58042859

THE ‘MESSIAH’ STRADIVARI VIOLIN

SILENT

JOHN MILNES COURTESY ASHMOLEAN MUSEUM, UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

WITNESS

32 Book 1.indb 32

THE STRAD MARCH 2011

www.thestrad.com

04/02/2011 11:36

THE ‘MESSIAH’ STRADIVARI VIOLIN

Stradivari’s 1716 ‘Messiah’ violin has beguiled with its pristine condition for 300 years, despite having remained mute for most of that time. JOHN DILWORTH examines the mystique surrounding this enigmatic instrument that still refuses to give up its secrets

HE ‘MESSIAH’ IS PERHAPS THE MOST IMPORTANT

violin in the world. It is the greatest survivor of the classical Cremonese school, the most complete work of the greatest violin maker the world has seen, and as with all such icons, an enigma. Like the Mona Lisa’s smile or Hamlet’s state of mind, the more we discover about it, the more questions it asks us in return. In the past ten years or so, my colleagues and I have been working on a new catalogue for the Ashmolean Museum’s musical instrument collection, of which the ‘Messiah’ has been a part since 1939. In that time I have studied it more closely than any other instrument, a consummation of more than 40 years of visits to the museum, most of which have been focused entirely on this one violin. More than any other instrument, it carries me back to that workshop in Cremona, and with each encounter my

Like the Mona Lisa’s smile or Hamlet’s state of mind, the more we discover about the ‘Messiah’, the more questions it asks us in return

www.thestrad.com

Book 1.indb 33

MARCH 2011 THE STRAD

33 04/02/2011 11:36

The patched sap pocket against the fingerboard acts as an identifying feature

The violin has no significant cracks or damage

Book 1.indb 34

04/02/2011 11:36

THE ‘MESSIAH’ STRADIVARI VIOLIN

imaginings of that environment, the people involved, and the everyday processes of violin making in that revered time and place become more vivid. Why is it so important, and why does it still live mute in this Oxford museum? These are only two of its mysterious questions, but are the most easily answered. It survives virtually unblemished, its wonderful varnish almost exactly as the master laid it on – unpolished, unworn, virtually complete, with dust specks still trapped within it. It is Stradivari’s varnish that intrigues most laymen and professionals, and here it is, as Stradivari meant it to be seen. Although the neck has been modified and the bar replaced, the neck is still the original and the Stradivari bass-bar still lies in the case beside it. There are no significant cracks, no damage and no corruption of the original form. And this is because it has been silent for most of its life. Allowing it to be played would inevitably compromise the quality for which it has been saved and is valued.

THE STORY OF THE ‘MESSIAH’ is dramatic and it involves the great names of every subsequent generation of violin makers. It was made in 1716, when the Stradivari workshop was at the height of its fame and accomplishment. Antonio’s experiments with design, proportion and varnish were largely behind him; he had arrived at his golden period of maturity and consistency in about 1700, in his own middle age. Production of these immaculately evolved instruments lay in at least three pairs of hands – his own, and that of his sons Francesco, born in 1671, Omobono, born in 1679, and, in all probability, Giovanni Battista Martino, born in 1703. Antonio’s youngest son, Paolo, born in 1708, had no part in the workshop, but had a crucial role in the history of the ‘Messiah’.

He lived on until 1775 and was the proprietor of the Casa Stradivari and the remaining contents of the workshop after 1758. From about 1773 he was in regular contact with Giovanni Battista Guadagnini, who was the channel to Count Cozio di Salabue, the next important character in the story. This Piedmontese aristocrat was then just beginning his career as a collector and dealer of violins, and was familiar with Guadagnini, at that stage finally settled in Turin. From 1774 Cozio entered into a correspondence with Paolo, negotiating through his agent Giovanni Michele Anselmi for the purchase of the remaining Stradivari instruments. This deal was finalised just before Paolo’s death, although negotiations continued with his son, Antonio Stradivari II, until the end of 1776, when Cozio acquired a large portion of the remaining tools, moulds and other utensils from the Stradivari workshop. These purchases amounted to about ten to twelve Stradivari instruments and the majority of the relics now exhibited in the Stradivari Museum in Cremona. Cozio went on to study a great number of important Cremonese works, most of which he carefully annotated in his notebooks. The first written record of the ‘Messiah’ – not yet titled, but simply referred to by the Count as his ‘most beautiful Stradivari of 1716’ – appears in these notebooks. Cozio correctly identifies its origin on the ‘PG’ mould, which was also in his possession, and mentions repairs made by Guadagnini. Almost all of Cozio’s instruments came under Guadagnini’s knife, usually in order to reorientate the neck, but in this case, Cozio also mentions a large square patch he fitted to the interior, which is no longer present – another of the enigmas that surround the ‘Messiah’. Cozio’s interest in violins seems to have waned by 1823, and his focus shifted to the disposal of his collection. Enter the next character in the story, Luigi Tarisio.

PATCH, BUTTON, SCROLL PHOTOS TUCKER DENSLEY COURTESY ASHMOLEAN MUSEUM, UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD. BASS RIB PHOTO JOHN MILNES

q Marked with a ‘G’, the scroll is unmatched with the rest of the instrument

www.thestrad.com

Book 1.indb 35

MARCH 2011 THE STRAD

35 04/02/2011 11:36

THE ‘MESSIAH’ STRADIVARI VIOLIN

Whoever had the skill to make such a fine replica of a Stradivari would surely not have built into it such unprecedented eccentricities Tarisio was born in 1790 in the Piedmontese village of Fontaneto d’Agogna, the son of a carpenter. He, too, developed an obsession with violins, and came into contact with the local aristocratic collector around 1820. By 1839 he was in a position to barter with Cozio for the best elements of his collection, and in 1840, after the death of the Count, he finally closed the deal with his daughter, Matilda. But it is clear from the documents that the ‘Messiah’ was not among the purchases of 1840, and had been in Tarisio’s hands for some time already. By 1827, Tarisio had started on his regular visits to Paris, later to London, where he bragged about his most perfect violin. The dealers in Paris soon came to respect Tarisio for the choice instruments he bought for sale, but were frustrated by his refusal to show his wonderful 1716 Stradivari. It was this that prompted Jean-Delphin Alard, the violinist and son-in-law of Jean-Baptiste Vuillaume, to quip that the violin was like the Messiah – much heralded but never seen. The name, in its French form ‘Le Messie’, stuck. In 1854 Tarisio died in the shabby confines of his modest Milan apartment, surrounded by 24 Stradivari instruments. When word reached Vuillaume, he packed as much cash as he could and made for Milan with all haste. The ‘Messiah’, however, was not there. Undeterred, he pressed on to a farm in Fontaneto d’Agogna, where Tarisio’s bemused family showed him six favoured instruments that Tarisio had separated from his collection. Among these was the ‘Messiah’.

PHOTO TUCKER DENSLEY

VUILLAUME CHANGED the

violin’s bass-bar, lengthened the neck and at the same time inscribed the interior ‘achette par Tarisio au Ct Cosio de Salabue an 1827 achette par Vuillaume le 12 Janr 1855 Le Messie’. This is still legible in the upper back, and is the first reference to the date of Tarisio’s purchase from Cozio, although it is possible that this is unreliable. Writing in 1864, François-Joseph Fétis said that this instrument, ‘never played upon’, was bought by Tarisio in 1824. Vuillaume had an ornate case made for the violin and anxiously hid it during the unrest of the Franco–German war of 1870–1, which culminated

www.thestrad.com

Book 1.indb 37

in the Siege of Paris. In 1872 he loaned it to the Special Exhibition of Ancient Musical Instruments in London (see ‘The coming of the “Messiah”’ on page 46), where it was seen and described in print by the English writers Charles Reade and the Rev. H.R. Haweis. Reade was enraptured by its beauty and varnish, but did not fail to notice the small shrinkage cracks still just visible in the table edges. Vuillaume died in 1875, and the ‘Messiah’ passed to Alard. In that year, Charles-Nicolas-Eugène Gand saw it and described it in his notebook. He mentions the small resin patch beside the fingerboard, an irrefutable identifying feature of the violin, and gives the date of Tarisio’s purchase as 1824. A later note, added in Gand’s hand, refers to the last important figures in the violin’s history, the Hills. Two years after Alard’s demise in 1888, the Hills acquired the ‘Messiah’ on behalf of an amateur player, Mr Crawford of Edinburgh, for the then record price of 50,000 francs, or £2,000. They also took the admirable step of commissioning Shirley Slocombe to paint a portrait of the violin, which was reproduced in their historic 1891 monograph on the ‘Messiah’. The violin yawed from one hand to another over the next few years, but always returned to the Hills’ care. They bought it back from Crawford in 1904, and then sold it to the distinguished collector Richard Bennett in 1913. In 1928 he asked the firm to dispose of his instruments, and the Hills purchased the ‘Messiah’ for themselves and placed it in the care of the Ashmolean Museum. A room to house what then became known as the Hill Collection, comprising the ‘Messiah’ and several other exceptional instruments, was opened in the museum in 1939. The ‘Messiah’ has remained there ever since.

OF COURSE THERE ARE lacunae in this story, as there would be in the history of any violin subjected to such close examination. It is an artefact that has grown in importance over 300 years, and its documentation has become significant comparatively recently. Two obvious questions that the violin asks us are: what was so special to Cozio about a violin then only 60 years old, and why was an instrument made in 1716 still in the Stradivari workshop in 1775? All the commentators from Salabue to Gand to Reade said that the ‘Messiah’ was ‘like new’. When I think of a violin made in 1950, I would not be surprised if it looked ‘like new’. What the ‘Messiah’ tells us is that the old varnish was beautiful but fragile, and that it deteriorated quickly when in use (before the introduction of chin rests and shoulder rests, a great deal more bodily contact took place than is now the case). More recently this deterioration has stabilised, thanks to a greater degree of care and restoration, but also due to the gradual long-term hardening of the varnish itself. By the end of the 18th century, most makers had MARCH 2011 THE STRAD

37 04/02/2011 11:36

THE ‘MESSIAH’ STRADIVARI VIOLIN

Its wonderful varnish is almost exactly as the master laid it on – unpolished, unworn, virtually complete, with dust specks still trapped within it ceased to use this type of varnish, and the sight of such a pure example of what by our standards was of only modest vintage, was enough to shock and surprise. To tackle the second question; there are many reasons why a violin might stay in the workshop unsold. I have one from 1976 that I keep for sentimental reasons. This might have been so for Stradivari himself. It might also not be the ‘masterpiece’ that we take it for. Yes, it is a finely preserved example, but it is not the finest instrument the master ever made. Indeed, we do not have to look far to find imperfections. The front has that patched sap pocket, hard up against the fingerboard in the upper treble bout. The arching of the front is exceptionally low. The scroll is oddly unmatched to the rest of the instrument, if we take the ‘G’ marking in the pegbox at face value. All these things may have added up in Stradivari’s mind to a resolve that this violin was not to be sold. Perhaps it was then that the star brand was applied to the scroll to mark the violin out from other stock. The star is one of the oddest things about the violin. It sits, accurately placed, in the centre of the bass-side eye, under the varnish, and matched by two similar imprints on the front face of the pegbox mortice. It is very similar to the star brands seen on two of the Stradivari moulds, the ‘G’ and ‘B’, although never having had the opportunity to place the ‘Messiah’ directly beside the moulds, it is impossible to say that they are precisely the same. I know of no other instrument that has this mark on the scroll, or anywhere else for that matter. But there it is, a deliberate identifying brand that seems to set the ‘Messiah’ apart from other Stradivari instruments. The ‘Messiah’ was for some reason as exceptional to Stradivari as it is to us. And this ‘apartness’ was as obvious to his sons, and even the Bergonzis who lived on in the Casa Stradivari, making and selling new instruments as well as salvaging and finishing partly completed work for a good 20 years after Antonio’s death. Indeed there is evidence that there were a great many unsold instruments in Paolo’s possession before Cozio secured the last handful. Among them, for some reason that cannot be glibly explained, was this singular 1716 violin. On stylistic grounds alone, this date is secure. The ‘Messiah’ is unquestionably representative of the high golden period, its form, materials and workmanship fitting perfectly with other great masterpieces of 1714–18.

PHOTO TUCKER DENSLEY

THE SUGGESTION BY conspiracy theorists that the odd qualities

38 Book 1.indb 38

THE STRAD MARCH 2011

of the ‘Messiah’ betray the violin as a fake are fairly easy to dismiss. Whoever had the skill to make such a fine replica of a Stradivari would surely not have built into it such unprecedented eccentricities. You wouldn’t forge a £50 note then put sunglasses on the Queen’s face. Nor would an exceptionally gifted copyist, blessed with a similar varnish recipe to the master and knowledge www.thestrad.com

04/02/2011 11:36

THE ‘MESSIAH’ STRADIVARI VIOLIN

of all his methods and moulds, use the ‘PG’ mould to produce the body, and then mark the scroll with a ‘G’, let alone a strange and conspicuous brand. And that piece of spruce with the resin pocket would have been discarded immediately. All these things make good sense in the context of a busy workshop, where mistakes can occur and even accumulate. It shows us the real life of that hallowed establishment, where three or four pairs of hands were working in close proximity, in a fairly confined space, producing a finished instrument every two weeks. Aside from the activities of bow, case and varnish making, there may have been three moulds constantly loaded up with rib sets at various stages, racks of jointed backs and tables, and partcut scrolls, temporarily marked with the letter of the mould they were intended for. One scroll may have been abandoned because of a hidden flaw in the wood, one rib set may accidentally have been damaged; no matter, they might have said, we’ll use this other rib assembly, and this other scroll here. In fact, we might even give them to young Giovanni Battista Martino to assemble – he’s old enough to do some finishing work now. It would be truly amazing if such things did not happen in the 70-year history of the Stradivari workshop.

THERE IS STILL TOO LITTLE hard evidence of how the workshop functioned. How much work was done to commission and how much was made speculatively for sale in the marketplace? We can generally only guess whether each instrument had a particular destination and function or was for stock, or was even an experiment. The observation that the pegbox is lettered to match the mould used for the body is a good one, and certainly a better interpretation than that offered by the Hills in their life of Stradivari written in 1902; they suggested that the ‘PG’ inscription seen in the pegbox of the 1715 ‘Alard’ was actually ‘PS’, the initials of Paolo Stradivari (they failed to mention the ‘G’ in the ‘Messiah’, which was not actually in their possession at the time of writing). They came to this conclusion because they lacked other evidence, as we still do. The number of intact Stradivari instruments that still retain their mould letters is so small (about six or seven examples) that we cannot be sure how regular this system was. There is enough measurable variation between these old necks to show that they were almost certainly interchangeable with soundboxes produced from different moulds, and with the range of stop lengths found on different examples made on the same form. The truth is, we don’t know enough. The ‘Messiah’ is an enigma. It is real, tangible and present, but it is still asking questions we can’t answer. New information is being discovered all the time – breakthroughs with dendrochronology, new documents from the archives, deeper analysis and greater academic effort – but it is still insufficient. New discoveries are there to be made, new speculations made and unmade. That is why we keep going back to it, seeing it in new ways each time, and why its silence is important. It must not be disturbed. Let the several hundred other fine Stradivaris prove his voice. The ‘Messiah’ is more eloquent in repose.

PHOTO TUCKER DENSLEY

The new catalogue of the Ashmolean Museum's instrument collection comes out in May 2011

40 Book 1.indb 40

THE STRAD MARCH 2011

Read more about the ‘Messiah’, including an in-depth focus in the August 2001 issue, by subscribing to The Strad Archive at www.thestrad.com/StradArchive.asp

www.thestrad.com

04/02/2011 11:36

Copyright of Strad is the property of Newsquest Specialist Media, Ltd and its content may not be copied or emailed to multiple sites or posted to a listserv without the copyright holder's express written permission. However, users may print, download, or email articles for individual use.