The orchestra and its instruments

The violoncello is not a big violin; it is a little double-bass; and that is why the name is spelled violoncello and not violincello. Its parent was the violone; and, if we remember that the violoncello is the little violone in the Viol Family, we will never make the mistake of writing violincello for violoncello. Almost everyone speaks of this instrument as the ’cello (pronounced chello) except the Italians; for, as the word simply means “little,” it has no significance to them.

The violoncello belongs to that ancient and honorable family of viols, already described (see page 47). Its immediate ancestor was the viola da gamba.

For a long time the viola da gamba was the most popular of all bowed instruments. We see it in pictures by the old Italian Masters; and it appears in many pictures by Ter Borch, Metsu and other Dutch and Flemish painters of the Seventeenth Century, who loved to paint pictures of the everyday life that they saw. Dashing men and richly dressed women often appear with this big instrument in front of their knees, intently taking a lesson from a music-master, or playing to entertain a group of friends in a pleasant living-room.

We recall that Shakespeare in his rollicking comedy of Twelfth Night makes someone say of the silly knight, Sir Andrew Aguecheek, that “he plays o’ the viol de gamboys.”

In every wealthy home in England, as well as on the Continent, there was, as we have seen, a collection of musical instruments for impromptu concerts. The collection consisted first of lutes and viols of all sizes and, at a later period, of violins, violas and violoncellos. Music was one of the entertainments and amusements of society; and it was considered just as necessary to have instruments of all kinds and all sizes to suit the visitors as it is to have a piano in the home to-day. In the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries public concerts were unknown. It was in the churches and cathedrals and in the homes of the rich that artistic music was heard.

The viola da gamba was at this time a favorite instrument for ladies; and it seems strange to us that the more delicate violin was not yet considered suitable for them while this awkward, and, to our way of thinking, rather unfeminine viola da gamba was thought to be a lady’s instrument. However, the viola da gamba was not so hard for them to play as the modern violoncello, because the strings were much thinner and a bold, strong tone was not required.

The viola da gamba was often made artistic to look at with rich carving and inlay. A beautiful specimen belonging to the University of Edinburgh is shown facing page 60. It once belonged to the violoncellist Servais (see page 61). The back is of rosewood inlaid with ivory. The neck, scroll (carved in the shape of a woman’s head with elaborately dressed hair) and the tail-piece (in the shape of Mercury’s caduceus) are of ivory. This exquisite instrument is of later date than the Viola d’amore facing page 50, for the crescent-shaped sound-holes are of a later period than the “flaming-sword” sound-holes. The viola da gamba is rarely met with even in museums; for when the violoncello came into fashion, many people had their violas da gamba converted into violoncellos.

Johann Sebastian Bach was the last great composer to write for the viola da gamba.

It seems that the violin is responsible for the development of the violoncello. The Italians, always so quick to perceive artistic needs and fitness, soon found out that the newly perfected violin required a more powerful accompaniment than the viola da gamba could provide; and so the instrument-makers worked away until they produced the violoncello. This new instrument was mounted with much thicker strings than the viola da gamba. It seemed just the thing to the musicians of that time to accompany the very piercing and penetrating tones of the violin, which, although very far from having the resonant qualities of the violin that we know to-day since the development of the bow, seemed very loud indeed to ears that had been accustomed to the sounds of “a concert of lutes, or viols.”

The people of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries understood all the varieties of tinkle rather than of tone. They liked lovely, soft, gentle music, and they liked instruments such as the viola da gamba, and viola d’amore strung with “sympathetic strings” set into vibration when the top strings were touched with the bow and that consequently gave forth gentle echoes, like those of the Æolian harp.

We remember the Duke in Twelfth Night asks a singer to repeat the music he has just played and sung:

We must not despise that quaint and antique music of the Seventeenth Century drawing-room. It was very high-bred, very refined, very delicate and very poetic. It had distinction; it had charm.

But as times changed, manners and tastes changed with them. All of a sudden, so it seems, the instrument-makers, as we have seen, began to search for tone and when the sharp, piercing and shrill (so it seemed to the people of the day) violin came into being, other instruments were needed to accompany it. Gradually, one by one, the delicate viols with their thin strings and the tinkling and swishing lutes went out of fashion and were made no longer.

To-day their voices are almost unknown; for the old Viol Family is extinct. We have a new String Quartet that is distinguished for its great carrying tone,—rich, warm, sweet and vibrant.

When it first came into favor, the violoncello was used to strengthen the bass part in vocal music, particularly in church music and also to reinforce the double-bass; but for a long time it made no appearance in the drawing-room. The viola da gamba still held the first place in society.

The first instance of a violoncello attracting attention is in 1691, when Domenico Galli of Parma, a famous wood-carver, made a superb violoncello which he presented to Francisco II, Duke of Modena, with a treatise on violoncello as a solo instrument and the art of playing it. Two other Italians in the first half of the Eighteenth Century, Antoniotti of Milan and Lanzetti,[12] violoncellist to the King of Sardinia (1730-1750), brought out compositions which are the first that recognize the capacities of this instrument. The Italians were, therefore, the earliest to develop the violoncello and also the art of playing it.

Andreas Amati (1520-1577)[13] was to the violoncello very nearly what Stradivari was to the violin. He transformed the viola da gamba into the violoncello. As early as 1572 Pope Pius V sent Charles IX, King of France, a present of thirty-eight bowed instruments, eight of which were bass. These were all made by Andreas Amati and on the back of each were painted the arms of France and other devices and the motto, Pietate et Justitia. In 1790, when the mob broke into Versailles during the Revolution, all these instruments were destroyed except two violins and one violoncello. This is still in existence and is known as “The King.” Once it was owned by Duport.

The first big solo violoncellist was Franciscello (1713-1740), of whom little is known except that he played in all the important European cities. He took his name from his instrument. It was a new thing for the violoncello to appear in such a conspicious rôle.

Corelli and Tartini,[14] the first great violinists, often had their accompaniments played on a violoncello; and it is supposed that from associating with the violin, the assisting instrument became ambitious and tried a little virtuosity for himself.

Then the French took it up. They did a great deal for the violoncello. First came Berteau, who died in 1756; and, after him, the still more important Jean Louis Duport (1749-1819), who worked out a system of fingering and bowing and a methodical manner of “shifting” from position to position.[15] Duport’s Essay on the subject made an epoch in violoncello playing. Duport was a very fine performer. It seems that he was inspired by the playing of the violinist, Viotti,[16] who visited Paris in 1782 and who astonished everybody. This started Duport thinking, just as Paganini’s playing a half century later set Liszt thinking. Duport’s idea was to imitate the agility and grace and charm of the violin upon his own violoncello. Ever since Duport’s time the violoncello has been considered practically a bass violin as far as technique is concerned; and great performers have constantly added some new idea with regard to playing it, until now the violoncello in the hands of a Pablo Casals can be as airy and light as a violin even if its voice is heavier. The violoncello has now learned to sing. Duport would be astonished if he could hear our violoncellists to-day, though he was one of the best (if not the very best) of his time. Beethoven thought so much of Duport that to him he dedicated his first two Violoncello Sonatas, op. 5.

We can get an idea of the way a violoncello was regarded in the Eighteenth Century by the compliment that Voltaire paid Duport when the latter played for him in Geneva. Voltaire was perfectly astonished by his performance. When Duport laid down his bow Voltaire said: “Monsieur, you make me believe in miracles. You know how to turn an ox into a nightingale!”

Duport was delightfully modest, although everybody acknowledged his greatness and every violoncellist studied his famous Essay on Fingering and Bowing the Violoncello. In this he said: “Everybody knows the kind of bowing called martelé (hammered), or staccato. It is an affair of tact and ease. There are some players who get it at once; others never learn to get it perfectly: I am one of those.”

Then came Adrien François Servais (1807-1866), called “the Paganini of the ’cello.” He was a native of Brussels. Then Nicholas Joseph Platel (1777-1835), called by Rossini “the King of ’cellists and the ’cellist of Kings.” Platel is thought to have invented the peg as a convenient rest, for he was very stout and found his instrument difficult to hold. Then Alfredo Piatti’s lovely Amati ’cello and the way he played it are still remembered by many old American concert-goers, who heard him abroad.

But instrument-makers and performers alone could not have brought the violoncello to its position as a favorite instrument unless the composers had helped.

As Bach had been one of the last to write for the old viola da gamba, he was one of the first to write for the new violoncello. He wrote six famous solos for it.

Handel took great pleasure in the violoncello. He made it play an obbligato in several arias in his oratorios and cantatas. Alessandro Scarlatti also wrote for it; and, even better than he, Boccherini (1743-1815), who was a splendid performer himself. His Quartets particularly show it off to great advantage, as was natural to one who could play it so well.

With the development of the String Quartet that was now taking the place of the old “concert of viols,” the importance of the violoncello was settled. It only remained for composers to discover its singing qualities. Nobody understood these better than Mendelssohn. Next time you hear the oratorio of Elijah listen to the ’cello obbligato in Elijah’s aria It is Enough, which is even finer than the beautiful solo accompaniment to Be thou faithful unto Death in Mendelssohn’s other oratorio, Saint Paul.

Rossini’s Overture to William Tell opens with five solo violoncellos accompanied by two others playing pizzicato in first and second parts. Wagner made great use of the violoncello. It is very conspicious in the opening of the third act of Die Meistersinger, when Hans Sachs is sitting in his room reading and talking to himself; and in Tristan and Isolde the violoncello speaks love-yearnings as never before.

This leads us to the latest development of the violoncello as a solo performer in the Orchestra. In Richard Strauss’s Don Quixote Variations the violoncello is made to impersonate the mad, chivalrous and pathetic knight, whose adventures are described by the Orchestra. In this work the violoncello and the viola paint character as nearly as it is possible for music to do; and if we do not receive a definite idea of their appearance the music conveys to us certain impressions of Don Quixote and his unimaginative squire. With great poetic judgment Strauss selected the violoncello and the viola as the most suitable instruments to convey these impressions.

We have been talking about the violoncello all this time. What about the instrument itself?

Perhaps the first thing we notice is that the ribs of the violoncello are very much higher in proportion to its body than those of a violin, or viola. Of course, the height of these ribs differs in different makers. Stradivari made his so low that many of his violoncellos have had to be taken to pieces and wider ribs added to suit the music of to-day. Naturally the sound-post has had to be made taller.

Few of Stradivari’s violoncellos are in existence. He made his violoncellos in two models—large and small. The large ones are very scarce. They have a beautiful tone, but they are hard to play on account of their size. Servais had a “Strad.” Piatti also had one, which was known as “the red ’cello” on account of its varnish.

The finest Stradivari was owned by Duport and passed into the possession of August Franchomme, who paid 25,000 francs ($5,000) for it.

Carlo Bergonzi made superb violoncellos and so did Maggini, who made his on the viola pattern, placing the sound-holes rather high. Andreas Amati and Nicolò Amati both made beautiful instruments, which are characterized by a sweet, mellow tone.

No violoncellos of Joseph Guarneri are known.

The violoncello in the illustration facing page 56 was made by Januarius Galiano of Naples (born about 1740), one of the famous Galiano family of makers, descendants of Alessandro Galiano (1695-1730), a pupil of Stradivari.

The strings of the violoncello are C, G, D and A, an octave lower than those of the viola. The D string is very rich and is considered the most beautiful of all.

The compass of the violoncello is nearly four octaves; and because of this long range composers write for the violoncello in three clefs: the Bass Clef, for the lower and middle registers; the Tenor Clef, for the next highest; and the Treble, or Soprano, Clef, for the top notes.

The beginner on the violoncello has a great deal of hard work to do to learn to play at sight in all three clefs.

In the main, the violoncello is played like the violin and viola, that is to say the player has to make all his notes on the fingerboard; and he can also produce harmonics on the open strings and artificial harmonics by stopping the string at certain places. He sometimes stops these by placing his thumb on the string,—something the violinist never does.

Of course, as the instrument is held in the reverse way from a violin, the high notes are the farthest away from the player. He plays from himself, not towards himself.

Lavignac writes: “The functions of the Violoncello in the Orchestra are manifold. Usually it gives, reinforced by the double-bass, the bass of the harmony. This is its natural work. But sometimes the singing-part is committed to it,—when, losing its austerity, it becomes a ravishing instrumental tenor, of pure, warm timbre, ecstatic or passionate, but always distinguished and captivating. Its rapid and light utterance, the frequent passage from natural notes to harmonics imitating the alterations of chest and head notes complete its resemblance to the human voice. Moreover, the violoncello, though moving in another region and awakening other sensations, possesses a richness of varied tones almost as extensive as that of the violin; and its pizzicati are better and less dry than those of the violin.”

Regarding the team-work of the violoncello in the Orchestra, Berlioz said: “Violoncellos together to the number of eight, or ten, are essentially melodious; their quality on the upper strings is one of the most expressive in the Orchestra. Nothing is more voluptuously melancholy or more suited to the utterance of tender, languishing themes than a mass of violoncellos playing in unison upon their first string. They are also excellent for airs of a religious character. The two lower strings, C and G, especially in keys which permit the use of them as open strings, are of a smooth and deep sonorousness; but their depth hardly ever permits a composer any melodies. These are usually given to the upper strings.”