The luthier: human, divine or diabolical craftsman?

The recurring theme in La Novella Orchidea series will not have escaped readers: the luthier as the embodiment of “evil”. In fact, almost all of Ricardo Tronconi’s writings revolve, in some way, around this shady figure. The author never reveals what drives him to recognize the luthier as the figure of evil, although a partial explanation is provided in Liutello:

“He doesn’t play the violin,” Orgaio objected, “but he does make it. For this reason, he is such a wicked figure: he builds evil with his own hands, shaping it from good.”

All the most despicable acts, therefore, and in particular adultery, are to be attributed to a luthier. In the case of an adulterous relationship, in fact, the lute (or violin) is used both as an instrument of fascination and as an instrument of violence. The hand (or bow), passing over the strings of the body (symbolically, the female organ), violently tears its strings, corrupting the instrument forever.

In some cases forgiveness and repentance are possible for wrongdoing (The Maharajah’s violin). But in other stories the condemnation is final. In the case of Lo sceriffo di Godhill on Avon, the culmination of an adulterous affair between a princess and a luthier is symbolically defined as “murder”. In The weight of air and its consequences a luthier is even physically involved in a crime scene.

But why does the author mention Cremona multiple times in his writings? And what myths and legends do some of the creations of the luthiers originate from, to the point of being called “instruments of the devil”?

The art of luthiery in Cremona

Cremona is renowned as the city of luthiers. The tradition of Cremonese luthiery began in 1539, when Andrea Amati, the first known violin maker according to historians, opened his workshop. He started a long line of luthier craftsmen, active until the mid-eighteenth century. The Amati family was succeeded by the Guarneri family (among whose clients was the famous Niccolò Paganini). But the history of Cremonese luthiery also includes names like Antonio Stradivari, a pupil of Nicola Amati, Carlo Bergonzi, who collaborated with all the aforementioned families, and finally Lionel Tertis, who dedicated his life to the pursuit of the perfect size for the viola.

It is no coincidence that what distinguishes Cremonese luthiers from the rest of the world is precisely the technique of building stringed instruments, passed down from generation to generation, which makes it impossible for two violins to be exactly alike. The culture of “know-how and skills of the Cremonese luthier tradition” is so universally recognized that it was inscribed on the Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity by UNESCO on December 5th, 2012.

But Cremonese lutherie not only boasts an exceptional history. It has also become famous in literature, thanks to the good impression it left on writers such as Honoré de Balzac, Herman Melville and Gabriele D’Annunzio. The English writer Jerome K. Jerome humorously adapted a work by the French writer François Coppée titled “The Cremona Violin.”

The reason for this fascination, in addition to Cremona itself and its superb art, can be found in the most famous instrument that the Cremonese luthiers create: the violin.

The Devil as a luthier

One of the fruits of the Renaissance is the strong emphasis on the individuality of man. As a unique subject in all of Creation, the man is able to self-determine and cultivate his own talents, shaping his Fate to his liking and benefit. The violin, born between the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, therefore embodies the fundamental ideas of that era, which was coming to an end.

With its high-pitched voice, it is capable of competing with the human voice and dominating other instruments in terms of expressiveness and penetrating power. Its rich timbre offers the musician a wide range of choices to use according to their own compositional intentions. This instrument therefore demands all of man’s ingenuity, effort, and patience: it is the anti-mechanistic instrument par excellence.

It is not surprising, then, that the violin has become a symbol of virtuosity, of how its maker (and player) is able to create something “high” and “other,” playing with their own talent. Giuseppe Tartini’s (1692-1770) “Devil’s Trill Sonata,” a violin sonata in G minor that has become famous for its complexity (inspired by the devil himself in a dream), is an example of this.

But it is certainly with Niccolò Paganini (1782-1840) that the symbolic transition from violinist to soul possessed by the devil is definitively accomplished. Only those who have made a pact with the devil (or are perhaps even his offspring) can play so perfectly as to seem almost inhuman. Moreover, the myth of Paganini has become so famous in history that even in 20th-century Italian music we find a trace of it. We all know the famous verse by Franco Battiato in “Lode all’Inviolato” which goes:

And Paganini knew it well, that the devil is left-handed and sneaky and plays the violin…

Beyond the legend, it is worth remembering that the violin was originally used as an accompaniment to dance. In the 16th century, especially in light of the Protestant Reformation and the Counter-Reformation, folk dance was associated with something mad and grotesque. So much so that it was hypothesized to have been invented by the devil himself. It is therefore easy to understand why the violin has passed through the centuries with a reputation now firmly established in the common consciousness: the “devil’s instrument”.

The Lute: How a Myth is Born (and Falls)

If the violin maker builds the violin, where does the lute come from? The roots of Europe’s passion for the lute seem to sink into the Middle Ages. The Arabs imported this instrument into Europe under the name “al‘ud” (literally “the wood”). However, as with the violin, the lute only began to gain fame around the early 1500s.

It is still the Renaissance, with the emancipation of instrumental music, that recognizes the lute maker as a true artist, a man who builds the instrument with which to create divine music. In short, the lute maker is a true “Creator”: mind and arm together. Especially since the strings of the lute are plucked with the hand, without the need for a bow.

The lute maker is therefore a man well aware of his art and his aesthetic knowledge. Already at the end of the sixteenth century and throughout the seventeenth century, the obsessive recurrence of the lute and the lute maker flees from the heavenly setting and almost completely converges in a more human conception of pure pleasure. Lute players in pictorial art of the sixteenth, seventeenth, and especially the eighteenth centuries are depicted in taverns or brothels, immersed in musical performances aimed at seduction and joviality.

Like the violin, the lute (though in a more “vulgar” form) becomes symbolically the instrument of the devil, after “falling” from the celestial vault. The lute maker is no longer the creator of something angelic that elevates the soul, namely music, but of a seductive instrument that makes his creator diabolical as well.

In any case, no one since the beginning seems to have been able to resist the enchantment of the lute and the violin, nor the charm of their creators. Sinful symbols of beauty and corruption at the same time, the lute maker and his instrument seem to be the metaphor of the snake and the apple of Eve in the Garden of Eden. Holders of a knowledge that, if offered with the wrong intention, inevitably leads to the fall.