In the year 1885 Jean Bott, a native of Hesse Cassel, Germany, emigrated
with his wife Matilda to this country, bringing with him a celebrated
violin known as "The Duke of Cambridge Stradivarius," which he had
purchased in 1873 for about three thousand thalers--a sum representing
practically the savings of a lifetime. Bott had been leader of a small
orchestra in Saxe Meiningen as early as 1860, and was well advanced in
years before he determined to seek his fortune in America. His wife was
an elderly woman and they had no offspring.
"This violin, my husband and myself made up the family--I loved it like
a child," she testified at the trial.
So also did Bott, the old musician, love his instrument, and no hand but
his own was ever permitted to lift it from its case or dust its
darkly-glowing surface.
Whatever may have been its owner's genius, he prospered little in the
new world, and, although he labored conscientiously at his profession,
the year 1894 found him still giving lessons upon the violin to only
half a dozen pupils, and living in two rooms at 355 West Thirty-first
Street. But Bott, having the soul of a true musician, cared but little
for money and was happy enough so long as he could smoke his old
meerschaum pipe and draw the bow across the cherished violin held
lovingly to his cheek. Then hard times came a-knocking at the door. The
meagre account in the savings-bank grew smaller and smaller. The
landlord, the doctor and the grocer had to be paid. One night Bott laid
down his pipe and, taking his wife's wrinkled hand in his, said gently:
"Matilda, there is nothing else--we must sell our violin!"
"Even so!" she answered, turning away her face that her husband might
not see the tears. "As God wills."
The next day "The Duke of Cambridge Stradivarius" was offered for sale
by Victor S. Flechter, a friend of Bott's, who was a dealer in musical
instruments at 23 Union Square. It so happened that Nicolini, the
husband of Adelina Patti, was ambitious to own a genuine Stradivarius,
and had been looking for one for a long time, and, although he was but
an indifferent player, he had, in default of skill to perform, the money
to buy. The matter was easily adjusted by Flechter, and Nicolini drew
his check for the sum specified, which, properly certified, was tendered
to Bott. But Bott had never seen a certified check and was unaccustomed
to the ways of business.
"If I part with my violin I must have real money--money that I can
feel--money that I can count. It was that kind of money that I paid for
my violin," said he doggedly.
Nicolini, in a rage, believing himself insulted, tore the check to bits
and declared the transaction at an end.
Now the price agreed upon for the violin had been forty-five hundred
dollars, of which Flechter was to receive five hundred dollars as his
commission, and when, through old Professor Bott's stubbornness, the
sale fell through, the dealer was naturally very angry. Out of this
incident grew the case against Flechter.
The old musician was accustomed to leave his treasured instrument in the
lowest drawer of his bureau at the boarding-house. He always removed it
before his pupils arrived and never put it back until their departure,
thus insuring the secrecy of its hiding-place, and only his wife, his
sister-in-law, Mollenhauer, a friend, and Klopton, a prospective
purchaser, knew where it lay.
On the morning of March 31, 1894, not long after the Nicolini incident,
Bott gave a single lesson to a pupil at the boarding-house, and after
his midday meal set out with his wife for Hoboken to visit a friend. The
violin was left in its customary place. It was dark when they returned,
and after throwing off his coat and lighting the gas the old man
hastened to make sure that his precious violin was safe. When he pulled
out the drawer it was empty. The Stradivarius was gone, with its leather
case, its two bows and its wooden box.
Half distracted the musician and his wife searched everywhere in the
room, in closets, under beds, even behind the curtains, before they
could bring themselves to admit that the violin had in fact disappeared.
Frantically Bott called for Ellen, the servant girl. Yes, there had been
a caller--a young man with dark hair and a small, dark mustache--at
about five o'clock. He had waited about half an hour and then had said
that he guessed he would go. She had not noticed that he took anything
away with him. In his despair the old man turned to his old friend
Flechter, and the next day the dealer came to express his sympathy. He
urged Bott to notify the police of the theft, but the old man was
prostrated with grief, and it was the wife who, with Ellen Clancy,
finally accompanied Flechter to Police Headquarters. The police had no
idea who had taken the old fellow's fiddle, and did not particularly
care anyway. Later they cared a good deal.
Bott now began an endless and almost hopeless search for his beloved
instrument, visiting every place where violins were sold, every pawnshop
and second-hand store again and again until the proprietors began to
think the old man must be crazy. Sometimes Flechter went with him. Once,
the two travelled all the way over to New Jersey, but the scent proved
to be a false one. Bott grew thinner and older week by week, almost day
by day. When the professor did not feel equal to going outdoors Mrs.
Bott went for him, and on these occasions often called at Flechter's
store to report progress, ask his advice and secure his encouragement.
One day during one of these visits in the July following the loss of the
violin Flechter handed Mrs. Bott a sheet of paper, saying:
"I have written something down here. If you have that printed and put a
reward to it you will get your violin back."
The wording, partly printed and partly written in script, ran as
follows: