PPlleeaassee ttaakkee ttiimmee ttoo rreeaadd tthhiisswwaarrnniinngg!!

Although the greatest care has been taken whilecompiling this site it almost certainly contains manymistakes. As such its contents should be treated withextreme caution. Neither I nor my fellow contribu-tors can accept responsibility for any losses resultingfrom information or opinions, new or old, which arereproduced here. Some of the ideas and informationhave already been superseded by subsequent re-search and development. (I have attempted to in-cluded a bibliography for further information onsuch pieces) In spite of this I believe that these arti-cles are still of considerable use. For copyright orother practical reasons it has not been possible to re-produce all the illustrations. I have included the textfor the series of posters that I created for the Stradmagazine. While these posters are all still available,with one exception, they have been reproduced with-out the original accompanying text.

SSoommee TThhiinnggss YYoouu SShhoouulldd KKnnoowwBBeeffoorree PPuurrcchhaassiinngg aa CCrreemmoonneesseeVViioolliinn

By Roger Graham Hargrave

“What are you thinking about?” she asks.

At this point I lie. I wasn’t thinking about MartinAmis or Gérard Depardieu or the Labour Party at all.But then, obsessives have no choice; they have to lieon occasions like this. If we told the truth every time,then we would be unable to maintain relationshipswith anyone from the real world.

— Nick Hornby, Fever Pitch.

Shortly before the end of the 20th century, classi-cal Cremonese violins had become a multimillion-dollar business. Although there has always been bigmoney in the violin trade, within three decades thevalue of these extraordinary antiques increased at anunprecedented rate. During the 1980s and early1990s, instruments of the violin family were one ofthe world’s most rewarding investment possibilities.This relentless surge in the value of important Cre-

monese violins drew all other “old” violins into itswake. Today, whether inflated by association or bymerit, the prices realized for instruments once con-sidered basic to every orchestral string player haverisen almost beyond their reach. As a result, whenpurchasing an instrument, professional musiciansare not only investing larger amounts, they are alsoinvesting a larger proportion of their salary.i

There can be no doubt that many musicians havebenefited from these inflationary conditions. Onleaving the profession after years of service, theywere able to fund a comfortable retirement from thesale of their prized musical companion. For those for-tunate players, investing in the tools of their tradehas proved significantly more profitable than any in-flation-linked pension fund. Indeed, this arrange-ment would be ideal were it not for the fact that, yearafter year, many of their colleagues have theirdreams of a comfortable old age brutally shattered.On trying to sell their precious Cremonese instru-ment, many will discover that it is not what they con-fidently believed it to be.

Some instruments, though genuine and outwardlyfine, will be in poor condition internally. Some maybe composites made from several instruments. Somewill no doubt turn out to be clever fakes. But mostwill be cases of mistaken identity, fraudulent la-belling or deceitful attribution. In truth, the possi-bilities for deliberate deception or simple but costlymistakes are as endless as Wagner’s Ring.

Some of the problems that can arise will be exam-ined in the course of this essay. However, this essayshould be regarded as a warning, not a solution. Inthe violin business, when errors become apparentseveral years after the event, it is notoriously diffi-cult to win redress in the customer’s favour.

*

It is not without reason that the word “fiddle” hasa sinister connotation.ii The price tags of antique vi-olins and the palpable lack of any professional regu-latory body have always attracted rogues. Andalthough for centuries, numerous otherwise prudent

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individuals have been persuaded to invest in worth-less “fiddles,” in our times such investments can –and often do – cost musicians a lifetime of saving. Amajor reason for this inflation has been the recentwillingness of banks and credit institutions to financeexpensive instruments, when less than half a centuryago this was hardly possible. This easier credit haspersuaded many more musicians to buy expensiveantique instruments and has undoubtedly con-tributed to today’s price increases. Since credit insti-tutions are interested only in the borrower’scollateral, players are more or less at the mercy ofthe dealer and the certification of the instrument inquestion. When these fail (for whatever reason), mu-sicians are usually left to pick up the tab with littlechance of compensation.

Remarkably, credit institutions have themselvesbecome so convinced about returns on violins thatmany have formed their own collections. In 2002, theAustrian National Bank (Oesterreichische National-bank) published a catalogue of the 29 most importantinstruments in their possession.iii The collection in-cludes seven instruments by Antonio Stradivari,three by Giuseppe Guarneri del Gesu and four by theBergonzi family. At today’s prices, the collective valueof these 14 instruments alone is many tens of mil-lions of dollars.

In fact, in collusion with several major violin deal-ers, numerous banks and credit institutions havebeen actively encouraging city investors. Such in-vestors only speculate where private money has es-tablished the market’s long-term reliability. Indeed,although few professional musicians can afford thespectacular sums that the great Cremonese masterscan bring, it is their aspirations and capital that con-tinue to sustain this vigorous trade. Unfortunately, itis they who usually suffer when things go wrong.

In fairness, it might be argued that the violin busi-ness is no better or worse than the art and antiquestrade generally. However, nowhere in this vast mar-ket are the livelihoods of individuals so demonstrablyinterwoven with the potential rewards and hazardsas they are in the violin trade. Art and antiques maybe purchased as an investment or simply for the loveand appreciation of what they are, but they are gen-erally considered luxury commodities and, as such,are usually purchased with expendable income. In

contrast, as much as they might be works of art, an-tique violins are also working musical instruments.The problem is that their reputation for sound hasbeen given so much credence or hype (dependingupon your point of view), that many professionalplayers consider them essential to their careerprospects. The widely held belief that antique in-struments, and in particular classical Cremonese in-struments, sound better has been propagated forcenturies by those engaged in their trade. Whetherjustified or not, this conviction has persuaded manymusicians to finance such works regardless of thesacrifice.

Surprisingly, notwithstanding their close associa-tion with instruments and their undoubted ability toassess playability and tonal quality, few musicianscan either identify or evaluate instruments. Neitherare they generally aware that the identity of themaker is far more important to an instrument’s mon-etary value than the sound the instrument produces.Indeed, many young players are shocked to learn thatthe sound of an antique violin has little if any bear-ing upon its price.

Despite the great emphasis laid on sound, tonequality is almost never assessed or referred to in in-surance or auction valuations. Only when instru-ments are being offered for sale does this factorbecome a major issue. Dealers are acutely aware thattone is the musician’s Achilles heel. They know thatmusicians will often pay highly inflated prices forgood-sounding but otherwise inferior instruments,or that they will take on large loans to purchase anantique violin in the belief that somehow it willtransform them into a Stern or a Milstein.

It has often been claimed that Cremonese instru-ments can be identified by their unique tonal quali-ties. Some aficionados even believe they can discerna specific Stradivari timbre. This is nonsense. Thesimple truth is that, while players can occasionallybe recognized by their style and technique, no onehas yet proved capable of identifying the instrumentsof a particular maker solely by their sound. Even theapparently obvious distinction between the acousti-cal properties of a Stradivari and a Guarneri del Gesuhas continually defied serious analysis. The idea of atonal fingerprint unique to a specific maker is purefiction.iv While it is possible to identify a fine tone in

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a violin, it is not possible to identify a violin by thetone. Documentary evidence excepted, the processof instrument identification, as with all other objectsof art and antiquity, is essentially a visual one. In-deed, even the latest scientific weapons of analysissuch as dendrochronology and electron microscopesare merely an extension of this ocular process.

TThhee CCoonnnnooiisssseeuurr’’ss CCrraafftt aanndd IIttssRRoollee iinn IInnssttrruummeenntt IIddeennttiiffiiccaattiioonnaanndd VVaalluuaattiioonn

I have suggested that the process of identifyingand valuing antique bowed stringed instruments isessentially a visual one, and that most players havelittle or no expertise in this field. I have also statedthat bowed instruments have become increasinglymore expensive.

In the following pages, I discuss why violin con-noisseurs monopolize the identification and valua-tion of instruments, and I examine the dilemmacaused by the fact that these connoisseurs are alsooften dealers who handle the very instruments theyappraise. I also explain why, in spite of this dilemma,there is still no viable alternative to consulting a rep-utable connoisseur-dealer.

Ideally, a reputable connoisseur should be able toconfirm the identity and authenticity of an instru-ment, accurately assess the extent of repairs andrestorations, and from this information, calculate itsmarket value. But this is a formidable task, and onethat not every connoisseur is equal to. Moreover, fornumerous reasons, even the best connoisseurs do notalways concur.v Regrettably for the potential cus-tomer, assessing the value of a connoisseur’s opinioncan often be as demanding as assessing the prove-nance of a particular instrument.

At present, the only way to become a connoisseurof violins is to become seriously involved in dealing.The single viable alternative to this path lies inrestoring antique violins for a prolific dealer. Al-though it does not follow that all dealers are experts,it is mainly they who are tasked with assessing theconstant flow of merchandisable instruments from

which, if they are astute, they can gradually learn thecraft of instrument identification. In contrast, eventhe wealthiest and most active of collectors cannotafford to amass the number and diversity of instru-ments needed to become a recognized connoisseur.And in this respect, even the world’s most importantmuseum collections are woefully inadequate.

Very occasionally, a musician will become adept atinstrument identification, but here again their ex-pertise is often linked to a secondary interest in deal-ing. Otherwise, musicians are generally limited tofamiliarizing themselves with the instruments oftheir colleagues, and usually without reference toprovenance, certification or other guidance.

Because access to a sufficient number and diver-sity of instruments is largely restricted to dealers, itis they who control and regulate expertise. Theyalone can acquire enough knowledge to become rec-ognized connoisseurs. And, only those dealers whobecome recognized connoisseurs have the authorityto assess, evaluate and certify instruments. So thosewho buy and sell violins are the consumers’ onlyform of protection, their only safeguard against dis-honest or misguided dealers. Unlike other branchesof the arts, the violin world has never had the con-trolling influence of an independent body of schol-arship, such as might be found in galleries, museumsand universities.

Put simply, there are no independent experts inthe violin trade. And no potential customer shouldfail to remember this fact. In the end, customers areheavily dependent upon the honesty and integrity ofthe connoisseur-dealer concerned.

However, in spite of these worries, the violin busi-ness has some formidable expertise and, if one knowswhere to look, some considerable honesty and in-tegrity at its disposal.

At its finest, instrument identification not only in-volves the naming of a particular master but also theperiod of that master’s career in which the work wascompleted. In order to achieve this, the connoisseurmust have had access to many instruments over

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many years and have studied these works in meticu-lous detail. Eventually, the very process of compiling,analyzing and correlating information heightens theconnoisseur’s perception. In another context, such astate might well be termed “enlightenment.” En-lightenment of this nature, however, is not an innategift. Like a good golf swing, it requires hard, repeti-tive practice. Natural talent (whatever that might be)may help, but it is total dedication to any disciplinethat creates outstanding ability, and such dedicationis invariably the product of passion. There never hasbeen and never will be a truly great connoisseur whowas not obsessed with fiddles.

Regardless of effort or obsession, the extent of anyconnoisseur’s “enlightenment” is more restrictedthan generally imagined. History has seen hundredsof thousands of violin makers. Some were celebratedand prolific but many, perhaps most, were obscureand produced very few instruments. Although theo-retically it is the job of the connoisseur to identify allsurviving instruments, this is an impossible task. Thesimple truth is that no connoisseur can claim to haveexamined even a single example of every school, letalone of every maker’s work. Accordingly, each con-noisseur is required to make judgements based upona relatively small sample of the available whole.

It may surprise musicians and collectors to learnthat when a connoisseur knows the life and works of25 to 30 historical makers in detail, this is already anexceptional achievement.vi With considerable effort,a dependable familiarity with a further hundred orso may be realized. However, beyond this, most con-noisseurs are at best reduced to calculated guess-work. Although this is no exaggeration, it does notmean that connoisseurs are incompetent. Consider-ing the incalculable number of men and women whohave made one or more instruments of the violinfamily,vii a well-educated guess is more than mightfairly be expected.

Given the enormous number of violin makers,there has always been a tendency for connoisseursto specialize. Some specialize in geographical re-gions, others in price ranges. Although minor na-tional schools or inexpensive instruments may be asworthy of academic scrutiny as classical Italianworks, in most other respects, they are not. The in-trinsic beauty of many classical Italian instruments,

their undeniable sonority and their stylistic author-ity has caused their monetary value, and hence theirprestige, to increase dramatically over the centuries.Consequently, when the violin world speaks of lead-ing connoisseurs, it is usually referring to those con-versant with classical Italian instruments.Furthermore, because the status of experts on classi-cal violins is exalted, their broader ability is oftenoverestimated - even within the trade. In reality,among the world’s famous connoisseurs, past andpresent, knowledge of the minor schools is often ex-tremely limited. This is because such connoisseursignore the minor, less valuable schools either by de-sign or default, and connoisseurs cannot hope toknow that which they do not see on a regular basis.The truth is that genuine universal experts are ararer breed than virtuoso violinists. They may evenbe a myth.

Given the numbers involved, recording the names,dates and dwelling places of violin makers has alwaysproved a notoriously demanding task. But these dif-ficulties cannot be compared to the perils of record-ing and recalling the physical peculiarities of theinstruments these makers produced. And this is es-pecially true whenever such information is appliedto the business of buying and selling. Dabbling withdealing may not be as hazardous as volcanology or asmenacing as nuclear physics, but the potential fordisaster is still substantial.

In spite of this, albeit with some effort, the physi-cal details and typical features of violins can belearned. Nevertheless, simple data, however all-in-clusive, does not in itself constitute insight or en-lightenment. In this respect, top connoisseurs areusually so well versed in the technical details andtypical features of fine violins that they need onlyrefer to this knowledge in challenging cases. As arule, any instrument that lies within a connoisseur’ssphere will be recognized intuitively. Familiarity withminutiae may be an essential part of the connois-seur’s skills, but reliance on such details is usually themark of a novice. Accordingly, it is the novice whowill take fright when a usual feature is absent from aperfectly genuine instrument, and it is the novicewho will accept the fake that includes all the salientfeatures of a maker’s work.

Partly because of the perils referred to above, a

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number of connoisseurs believe in restricting infor-mation about instrument identification, invokingsuch arguments as “a little learning is a dangerousthing.” Unfortunately, however sincere their motives,they are basically advocating a cartel, and whenevera cartel seeks to restrict or control information, it notonly hinders competition but also stifles scholarship.In addition, no matter how well intentioned, restric-tive practices almost always lead to corruption.

Regardless of these concerns, everyone must beginsomewhere and as long as the dangers and limita-tions of such knowledge are fully realized, violins ofany school can be described, compared and identi-fied with some success.

AA BBrriieeff LLooookk aatt tthhee HHiissttoorryy ooff CCllaassssiiccaall CCrreemmoonneessee VViioolliinn MMaakkeerrssaanndd TThheeiirr IInnfflluueennccee oonn LLaatteerrSScchhoooollss

For anyone wishing to understand more about vi-olins of any denomination, it is essential that they re-search the history and provenance of both themakers and the schools to which they belong. Thevalue of such documentary evidence can never beunderestimated. In the history of expertise, count-less works of art have been endorsed or rejected onthe strength of a single sentence in some ancientdocument.

Archival research on the history of the violin hasrecently moved to a higher level, with serious inves-tigative efforts being made to shed light on the con-text within which the instruments were created. Theresults have cast considerable doubt about the abilityof connoisseurs to identify instruments with the con-fidence displayed by previous generations. From aprofession of relative certainty, instrument identifi-cation has become a continuingly changing disci-pline, with fresh findings increasingly upsettingestablished doctrines.

In developing expertise, it is simply not enough toscrutinize instruments. Although the available infor-mation about a maker’s life and times may be ex-

tremely limited, it remains an essential element ofthe connoisseur’s craft. The examination of a singleinstrument can only assist the expert in identifyingsimilar examples of the same maker’s work from thesame period. However, if it is known when and wherea maker worked, who they worked for and with, andwho in turn worked for them, the examination of asingle instrument can frequently reveal somethingabout the work of several makers.

The following short introduction to the Cremoneseschool is by no means complete. It is included so thatthe reader can have a better sense of how importantthe Amati family and the system they developed areto understanding and identifying works of the entireCremonese school, and the subsequent influence thatthis school had on the entire world.

Andrea Amati (before 1505/11-Cremona, Decem-ber 26, 1577) was probably the first and arguably themost innovative Cremonese violin maker.viii Little isknown about Andrea’s life. However, his few surviv-ing works are often elaborately decorated and wereclearly produced for an aristocratic clientele.ix It ispossible that there were many violin-type instru-ments before Andrea’s time in other places, but onlyfrom his 16th-century Cremonese workshop has theentire violin family come down to us complete andin a highly sophisticated form. In particular, the so-phistication of these violins suggests that they wereconceived and designed as a group by a highly skilledartisan. No other surviving violin or violin familygroup displays anything like this level of refinement.Moreover, outside the Amati family circle, nothingsimilar materialized for almost a century. AndreaAmati made two sizes of violin, viola and cello, andvirtually all modern instruments of the violin familystem from these designs.

Following Andrea, his two sons, Antonio (ca. 1540–March 4, 1607) and Hieronymus I (ca. 1561–Novem-ber 2, 1630), known as the Brothers Amati, made awide variety of instruments related to the violin fam-ily. Their workshop was highly productive and unde-niably experimentalist.x The Brothers carefullyrefined Andrea’s designs and, perhaps more than hasbeen previously suspected, contributed to the dis-tinctive method of construction that – for more thantwo centuries, without exception – Cremonese mak-ers utilized.

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The third generation of the Amati family was rep-resented by Nicola (December 3, 1596–April 12, 1684),the son of Hieronymus I. Exceptionally well trainedin the art of violin making, he became the most ex-tolled maker of the family. Nicola was certainly themost important Cremonese teacher. His grandfather,father and uncle may have developed the violin, butit was Nicola who eventually gave it to the widerworld.

Following two years of famine and the devastatingplague of 1630, Nicola was obliged to impart theAmati method to makers outside his immediate fam-ily circle.xi All the evidence suggests that he did thisboth willingly and well, but the unerring nature ofthe workshop’s production indicates that he was alsoan uncompromising perfectionist who expected thesame from his apprentices.

In due course, Nicola’s apprentices – and therewere many – passed on their knowledge to succes-sive generations, creating an unbroken line of in-struction between the early Amatis and the entireclassical Cremonese school. Because of the meticu-lous nature of Cremonese training, regardless of eachindividual’s subsequent stylistic development, theAmati method remained ubiquitous within the city.

During the two centuries of the classical Cre-monese school (ca. 1550–1750), Cremonese makerscontinued to extend and refine Amati designs untilthe first half of the 18th century, at which time theAmati influence became almost unrecognizable. Inspite of this, concealed beneath a veneer of stylisticdetails, the Amati method flourished, and its basicrules of construction largely remained unchanged.

It might be difficult to imagine two more divergentstyles than those of Andrea Amati, who initially de-veloped the Cremonese method, and GiuseppeGuarneri del Gesu, one of its last and wildest expo-nents. Although working in the same immediateneighbourhood, they were separated by almost 200years. In spite of this chronological discrepancy,when the instruments of these two makers are scru-tinized, it gradually becomes apparent that even withglaringly obvious stylistic differences, the method of

construction is virtually identical.

Curiously, although the Amati method character-izes the Cremonese school, it was a clever and inno-vative development of an earlier system ofinstrument construction. Moreover, until at least themid-18th century, numerous variations of this ear-lier system were being employed throughout Europe.Certainly at the time of Andrea Amati, most if not allhand-held bowed and plucked instruments – includ-ing guitars, gambas, lutes and violins – were createdusing variations of this basic system. Essentially, thissystem involved fitting the neck to the sides of theinstrument (or in the case of lute-type instruments,the panelled back) before aligning the neck and fi-nalizing the body outline. Regardless of the variousmeans of constructing the sides and attaching theneck, the objective was always the same: to allow thestrings to run in a straight line along the fingerboardand over the bridge to the tailpiece and endpin. Anysoundholes cut through the belly’s surface were thencentred on this axis. Moreover, this was done in spiteof any resulting discrepancies to the instrument’sfinal body outline. This process aligned the body andsoundholes to the neck rather than the neck to thebody and soundholes, as is usually the case today.xiiAs a result of this basic pan-European system, suchinstruments share a common feature. To some de-gree, there is always a geometric imbalance betweenthe treble and bass sides of their bodies. This charac-teristic persisted more or less until the method of in-serting the neck into the finished body wasdeveloped and widely adopted in the early 19th cen-tury. At this point, instrument outlines became moreaccurate and, above all, symmetrical.xiii

Fortunately for today’s connoisseurs, before the19th century, the various European schools of violinmaking (usually centred in a town or city) developeddifferent methods of aligning the instrument’s neck.Therefore, in spite of having the same basic objec-tive, the methods employed by each school often var-ied considerably and each solution created featureson the instruments that are unique to that school.Moreover, because each school often retained itsmethod for centuries, the said method also definedthat school. Accordingly, it is the peculiarities of theCremonese (Amati) method of construction and theparticular features it engendered that help expertsdistinguish Cremonese violins from other Europeanschools of the same epoch.

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In dealing with antique violins, it is reasonable toconclude that construction methods define schools,while stylistic details distinguish the individualswithin those schools.xiv In this case, “stylistic de-tails” refers to those modifications which – con-sciously or unconsciously – individuals apply to thebasic patterns and methods of their particular school.These details may take the form of subtle changes toinstrument design, the selection of unusual materialsor some idiosyncratic use of tools. There are, ofcourse, exceptions to this general directive,xv but byand large it is the interplay between the constructionmethod and an individual’s stylistic interpretationthat forms the basis of visual expertise. And, inessence, it is the connoisseur’s job to interpret thisinterplay and reach some form of appraisal.

From an early stage, instrument makers of differ-ent areas and traditions began to copy the success-ful designs of Cremonese violin makers. Initially, theyimitated the works of the Amatis, then JacobusStainer and eventually Antonio Stradivari andGiuseppe Guarneri del Gesu. When this happened, itwas usually only the basic designs which were repro-duced, in particular the body, head and soundholeoutlines. Normally, each copyist retained the con-struction method of his or her original teacher.xviThere are numerous examples. In early 18th-centuryLondon, Daniel Parker made outwardly accuratecopies of instruments by Antonio Stradivari,xviiwhile continuing to use the construction method pe-culiar to the English school of Barak Norman andNethanial Cross. In the second half of the 18th cen-tury, a similar situation developed with the Buch-stetter family of Regensburg:xviii the Buchstettersreproduced the appearance of a 1690s long-patternStradivari violin with considerable success, but theytoo retained the construction method specific totheir native school.

The influence of Cremona’s violin makers spreadfar and wide, becoming ever stronger over the suc-ceeding centuries. Three great factions initially de-veloped, based on the work of the Brothers andNicola Amati, then Jacobus Stainer and, later, Anto-nio Stradivari. Other Cremonese masters had a minorinfluence from time to time, but through the 17thand 18th centuries, these makers led the field. Theywere later joined by Giuseppe Guarneri del Gesu and

to a lesser extent Carlo Bergonzi and Giovanni Bap-tista Guadagnini. In due course, no important groupor individual maker remained unaffected.

Understandably, the Amatis – chiefly representedby the brothers Antonio and Hieronymus and laterby Nicola – were the first undisputed leaders of vio-lin making in Europe. Their fame was enormous andlong lasting, and they were copied and even coun-terfeited from very early times.xix In addition to themany individual makers who were taught either di-rectly or indirectly by Nicola Amati in Cremona, thefamily’s works influenced several Italian schools. Inparticular Florence, Venice, Turin, Milan, Padua,Bolzano and Bologna fell under their spell. OutsideItaly, their instruments motivated makers in theTyrol, the Low Countries and later, toward the end ofthe 18th century, England. It was only with the in-creasing vogue for Stainer’s instruments that theAmati star was eventually eclipsed.

It is uncertain where Jacobus Stainer (Absam, ca.1617xx-late 1683) apprenticed. However, his use ofthe Cremonese method places him firmly in the Cre-monese circle. In the beginning, he closely followedthe Amati method and model, adopting many of thestylistic traits that characterized Amati violins. How-ever, while Stainer remained dependent upon theAmati method throughout his career, he transformedthe appearance of their model by developing his owndistinctive style. Eventually, Stainer’s fame out-stripped the Amatis’ almost everywhere.

Remarkably, unlike the Amatis’ influence, Stainer’sremained largely indirect. He professed to havetaught no one. The response of other makers to thepublic’s demand for Stainer instruments was there-fore all the more astonishing. In Italy, his model pen-etrated every important centre of violin making,except Brescia, Milan and, logically, Cremona.xxi Thelist of Italian makers who adopted Stainer’s model isseemingly endless. It includes Thomas Eberle inNaples; Michael Platner, David Techler, FrancescoEmiliani and Giulio Cesare Gigli in Rome; FrancescoGobbetti, Matteo Goffriller, Carlo Tononi, DomenicoMontagnana and Seraphin in Venice; Giovanni Flo-renus Guidantus and Giovanni Antonio Marchi inBologna; and Lorenzo and Thomaso Carcassi and Gio-vanni Baptista Gabrielli in Florence.

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With the exception of the Klotz family in Mitten-wald, who alone remained faithful to the Amati ideal,in Germany and Austriaxxii Stainer’s influence wasalmost ubiquitous.

In the Low Countries, a typical scenario was thatof Hendrich Jacobs and his pupil Pieter Rombouts,working in Amsterdam. Jacobs built beautiful instru-ments after the Amati pattern, but Rombouts gradu-ally adopted the more popular Stainer model.

Because Stainer taught no one directly, in spite ofhis exceptional influence, his working method andstylistic traits were often only loosely adhered to byhis followers. Indeed, his patterns were often copiedand recopied to the point of caricature. It was in Eng-land, however, that the effect of “Stainerization” wasperhaps the most devastating. Daniel Parker’s out-standing copies of Stradivari’s instruments shouldhave laid the foundations of a great English school,but unhappily it was not to be. Almost every 18th-century English violin is a copy of a Stainer or anAmati, with some makers, like John Dodd, alternat-ing between one and the other their entire workinglives.

With a few notable exceptions, it was not until the19th century, when the French rediscovered the clas-sical Italian school, that Stainer’s influence waned.From this moment, it was Antonio Stradivari who in-spired the majority of violin makers.

Unlike Stainer, Antonio Stradivari had pupils. Hewas directly responsible for teaching his sonsOmobono and Francesco, and possibly several othermakers.xxiii Although a number of makers claimedto be “Antonius Stradivarius alumnus,” to date nodocumentary sources have confirmed their associa-tion with his workshop. There are, however, strongstylistic indications that a few prominent Cremonesemakers worked for Antonio. Unfortunately, only timeand considerable luck will reveal who was really em-ployed in his shop.

During his lifetime, Antonio Stradivari inspiredmany makers, both inside and outside Cremona, but

the full effect of his authority was felt long after hisdeath. Over the centuries, Stradivari’s works havebeen copied as badly as those of Stainer and the Am-atis, but generally instruments inspired by his de-signs have proved the most successful. Since classicaltimes, his works have been copied by exceptional vi-olin makers more often than those of anyone else.This fact is reflected in the prices that such instru-ments reach at auction. The Gaglianos and Guadagni-nis, Lupot, Pressenda, Rocca, Vuillaume, Lott, theVoller brothers and Sacconi, to name but a few, wereall inspired by Stradivari.

The influence of Giuseppe Guarneri del Gesu de-veloped much later than that of Stradivari. Indeed,with the possible exception of his wife CatarinaGuarneri and Lorenzo Storioni, the classical periodwas long gone before his instruments were imitated.In fact, it was only after Paganini’s endorsement inthe first half of the 19th century that GiuseppeGuarneri del Gesu joined Stradivari in the first rank.Unfortunately, in attempting to imitate his popularbut rather eccentric later works, most copyists felldisastrously short of the mark. It might even be ar-gued that the eminent Parisian maker Jean BaptisteVuillaume, who was so successful with his Stradivarimodels, never really understood the idiosyncrasiesof Guarneri del Gesu.

As I mentioned earlier, there are ways of becom-ing an established expert on minor national schoolsor inexpensive instruments without needing to studyclassical Cremonese works. Nevertheless, for anyonewishing to become proficient at instrument identifi-cation, the importance of Cremona cannot be over-estimated. The designs created and brought toperfection by the Cremonese makers are the stufffrom which virtually all subsequent makers derivedtheir inspiration (with the notable exceptions of Ve-netian cellos and Brescian violas). This inspirationmay be many times removed from the originalsource, but even in the most rudimentary instru-ments, some Cremonese influence can generally bedetected. Consequently, anyone who can identify theworks of these important classical makers is alreadywell on the way toward a better understanding of allviolins.

The argument for developing expertise throughthe study of Cremonese instruments is both powerful

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and persuasive. It is supported by the fact that well-certified Cremonese instruments can be found inmajor orchestras and museums throughout theworld, and with a little effort, an aspiring expert cangain access to many of them. Furthermore, apartfrom the instruments themselves, a wide variety ofsupporting documentation is now available. The livesof most Cremonese makers have been well re-searched, with new information becoming availableat regular intervals. In addition, a sizable and rea-sonably accurate iconographic record of their in-struments exists in various publications and, ofcourse, on the internet. Admittedly, there are diffi-culties with some of this supporting material. It is oc-casionally inaccurate and often only available in rareand expensive editions. However, this same criticismcan be applied to the instruments themselves – rare,expensive and occasionally inaccurate.

LLaabbeellss

There is frequently a shyness of an unlabelled vi-olin which demonstrates how deeply the love of alabel goes.

- Arthur W. Dykes, The Strad (1936).

The most important documents pertaining to in-strument identification are – and have always been– authentic and undisturbed labels (in some cases,brands or stamps). They are the only indication as tothe true authorship of any instrument. Every deci-sion made about an instrument’s provenance is ini-tially dependent upon the examination of originalundisturbed labels. This even applies to instrumentsthat are fraudulently labelled or have no label (orsimilar identification). In such cases, decisions aremade with reference to similar instruments that docontain authentic and undisturbed labels. In fact, ifthe classical violin makers had not labelled theirworks, then no amount of analysis or archival re-search could help connoisseurs identify them. Eventhe most obvious visual characteristics are uselesswithout an attributable name.

Violin labels are so important that an in-depthstudy of them should become an essential part of theconnoisseur’s education. Not only should connois-seurs concern themselves with their appearance and

the materials from which they were made, theyshould also consider the accuracy of their word-ing.xxiv Unfortunately, the serious analysis of violinlabels has for the most part been neglected.

As a rule, the material upon which labels wereprinted or written was, as it still is, paper. In Europeat the time of the classical violin makers, the choiceof papers was limited. Manufactured from linen orcotton, paper types were often specific to certaintowns or areas. (In fact a paper expert might reason-ably be expected to identify not only the country andtown of origin, but also the exact paper mill and anapproximate date of manufacture.) For this reason,violin makers of the same school and period will al-most certainly have employed similar recognizablepapers. Again, it is regrettable that such possibilitiesare being overlooked by those investigating the au-thenticity of violins.

Similar arguments apply to the large assortmentof typefaces, printing techniques and inks. As withpapers, at the time of the classical violin makingschools, printing techniques were limited. Labelswere generally printed with movable type, and oftenindividual letters were subject to wear, tear andmovement. The resulting letter shapes are often asdistinctive as fingerprints. A comparison might bemade with the unique imprints left by typewriterkeys.

Although some attempts have been made to in-vestigate printing techniques as well as typefaces andtheir imprint on violin labels, in-depth studies arerare. In spite of this, a number of useful details havebeen observed that demonstrate the value of analyz-ing print. Giuseppe Guarneri del Gesu never changedthe wording of his labels (aside from the missing“Nepos” labels).xxv However, over the years, the in-dividual letters and their placement did vary. For ex-ample, in some periods the letter “m” in Cremona isset high, and in others it is set low. In addition, one ortwo letters stood proud and straight while otherswere shallow or twisted. Such distinctive multidi-mensional imprints on the surface of labels are oftenspecific to particular makers and even to certain pe-riods of their work.

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Even typographical errors and spelling mistakescan help establish particular periods, especially when(as is often the case) dates have been deliberately ob-scured or obliterated. A case in point is the invertedletter “u” in the word Antonius that was used onStradivari’s labels before 1700. This resulted in theinscription Antonins.

As with papers and typefaces, no serious scientificanalysis has been made of the various inks used onviolin labels. However, as the techniques of forgersimprove, this will probably become a necessity. In themeantime, connoisseurs are once again restricted tosimple visual examinations.

Fortuitously, both Antonio Stradivari and GiovanniBaptista Guadagnini provided connoisseurs with op-portunities to observe several ink types on single la-bels. Both makers imprinted an extra monogramstamp on their labels.xxvi In each case, these smallround stamps were printed with inks that differ incolour from the main typescript. Moreover, on occa-sions where Stradivari’s monogram stamp was notclearly printed, he added the missing portions byhand, providing a third ink type.

Wholly or partially handwritten on most labels isthe date of an instrument’s construction. These dateswere written with normal writing inks and generallydo not have the intensity of the printed letters.Today, they are often faded browns and greys. Some-times, acids in the ink have attacked the paper, al-most etching or burning the numbers into thesurface.

For financial gain, label dates have often been tam-pered with. However, although examples are rare, anumber of classical makers made alterations to theirown dates as well. This was probably done to avoidreprinting otherwise usable labels. Stradivari printeda series of labels in the 1660s that included the num-bers 166. The final number was to be applied by hand.At the turn of the decade, he simply scratched outthe final 6 and added two numbers by hand. Whenthe 1680s came along, he still had a supply of these la-bels and changed the second 6 into an 8 with a strokeof his pen.

In many cases, all that is known about a maker isthat which is written or printed on their labels. Suchis the case with the labels of Giovanni Baptista Rogeri.Bearing the following inscription, they are amongthe most comprehensive of all classical Italian labels:

Io: Bapt. Rogerius Bon. Nicolai Amati de Cremo-

na alumnus Brixiæ fecit Anno Domini 1 – -

Although disclaimed by some scholars, the abbre-viation “Bon.” is believed to denote Bononiensis,meaning “of Bologna,” and may indicate that he wasborn in Bologna, not Cremona.xxvii He certainlylived and worked in Brescia, or “Brixiæ,” and conse-quently among violin fanciers, the name of GiovanniBaptista Rogeri is usually coupled with the suffix “ofBrescia.” Rogeri claims to have been a pupil of NicolaAmati in Cremona, “Nicolai Amati de Cremona alum-nus,” and it is this final aspect of his mini curriculumvitae that is of particular interest.

Living in Cremona at that time was the similarlynamed Rugeri family of violin makers, of whomFrancesco Rugeri was the first and most importantmember. Because names were frequently misspelledby the recorder (usually the parish priest), it is be-lieved by some that Francesco Rugeri and GiovanniBaptista Rogeri were related. Unfortunately, no doc-umentary evidence has emerged confirming thisclaim. However, like Jacobus Stainer, Giovanni Bap-tista Rogeri of Brescia was using the Cremonese(Amati) method of construction. Moreover, he andStainer were the only makers doing so with (as yet)no proven connections to the Cremoneseschool.xxviii

Other than the label, the only indication that Gio-vanni Baptista Rogeri of Brescia may have beentrained in Cremona by Nicola Amati is to be found ina Cremonese parish census. In 1661 and 1662, a GioBatta Ruggieri is recorded living in the house ofNicola Amati in Cremona. The parish of the Amatifamily was extremely small, and like many others, itwas gradually absorbed by larger parishes. As a re-sult, many records were lost or mislaid. Not unusu-ally, the census for 1663 is missing, but by 1664, thisGio Batta Ruggieri is no longer resident in the Amatihousehold. In spite of the spelling, most authorities

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agree that this is Giovanni Baptista Rogeri of Brescia,rather than one Giovanni Battista Rugeri, a son ofFrancesco Rugeri. In 1661-1662, this son of Francescowould have been only eight or nine years old. Evenby the standards of the time, he was probably tooyoung to have been an apprentice. It is further as-sumed that Giovanni Baptista Rogeri, coming fromBologna, would have resided in the Casa Amati likeother foreign apprentices,xxix causing him to be in-cluded in the annual census of this tiny parish.Francesco’s son, being Cremonese, would not haverequired accommodation and consequently wouldnot have been included in the Amati household.

Although no references to Francesco Rugeri andhis family have been found in Cremona for the rele-vant years, there may be several reasons for this, themost obvious being the fact that many parish recordsare missing. In addition, numerous ancient docu-ments remain unopened, and it may simply be thatthe relevant records have not yet been examined.Apart from these possibilities, some historians be-lieve that the Rugeri family may have been livingclose to, but outside, the city walls.

In stark contrast to the highly informative labelsof Giovanni Baptista Rogeri, the decision of the Bres-cian makers Gasparo da Salo and Gio Paolo Maggininot to date their labels has created numerous prob-lems for connoisseurs. This simple omission hasmade it almost impossible to establish accurately thestylistic development of these two makers. Theenigma is heightened by the fact that almost any-thing Brescian has been fraudulently relabelled as ei-ther “Gasparo da Salo” or “Maggini.” Accordingly, ithas also become difficult to distinguish this famouspair from many other Brescian makers whose namesare recorded in the archives but whose identity in theform of extant instruments has almost certainly beenlost forever.

In sum, clean undisturbed labels are all that is re-quired for the identification of any instrument,xxxand if such labels were commonplace, expertisewould be painless. Sadly, they are not.

Taking a relatively small sample of Cremonese in-struments, the label problem quickly becomes obvi-

ous. More than half of the violins believed to havebeen made by Giuseppe Guarneri del Gesu contain nolabel or fake ones. The same can be said of CarloBergonzi and several members of the Rugeri family.Even more remarkable, labelled examples of Hi-eronymus Amati I and Giacomo Gennaro are ex-tremely rare (fewer than ten between them), andalthough there are several instruments certified asthe work of Antonio Amati, no undisturbed label ac-tually exists. While two genuine labels of OmobonoStradivari have survived in collections, as have sev-eral sotto diciplino labels of Antonio Stradivari andAndrea Guarneri, none have survived undisturbed ininstruments.xxxi In addition, there are cases, such asthe infamous “Nepos” labels of Giuseppe Guarneri delGesuxxxii and those of his wife Catarina Guarneri,which reliable documentary sources corroborate butof which no examples have endured.

The fact that some makers appear to have inserteddeliberately misleading labels has also clouded thepicture. In his latter years, Giovanni BaptistaGuadagnini claimed to have been a pupil of AntonioStradivari.xxxiii Although the claim cannot be en-tirely disregarded, most experts have dismissed thispossibility.

Almost certainly for quite legitimate reasons, thelabels of the Brothers Amati are also confusing. An-tonio Amati died March 4, 1607, and by accountsquite suddenly. In spite of this, labels printed withboth the brothers’ names were inserted for a further23 years, until Hieronymus Amati died in 1630. Itwould seem that the company name was simply re-tained, as it might well be today.

With the recently discovered information aboutthe early death of Antonio Amati, for the first timethe notion that instruments may have been made bypeople other than those named on Cremonese labelscan seriously be challenged.

One of the greatest weaknesses of connoisseurs istheir tendency to become infatuated with lofty ideasand ideals. In spite of the magnificence of Cremoneseinstruments, violin making was (and still is) a tradi-tional, repetitive craft, where technical proficiencytook precedence over artistic inspiration. However,

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almost since the time of Cozio di Salabue,xxxiv manyconnoisseurs have chosen to ignore this reality, pre-ferring instead to perceive violin making as an au-tonomous art form. As a result, individual makerswere elevated to the status of artists, a process whichaltered the perception of Cremonese instrument pro-duction. Ultimately, the myth of the lone individualcreating one-off masterpieces became firmly estab-lished, and it continues to shape the thinking ofmany connoisseurs.

The reality, however, was somewhat different. Cre-monese masters obviously trained their apprenticesextremely well, and they are unlikely to have wastedtheir investment with undemanding tasks. The truthis that at some point in their working lives, all theclassical Cremonese makers were marketing instru-ments that, at least in part, were made by someoneelse. Traditionally, the help they received came fromtheir sons. But, although barely recognized (at leastofficially), this help must often have been consider-able. Moreover, the help many Cremonese mastersreceived was by no means limited to immediate fam-ily members. In this city of violins, ancillary workerswere a major fact of life.xxxv

Such revelations do not call for the denigration ordevaluation of Cremonese violins. They merely offeran alternative explanation which is perhaps more ac-curate and certainly more interesting. In fact, at thetime of the classical violin makers, such interactionoccurred in almost every trade and artistic endeav-our. In this regard, the artistic merit of the SistineChapel is not devalued by knowing that a small armyof craftsmen was working under the direction ofMichelangelo. Nor are the chairs of Robert Adam andThomas Chippendale any less worthy because theynever raised a chisel in their preparation. The worldcan live with a Henry Moore sculpture which, thoughweighing several tons, was never more than a tinymodel in the artist’s hands. Perhaps the world mustnow learn to live with violins to which the accreditedmaster may have contributed little more than theplans and some fatherly guidance.

Unhappily, the possible presence of extra handshas created serious problems for those whose onlyinterest is exclusive star names, which are exploitedby devious dealers to pump up prices and by preten-tious customers to boost their status. It has never

been common practice to sell no-name violins. Norwill it prove popular selling instruments with severalnames. But, no matter what emerges from thearchives, it seems unlikely that the cult of star nameswill disappear very quickly. Indeed, this long-stand-ing insatiable desire for eminent names and the spi-ralling of prices has led to more than simple labelmanipulation.

Even several centuries ago, the desire to own a fineviolin by an important maker was already outstrip-ping the supply. False labels and label-switching be-came and have remained the simplest and mostcommon form of faking instruments. It has alsoproved by far the most successful. Regrettably, it hascreated serious confusion for those attempting toclassify fine antique instruments. And unfortunately,the practice continues unabated, especially with in-struments of the modern Italian schools.

For the purpose of instrument identification, au-thentic and undisturbed labels remain the most im-portant documents. Either in situ or by proxy, theyare the key to identification. However, for more thana century, another kind of paper has gradually de-veloped in authority and in many cases has super-seded the genuine and undisturbed label.“Important” instruments tend to accumulate docu-ments – be they certificates, bills of sale, old insur-ance valuations, repair bills or letters ofrecommendation. Such papers are of enormous in-terest and belong to the history and provenance ofany instrument. But they are not proof of an instru-ment’s authenticity. However, although individuallysuch documents are often worthless, collectivelythey frequently acquire credence and credibility. Alltoo often, dealers are prepared to write certificates(for which they are handsomely remunerated) basedupon already existing papers, thereby adding au-thority to the group. Accordingly, accompanyingdocuments – especially those issued by persons de-ceased or companies that have ceased trading – mustalways be regarded with suspicion. Indeed, over thecenturies such documents have often been concoctedand issued by charlatans.

With the help of “good” papers, even a junk fiddlemay be sold for a tidy sum, a fact that has led to theproduction of many fake papers, because fake papersare easier to generate than fake instruments. What-

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ever their nature, fake or otherwise worthless, pa-pers are frequently successful. This is because cus-tomers are more likely to accept documentationwithout question than they are to accept a violinwith no accompanying papers. And, if they are led tobelieve they are getting a bargain (though not cheapenough to arouse suspicion), they can eventually bepersuaded by their own greed.

Toward the end of the 19th century, William C.Honeyman wrote the following about violin certifi-cation:

An expert is a very expensive luxury; he is not al-ways correct in his judgement and he is frequentlynot honest. The usual charge of an expert for judg-ing a violin is 2½% of its value, so an opinion may costpounds, and yet be worth very little. There are someexperts who will give an opinion on any violin for 5shillings, and for that sum you will get from them apaper containing an infinitude of nothing in alldoubtful cases.xxxvi

In spite of Honeyman’s guide and the previous ob-servations, not all certification is useless. Indeed, inrecent times, even the finest Cremonese masterpiecewould have been unsalable without some form of cer-tification. Accordingly, when purchasing a fine in-strument the buyer should always seek certificationfrom at least one reputable connoisseur. Neverthe-less, in the end, as important as certificates are, itmust always be remembered that even the best areonly the result of opinions, and whatever their word-ing, they are not and never can be an absolute guar-antee of authenticity.

In spite of these limitations, some connoisseurs –a rare few – are held in such high esteem by the tradethat the documents they issue establish the instru-ment’s value better than the instrument itself. More-over, even long after their death, such connoisseurscan continue to influence the price of instruments.In fact, in many cases, it is legitimate to ask whosecontribution was greater – the instrument maker orthe person who signed the certification. And, as hasrecently been shown, if an influential connoisseurdoes not endorse an instrument, its value can plum-met.xxxvii

Finally, it is something of a paradox that the valueof any connoisseur’s opinion is in turn determinedby the opinion which the trade has of their ability toexpress an opinion. As a result, factions often de-velop, and when factions develop, as they generallydo where money is involved, serious problems canarise for any customer caught between the lines.

RReeppaaiirrss aanndd RReessttoorraattiioonnss

The authenticity of a work of art depends on therelation between the work itself and the artists towhich it is attributed ... A damaged painting byRubens that has been deceptively restored, so as tolead the buyer to believe it all in Rubens’ own hand,is also a fake, even though in some areas or beneaththe restoration Rubens’ own brushwork is still ex-tant. It would be nonsense to talk about a work as a“Rubens,” if it was painted by somebody else. Such anobject could at best be an imitation; if it claimed to bea Rubens it would be a fake.xxxviii

The faking of instrument labels and documenta-tion constitutes only two of the problems that con-noisseurs face when they examine instruments.Among their most challenging tasks is assessing thedepreciation of instruments that have sustained se-rious damage. This problem is compounded by fash-ion and time,xxxix and above all, by the quality andextent of any repair or restoration.

Connoisseurs are often at their most vulnerablewhen assessing repair and restoration work. Fewhave spent time working at the bench, and withoutsome clear insight of what can be done, assessingwhat has been done becomes extremely demanding.

The genuine conservation of musical instrumentsis extremely rare, even in museums. Conservation in-volves keeping instruments in a controlled environ-ment and protecting them from danger andexploitation in order that they might be studied andadmired by future generations. However, for the ma-jority of violins the situation is somewhat different.

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It would be difficult to imagine another branch ofartistic endeavour in which the created object is sub-jected to the kind of rigorous treatment the averageviolin usually receives. No matter how valuable theseinstruments become, they remain the tools of themusician’s trade. Damage, whether by accident orthrough general wear and tear, is inevitable. Andwhenever such problems arise, the player naturallyturns to his or her violin maker for help.

In the violin business, repair and restoration aredegrees of the same trade and many attempts havebeen made to define the meaning of these two titles.One popular definition is that when a repairer suc-ceeds in making the damaged area look like the sur-rounding original area, then such a repair may becalled a restoration. Although basically true, this in-terpretation is somewhat inadequate.

Repairers usually concern themselves more withgetting musical instruments to work efficiently andless with preserving the substance and integrity ofthe original maker’s work. It may be that in manycases this is a reasonable and quite legitimate goal,since the vast majority of instruments have littleartistic or aesthetic value. However, the greatest con-cern of the connoisseur is that, through inexperienceor ignorance, a repairer will occasionally handle anespecially fine piece like a cheap school fiddle.

In contrast, the restorer professes considerabledeference to the substance and integrity of the orig-inal maker’s work. The best among them are highlyacclaimed and extremely skilled individuals. Fur-thermore, they are almost always conscientious andidealistic, which makes criticism of their work ex-tremely difficult. Nevertheless, this subject must beaddressed. Whatever their motives, not only are re-storers often failing to conserve instruments, but likethe players who use them, they are actively con-tributing to their destruction. If the terms “genuine”and “fake” can be described as black-and-white cat-egories, then “restoration” is the grey area in be-tween.

Although current methods of restoration are gen-erally considered more sophisticated than those usedin the 19th century, posterity may not judge them so

kindly. Many of the techniques used by restorerstoday are irreversible, and future generations mayview them in much the same way as we now regardthe cutting of violas and cellos in the 19th and 20thcenturies.

In the distant past, when an instrument was rav-aged by woodworm or trampled on by a runawayhorse, whole new pieces were made or fitted whichare now quite apparent to the trained eye.xl How-ever, since the beginning of the 20th century, therehave been restorers capable of invisibly mending se-riously damaged instruments, so that their work isvirtually undetectable from the outside and some-times even from the inside. As this book will no doubtdemonstrate, the advanced techniques available totoday’s restorers have led to the near miraculous re-construction and cosmetic regeneration of manybadly damaged old masterpieces. These have in-cluded instruments ravaged by woodworm, run overby cars or passing motorcycle curriers and evenwashed away in floods to be recovered many kilome-tres down river.

Remarkably, referring to a violin being offered forsale as “fully restored” has become a positive de-scription in the repertoire. The phrase is attached tothe dealer’s sales jargon much as it might to the saleof an old house. And much as it might with an oldhouse, the work carried out may have little to do withthe object’s original appearance. Moreover, “fully re-stored” can mean that a minute wing crack has beeninvisibly mended or that the last owner put his kneethrough the instruments as he fell on the podiumsteps. Unless specifically notified, the buyer has noway of knowing this, and even an experienced re-storer can have trouble spotting the work of a tal-ented colleague. As for the connoisseur, not alwaysaware of the restorer’s tricks, assessing the extent ofclever restoration work can be an alarming chal-lenge. In addition, the kind of subtleties that expertsregister almost subconsciously can be destroyed byeven the smallest of repairs, ultimately altering opin-ions and changing classifications.

Until the later part of the 19th century, repairswere mostly done to keep the instrument in aplayable condition, with little or no considerationbeing given to cosmetics. Understandably perhaps,this was not enough for many aggrieved owners who

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wished to see their beloved instrument as it was be-fore damage was inflicted. Moreover, as prices rose,dealers quickly became aware that apparentlyhealthy instruments sold better than ones showingobvious signs of repair. As a result, although invisi-ble repair work was ostensibly developed to appeasedistraught owners, in reality its main purpose be-came the financial enrichment of dealers. Indeed,since the end of the 19th century, skilled craftsmenand women have been regularly undertaking whatcan only be described as “cosmetic” restorations onvaluable instruments. Astonishingly however, evenwhen an instrument is offered with a complete de-scription of the repairs involved, the gravity of thesituation is seldom fully realized by the buyer. Usu-ally the instrument’s pristine appearance is morethan enough to allay any misgivings they may haveabout some previous catastrophic accident. More-over, once such an instrument has been resold, thesedetails are often conveniently forgotten by bothdealer and customer.

Whatever the extent of repair or restoration work,it is important to bear in mind that not a single in-strument has survived unaltered from classical times.Even those extremely rare examples which have re-tained their original necks and fingerboards havebeen altered in some way; for the remainder, modifi-cations which have been carried out since classicaltimes can, in every case, be described as extensive.Altered to such an extent, most other works of artwould be considerably devalued. In spite of this, it isnot uncommon for such heavily altered instrumentsto be described as being in an excellent state ofpreservation or an extremely well preserved exam-ple.

So, at what point does a so-called mint conditionStradivari, already fitted with a new neck and part ofits pegbox, a new fingerboard, tailpiece, pegs, end-pin, bass bar and soundpost, stop being a Stradivari?Perhaps when it has also had its shattered belly dou-bled with one or more major patches, some studs anda little half-edging? Perhaps when it receives patchesin the back,xli new blocks and linings, a bit of newpurfling, a couple of replacement corners and edges,a new button, maybe one or two new ribs, not tomention a replacement scroll? Or perhaps the attri-bution changes when its famous varnish has been ex-tensively retouched, overpolished or removedaltogether?

It cannot simply be that a Stradivari’s attributionchanges when the weight of new material exceedsthat of the genuine old, for on most Stradivaris, in-deed on most classical instruments, replacementparts already outweigh original parts. In fact, unlikethe damaged painting by Rubens, the authenticity ofeven a heavily restored or repaired violin is seldomquestioned on these grounds alone.

No doubt, the peculiar nature of musical instru-ments has changed the general perception of what isand is not original. Clearly, tremendous importance isplaced upon those parts of instruments that are con-cerned with generating sound. Even such nebulousfactors as design and concept appear to be of greaterimportance than the usual missing materials. As faras musical instruments are concerned, it would seemthat assessing the percentage of original materials isa superfluous enterprise.

Disregarding the percentage of new material thatmay rob a violin of its originality, alterations of anykind pose problems for the connoisseur. Perhaps themost challenging legacy of past repairs and restora-tions involves instruments whose outlines have beenaltered by the restorer’s knife. Largely in the 19thand early 20th century, many violins, violas and cel-los were reduced in size (or, more rarely, enlarged),often to a ridiculous extent. There is frequently someconsiderable reworking and relocating of corners,edgework and purfling. As a result, their archings andpurfling channels have been seriously distorted. Ac-cordingly, even where soundholes have not beenrecut, in most cases their relationship to the archingsand corners has been radically transformed. Takentogether, such “repair” work has often removedmany of the typical features that connoisseurs de-pend on.xlii

In spite of their severity, it is usually assumed thatsuch modifications were carried out legitimately. Un-fortunately, this is not always the case. A fine lineoften separates legitimate restorations and alter-ations from those made with the intention to deceive.

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CCooppiieess aanndd FFaakkee IInnssttrruummeennttss

Ay, sir. To be honest, as this world goes, is to be oneman picked out of ten thousand.

– Shakespeare, Hamlet

The “legitimate” work of the restorer’s knife isclearly a problem for the connoisseur, but the faker’sknife can be a greater worry. Whether creating cleveralterations or outright copies, top fakers have almostalways come from the ranks of top restorers. Whoelse but top restorers can develop the skills and ob-tain the knowledge required?

The reasons why restorers turn their hands to suchwork are complex. However, it is probably true to saythat relatively few violin copies were made to befakes, and certainly not every fake began life as acopy. Actually, the basic difference between a copyand a fake lies in the intention to deceive (mainly,though not always, for financial gain). This intentionto deceive may be on the part of the original maker,but more typically it is the objective of some laterdealer.

Forgery and counterfeiting have been a fact of lifefor many thousands of years. Historical precedentscan be found in abundance. A manuscript supposedlywritten by Sophocles in the 5th century B.C.E. wasdeclared a fake by Dionysius, who had penned themanuscript himself in the 4th century B.C.E. Duringthe Renaissance, the young Michelangelo carved acopy of a Roman cupid, which he sold as an antiqueto a wealthy collector. Like Dionysius, Michelangeloeventually exposed his own deception in order toachieve the acclaim he felt was justifiably his.

Today, a whole range of brand-name products,such as Adidas and Chanel No. 5 are being faked, andon a daily basis companies loose millions of dollars.Largely because of such activities, it is commonlysupposed that all reproductions are or were madesolely for financial gain. But this is certainly not theonly motive. Fakes and counterfeits, especially thoseof high quality, have been inspired by a variety of im-pulses, not least a desire to understand and emulategreat works.

Some fakers, perhaps angry or disillusioned withindividuals or legislative systems, are simply drivenby anger. However, as with Dionysius and Michelan-gelo, over the centuries an astonishing number offine-art forgeries have been exposed by the forgersthemselves, and it would appear that their egotisticalrequirements are often more important than any fi-nancial gain or fear of recrimination.

A fine line has continually divided the inspiredcopy from the unadulterated fake. It has always beenrecognized that there is much to be learned fromcopying works of art, be they paintings, sculpturesor violins. Even musicians use this learning processwhen motivated by the recitals or recordings of greatplayers whose style they seek to emulate. Indeed, forcenturies copyists enjoyed an honourable and per-fectly official status. Until quite recently, copying wasa skill which all artists were expected to acquire dur-ing the course of their training, and for violin makersthis position has never changed. Whenever a makeris employed by a master, he or she is expected towork exactly in the master’s style - a style in turnusually inspired by the great classical makers.

It seems obvious that to reproduce any artist’swork with some degree of success, the copyist mustbe well versed in the techniques and materials thatartist used. However, they must also be aware of thehistorical background within which the original wascreated. Such insight requires a good deal of dedi-cated research. Methods are carefully studied andmaterials searched out or re-created. On the plus sidefor the connoisseur, violin makers who fall into thiscategory are usually well known. They can only de-velop such skills slowly and in the presence of finegenuine instruments. Consequently, it is virtually im-possible for their development to pass unnoticed. Forthe connoisseur, knowing a faker’s identity andmodus operandi is the key to recognizing their work,which is why copyists like the Voller brothers andJohn Lott are well known (although their work is notalways so easily identified).

It is no exaggeration to conclude that in the his-tory of the arts generally, high quality copyists,whether legitimate or criminal, have generally con-tributed more to the craft of expertise than they have

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to the long-term deception of experts.xliii Further-more, the need for experts to remain one step aheadof the forger’s game has promoted a good deal ofvaluable research. A comparison can be drawn withthe development of the lock. Because thieves developincreasingly clever ways of overcoming locks, lock-smiths are constantly obliged to invent new devicesto defeat them.

Generally, the production of fake artworks is pro-portional to the ease of their manufacture and thepotential financial rewards. For example, until thelate 20th century, almost no fake Grecian urns weremade.xliv Financially, they were viable, but techni-cally they were too difficult. In contrast, there arenow more fake paintings attributed to the Frenchartist Jean-Baptiste Camille Corot than there are gen-uine ones.xlv

That which applies to the production of fake art-works certainly applies to the production of fake vi-olins. Though financially viable, because of thetechnical difficulties involved, well-made fake classi-cal Italian violins are extremely rare, whereas fakemodern Italian violins are much more common andalmost certainly exceed the number of genuine ones.

By the beginning of the 19th century, violin copy-ists had already begun imitating the wear patterns ofold Italian varnishes. Although it is impossible toknow how many, if any, of these early copies weremade with the intention to deceive, within a re-markably short time the production of artificiallyworn instruments had increased dramatically. Sincethen, reproductions of classical instruments, of bothgood and bad quality, have sold extraordinarily well.

Obviously, some legitimate copies are eventuallyturned into fakes by simple label manipulation ormore complex alterations. However, to complicatethings further, a number of intentionally made fakes,identifiable in retrospect, are now being legally han-dled under their makers’ real names. In fact, it is fairto claim that the best of these older reproduc-tions/fakes still produce more profit for dealers thannon-reproductions of the same period, even by thesame maker. For this reason alone, the indignationexpressed by some dealers about modern copies is

difficult to justify with their obvious desire to sell theworks of such worthies as John Lott and Jean BaptisteVuillaume.

As well as instruments specifically created eitheras copies or as fakes, many existing instruments arealtered or transformed in a variety of ways. Somemethods are highly sophisticated, others downrightcrude. A microscopically thin veneer of varnish andwood might be painstakingly grafted over an archingto create the ambiance of an aged surface. Alterna-tively, with little more effort than two or three knifestrokes, a pair of soundholes might be given a littlemore flare.

Because the presence of genuine pieces makes newcomponents appear more authentic, instrumentswere and possibly still are being cannibalized forparts. At the turn of the 21st century, there was acello in New York with a front by Antonio Stradivariand the sides and back by John Lott. The rest of thisStradivari cello sat on the Atlantic’s opposite coastwith a front by John Lott. Clearly, for the clevercraftsperson the possibilities for altering instrumentsare almost unlimited, and when the price is right, lit-tle remains sacred.

TThhee SScciieennttiiffiicc AAnnaallyyssiiss ooff VViioolliinnss

Although for many decades, scientific analysis hasbeen successfully employed for the authentication ofartistic works, the eye of the connoisseur still re-mains pre-eminent. Scientific analysis can only as-sist connoisseurs, it cannot replace them. And aboveall, it cannot appreciate art. It cannot recognize cre-ative or aesthetic qualities. Indeed, before any indi-vidual can begin to scrutinize and assess theauthenticity of artistic works, they must first learnto appreciate them. Moreover, it is probably fair tosay that, if at some future date scientific analysis everreplaces the connoisseur, then all genuine apprecia-tion of the arts will have died in the process.

While there has been some very positive scientificinput in the field of violin identification, particularlywith regard to the accurate ageing of spruce bellies,this is a fairly recent phenomenon. On the whole, as

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alluded to earlier in the section about labels, the pos-sibilities of scientific analysis have been largely neg-lected by the violin trade. The reasons for thisomission are, in part, valid. Until recently, the valueof bowed instruments did not justify the use of ex-pensive scientific investigation.

More especially, in the 1970s, several disastrous at-tempts were made to identify instruments using sci-entific methods only. Understandably, these attemptsdid little to develop the reputation of scientific ex-pertise among connoisseurs of the violin. But theseefforts largely failed because, following a major scan-dal in violin dealer circles, those carrying out the re-search chose, somewhat justifiably, to reject theadvice of prominent connoisseurs entirely. Conse-quently, the investigating scientists asked theirequipment the wrong questions and placed too muchfaith in the answers they received.

In particular, ultraviolet light was misused withabandon on one infamous project. Although ex-tremely useful for detecting repair work, ultravioletlight was initially used to classify violin varnishes,where it was hailed as a panacea. Under ultravioletillumination, certain organic chemicals that are oth-erwise indistinguishable fluoresce and give out visi-ble light. Depending upon their chemical make-up,they do this with different intensities and colours.The problem is that a connoisseur is still required tointerpret the results. For whatever reason, the scien-tists who conducted the tests did not realize thatunder ultraviolet light, many obviously non-Italianinstruments display a similar profile to those of im-portant Cremonese works.xlvi To make mattersworse, eight volumes were published on the back ofthis project mainly identifying instruments on thestrength of their profile under ultraviolet illumina-tion. As a result, beautiful Italian violins appear in-discriminately alongside shoddy reproductions.xlvii

The first real cooperation between scientists andconnoisseurs of the violin came with the develop-ment of dendrochronology.xlviii Dendrochronologyis a branch of science whereby the growth patterns ofcertain tree varieties in specific climatic regions arestudied and compared. By overlapping timbers ofknown age, scientists have recorded several thousandyears of growth data for some species. The speciespertinent to violin identification is spruce, from

which the top, or belly, is made. As a method of dat-ing spruce, dendrochronology is extremely accurate.By establishing the exact date of the youngest re-maining year ring, scientists have been able to as-certain the minimum age of the belly wood; andclearly, the belly on a violin dated 1716 cannot havebeen made at the time alleged if its youngest yearring was formed after that date. Dendrochronologycan also match bellies cut from the same tree. Insome cases, this has enabled the dendrochronologistto match bellies from several different instruments,and usually but not always by the same maker.

Without doubt, dendrochronology is the greatestsingle advance in the business of violin identification.Unfortunately, it is not foolproof. In fact, its data canbe relatively easily abused to support even the mostbanal fake. Spruce can be obtained from manysources old enough to fool those who rely too heav-ily on this ingenious branch of science. And sincemaples cannot yet be dendrochronologically ana-lyzed, if the back, head and sides of an instrument arenew, they cannot be exposed by this method. More-over, there is little point in knowing that the bellywood of an instrument is from the relevant period ifthe question is whether or not the instrument hasbeen revarnished or whether the violin was made byAndrea Guarneri or Francesco Rugeri, both makersof the same period.

In the great search for the “secret” of Stradivari,scientists have also made limited use of chemicalanalysis, gas chromatography, electron and other mi-croscopes, infrared, and even radiography. Unfortu-nately, as yet these systems have never beenemployed to establish the authenticity of instru-ments. On the whole, their use has been limited tothe analysis of classical varnishes and grounds. Whatis more, these studies were largely instigated by vio-lin makers wishing to reproduce the singular quali-ties of Cremonese varnish.

Undoubtedly, there is a need for increased collab-oration between violin connoisseurs and scientists.In other fields of expertise, this has been standardpractice for decades. Quite simply, violin connois-seurs cannot tell the age of timbers or the composi-tion of varnishes, and scientific equipment cannotevaluate style or aesthetics. Together, however, theyhave a greater chance of assessing and identifying vi-

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olins, raising the level of expertise and winning thetrust and respect of those who purchase fine violinsfor whatever purpose.

*

No article can offer a foolproof guide to violinidentification or recognizing repairs, cosmeticrestoration and fraud. It can only make the readeraware of these matters. Like every other business, theviolin trade is full of well-meaning individuals un-aware of their potential for creating mayhem. It alsohas its share of clever tricksters with fascinating anddangerous ideas. Fortunately, it also continues to pro-duce honest dealers and some outstanding connois-seurs.

In conclusion, anyone wishing to become a con-noisseur-dealer should be aware that it is not a jobfor the faint-hearted. They must be prepared to makeexpensive mistakes, a factor that gives modern ex-pertise a seriously intimidating edge. Moreover, ifthey wish to remain successful and respected, theymust be prepared to pay handsomely for such mis-takes. Accordingly, may their moral code remainstrong and failing that, let the buyer beware.

NNootteess

i In the 1980s, a Stradivari violin could be acquired for less thanUSD 200,000; now they cost up to and more than USD4,000,000.

ii In standard UK English, the term fiddle still means “to swin-dle, cheat or defraud.” The term comes from the poor repu-tation that buying a fiddle gained in the 19th century. “Fiddle5, a swindle, a fraud; a piece of cheating. Colloq.” The NewShorter Oxford English Dictionary vol. 1, ed. Lesley Brown(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), p. 942.

iii Meisterwerk der Geigenbaukunst, ed. Rudolf Hopfner (Vienna:Oesterreichische Nationalbank, 2002).

iv For some time now, it has been possible to identify the humanvoice electronically. Although it may eventually prove possi-ble to identify the tone of a specific instrument, the problemsof identifying the complete works of a whole school or of anindividual through tone are, for the moment, insurmountable.There are too many factors which must be taken into accountwhen analyzing the sound of a series of violins: damage tothe varnish layer, repair or restoration, the differing piecesof wood and models employed, the player, bow, bass bar,bridge, soundpost and strings being the most obvious.

v Roger Hargrave, “Identity Crisis: Why the ‘Sainton’ del GesuDivided the Experts,” The Strad 116, no. 1383 (July 2005):pp. 50-56.

vi Coincidentally, this is approximately the extent of the classicalCremonese school.

vii There have always been fewer women violin makers, but it isknown that some records were deliberately destroyed in the19th and (seemingly) early 20th centuries; consequently, theworks of many women remain unknown. It is even possiblethat there were women violin makers working in Cremona, inparticular, the wife of Guarneri del Gesu. See Carlo Chiesaand Duane Rosengard, “Guarneri del Gesu: A BiographicalHistory,” in Giuseppe Guarneri del Gesu vol. 2, ed. Jane Hol-loway and Jennifer Laredo Watkins (London: Peter Biddulph,1998), pp. 12, 15, 16, 18, 20-21; Hargrave, “The WorkingMethods of Guarneri del Gesu and Their Influence on HisStyle,” in Giuseppe Guarneri del Gesu vol. 2, pp. 151-152and 155; and Hargrave, “Seeking Mrs. Guarneri,” The Strad111, no. 1325 (September 2000): pp. 950-957.

viii Andrea Amati was certainly the first known violin makerwhose instruments have survived.

ix Hargrave, “Andrea Amati,” The Strad 103, no. 1220 (Decem-ber 1991): pp. 1093-1107.

x As well as those of the violin family, they made a wide varietyof bowed string instruments.

xi There may have been non-family makers working for or withthe Amatis before Nicola, but for whatever reason, none ap-pear to have established themselves as independent violinmakers.

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xii Remnants of this system still exist, although most have beensuperseded by the almost universal post-baroque method thatwas initially widely adopted – if not entirely developed – bythe French makers of the 19th century. This “French system”basically involved fitting and aligning the neck to the com-pletely finished body of the instrument (rather than fitting thebody to the neck).

xiii For further information on this system, see Hargrave, “TheWorking Methods of Guarneri del Gesu and Their Influenceon His Style,” pp. 129-155.

xiv This rule, which incidentally governs most schools of art andartifacts, has become less obvious in modern times. Espe-cially among contemporary copyists of classical Italian mak-ers, for whatever reason, many have chosen to emulate themethod as well as the stylistic and design features of the oldmasters.

xv Such information is often extremely difficult to decipher. Themaker Carlo Bergonzi provides the perfect example of howstylistic details can both help and hinder the process of es-tablishing a maker’s teacher and his relationship with othermembers of the school. The already complex stylistic rela-tionship between Bergonzi’s work and that of his Cremonesecontemporaries is further aggravated by personal relation-ships with both colleagues and family, which have recentlybeen uncovered. Such examples abound in every major schoolof violin making. See Duane Rosengard, “Cremona afterStradivari: The Bergonzi and Storioni Families,” Journal ofthe Violin Society of America 12, no. 1 (1992): p. 91.

xvi See sources listed in note 7 for further information on womenviolin makers.

xvii Daniel Parker (active ca. 1700-1730) appears to have hadaccess to a set of instruments by Antonio Stradivari whichwere ordered for King James II of England. Parker was prob-ably the first copyist of Stradivari outside Italy.

xviii Gabriel David Buchstetter (ca. 1752-1771) and his sonJoseph (active late 18th century).

xix See Charles Beare, “Francesco Rugeri,” New Grove Dic-tionary of Musical Instruments vol. 3, ed. Stanley Sadie (NewYork: Macmillan Press, 1984), p. 276.

xx Walther Senn, Jakob Stainer der Geigenmacher zu Absam(Innsbruck: Universitats-Verlag Wagner, 1951), p. 15.

xxi Even in Cremona, Guarneri del Gesu’s use of a short stopmay have been the result of Stainer’s influence.

xxii Ironically, factories in Germany paid the ultimate insult toStainer’s memory. In the late 19th century, they were produc-ing hundreds of thousands of primitive Stainer copies. Theseinstruments owe little to Stainer’s good working practices andeven less to his sense of style.

xxiii See Hargrave, “Cremonese Confusion,” The Strad 111, no.1326 (October 2000): pp. 1104-1109.

xxiv In the main, this is a matter of checking supporting docu-mentary evidence in the available archives.

xxv See Hargrave, “The Working Methods of Guarneri del Gesuand Their Influence on His Style,” in Giuseppe Guarneri delGesu vol. 2, pp. 141, 151.

xxvi This may have been applied or commanded by some form ofguild or governing body.

xxvii Bologna was an important town in the 17th century and anearly centre of instrument manufacture in Italy.

xxviii Although both Peter Guarneri of Mantua and PeterGuarneri of Venice also worked outside Cremona, their initialapprenticeships in the city are well documented.

xxix In this context “foreign” simply meant being from anothertown city or province. Cities were often autonomous stateswith their own laws, weights and measure systems and, be-cause of the strength of dialects, to some extent even theirown languages.

xxx Problems occur whenever several makers worked togetherin a particular workshop. But their contribution can only beidentified if they eventually made instruments labelled withtheir own name that can be used for comparison.

xxxi An original Omobono Stradivari label was taken from alabel collection, probably the Salabue-Fiorini collection thatis now housed in the Shrine to Music Museum, Vermillion,South Dakota, United States. Whatever its source, this labelis now inside an instrument attributed to Omobono Stradi-vari and therefore cannot be described as an authentic un-moved label.

xxxii See Hargrave, “The Working Methods of Guarneri del Gesuand Their Influence on His Style,” in Giuseppe Guarneri delGesu vol. 2, pp. 141, 151.

xxxiii Giovanni Baptista claimed this on his Turin labels. SeeErnest N. Doring, The Guadagnini Family of Makers(Chicago: William Lewis and Son, 1949), p. 295; and W.Henry Hill, Arthur F. Hill and Alfred E. Hill, Antonio Stradi-vari: His Life and Work (1644-1737) (London: W. E. Hill &Sons, 1902), p. 84. For a more detailed analysis, see DuaneRosengard, Giovanni Battista Guadagnini (Haddonfield, NewJersey: Carteggiomedia, 2000).

xxxiv Turin violin enthusiast Count Ignazio Alessandro Cozio DiSalabue (1755–1840). The major part of his work becameknown as the “Carteggio.” It is the Rosetta Stone of violinexpertise.

xxxv Several articles have referred to the problem of ancillaryworkers in Cremonese and other workshops. See Hargrave,“e Furono liutaio in Cremona,” in Archettai A. StradivariCremona (Cremona: Consorzio Liutai & Archettai A. Stradi-vari Cremona, 2000), pp. 41-45.

xxxvi William C. Honeyman, The Violin: How to Choose One(Edinburgh, 1893), p. 3. This guide was available for oneshilling.

xxxvii See Hargrave, “Identity Crisis: Why the ‘Sainton’ del GesuDivided the Experts,” pp. 50-56.

xxxviii Fake? The Art of Deception, ed. Mark Jones (London:British Museum Publications, 1990), p. 50.

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xxxix For example, at the beginning of the 20th century it wasconsidered highly undesirable to have a soundpost crack in abelly, and a soundpost crack in the back made an instrumentvirtually unsalable. Today a soundpost crack in the belly isconsidered normal and a back crack undesirable but accept-able.

xl In fact, several early Cremonese instruments were repaired inthis way by later Cremonese makers. On a repair label of1719, Antonio Stradivari states that he made the belly. Alsoaround 1720, he made a belly for a 1686 violin of his own.

xli At the beginning of the 19th century, it was not uncommon forthe soundpost half of a back to be replaced when a crack ap-peared. Even in the later part of the 20th century, this type ofwork was carried out on classical instruments. Today, such areplacement piece is considered less valuable than a well-re-paired soundpost crack. In fact, it is considered vandalism.

xlii Around 1900, the Voller brothers of London, one of theshadier families of the violin trade, exploited this uncertaintyby making at least one copy of a large Amati viola, which theylater reduced in size to make it more convincing.

xliii One of the greatest 20th-century violin copyists, Simone F.Sacconi, probably contributed more than any other individualto our understanding of Stradivari’s methods. At least in part,his knowledge was derived from making accurate copies. Sac-coni’s copies were never made with any criminal intent.

xliv Fake? The Art of Deception, p. 247.

xlv “Forgery: Art,” Encyclopaedia Britannica, 15th ed., vol. 4(Chicago: Encyclopaedia Britannica, 1998), p. 230.

xlvi Of greater concern today is the fact that modern copyists canmimic the appearance of classical varnishes under ultravio-let light. In fact, they can do this more easily than they canfool a good connoisseur’s eye in normal daylight.

xlvii Verband Schweizerische Geigenbaumeister, ed., Alte Meis-tergeigen: Beschreibungen, Expertisen, 8 vols. (Frankfurt andMain: Verlag Das Musikinstrument, 1977-1982).

xlviii See Peter Klein and Stewart Pollens, “The Technique ofDendrochronology as Applied to Violins Made by GiuseppeGuarneri del Gesu,” in Giuseppe Guarneri del Gesu vol. 2,pp. 159-162.

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