Twenty years ago, the Stauffer ex-Cristiani, an extraordinary cello by Antonio Stradivari, returned to its home in Cremona. A few days ago, after a special maintenance intervention, the instrument was again placed in the Museo del Violino, ready to continue its story of testimony and inspiration. To share his experience with this cello is Maestro Giovanni Gnocchi, who over the years has had several opportunities to perform on it. His words highlight a central aspect of a string player’s artistic life: the continuous dialogue between musician and craftsman, between the one who gives voice to the instrument and the one who preserves its living substance.

Maestro Gnocchi, when did you first have the chance to play the Stauffer ex-Cristiani, and in what circumstances did you return to it afterwards?
The first time I played this instrument was in 2012, right in Cremona. Thanks to an initiative of the Rotary Club (with the special support of architect Eugenio Bettinelli and Maestro Paolo Rossini), I performed in a hall of the Palazzo Comunale—back then the place where the collection now housed at the Museo del Violino was kept—in an audition I remember with great fondness, especially for the spontaneity with which it all happened.
In 2014 I played a chamber music concert in the newly inaugurated “G. Arvedi” Auditorium of the Museo del Violino, while in September 2020, on the initiative of my dear friend Marcello Villa, I was invited to record an album, The Voice of Stradivari, on this extraordinary instrument together with pianist Alessandro Stella: an opportunity I could not possibly miss.

What were your first impressions of this instrument with such particular technical features—a body size halfway between the large model in vogue at the time and the smaller “form B,” and a vibrating string length of 705 mm?
I was immediately struck by the richness of its timbre: an impressive depth, especially in the low register, really out of the ordinary. The sound flows freely, and even the top string has surprising qualities; these features make the cello extremely versatile. Naturally, difficulties are not lacking: instruments of this kind must be played and stimulated regularly in a healthy way, trying to push them to their limits, to avoid them in a certain sense “atrophying.” It is therefore useful to test them with varied repertoire, while always paying the utmost attention to their preservation.
Moreover, with a noticeably longer vibrating string, the left hand has to adapt to “non-standard” distances and finger relationships, which requires the support of a more incisive bow technique capable of ensuring a clear sound, especially in virtuoso passages. The fourth string is particularly affected by this feature.

Was there a special moment—during a concert, recording, or rehearsal—when you felt the unique voice of this cello most strongly?
During the recording. Playing lyrical pieces that cover a great range of the instrument, such as Scriabin’s Poem, Op. 32 No. 1 (in the transcription by the legendary cellist Gregor Piatigorsky), I had the impression of being in paradise. The Ex-Cristiani offers a singing quality, purity, and lyricism difficult, if not impossible, to match.

From a musician’s perspective, what distinguishes this Stauffer from other historical instruments you’ve had the chance to play (timbre, response, projection, colors, etc.)?
I have been fortunate to try instruments by luthiers such as Guarneri, Grancino, Goffriller, and Ruggeri, but this cello (and Stradivari’s instruments in general) has a roundness, purity, and depth of sound that are truly impressive. Other important cellos have countless qualities and personality, but they do not have such a naturally smooth timbre. There are instruments that, in a sense, “roar” more and help fill large concert halls with sound, but they often present—sometimes more, sometimes less—small impurities, which here are absent.

How did the characteristics of this cello influence the repertoire choices you and Alessandro Stella made for The Voice of Stradivari? What led you to select those pieces?
When I was asked to record this album, I selected two programs, one for solo cello and one in duo with piano. I immediately thought: Stradivari is the best there is, so I needed a repertoire capable of showing the extraordinary breadth of possibilities this instrument offers, bringing out its most unique and extreme aspects. Some pieces cross and go beyond the entire fingerboard, beyond the conventional five octaves; others highlight the bass register; others still stand out for velvety and rarefied timbres. In Rossini, in particular, traits emerge that are almost bel canto: coloratura, whispers, flowing song, and recitatives.
The recording also includes world premieres of some works (such as Wagner-Liszt’s Recitative and Romance), while others appear only rarely in concert programs or recordings. I wanted to give the maximum for this instrument (of which there are very few recordings), even through unusual choices: you cannot remain in the comfort zone with a Stradivari!
I also want to underline the musical and human support of Alessandro Stella: besides being a great pianist (we have collaborated for twenty years), he is a very dear friend, and sharing this adventure with him was a privilege. His broad skills—he also founded a record label—were truly precious.

How was the idea for the recording project with the Stauffer born? The album is available on Spotify, and a few months ago the piece “Encore” by pianist and composer Jérôme Ducros was released as a preview—virtuosic and lyrical at the same time. Can you tell us about the challenge of recording such an elaborate piece on a historic instrument like this?
As I said earlier, the idea came from Marcello Villa. It was he who, almost thirty years ago, had the intuition to combine violin making and performance, making possible performances and recordings of works by composers connected to the city of Cremona during the era of great classical violin making, who through their works contributed decisively to the development and spread of this art. Among the musicians involved were Andrea Rognoni, Federico Guglielmo, Claudia Combs, Diego Cantalupi, and others, who gave voice to instruments such as the Amati Carlo IX and the Stradivari guitar Sabionari.
Encore is honestly one of the most difficult pieces I have ever played: there are very few recordings, only two others besides ours, with the composer himself at the piano. The virtuosity overflows in the score and pushes both musicians to the limit. To complicate matters, I had only a few hours to get acquainted with the instrument, which for obvious reasons I play only on special occasions. Ducros himself, when he heard about the recording, was very enthusiastic and shared it on social media.

The album features Mendelssohn’s Lied ohne Worte, Op. 109, dedicated to Lisa Cristiani—an important historical legacy: the cellist was the composer’s muse, and he dedicated this beautiful piece to her. How do you feel about “reviving” it on the same instrument, about 180 years later?
It is an extraordinary feeling to think that this piece, apparently simple, was dedicated to Lisa Cristiani, a very young cellist who had the courage to make her mark at a time when the cello was considered “too big” even for many men. Imagining this young woman carrying the instrument with her on tour, as far as Siberia, where she sadly died of cholera, makes the emotional bond with this music even stronger.
The Lied ohne Worte Op. 109 may seem simple—so much so that it is often given to young students—but in reality it requires immense delicacy and refinement. It is precisely this aristocratic style, so typical of Mendelssohn, that turns it into an interpretive challenge: to bring out both finesse and intensity means, in some way, to revive not only the music but also the extraordinary figure of Lisa Cristiani. It is like handling the most delicate crystal: one awkward movement is enough to spoil its perfection.

Jumping forward: you play a cello by Gaetano Sgarabotto (1930). What is the story behind this instrument, and what do you appreciate most about it?
The 1930 cello by Gaetano Sgarabotto has a very interesting story. I had become friends with conductor Umberto Benedetti Michelangeli—I had also played under his direction—and one day his wife, a dear person and art restorer, told me that their family owned this instrument, unused for about seventy years. It had belonged to a great-grandfather who had played at La Scala. Occasionally they had let some friends try it, but no one had ever managed to draw a real sound from it: the instrument was in terrible condition, unglued, with practically no setup.
When I saw it, I thought there might be something beneath that surface. So I suggested having it restored. After a proper setup, the instrument literally exploded into life: at first, having been unused for so long, it needed to be played, but little by little it revealed an incredible voice.
With this cello I have performed major concertos with symphony orchestras: Prokofiev’s Sinfonia Concertante, Shostakovich’s Concerto No. 1, Elgar’s Concerto… I have played them in halls with more than two thousand seats. Just this past April, for example, in Mexico City I performed Shostakovich in a hall with 2,300 seats, and it was extraordinary.
It is an instrument of enormous power, with registers of great fascination and a very interesting brightness of sound. I believe it still needs time to give its best, but we are certainly getting to know each other more and more. I have been playing it for a couple of years now, and it is a travel companion that continues to surprise me.

If you had to describe the main differences between your Sgarabotto and the Stauffer, what would be the most important elements—in terms of timbre, projection, response, and playability?
The Stauffer represents the legacy of ancient instruments: having been played for generations, it has developed a vast expressive palette. Every nuance, even the subtlest, is rendered with precision and naturalness. In intimate moments it offers velvety timbres and rarefied sonorities; in brilliant passages it can sustain broad projection, without ever losing elegance. In a sense, it is as if the cello itself suggested the colors. It is a mature, aristocratic instrument that invites you to dare.
The Sgarabotto has a more recent and unusual history: having remained unused for seventy years, it has only recently come back to life. It has a powerful, bright voice, with registers of great charm and an extraordinary ability to fill concert halls of more than two thousand seats. But it is still “young”: it is growing, maturing together with me. Every time I play it, it surprises me and pushes me to explore its potential.

What lessons do you think a contemporary luthier can learn from direct study of historical instruments like this Stauffer? And what is, in your view, the cultural and musical value of bringing historic instruments back to life through such careful restorations?
From a construction point of view I cannot go into too much detail, since it is not my profession. What I do think is important to emphasize is that, just as there are different violin schools—think of figures like Jasha Heifetz or Fritz Kreisler, who in the same period embodied radically different technical approaches—so too in violin making there is no single “dogma” or recipe valid for all. There are even opposite construction solutions, and yet all have given rise to instruments with their own history and success.
What really counts, in my opinion, is the setup of the instrument. An excellent instrument with poor adjustment can be practically unplayable, while a mediocre one, if well adjusted, can surprise and give absolutely respectable results. It is a bit like cooking: certain raw ingredients are inedible, but if cooked with care they can become excellent.
For this reason, I believe that for a contemporary violin maker studying historical instruments like a Stradivari, the most precious lesson is not so much a single construction solution to imitate, but the ability to be curious, to experiment, to have an ear, and to be willing to listen to the musician who then plays the instrument. That is where the real difference is made.

A thought on contemporary violin making in Cremona and in the world: where do you see the most interesting trends, and what do you think are the future challenges?
If I may give a very personal opinion, I would say that one of the most delicate challenges for contemporary violin making is not to reduce itself only to faithful reproductions of “museum” instruments: masterpieces, of course, but dangerously immutable. The great tradition of violin making, in Cremona as elsewhere, has always been marked by innovation, curiosity, and open-mindedness. The great masters of the past experimented with different forms, different sizes, different materials. They did not limit themselves to copying, but sought new solutions.
That is why, in my opinion, the future does not lie in endlessly repeating the models of the 17th or 18th centuries, but in keeping alive that same experimental attitude, always with a clear awareness of the time in which we live. It is 2025: today musicians do not only play Bach or Beethoven, but also Widmann, Britten, Shostakovich, Berio… repertoires that require instruments with characteristics suited to contemporary concert halls and to a changed sound environment.
The challenge is precisely this: to remain faithful to the spirit of tradition, which is a spirit of research, without falling into dogmatism. To continue experimenting, listening, adapting: this, in my opinion, is what will make contemporary violin making truly vital.

Photos by Andrej Grilc taken at the Museo del Violino in Cremona