"Rare Progress" - A Letter from Edouard Remenyi to the Denver Daily Tribune, August 29th, 1883 - TRANSCRIBED

"Rare Progress" - A Letter from Edouard Remenyi to the Denver Daily Tribune, August 29th, 1883

A NOTABLE LETTER HIGHLY COMPLIMENTARY TO MR. FISK OF GREELEY.

[From the Denver Daily Tribune, Aug. 31]

It is not often I intrude upon the columns of newspapers, and when I do it, it is not generally in my own interest. Besides it is no earthly use whatever to write to a newspaper on his own behalf, because the newspaper is always on the right side, and the individual is always on the wrong one (quod est demonstrandum).

I have not the least doubt that you will be pleased, and perhaps astonished at the contents of my letter. Some sixteen months ago, when in Colorado, I gave a concert at Greeley. After the concert a gentleman by the name of Fisk called on me to show me a few violins of his own make, and asked my opinion about these instruments. I told him candidly that the workmanship was very good–more, excellent, but the form was abominably hideous, and the varnish, which is so essential to a violin, was simply ugly; the tone was not bad, but by no means good. With all these shortcomings, I saw that Mr. Fisk was absolutely in the dark about the classical and beautiful lines, which are so conspicuous of the great masters up to 1740–I name the two greatest–Antonius Stradivarius and his great pupil and his equal, Joseph Guarnerius. Mr. Fisk had no idea about those perfect forms, but, as I stated before, I saw that his workmanship was more than neat, it was nigh perfect; and I saw also, clearly, that all he wanted was to have a fine pattern. I had at that time a ver bad French violin, which sounded more like a boot-jack than the divine instrument I represented. But it was worked after the classical form of Antonius Stradivarius.

I told Mr. Fisk that I would be very glad to guide him in this art, and that I would send him the French violin. Of course I insisted only upon the form, not on the tone. To make a fine formed violin, with a magnificent tone, the maker must be an artist, and he must put all his heart and soul and inspiration into his work.

Mr Fisk got my French violin about fourteen months ago, and that was the last I heard of him.

I arrived in Colorado last Tuesday, and I gave my first concert on the same evening in Greeley. When I arrived in Greeley Mr. Fisk was faithfully awaiting for his equally faithful fiddler.

THE FIDDLER WAS I

He walked with me to the hotel and put the fiddle-box on my bed, took out the new-born child–I mean the fiddle–and I saw at a glance that this time it was not a fiddle, but a real, genuine, classically formed violin, and absolutely perfect in workmanship–much more perfect than my French violin after which Fisk worked. The only question that remained to be seen, or rather to be heard, was its tone.

Now listen to my statement, Mr Editor: A woman may be beautiful, but her beauty does not imply goodness. Not so with a violin. A fine-looking violin, perfect in form, perfect in workmanship inside and outside, has always a fine tone, and is always good–this is the difference between women and violins. You will perhaps ask why does my French violin sound like a boot-jack or a flour barrel. Because its workmanship is good but by no means perfect. Afdter closely examining Mr. Fisk's violin, I took the bow in my hand and I was not surprised; still I was. I expected an excellent tone, but by no means a grand mellow tone, and his violin has a magnificent tone.

The United States is a great, vast county, astonishing in its resources glorious in its present state, but how much more glorious it will become in the future only the gods on the Olymp could tell.

No, my dear editor, you must also know that many fiddle-makers are called, but few, very few violin-makers are chosen. To illustrate my biblical statement, I will tell you confidentially (don't give me away) that among the thousands of fiddle-makers in Europe and in America, I met only four violin-makers, and those four chosen ones are all in the United States. This is the more astounding, as the United States is the country where nearly everything is made by machineryand very little by hand, and you mast (must) know that a fiddle may be made by machinery, but never a violin. Every part of a violin must be worked by human hands. You know the good adage, that an inch goes a great ways on a man's nose, but on a violin a hundredth part of an inch on the wrong side may destroy the whole violin. From this statement you may deduct how delicately a violin-maker (not a fiddle-maker) must proceed in his minute and thoughtful working. Good and grand violin-makers are like poets–few and far between. The revenons a nos moutons, as I said before, i met only four, and these four are in theUnited States, none in Europe. One is Mr. Germunder, Astoria, New York; he is a German and a pupil of Vouidanme in Paris. He is a fine violin-maker. The second gentelman is Mt. Colton, in Brooklyn, New York, a lineal decendant of Benjamin Franklin, on his mother's side, and as I said, he is an amatuer; but his genius made him an artist–he is a fine violin-maker. The third is Mr. Keskett in Columbus, Ohio. He is an Ohio man, and I believe there is an Ohio man of one sort or another to be found even in the moon. The fourth corypheus in this small constellation of violin-maker stars is Mr. Fisk, in Greeley, Colorado. Now this is all I have to state. If you want to be proud of Mr. Fisk

YOU CAN BE SO SAFELY

Don't burst up all Colorado for this fiddling matter; leave some silver and gold in the mines yet.

He will back up all I stated of him, and to prove to you that this is so, I will only add that the Denver public will hear this violin; so will they hear it all over Colorado, and all over the United States. If this letter is too long, please don't print it, but if you publish it, do it as I send it; don't correct and embellish it. I have my own fiddle-de-de style, and that is all the excuse I have for the longness of this letter.

I am, my dear Editor, you (your) very obliged servant, EDOUARD REMENYI.

GREELEY, Colo., August 29, 1883

P.S.–I am not a lady, still I must add a psotscript. I don't see, at all, why ladies should have that privilege. I forgot to tell you that I played last night at Greeley one piece on Mr Fisk's violin. The baby violin was just one hour old, but it screamed finelt, et ne l'oublier pas, which means in French, "and don't you forget it." Did you ever hear this new and extraordinary expression? If not you may use it henceforth. It is not very classical, but expresses certain meaningsfar better than any other classical or high-tuned phrase could do it.

Vale!–which means, in Latin, "farewell."