Free The Rainaldi Quartet by Paul Adam Page B

at them.
    I could see that there were at least ten Stradivaris in the room. Why did he want another? What was it that drove his desire to own yet more violins that would never be played? I knew he wasn’t a violinist himself. No true musician would ever have put instruments like these in glass cases.
    Forlani was watching me. ‘Let’s see how much you know, shall we? Our police “expert”. Are you up to the challenge?’
    â€˜What do you want me to do?’
    â€˜Identify my violins. Without looking at the labels inside them.’
    I stifled a snort of contempt. No one but an amateur would have made such a remark. No violin expert worth his salt bothers much with labels. Too many of them are false or have been changed. He assesses the instrument from the outside first, examining the shape, the feel, the colour and sheen of the varnish, the cut of the f-holes and scroll, searching for the fingerprints of the maker which are there as surely as the fingerprints of a careless thief at the scene of a burglary and are just as clear to the expert eye. Only then does he bother to look at the label, if there is one. It may confirm his assessment. If it does not, then I would always trust my own judgement first – the label is probably false.
    â€˜Where would you like me to begin?’ I said.
    â€˜Try this one,’ Forlani said, pointing at one of the glass cases near the side wall.
    I stepped over to the case and studied the violin inside it. I knew instantly what it was.
    â€˜Maggini,’ I said.
    â€˜Your reasoning?’
    Who could resist such an invitation to show off?
    â€˜Several things,’ I said. ‘The varnish, for a start. That rich golden orange. Then the arching is very full towards the edges, the waist a little more discreet than, say, the Amatis’ instruments which were being made at about the same time. The sound holes have the small lobes and wings characteristic of Maggini and, of course, it has his trademark double purfling which – as every violin-maker knows – is dedication beyond the call of duty.’
    I walked round to the back of the case. The violin had a one-piece maple back, cut on the slab, with a pattern in the grain that resembled the head of a snake. I peered closer. ‘It’s hard to tell without holding the violin, but from this distance it looks to me as if the white part of the purfling is fig tree bark. Maggini, and his teacher Gasparo da Salò, are the only great makers to use fig tree bark in their purfling. The Cremonese and Venetians always used poplar wood for the white part, except Ruggeri who favoured beech like the Neapolitan and Tuscan luthiers.’
    Forlani pursed his lips. ‘Not bad. A date?’
    I gave him a look. ‘Please, dottore, you will have to do better than that. Everyone knows that Maggini never dated his instruments.’
    Forlani sniffed. Round one to me.
    â€˜All right, what about this one?’
    â€˜Amati,’ I said.
    â€˜Which one?’
    â€˜Nicolò.’
    I gazed at the violin. Amati instruments have fallen out of favour with modern soloists because they lack the power of a Stradivari or a Guarneri, but they are beautifully crafted and have an unmatched sweetness of sound. Nicolò was the third generation and greatest maker of the family. His influence on the art of violin-making was immense, not just because of his own instruments but because of the pupils he taught – Andrea Guarneri, Giovanni Battista Rogeri, Bartolomeo Cristofori, who would go on to invent the pianoforte, and of course Antonio Stradivari.
    â€˜And this?’ Forlani said.
    â€˜Guadagnini. Giovanni Battista.’
    â€˜Care to hazard a guess at the date?’
    â€˜Somewhere between 1759 and 1771,’ I said. ‘When he lived and worked in Parma.’
    â€˜What makes you think that?’
    â€˜The sound holes. He cut them higher and higher up the table during that period and so