradivarius lat. Antonius Stradivarius; (1644 ) , Cremona - December 18, Cremona) - the famous master of string instruments, a student of Nicolo Amati. About 720 instruments of his work have been preserved.
Biography
It is believed that Antonio Stradivari was born in 1644, although the exact date of his birth is not recorded. He was born in Cremona. His parents were Alessandro Stradivari (Italian Alessandro Stradivari) and Anna Moroni (Italian Anna Moroni). It is believed that from 1679 to 1679 he served as an unpaid student with Nicolò Amati, that is, he did rough work.
In addition to violins, Stradivari also made guitars, violas, cellos, and at least one harp—more than 1,100 instruments are currently estimated.
Music
- 2015 - "Stradivari Violin", Basta.
Cinema
see also
Famous string instrument makers- Nicolo Amati (1596-1684) - Italy
- Andrea Guarneri (1626-1698) - Italy
- Nicola Lupo (1758-1824) - France
Write a review on the article "Stradivari, Antonio"
Notes
Links
An excerpt characterizing Stradivari, Antonio
“You’ll warm your back, but your belly will freeze.” Here is a miracle.- Oh my God!
- Why are you pushing - about you alone fire, or what? You see... collapsed.
From behind the silence that was being established, the snoring of some of the sleepers was heard; the rest turned and warmed themselves, occasionally speaking. A friendly, cheerful laughter was heard from a distant, about a hundred paces, fire.
“Look, they’re rattling in the fifth company,” said one soldier. - And the people that - passion!
One soldier got up and went to the fifth company.
“That’s laughter,” he said, returning. “Two keepers have landed. One is frozen at all, and the other is so courageous, byada! Songs are playing.
- Oh oh? go see…” Several soldiers moved towards the fifth company.
The fifth company stood near the forest itself. A huge fire burned brightly in the middle of the snow, illuminating the branches of trees weighed down with frost.
In the middle of the night, the soldiers of the fifth company heard footsteps in the forest in the snow and the squawking of branches.
“Guys, witch,” said one soldier. Everyone raised their heads, listened, and out of the forest, into the bright light of the fire, stepped out two, holding each other, human, strangely dressed figures.
They were two Frenchmen hiding in the forest. Hoarsely saying something in a language incomprehensible to the soldiers, they approached the fire. One was taller, wearing an officer's hat, and seemed quite weak. Approaching the fire, he wanted to sit down, but fell to the ground. Another, small, stocky, soldier tied with a handkerchief around his cheeks, was stronger. He raised his comrade and, pointing to his mouth, said something. The soldiers surrounded the French, laid out an overcoat for the sick man, and brought both porridge and vodka.
The weakened French officer was Rambal; tied with a handkerchief was his batman Morel.
When Morel drank vodka and finished the bowl of porridge, he suddenly became painfully amused and began to say something to the soldiers who did not understand him. Rambal refused to eat and silently lay on his elbow by the fire, looking with meaningless red eyes at the Russian soldiers. From time to time he let out a long groan and fell silent again. Morel, pointing to his shoulders, inspired the soldiers that it was an officer and that he needed to be warmed up. A Russian officer, approaching the fire, sent to ask the colonel if he would take a French officer to warm him up; and when they returned and said that the colonel had ordered the officer to be brought in, Rambal was told to go. He got up and wanted to go, but staggered and would have fallen if a soldier standing nearby had not supported him.
- What? You will not? one soldier said with a mocking wink, addressing Rambal.
- Hey, fool! What a lie! That is a peasant, really, a peasant, - reproaches were heard from different sides to the joking soldier. They surrounded Rambal, lifted the two in their arms, intercepted by them, and carried them to the hut. Rambal hugged the necks of the soldiers and, when they carried him, spoke plaintively:
– Oh, nies braves, oh, mes bons, mes bons amis! Voila des hommes! oh, mes braves, mes bons amis! [Oh well done! O my good, good friends! Here are the people! O my good friends!] - and, like a child, he bowed his head on the shoulder of one soldier.
Meanwhile, Morel sat in the best place, surrounded by soldiers.
Morel, a small stocky Frenchman, with inflamed, watery eyes, tied around with a woman's handkerchief over his cap, was dressed in a woman's fur coat. He, apparently drunk, put his arm around the soldier who was sitting beside him, and sang a French song in a hoarse, broken voice. The soldiers held their sides, looking at him.
- Come on, come on, teach me how? I will pass quickly. How? .. - said the joker songwriter, whom Morel was embracing.
Vive Henri Quatre,
Vive ce roi vaillanti -
[Long live Henry the Fourth!
Long live this brave king!
etc. (French song)]
sang Morel, winking his eye.
Ce diable a quatre…
- Vivarika! Wif seruvaru! sidblyaka…” the soldier repeated, waving his hand and really catching the tune.
- Look, smart! Go ho ho ho! .. - coarse, joyful laughter rose from different sides. Morel, grimacing, laughed too.
- Well, go ahead, go on!
Qui eut le triple talent,
De boire, de battre,
Et d "etre un vert galant ...
[Having a triple talent,
drink, fight
and be kind...]
- But it's also difficult. Well, well, Zaletaev! ..
“Kyu…” Zaletaev said with an effort. “Kyu yu yu…” he drew out, diligently protruding his lips, “letriptala, de bu de ba and detravagala,” he sang.
- Oh, it's important! That's so guardian! oh… ho ho ho! “Well, do you still want to eat?”
- Give him some porridge; after all, it will not soon eat up from hunger.
Again he was given porridge; and Morel, chuckling, set to work on the third bowler hat. Joyful smiles stood on all the faces of the young soldiers who looked at Morel. The old soldiers, who considered it indecent to engage in such trifles, lay on the other side of the fire, but occasionally, rising on their elbows, looked at Morel with a smile.
“People too,” said one of them, dodging in his overcoat. - And the wormwood grows on its root.
– Oo! Lord, Lord! How stellar, passion! To frost ... - And everything calmed down.
The stars, as if knowing that now no one would see them, played out in the black sky. Now flashing, now fading, now shuddering, they busily whispered among themselves about something joyful, but mysterious.
X
The French troops were gradually melting away in a mathematically correct progression. And that crossing over the Berezina, about which so much has been written, was only one of the intermediate steps in the destruction of the French army, and not at all the decisive episode of the campaign. If so much has been written and written about the Berezina, then on the part of the French this happened only because on the Berezinsky broken bridge, the disasters that the French army had previously suffered evenly, suddenly grouped here at one moment and into one tragic spectacle, which everyone remembered. On the part of the Russians, they talked and wrote so much about the Berezina only because far from the theater of war, in St. Petersburg, a plan was drawn up (by Pfuel) to capture Napoleon in a strategic trap on the Berezina River. Everyone was convinced that everything would actually be exactly as planned, and therefore they insisted that it was the Berezinsky crossing that killed the French. In essence, the results of the Berezinsky crossing were much less disastrous for the French in the loss of guns and prisoners than the Red, as the figures show.
The great master Antonio Stradivari devoted his whole life to the manufacture and improvement of musical instruments, which glorified his name forever. Experts note the constant desire of the master to endow his instruments with powerful sound and richness of timbre. Entrepreneurial businessmen, aware of the high price of Stradivarius violins, with enviable regularity offer to buy fakes from them ...
All Stradivari's violins were methylated in the same way. His hallmark is the initials A.S. and a Maltese cross placed in a double circle. The authenticity of the violins can only be confirmed by a very experienced expert.
Some facts from the biography of Stradivari
The place and exact date of birth of the notorious Italian violinist-master Antonio Stradivari have not been precisely established. The estimated years of his life are from 1644 to 1737. The mark "1666, Cremona" on one of the master's violins gives reason to say that this year he lived in Cremona and was a student of Nicolò Amati.
The heart of the brilliant Antonio Stradivari stopped on December 18, 1737. Presumably, he could live from 89 to 94 years, creating about 1100 violins, cellos, double basses, guitars and violas. Once he even made a harp.
Why is the exact year of the master's birth unknown? The fact is that plague reigned in Europe in the 17th century. The danger of infection forced Antonio's parents to take refuge in the ancestral village. This saved the family. It is also unknown why, at the age of 18, Stradivari turned to Nicolo Amati, a violin maker. Perhaps the heart told? Amati immediately saw in him a brilliant student and took him to his apprentice.
Antonio began his working life as a handyman. Then he was entrusted with work on filigree wood processing, work with varnish and glue. So the student gradually learned the secrets of mastery.
Not much information has been preserved about the life of the great master, because at first he was of little interest to chroniclers - Stradivari did not stand out among other Cremonese masters. And yes, he was a reserved person. Only later, when he became famous as a "super-Stradivari", his life began to acquire legends. But it is known for sure: the genius was an incredible workaholic. He made instruments until his death at the age of 90…
It is believed that in total Antonio Stradivari created about 1100 instruments, including violins. The maestro was amazingly productive: he produced 25 violins a year. For comparison: a modern, actively working craftsman who makes violins by hand produces only 3-4 instruments annually. But only 630 or 650 instruments of the great master have survived to this day, the exact number is unknown. Most of them are violins.
What is the secret of Stradivari violins?
Modern violins are created using the most advanced technologies and achievements of physics - but the sound is still not the same! For three hundred years there have been disputes about the mysterious "secret of Stradivari", and each time scientists put forward more and more fantastic versions. According to one theory, Stradivari's know-how is that he possessed a certain magical secret of violin varnish, which gave his products a special sound. Legends say that the master learned this secret in one of the pharmacies and improved the recipe by adding insect wings and dust from the floor of his own workshop to the varnish.
Another legend says that the Cremonese master prepared his mixtures from the resins of trees that grew in those days in the Tyrolean forests and were soon completely cut down.
Scientists do not stop trying to understand what is the reason for the pure unique sonority of Stradivarius violins. Professor Joseph Nagivari (USA) claims that maple, used by famous violin makers of the 18th century, was subjected to chemical treatment in order to preserve the wood. This influenced the strength and warmth of the sound of the instruments. He wondered: could the treatment against fungi and insects cause such purity and brightness of the sound of the unique Cremonese instruments?
Using nuclear magnetic resonance and infrared spectroscopy, he analyzed wood samples from five instruments. Nagiwari argues that if the effect of the chemical process is proven, it will be possible to change the modern technology of making violins. Violins will sound worth a million dollars, and restorers will ensure the best preservation of antique instruments.
The lacquer that covered Stradivari instruments was once analyzed. It turned out that its composition contains nanoscale structures. It turns out that even three centuries ago, violin makers relied on nanotechnology? An interesting experiment was carried out. They compared the sound of a Stradivarius violin and a violin made by Professor Nagivari. 600 listeners, including 160 musicians, assessed the tone and power of the sound on a 10-point scale. As a result, the Nagiwari violin received higher marks.
However, there were other studies, during which they found out that the varnish used by Stradivari was no different from what was used in that era by furniture makers. Many violins were generally re-lacquered during restoration in the 19th century. There was even a madman who decided on a sacrilegious experiment - to completely wash off the varnish from one of the Stradivari violins. And what? The violin didn't sound worse.
In turn, violin makers and musicians also do not recognize that the magic of the sound of their instruments is due to chemistry. And as proof of their opinion, the results of another scientific study testify. So, scientists at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology proved that the special "powerful" sound of Antonio Stradivari's violins was caused by an accidental error during the production of these instruments.
According to The Daily Mail, the researchers realized that such an unusual deep sound of the violins of the world-famous Italian master was caused by F-shaped holes - effs. Through the analysis of many other Stradivari instruments, scientists concluded that this form was originally reproduced by mistake. One of the researchers, Nicholas Makris, shared his own opinion: “You are cutting on a thin tree and you cannot avoid imperfection. The shape of the holes in Stradivari violins deviates from the traditional for the 17th-18th centuries by 2%, but this does not look like a mistake, but an evolution.”
There is also an opinion that none of the masters put as much work and soul into their work as Stradivari. The halo of mystery gives the products of the Cremonese master an additional charm. But pragmatic scientists do not believe in the illusions of lyricists and have long dreamed of dividing the magic of enchanting violin sounds into physical parameters. In any case, there is definitely no shortage of enthusiasts. We can only wait for the moment when physicists reach the wisdom of the lyricists. Or vice versa…
They say that in the world every two weeks someone “discovers” the secret of Antonio Stradivari. But in fact, for 300 years, the secret of the greatest master has not been unraveled. Only his violins sing like angels. Modern science and the latest technology have not been able to achieve what for the Cremonese genius was just a craft.
Click " Like» and get the best posts on Facebook!
, made in 1700, with an expert estimate from a million toone and a half million dollars , according to the official website of "Christie". The violin is exhibited under the name "Penny" (The Penny) in honor of its last owner - British pianist and violinist Barbara Penny, who died in 2007. Penny entered her name in the world musical culture by becoming the first woman in the string group of the London Royal Philharmonic Orchestra.The most famous violin maker in the world, Antonio Stradivari, was born in 1644 in Cremona. It is known that already at the age of thirteen he began to play the violin. By 1667, he had completed his apprenticeship with the renowned bow maker Andrea Amati.
Stradivarius made his first violin in 1666, but for more than 30 years he was looking for his own model. Only in the early 1700s did the master construct his own, still unsurpassed, violin. It was elongated in shape and had kinks and irregularities inside the body, due to which the sound was enriched due to the appearance of a large number of high overtones. From that time on, Antonio no longer made fundamental deviations from the developed model, but experimented until the end of his long life. Stradivari died in 1737, but his violins are still highly valued, they practically do not age and do not change their "voice".
During his life, Antonio Stradivari made about 2,500 instruments, of which 732 are indisputably authentic (including 632 violins, 63 cellos and 19 violas). In addition to bow strings, he also made one harp and two guitars.
It is generally accepted that his finest instruments were made between 1698 and 1725 (and the finest in 1715). They are especially rare and therefore highly valued by musicians and collectors alike.
Many Stradivari instruments are in rich private collections. There are about two dozen Stradivari violins in Russia: several violins are in the State Collection of Musical Instruments, one is in the Glinka Museum (where it was donated by the widow of David Oistrakh, who in turn received it as a gift from the English Queen Elizabeth) and a few more - in a private ownership.
Scientists and musicians around the world are trying to unravel the mystery of the creation of Stradivari violins. Even during his lifetime, the masters said that he had sold his soul to the devil, they even said that the wood from which some of the most famous violins were made was fragments of Noah's ark. There is an opinion that Stradivari violins are so good because a real instrument begins to sound really good only after two or three hundred years.
Many scientists have conducted hundreds of studies of violins using the latest technology, but they have not yet been able to unravel the secret of Stradivari violins. It is known that the master soaked wood in sea water and exposed it to complex chemical compounds of plant origin.
At one time, it was believed that the secret of Stradivari was in the form of an instrument, later they began to attach great importance to the material, which is constant for Stradivari violins: spruce for the upper deck, maple for the bottom. They even thought that the whole thing was in varnishes; the elastic lacquer covering the Stradivari violins (due to its soft consistency, small dents and scratches on the surface are quickly healed) allows the soundboards to resonate and "breathe". This gives the timbre its characteristic "surround" sound.
According to legend, the Cremonese masters prepared their mixtures from the resins of some trees that grew in those days in the Tyrolean forests and were soon completely cut down. The exact composition of those varnishes has not been established to this day - even the most sophisticated chemical analysis turned out to be powerless here.
In 2001, biochemist Joseph Nigivare of the University of Texas announced that he had solved the secret of Stradivarius. The scientist came to the conclusion that the special sound of bowed strings was the result of the master's efforts to protect them from the woodworm. Nigivara found out that during the creation of the violin maker, wooden blanks were often struck by a wood borer, and Stradivari resorted to a storm to protect unique musical instruments. This substance, as it were, soldered the molecules of the tree, changing the overall sound of the violin. When Stradivarius died, the wood-borer was already defeated in Northern Italy, and subsequently the borax was no longer used to protect the tree. Thus, according to Nigiwara, the master took the secret with him to the grave.
Having gone through many professions, he experienced failure everywhere. He wanted to become a sculptor, like Michelangelo, the lines of his statues were graceful, but his faces were not expressive. He abandoned this craft, earned his bread by carving wood, making wooden ornaments for rich furniture, and became addicted to drawing; with the greatest suffering he studied the ornamentation of doors and wall paintings of cathedrals and the drawings of the great masters. Then he was attracted to music, and he decided to become a musician. Stubbornly studied violin playing; but the fingers lacked fluency and lightness, and the sound of the violin was muffled and harsh. They said about him: "The ear of a musician, the hands of a carver." And he gave up the profession of a musician. But, having abandoned it, I did not forget it.
Master Antonio Stradivari was born in 1644! The story will take you more than 300 years ago and more than two thousand kilometers to the west, to the Italian city of Cremona. And you will meet a wonderful person who turned the craft of a master making musical instruments into a genuine, high art.
Time - 1720. Location - Northern Italy. City - Cremona. Square of St. Dominica. Early morning. The streets are still deserted and the window shutters are closed. Merchants open the doors of their shops filled with various goods: lace, multi-colored glass, mosaics. There are few passersby - women in colorful shawls with large baskets in their hands, singing carelessly, water carriers with copper buckets, apprentices hurriedly going to work. On the roof of a long, narrow three-story house, on an open flat terrace, brightly lit by the sun, a tall, thin old man in a white leather apron and a master's white cap had already appeared. And early passers-by bow to him and greet him loudly: - Buon giorno, signore Antonio! He has served them as a clock, accurate and not lagging behind for fifty years. If master Antonio had not appeared on the terrace of this house at six o'clock along with the sun, this would mean: either time has changed in Cremona, or master Antonio Stradivari is ill. And he nods back at them; his bow is important and condescending, because he is rich and old. This small terrace on the roof of the house, called in Cremona seccadour, is his favorite place of work. Here he finishes, varnishes and dries his instruments. In the corner there is a sliding ladder to descend into a hatch arranged in the floor, where the selected, tried and tested wood is stored. Narrow, long strips of parchment are stretched along the log wall of the terrace. Glittering lacquered violins hang here. Their sides are basking in the sun. In neighboring houses, on exactly the same terraces, linen and fruits are dried - golden oranges, oranges, lemons, and on this terrace, instead of fruits, violins are dried in the sun. The master believes in the sun. When the sun pours over the shiny dark wood of his violins, it seems to him that his violins are ripening. He works intently for an hour or two, then goes down to the first floor; there is his workshop and laboratory. They knock. In the doorway stands a fat man in a respectful pose. Seeing him, the master suddenly takes off, grabs a wooden block lying on the workbench along the way, and with unexpected ease and speed jumps up to the guest.
What did you send me?!
The fat man backs off.
The master is angry, and his importance is gone.
He brings a bar to the very nose of the fat man.
Feel, - he says, - yes, yes, signor, feel, - he repeats, because the fat man evades. And with long thin fingers he grabs the fat man's hand and points at the tree. And triumphantly looks: - After all, it is hard as iron, it can only creak, you will soon begin to send me a tree with stains and knots.
The fat man is silent and waiting.
You probably got the wrong address, - the old man grumbles, falling silent, - you wanted to send this tree to the undertaker, because this tree is truly for a coffin, this tree grew in a swamp, and then you probably roasted it on the fire, like roasting chestnuts.
And he suddenly calms down.
Where are the other samples?
The fat supplier is not very embarrassed, he has been supplying wood to the master for many years and knows his character. He shows new samples.
This is a rare tree. It's from Turkey.
How did you get it?
Here the fat man makes a significant expression and winks at the master. His face this time is completely picaresque.
A shipwreck ... - he whispers - and as soon as I saw this tree, I bought it without bargaining, because I know, Signor Antonio, what kind of tree you need.
Do you still catch this fish? - the master asks, as if contemptuously, but at the same time with curiosity.
The fat man smiles shyly and rolls his eyes.
Oh, sir, if you would like to see what pearls the sea gave up this time!
I don't need pearls, - says Stradivari calmly.
There are stories about his wealth in Cremona, and he is stingy, suspicious and does not like to be considered rich.
Stradivari sits down at the table and begins to stare at the tree.
He measures, feels to the touch the distance and convexity of annual stratifications, follows the thin lines of wood with his eye, takes a magnifying glass and examines a small woody pattern. Then he cracks the tree with a fingernail, hard as a spatula, with the fingernail of a craftsman and immediately quickly brings it to his ear, whittles it and again brings it to his ear, carefully tapping on the edges. Precisely trying to get the tree to speak.
Then he goes to the next room.
A heavy, felted door. The only high window is hung with a dark cloth. There are bottles on the tables and shelves, transparent amber, yellow, red... There is a thick and pungent smell of mastic, sandarak and turpentine. Small bulbs are burning, retorts and flasks are heating up. Separately on the table are scales of various sizes, from medium to small, there are compasses, knives, saws, saws, ranging from coarse to small needle-shaped ones.
Tables of calculations and measurements hang on the walls. Not a single picture, although the master loves painting. The paintings hang in the living rooms of the master. There, after work, his eyes will rest on clear, calm lines and soft colors. Here is the working hour. He is strict even to himself, In front of him on the table are some hasty marks, words, crooked lines. Access to this room is closed to everyone. No one is allowed here, not even students.
In this room, the master keeps and hides his secrets from prying eyes - the secrets of the varnish with which he covers the violins.
He spends whole nights sitting among pungent odors, looking at the meager light of light bulbs, golden and dark orange liquid in test tubes and flasks, testing its elasticity, transparency and haze.
Yes, all night long.
Then he slightly raises the curtain in the high window. Light breaks into the room.
Ah, says the master, it's already morning.
He stops work, puts out the light, goes out, locking the door with heavy bolts, listens suspiciously. The master works on the compositions of varnishes all his life: with one composition he impregnates the tree - and this improves the sound; he puts the other in a second layer - and the instrument acquires brilliance and beauty. His violins alternately golden, then light brown, and now, towards the end of his life, dark red.
Nobody knows his secrets. He rarely comes here during the day.
That is why the fat man who brought the tree peers greedily when the door to this master's lair opens for a moment.
But no, the room is dark - the curtain is down. Stradivari lowers the tree into a vat of strong-smelling liquid, waits; taking it out, he looks long and attentively at the thinnest winding veins that were invisible before and have become noticeable.
His face begins to clear, he lovingly strokes the damp wood with his hand and returns to the studio.
The students have already arrived. Among them are the sons of the master, his assistants. Omobono and Francesco, with gloomy, still sleepy faces. They speak in a low voice.
Hearing the father's quick and wide steps, each goes to his workbench and leans over it too carefully and hastily.
Stradivari enters animated.
Here is what I need. This tree will sing. You hear - it sings. Francesco, - he called his eldest son, - come here, son, listen.
Francesco approached his father with the timid air of a student. The old man put the bar to his shoulder, as if it were a violin, and began to carefully tap the end of the bow, carefully listening to the sound and watching his son's face.
The students looked on with admiration and servility.
Yes, such a master is worth working for. This lean, grumpy old man knows his business, the tree in his hands seems to come to life by itself.
But how difficult life is in Antonio Stradivari's workshop!
The trouble is for the student who is late even for one minute, at least once forgot the instructions of the master.
He is rude, strict and picky. He makes you start over again the work already completed, if any small detail is not to his liking.
But they are not tempted by an easier life in other workshops. They understand how much they can learn here. Only the master's heirs, his assistants Omobono and Francesco's eyes run, either from a start, or from bewilderment.
Why is he so good at choosing one from a hundred bars? Why do his violins sing like that? Why are they both no longer working on the first violin, and the types of wood are the same as that of the father, the shape and size are the same, and it seems that you can’t tell which one was made by them and which one by the father, but it’s enough to touch the bow, and from the first sound, everything becomes clear: the violins made by them sound muffled, more wooden.
Why doesn't their father tell them his secrets, why doesn't he let them enter his laboratory, where he spends his nights?
After all, he is not young, he will not take with him to the grave the secrets of varnish, and the capricious figures of his measurements! And anger is reflected in their eyes, making it difficult to concentrate and work.
You can go, - Stradivari turns to the supplier, - prepare more maple for the lower decks.
And suddenly he adds, when the fat man is already on the threshold:
Bring pearls. I'll see. If it's cheap, maybe I'll buy it.
Stradivari goes to his workbench. Everyone is accepted for interrupted work.
Wire is stretched in long rows across the entire room of the workshop. Violins and violas are suspended from it, turned either with their backs or barrels. The cello stands out for its wide soundboards.
Omobono and Francesco work at a nearby workbench. A little further away - the favorite students of the master Carlo Bergonzi and Lorenzo Guadanini. They are entrusted by the master with responsible work on the soundboards: the distribution of thicknesses, the cutting of the ffs. The rest are busy preparing wood for the shells, cutting a plate attached to one side of the workbench, or bending the shells: they heat an iron tool in a large oven and begin to bend the plate with it, immersing it several times in water. Others plan a spring or a darling with a jointer, learn to draw the outlines of violins, make necks, cut out coasters. Some are busy fixing old tools. Stradivari works silently, watching his students from under his brows; sometimes his eyes rest with sadness on the gloomy and gloomy faces of his sons.
Thin hammers ring, light files squeal, interspersed with the sounds of a violin.
Barefoot boys crowd around the window. They are attracted by the sounds coming from the workshop, sometimes shrill and sharply rattling, sometimes suddenly quiet and melodious. They stand for a while, mouths open, greedily looking out the window. The measured stroke of the files and the thin hammer, which strikes evenly, fascinate them.
Then they immediately get bored and, making noise, jumping and somersaulting, they disperse and sing the song of all the lazzaroni - the street boys of Cremona.
The old master is sitting at the big window. He raises his head, listens. The boys scattered. Only one sings.
This is the kind of purity and transparency we must achieve,” he says, addressing his students.
Beginning and the end
Antonio Stradivari was born in 1644 in a small town near Cremona. His parents used to live in Cremona. The terrible plague, which began in southern Italy, moved from place to place, captured more and more new areas and reached Cremona. The city was deserted, the streets were deserted, the inhabitants fled aimlessly. Among them were Stradivari - Antonio's father and mother. They fled from Cremona to a small town nearby, or rather a village, and never returned to Cremona.
There, in a village near Cremona, Antonio spent his childhood. His father was an impoverished aristocrat. He was a proud, stingy, unsociable man, he liked to remember the history of his family. The father's house and the small town quickly bored young Antonio, and he decided to leave home.
Having gone through many professions, he experienced failure everywhere. He wanted to become a sculptor, like Michelangelo, the lines of his statues were graceful, but his faces were not expressive. He abandoned this craft, earned his bread by carving wood, making wooden ornaments for rich furniture, and became addicted to drawing; with the greatest suffering he studied the ornamentation of doors and wall paintings of cathedrals and the drawings of the great masters. Then he was attracted to music, and he decided to become a musician. Stubbornly studied violin playing; but the fingers lacked fluency and lightness, and the sound of the violin was muffled and harsh. They said about him: "The ear of a musician, the hands of a carver." And he gave up the profession of a musician. But, having abandoned it, I did not forget it. He was stubborn. I spent hours looking at my violin. The violin was bad work. He took it apart, examined it, and threw it away. And he didn’t have enough money to buy a good one. At the same time, being an 18-year-old youth, he entered the famous violin maker Nicolo Amati as an apprentice. The years spent in the workshop of Amati, he remembered for a lifetime.
He was an unpaid apprentice, doing only rough work and repairs, and running around on various errands for the master. This would have continued for a long time if not for the occasion. Master Nicolò came into the workshop outside of school hours on the day of Antonio's duty and found him at work: Antonio carved effs on an abandoned, unnecessary pruning of wood.
The master did not say anything, but since then Antonio no longer had to deliver finished violins to customers. He now spent the whole day studying Amati's work.
Here Antonio learned to understand how important the choice of wood is, how to make it sound and sing. He saw the importance of a hundredth part in the distribution of soundboard thicknesses, he understood the purpose of the spring inside the violin. Now it was revealed to him how necessary the correspondence of the individual parts to each other. He followed this rule for the rest of his life. And, finally, he appreciated the importance of what some craftsmen-masters considered only decoration - the importance of the varnish with which the instrument is covered.
Amati treated his first violin condescendingly. This gave him strength.
With extraordinary stubbornness he achieved melodiousness. And when he achieved that his violin sounded like that of the master Nikolo, he wanted it to sound differently. He was haunted by the sounds of women's and children's voices: such melodious, flexible voices his violins should sound. It didn't work for him for a long time.
"Stradivarius under Amati" - they said about him. In 1680 he left the Amati workshop and began to work independently.
He gave the violins different shapes, making them longer and narrower, then wider and shorter, then increased, then decreased the bulge of the decks, his violins could already be distinguished among thousands of others. And their sound was free and melodious, like the voice of a girl in the Cremona square in the morning. He aspired to be an artist in his youth, he loved line, drawing and paint, and this remained forever in his blood. In addition to the sound, he appreciated in the instrument its slender shape and strict lines, he liked to decorate his instruments by inserting pieces of mother-of-pearl, ebony and ivory, he painted small cupids, lily flowers, fruits on the neck, barrels or corners.
Even in his youth, he made a guitar, into the lower wall of which he inserted stripes of ivory, and she seemed to be dressed up in striped silk; he decorated the sound hole with tangles of leaves and flowers carved into wood.
In 1700, four were ordered to him. he worked on it lovingly for a long time. The curl that completed the instrument depicted the head of Diana, entwined with heavy braids; a necklace was worn around the neck. Below, he carved two small figures - a satyr and a nymph. The satyr hung his goat legs on a hook, this hook served to carry the instrument. Everything was carved with rare perfection.
On another occasion, he made a narrow pocket violin - "sordino" - and gave a curl of ebony the shape of a negro's head.
By the age of forty, he was rich and well known. There were sayings about his wealth; in the city they said: "Rich as a Stradivarius."
But his life was not happy. His wife died; he lost two adult sons, and he wanted to make them the mainstay of his old age, to pass on to them the secret of his craft and everything that he had achieved in his whole life.
The surviving sons Francesco and Omobono, although they worked with him, did not understand his art, they only diligently imitated him. The third son, Paolo, from his second marriage, completely despised his craft, preferring to engage in commerce and trade; it was both easier and simpler. Another one son, Giuseppe, became a monk.
Now the master was in his 77th year. He reached a deep old age, great honor, wealth.
His life was coming to an end. Looking back, he saw his family and the growing family of his violins. The children had their names, the violins had theirs.
His life ended peacefully. For greater peace of mind, so that everything would be decorous, as from wealthy and respectable people, he bought a crypt in the church of St. Dominica himself determined the place for his burial. And his relatives will lie around in time: wife, sons.
But when the master thought about his sons, he became clouded. That was the whole point.
He left them his wealth, they will build, or rather buy themselves good houses. And the wealth of the family will grow. But did he work in vain, did he finally achieve fame and knowledge of the master? And now there is no one to leave the skill, only the master can take the skill as a legacy. The old man knew how eagerly his sons seek their father's secrets. More than once he found Francesco in the studio outside school hours, found a notebook he had dropped. What was Francesco looking for? Why was he rummaging through his father's notes? He still won't find the records he needs. They are tightly locked. Sometimes, thinking about this, the master himself ceased to understand himself. After all, in three years, five years, his sons, heirs, will still open all the locks, read all his records. Shouldn't we give them in advance those "secrets" that everyone is talking about? But I didn't want to give those short blunt fingers such subtle ways of composing varnishes, recording the irregularities of the decks - all my experience.
After all, all these secrets can not teach anyone, they can help. Shouldn't they be given into the hands of the cheerful Bergonzi, who is quick-witted and dexterous? But will Bergonzi be able to apply all the wide experience of his teacher? He is a master of the cello and loves this instrument most of all, and he, the old master, despite the fact that he put a lot of time and effort into creating a perfect cello, would like to pass on all his accumulated experience, all his knowledge. And besides, it would mean stealing from your sons. After all, as an honest master, he accumulated all the knowledge for his kind. And now leave everything to a stranger? And the old man hesitated, not making a decision - let the records lie under lock and key until the time.
And now something else began to darken his days. he is accustomed to being first in his skill. Nicolò Amati had been lying in the cemetery for a long time, Amati's workshop fell apart during his lifetime, and he, Stradivarius, is the successor and continuer of Amati's art. Until now, there was no equal in violin skill not only in Cremona, but throughout Italy, not only in Italy, but throughout the world - to him, Antonio Stradivari.
But until now...
For a long time already there were rumors, at first dubious and timid, and then quite clear, about another master from a family of good and capable, but somewhat rude craftsmen.
The master of this Stradivari knew well. And in the beginning he was quite calm about himself, because a person who can achieve anything in the violin business, first of all, must be a person of a calm, sober and moderate life, and Giuseppe Guarneri was a drunkard and a rowdy. Such a person has trembling fingers and hearing is always foggy. And yet...
And then one day...
And then one day, early in the morning, when life in his workshop had not yet begun, and he, as usual, had already visited the secadora, and went downstairs to check the varnishes, there was a knock on the door. They brought in a violin for repair. All his life, Stradivari, working on new violins, did not forget the noble skill of repair. He loved it when broken, old violins made by good, average and completely unknown masters turned out to be violins with the features of his craftsmanship; from a correctly set spring or from the fact that he covered the violin with his varnish, someone else's violin began to sound nobler than before, before the breakdown - health and youth returned to the instrument. And when the customer, who gave the instrument for repair, was amazed at the change, the master felt pride, like a doctor who cured a child when his parents thank him.
The man who brought the violin was not a Cremonese; he explained that his owner had bought this violin here two years ago, and now it was broken and needed to be repaired. He lost the master's address on the road, but of course he got to the right place: everyone here points to the famous master Antonio Stradivari.
Show me your violin, said Stradivari.
The man carefully took out the violin from the case, without ceasing to chatter:
My master is a great connoisseur, he highly appreciates this violin, she sings in such a strong, thick voice, which I have never heard a single violin before.
The violin is in the hands of a Stradivarius. She is a large format; light varnish. And he immediately understood whose work it was.
Leave her here,” he said dryly.
When the talker, bowing and greeting the master, left, Stradivari took the bow in his hands and began to try the sound. The violin really sounded powerful; the sound was big and full. The damage was minor, and it did not really affect the sound. He began to look at her. The violin is beautifully made, although it has an oversized format, thick edges and long, laugh-mouth-like ffs. Another hand, another way of working. Only now did he look into the opening of the fef, checking himself.
Yes, only one person can do this.
Inside, on the label, in black even type was marked: "Joseph Guarnerius".
It was the label of the master Giuseppe Guarneri, nicknamed Del Gesu. He remembered that recently from the terrace he had seen Del Gesa coming home at dawn; he staggered, talked to himself, waved his arms.
How can such a person work? How can anything come out of his unfaithful hands? And yet ... He took Guarneri's violin again and began to play.
What a big, deep sound! And even if you go under the open sky to Cremona Square and play in front of a large crowd, you will still be heard far and wide.
Since the death of Nicolo Amati, his teacher, not a single violin, not a single master can compare in softness and brilliance of sound with his Stradivari violins! Wore! In the power of sound, he, the noble master Antonio Stradivari, must yield to this drunkard. This means that his skill was not perfect, which means that something else is needed that he does not know, but that dissolute person whose hands made this violin knows. This means that not everything has yet been done by him and his experiments on the acoustics of wood, his experiments on the composition of varnishes, are not complete. The free melodious tone of his violins can still be enriched with new colors and great power.
He pulled himself together. In old age, there is no need to worry too much. And he reassured himself that the sound of the Guarneri violins was sharper, that his customers, noble gentlemen, would not order violins from Guarneri. And now he received an order for a quintet: two violins, two violas and a cello - from the Spanish court. The order pleased him, he had been thinking about it for a whole week, making sketches, drawings, choosing a tree, and decided to try a new method of attaching a spring. He sketched a number of drawings for inlays, drew the coat of arms of a high customer. Such customers will not go to Guarneri, they do not need his violins, because they do not need the depth of sound. In addition, Guarneri is a drunkard and a brawler. He cannot be a dangerous opponent to him. Nevertheless, Giuseppe Guarneri Del Gesu overshadowed the last years of Antonio Stradivari.
As he was still descending the stairs, he heard loud voices coming from the workshop.
As a rule, when students come, they immediately go to their workbenches and set to work. This has been done for a long time. Now they were talking noisily. Something apparently happened.
Tonight at three o'clock...
I didn’t see it myself, the hostess told me, they led him along our street ...
What will happen to his students now?
Don't know. The workshop is closed, there is a lock on the doors...
What a master, - says Omobono, - first of all, a drunkard, and this should have been expected for a long time.
Stradivari entered the workshop.
What happened?
Giuseppe Guarneri was arrested today and taken to prison,” said Bergonzi sadly.
Stradivari stood rooted to the spot in the middle of the workshop.
Suddenly his knees trembled.
So this is how Del Gesa ends! However, this is indeed to be expected. Let him now play his violins and delight the ears of the jailers. The room, however, is not enough for his powerful violins, and the listeners, perhaps, will stop their ears ...
So everything has its turn. How desperately all the Guarneri struggled against failure! When Del Gesu's uncle, Pietro, died, his widow Catarina took over the workshop. But the workshop was to close soon. This is not a woman's work, not needlework. Then they began to say: here Giuseppe will show. The Guarneri haven't died yet! And look how he beats the oldest Antonio! And now it's his turn.
Stradivari did not like this man, not only because he was afraid of rivalry and thought that Guarneri surpassed him in skill. But along with Guarneri Del Gesù, the spirit of restlessness and violence entered the Cremonese masters. His workshop was often closed, the students disbanded and carried along their comrades who worked for other masters. Stradivari himself went through the whole art of craftsmanship - from apprentice to master - he loved order and rank in everything. And Del Gesu's life, vague and unstable, was in his eyes a life unworthy of a master. Now it's over. There is no return from prison to the chair of the master. Now he, Stradivari, was left alone. He looked sternly at his students.
Let's not waste time, he said.
Green mountainous area a few miles from Cremona. And like a gray, dirty spot - a gloomy low building with bars on the windows, surrounded by a battlement wall. High heavy gates close the entrance to the courtyard. This is a prison where people languish behind thick walls and iron doors.
During the day the prisoners sit in solitary cells, at night they are transferred to a large semi-basement cell for sleeping.
A man with a tousled beard sits quietly in one of the solitary cells. He's only been here for a few days. So far he has not been bored. He looked out the window at the greenery, the earth, the sky, the birds that quickly flew past the window; for hours, barely audible, whistled some monotonous melody. He was busy with his own thoughts. Now he was bored with idleness, and he languished.
How long will you have to stay here?
No one really knows for what crime he is serving a sentence. When he is transferred in the evening to spend the night in a common cell, everyone bombards him with questions. He readily answers, but none of his answers clearly understand what the matter is.
They know that his craft is to make violins.
The girl, the jailer's daughter, who runs and plays near the prison, also knows about it.
Father said one evening:
This man makes, they say, such violins that cost a lot of money.
Once a wandering musician wandered into their yard, he was so funny, and he had a big black hat on his head. And he began to play.
After all, no one comes close to them, people don’t like to come here, and the guard drives away everyone who comes a little closer to their gates. And this musician began to play, and she begged her father to let him finish playing. When the guards nevertheless drove him away, she ran after him, far away, and when no one was near, he suddenly called her and asked kindly:
Do you like how I play?
She said:
Like.
Can you sing? Sing me a song, he asked.
She sang her favorite song to him. Then the man in the hat, without even listening to her, put the violin on his shoulder and played what she was now singing.
She opened her eyes wide with joy. She was pleased that she could hear her song being played on the violin. Then the musician said to her:
I'll come here and play whatever you want every day, but do me a favor in return. You will give this little note to the prisoner who is sitting in that cell, - he pointed to one of the windows, - he knows how to make violins so well, and I played his violin. He is a good man, don't be afraid of him. Don't tell your father. And if you don't hand over the note, I won't play for you anymore.
The girl ran around the prison yard, sang at the gates, all the prisoners and guards knew her, they paid as little attention to her as to the cats that climbed the roofs and the birds that sat on the windows.
It happened that she darted after her father into the low corridor of the prison. While her father opened the cells, she looked at the prisoners with wide eyes. We are used to it.
So she managed to pass the note. When the jailer, during the evening round, opened the cell door and, shouting: “Get ready for the night!”, Passed on to the next doors, the girl darted inside the cell and hurriedly said:
The man in the big black hat promised to play often, every day, and for this he asked me to give you a note.
She looked at him and stepped closer.
And he also said that the violin on which he played was made by you, signor prisoner. This is true?
She looked up at him in surprise.
Then he stroked her head.
You have to go girl. It's not good to be caught here.
Then he added:
Get me a stick and a knife. Do you want me to make a pipe for you, and you can play it?
The prisoner hid the note. He managed to read it only the next morning. The note read: "To the Noble Giuseppe Guarneri Del Ges. - The love of the students is always with you." He held the note tightly in his hand and smiled.
The girl became friends with Guarneri. At first she came secretly, and her father did not notice it, but when once the girl came home and brought a ringing wooden pipe, he forced her to confess everything. And, strange to say, the jailer was not angry. He turned the smooth pipe in his fingers and thought.
The next day he entered Del Gesù's cell outside of school hours.
If you need a tree,” he said curtly, “you can get it.
I need my tools, said the prisoner.
Tools are not allowed, - said the jailer and left.
A day later, he again went into the cell.
What tools? he asked. “A planer is allowed, but a file is not.” If a joiner's saw, then you can.
So in the cell of Del Gesu was a stump of a spruce log, a carpenter's saw and glue. Then the jailer got varnish from the painter who painted the prison chapel.
And he was touched by his own generosity. His late wife always said that he was a worthy and good person. He will make life easier for this unfortunate man, he will sell his violins and charge a high price for them, and he will buy tobacco and wine for the prisoner.
"Why does a prisoner need money?"
That's just how to sell violins so that no one knows about it?
He considered.
"Regina," he thought of his daughter. "No, she's too small for this, perhaps she can't do it. Well, okay, we'll see," he decided.
It is difficult for Giuseppe Guarneri to work his violins in a small low chamber with a thick saw, a large planer, but the days are now going faster.
First violin, second, third... Days change...
The jailer sells violins. He got a new dress, he became important and fat. At what price does he sell violins? Giuseppe Guarneri Del Gesu does not know this. He gets tobacco and wine. And it's all.
This is all he has left. Are the violins he gives to the jailer good? If he could not put his name on them!
Can the lacquer he uses improve the sound? It only muffles the sound and makes it immobile. Carriages can be covered with this varnish! The violin shines from him - and nothing more.
And all that's left for Giuseppe Guarneri is tobacco and wine. Sometimes a girl comes to him. He spends hours with her. She tells the news that happens within the walls of the prison. She herself does not know more, and if she knew, she would be afraid to say: it is strictly forbidden for her father to talk too much.
The father makes sure that the prisoner cannot hear from friends. The jailer is afraid: now this is a very important, dear prisoner for him. He profits from it.
In the intervals between orders, Guarneri makes a long small violin from a fragment of a spruce board for a girl.
This is a sordino, he explains to her, you can put it in your pocket. It is played by dance teachers in wealthy homes when they teach dressed up children to dance.
The girl sits quietly and listens attentively to his stories. It happens that he tells her about life in the wild, about his workshop, about his violins. He talks about them as if they were people. It happens that he suddenly forgets about her presence, jumps up, begins to walk with wide steps around the cell, waves his arms, says tricky words for a girl. Then she gets bored and sneaks out of the cell unnoticed.
Death and eternal life
Every year it becomes more and more difficult for Antonio Stradivari to work on his own violins. Now he must resort to the help of others. Increasingly, the inscription began to appear on the labels of his instruments:
Sotto la Disciplina d" Antonio
Stradiuari F. in Cremonae. 1737.
Changes vision, hands are wrong, it is more and more difficult to cut out efs, varnish lays in uneven layers.
But cheerfulness and calmness do not leave the master. He continues his daily work, getting up early, going up to his terrace, sitting in the workshop at the workbench, working for hours in the laboratory.
He needs a lot of time now to finish the violin he has started, but he nevertheless brings it to the end, and on the label with pride, with a trembling hand, he makes a postscript:
Antonius Stradivarius Gremonensis
Faciebat Anno 1736, D" Anni 92.
About everything that worried him before, he stopped thinking; he passed to a definite decision: he would take his secrets with him to the grave. It is better that no one owns them than to give them to people who have neither talent, nor love, nor insolence.
He gave his family everything he could: both wealth and a noble name.
During his long life, he made about a thousand instruments that are scattered around the world. It's time for him to rest. He leaves life quietly. Now nothing overshadows his last years. In Guarneri he was wrong. And how could it seem to him that this unfortunate man sitting in prison could interfere with him in some way? Good Guarneri violins were just an accident. Now this is clear and confirmed by the facts: the violins that he now makes are crude, incomparable with the former ones, the prison violins are unworthy of the Cremonese masters. Master fell...
He did not want to think about the conditions in which Guarneri worked, what kind of wood he used, how stuffy and dark it was in his cell, that the tools he worked with were more suitable for making chairs than for working on violins.
Antonio Stradivari calmed down that he was wrong.
In front of the house of Antonio Stradivari, on St. Dominica, people are crowding.
The boys are running around looking out the windows. The windows are covered with dark curtains. Quiet, everyone is talking in an undertone...
He lived ninety-four years, it is hard to believe that he died.
He survived his wife for a short time, he respected her very much.
And what will happen to the workshop now? Sons are not like an old man.
Close it, right. Paolo will sell everything and put the money in his pocket.
But where is the money for them, and so the father left enough.
More and more new faces arrive, some get mixed up in the crowd, others enter the house; every now and then the doors open, and then weeping voices are heard - this, according to the customs of Italy, women loudly mourn the deceased.
A tall, lean monk with bowed head entered the door.
Look, look: Giuseppe has come to say goodbye to his father. He did not go to the old man very often, he lived at odds with his father.
Step aside!
A hearse pulled up by eight horses, decorated with feathers and flowers.
And the funeral bells rang thinly. Omobono and Francesco carried the long, light coffin containing their father’s body in their arms and placed it on the hearse. And the procession moved on.
Little girls, covered to the toe with white veils, were throwing flowers. On the sides, on each side, were women dressed in black dresses, in thick black veils, with large lighted candles in their hands.
The sons walked solemnly and importantly behind the coffin, followed by the disciples.
In black cassocks with hoods, girded with ropes, in coarse wooden sandals, the monks of the Dominican order walked in a dense crowd, in whose church the master Antonio Stradivari had bought a place of honor for his burial during his lifetime.
Black carriages dragged by, Horses were led by the bridle with a quiet step, because from the house of Stradivari to the church of St. Dominica was very close. And the horses, sensing the crowd, nodded their white plumes on their heads.
So slowly, decently and importantly, master Antonio Stradivari was buried on a cool December day.
We reached the end of the square. At the very end of the square, at the turn, the convoy caught up with the funeral procession.
The convoy was led by a squat, bearded man. His dress was worn and light, the December air was cool, and he shivered.
At first, he was curious about large gatherings of people, which he seemed to have lost the habit of. Then his eyes narrowed, and the expression of a man who suddenly remembered something long forgotten appeared on his face. He began to stare at the people passing by.
Who is being buried?
A hearse passed by.
Close behind the hearse were two important and direct, no longer young people.
And he recognized them.
"How old they are ..." - he thought, and only then did he understand who it was and whose coffin they were following, he realized that they were burying master Antonio Stradivari.
They never got to meet, never had to talk to the proud old man. And he wanted to, he thought about it more than once. What about his secrets now? To whom did he leave them?
Well, time does not endure, - the escort told him, - do not stop, let's go ... - And he pushed the prisoner.
The prisoner was Giuseppe Guarneri, returning from another interrogation to prison.
The choristers began to sing, the sounds of the organ playing the requiem in the church were heard.
Thin bells were ringing.
Gloomy and confused, Omobono and Francesco sit in their father's workshop.
All searches are in vain, everything is revised, everything is dug up, no signs of recordings, no recipes for lacquering, nothing that could shed light on the secrets of the father, explain why their violins - exact copies of their father's - sound different.
So, all hopes are in vain. They cannot achieve the glory of their father. Maybe it's better to do what Paola suggested: drop everything and do something else? - Why do you need all this, - says Paolo, - sell the workshop, hunting to sit all day in one place at the workbench. Really, my trade is better - buy-sell, and the money is in my pocket.
Maybe Paolo is right? Dismiss the students and close the workshop?
What is left in the workshop of the father? A few ready-made tools, and the rest - all the scattered parts that there is no one to put together the way their father would have put together. Nineteen samples for violin barrels, on which the father's handwritten signature - on one quite fresh ...
But these signatures are perhaps more valuable than the parts themselves; it is possible not so well to connect the disparate parts, and the famous signature, familiar to all Cremona and other cities, will vouch for them. The old man, even after his death, will work more than one violin for his sons.
What else? Yes, perhaps samples of ffs made of paper, and even the exact size of Amati ffs made of the finest copper, made by an old man in his youth, various drawings and drawings for a twelve-string "viola d" amour ", a five-string" viola da gamba "; this viola was commissioned by a noble Don Visconti half a century ago.Drawings of vultures, bows, parts of the bow, the finest ligature for painting barrels, sketches of the coats of arms of the Medici family - high patrons and customers, cupid's drawings for the sub-neck and, finally, a wooden seal for labels made of three mobile numbers: 1 ,6,6. For many years my father added character by character to this three-digit number, erasing the second six and adding the next number by hand, until the end of the 17th century. Then the old man erased both sixes with a thin knife and left one unit - so he got used to For thirty-seven years he assigned figures to this unit, until, finally, the figures stopped at thirty-seven: 1737.
Maybe Paolo is right?
And as once, they continue to painfully envy their father, who left them so much money and things and took with him something that you can’t buy from anyone, you can’t get anywhere - the secret of craftsmanship.
No,” Francesco said suddenly stubbornly, “whether it’s bad or good, we will continue the work of our father, what can we do, we will continue to work. Tell Angelica to clean up the workshop, and put a sign on the door: "Orders for violins, viols, cellos are being accepted. Repairs are being made."
And sat down at their workbenches.
Loading...
