Ten out of ten

Points of interest to violin and bow makers

The original Dominique Peccatte bow (top) with ten roughed-out sticks

LIKE A TIME MACHINE, THIS METHOD TRANSPORTED ME INTO THE 19TH CENTURY

When I was an apprentice violin maker in Mirecourt, I often went fly fishing in the River Madon. The bow maker Roger François Lotte had his house and workshop next to the river, and would come out in his typical Mirecourt blue apron, fists on his hips, and call out, ‘Alors ça mord?’ (‘So, are they biting?’) When I visited his workshop I would always see him working on a dozen sticks at a time.

I was not a bow maker then, so I did not pay much attention to it (except to think that we only made one violin or cello at a time, and that was quite enough).

I recently decided to copy a spectacular Dominique Peccatte bow made in Paris. It was branded ‘Peccatte’ on the player side and ‘Paris’ on the other – and notably had the Roman numeral ‘VI’ scratched on the silver. Most likely it would have disappeared under the original lapping, which meant that it was part of a series of at least six bows, probably more; my friend Isaac Salchow tells me he has even seen a ‘XII’ on a Dominique Peccatte. The reason for numbering them in this way was so that Peccatte could later match up the sticks with their corresponding frogs.

Accordingly, I decided to imitate Peccatte’s industriousness and started roughing out twelve sticks from my collection, all to be copies of the example in front of me. As it turned out, my arm was getting tired by the tenth stick, so my own série ended at X rather than XII.

Even so, I found that, like a time machine, this method of working transported me into the 19th century, when bow makers would have probably sold twelve bows for the price a modernday archetier would charge for a single one. Every step and movement became easier and more logical for me. Moreover, imitating the toolmarks that were visible on the original, I felt more and more as though I was using my tools in a sure, powerful and efficient way – exactly as Peccatte would have done. For instance, the back of the Peccatte head is very harmonious and precise but the filemarks are very strong, at a 90-degree angle to the head. One can only use such a strong file if the chamfers have already been started, otherwise the cheeks of the head would definitely chip. So you can deduce that, for speed and efficiency, Peccatte was alternating the cutting of the chamfers and the back of the head. Of course, once the head was finished he would file the chamfers to perfection.

Strong filemarks appear on the original bow’s chamfers

ALL PHOTOS CHRISTOPHE LANDON

The slightly triangular outline of an unfinished head alongside the original

The Peccatte head (top) with copy number VIII

THERE’S A STRANGE FEELING OF DISTANCING ONESELF FROM THE PROCESS, AS IF ENGAGING IN A RITUAL

After the backs of the ten heads were finished, I made sure the heads were all the same length and height, ready to receive the ebony headplate and bone tip (not ivory, for obvious reasons). When making one bow at a time, it can be tempting to use super glue to be able to file the ebony and fit the tip straight away. But with a series of ten I found I could just glue three or four ebony plates with warm glue and carry on preparing the rest while waiting for the glue to dry. By the time the tenth ebony plate was glued, I was already filing the first and gluing its bone tip. Then I could take the first stick and work on finishing its head while the other nine bone tips were still drying.

Having shaped ten heads with a knife and files, with the original Peccatte on the bench, I had a genuine feeling that my hands had found the perfect motion for using the tools every step of the way, just like Peccatte had done it – and even that it was me who had created the style.

With the heads completed, I carried on getting the ten sticks closer to completion: all octagonal with the heads lining up perfectly. I cut the sticks to their final length, marked the mortises and set up the hand drill (the same kind French bow makers have used for 250 years). Once the drill is set up, it’s simple just to drill the ten mortises one after the other, and the same with the lower stick mortises. The amount of time this saves is colossal – imagine how long it would take if you were to clear your bench, clamp the drill to the bench, drill, then remove the drill and set it aside – ten different times!

Carrying out a number of repetitious processes like this, one after the other, gives the twin sensations of efficiency and humility. There’s also a strange feeling of distancing oneself from the process, as if engaging in a ritualistic prayer for ten bows. Then it was time to take some 1845 Louis Philippe silver coins and flatten them – to 1.1mm for the silver buttons and bottom part of the ferrule, and 0.6mm for the upper part. I cut them, bent them to shape, and then soldered the ten ferrules and twenty button rings, one by one. It felt pretty tedious, but there was a huge sense of achievement when they were all ready.

Having created the ten ebony frogs in the normal way, I fitted them and numbered them on the silver slide from I to X. I also numbered each matching stick with a numeral to go under the lapping, just like Peccatte did. Once the frogs were finished to their final shape and polished, I rehaired all the bows and then corrected all the cambers one by one. Once they were perfect and the sticks all straight, it was time to round up the sticks a bit above the lapping and give them their final rounded, slightly triangular shape, especially towards the head.

I left all the bows about a gram too heavy and asked some violinist friends to test them. They picked out a bow or two that they felt suited their playing the most, and then I finished them off. planing and polishing the sticks, finishing the heads to perfection and giving the bow a coat of thin oil varnish and a silk and silver lapping. I made ten different combinations of green, blue and plain lapping, so the bows could all be told apart. In the end, they all weighed between 60 and 61 grams with silk lappings like the original.

The great thing is that every one of my violinist friends has taken to a different bow that they feel fits their playing, violin, strings and repertoire – all in a unique, individual way.