Old Violins by H. R. Haweis

"To scrape the inside of a cat with the outside of a horse" is far from an accurate or exhaustive description of violin playing, nor can I understand why violin strings are called cat-gut at all, since they are made from the intestines of the sheep, goat, or lamb, and have absolutely nothing to do with pussy.

I can only suppose that the frightful and melancholy tones habitually elicited by inexperienced players may have reminded people of the nocturnal cat sufficiently to credit that maligned animal with providing part of the mechanical apparatus for their production.

Of late years a great deal has been said about the extreme importance of the strings, of adapting the player to the fiddle's constitution, etc. I freely admit that some players with very strong hands, like Lindley and Dragonetti, can manage thicker strings with effect better than people with weaker muscles. I also admit generally that it would be a mistake to string a sensitive old Nicolo Amati with thick strings, which a robust Joseph or Bergonzi might be able to bear; that a raw new fiddle to be rubbed down in the orchestra will also take to thick strings; and that it is pretty obvious, as every player knows, that one cannot stop fifths in good tune if the strings are not relatively well proportioned.

It is also a truism that it is best to buy the best strings, and that false strings are abominable. But I do not go much beyond this, and I would say about strings what I say about bows, that bad workmen always complain of their tools, and that, as Paganini was able -- although as a mere trick -- to discourse excellent music with a tobacco-pipe or a reed, so his admirers were often surprised to notice that he would go into the concert room with his strings very much out of condition.

Practically I do not suppose that one violinist in fifty uses a string-gauge; he soon learns to judge sufficiently by the eye what his fingers want, what his tone requires, and what his violin exacts.

Still, in these days of analysis and detail, there being nothing left untalked about, writers have fastened quite within the last thirty years on the strings; but I have often noticed that players who fuss most over these details, which are doubtless of importance, are those who are least able to avail themselves of the perfect conditions which they seek. Perfect gut, rosin by rule, and an exquisitely poised bow, no more make a fiddler than scientific sanitation makes a healthy subject. I cannot too persistently urge that the violinist bends conditions to the magic of his will and his skill.

His business is to qualify _himself_, and then get the best fiddle, bow, and strings that he can. This ought he to do, and not to leave the others undone.

There is no reason to suppose that any advance in the manufacture of gut-strings has been made since the seventeenth century. Even a work by Le Roy, dated 1570, gives the best recipe yet known for the detection of false strings.

"It is needful," he says, "to prove them between the hands in the manner set forth in the figure" (which we reproduce); and he goes on to explain what everybody now knows -- that if two lines only appear, the string is true; if more, false. But he fails to add that such a rough test only holds good for the thinner and simpler woven cords. In Doni's book (1647) we find such subtleties as these: "There are many particulars relating to the construction of instruments which are unknown to modern artificers, as, namely, that the best strings are made when the north (and the worst when the south) wind blows" -- a suggestive hint relating to the acknowledged importance of atmospheric, perhaps magnetic, and at any rate climatic, conditions.

How do we make our strings?

Putting aside mature sheep and goats, we kill our young Italian lamb in September. We open him at once, and take the intestine whilst still warm; stretch it on an inclined plane; scrape it and clean it thoroughly without delay. We then steep it for about fifteen hours in cold water, with a little carbonate of soda, and then substitute tepid water for a few hours more.

Now we are ready to remove the fibrous or muscular membrane from between the peritoneal and mucous membrane. This is done by women, who scrape it with a cane. The precious selected membranes are then soaked in jars containing an ammoniacal solution; they are then rubbed through the fingers three times a day, treated with permanganate of potash, cleaned, sorted, cut, and split; and, finally, the threads are spun -- three or four thin threads for first violin strings, three or four thicknesses for the second, six or seven for "D" string. Double-bass strings take up to eighty-five threads. Further twistings, soakings, and polishings take place, into which we need not enter, and the strings are finally dressed with olive oil and then coiled.

I have gone into these details to show with what care and complex elaboration string manufacture is carried on.

The false string is due to inequalities, lumps, and varieties of texture in the gut; and if only the defective part can be distributed either near the head or the tailpiece, outside the vibratory length, your false string becomes true. This is why the experiment of reversing the string, putting tail portion headwise or _vice versâ_, will sometimes remedy the defect.

For the fourth or silver string the gut or silk (which is used) is wrapped with pure silver, or copper, or alternate silver and copper wire. The beautiful French patent silver fourth, as smooth as polished steel, is incomparably best for solo playing; it is also thinner, in my opinion too much thinner, than the mixed silver and copper fourths, which are very serviceable for rougher orchestral work.