“So large was the number of (instruments and) especially
violins, made by Stradivari that, in addition to those
distributed over the whole of Europe, ninety-one were left by
him at his death. In 1775 ten of these still remained in the
hands of his son, Paolo, and were then bought, together with two
masterpieces of his other son, Francesco, by Count Cozio. In the
collection of the Count Cozio—so often cited—are two of the
greatest masterpieces of the most famous Antonio Stradivari. The
one, of larger size—of most beautiful workmanship and wood—of
perfect quality—having a very powerful and even tone—bears on
the label the date 1716. The other has on the label the date
1736, and, written below by Stradivari himself, the inscription
“92 years old.” This violin, though of medium size, nearly
equals the earlier instrument in perfection and power of tone.
Both are quite new and intact and well suited to serve as choice
models for a good instrument maker.”
Luigi Tarisio was a man of humble birth, and followed the calling of a
carpenter in the small village of Fontaneto, near Novara, in Piedmont,
where also the celebrated Viotti was born. Taking up fiddle playing as
an amusement, Tarisio was led by degrees to devote his attention to the
subtle beauties of the great instruments of his country, the pursuit of
which became the absorbing passion of his life. So strong was its
influence that he left his trade and home to wander about the country in
search of violins. The experience thus acquired soon taught him to
appreciate the merits of the great creations of Brescia, Cremona, and
the other homes of violin making in Italy, and the commercial instinct,
which formed so marked an element of his character, convinced him that
the increasing demand for these instruments might be turned to
profitable account.
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.
Again he wrote on the 13th of September—“I am going to hide your
husband’s violins with the ‘Messie.’ I have found quite a safe hiding
place protected from fire—‘puis à la grâce de Dieu’!”
“Le Messie” happily escaped the dangers apprehended by Vuillaume, and
after his death (19th March, 1875), in the absence of definite
instructions as to its disposal, it was inherited by his only children,
Jeanne Emilie and Claire Marie, in common. The former was the wife of M.
Alard, the violinist, and the second daughter had married M. Mestayer,
in whose charge the violin was left, together with other valuable
instruments, during Vuillaume’s absence from Paris in the terrible time
of the Commune. After his death the violin was valued for the estate at
£1,000, and in 1877 M. Alard bought out his sister-in-law’s half-share
for £500 and thus became, through his wife, the entire owner. Vuillaume
probably considered it unnecessary during his lifetime to present Alard
with this violin, as he was already well provided with instruments, and
had the choice of some of the finest that passed through Vuillaume’s
hands. These included the famous Stradivari known as the “Alard,” the
fine Giuseppe Guarnieri, dated 1742 (presented after Alard’s death to
the Paris Conservatoire), and the Grand Nicolo Amati, dated 1645, now in
the possession of Baron Knoop.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration:
Back of the Salabue Stradivari
_Vincent Brooks, Day & Son Lith_
]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Delphin Alard was the most eminent representative of the modern French
school of violin playing. After studying as a pupil of the Paris
Conservatoire, he in 1843 succeeded Baillot as professor, and achieved a
great reputation both as performer and teacher, and as the author of a
violin school and editor of classical compositions for that instrument.
He numbered among his pupils many who have since distinguished
themselves, and notably the celebrated violinist Señor Sarasate. At
Alard’s death, on February 22, 1888, “Le Messie” came into the
possession of his widow and two daughters, Madame Guesnet and Madame
Croué—he, like Vuillaume, having left no directions as to the disposal
of his instruments. On the death of Madame Alard, M. Croué, on behalf of
his wife and her sister, sold the violin, on the 5th May, 1890, to us,
on behalf of Mr. R. Crawford, an enthusiastic amateur, of Trinity,
Edinburgh, for the sum of 50,000 francs (£2,000), which is the largest
authenticated amount ever paid for a violin. It is interesting to
compare these figures with Mr. Charles Reade’s estimate of the value of
the instrument in 1872 at £600 (_see_ “Readiana”).
Having traced from authentic sources the unbroken record of this famous
violin, let us examine the characteristic features of an instrument
which has excited the unqualified admiration and ambition of the first
makers and connoisseurs of Europe. The plates which accompany this
memoir have been admirably executed by Mr. Shirley Slocombe, and
reproduced by chromo-lithography under the direction of Mr. Alfred
Slocombe; and they offer an accurate and beautiful representation of the
instrument.
The striking originality of Stradivari’s work asserts itself in nearly
all his productions, there being hardly an instrument of his which is
not characterised by some features peculiar to itself. The Salabue
violin has several unmistakable characteristics. The most original and
distinctive is the height and pronounced sharpness of the wave-like
ridge, bordering the surfaces of the back and belly close to the
outline. In other instruments of the same maker this _ridge_ is much
rounder in form. Let us further illustrate the point. The purfling,
which is sunk in the wood at about one-eighth of an inch from the
outline, lies generally at the bottom of a hollow which forms the lowest
portion of the surface. In our example the surface rises outwards from
the purfling in a concave curve to a greater height and to a more
sharply defined ridge than in any other Stradivari instrument known to
us. Another distinctive feature is the form of the corners, which are
cut more square than any we have seen. Both these features are
accentuated by the absolute freshness of the instrument. The sound holes
are more slanting than is usual in instruments of this period, although
this was less rare in those of earlier date. In fact, we have seen no
other Stradivari violin of the years 1715, 1716, 1717, or 1718 with
sound holes similarly placed.
The model of the violin is decidedly flat, especially in the belly, but
the genius of the master asserts itself in the compensation he has
provided in the height of the sides.
The wood leaves little to be desired. The back, in two pieces, has a
broad, handsomely marked curl, while the pine of the belly has a fine
silky grain, neither too coarse nor too fine. The sides and head, as
well as the neck, which is original, are perhaps a little plain in
comparison with the back; but the great Italians never troubled about
matching the sides and head to the back, as is the custom among modern
makers. It is not uncommon to meet with instruments with the back cut in
slab form, and the sides and head cut on the quarter.
Mr. Charles Reade in some notes in “Readiana,” from which we have
already quoted, refers to what he calls a crack in the violin. The mark
which has given rise to his statement is in reality one of three
insignificant and almost imperceptible shakes in the wood, such as
frequently appear during the seasoning of the pine blocks used for
bellies. These shakes are easily glued and then become invisible; but
are opened again by exposure to the sun during the drying of the
varnish. They are, however, in no sense defects.
The varnish is a study in itself, for it is untouched and unrubbed, as
if it had been laid on yesterday. It has not perhaps the luscious
richness of some of Stradivari’s instruments, and it appears drier and
less thickly laid on than usual in violins of the same period. This is
especially noticeable on the sides, where the grain of the wood rose as
the varnish was applied to it, and still stands up as on the day when
the brush left it. On the head again one can clearly see where the
varnish accumulated slightly as it flowed round the volute. Such details
as these could not be traced but for the wonderful preservation of the
varnish.
The necessity of opening the instrument, in order to insert a stronger
bass bar, gave us an opportunity of examining the inside, which is as
remarkable as the outside. This is only the second occasion on which the
violin has been opened in the course of its existence. Vuillaume opened
it, and took the opportunity to write inside on the belly the following
inscription, which affords valuable corroborative evidence of the
authenticity of the record already given.
[Illustration:
“_achette par Tarisio au C^{te} Cossio de Salabue
an 1827 achette par Vuillaume le 12. Janr 1855_
_Le Messie_”
]
The bass bar which Vuillaume then fitted was not strong enough, and
allowed after a time a slight depression of the belly, necessitating the
renewal above referred to. Excepting for the change of bar, everything
inside is as Stradivari left it. The blocks and linings, considered in
relation to the thicknesses, are a model of consistency, neither heavy
nor flimsy, made of the lightest and toughest wood we know, and all
finished with the gouge and knife alone. Stradivari evidently disdained
the superficial finish given by modern copyists to their interior work
by the free use of glass paper.
The thicknesses of belly and back, a point on which Stradivari appears
to have made numerous experiments, are of his stoutest.
The whiteness of the label, and the variance of the instrument in some
features from the characteristic style of that period of Stradivari’s
work, have given rise on different occasions to the supposition that the
label was not genuine, and that the violin was of a later date; but the
careful examination which we made of the interior when the belly was
removed, has enabled us to finally dispose of this idea. The label has
never been moved since Stradivari fixed it in its place, nor have the
figures upon it been tampered with in any way.[4]
Details of construction, such as we have examined in the preceding
paragraphs, offered, to a man of Stradivari’s great originality, scope
for almost endless variety of treatment, which has furnished us with a
key to the pronounced distinctions between his instruments and others of
the Italian school.
In the Brescian instruments, for instance, there is, as a general rule,
no hollowing near the edges of the backs and bellies, nor any _bordering
ridge_ like that discussed above. They consequently have an appearance
of strength and solidity, but lack the style and elegance of the Cremona
school. The Amati family, on the other hand, gifted with a keen sense of
harmony and beauty of form, gave perfect expression to these ideas in
their works; but, unfortunately, at some sacrifice of dignity of
appearance. Stradivari attained the happy mean between these two
extremes, and carried his ideas into execution with such perfection of
detail, that all his successors have had to content themselves with the
_rôle_ of copyists, and none have been found to improve upon their
model.
There can be no doubt that the Salabue Violin has exercised a strong
influence upon modern copyists. The Turin maker, Pressenda (1777 to
1854), who was acquainted with Count Salabue, and his pupil Rocca (d.
1862), who knew Tarisio, were evidently familiar with the instrument.
Rocca in particular would seem to have made it his ideal, for we find
reproduced in nearly all his copies of Stradivari the characteristic
sharp _bordering ridge_, slanting sound holes, and general flat model of
the Salabue. As soon as it came into Vuillaume’s possession, he set to
work to reproduce it in every detail, and his copies of this instrument
are unquestionably the finest violins he made. They are true to the
original in bearing no traces of wear; but a few of them are fitted with
carved pegs and tailpiece similar to those added by him and still
attached to the Salabue. The carving on the tailpiece represents the
figure of the Madonna with the infant Christ. Nearly all the other
Parisian and Mirecourt makers in turn have copied Vuillaume, but without
his advantages in ability, and in having the original model to work
from. The copies of the present day are becoming in consequence more and
more ridiculous exaggerations of the peculiar features of the Salabue.
The year 1716 appears not to have been prolific of great works from
Stradivari, as we know at present of only one fine violin of that year
beside the Salabue. This is the one known as the Cessol, belonging to
Mr. William Croall. The previous year, 1715, produced five famous
violins, two now belonging to Herr Joachim, one to Señor Sarasate, one
to G. Haddock, Esq., and another known as the Alard. The year 1717 again
produced two notable instruments, a violin belonging to J. G. Orchar,
Esq., and the well-known violoncello for many years the property of
Bonamy Dobree, Esq., and now in the possession of E. I. Holden, Esq.
For an appreciative description of the beauties of the Salabue we may
quote an enthusiast, the Rev. H. R. Haweis, whose writings and lectures
upon his favourite study have made the name of Stradivari familiar to
thousands of the English-speaking people. Mr. Haweis, referring to the
exhibition of the instrument in London, in 1872, wrote—“It is for the
first time unveiled in all its intact glory to the gaze of thousands to
whom for years it has been a kind of myth. It is as though the ivory
Minerva of Phidias, that stood once in the Parthenon, should be
discovered hidden away with the utmost care in some deep dry and
hermetically-sealed sepulchre of the East, and brought over scatheless
to be set up amidst the Elgin fragments. So stands this matchless new
violin amidst its time-worn, rubbed, and fractured brethren. It is of
the grand pattern; it is massive without looking massive; its strength
is hidden beneath its grace. The back is in two parts; the wood very
choice. The fine graining of the flat belly is remarkable. The holes are
delicately cut, the left =f= a shade lower than the right; a practice so
common that it must have been intentional with Stradivarius, his fine
eye not tolerating even there a suspicion of mechanical work. We see in
this violin what the perfect Stradivari corners were. In almost every
other known specimen the corners and the wood are both rubbed. In Le
Messie they are untouched and clean-looking; wondrously sharp and wide
awake, yet without vulgarity, and of a perfect finish. The ease and
neatness of the purfling is incomparable, and over the whole instrument
lies a thick rich red brown varnish wondrous to behold; the washing of
it is level and lavish, and unworn by time or use. The brush seems to
have left it about a week. The neck has been lengthened by M. Vuillaume.
The head is light and graceful rather than heavy or powerful, the scroll
thrown off like a ribbon lightly curled round the finger and drawn in;
one side of the scroll is slightly lower than the other, the fluting
smooth, with a surface like that of clear still water, and the lines of
the scroll picked out with a thick rim of black varnish that serves to
accentuate the outlines of the head, just as purfling calls attention to
the contour of the back and belly. In nearly every other violin this
black head-rim has been almost entirely effaced, but in Le Messie it
remains to show us the maker’s intention. He meant you to take up his
violin and see at a glance its whole outline traced and emphasized by a
sharp purfling carried out in the head by a deep rim of black varnish.
This brooding over the beauty of curves, this anxiety that they should
be manifest to all men is most instructive and touching; neither the
purfling nor the black varnish added to the tone, nor even the
preservation of the instrument—it was the art instinct of the old makers
piercing the manufacture.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration:
Side view of the Salabue Stradivari
_Vincent Brooks Day & Son Lith._
]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
That ardent student and devotee of the violin, Mr. Charles Reade, has
made some suggestive remarks upon the method of varnishing which he
supposed Stradivari to have pursued; and, as Mr. Reade makes reference
to the Salabue, his words may prove of interest in the present
connection. He preferred to describe the violin as the Vuillaume Strad,
and while agreeing with his objection to the name which has clung to it,
we regret that the title conferred upon it by Tarisio, the “Salabue,”
has not been retained. That name has the merit of historical
distinctiveness, and would create a most desirable precedent in violin
nomenclature, as a set off to the absurd and confusing nicknames which
have become so common. There are no less than three “Jupiter Strads”;
one “Emperor Strad”; two “King” Josephs (Guarnieri); and another of the
same maker called “Le Diable.”
Mr. Reade begins with some general suggestions as to the great maker’s
method, and says: “He began with three or four coats of oil varnish
containing some common gum. He then laid on several coats of red varnish
made by simply dissolving some fine red unadulterated gum in spirit; the
spirit evaporated and left pure gum lying in a rich oil varnish from
which it chips by its dry nature and its utter want of chemical affinity
to the substratum.... The Vuillaume Strad, not being worn, does not
assist us in this particular line of argument; but it does not
contradict us. Indeed there are a few little chips in the top varnish of
the back, and they reveal a heterogeneous varnish below, with its rich
yellow colour like the bottom varnish of the Pawle bass. Moreover, if
you look at the top varnish closely you shall see what you never see in
a new violin of our day; not a vulgar glare upon the surface, but a
gentle inward fire. Now that inward fire, I assure you, is mainly caused
by the oil varnish below; the orange varnish above has a heterogeneous
foil below. That inward glow is characteristic of all foils. If you
could see the Vuillaume Stradivarius at night, and move it about in the
light of a candle, you would be amazed at the fire of the foil and the
refraction of light....
“A violin varnished as I have indicated will look a little better than
other new violins from the first; the back will look nearly as well as
the Vuillaume Stradivarius, but not quite. The belly will look a little
better if properly prepared; will show the fibre of the deal better....
“... Sand-paper is a great enemy to varnish; it drives more wood-dust
into the pores than you can blow out.... The back of the Vuillaume
Stradivarius, which is the finest part, has clearly not been
sand-papered in places, so probably not at all.”
With regard to the tone of the instrument, some comments written in 1864
by the well-known authority, F. J. Fetis, are worthy of repetition. He
writes of the Salabue Stradivari: “This genuine memorial of ancient
manufacture—this instrument which has not resounded under the bow for
nearly a century and a half—gives striking refutation to the idea that a
free and pure tone cannot be produced from a violin until after it has
been long in use; for here, in this new instrument, we find in
combination all the qualities of power, mellowness, roundness, delicacy,
freedom, with a noble and penetrating tone. In a word, this violin is a
type of external beauty and of sonorous perfection.”
Nevertheless it is our opinion after a careful trial that the instrument
would be greatly improved in tone by further use.
These descriptions of one of the finest instruments in existence, from
the hands of devoted and disinterested lovers of the Cremona handiwork,
leave hardly anything to be added except the exact measurements of the
violin, which are as follows:—
[Illustration: Height of sides:—At the top, 1³⁄₁₆ inches; at the bottom,
1¼ inches.]
The label affixed to Le Messie is presented below in fac-simile.
+-------------------------------------+
| Antonius Stradivarius Cremonensis |
| Faciebat Anno 1716 |
+-------------------------------------+
-----
Footnote 1:
This account coincides almost word for word with a notice of the
instrument by F. J. Fetis quoted in part on p. 30 of this work.
Footnote 2:
The article on Stradivari in Grove’s Dictionary of Music assigns
eighty-eight as the maker’s age at his death, but the evidence of
Count Salabue, quoted at p. 12, confirmed by further evidence lately
obtained from authentic instruments of this maker, point to the
conclusion that he lived certainly to 1737, when he had entered his
ninety-fourth year. This conclusion refers his birth to the year 1644,
which would accord more naturally with the events of his life than the
later date suggested in Grove. This question will be treated more
fully in a future publication.
Footnote 3:
The information here given concerning Tarisio has been obtained by
Signor Sacchi, chiefly from the late Enrico Ceruti, the last
descendant of an old family of violin makers in Cremona.
Footnote 4:
There is a curious mistake in M. Vidal’s valuable recent work “La
Lutherie,” in which the transcript of the label accompanying the
illustration of “le Messie” bears the date 1715.
------------------------------------------------------------------------