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 Some of the ideas and informationhave already been superseded by subsequent re-search and development.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.

TThhee AAmmaattii MMeetthhoodd

The following item was written for the catalogue,which accompanies the Retrospective Exhibition ofClassical Cremonese Masters. The exhibition, tookplace in Cremona between 29 September and 22 Oc-tober 2000, it included the work of twenty-sevenmasters. The catalogue is illustrated and containsseveral specially commissioned articles by interna-tional experts.

The Amati Method

That Cremona should have emerged as the mostimportant centre of violin manufacture was an acci-dent of history and geography. Its eventual domi-nance owed as much to such factors as a devastatingplague in the 1630s as it did to the vagaries of politi-cal boundaries. Before the advent of the 16th centurythere were several centres of instrument manufac-ture in Europe and many recorded instrument mak-ers. Where, when, and how, the first violin appearedwill almost certainly remain a mystery. Its origin hasbeen accredited to a number of places, Fussen in theAlgau (now part of Germany), Czechoslovakia,

Poland, and the towns of Venice, Brescia, and Cre-mona in Italy. It is now accepted that many artisansplayed a role in its development, evolving as it prob-ably did, from a number of instruments. Certainly,virtually every feature of the violin occurs either onsurviving instruments or in iconographic materialmade before the time of Cremona’s first known vio-lin makers.

For the art of violin making to become established,and to evolve, an enormous network of supportivetrades would have been essential. These must haveprovided everything, from highly sophisticated spe-cialized tools, printing blocks, tone woods, chemicals,oils, resins, gums, pigments, precious metals andstones, to such mundane articles as horse-hair, twine,wire, nails, glues, gut, leather, parchment, paper andcloth. Special accessories were also required. Pegs,tailpieces, strings, rosin, bows and cases must havebeen produced in or close to the main workshops.

Anything which could not be produced on the spotwas imported. At the time of the classical violin mak-ers, when overland connections were difficult anddangerous, and journeys were measured in weeks,the Po river system of northern Italy was a major ar-tery of trade. It was a great European highway link-ing the far east and west and the northern andsouthern lands, and Cremona was at its centre. Notonly did Cremona’s violin makers live on the greattrade roots, they lived because of them.

However, even a ready supply of tools and materi-als cannot guarantee customers. Sales were vital tothe business. From the earliest times, documentsrefer to the export of instruments of the violin fam-ily, from several centres, including Brescia, Venice,and Cremona. These instruments were sold withinItaly, as we now know it, but also in the wider Euro-pean market. Such commissions almost certainly in-volved foreign correspondence, dealings with banks,exchange rates, court and or church officials, ship-ping agents, and customs and tax officials (by nomeans all modern inventions).

That all this was possible in Cremona illustratesthe advanced commercial and industrial base whichthe city afforded. Nevertheless, the organizationalproblems must have been enormous, and ultimatelythese would have been the responsibility of the work-

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shop head. It is difficult to imagine these people find-ing time for the making, varnishing and fitting up ofinstruments. In fact, the volume of the trade, espe-cially in the larger workshops, betokens the fact thatnone of the great Cremonese makers was working en-tirely alone.

At any given time, popular assumptions can be-come the accepted models of reality. In the violinbusiness, the idea of the Cremonese craftsman work-ing alone, producing one individual masterpieceafter another, has continually been reinforced bylabel manipulation, and the dealers quest for prizednames. Modern research may be helping to reshapesuch preferred interpretations, but, even in the con-text of already existing information, radical alterna-tives to conventional theories about Cremoneseviolin making can be developed which do not requirea whole new set of data.

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 proficiencycame before artistic inspiration. However, almostsince the time of Cozio di Salabue,1 connoisseurshave largely ignored this notion, preferring to per-ceive violin making as an art form.2 As a result, indi-vidual makers were elevated to the status of artists, aprocess which altered the perception of Cremoneseinstrument production. Inevitably, the myth of thelone individual making one-off masterpieces becamefirmly established, and unfortunately it continues toshape the thinking of many connoisseurs.

The reality was somewhat different. Cremonesemasters obviously trained their apprentices ex-tremely well, and they are unlikely to have wastedtheir investment with undemanding tasks. In truth,at some point in their working lives, all the classicalCremonese makers were marketing instruments,which at least in part, were made by someone else.Traditionally, the help they received came from theirsons. Often this help was of major proportions. How-ever, the help which many Cremonese masters hadwas by no means limited to immediate family mem-bers.

In the heyday of violin making, Cremona’s work-shops were places of high productivity. Althoughtheir work transcended simple craftsmanship, Cre-mona’s classical violin makers were not so muchartists, as artisans, and it is highly likely that variousparts of the violin were prepared in batches. Much ofthis work may have been carried out by the mastersand their sons, but there can be no doubt that ancil-lary workers were also a fact of life.3

Such revelations do not call for the denigration ordevaluation of Cremonese violins. They merely offeran alternative explanation, perhaps a more accurateone and certainly a more interesting one. The artis-tic merit of the Sistine Chapel is not devalued byknowing that a small army of craftsmen was work-ing under the direction of Michelangelo. Nor are thechairs of Robert Adam and Thomas Chippendale anyless worthy because these masters never raised achisel in their preparation. The world can live with aHenry Moore sculpture, which, though weighing sev-eral tons was never more than a tiny machete in theartist’s hands. Perhaps the world must now learn tolive with violins to which the accredited master mayhave contributed little more than the plans and somefatherly guidance.

Andrea Amati was probably the first, and arguablythe most innovative Cremonese violin maker. Littleis known about his work and less about his life. Ac-cording to Carlo Bonetti,4 he was born some time be-fore 1505 (making him at least 72 years old when hedied).5 Also from Bonetti we learn that Andrea Amatiwas already a master violin maker by 1525 or earlier,and by 15386 he had established his workshop in Cre-mona. Initially he rented, and in the following yearpurchased a substantial property for the purpose.This house had a shop front and a small courtyard, awell, a cellar, and other offices. It was situated in thetiny parish of St. Faustino e Giovita, containing nomore than 17 residences. The Amati family of violinmakers, who span the entire classical Cremonese pe-riod, appear always to have been resident in this, thesmallest Cremonese parish. For the most part theyprobably occupied the same house, although it is pos-sible that for a period more than one house was usedby Andrea’s sons.

Sound information regarding Andrea Amati’s in-struction in the art of musical instrument making has

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yet to be uncovered, but, judging by the sophistica-tion of his works, he was no autodidact. Althoughclaims to be the ‘inventor of the violin’ can no longerbe made on his behalf, Andrea was certainly makingviolins well before his traditional Italian rival to thetitle, Gasparo da Salò.7 Da Salò was born on 20 May1540; at least 15 years after Andrea Amati had be-come a master luthier. By the time da Salò was 25years old, Andrea was well established and busy sup-plying instruments to the European aristocracy.

Whatever Andrea’s background was, it is clear thatby the mid-16th century he had already achieved aninternational reputation. From the presently avail-able documents it can also be assumed that Andreawas a fairly wealthy artisan. He also appears to havemarried at least twice. He had several children in-cluding at least two violin-making sons, Antonio andHieronymus. Antonio and Hieronymus were almostcertainly half brothers. There was approximately 20years’ difference in their ages. When Andrea Amatidied on 26 December 1577, these two sons werenamed as his heirs. The business they inherited waswell established and the Amati name was renownedthroughout Europe. Though not a complete monop-oly, the Amati business appears to have had little se-rious competition beyond that of the workshops inBrescia.

Notwithstanding the historical arguments favour-ing various towns and makers, only in AndreaAmati’s 16th. century Cremonese workshop does theviolin family appear in a complete and highly so-phisticated form. Furthermore, unlike other centressuch as Venice and Brescia, virtually the entire sur-viving 16th-century production was devoted to in-struments of the violin family. The only Cremoneseinstruments known to have survived from this timeare those of Andrea Amati, and his two sons, Antonioand Gerolamo (known as the Brothers Amati), and ifthe surviving instruments are a fair indication, theiroutput was substantial.8 Without significant evi-dence to the contrary, it must be accepted that thesetwo generations of the Amati family created and de-veloped the designs and constructional methodswhich all the great Cremonese makers heeded formore than two centuries.

Even a cursory examination of classical Cremoneseinstruments shows that developments and modifica-tions were continually taking place. New ideas weretried and either accepted or rejected. Stradivari’slong pattern violins of the 1690s are perhaps themost celebrated example. Between 1580 and 1630, alarge variety of violin family instruments were madein the Brothers Amati shop(s). Their father AndreaAmati appears to have created and then consolidatedthe violin family, whereas the Brothers were un-doubtedly experimentalist.

The overall production of the Brothers’ work-shops9 is hard to evaluate, but their combined outputmust have been considerable. Since their wares un-doubtedly included cases, bows, strings, rosin and allthe accessories which belong to bowed stringed in-struments, it is reasonable to suppose that many per-sons were involved in the buying and preparation ofraw materials, and the designing, making, and mar-keting of the family’s products. Although some of thiswork may have been undertaken away from the mainAmati residence, it is obvious that the Brothers Amatiworkshops were well organized business collectives -an observation which probably applied as equally totheir father’s establishment, as it eventually did tothat of Nicola Amati (the son of Gerolamo, who inturn inherited the family business).

The instruments which the Brothers produced in-fluenced makers throughout Italy and beyond. Theirworks were soon copied, and even counterfeited.They were an early source of inspiration in Turin,Venice, Bologna, Milan, Bolzano, Florence, and theNetherlands. In England, they were much in vogue atthe end of the 18th century, the time of Forster andBanks. After this period, however, the works of NicolaAmati were preferred, by both players and violinmakers, and the brothers are often underrated bycomparison. This is unfortunate because the Broth-ers never produced anything mediocre, and at theirbest they were second to none. Their instrumentsoften possess astonishing carrying power, while re-taining a sweetness of tone which easily comple-ments the cultured elegance of the craftsmanship.

Nicola Amati was the son of Gerolamo I. Extremelywell trained in the art of violin making, he became

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arguably the greatest maker of the family. He wascertainly the greatest Cremonese teacher. A disas-trous plague in the 1630s killed all of Nicola’s com-petitors, leaving him with a virtual Europeanmonopoly. However, with too much work, and no im-mediate family help, Nicola was forced to impart theAmati method to makers outside the Amati familycircle. Evidence suggests he did this both willinglyand well. Apart from any possible non-residents, atvarious times at least 16 apprentices were recordedliving in Nicola Amati’s house. Through Nicola an un-broken line of instruction existed between the earlyAmatis and the entire classical Cremonese school.Within the city, and even beyond, successive genera-tions of Cremonese makers gradually extended andrefined the Amati designs until, in the first half of the18th century, the Amati influence was barely recog-nizable. However, concealed beneath a veneer of sty-listic detail, the Amati designs flourished, and theirbasic rules of construction remained largely unchal-lenged and unchanged.

At the heart of the Amati method was the mould.This was a flat wooden board around which the vio-lin was constructed, and whose outline representsthe chamber of air inside the instrument. It is still notknown which came first, the mould itself, or the com-plete violin for which the mould was then developed.However, because it is the starting point in theprocess of construction, the mould has become themajor preoccupation of design theorists. The ele-gance and purity of the violin form is such that formore than two centuries questions about its designhave generated almost as much inquiry as the com-position of Cremonese varnish. Although several em-inent studies have demonstrated the regular use ofmathematics in the process of early instrument con-struction, recognizing that mathematics was appliedis considerably easier than understanding how it wasapplied. If it ever existed as such, it is unlikely thatthe exact mathematical formulae, used to create thefirst Cremonese violins and / or their moulds, willever be re-discovered. Nevertheless, from the earli-est times, the construction methods developed by theAmati family certainly involved the use of an insidemould; accordingly it became the cornerstone of allCremonese construction. Moreover, in the 17th cen-tury, with the exception of Jacobus Stainer, it has sofar proved impossible to find evidence of consistentuse of such a mould outside of Cremona.

Clearly, Cremonese apprentices were rigorouslytrained from an early age. In particular the Amatiworkshops would not have tolerated much individu-ality. Apprentices developing in such an atmospherewere unlikely to abandon the methods taught bytheir masters. For this reason, the Amati mould be-came ubiquitous in Cremona. Regardless of each in-dividual’s stylistic development, the constructionmethods employed by Cremonese makers remainedvirtually identical.

Although the use of an Amati-type mould definesthe Cremonese school, in itself the mould was a vari-ant of a construction system almost universalthroughout Europe which was used for virtually alltypes of hand held, bowed and plucked instruments.The guitar, gamba, lute, and violin families were cre-ated using this once widespread technique. This sys-tem involved fitting the neck to the sides of theinstrument before aligning the neck, and finalizingthe body outline. Regardless of the method of con-structing the sides (or in the case of lute type instru-ments, the paneled back), and regardless of themethod of attaching the neck, the objective was thesame. Because the various European schools em-ployed different methods to achieve this same pur-pose, each of these methods created features on theinstruments, which were unique to those schools. Itis the singularity of the Amati mould, and the partic-ular features which its use created, that helps con-noisseurs to identify Cremonese instruments. Indeed,most connoisseurs work upon the principle that con-struction methods define schools, while stylistic de-tails separate the individuals within those schools.

The Cremonese method not only involved the useof a mould to a greater or lesser extent, it also en-compassed the use of common head outlines, sound-hole settings, archings, plate thicknessing andvarnishes. All of these were developed or derivedfrom Amati prototypes. However, it is often impossi-ble to interpret with complete precision each stageof the Amati method. There are several reasons forthis. In the first instance, although the Amati methodremained generally pervasive over the centuries,some minor procedures gradually evolved. One of thefeatures which distinguish Del Gesu’s heads fromthose of his father ‘Andrea’ is correct for English butchange it if you wish Joseph Guarneri filius Andrea isDel Gesu’s method of applying chamfers to his scrolls.He applied the chamfers after the fluting rather than

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before, a process which results in softer-lookingheads. Another modest change occurred in the workof Carlo Bergonzi, who employed a slightly differentway of inserting the linings into the corner blocks ofthe ribs.

Stradivari also appears to have developed a differ-ent system for thicknessing the backs of his instru-ments: this avoided the use of the central conical pinhole, preferred by the Amatis and found on the backsof many other Cremonese instruments includingthose of the entire Guarneri family. A further reasonwhy certain stages of the Amati method remain ob-scure was the often flawless nature of Cremonesecraftsmanship, all clues about their techniques hav-ing been obliterated in their struggle for perfection.However, by observing the more extreme works ofsuch makers as Joseph Guarneri del Gesù, the proce-dures of these more meticulous colleagues can occa-sionally be recreated. This strategy has provedparticularly helpful in reconstructing the Amatimethod of developing the edgework. Had it been pos-sible to examine Cremonese instruments in theiroriginal ‘baroque’ condition, a greater understand-ing of their method would have undoubtedly en-sued.10

Unfortunately, from the entire 250 year classicalperiod, only two or three Cremonese instrumentshave survived intact. Remarkably, the most perfectlypreserved example is an extremely early work, a vi-olino piccolo, by the Brothers Amati, dated 1613.11The remaining instruments are mostly large sized vi-olas. The two in most authentic condition, are a tenorviola from Andrea Guarneri and a tenor by AntonioStradivari. With the exception of two well preservedviolins by Jacobus Stainer, there are no Cremoneseschool violins of normal size, and no cellos, in theiroriginal state. A small number of instruments still re-tain certain features of the baroque period, includ-ing some original, though usually heavily modifiednecks. A rare few authentic neck blocks, nails, bassbars, tailpieces, and fingerboards add to the list ofrelics.

The fact that virtually all Cremonese instrumentsare no longer complete, limits the possibilities forpiecing together the Amati method. It is known thatoriginal fingerboards, necks, and neck blocks lefttheir mark upon those parts instruments which re-

main intact. However, the exact amount which thesemissing items affected the appearance of that whichremains, and the precise role which these itemsplayed in the construction process, remains uncer-tain. In every instance, the removal of original neckshas destroyed the typical one piece nature of the Cre-monese top rib. And the consequent loss of so manyoriginal top blocks has made matching rib structuresto the surviving moulds more difficult. New topblocks have also made it harder to establish with cer-tainty the exact method of fixing the baroque neckto the ribs, a process which varied slightly even inCremona.

Apart from the instruments themselves, the onlysubstantial information about baroque violin makingwhich has survived to the present day is the enor-mous collection of tools, drawings, moulds and tem-plates housed in the ‘Museo Stradivarian’, inCremona.12 Amongst these relics are two virtuallycomplete sets of working drawings, one for an alto,and one for a tenor viola. It is clear that similar draw-ings and templates existed for each type of instru-ment made in the Stradivari workshop, but sadly nosimilar set has survived from any other workshop.

Unfortunately, none of the surviving Stradivaridrawings, templates or moulds displays any obviousdetails about their design origins; they are merelyworking aids. Originally, such sets would have in-cluded the finest detail, making it possible for an en-tire instrument to be marked out for construction,using only a pair of dividers, a straight edge and amarking tool. The Stradivari workshop, like that ofthe Amatis’ before, probably had several ancillaryworkers. These workers may well have been illiter-ate and possibly innumerate, but with the help ofsuch drawings and templates they could still havecompleted any aspect of violin making.

Although not exclusively the work of Stradivari,most of the artefacts in the ‘Museo Stradivarian’ col-lection can be traced back to his workshop. As a re-sult, we know more about Stradivari’s workingmethods than we do about any other classical Cre-monese maker. Fortunately, Stradivari’s own relianceon the Amati tradition makes this information ex-tremely useful, and with some circumspection it canbe applied to the analysis of any Cremonese instru-ment.

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It is significant that a number of the Stradivarimuseum moulds appear to originate from Cremoneseworkshops other than Stradivari’s. Some at leastmust have been the work of the Amatis. Count CozioDi Salabue, writing to Count Alessandro Maggi in1804, had the following to say about the forms, toolsand drawings.

“I would be very much obliged if you could trackthese things down for me and also those forms(moulds) and models from the Amatis which I believemust have been passed down to Stradivari as I havefound some pieces belonging to them in his own col-lection.......”13

In fact the outlines of several instruments by An-drea Amati, the Brothers, and Nicola Amati appear tofit a number of the surviving moulds. Converselysome moulds have never been matched to any exist-ing Stradivari outline.

The contents of the ‘Museo Stradivarian’ appear toindicate that Antonio Stradivari developed and useda comparatively large number of different mouldsduring his long working life. However this does notmean that all, or any, were mathematically devised.Stewart Pollens14 shows that when the 12 survivingviolin moulds15 are superimposed upon each other,they fall into several groups. Within these groups,sections of a particular mould outline, appear to havebeen kept, (for example the top and centre bouts)while the remainder were slightly modified to createnew moulds. As a result, the differences betweensome of the moulds are remarkably small. This im-plies a gradual adjustment to the lines of the form,rather than a fresh mathematical construction foreach subsequent development. By the end of NicolòAmati’s life there was 150 years’ worth of violin pat-terns floating around Cremona. It is not unreason-able to assume that the emphasis was not on creatingnew designs, but on modifying or copying existingones.

From such information it might appear that thegreat Cremonese masters were only copying, but ashis drawings and templates prove, Antonio Stradivariwas a man of geometry. And, as his various models

demonstrate, he was also an innovator. Whatever thepossibilities for empiricism, Stradivari’s designs, es-pecially those for the cellos, have the hallmark of in-genious planning, rather than simple modification.

Today the smallest details of form and line can bepicked up by the trained eye, to a degree which wouldprobably have been considered unnecessary by mostCremonese makers. Nevertheless, a few of the tech-niques employed by these Cremonese masters will al-ways remain unknown, the method having beenconcealed by the final presentation. The Amatis’method for generating archings has proved particu-larly evasive. Whenever such difficulties arise, theonly possibility is to learn from other sections of themethod, where more is known. In such cases, thetechnique has always proved common to all Cre-monese works, and stems from the Amati method.

Among connoisseurs, there is a faction who insistthat the study of classical Cremonese instruments,circa 1550 to 1750, is the only valid introduction toexpertise. Although obviously not the only possibil-ity, the arguments in favour of this idea are powerfuland persuasive. Unquestionably, the designs createdand brought to perfection by this school of makerswere the stuff from which subsequent makers, almostwithout exception, derived their inspiration.16 Thisinspiration may be many times removed from theoriginal source, but even in the most primitive of in-struments, its presence cannot be denied.

From an early stage, instrument makers of manydifferent schools began copying the successful in-struments of others. In particular they imitated theworks of the Amatis, Stainer and eventually Stradi-vari and Guarneri Del Gesu. Whenever this happened,it was usually only the basic stylistic features, whichwere faithfully reproduced. Normally, each copyistretained the constructional method of his originalteacher. There are many examples. In early 18th-cen-tury London, Daniel Parker made stylistically accu-rate copies of instruments by Antonio Stradivari17while continuing to use constructional methods andvarnish peculiar to the English school of Barak Nor-man and Nathaniel Cross. In the second half of the18th century a similar situation developed in theBuchstetter family of Regensburg: the Buchstetters’copied the features of a 1690s long pattern Stradivariviolin with considerable success, but they too re-

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tained the varnish and constructional methods spe-cific to their native school.18

Largely because of the constructional methodsemployed by Jacobus Stainer, it is assumed that hereceived his training in the art of violin making froma Cremonese master, probably Nicola Amati. How-ever, the Germanic method of construction which heemployed for making instruments of the Gamba fam-ily has led others to believe that he was trained inVenice by makers of German origin. It is possible thatboth explanations are correct. At an early stage in hiscareer, having already produced a number of violins,Stainer is known to have spent about 18 months inVenice. Assuming that he had been taught violinmaking in Cremona, a short period would have beensufficient for a maker of Stainer’s skill to become pro-ficient in the art of Gamba making. This would cer-tainly explain his use of two constructional systems.Perhaps significantly, although Stainer employed twodifferent methods, all his instruments are stylisticallysimilar.

Stylistic differences have always been the key toidentifying individuals within schools. The Cre-monese school is the definitive example of this rule.Following Andrea Amati, and after initially taking onthe characteristics of his teacher, each new memberof the Cremonese school gradually changed and de-veloped a style of his own. It is difficult to imaginetwo more divergent styles than those of GiuseppeGuarneri Del Gesù and Andrea Amati. Indeed, al-though geographically virtually neighbours, chrono-logically they were separated by 200 years.Nevertheless, if the instruments of these two makersare carefully examined, it becomes obvious that theyare inextricably linked. In spite of extensive stylisticdifferences, the basic construction methods em-ployed by Andrea Amati and Guarneri Del Gesù werepractically identical. The same is true of all classicalCremonese instruments.

In spite of the various stylistic clues, differencesbetween Cremonese apprentices and their mastersare not always easily established. While working to-gether, the influence of the one over the other wasoften so strong that it is frequently difficult, and attimes impossible, to separate them. Some were soskilled at working in the style of their master thattheir own personal style hardly surfaced. This is the

obvious explanation for the difficulties experiencedby experts when trying to establish the identity ofStradivari’s teacher. Furthermore, over the centuriesmany instruments have been wrongly attributed, andmany once productive workers have now become vir-tually unknown. This is largely the result of label ma-nipulation. The manipulation of labels is not only acatastrophe for so many ‘lost’ Cremonese this is cor-rect makers, it also creates havoc for those attempt-ing to assess the stylistic development of the betterknown masters. This problem may seem relatively in-significant, but the truth is that cheating customersfor short term gains is, in the long term, cheating his-tory. Part of the reason why Gerolamo Amati II, Gia-como Gennaro, Katharina Guarneri, and even thesons of Stradivari, are virtual footnotes in the chron-icles of the Cremonese school, is the age old practiceof label manipulation and deliberate misrepresenta-tion. There can be no doubt that such practices haveseriously damaged the connoisseurs’ ability to followstylistic clues with confidence.

That the Amati system was ubiquitous in Cremonais no longer doubted. Its presence can be seen in allclassical Cremonese instruments. Moreover, everyavenue of research has shown that, both profession-ally and privately, the great Cremonese makers wereclosely linked. Further research may reveal more,about the lives, the methods, and the stylistic devel-opment of the classical Cremonese makers. It mayeven uncover some more hitherto unknown masters.However, the key to understanding Cremonese in-struments will always be; understanding the essenceof the Amati system, but paradoxically, understand-ing the Amati system can only be achieved by study-ing the works of all Cremonese makers.

In particular I am indebted here to Philip Kass,who in recent years has contributed more than any-one to our knowledge of the Amati family.

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1 Count Ignazio Alessandro Cozio Di Salabue, 1755 - 1840.Count Cozio was a violin enthusiast and dealer. More thantwo hundred years after the first violins of Andrea Amati,Count Cozio began assembling a massive body of knowledgeabout the classical Italian school. Much of today’s expertiseis based upon that which the Count reported.

2 This is a peculiarly modern way of thinking. Painters, sculp-tors and architects of the Renaissance were also more likelyto place technical proficiency before artistic interpretation.Often painters’ workshops were set up for large scale pro-duction. For example, more that 100 identical portraits ofMartin Luther have been identified all bearing the date 1533and the signature of Lucas Cranach. These were all producedin his workshop between 1733 and 1736.

3 This situation was common elsewhere. In Hamburg, the in-strument maker, Joachim Tielke (1641-1724), almost had hisshop burnt to the ground by members of the woodcarvers’guild. Tielke had simply been carving heads for his own violsrather than purchasing them from a member of the guild. InParis, Lafille (c.1760), cut many heads for makers of theParis school, including Salomon and Geursan. Several ex-perts believe that Antonio Stradivari’s son Francesco mademost of the post-1700 Stradivari heads. Since Stradivari’s twosons contributed over 100 years of mature working time tothe family business, including about 96 years, while Antoniowas alive, something of this nature must have at least beenpossible.

4 Carlo Bonetti ‘La Genealogia degli Amati Liutai e Il Primatodella Scuola Liutistica Cremonese’, translated into Englishby Gertrud Graubart Champe and edited by Daniel Draley,as ‘A genealogy of the Amati Family of Violin Makers 1500-1740. The Maecenas Press, 1989.

5 If the longevity of other members of the Amati family of vio-lin makers can be considered a guide, Andrea may even havebeen born before 1500. Nicola Amati lived into his 88th year and Gerolamo II died just five days short of his 91st birthday.

6 February 12th 1538, 1539 in the new calendar, see Bonetti.

7 Cremona was separated from Brescia, not so much by dis-tance, as by a political boundary. Brescia belonged to the Ve-netian state, whereas Cremona was Milanese. This may beone reason why such vastly different styles developed. Al-though Gasparo da Saó was established after Andrea Amati,Bonetti cites documentary evidence showing that Gasparo’sfather and grandfather were luthiers.

8 With the possible exception of a small Lira with seven strings,from Cremona there are no other types of instrument surviv-ing from before the time of Andrea Amati. This does not ex-clude the possibility that some did exist. This Lira and otherpossibilities are mentioned in an essay by Lawrence C. Wit-ten, ‘The surviving instruments of Andrea Amati’, Ente Tri-ennale Internazionale Degli Strumenti Ad Arco, Cremona,1982

9 There may have been more than one Amati workshop, sincethe Brothers split the contents of the Andrea Amati’s houseand workshop. See ‘The Strad’ magazine articles; December1991, March 1992, March 1993, Mai 1993.

10 When used in conjunction with the violin, the term ‘baroque’,usually refers to instruments as they presumably were in theiroriginal condition. Authentic instruments are extremely rare.From the earliest times, even before the end of the 17th cen-tury, instruments were altered. Generally, but certainly notalways, this was to satisfy the requirements of musical inno-vation. So many minor changes have taken place in the 400year history of the violin, and so few, if any, instruments havesurvived unaltered, it is virtually impossible to define thebaroque violin.

11 This small sized violin has probably survived intact, its orig-inal purpose is now unknown. However, it does not appear tohave been a child’s violin. The various inlaid fingerboardsfound on the Cremonese instruments in the Ashmolean mu-seum are all replacements made around the beginning of the20th century.

12 The Stradivari museum in Cremona contains a great manyartefacts including paper and wooden templates, tools andseveral wooden moulds. Most of these items were purchasedby Count Cozio Di Salabue from Paolo Stradivari, Antonio’sson, and from his son Antonio Stradivari II.

13 ‘Technical Studies in the Arts of Musical Instrument Making’.Dipper-Woodrow, 1987

14 ‘The Violin Forms of Antonio Stradivari’, by Stewart Pollens.Peter Biddulph, London 1992

15 The Hill Brothers state that there are 19 moulds, of whichthree are for tenors. (Unless some moulds have gone missing,the Hills may have been counting several moulds which al-though housed in the museum, are probably from the Cerutiworkshop). See page 195. ‘Antonio Stradivari, His Life &Work’, (1644-1737) by W. Henry Hill, Arthur F. Hill & AlfredE. Hill, Pub. W. E. Hill & Sons, London 1902.

16 The early Brescian school, personified by Gasparo Da Saloand Maggini being the only serious exception.

17 Daniel Parker (fl c.1700-1730), appears to have had accessto a set of instruments by Antonio Stradivari, which were or-dered for King James II of England. Parker was probably thefirst copyist of Stradivari outside Italy.

18 Buchstetter, Gabriel David, (b. c.1752 d.1771) and his sonJoseph (fl c. end of 18th century).

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