The difference between the Stradivarius that left the
maker’s hands three hundred years ago and the instrument played today is akin
to the difference between a Model A Ford, fresh from the Dearborn assembly line,
and a tangerine-orange-sparkle chopped and modded Deuce Coupe hot rod. Some of the modifications to the violins are simply a matter
of maintenance—cleats to repair cracks, or patches to make up for distortion
from the sound post.
However, most of the modifications affect the performance of
the instruments. Bass bars have been
replaced—part of normal maintenance, but the replacements are generally much
beefier than the original slivers of spruce.
The tailgut attachments would be unfamiliar to Antonio. Fingerboards have been replaced by something
narrower, longer, and lighter. All necks
are modern replacements: Cremonese necks were actually (*gasp*) nailed to the body
of the violin, while new necks are mortised into place. Also, the neck angle is quite different from
what Stradivari installed. In addition
to such structural issues, almost all surviving fiddles have been polished and
revarnished an unknown number of times.
All this modification leads to instruments perfect for a
modern style of playing, but they are not what their author intended. There is a movement towards playing baroque
music—the music of Stradivarius’ time—on instruments that have either been left
in their original state, or newly made to baroque spec. However, it’s hard to find great original
instruments. If an instrument was good,
then its owners generally paid to have it kept up-to-date. Those instruments left untouched were, frankly, not
touched a whole lot to begin with.
Nonetheless, the original instruments movement has its dedicated,
sometimes fanatical adherents.
This leads to an intriguing story. I have to be circumspect in relating this,
since it is something that is being actively kept out of the news by the
request of the concerned parties. I
found out about it through a person I am at liberty to describe only as a well-connected-friend-of-a-luthier
in the Eastern Hemisphere. However, as a
story of musical intrigue and deceit, it ranks with the recorded legacy of
Joyce Hatto, and I think it ought to be public. Such is life in the internet age; keeping secrets is impossible and trying is futile.
One of the 20th century’s greatest violinists was
Erika Morini. A child prodigy, she had a
shining career performing around the world until her retirement in the 1970’s,
after which her star rapidly faded.
Since her 20’s, she played on a 1727 Strad, known as the
“Davidoff.” She kept the fiddle after
her retirement, almost until her death in 1995.
At some time during her terminal illness, when she was on her sickbed,
the Davidoff, along with much of her musical and artistic memorabilia, was
stolen. The case has never been cracked,
and the Davidoff-Morini Strad, worth over $3.5 million, vanished.
Until, maybe, now. About
a year ago, a nondescript box from a nonexistent address in Madagascar arrived
at the Chei Mi Museum in Taiwan. It
contained a violin. The body and scroll
and label appear, by every test, to be those of the Davidoff-Morini. Comparisons of the mystery instrument with
the best available photographs match, scar for scar, tree-ring for
tree-ring. However, the fiddle has been
modified from when it was last seen almost twenty years ago. A proper Baroque fingerboard has been fitted,
underneath gut strings and a lower bridge.
The neck has (with extraordinary workmanship) been replaced by one
fitted in the ancient method. In perhaps
the most shocking and visible bit of work, the instrument has been completely
revarnished, with no regard to preserving the few scraps of original finish—it
was varnished as if it were a new instrument.
It is clear that incredible effort and skill had been used in restoring
the Davidoff-Morini to its 1727 condition.
No individual has taken responsibility for this bizarre
un-theft and anti-vandalism, although there was a note accompanying the
violin. The note was a manifesto, in
French, signed by the executive committee of the “Stradivari Liberation
Front.” My contact sent me some camera-phone pictures, but between my poor French and
poor lighting I can only approximate the manifesto's contents. It avers that the instrument is the
Davidoff-Morini. It goes on to cite the
“atrocities committed by Vuillaume and his legion of ...[unclear]… race for louder
and higher and brighter noise,” and the history of insults to “the master of
all of us luthiers.” Apparently the goal of the SLF is to “acquire, by legal
means or otherwise,” great classic instruments and “rescue them from abasement
and slavery and restore them to their rightful [unclear: ?condition?].” The note apparently urges the Chei Mi, as
“responsible guardians of the heritage of the world” to treasure the violin and
present it before the public, playing the music it was meant to play, played in
the style it was meant to be played.
Needless to say, this has caused a deal of consternation,
though it has been kept very hush-hush.
The instrument has not been displayed, nor played in public (my contact
insists that it sounds incredible). The
insurers—and it’s not clear how they found out about the instrument—dryly
maintain that it is the
Davidoff-Morini, and since they paid the claim when it was stolen, they are the
owners. The Chei Mi has not acknowledged the incident, officially or unofficially, although I’m told they intend to keep the instrument as "a violin
of uncertain provenance, attributed to Stradivari, acquired by anonymous gift."
What brings this to a head—where the story gets so good that
my contact couldn’t keep silent any more—is the arrival of another nondescript
box from a nonexistent address (this time in Suriname) at the Chei Mi
Museum. It contained, by every test, the
1734 “Ames” Stradivari, perfectly restored to “authentic” condition. The “Ames” was stolen in 1981, and its last
known owner, Roman Totenberg, died last year.
The violin came with another note from the Stradivari Liberation Front, hinting
at more to come and naming some names, but only if the instruments were played in public as the SLF intended. This could get interesting.
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