The history of the violin has long been associated with myth and legend, and antiquity holds the secret of its origins. The earliest and most primitive examples of stringed instruments played with a bow come from the Middle East and Arabia, and the pear-shaped, three-stringed medieval rebec is probably the violin’s most likely immediate ancestor. This instrument was brought to Italy in the ninth century by the invading Arabs. From it stemmed the miniature form that survived to the end of the eighteenth century as the ‘kit’ or dancing master’s fiddle, in France called pochette, a term derived from the habit of its being carried in a dancing master’s tailcoat pocket.

In medieval times we have the fidel also known as fidula, vythule and a variety of related names. Three-stringed like the rebec, this instrument was played with a fydelstyk, a clear indication that it was bowed, not plucked. Since it was used by ‘those who make a living from it through their labour’,1 by playing for dancing and at banquets and other social events, it was not considered respectable.

During the Renaissance a fairly short-lived but direct development of the medieval instrument was the lira da braccio (‘arm-lyra’), a violin-shaped bowed instrument with seven strings, held low against the shoulder and supported by the upper arm. This distinguished it from the viols, which are held downwards between the knees of the player.

About the middle of the sixteenth century a fourth string was added to the medieval three-stringed instrument. The tuning was in fifths – g below middle c, d, a, e. Thus the violin had come into being.

Gasparo da Salò (c.1540–1609; real name Bertolotti, but he was called da Salò after his birthplace on Lake Garda), settled in Brescia in northern Italy, and is one of the first known craftsmen in the records of violin making. The instruments made by these early Brescian makers – of which there were a number – were generally robust, often on the large side and sometimes roughly built, with an extremely powerful tone. But the violins made by Gasparo da Salò’s most famous pupil, Giovanni Paulo Maggini (1581–c.1632), are uncommonly elegant; they also have a distinctive large tone. The Belgian virtuoso Charles de Bériot (1802–70) owned two by this maker. After the death of Maggini the Brescian school went into a decline.

The most important centre of violin making was in the neighbouring city of Cremona, where it had flourished since the middle of the sixteenth century. The first of its celebrated makers was Andrea Amati (c.1511–80), who is believed to have worked there as early as 1550. He was followed by his two sons, Antonio (1540–?) and Girolamo (1561–1630), and they in turn by Nicolò Amati (1596–1684), the best known in what became the most powerful dynasty in the history of the instrument. It was in Cremona that the violin reached its peak of perfection.

In the second half of the seventeenth century, schools of composition and violin playing were emerging at centres all over Italy, the most important being at Bologna, Venice, Rome and Modena. This development was clearly linked with the growing popularity of the violin itself. Nicolò Amati experimented for many years to achieve a combination of the sweetness of tone and brilliance demanded by the new and proliferating breed of musician, the ‘soloist’.

Amati had many famous pupils, some of whom settled in Cremona. Others set up workshops and took on pupils in other parts of Italy. Francesco Ruggieri (1620–95) and Giovanni Rogeri (c.1670–c.1705) had all been apprenticed to ‘Old Amati’, as had Andreas Guarneri (c.1626–98), founder of the other great Cremonese dynasty. And finally, there was Nicolò Amati’s most celebrated pupil, Antonio Stradivari (1644–1737).

Stradivari is believed to have been a wood-carver before he entered Amati’s workshop. After his training was over he continued to live and work with his master, and his first violin is dated 1666. In 1667 he married and in 1680 left Amati to start up on his own in the Piazza San Domenico in Cremona, where the craftsmen lived side by side in the ‘violin makers’ quarters’. These old three-storey houses were built with a seccadour, or ‘drying room’, on the top floor, exposed on all sides to the Italian sun. It was here that the women hung the linen and the fruit to dry alongside the maturing unvarnished violins and selected pieces of seasoning wood.

For some time Stradivari followed his master’s design faithfully with only an occasional deviation, but after Amati’s death in 1684 he began a series of experiments in his search for a richer tone. By the turn of the century he appears to have arrived at his ideal, and the instruments he completed between 1700 and 1725 are acknowledged to be his best. Although they can convey pianissimo with absolute clarity, they can also make their powerful voices heard over a large orchestra. At this time orchestras were gradually expanding their forces beyond the scope of the Baroque chamber groups, but the solo concerto as we know it today had not come into being. It was almost as if Stradivari could anticipate what would be asked of his instruments a hundred years hence.

Great players have, not surprisingly, always been attracted to Stradivari instruments. Mischa Elman played one dated 1721 which had once belonged to Joseph Joachim; David Oistrakh owned a Stradivarius made in 1706 and Nathan Milstein played the ‘Goldman’ dated 1716.

Many of these ‘Golden Age’ Stradivaris have been named after their owners. The ‘Viotti’ of 1709, for example, was played by the Italian virtuoso until his death in 1824. The most famous of all named instruments is the ‘Messiah’, which owes its nickname to an unusual set of circumstances.

Early in the nineteenth century, a young Milanese carpenter-turned-collector, Luigi Tarisio (c.1790–1854), travelled all over Italy driving hard bargains for forgotten treasures, and accumulated a valuable store of master violins, including one superb example from the estate of Count di Salabue, one of the most famous eighteenth-century collectors. The violin had been purchased in 1775 in perfect condition from Stradivari’s son Paulo (1708–75). Tarisio went to Paris, offering some of his less valuable pieces for sale, which were immediately snapped up. Finally he approached Jean-Baptiste Vuillaume (1798–1875), the best-known Parisian dealer and violin maker of the nineteenth century, and found his most enthusiastic customer. He tantalised Vuillaume with descriptions of the Salabue Stradivarius which he ‘would bring next time’. Tarisio frequently reappeared, but never with the promised instrument. On one occasion Delphin Alard, Vuillaume’s son-in-law, overheard the conversation and exclaimed: ‘Really, Monsieur, your violin is like the Jews’ Messiah! We always wait, but he never comes!’

When Tarisio died, Vuillaume rushed to Italy and bought the entire collection from the unsuspecting heirs for a fraction of what it was worth. When he finally owned the ‘Messiah’, he fell victim to the same disease and could never part with it. Ironically, the ‘Messiah’ has always retained its unattainable image. Over the years it changed hands several times, but was never actually used by a performer: even when it was owned by Alard himself, he scarcely ever played it. Eventually it became the property of Hills of London, who gave it to the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford. The ‘Messiah’ can be seen there today in a glass case, immaculate and still unplayed.

The most brilliant of the younger generation of the Cremona School was Giuseppe Antonio Guarneri. Born about 1683, he was generally known as del Gesù because he inscribed his instruments IHS (Jesus Hominum Salvator – Jesus, Saviour of Mankind).

If Stradivari is seen as the refined aristocrat of his profession, del Gesù could be regarded as the drunken ruffian, the wayward genius who worked in fits and starts, especially towards the end of his short life. Del Gesù’s instruments reflect the variation which was the natural outcome of his unpredictable and individual genius. He is the one maker who is considered the equal of Stradivari, and his instruments are celebrated for their ravishing beauty of both form and tone. His varnish, amber in colour, with a translucent red overlay, gives off a luminous effect which has been compared with the ‘dying glow of the evening sun on the waves of the sea’.2

Many great players today prefer Guarneri instruments to any others, on account of their pungent tone. Fritz Kreisler owned a del Gesù of 1733, and Heifetz played on the ‘Ferdinand David’ of 1742. Kyung-Wha Chung plays a Guarnerius dated 1735. Paganini played a Guarnerius. He named it the ‘Cannon’ on account of its exceedingly powerful tone, and in his will he bequeathed it to his native city of Genoa, where it rests in a glass case, as mute as the...