The Salabue Stradivari

by W.E. Hill & Sons

It must be remembered that in those days the works of the leading Italian makers had in great part remained in their native country, and in their original condition; but they were not, as is popularly supposed, to be found in the hands of peasants in out-of-the-way villages.

Tarisio could hardly fail to become aware of the treasures amassed by Count Cozio di Salabue, whose estate was near to his own native province, and he availed himself of the opportunity afforded by the death of that great enthusiast, and the partial dispersion of his collections, to gain possession of some of the gems, which he had probably long coveted. How much of the Count’s collection came into the hands of Tarisio is not recorded, but evidence is forthcoming that the perfect Stradivari of 1716 became the property of the humble Italian carpenter in 1827. When he had accumulated a stock of instruments which he believed would command a market in any of the European capitals, he determined to try his fortunes in Paris. He reached that city for the first time in 1827, travelling, it is said, on foot, in order to save his purse. Although furnished in the first instance with the less rare specimens of his collection he soon found a ready demand for the goods of which he had then almost a monopoly, and, encouraged by the leading dealers of Paris, he soon established a regular trade with that city, making periodical visits thither, separated by intervals which he devoted to collecting in his own country; and, on each occasion, astounding his foreign friends by some fresh evidence of his judgment and good fortune in securing the masterpieces of Cremona and Brescia. Early in the course of his relations with the Parisian dealers, he began to talk of the wonderful Stradivari which he had obtained from the Salabue collection; but he was careful never to bring it with him to France, relying on reiteration of its wondrous qualities to create a sufficiently acute curiosity among his customers. So long was this mystery maintained that Tarisio and his Salabue became a byeword among the dealers of Paris, and gave rise to the name by which the violin has ever since been known. On one occasion Tarisio was enlarging upon his favourite theme to Vuillaume, when Alard, the violinist, who was present, exclaimed: “Ah ça, votre violon est donc comme le Messie; on l’attend toujours, et il ne parait jamais.” The violin, as Vidal says, “was baptised!” Tarisio, however, could never be persuaded to produce “le Messie,” and at his death, in October, 1854, the world had still only the tradition of its excellence. The celebrated author, Mr. Charles Reade, who was himself a great enthusiast and no mean connoisseur, and in his earlier days an importer of Italian instruments, refers, in some notes on this violin, to Tarisio’s reluctance to produce it.

The man’s death was in keeping with his life. The possessor of priceless specimens of the instruments he loved, he lived in penury, and was found dead in his garret in Milan, surrounded by fiddles, large, small, perfect, and imperfect, piled up on the floor in cases, hung upon the walls, and even from the rafters of the miserable attic that he made his home.[^[3]]

Many characteristic anecdotes are related of this strange man which cannot find a place in our brief notice, and for which the curious reader is referred to the notes of Mr. Charles Reade, given in “Readiana,” and to other works.

Mr. Reade says of him, writing from personal knowledge, “The man’s whole soul was in fiddles. He was a great dealer, but a greater amateur, for he had gems by him no money would buy from him.”

Relatives were soon found to claim the effects of the deceased collector; and three months afterwards the news of his death reached Paris, where it created no small flutter among the dealers and amateurs, who were well aware that the shabby Italian must have left a magnificent collection of instruments. The most eminent of all that Paris community, J. B. Vuillaume, lost no time in placing himself in communication with Tarisio’s heirs, with a view to the acquisition of his treasures, and started for Italy on the 8th January, 1855. There, at the small farm De la Croix, near Fontaneto, which had belonged to Tarisio, he found the relatives assembled with every appearance of the most sordid poverty. His first question was, “Where are the instruments?” “At Milan,” was the answer; “but six violins are here,” and there in a corner of the room were six cases. Vuillaume was not slow to inspect their contents, kneeling upon the floor, on which they were piled in default of furniture, and one after the other he drew forth five splendid instruments—first a magnificent Stradivari, then a beautiful Giuseppe Guarnieri; next a Carlo Bergonzi, in perfect preservation, and two almost untouched Guadagnini, and lastly the gem of the collection, the long talked of “new” Stradivari of 1716—Le Messie. Vuillaume’s experienced eye at once recognised the justification of all Tarisio’s raptures over this instrument, and, determined by what he had already seen, he entered into negotiations which resulted in the purchase of the whole of the collection. The purchase was completed at a price which has been stated at £3,166, an amount which Vuillaume probably more than realised without parting with the most precious treasure of them all. This he kept as the apple of his eye for twenty years, and before pursuing its fortunes farther, we may glance in passing at the life of the man who is entitled to share with Count Cozio di Salabue, and Tarisio, the chief credit of having rescued and preserved one of the greatest masterpieces that have issued from Cremona.

Jean Baptiste Vuillaume was born in 1798 at Mirecourt, where his father and grandfather before him had followed the calling of violin makers, and where he served his apprenticeship to the craft. At nineteen years of age he made his way to Paris, where he obtained an engagement as workman with the elder Chanot (Francis), with whom he remained until 1821, when he entered the service of an organ builder named Lété, who also dealt in violins, and with whom he was taken into partnership in 1825. In 1828, happily married, and fortified with considerable experience, grafted on a strong natural intelligence, he launched himself on a career which made his name famous in the annals of violin making. Sprung from an industrious and thrifty working class, he had lost no opportunity of perfecting his knowledge of the instrument to which he devoted his talents and the application of his whole life. Of all the great Italian masters of violin-making Stradivari was always his ideal, and by constant study, and cultivation of his own rare natural powers of observation, he acquired such an intimate knowledge and judgment of Stradivari’s work in every detail, that he might almost be said to be better acquainted with that maker’s instruments than the master himself. Vuillaume soon found the sale of violins, issued as new works, without any semblance of antiquity, an unprofitable undertaking, and, recognizing the growing demand in all parts of the world for instruments resembling the great works of Cremona, he determined to apply his great skill as a workman, and his extraordinary familiarity with Stradivari’s models, to the construction of faithful copies of that great maker’s works. This was the foundation of his success, for the modern copies found a ready sale, and orders poured in upon Vuillaume from all parts of the world. These instruments, imitations though they were, had high intrinsic merit; and it is to be remembered that they were copies made from unrivalled models, with a fidelity and care such as only a devoted worshipper and a great master of his art could attain. He spared no pains in striving after perfection in the quality of his materials, and he treated the obscure and difficult problem of varnish (the secret of which, as applied by the old Italian masters, seems to have died with them) with a success which has probably not been equalled by any other maker since their time. The number of these instruments bearing his name is enormous, upwards of two thousand five hundred being known to exist; and many of them he made throughout with his own hand. They were almost always numbered inside, in the middle of the back, in pencil, and we have it on the best authority that every instrument was varnished by his own hand. In a letter written by Vuillaume in 1875, a few weeks before his death, to the well-known Parisian violin maker, M. Silvestre, then living in Lyons, he says: “I have completed three thousand instruments, all sold, paid for, and the money spent, and it affords me great satisfaction.”

To return to “Le Messie.” This wonderful instrument remained in Vuillaume’s possession until his death. He kept it for inspection in a glass case, and never allowed it to be touched, even by the most experienced hands, as we can personally testify. These precautions gave rise to the rumour of its being a violin of his own construction, and the statement written by him inside the belly has, therefore, an additional interest and importance. We have some interesting records of the anxieties attendant upon such precious possessions, in a correspondence which passed between Vuillaume and Madame Alard (his daughter) at the time of the Franco-German war. On the 30th of August, 1870, he wrote—“In my last I spoke to you of Alard’s Violin, of my ‘Messie,’ and of certain valuables which I have here. I do not know what to do with them, for, if one survives, one will be able to recover the valuables when the hubbub is over, as some sous can be buried; but violins cannot be buried.”

In another letter he wrote—“I do not know what to do with the precious things I have; first, there are your violins—what ought I to do with them? The boxes of plate, my medals, and the ‘Messie’—where ought I to place all these in case of pillage?”

The medals referred to are no doubt those conferred upon him in connection with the Paris Exhibitions of 1827, 1834, 1839, 1844, 1855, and the Great Exhibition in England of 1851.