Comune di Cremona
Sala della Consulta, 11 novembre 1972.
I met Simone Fernando Sacconi for the first
time in November of 1958 at the International School of Violinmaking in
Cremona, which that great expert had wanted to visit as he passed through Italy.
Sacconi had an interest in the School – which had been opened in 1938 on the
wave of enthusiasm caused by the celebrated Exhibition of 1937 for the
Stradivarian Bicentennial that Sacconi had helped organize – since it was he
that had been asked at the very beginning to be the director. Although he had
not been able to accept the position (in fact, he had moved to America just a
few years before, and had important work to do there), he still had a
particular interest in the welfare of the institution. I remember how I was
struck by his thoughtful, intense look the minute I saw him; I had the
impression of being before a man of great personality, a real artist, because
of the way he expressed himself, his speech and his bearing. At that time, I
was no longer a boy; I already had a wife and three children, and Sacconi asked
me why on earth I was studying at that school. I explained to him that, having
begun at the age of nine to study first the violin and then woodcarving and
inlay as a dilettante, and having already tried to make a violin by myself, I
felt very drawn to violinmaking, an art which I knew would help me understand
this fascinating musical instrument better by adding the technique of its
construction to my knowledge. Sacconi, after having observed some of my first violins,
realized that even though they were still rough and imperfect, they showed that
I had gained manual dexterity and familiarity with the tools. In essence, he
saw that I had potential and proposed that I move to the United States to work
with him at the Wurlitzer Company in order to perfect my techniques in the
construction of new instruments and to learn restoration. It was a very
inviting prospect for me, but in spite of all his insistence I was unable to convince
my wife, as she was too attached to her home territory and to our children, who
were still very little at the time. Then he suggested for me to go ahead alone
and said he would find me a house so that after a year or two my wife and
children could join me, but it was useless. In the end he said, “Never mind
even if you can't come to the United States, don't worry. You'll see that one
way or another we'll manage to keep in contact all the same. We can write to
each other, and I'll come back to Cremona from time to time.” This great
willingness of his to help me with his experience and advice gave me incredible
enthusiasm and energy, and from that moment on, I began to see good prospects
for my work, feeling certain that I had his priceless support.
Sacconi came back to Cremona in 1962. In the meantime, I had already earned my
diploma and had opened a little shop in via Ala Ponzone, right near the Impero
Hotel where he took a room. I remember his suggestions as to how to arrange the
shop better, and how to equip and furnish it. Then for all forty-five days that
he stayed in Cremona, my shop became his, too. I gave him a copy of the keys,
and he went there to work, even outside work hours. Often when I got there in
the morning (around 7:00), I found him at the bench, where he had already been
working for over an hour. In spite of the fact that he was terribly busy with
musicians and collectors that came from all over Italy to show him classical instruments
or to have him adjust them, he always found the time to carve a scroll, finish
a belly, or cut a bridge, and he did everything with maximum concentration. He
was so dynamic, and his capacity for work and physical resistance were
formidable; he was never tired, he never sat down, he was always thinking,
always working, always on his feet... And he was a born maestro; he had such a
capacity for teaching and explaining things that he made them simple for you,
almost obvious. The attention, human kindness and sensitivity that he showed me
were really limitless, so much so that my wife and I thought of him and treated
him as a member of our family.
In 1962 I also began working with him on the
rearrangement of the Stradivarian Museum, then called the Museum of Organology,
which was located on the third floor of the Palazzo dell'Arte in Piazza Marconi.
This was a most unhappy location, and Sacconi wanted to have everything moved
as soon as possible, because among the various disadvantages, the excessive
cold in the winter and terrible beat in the summer were most harmful for the
Stradivarian relics in the museum. I remember Sacconi's dismay when he saw the moulds
and tools all dirty and dusty, with numbered oval labels glued directly to the
wood, moulds and designs without any explanation whatsoever, displayed in
temporary fashion in maladapted show-cases; everything denoted negligence and
disinterest in the relics, which he, on the other band, considered most
precious as the starting point – along with the antique instruments – for the
development of a modem, high-quality school of violinmaking modeled on that of
the classical Cremonese masters. And he said, “I don't understand. You have all
this gift of God, you have here Stradivarius's moulds, which are the basis of a
school of violinmaking like that of the antique masters, and not one of you has
ever come to this museum to study, to try to understand, to keep it alive.” I
intuited the profound significance of these words of his, and since then I have
dedicated myself to a constant effort to put to good use the great school of
violinmaking of the past and to encourage the adoption of the internal mould in
the construction of new instruments.
As we rearranged the material – above all, some
of Stradivarius's moulds, which were so dirty that we were unable to decipher
the original dates he had incised with a chisel – Sacconi continued to insist
that I take responsibility for the whole job, and that I carry on the work even
after his departure from Cremona. The reorganization of the Museum was a daily
preoccupation for him.
Once it was put in the best order possible, thanks as well to the help of Dr.
Bruno Dordoni and the acquisition of new display-cases on the part of the city,
the Museum was moved temporarily to the Manfredini Hall of the Affaitati
Palace, and then to its present location in via Palestro, where it was again
reorganized.
The days I spent in the Museum of Organology with Sacconi were fundamental to
my activity as a violinmaker. His continuous explanations and his
reconstruction – through a study of the moulds, designs and tools – of
Stradivarius's work processes took me back in time and made me feel almost as
if I were in the great maestro's shop. I became so familiar with him, it seemed
that I had always worked beside him elbow to elbow. Sacconi was extremely
familiar with those relics, because having been a pupil of violinmaker Giuseppe
Fiorini, he had already seen and studied them before Fiorini donated them to
the City of Cremona. Sacconi was crazy about Stradivarius, whom he considered
to be the supreme synthesis, the apex of the antique school of violinmaking.
Those moulds and designs – the only ones left today (in fact, nothing similar
has come down to us from the shops of the Amatis, Guarneris or other great
makers – were for him living testimony of the sublime art of that insuperable
master.
It was through those experiences in that Museum
that I understood the importance of constructing instruments according to the
method the great Cremonese masters used: the internal mould. Sacconi kept
repeating to me, “You see, Francesco, in order to go ahead in violinmaking, we
must go back into the past and understand what they did then; only after having
studied and understood Stradivarius can one become a good violinmaker. It is
really difficult to construct instruments according to his method, which takes
a great deal of concentration, patience, and perseverance, but with time it
allows one the possibility of giving one's best. To work with the internal
mould, in fact, requires not only manual, but also intellectual effort, a
capacity for creation and invention which calls into action the whole
personality of the violinmaker.”
As soon as Sacconi returned to the United
States in the fall of 1962, we began a dose correspondence. Whenever I had a
problem or a special instrument, I wrote to him and he gave me invaluable advice.
He sent me photographs, designs, or even simple drawings he made me himself,
with dates and measurements. Another thing he did was explain to me how to tell
the difference between a false label and an original one, and how to recognize
and distinguish between the specific characteristics of the various makers,
etc... I think certain original passages from those letters are particularly enlightening.
In any case, Fernando came back to Cremona
quite often, almost every year, and he spent many of his customary visits of 45
to 60 days in my laboratory. What a quantity of information and knowledge I
assimilated from him, even through his talks and exchanges of opinion with the
clients!
Sometimes he would go to the School of
Violinmaking, where he gave advice and suggestions to the students, but he was
not always appreciated as much as he deserved. Towards the end of the 60's he
also gave an important three-week course on restoration, which was attended not
only by the students of the School, but also by a number of violinmakers who
had come from all over Italy (there were about 25 of us, counting the
professionals and the young people, if I remember correctly). It was an
extremely interesting course from a technical point of view, especially because
Sacconi had no secrets. He explained all he knew, anything he had experienced. In
essence, he gave everything he had to everyone.
While he was at my shop, a few times we managed
to find a couple of hours to go together to the Civic Museum to look at the
paintings, sculptures and inlaid works. We also went to the Cathedral to study
the inlays in the Choir, created by Plàtina at the end of the fifteenth
century; these inlays were protected by a type of colorless varnish which,
according to Sacconi, was the same that was later to be used with the addition
of dyes by Amati, Stradivarius, and Guarnerius. He was convinced that the
ingredients and composition of this varnish were the same as that of the great violinmakers,
and that they had, in fact, inherited this composition from the inlayers. He
took a bit of cotton with a little cleaning fluid, ran it over a corner of one
of the inlays, and had me admire the beauty, transparence, and sheen of the
varnish, still almost completely intact after centuries. He also took me to the
Church of Saint Sigismondo to study the masterpieces of the Capra brothers in
the Choir, carvings which, according to Sacconi, had also influenced the school
of violinmaking of their time (the end of the 16th and beginning of the 17th
centuries). He involved me in all this research with such passion and
incredible competence that one could see how much he loved and knew about arts
other than violinmaking – painting, sculpture, etc. However, every discourse wound
up being directed towards his fixation: the violin. Those were for me
unforgettable, fascinating, fundamental lessons. I could have listened to him
for hours without ever feeling tired.
On one of his later Cremonese visits, in 1968,
I was fortunate enough to help Sacconi regulate the 1716 «Berthier»
Stradivarius, which belonged to Engineer Paolo Peterlongo. The instrument
remained in my laboratory for several days, during which time Fernando described
and explained to me every minute detail about it with startling surety and
immediacy, as if he had always had it before his eyes. He treated all the other
antique instruments (Stradivariuses, Guarneriuses, Amatis, Bergonzis and others
by lesser makers) with the same great familiarity and certainty when musicians
and collectors brought them to him in my shop for little repairs or for a
simple adjustment. He explained to me the history, the particulars, and the
aesthetic and acoustical characteristics of every one, too.
In 1971 I moved my laboratory from via Ala
Ponzone to via Milazzo – where it is today – and there Sacconi had more space
at his disposition during his last two visits to Cremona (1971 and 1972); he
had a workbench all his own, and his tools, to which he added the utensils he
constructed expressly to have ones just like those Stradivarius used. My
laboratory had become like a second home for him: he stayed after hours to talk
with clients; almost every day he received Dr. Bruno Dordoni, with whom he was
writing up his book, The 'Secrets' of Stradivarius; and he ran all kinds
of experiments, especially on varnishes. I remember a long list of resins and
solvents that I had to procure for him so he could prepare a new varnish that
he wanted, similar to that Stradivarius used. I went as far as Soresina to a
beekeeper I knew to have him scrape the hives for propolis, a gummy substance
that the bees produce to dose the openings of the honeycomb, and which Sacconi considered
indispensable to the preparation of a good varnish. Once I had procured the
ingredients, we made experiments together using several formulas for varnish,
one of which he later described in his book. Among the other experiments we
made, I remember the reconstruction of the process of extraction of red dye
(alizarina) from madder roots, a typical coloring matter used in the classical Cremonese
varnishes.
In 1971, under his supervision and with his
constant help, I began the construction of a violin modeled after the 1715
«Cremonese» Stradivarius, preserved in the City Palace of Cremona. First, he
had me construct the internal mould on the basis of the measurements of the one
preserved in the Stradivarian Museum. Then we went to the City Palace – many
times – to study the original Stradivarius and observe the arching, the
purfling, the modeling of the corners, the carving of the scroll, etc. We went
together after that to choose the wood, which had been extremely well seasoned
and had marbling very similar to that of the original. At that point I began the
real construction of the instrument with him. I remember how meticulous and
precise he was, and how secure in guiding me through the various phases of the
construction. For me it was a great first-hand lesson in violinmaking that I
still remember with enthusiasm and gratitude. The violin, which was finished in
1972, was left in the white because he wanted it to be exposed to the sunlight
for several years before being varnished. Unfortunately, he didn't have much
time left, and missed the joy of seeing it varnished.
Sacconi was a vital figure for me. He
transmitted to me a wealth of experience and knowledge that I would never have
been able to acquire in another way or from other sources. In addition, he was
not just a teacher, but above all a great friend, an upright man, generous even
to excess, with faith in the capacity and potential of every person. Although
he was great, and conscious of the fact, I never heard him criticize or blame
anyone when he confided to me his judgement of his students; instead, he always
tended to emphasize even the smallest show of talent. He lived entirely for his
work, with passion and enthusiasm which were part of his unlimited love for
life, for creation, and for research. Violinmaking, rather than being a pretext
for prestige or material gain, was for him simply an act of love.
For this reason, even before I acknowledge my
respect for Sacconi the expert, I pay homage to the great maestro of life.
Cremona, June 26, 1985
Taken from the book: «From Violinmaking to Music: The Life and Works of Simone Fernando Sacconi» (pages 141-146), officially presented on December 17, 1985 at the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C.