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]