Matthew Hardie
Sound of a Craftsman
This article is reproduced by kind permission of the Edinburgh Evening News and was published in The Box and Fiddle in January 1988.
In the paupers’ section of the ancient kirkyard of Greyfriars lie the remains of a Scotsman of talent. In his day he was acclaimed as the Stradivari of Scotland but his poverty led to an ignominious death in St Cuthbert’s Poorhouse.
Matthew Hardie was born in Edinburgh in 1755, and he became an outstanding violin maker, sought out by students who appreciated not only his fine craftsmanship, but also his company as an educated man.
It seems possible that he trained as a cabinet-maker or pattern-maker, as he was an expert in the use of tools. There is no record of his having been trained in violin making by anyone, but it is highly probable that his teacher was John Blair who later worked for him. In the workshop in Low Calton, many pleasant hours were spent in his company by a group of cultured men, including Peter Hardie of Dunkeld (his cousin), David Stirrat, John Blair, George McGeorge and Alexander Yoole, a solicitor.
The violins made by Matthew Hardie in that little workshop were said to rival those of the great Antonio Stradivari, and in fact, Blair and Hardie may well have had the opportunity of seeing and handling a real “Strad”, from which they took careful measurements and the patterns which served Hardie and his pupils for life.
The Amati model, which provided Hardie’s earlier pattern, appears to have been abandoned after 1810 – and rightly so – according to authorities who claim that, despite the large tone of the Amati copies, they never attained the quality of his Stradivari copies. Although Hardie never attempted to achieve originality in his violin making, still his genius broke through, particularly in the sound-holes of the Amati models and the scrolls of the Stradivarius copies.
He was not always able to buy new wood. Evidence of the fact that much of his material came from demolished buildings, some of it already hundreds of years old, can be seen in the scars which he was unable to work out.
Such blemishes would not have been found on a block taken directly from a tree. His maple wood was often of plain figure, but not inferior for all that. Some Italian fiddles with grand tone have backs that are virtually figureless.
The story goes that while out walking near Cramond Brig in the year 1821, he found an old slab of wood, tested it for balance and tone and remarked to his companion on its quality as a breast for a violin. Later they stopped at a farmhouse for a glass of milk, possibly laced with a drop of mountain dew, for they were convivial friends. On being invited into the kitchen Hardie noticed a very old baking board, made of maple, which he eagerly examined.
“I see, Mistress, ye have a fine fiddle here,” he remarked. “A fiddle?” she replied. “There never was sic a thing in this hoose. If ye can find a fiddle here, ye’re welcome to it for nothing.”
“Thank you, Ma’am. It’s inside this baking board and wearying to get out.” The next day he sent out a new baking board to the lady.
Hardie seems to have fallen on hard times due to the import of factory made fiddles from Germany, and was even imprisoned for debt in Calton Jail. Indeed some of his finest fiddles were said to have been made there.
Matthew’s son, Thomas Hardie (1800-1858), followed in his father’s footsteps, but never attained the same degree of excellence. Though beautifully made, his instruments are poor in tone.
Among his friends, John Blair produced fiddles closely resembling Matthew’s in quality, made of good wood, but using poor varnish. He wrote his name inside his fiddles. David Stirrat (circa 1800-1820) was taught by Hardie and might well have outshone his master had he lived beyond the age of about twenty. He used an excellent spirit varnish in dark reddish brown, and the tone of his instruments was very powerful, yet wonderfully clear, bright and mellow. Little remains of the work of George McGeorge, but what he made was excellent and he used better varnish than Hardie.
Matthew Hardie died in St Cuthbert’s Poorhouse in 1826, and was buried in an unmarked grave. Spare a thought then, for this talented Scotsman whose monument lies not in stone, but in the living quality and beauty of his craft.
Reproduced by kind permission of the Edinburgh Evening News.
Box and Fiddle
January 1988
Matthew Hardie was born in Edinburgh in 1755, and he became an outstanding violin maker, sought out by students who appreciated not only his fine craftsmanship, but also his company as an educated man.
It seems possible that he trained as a cabinet-maker or pattern-maker, as he was an expert in the use of tools. There is no record of his having been trained in violin making by anyone, but it is highly probable that his teacher was John Blair who later worked for him. In the workshop in Low Calton, many pleasant hours were spent in his company by a group of cultured men, including Peter Hardie of Dunkeld (his cousin), David Stirrat, John Blair, George McGeorge and Alexander Yoole, a solicitor.
The violins made by Matthew Hardie in that little workshop were said to rival those of the great Antonio Stradivari, and in fact, Blair and Hardie may well have had the opportunity of seeing and handling a real “Strad”, from which they took careful measurements and the patterns which served Hardie and his pupils for life.
The Amati model, which provided Hardie’s earlier pattern, appears to have been abandoned after 1810 – and rightly so – according to authorities who claim that, despite the large tone of the Amati copies, they never attained the quality of his Stradivari copies. Although Hardie never attempted to achieve originality in his violin making, still his genius broke through, particularly in the sound-holes of the Amati models and the scrolls of the Stradivarius copies.
He was not always able to buy new wood. Evidence of the fact that much of his material came from demolished buildings, some of it already hundreds of years old, can be seen in the scars which he was unable to work out.
Such blemishes would not have been found on a block taken directly from a tree. His maple wood was often of plain figure, but not inferior for all that. Some Italian fiddles with grand tone have backs that are virtually figureless.
The story goes that while out walking near Cramond Brig in the year 1821, he found an old slab of wood, tested it for balance and tone and remarked to his companion on its quality as a breast for a violin. Later they stopped at a farmhouse for a glass of milk, possibly laced with a drop of mountain dew, for they were convivial friends. On being invited into the kitchen Hardie noticed a very old baking board, made of maple, which he eagerly examined.
“I see, Mistress, ye have a fine fiddle here,” he remarked. “A fiddle?” she replied. “There never was sic a thing in this hoose. If ye can find a fiddle here, ye’re welcome to it for nothing.”
“Thank you, Ma’am. It’s inside this baking board and wearying to get out.” The next day he sent out a new baking board to the lady.
Hardie seems to have fallen on hard times due to the import of factory made fiddles from Germany, and was even imprisoned for debt in Calton Jail. Indeed some of his finest fiddles were said to have been made there.
Matthew’s son, Thomas Hardie (1800-1858), followed in his father’s footsteps, but never attained the same degree of excellence. Though beautifully made, his instruments are poor in tone.
Among his friends, John Blair produced fiddles closely resembling Matthew’s in quality, made of good wood, but using poor varnish. He wrote his name inside his fiddles. David Stirrat (circa 1800-1820) was taught by Hardie and might well have outshone his master had he lived beyond the age of about twenty. He used an excellent spirit varnish in dark reddish brown, and the tone of his instruments was very powerful, yet wonderfully clear, bright and mellow. Little remains of the work of George McGeorge, but what he made was excellent and he used better varnish than Hardie.
Matthew Hardie died in St Cuthbert’s Poorhouse in 1826, and was buried in an unmarked grave. Spare a thought then, for this talented Scotsman whose monument lies not in stone, but in the living quality and beauty of his craft.
Reproduced by kind permission of the Edinburgh Evening News.
Box and Fiddle
January 1988