Violin Dealings

Posted By admin on August 7, 2010

This violin is branded in two places, at the top of the back and inside, and both brands are as new-looking as the rest of it: Anciaume le Jeune.

The neck (and indeed the fingerboard) are original. It’s a transitional-period instrument, the neck being less angled than that of a modern violin and very short – around 7mm less than than most players are used to.

It is in quite astonishingly fresh condition, looking, well, almost new.

It has survived in this condition, I suspect, because it was a little open in the centre-join of the back, rendering it quite unplayable. Somebody just put it away, and only now has it re-surfaced and been fixed. It must have happened shortly after it was made, for there is very little wear on the wedge-shaped fingerboard, and even the varnish under the chin is only slightly compromised. There are no chinrest marks at all. This has never had a chinrest fitted. The edges are complete and undamaged. The pegholes have never been re-bushed.

Who was Anciaume le Jeune? The Reverend H.R. Haweis, in 1905, recorded him in his dictionary of violin makers, but only to remark “existence doubtful”. However, Haweis was often wrong. The more recent Henley dictionary suggests that he was probably the younger brother of somebody called Bernard Anciaume. Apparently the elder was working a bit earlier – 1770-1790, and the younger around 1780-1800. The younger is reckoned the better of the two, with rather clean workmanship.

Well, yes, I suppose so, but it’s no great beauty. It reminds me very strongly of a maker called Chappuy, who was a little older, but still working in Mirecourt around the same time as Anciaume. It has a broad patch of darker varnish across the centre bouts of both the front and back, just like Chappuy. Also the soundholes and arching are very similar to Chappuy’s. I think they must have been associated in some way. However, a difference is the peculiar scalloped gouge marks in the lower wings of the soundholes – I don’t remember seeing that on anything by Chappuy, who was a prolific maker, whereas this is the first Anciaume I’ve come across.

Despite my aesthetic judgement about the appearance, violins like this can sound well. François Habeneck, the teacher of Alard, played on a Chappuy nearly all his life . . . but there is also a Stradivari called the Habeneck, so perhaps there is more to this story.

Calling all gut-string players! A two hundred and twenty year old nearly new violin! One careful owner; very low milage. Plays well at 415Hz. I defy you to find anything as old in such perfect original condition. I want £8,500 for it.

Category: Uncategorized, Violin | No Comments »
Tags:

Posted By admin on July 14, 2010

Cahusac violin

Violin label

Here is an interesting and inexpensive violin by Cahusac of London, dating from 1786. A label inside says so, but I can’t believe that the label is genuine. It’s not printed, but inscribed Cahusac, Strand, London, 1786, in an antique hand – but whether the handwriting is 18th of early 19th Century I could not say. It has perhaps been reduced in size, being now an oval about the size of a small hen’s egg.

An original printed Cahusac label from 1785 is illustrated in Albert Cooper’s book. Various textbooks state that the labels vary, so I did a quick check through my records of ten other instruments by this maker. Eight had identical labels (apart from the date) to the one in Cooper’s book, one was only slightly different, having the initials W.M. (for William Maurice) inserted in front of Cahusac, and one very similar but with a different address – this last was considered to date from circa 1800. All were printed.

And yet the violin itself is an utterly characteristic product of the Cahusac business. (Various makers, for example C. & S. Thompson, made instruments for Cahusac.) Since violins by this maker are not particularly expensive, and therefore not really worth faking, I assume that a later repairer – perhaps whoever fitted the new neck – recorded this information truthfully.

Staining on violin back

The Cahusac business sold cheap violins, and when this was made it was not at all expensive. It was almost thrown together. The back is in two pieces of absolutely plain wood – it’s probably poplar, not maple. Nitric acid has been used to stain black stripes, in imitation of the figure of glamorous maple. However it has been very crudely done. The brush-strokes are still clear and some stripes continue over the centre-joint. Of course the painted stripes do not have the glorious tiger’s-eye effect when the light falls from another angle, but remain stubbornly black. This style of acid-staining, incidentally, is completely typical of London in the late 18th century. It is often found on the backs of the briefly-fashionable instruments called English Guittars, (incorrectly, though commonly, called citterns). Also the only two cither viols I have seen were similarly decorated, and it is sometimes found on square pianos and other furniture from this period. It seems to be an English trait. There is a famous Gagliano cello which has a little similar decoration, but I have always wondered whether this staining was indeed the work of Gagliano, or if it had been done at a later stage by an Englishman . . .

Grain of table

Neck graft

It’s a real survivor, being perfectly usable at modern pitch. Two and a quarter centuries old. Most houses don’t last so long.

Category: Uncategorized, Violin | No Comments »
Tags: 18th century, Cahusac, English, Violin

Posted By admin on June 9, 2010

I was once involved in a television advertisement for some kind of beer. I had to handle a genuine Stradivari and a fake – the advertising strapline was “For those that can tell the difference.” I didn’t have to say anything at all. I just had to swirl the violins around in a safe-but-yet-with-bravado sort of way. Other specialists in ceramics and so on had to do similar things. Thankfully the beer brand disappeared without trace, and I didn’t care as I was very well paid and well fed for my morning’s work. However, I was impressed at the money involved – these advertising people lived, by my standards, very lavishly indeed. And they paid heavily to hire a genuine Strad, too. So much attention to detail.

But sometimes adverts, for all the money showered on them, demonstrate a carelessness that is simply astonishing. A few years ago there was a successful billboard campaign showing a thoughtful yet negligently-dressed woman playing the cello, with the spike still within the instrument and her hands in the wrong places. Surely, I thought, someone among the advertising production team would know how to hold a cello?

Why mention it now? Because, last night, a stylish film based on Oscar Wilde’s Lady Windermere’s Fan was shown on television. It was set vaguely before the war, with period costume and a beautiful biplane and so on. And a little dance band, entirely spoilt by having an unplugged electric guitar – with a solid body – in it. Surely, someone would know that’s wrong?

Attention, all advertisers and film producers! I am available to act as your consultant in such matters. I’m very cheap.

Category: Uncategorized | No Comments »
Tags: advert, film, screen, Violin

Posted By admin on April 15, 2010

Shortly after we moved into the old church we were approached with a request to host a Bach harpsichord recital here. The acoustics are excellent and we have plenty of space. The event was attended by sixty-one people, and on the whole was a success. Immediately afterwards a local choir asked to do a concert here – this was attended by seventy. I thought to check with the local Council – did I need any special licences or anything? They asked me how many events I would be having each year, and how many people might attend. I answered a maximum of four concerts, and I optimistically supposed a hundred in the audience. The Council said I could go ahead without formality. I never thought to ask for written confirmation.

Boris Garlitsky, Alexander Zemtsov and Leonid Gorokhov – the Hermitage Trio

The concerts quickly grew in number, scope and popularity. From the original two per year we now have four every summer. Many wonderful ensembles have performed here – the Kopelman and the Szymanowski Quartets, the Hermitage Trio and the Vale Quartet. The space is terrific for solo recitals too, and the complete Bach Sonatas for unaccompanied cello, performed in candlelight by Leonid Gorokhov, went down a storm. These days the concerts invariably sell out – and that means more than the hundred I forsaw.

This year marks the tenth anniversary of our first concert, meaning we’ve had twenty-seven concerts so far. But it all nearly went wrong because of a change in attitude by the council.

Mikhail Kopelman, Boris Kuschnir, Igor Sulyga and Mikhail Milman – the Kopelman Quartet

Six days before the Kopelman Quartet were due to perform their second concert here (in 2005) I received a phone call from the Council’s new “licensing enforcement officer”, informing me that I was guilty of hosting illegal raves. He told me that he would not prosecute on this occasion, but that I must immediately apply for a Public Entertainment Licence before the next event. It’s not expensive – £100 per year – but one of the conditions demanded was a recent electrical inspection safety certificate. They sent their approved contractor round, and the conversation went something like this:

“Well, where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“The equipment. The amplifiers and loudspeakers.”

Of course I explained that the concerts were unamplified, but he told me that he was unable to provide a certificate for equipment that didn’t exist. So I phoned the licensing enforcement officer and explained. He flatly refused to believe that there was no electrical apparatus. “How can you possibly have a music event without loudspeakers?” he said, and that’s an exact quote. He demanded the certificate and threatened me with a police injunction unless I provided it.

What to do? I couldn’t possibly cancel the quartet – it had sold out, of course. Mikhail Kopelman, Boris Kuschnir, Igor Sulyga and Mikhail Milman are internationally famous, plus they are friends, plus I couldn’t let the audience down. I asked the contractor, and he suggested buying the minimum equipment, so he could then certify that it was safe. Several hundred pounds later, I had special contact-breaker power points installed – they have never been used, of course.

These days I run a private music club, thus avoiding the necessity for a public entertainment licence. I am strictly forbidden to advertise the events, but I have more than enough club members who are informed beforehand to ensure that the concerts are always full. Anybody who wants to attend wonderful chamber music concerts must let me know that they wish to be a member of The Rode Chamber Music Club. You won’t see the concerts advertised anywhere, but I’ll let you know at the beginning of the season what’s on.

Andrey Bielow, Grzegorz Kotow, Vladimir Mykitka and Marcin Sieniawski – the Szymanowski Quartet

Category: Uncategorized, Violin, cello, viola | No Comments »
Tags: concerts, kopelman, quartet, Szymanowski, trio

Posted By admin on March 24, 2010

 

I have a violin with an indistinct brand, Longman & something or other, and I thought to have a closer look at it. It actually reads Longman, Lukey & Co., No. 26, Cheapside, London. Its unusual feature is the peculiar chevron stringing around the edges, in place of the conventional purfling. Longman instruments – woodwind and keyboard as well as stringed instruments – often have a little extra flamboyance. Their square pianos, for example, have the company’s name on a beautiful oval white ceramic plaque, instead of merely being painted onto the faciaboard like everybody else’s.

James Longman started his business in 1767, and took Charles Lukey as a partner two years later, in 1769. Between 1769 and 1773 the brand reads as my one does, but it changes in 1773, when Francis Fane Broderip joined the business. Thereafter the stamp includes the name Broderip. So my violin dates from 1769 to 1773. But who made it?

Henry Jay, who supplied Longman, was working from around 1740 until his death in 1776. He can be discounted. His work is generally rather poor, and he seldom purfled his instruments, let alone made the elaborate decoration of this example. John Carter, another outworker, is unlikely, as he started work around 1772. The work is not like that of Benjamin Banks. Banks supplied Longman & Broderip, but it is unclear when he started this practice. Albert Cooper considers this to be around 1770, so again, it is unlikely that he is early enough. David Furber (1725-1787) probably supplied Longman & Co. (that is, 1767-1769) but I cannot find any record that he worked for Longman after this date.

Lockey Hill, though, is a bullseye. He was born in 1756 and died in 1810. Most of his instruments were indeed made for Longman, starting from around 1767 when Longman was by himself, and continuing until the firm’s bankruptcy in 1798. The excellent book, The British Violin states that most of his instruments are thinly varnished and have painted purfling, but that “Exceptionally he did use a deeper golden varnish . . . and some violins made for Longman & Broderip even have a rather gaudy guitar-type ebony and maple banding in place of conventional purfling.” Also my violin is of the same narrow-waisted Stainer model, and of exactly the same dimensions as the example by Lockey Hill illustrated in the book. The British Violin taught me many things I did not know before its publication, among which was the fact that instruments made for Longman generally have two small, curious gouged channels on the inner edge of the back. They are on the treble side of the neck root and the bass side of the end-pin, and their function is unknown. They are usually filled with a sliver of maple. Bingo. Here’s my attempt at a close-up photo.

Channel in the back of the violin

Category: Violin | No Comments »
Tags:

Posted By admin on March 8, 2010

The old certificate for this violin, which has a fake Joseph Hill label, described it as “Kloz School” without bothering with a date. I suppose it was made in the late 18th Century, and probably in Mittenwald, which indeed does make it of that school. The extended Kloz family produced large numbers of instruments in that place and around that time. However this violin has very thick edges and its soundholes lack the delicacy that I would expect of a proper Kloz. It was never, therefore, worth a very great deal.

It must have been knocked, causing a soundpost crack in the table, sometime during the 19th Century. It has three old (rectangular) studs to repair the crack laid into the thickness of the table from underneath – a very old-fashioned repair, and an inadequate one, as shown by the later repairs consisting of further (square) studs glued over the top of the earlier ones. By the way, soundpost patches, the normal solution, were not in common use for cheap violins until surprisingly recent times, owing to the difficulties of clamping the patch inside a curved surface.

This second restoration was probably necessary because of further impact damage. There is a new piece of wood low down on the treble side at the edge. It’s clear enough from the inside, but very hard to see from the outside.

The repairer either re-inlaid the original purfling, or matched it perfectly. I have no idea who did the 19th Century repairs, but the second repairer signed his work. There is a pencil inscription Repd. by J. M. Somney, London 1914.

Now that’s interesting. Joseph Maurice Somney was born in the cradle of the French violin industry, Mirecourt. He worked for the foremost dealers of the day, W.E. Hill & Sons, from 1888 to 1910, before setting up on his own at 90, George Street, (off Baker Street), London. He was widely recognised as the finest restorer of his time. I remember when the collection of templates of instruments that he had repaired came up for auction in 1979. There were about a hundred and fifty of them, the majority being inscribed with the names of famous instruments by Stradivari, Guarneri and so on. And yet he worked on this comparatively insignificant violin too. He died in 1931.

So why have I now got this violin open again? Because it has suffered a third, and this time utterly catastrophic, fall. Somney’s repairs held firm, but the rest of it, particularly the bass side, has been smashed again. The neck-block has been wrenched out of position, crashing the fingerboard onto the table and causing huge cracks on both sides. The soundpost has cracked the back too, which is a shame, as it was a nice, honest, old Bavarian back. It’s had it. It would cost far, far, more to restore than it could ever be worth, so the reluctant decision was taken to throw this 18th Century instrument away. However the owner let me keep the bits, and I’m very grateful, as you never know what you’ll find when you open an old instrument, and because the head and pegbox are fine, and will join my collection of such bits and pieces.

Category: Uncategorized, Violin | No Comments »
Tags: London, luthier, Somney, soundpost

Posted By admin on February 17, 2010

 

This cello dates from the late 18th Century. It is truly eccentric. How unusual it is to see an old instrument that most emphatically is not modelled after Stradivari, Amati, Stainer or Guarneri. In my view, it’s rather refreshing, too. It is what’s called a lady’s size (I dislike the expression), being larger than a three-quarter but smaller than a normal cello. Its back length is 71.7 cm., but the upper bouts are a little wide in proportion, and the centre bouts seem rather short. The ribs are shallower than normal, too, so the total volume of air inside the instrument is considerably less than standard.

Now, the four models mentioned above seem to work best, most of the time, but even so it is astonishing how few utterly different instruments survive. This is utterly different. And it is a survivor. I purchased it from an antique dealer in 2004, at which time it was in absolutely original condition. Its table had never been removed before, and it had its original late-transitional neck. It sounded simply dreadful. In fact, its poor playing qualities were probably the reason for its little-used condition. I decided to have the neck replaced with a modern component, which may seem like cultural vandalism to some, but dealers have to be pragmatic, and something dramatic had to be done to make it sound and make it sell. The table was immensely heavy, and some judicious re-thickening was done. Of course a new bass-bar was fitted too. After the work was completed, it did in fact become, if not powerful, then surprisingly resonant and pleasant. The new neck meant that the string length became 68.5 cm – only a little less than standard.

It sold quickly, and six years on I was pleased to re-purchase it.

It’s Saxon, of course – the arching is of that type that rises almost immediately from the edges, all the way round, to the same extent, and then flattens right off in an even plateau. The arching is frankly naive. It is covered in a good-quality spirit varnish, mostly yellow, I’m told. But look at those soundholes! Very close to the edges, very sloping, and very long. At first glance they seem so out-of-proportion that one might assume that the entire cello has been reduced in size – but not so. The arching, primitive as it is, has not been compromised, and the ribs have not been cut down. And it is well-made, too – the purfling shows unusual sophistication, in that it is made up of five strands of wood, not three. I can’t find anything like it in any textbook. I’ve no idea who made it.

Perfect for someone small who wants a good-sounding, mellow, characterful and different cello for chamber music.

Category: Uncategorized, cello | No Comments »
Tags: cello, purfling, saxon, soundholes, varnish

Posted By admin on February 2, 2010

I have a very original viola made by James & Henry Banks of Salisbury, made in 1808. It’s of the small-but-sounds-good model, having a back length of 15 3/8 in (384mm). An almost identical one (but dated 1803) is illustrated in Albert Cooper’s well-known book Benjamin Banks. It is a shock to realise that it was published over twenty years ago – it seems like yesterday. I knew Albert quite well. The last time I met him was at his home in 1997, in connection with a Pietro Guarneri violin (branded Tononi) that came my way – Albert had another, which I had seen in Volume 1 of his collection.

The Banks book is a godsend; a mine of information. However the bibliography is very brief and does not mention a superb article on the same subject by Betty Matthews, published in The Strad in November 1965. He may not have been aware of it until after his book was published, for old Strad magazines are not indexed. You can’t simply look up anything of interest, and the only way to be sure that something has not been published previously is to trawl through old issues. With one per month since May 1890, that’s a big task, even assuming you can find a complete run somewhere.

It’s a pity, because some wonderful snippets in the earlier article were not mentioned in the book. There is much of interest in Matthews’ article, including contemporary opinions about the tone of Banks’ cellos compared to Forster’s. One of Banks’ sons (William) died in Madras. Oh, and the astonishing (and unsubstantiated) statement that only the inferior Stainer-model instruments were sent off to London to be retailed by Longman & Broderip (who were bankrupted in 1798) while the very-much-better Amati-model instruments were sold by himself. These latter models were apparently superior in workmanship and varnish. Also, quoting a contemporary source, that a “superior” Banks cello “fell into the hands of Longman & Broderip, who obliterated the maker’s name and put in their own. Afterwards Betts got hold of it, took out the latter name and put in his.” This was in the 18th Century, remember. There’s nothing new about fake brands and labels. Now, Albert’s book is far more comprehensive than the earlier article, but surely he would have included this stuff if he had known about it?

Matthews (and Albert) noted that Banks’ business was much more than just stringed instruments – keyboards, woodwind, guitars and music were a large part of it. Albert noted the astonishing regularity and prodigious output of Benjamin Banks after 1770, and noted that an instrument branded B. Banks dating from 1789 was almost identical with another made by James & Henry dating from 1809. Benjamin died in 1795, and he suggests this similarity in styles proves that the same people were involved in the construction of all the instruments. Benjamin had ten children – not uncommon in the 18th Century – and three of them were instrument makers. After the old man’s death the business was carried on by two of his sons, James and Henry. At the time of his father’s death James was thirty-six years old, and he had been an accomplished maker for nineteen years. His partner was his brother Henry, who was twelve years younger. Both Matthews and Cooper point out that Henry was far more involved with pianos.

An older brother, also called Benjamin, was an instrument maker, but he was not involved with the family business after 1780, when he moved to London. Much later, when James & Henry moved to Liverpool in 1811, he seems to have re-joined the business there. His instruments are rare. I have never (knowingly) seen one.

So it seems as though my viola was probably made by James Banks. Aware of the commonplace fraud with labels, as mentioned earlier, he branded his instruments in plenty of places – on the blocks and the centre linings. Curiously I could not find an image of the lining – brands anywhere, so here are my efforts.

I found it difficult. My camera automatically focussed on the top of the instrument rather than inside it, and it’s not easy to get the lighting right. My viola, by the way, also has its large original label, but hey, everyone knows what they look like.

I have to add that my viola has a repaired soundpost crack in the back, (which, however, is quite invisible from the outside) and some old neck-block damage. So it is not worth much, even if it is lovely.

Category: Uncategorized, viola | No Comments »
Tags:

Posted By admin on January 17, 2010

Look at this. It’s just gorgeous. I bought it at a regional auction where they had all sorts of junk, and the pre-sale estimate was £500/800. Some violins just stand out for their quality. Apart from being amazed by the beauty of the varnish it was immediately apparent that this was most carefully and tastefully constructed. The scroll and pegbox were outstanding. There was no label, but it had two different numbers stamped into it – probably old dealer’s numbers – one on the button (217) and one by the end-pin, which looked older and had been made with a bigger die (94). It was in essentially fair condition, although showing signs of long neglect, with the neck loose and the fingerboard adrift and so on. The strings were very old gut, and the pegs were of those nice old English boxwood design with large pearl dots inset into the ends.

There was, I think, only one other bidder, a local antique dealer, and he chased me up to several times the estimate, but still far less than I was prepared to pay. A bargain.

After the sale the other bidder asked me what I thought it was, and I told him that it was English, circa 1840. He asked why, and I told him about the pegs and pointed out that the linings were butted up against the corner blocks and that the bottom block looked rounded. But apart from that I had no good answer – that’s just what I thought it was. It felt something like a Fendt to me, although there were one or two features that were not quite right for either Bernard Simon or Jacob Fendt. Oh, and the button was not right at all, looking, if anything, German.

As I had now paid for the violin, I asked the auctioneer if they could tell me anything at all about where it had come from. It took a few days for them to reply that it was formerly the property of a minor public school, having been used by the music teacher. It had probably not been played since before the war. Perhaps the numbers had something to do with a school inventory.

On getting the violin home I compared it with a genuine violin by Bernard Simon Fendt, and became certain that it could not be by the same maker.

In Colin’s workshop the front was removed. It was immediately apparent that this was not the first time that this had been done. The neck had been forced into a shallower angle by a poor workman at some stage, and the button had been clamped to suit – which explained its inconsistent appearance. The same bodger had made a muddle of a bass-bar crack repair. It needed to have the neck re-set, new top and bottom blocks, the bass-bar crack repaired properly and a new bass-bar. The bottom rib needed reinforcing where somebody had tightened a chinrest clamp too enthusiastically and it needed a little attention to the edges and so on. Also the original pegs were too worn to be useable, and had to be replaced. By the way, this does not contradict my statement that it was in essentially fair condition. There is nothing at all amiss with the back, and the damage described is pretty much normal for a violin over 150 years old. Maddeningly, there were no clues to the maker inside: no helpful brands or signatures. Perhaps the earlier workman had removed any such signs, for the underside of the table was oddly clean.

On pages 136 and 137 of The British Violin there are pictures of a violin that might be by the same maker. The varnish looks identical and the scroll is very similar to mine, although the instrument in the book is of a different model. That one was made for Arthur Betts in 1837, and the text states that, with several makers working for Betts, the true maker of their instrument may never be known. However, one of the men who supplied Betts was Richard Tobin, and that possibility fascinates me. Tobin was born in 1766 and died in 1847. His work is often unmarked, and, apparently, generally varnished by whichever dealer he was making for. Tobin is noted for the neatness of his work, and the beauty of his scrolls. Also he is noted for the particular care he took with his pegboxes. The British Violin states that he used a Forstner bit for these – but that cannot be correct, as Benjamin Forstner, an American, patented his invention long after Tobin’s death, in 1874. Nonetheless, Tobin pegboxes are unusually clean, with very flat bottoms and straight sides . . . exactly like the pegbox on my violin.

The British Violin further states that “The the very finely-cut nicks of the soundholes are a useful recognition point”. Thankfully, the soundholes of my violin have not been interfered-with, and the original nicks are indeed tiny.

How I wish there were a pencil inscription inside, like the one illustrated on page 67 of that wonderful book.

Category: Violin | No Comments »
Tags: auction, British, English, school, Tobin, Violin

Posted By admin on December 31, 2009

Photo courtesy Sotheby’s, (thanks Tim)

A friend read my last entry and mentioned another painted instrument, the famous “Royal George” cello by William Forster. The cello is certainly magnificent, and it maddens me that it is not in the V & A museum.

I first saw this wonderful instrument in the summer of 1986, when it was loaned for an exhibition by the excellent Galpin Society. The exhibition was held in one of the galleries at Sotheby’s, and, as I worked in the musical instrument department there, I was a little involved. At the time it was known that William Forster had made two cellos for the Prince of Wales (later King George IV) in 1782, but as there was no proof that this was one of those the date was put cautiously as circa 1790. It would have been a beautiful cello with no decoration, but this had the royal coat of arms (with a lot of gold and blue) painted in the upper bouts of the front, and the Prince of Wales feathers in the lower bouts. Around the ribs, in lettering that can only be described as heraldic, ran the legend Liberty and Loyalty. A former employee of W.E. Hill & Sons told me who had restored it: Harold Hearne in 1951.

One wonders why Forster bothered. It probably had something to do with the fact that he had the royal warrant – he was proud of being ” . . . Violoncello . . . maker to their Royal Highnesses the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Cumberland . . . ” (The Duke of Cumberland, incidentally, was not the butcher of Culloden, but a younger brother of the Prince. He later became King of Hanover.) I do not know if the Prince of Wales played the cello (as our present-day Prince Charles did, as a child) but there is not much wear on the instrument. As always, decorated instruments tend not to be taken seriously for playing, and this was no exception. However it is difficult to underestimate the national importance of the cello: the flamboyant and spendthrift Prince of Wales, he of the Brighton Pavilion, was hugely influential: his father was periodically mad, and he became regent before the old king died.

I became reacquainted with the Royal George in November 1990, when it came up for sale at Sotheby’s. Apparently it had been sold at Christies in 1903 for 52 guineas (£54.60p) and later for £120 at Puttick & Simpson, although I don’t know the date. Aware of its importance, and with about eight weeks to go before the sale, I wrote to the keeper of furniture and metalwork at the Victoria & Albert Museum (who, bizarrely, was in charge of their musical instruments) pointing out that their magnificent collection consisted mostly of decorated instruments, and that this was likely to be affordable. And unique. And of national importance, and of no relevance in any other museum. But this is England, and of course there wasn’t enough money; of course they needed far more time; of course there was no room for it; of course, of course, of course.

It didn’t sell at the auction, which was not surprising, as cello buyers were put off by the decoration. I suppose what maddened me at the time was that one of my duties, after an auction, was to help with the inevitable paperwork concerning export licences. Because a good, but comparatively common, Ferdinand Gagliano violin had sold for over the government’s limit, it required a Department of Trade export licence. Why? There are hundreds of Gagliano violins, of no importance to Great Britain at all. It’s just that it was expensive, and expensive art attracts the attention of the authorities. Nationally important, rare, yet inexpensive art does not. If the Royal George had sold, it could have left the country with nobody in authority raising an eyebrow.

The third time I met the cello was at the splendid BVMA exhibition in 1998. There it was, now catalogued, correctly in my view, as made in 1782. Perhaps its fate is to be exhibited endlessly, but not permanently – for it is not yet in a museum, as far as I am aware.

Category: Uncategorized, cello | No Comments »
Tags: