Pablo Casals and His Goffriller Cello

 

Misidentified for decades, the instrument of the famous 20^th century cellist is still in the ownership of his widow. Tax policy is why it was misidentified.

 

A rose by any other name is still a rose.

 

The same could be said of the 1733 Goffriller cello. The prized instrument of legendary cellist Pablo Casals, it was hiding in plain sight, believed to be an instrument from the violin shop of violin maker Carlo Bergonzi of Cremona, Italy. Casals played it for 50 years before he knew who actually made it, and today it lives on as “The Pablo,” currently played by Israeli cellist Amit Peled.

 

So why the confusion?

 

The real maker of the cello that Casals played throughout the bulk of his career – touring the capitals of Europe and the Americas, playing for royalty and the American President John F. Kennedy (at the insistence of First Lady Jackie Kennedy) – “actually labeled only a small percentage of the instruments [he made] in order to avoid paying Venetian taxes,” says the Wikipedia page about luthier Matteo Goffriller (1659-1742). Consequently, over time Goffriller’s instruments were often misidentified, even to a world class player such as Casals.

 

(This isn’t the first instance where a tax policy affected the arts and design. The original mansard roof, at a near vertical slope, reduced a tax liability for homeowners of multi-story homes in 1798 France, with the roof subtracting the top floor from the assessment. Queen Anne would similarly tax two-story homes in the American colonies, which led to the New England colonial saltbox home that lent them the appearance of a single story from the front elevation. Machinations by homeowners with chimneys [eight fireplaces vented through just two chimneys] and windows (reduce the number facing the street) similarly saved the owner on their taxes.)

 

Casals acquired the cello around 1917, which featured a facsimile of the Bergonzi label, dated 1733. So the confusion is understandable, although dealers today are held to a higher standard of determining makers and provenance. Carlo Bergonzi was himself renowned for crafting fine Italian cellos, violas and violins.

 

The wood used in the instrument – maple for the back and side, the top from veined spruce – is more characteristic of Venice luthiers, where Goffriller worked as a member of that city’s guild. Cremonese luthiers used different woods from different sources, including willow for internal blocks and linings. The cello’s scroll is characterized by a low belly and forward thrust, a characteristic of Goffriller’s other instruments.

 

Just as remarkable is this instrument’s history and misidentification is the life of Pablo Casals. Born in 1876 near Barcelona, he was in that city in 1937 as the Spanish Civil War raged. He had to escape on a propeller plane to Prague just as Barcelona was about to erupt into war; we can assume the few items he was able to take with him would have been the cello. The catastrophic bombing of Guernica in that conflict – the subject of one of Pablo Picasso’s most famous paintings – along with other hardships on the Spanish people drove Casals to raise money for the afflicted through music.

 

Casals remained in exile until his death in 1973 at age 96, just two years short of the death of dictator Generalissimo Franco.

 

His first marriage existed mostly on paper for decades, but Casals divorced in 1957 to marry his student, the 20-year-old Marta Montañez y Martinez of Puerto Rico. Today, Marta Casals Istomin is in her mid-80s, is a former president of the Manhattan School of Music – and remains the owner of the Goffriller 1733 cello, which she lends to Peled.

 

The Goffriller cello is the rose Marta Casals Istomin could not part with.

 

"The Violin Makers of the United States" by Thomas Wenberg

Neither a musician nor a maker of musical instruments, this deeply shy writer traversed America to meet luthiers face-to-face and describe their work.

It was published more than 30 years ago, and all copies sit within a fine Moroccan goatskin cover. It’s available through the standard (today) online booksellers, starting at $180 per copy from its limited run. And somewhat like the 3,500 luthiers it documents in an encyclopedic format, “The Violin Makers of the United States” by Thomas Wenberg (Pizzicato Publishing Company, 1986) was painstaking researched by hand.

By hand and a pickup truck, that is. Author Wenberg drove back and forth across the US for the better part of two years, from one violin shop to another, to gather as much information as was possible from the violin makers of that time, most of whom are unknown in the great concert halls and universities where fine instruments are played. In fact, among the craftspeople he interviewed – in person as much as possible, and certainly not via email or studied online, as those communications and information technologies were in the most nascent and inaccessible forms in the mid-1980s – some were best described as hobbyists. Others were the premier luthiers in America, however, prized by musicians of ambition and accomplishment.

Wenberg later went on to a political career, serving in the state senate of Oregon under a new name, Wilde. Which hints at the quirkiness of Wenberg, who readily acknowledged, despite his accomplishments, having learning disabilities (dyslexia and attention deficit disorder), being an “extreme introvert,” and social anxiety. He nonetheless overcame these as barriers to assembling the most complete summary of violin makers in the country.

It bears knowing that Americans who made fine stringed instruments were generally not as highly regarded as the European masters of previous centuries. Another chronicler of the craft, Christopher Germain (a Philadelphia-based violinmaker), notes that very crude, amateur-built instruments constructed in the Colonial period appear to have been made out of frustration more than anything else, the better European-made fiddles being rare and expensive. European makers began to immigrate to the Americas by the 19th century, upping the ante considerably. By the latter 20th century, America’s stability and prosperity drove its violinmakers to match those of the Old World. Germain says the violins made in the US began to rival their European counterparts by the 1980s.

Wenberg/Wilde’s book is unrivaled and heralded, even if a large percentage of the people chronicled in “The Violinmakers of the United States” may by now have passed on. Violins in auction houses today might make note of the luthier’s pedigree for being in the book.

But just as notable is how this shy person somehow overcame his own insecurities to accomplish something remarkable through an exhaustive, solitary effort – using a pickup truck instead of a Google search window to learn about the people who make fine stringed instruments. Not unlike luthiers themselves, whose largely solitary work creates something enduring, Wenberg/Wilde crafted a tome worthy of great music, great musicians and great instrument making.

Demystifying the Stringed Instrument Bridge

A simple piece of maple wood might look less important than the showier body, strings, scroll or bow of a violin. But the bridge is critical to the sound.

Among the many parts of stringed instruments – violins, cellos, violas and basses – the bridge might appear to be just a simple wedge positioned there to elevate the strings. It is, after all, just a block of oddly shaped wood that a video game playing student might liken to a space invader character.

But as with the structural bridges we drive our cars over, to get from one place to another, the stringed instrument bridge is an essential conduit. In simplest terms, it transfers vibrational energy from the strings to the body of the instrument, where those vibrations and the sounds they create is amplified considerably.

To understand how this works it helps to know some basics of stringed instrument anatomy. While there are variations, the basic makeup of a violin is largely the same as with the cello, viola, bass, and even the less common viola da gamba.

The bridge creates tension on the strings by pressing them upward. Those strings are anchored from the peg box on the neck (the scrolled end of the instrument, furthest away from the player), and at the other end on the tailpiece (nearest the player’s chin). While this tension holds the bridge in place, perpendicular to the strings and instrument body (some call it the belly), the bridge is not fixed by glue or other means to any other piece. It can be knocked loose if mishandled.

Inside the body of the instrument just below the bridge is the sound post, which is a simple peg positioned there to maintain the structure of the instrument and to transfer vibrations from the top of the instrument to the back of it. This further amplifies the sound.

Do you follow the chain of events that make Tchaikovsky’s 5th Symphony? From the friction of bow-on-strings through the bridge to the body top, through the sound peg to the bottom of the body – and out to the farthest reaches of the concert hall.

A professional violinmaker or reputable violin shop should fit the bridge to a violin. In fact, even a student violin ordered online and shipped to the student will often come with the bridge not in place as it would likely be dislodged or break in transfer. The bridge for a new violin will not even be fitted for placement; it will require refining and shaping from the generic crude, thick and unshaped object that is sent by the instrument maker.

Made of maple, the bridge has cut outs that serve important functions. One is that they have feet that sit on the belly of the instrument body. The violin shop that installs it should form the feet to the slight curvature of the body surface. This enables full contact that transfers the string vibrations most efficiently.

The curly cutouts of the bridge may look ornamental but in fact enhance the sound. If the bridge wood were a solid block the sound would be muffled (these cutouts are referred to as “kidneys”).

The top of the bridge, where the strings connect with it, are slightly grooved to hold those strings in place. Over time, the bridge will wear in this area into deep grooves – the effect of all that string vibration – and while a bridge can be replaced, your violinmaker could alternatively add veneers that restore that point of string-bridge contact.

A well-fitted bridge expertly set can make all the difference in the sound of the instrument – perhaps enough that the student will find far greater pleasure in playing the violin than a video game.

Demystifying the Violin Bridge

The bridge in all stringed instruments is a simple, unheralded part that transfers vibrations from the strings to the instrument body. It’s all physics!

There’s an argument in education theory circles that the 21st century emphasis on STEM – preparing students for careers in science, technology, engineering, and math – leaves out something important: the arts. This is why more progressive school systems are now calling it STEAM, with the A representing the visual and performing arts.

That more progressive stance isn’t just about tacking on music or painting classes to coursework in physics, calculus and coding. It’s about integrating all of the above into a relationship, where understanding one might help with understanding another. Better yet, something like studying the violin might help a student gain a better understanding of such things as the Doppler effect, bridge cables, and friction.

Take for examples the violin, viola, cello or stringed bass. All include a small but vital part called the bridge. It’s a simple piece of maple wood, cut in fanciful ways, serving as a lift on the strings to provide their tension. The bridge also raises the strings on a slope that makes the instrument more playable. When the instrument is played, the bridge transmits vibrations of the strings to the body of the instrument, where the sound is then amplified.

Fine stringed instruments require customized bridges that cannot be purchased stock. A violin shop with a reputable in-house luthier who makes or repairs fine cellos, violins and violas, will usually handcraft a fine bridge for a high-end instrument. Though an experienced player can learn to properly place their bridge, placement of the bridge on an instrument is typically best left to professionals.

The engineering of cable-tension bridges – of the type that span rivers and carry vehicular traffic over them – is similar in that the tension has to be very closely engineered for it to work. What’s different with the violin bridge is that, as the supporting structure over which the strings are laid, it is not firmly anchored deep into the “ground” (instrument). The violin bridge is completely and easily removable.

This movability in the violin bridge is an essential characteristic. It would fail to provide that vibration transfer to the body of the instrument if it were glued or otherwise permanently affixed to the instrument.

But as any bridge engineer could explain, the supporting structure like the violin bridge needs to be perfectly (or as close as possible to perfect) perpendicular to the instrument body surface. Any kind of lean, any deviation from a 90-degree angle perspective, would likely be unsustainable.
Importantly, when tuning any stringed instrument the shifting of the strings can affect this bridge angle; the violinist should therefore make manual adjustments to the bridge when tuning.

A collapsed highway bridge is a disaster, and particularly with early 20th century designs several did. A collapsed violin bridge may not involve the loss of life, but to a violinist it could lead to a disastrous situation nonetheless. Not only is the instrument at least temporarily unplayable (the strings would go limp), but could happen with such force as to damage the body and displace the soundpost in the interior of the violin body.

One mystery of music physics that remains to be solved – listen up, STEAM students – is whether there is value in drilling holes into a bridge. Discussion boards on various violin-interest sites offer a mixed review: some say it adds to the vibration transfer, others say it ruins a perfectly built violin bridge. One commenter even went so far as to say that drilling holes, then filling them with lead shot sealed inside, can produce “some really interesting buzzes and rattles.” Which isn’t called for in any of the compositions of Tchaikovsky, albeit one can always devise their own interpretations of the music.

The same poster warns “there’s a lot of rubbish out there on the Internet.” Better to figure this out in a physics and music class.

The History of the Baryton

The thick neck of this obscure stringed instrument speaks to the double duty it and its players serve to produce its rich tonality. Barytons are quite rare.

The baryton, a member of the viol family, is a rare but still-played instrument in the 21st century. Aficionados of the music of Joseph Haydn understand its beauty and place, particularly within the 123 trios the 18th century composer wrote for the baryton, cello and viola. A baryton is unlikely to be found in a catalog of fine stringed instruments for sale of any typical violin shop.

But the story of this impressive looking instrument, a relative of the bass viol but with a double set of strings – six gut strings in front, nine wire strings in back – has a strong relationship to the story of a quirky, influential Hungarian prince and his tastes in music.

Its specific origins are vague, likely beginning when a luthier in the early 17th century combined the viola da gamba and the bandora, a long-necked plucked string instrument similar to the cittern. Evidence of extant instruments or descriptions found in documents suggest that only 50 were ever built before modern versions in the 20th century (including one created by luthier Hans Benning of Benning Violins in Los Angeles in 1963).

Barytons have two sets of strings, one that is bowed and a second, behind the neck, that is plucked. A second function of the back strings, which are made of wire, is to vibrate sympathetically. The sympathetic tone was occasionally referred to as the buzzing of bees, however when plucked it’s not unlike the sound of a harpsichord. The player is required to have the same nimble mental skills of an organist, playing two lines of music simultaneously.

But it was Prince Nikolaus, a nobleman of the Esterhazy family that was among the landowner magnates of the Kingdom of Hungary, who brought the instrument to its highest levels of popularity in the 1760s and 1770s. Nikolaus had, as did much of the European aristocracy, his own court musicians; consider how in the time before recorded music it was mostly the rich who had music performed in their homes (castles, mansions and palaces), with cheaper recorders, lutes and human voices at best the instruments of the masses.

Nikolaus had the good fortune of inheriting Joseph Haydn, the Esterhazy Kapellmeister (master of music) from his deceased brother, along with the title prince. To please his new boss – and to make up for some indiscretions – Haydn honored Nikolaus’ wish for compositions for the baryton. Alas, the 123 trios are Haydn’s least-known works due to the rarity of the instrument.

The instrument has, after a century of neglect, been revisited and played in the 20th and 21st centuries. This began with a revival in 1936 in Munich, where a copy of the instrument was made for Christian Dobereiner, a German player and conductor who was a proponent of Early Music.

The Nikolaus baryton, made by J.J. Stadlmann in 1750, survived World War II and is preserved in the Hungarian National Museum. Haydn’s own baryton, also made by Stadlmann, is also preserved and housed in the collection of the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde Wien. The International Baryton Society was created in 1992 to assemble and disseminate information on the baryton and to organize events, including conferences and concerts. One such concert was held at the palace of the Esterhazy dynasty in modern Hungary.

Understanding Humidity and Stringed Instruments

Atmospheric water - humidity - changes the size and weight of wood in violins, cellos and other stringed instruments. But it can be managed.

Perhaps Vivaldi understood both the beauties and curses of nature. Arguably the composer’s most popular composition, “The Four Seasons” (Le Quattro Stagioni), celebrates the changes from spring through summer, fall and winter. But he also might have known how changes in weather can subtly torture fine cellos, violins, basses, and all other wooden-stringed instruments.

That’s because all of those instruments are forged from an organic product, wood, that is affected by humidity. The violin that plays well outside on a hot, sultry summer night will need care and adjustment if moved inside to a dehumidified space (such as a concert hall) or transported to a dry, cooler climate a day or two later. Humidity changes are the enemy of stringed instruments.

The scientific explanation of this is in equilibrium moisture content (EMC), which is the balance between water bonded within the wood of the instrument itself and water in the air. That moisture in the wood, when newly introduced (e.g., when the violin travels from dry, coastal California by airplane to a humid Georgia in summer), will have several effects on the instrument and how it plays:

Expansion (humid air) and contraction (dry air) of all pieces of wood. The effects of shrunk (when dry) or swollen (when wet) wood: There are many things that can go wrong, which are the symptoms that can alert you to what the problem is. They include: Tightening or loosening of the strings, slipping/sticking pegs, open seams or cracks, buzzing/nasal/muted sounds, when the bow skates across the strings, a decreased response or projection of sound, or a change in the neck projection.

Weight increases. The sound of a stringed instrument changes because the wood is denser with moisture in humid conditions. What one buys in a violin maker’s shop does indeed change as soon as it travels somewhere.

The bigger the instrument, the bigger the effects. Because it is made of more wood, a bass or a cello will experience greater effects from changes in humidity/moisture than a violin.

Ideally, you would treat your violin the way museums treat great physical works of art. You would always maintain a set degree of humidity and temperatures. Unfortunately, musical performances and musicians exist in a bigger world; therefore the stringed instruments must find a way to travel to the ends of the earth.

This is why a few active measures by the musician might be undertaken. They include measuring the relative humidity of an environment with a tool called a hygrometer. But just measuring it is step 1. More importantly, you can control humidity by several means: run a humidifier (if it is too dry) or a dehumidifier (if it is too wet) in the space where you will be playing. For traveling, a humidifying Dampit might work (particularly useful in winter, when artificial heating systems are drying). But ideally, the violin will adjust to the local humidity - and the musician will adjust the instrument strings accordingly - when in a new environment for two or three days.

To gain a bit more insight into protecting an instrument from environment, a visit to a local violin shop should do the trick. A local violinmaker would stock proper cases, dampits and humidifiers among the accessories they stock.

Vivaldi may not have had the modern tools for reading humidity, nor did he have airplane travel to hasten the atmospheric changes. But he certainly appreciated the graduations in temperature and humidity over the course of four seasons that allow us to adapt more easily to Nature’s whims.