A rare violin case attributed to Antonio Stradivari (circa 1680)

We all know, more or less, what there is to know about Stradivari’s instruments: how many were made, how many are left, what they look like. What is less known is the fact that the Stradivari workshop produced also the accessories for the instruments that they made, including cases - of which we know, on the contrary, very little.

Today’s violin makers would never dream of making cases for their instruments. Not only is modern case-making a highly specialized field, but it’s far easier and cheaper for today’s liutaio to purchase one ready-made from one of the many manufacturers world-wide, rather than to try to make one himself. In the 17^th and 18^th centuries, however, things were much different. Not only were communications and transportation infinitely slower and inefficient than they are today, but we must remember that successful violin making workshops of the 1700s were for the most part well-staffed and had relatively high outputs, as opposed to the one-man workshops that are the vast majority in modern Cremona. Since labor was cheap and raw materials abundant, it made much more sense for a violin making workshop to simply make it’s own accessories rather than to order them from, say, Germany or France.

The structure of the case is in poplar wood, with the exterior covering in calfskin.

Antonio Stradivari’s workshop was world-renowned even in it’s own time, and the instruments that went out the door were commissioned by the rich and famous of the day. It is logical to assume that Stradivari would have provided only the best of cases for his instruments, which often had to undertake long, perilous journeys before they reached the hands of the new owner, and since Stradivari was a perfectionist, it would also be logical to assume that he would have had his say-so about how the cases were to be made in order to ensure the instruments’ safe delivery.

Thus it comes as no surprise that the Stradivari Museum in Cremona exhibits drawings, sketches, and designs by Stradivari himself, representing components of the violin cases as he wanted them: locks, latches, hinges, and other details including no less than 52 different keyhole designs. These autograph drawings, some of which published in Simone F. Sacconi’s book “The ‘Secrets’ of Stradivari”, came from Stradivari’s estate and were sold by his sons Francesco and Omobono to Count Cozio di Salabue before eventually ending up in the museum. Not only do these designs give us further insight into the multifaceted genius of the great luthier, but they lend further credibility to the theory of researcher and violin case expert Dr. Glenn P. Wood, which hypothesizes that perhaps, as Stradivari perfected the violin with the famous G-pattern (undated, but which he used from 1710 until his death in 1737), he may well have invented the modern, hinged-top violin case as well, the direct descendants of which violinists use today.

Violin cases indeed evolved considerably over the centuries to meet the challenges posed by the changes in society - while the violins themselves remained substantially the same - and cases in the 1700s reflected the fact that travel was rarer than it is now. When examining them it is immediately apparent that they were not intended to be practical, at least in the modern sense of the term. Usually weighty and with rather uncomfortable ornate metal handles, these cases don’t seem to encourage everyday use but certainly do provide a safe place to keep the violin in the home environment and during the occasional trip in a horse-drawn carriage, bumped along with the owner’s other trunks and luggage.

The structure of Italian violin cases of the 17^th and 18^th century is generally in poplar wood, abundant in the Po Valley region, lightweight, and widely used locally for cabinet making, with the interesting characteristic of being carved from a solid block rather than bent or formed, unlike the German or English case of the time. In order to avoid warping, well-seasoned wood would have had to be used, another certain indication of cost being no object. The resulting structure, is relatively heavy and cumbersome but of great strength.

The case featured in this article, owned by Peter Biddulph, is possibly one of the earliest attributed to Stradivari. It’s tapered design, known as the “holster case” design and pretty much the standard of the time for those cases intended to be portable, has the wider extremity hinged to allow the violin and the bow, presumably wrapped in a cloth bag, to be inserted by sliding them in scroll- and tip-first.

The exterior of this case is covered in calfskin, glued to the structure and then finished with 369 metal studs placed roughly every 2 ½ cm along the edges of the case to protect them. The surface is richly decorated with a motif which was first applied in gold leaf and then pressed into the leather with multiple, heated brands, and the symmetry is so exacting as to presume that the work was done with a half-template. This precision is in curious contrast with the rather casual placement of the protective studs, giving further credence to the idea that multiple hands created this work. Indeed, this kind of leather decoration was at the time an almost exclusive specialty of bookbinders, whose skill in this work had reached considerable perfection, thus suggesting that the woodwork and leatherwork were done independently.

Among the exterior decorations is pentagram representing a melody with text in Italian “Ecco la cetra e dia principio al canto”, which translates to “Here's the lyre and let the song begin”. So far it has not been possible to link this text to any known musical work.

Of greatest interest is however the inscription “STRADIVARIO A. CRE.” on both sides of the hinged opening, which not only suggests that this case is connected to the great luthier’s workshop, but gives a clue to it’s period of construction as well.

In the colloquial vernacular of the day, the name “Stradivari” (plural) could have also been expressed in the singular form “Stradivario”, before the broad generalization of the plural form as the standard surnames took hold in Italy. For certain, the latinized “Stradivarius” derives from the singular, and not the plural form. According to restorer-researcher Andrew Dipper, the name Stradivari in fact appears also as “Stradivario” in some documents until around 1669, although the extra “o” occasionally persisted  until 1680, as can be seen handwritten by Stradivari himself inside a mandolin of that year. This could imply from this that the case was made no later than then, when Antonio was in his twenties or thirties.  The “A.” and “CRE.” follow the rather arbitrary abbreviation practice of the time.

The Stradivari Museum in Cremona displays two relics that contain the name “Stradivario”: the “B” form template that has the handwritten annotation “F.B. di Ant.o Stradivario”, and a template for the construction of a lute that has the handwritten annotation “Ant. Stradivario / Liuto alla francese”. Likewise, the Civic Library of Cremona contains a document in which the following text appears: “Si ha per fama non esservi presentemente nel mondo piu’ perito artefice d’istrumenti musicali del Stradivario da Cremona”.

In the foreground are some of Stradivari's models and designs for case manufacturing, with Stradivari Museum curator Prof. Andrea Mosconi.

However his name was spelled, hard evidence is lacking regarding Stradivari’s first years of activity. Researcher Carlo Chiesa believes that Stradivari served only a brief apprenticeship – if he did at all - in the Amati workshop before starting out on his own, some time between 1666 and 1670, around the time this case may have been made. His first instruments weren’t made with top-quality wood and that would seem to indicate that, at least in the beginning, the young Antonio didn’t yet have an elite clientele. Researcher Toby Faber suggests that at that time he may have been moonlighting as a woodcarver and inlayer just to make ends meet. Yet, by all accounts, this is a luxurious and costly violin case, undoubtably made for an important customer: could it have represented a turning-point in his career?

Unfortunately, it has been so far impossible to indentify Stradivari’s influential customer through the coat-of-arms that graces the exterior of this case. While each aristocratic family had it’s own symbol, and the one reproduced on the case most probably represents one, at that time in Italy there were growing numbers of new noble families and family crests were quite plentiful.

Despite the beauty and workmanship of this holster case, as well as the practicality of it’s relative lightness and compact dimensions, the design itself is clearly flawed. With the interior usually being just lined in paper (although many such cases were modified by re-lining the interior with cloth, as in this one), sliding the instrument into the case caused abrasions to the back and scroll, especially wearing down the edges of the latter as can so often be seen on instruments of the period. In this particular example, the bow has no provision whatsoever and is simply inserted haphazardly in with the violin, and is thus in direct contact with the instrument and free to bang against it; proper accommodation for bows appears only around 1701.

The interior of this case is devoid of any form of bow holder. The velvet lining is not original.

As these defects are obvious to us today, they would have been obvious to Stradivari the perfectionist as well, perhaps, as suggested by Dr. Wood, prompting him to completely re-design the case from the bottom up to better address the issue of instrument safety.

We will never know for sure if this case was truly made in the Stradivari workshop, but whether this case was made by Stradivari personally or just commissioned by him really makes little difference. It is accepted that a good portion of the instruments ascribed to Stradivari were at least in part built by his assistants, and indeed even the most exclusive haute couture designer gown is stitched by anonymous seamstresses and not by the designer whose name goes on it. That the woodworking was done in the Stradivari workshop, and the leatherwork done outside, perhaps by the then flourishing bookbinders, is an enticing possibility – although Stradivari’s estate included leatherworking tools for case making.

The last attic-find violin that turned out to be a genuine Stradivari was discovered decades ago, but chances are that there are still many opportunities to discover a “new” Stradivari, albeit one of his violin cases. It’s the concept, style and method – i.e. the genius - that make the difference in the end result, and a master case maker leaves as many clues to identity as a master violin maker does, something the practiced eye can capture.

 This article has been published in The Strad magazine (April 2008 issue). Larger images of this case may be downloaded for private use following this link. Please note that text and photos are protected by copyright, and may not be used in any way or form without permission. In addition to those quoted, special thanks are owed to Claudio Amighetti, Luciano Sassi, Ivana Iotta, Alfred Primavera.

The Stradivari 1715 "Il Cremonese" case (1996)

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