Marylove Thralls

I read an article in the LA Times a couple of years ago about a child-size cello made in 1843, brought in France by a dealer in 1950 for his daughter. It was subsequently stolen in 1980, and found again twenty years later. I was intrigued. It reminded me of a sketch I had drawn years ago of a young girl playing a cello. If I ever find that drawing, I told myself, it would be a sign that I had to write about this beautiful scaled-down instrument.

The cello haunted me, and yes, when I randomly unearthed the sketch, I was convinced that a story about "The Little Cello" was demanding to be told.

In my research, I could find nothing about the fate of the 1834 cello created by famed luthier, August, until it surfaced in Los Angeles in 1950. A maker's label hidden in the interior of the cello gave me my starting place: "Pour la petite comptesse Marie, 1834. A. Bernardel." A little countess! A looming revolution. Political intrigue. Bach.

What I hope to accomplish is to draw industry pros into the web of an imagined journey the cello takes over time and continents, returning finally as a symbol of the transformative power of music. No "Red Violin" with its disturbing genesis and journey, but rather a story that celebrates the "voice" of the cello, and the oft frustrating nature of coincidence.