Violin maker

Korero (AEWS), Volume 3, Issue 10, 18 June 1945, Page 19

Violin maker

A KORERO Report

cc A-pfo carve a violin, go to the Black | Forest of Germany where human sacrifices were offered, and cut out the heart of a tree 300 years old. “ Then carry that wood to Greece and leave it there for 100 years to season in the dry air of Attica. Let it absorb the eloquence of the Athenian orators, witness the tragedy of the Grecian masters, and let it season in the drowning hum of greatness that sounds from the field of Marathon. “ Then take it to Italy for another 100 years. Let it be saturated with the greatness of ancient Rome, and the fluttering of the wings of the Roman Eagle. “ Then take it to the white cliffs of Dover for another 100 years. Let it take in the sweep of the tide, the flash of the lightning, the rumble of the heavy thunder, and the rhythmic beat of the waves. “ Then take it for another 100 years to the newly built Palace of Versailles. Let it absorb the gaiety of its night life, the dignity of its court performance and the majesty of its architecture. “ Then take it for another 100 years to the rugged mountains of Norway. Let it gather into its heart the clash of the avalanche, the splutter of the waterfalls, the steady pulse of peasants . For the bow, take the hair of a woman who has lived, loved, and sinned, and been to the foot of the Cross for deliver-

ance. Then you will have the violin and the bow. But only God can make the violinist.” This eloquent admission that the perfect violin cannot be shaped by human hands came from Antonio Stradivari (1649-1737), one of the world’s best violin-makers. Antonio and his brother Geronimo improved and remodelled the old Brescian (1580-1630) violin, and created a graceful, artistic pattern which has been followed generally to the present day. The violin was not invented, but came from changes made to the viola, a six or seven-stringed instrument with square or blunt corners and a soft, penetrating tone. The viola dates from the fifteenth century, and was a descendant from the lute, an adaptation of the classical lyre.. The earliest violin is believed to have been made in Venice in 1563. For two and a quarter centuries, then, the violin has remained unchanged. This frankly puzzled a violin-maker Korero visited the other day.

“ It’s high time we did better,” said he. “ Stradivari, tucked away in his Italian province, had only about forty to fifty woods to select from, while here in New Zealand we’ve more timbers than he ever had in Italy. And when you think of the whole world at our disposal, why, any man could get hold of four hundred timbers without much trouble. We’ve spept millions on forestry, timber, and research work. We’ve delved deeply into science and found out a lot about sound. Yet with all our knowledge and resources, we’re prepared to admit ourselves licked by a comparatively — comparatively, mark you — ignorant man. “ No.” said the violin-maker, “ the perfect violin has never been made, my friend. The tone of the perfect violin must be a far closer approach to the human voice that that of any Strad.” This craftsman doesn’t imagine for a moment that he will make as good a fiddle as Stradivari, but he’s a man who won’t take anything for granted. (” I’m never afraid to tackle something new.”) Born in Edinburgh, and a soldier in the

1914-18 war, he cleared out from Scotland in disgust after his war pension was reduced. Off to Australia he went, but when a drought ruined his soldiersettlement farm he came across the Tasman to New Zealand. Now, aged fifty, he lives behind his workshop, in Wellington. A visiting violinist, in heated debate, declared it was utterly impossible to make good violins from woods grown in New Zealand. “ Nonsense,” said our friend, and set about then and there to make a fiddle. In the past eighteen months he’s made seventeen violins from matai, rimu, Southland beech, and honeysuckle. The violinist tried them all. When he came to the one made from honeysuckle he fell in love with its mellow tone. Now he wants to exchange his 2 00-year-old Parisian violin for the New Zealand fiddle fashioned out of honeysuckle. This craftsman believes the secret of violin-making is not in the varnish, but in the wood. He has found shortgrained timbers with short fibres give out short vibrations, which always re-

main under the control of the violinist. (If you want to experiment yourself, get a strip of wood, hold one end on top of a piece of cork, tip the other end with a finger, and listen.) Some European violin-makers declare a violin can be made only from maple and Swedish pine. Our friend likens this to a person

talking with two tongues. He maintains a violin should have only one set of vibrations, so he sticks to just one wood. And New Zealand woods seem to vibrate just as sweetly as the European ones. “ How do you set about making a violin ? ” we asked. We were shown a standard piece of wood, the shape of the body of the violin. He uses this pattern piece to cut out two duplicates, one for the front (or “ belly ”) and one for the back of the violin. Honeysuckle, of course, isn't large enough to work in one piece, so three sections have to be gummed together to make up the required size. The belly piece is shaved down to -fa n in thickness, and carefully moulded and shaped. The back piece is similarly scooped out and reduced. The ribs (which fit around the outside edges of the back and the belly) consist of twenty-four shaped pieces. These are glued into position and held in a press for forty-eight hours to make sure they stick together with uniform firmness. Then the neck and the scroll, carved in one piece, is fitted at the top, the fingerboard and tailpiece go on, airholes (those two squiggles you see on the belly of a violin) are cut equidistant from the centre of the instrument, the wood is given a clear varnish, the four gut strings go into position, and there, after three weeks of making and fitting forty pieces, is the violin, price around £2O.

A Harbour goes to France. — An article, Synthetic Harbours, printed in a recent Korero, described how the initial problem of landing supplies for the invading forces in France was solved by the building in England of two great harbours that were towed in sections across the channel and set up ready for use. Twelve days after “ D ” day, the worst gale for forty .years blew in from the North-east at 70 m.p.h. and completely wrecked one of the ports ; the other, which was protected from the gale, enabled armies and millions of tons of supplies and heavy equipment to be landed. A Harbour goes to France is the film record of how this tremendous project was worked out, and what it meant to the success of the Allied invasion. Districts may have this film made available by making application to film sections, A.E.W.S., Army H.Q., Wellington.