Chapter M: Ole B. Bull (2)

Ole Bull gave two concerts to crowded houses in Cassel, and then went to Berlin. There were some difficulties in making terms for the theatre here, the king himself being proprietor and supreme manager. The musicians, moreover, were not favorable to Ole Bull, because of certain one–sided reports of an intrigue against him in Stockholm, which he had wholly overcome, and which had resulted in making him more popular in Sweden than ever. Last of all came the attack of the critic Finck. When Ole Bull played in Berlin Herr Finck was ill, and unable to attend the concert. He sent and asked the artist to visit him. He went and played for him, and also explained his method, and the changes he had made in his bow. Shortly after he left Berlin the criticism appeared in the _Leipsic Musical Gazette_. Herr Finck said that the technique of the artist was indeed astonishing, and that he was not lacking in certain points in his execution, as some had said. He found his tone absolutely pure, and his staccato, pizzicato, etc., marvelous and incomparable, but claimed that his art, when before the public, was artifice, a kind of astounding legerdemain. His chief attack was directed against his compositions. It might well have been thought a criticism against Paganini revived, so similar was it to the charges made against that violinist.

Mendelssohn wrote to his sister Rebecca, from Berlin, February 15, 1844, as follows:—

The musical public here are just like Finck, editor of the old
_Musical Gazette_; they are capital at finding out the weak points
of what is good, and discovering merit in mediocrity, which annoys
me more than anything.

In spite of the animadversions of the critic, the public crowded the concerts of Ole Bull, whose only answer was through his violin. He traveled closely on the heels of the celebrated violinist, Lapinsky, the idol of the _Musical Gazette_. Whenever they met, Lapinsky was sorely defeated, and at last he determined to keep altogether out of Ole Bull’s way. The latter next gave five concerts in Breslau, and sixteen in Vienna. His rendering of the clarionet adagio in Mozart’s “Quartette in D flat, transcribed for Violin,” was so much admired, that he was obliged to repeat it at all his concerts in Vienna.

Not a note of the score was changed, and the reverence for Mozart, revealed in his performance, made a very deep impression. It may be remarked here that those who have made the masterpieces of Mozart the study of a life–time, who have edited his works, and dwelt upon the perfection of their instrumentation, have also said that Ole Bull’s rendering of these, especially of the adagios, showed a deeper, more appreciative understanding of them than had ever been attained before by any instrumentalist. Ole Bull used to say that Mozart was his religion. To him, there could be no more beautiful, no loftier expression of human thought and aspiration than he found in the works of that master. He felt that no mortal could write Mozart’s “Requiem” and live.

From Vienna Ole Bull went to Hungary, giving concerts in Pesth, Raab, and Presburg. He purchased a rare violin in Pesth labeled “Antonius Stradivarius Cremonesius faciebat, anno 1687.” This instrument was unique, being the only one which the master had inlaid with ebony and ivory. It had been made to order for Philip the Sixth of Spain, and remained in the possession of the Kings of Spain until the reign of Charles the Fourth, when it was stolen by the French. Ole Bull bought it of Herr Rorats, an amateur, who had purchased it because of its beautiful appearance, its tone not recommending it. But in Ole Bull’s hands its noble and pure tone was soon restored.

He returned again to Vienna, giving five concerts to full houses. A critic remarked that his “Norway’s Mountains” and his playing of Mozart had conciliated his few obstinate opponents, and united all voices in his praise.

From Linz he went to Salzburg, the home of Mozart. He had the honor of proposing and giving the first concert for the Mozart fund, and the great satisfaction of having the wife of Mozart present at the performance.

Being engaged in Paris for January, 1839, for concerts at the Grand Opéra, he hastened there via Munich, Baden–Baden, and Strasburg, giving concerts in these places.

He returned to Germany soon after, giving one concert in Carlsruhe and two in Stuttgart. The King of Wurtemberg gave him a ring set in brilliants. He also visited Cassel again, where two concerts were given with great success; also others in Augsburg, Bonn, Mannheim, Landau, Carlsruhe, and Heidelberg, after which he returned to Paris in the autumn of 1839.

A few extracts from letters to his wife, during this season of 1839, may be added here:—

PRESBURG, _April, 17, 1839_.

Instead of arriving at five o’clock we did not reach this place
until eight; the driver got asleep on his seat and fell down under
the carriage wheels; the horses ran against a post, breaking the
carriage, and finally got away, giving us a good deal of trouble
to catch them. The weather is fine, and I have taken fresh horses
in order to reach Raab this evening. To–morrow morning I shall
reach Pesth.... The surrounding country here is most beautiful and
the journey very interesting, many of the old monuments being well
preserved....

PESTH, Sunday, _April 21_.
I arrived in Pesth yesterday evening: it seems that I was
impatiently looked for. I waited a day and a half in Comorn for
the steamer to Pesth, visiting the wonderful fortifications
there.... I wanted a distraction from my suffering, God knows how
much I have suffered! I still hope and work, not for myself, for
you, my family, my country, my Norway, of which I am proud. Why
should I dwell upon my sad thoughts? You indeed have more than
enough yourself. You share with me the memory of our little Ole[9]
waiting for us on the other side.... You must come as soon as
possible.... God have you in his keeping.

[9] They had received the news of the child’s death soon after their departure from Copenhagen.

MUNICH, _October 19, 1839_.

A letter just received from my mother, announcing the death of our
dear, good grandmother.[10] It occurred the same time that they
received the tidings of our child’s death. Mother tries to console
me and sympathizes with you....

[10] His love for his mother’s mother was one of the strongest and tenderest of his heart–ties. He loved, respected, and admired her. She had from his earliest childhood sympathized with him. At her knee he learned the folk–songs and folk–lore of Norway. Her teachings influenced his thoughts and life, and to dream of her or his father gave him great happiness. Her dear face, he used to say, seemed to be near him when he played his “Mother’s Prayer.”

MUNICH, _October 21, 1839_.

My concert was a great success; it seems that the enthusiasm never
reached such a pitch before in Munich. At Carlsruhe I called upon
Baron Moltke; he offered to contract with the manager of the
theatre for me. In Stuttgart I saw Madame Merlin and the Prince of
Montfort, and expect the answer of the intendant....

_November 4, 1839._

I have so much to tell you I don’t know where to begin. Mozart’s
widow was invited to Munich by the king to hear the opera of “Don
Giovanni” performed. She and her sister made me a visit, and she
invited me to sit with her in her box, that we might hear the
opera together. The director has been working against me, because
I went the evening after my second concert to a festival given by
the artists in honor of the celebrated Schwanthaler the sculptor,
who now rivals Thorwaldsen, and played two pieces. Germany’s most
gifted artists gave me their loudest plaudits, but the director,
having been recently decorated by the king, thought I ought to
have limited my performance to his establishment. He visited
Madame Mozart in her box, turning his back upon me the whole time.
I afterwards told him my candid opinion of his behavior, and added
that I would play no more in his theatre.

The artists and their wives made an entertainment for me later,
and as they regretted they were not to hear me more, I played for
them. I also played at the house of the celebrated painter
Cornelius. The _literati_ of Munich were present, and it was a
great honor and delight to me to be able to hold the attention of
these men; but some of the aristocracy are not pleased with me,
and think I have not bowed sufficiently low to the powers that be.
Day after to–morrow I give my first concert in Augsburg, and hope
to give a second one. I am very anxious about you....

Having received word of the birth of a second son, he writes from Augsburg, November 16, 1839:—

My dear, think of my surprise and delight when I received the
happy news! Let us praise God for his goodness to us, and let us
hope that He will preserve our son to us! I write a large hand
that your eyes may not be tried. I received a letter yesterday
from Dr. Dufours, just before my concert, but was so moved that I
could not write. I had to go out and walk, to catch my breath. Be
careful, my dearest friend. You must not worry or be disturbed,
for both your dear sakes. Dr. Dufours is a rare man, and I am
proud to call him my friend. So much self–denial, frankness, and
honesty, allied to such force of character and originality, are
gifts seldom to be found united in one person. Tell him how
grateful I am to him, and that I can hardly wait until my return
to Paris to express my thanks.

I give one more concert here on Saturday, and then go to
Stuttgart....

STUTTGART, _November 18, 1839_.

Your last letter has given me the greatest joy, but I fear you are
not prudent enough.... I arrived here last evening; concert next
Tuesday. A warm invitation from Nuremberg and Frankfort. My route
will be as follows: Nuremberg, Würzburg, Frankfort, Darmstadt,
Mannheim, Heidelberg, Carlsruhe, Strasburg, and Paris. In Augsburg
I received an invitation from the Queen Dowager of Bavaria to
return to Munich. I played for her, and her manner at parting was
most cordial. She gave me a pin set with brilliants as a souvenir
of the visit....

FRANKFORT, _December 1, 1839_.

Now I am a moment alone! ... the whole day long one continuous
reception of visitors! I dined with an old friend from Paris,
Hiller, the composer....

_December 7, 1839._

You will find many alterations in the finale of my Bravura
Variations. I have still much to do as regards my compositions
themselves, and my playing of them, before they are satisfactory
to me. I find every day that there are improvements possible, and
grave errors to be corrected, but I have a firm will, and am
trying to do better and better. It is very fortunate that none of
my compositions are published; I shall take good care not to have
this done for some time.... I bought a fine Nicolaus Amati in
Nuremberg, very much like the one I left in London.... Its tone
thrills me. Vuillaume will be astonished at its beauty. He must
put it in order for me according to my own method. Should it
compare favorably with my large Guarnerius, it will be well worth
the eighty louis d’or that I paid for it. This would be a high
price for an Amati of ordinary size, but the large form increased
its value.

MAYENCE, _December 13, 1839_.

I have so much to attend to that I have no time to eat or sleep
except when in my traveling carriage, and you know that does not
give real rest when over–fatigued from concerts....

I must correspond with the directors of the theatres; must obtain
information regarding the people with whom I am to deal; I must
make my appointments for concerts and rehearsals, have my music
copied, correct the scores, compose, play, and travel nights. I am
always cheated, and in everlasting trouble. I reproach myself when
everything does not turn out for the best, and am consumed with
grief. I really believe I should succumb to all these demands and
fatigues if it were not for my drinking cold water and bathing in
it every morning and evening.

The detailed account that has been given of the years 1836–1839, may afford the reader an insight into the life of the artist, his struggles, his labors, his inspiration, and his reward. Many, indeed most, of the seriously disheartening experiences which Ole Bull suffered, were the results of his lack of early training. No inexperienced woman could be more fearful of asking or accepting securities for business obligations lest it should be considered a lack of confidence on his part. He made no attempt to order his business in detail, but left to others what he could have readily mastered, always waiting for results to justify the enterprise; and this dependence was an unfortunate habit for a generous, sensitive, trustful man. It made him too unjustly suspicious after painful experiences. He was apt, when he found himself unfairly treated, to break off a business relation, without regard to the consequences, and thus often exposed himself to much annoyance and trouble.

His anger had no taint of narrow vindictiveness or revenge, but often served to free him from the toils of others. Then they might find him on the vantage ground of work or influence, to which his ready resources had led him, and where they could not follow him. He was not suspicious by nature, and lent too ready an ear to the suggestions or pretensions of others; his sympathetic nature and his needs making him an easy victim for designing persons, and giving rise to his chief troubles. Curiously enough, those who had grossly betrayed his confidence often found that they could not do without the charm of his presence after once having known it, however they might disregard his interests and happiness; and they knew that he could not but be generous to a vanquished foe. He used to say, “I will not, because one man has failed me, expect the like of another, until it comes.” His trust in the good impulses of human nature never failed him long. Leaving home at the age of seventeen, wholly untrained in practical affairs, he worked out many a problem of life, as of art, at the hardest—through bitter experience in poverty and tears; but the ideals and aspirations of his youth were those of his age.

On his return to Paris, in the winter of 1839, his engagement at the Grand Opéra was broken up, through an intrigue of Schlesinger, the publisher of _La Revue Musicale_, and he gave a few concerts at the Théâtre de la Renaissance. In the spring of 1840 he went to London, taking Mr. Morandi, a harpist, as his secretary; but finding him unreliable in some respects, he determined to break loose from the connection at the risk of losing twelve hundred francs, which he had already advanced to Morandi. The latter, knowing that he could hold him on his contract, acted accordingly.

One day when Ole Bull was playing with Franz Liszt, in the latter’s room, the manager of the hotel was announced, who told Ole Bull that a policeman was outside with a warrant obtained by Morandi, and that the latter himself was standing at the corner of the street to watch the arrest. The artist spent a pleasant afternoon and evening with Liszt, and returned quietly to his own hotel at midnight, the officer and Morandi having meanwhile become tired of watching for him. The following day he went to his ambassador, Count Bjornstjerna, and Morandi’s lawyer was sent for, who demanded sixty pounds, for breach of contract. Ole Bull was indignant, and refused to pay a penny; but what was to be done? It was two o’clock. At three he was to play at St. James for the queen, and at the corner of the street two policemen were waiting with the warrant for his arrest, if the claim of the lawyer should not be conceded. A cab was summoned, and one of Count Bjornstjerna’s footmen, wrapped in Ole Bull’s cloak, entered the vehicle and moved rapidly off, followed by the policemen; while five minutes later, the artist himself was driven quietly to the palace, in the count’s carriage. In the evening the matter was compromised, Ole Bull paying twenty pounds, in addition to the twelve hundred francs already advanced.

In a letter to his wife, dated in London, May 15, 1840, he writes of Liszt as follows:—

I have not spoken to you of Franz Liszt, with whom I have formed
the warmest friendship in a very short time. We have played
together and are mutually inspired with admiration and sympathy
for each other. You will make his acquaintance....

Ole Bull used to tell an amusing incident concerning Liszt and himself. They had played a good deal together, often giving concerts without the aid of a manager. On one occasion when a manager had been employed, and many distinguished artists appeared, Ole Bull had been advertised with special prominence as the “eminent” violinist, but did not know of this. On going to his friend’s somewhat late to supper, Liszt remarked, in a cutting tone, “Ah, our _eminent_ friend has arrived!” Ole Bull saw that the feeling of the company was not cordial, and that Liszt had only been the spokesman of their discontent. At last he arose and said: “I do not understand the drift of your conversation, but can readily see that my presence is not agreeable. I am pained in proportion as I have entertained the warmest admiration and friendship for you, Monsieur Liszt;” and he courteously took his leave. As he was walking rapidly away he heard his name shouted two or three times on the street, and, turning, saw Liszt running after him, hatless, and waving his napkin as he shouted, “My good friend, there must be some mistake. I beg you to come back, and let us discover who has played us this trick.” He then explained the cause of their irritation, and Ole Bull, in his turn, made it clear that he was not responsible for the offense. Cordiality was at once restored, and Liszt was the life of the evening. At its close he insisted that the company should breakfast with him the next morning. The invitation was accepted, and, after the breakfast and many pleasant topics had been discussed, Liszt suddenly turned to the manager, who was present, and said: “We have decided to have a trial. I am to be judge, and you shall be permitted to answer, if you can, the charges brought against you as to that announcement of yesterday.” After an examination and cross–examination, in which the man denied all responsibility in the matter, the judge pronounced sentence solemnly: “Ole Bull, I charge you to take this man, and hold him at arm’s length out of the window”—they were in the third story—“until he do confess.” So said, so done; and, dangling over the street, the man did confess a plot to breed jealousy and ill–will, in order to break up a combination of two names which, as already stated, had sometimes made the services of an _impressario_ unnecessary. The torment of the culprit was heightened by an occasional query on the part of Ole Bull if he was not soon to be relieved, as his arms were too tired to hold out much longer; but Liszt kept the poor wretch hanging there until the last moment, when he released him only on the promise that he would never offend again.

During this season, Liszt and Ole Bull played the Beethoven “Kreutzer Sonata,” at one of the Philharmonic Concerts. There was a great diversity of opinion among the critics as to the performance. The Philharmonic Society themselves gave expression to their judgment by the presentation of a piece of silver plate to the violinist.

The following note from Liszt is a pleasant reminder of the engagements of that time:—

MON CHER OLE,—Arrivé hier à 3 heures; concert à 8 heures et demi.
Leurs altesses le grand Duc de Bade et le prince de S. l’ont
honoré de leur presence. Du reste assemblée très–choisie,
aristocratique—mais non pas très–nombreuse.

Benazet pourtant m’a assuré qu’il y avait là toute la bonne
compagnie de Baden.

D’apres cette épreuve, et quelques conversations, je crois pouvoir
dire que vous ferez surement un ou deux bons concerts ici, et je
vous engage beaucoup à ne pas rester d’avantage dans les environs
sans vous faire entendre ici.

Mardi prochain je donnerai mon 2[^me] concert. Mercredi je
partirai pour Mayence où mon concert est annoncé pour le
lendemain, et vendredi je compte être à Ems.

Ce que vous auriez donc, à ce qu’il me semble, de meilleur à
faire, ce serait de venir ici lundi ou mardi, de jouer votre
concert dans la semaine (peut–être jeudi ou samedi); et ensuite de
repartir pour Ems, où je vous annoncerai de mon mieux.

À revoir donc, probablement bientôt, mon cher prodigieux artiste;
gardez–moi votre bonne amitié et comptez bien sur toute la mienne.

Tout à vous d’admiration et de sympathie,

F. LISZT.

Soyez assez bon pour faire mes plus affectueux compliments à M.
Heinefetter et priez–le de ne pas annoncer mon concert pour lundi
ainsi que nous en étions convenus. Lors de mon passage à Mannheim
(mercredi soir) j’aurai soin de l’informer du jour que nous
puissons choisir. Si par le plus grand des hazards on pouvait
m’annoncer un concert mercredi, je crois que je pourrai être à
temps à Mannheim—mais il vaut mieux, je crois, ne pas forcer ainsi
la chose. En tout cas n’oubliez pas de prevenir Heinefetter que
lundi il me sera impossible de tenir ma promesse.

Ole Bull now went over to Brussels, where he had a warm friend in Monsieur Fétis; thence to Antwerp, the Rhine towns, and Heidelberg, joining company with Liszt. He then returned to Paris, but was soon called to Berlin, where he had been specially invited to participate in the festivities of the coronation of King William (the present Emperor of Germany). He gave six concerts to the royal family and their visitors. In Leipsic he also gave six concerts, where the musical society, “Der Tunnel,” presented him with a silver vase, surmounted by a figure of Apollo with the lyre.

It was in Leipsic that the Cellini Caspar da Salo violin came to him. Mendelssohn and Liszt were dining with Ole Bull, when a servant placed by his master’s plate an envelope bearing a great seal. “Open your letter, Ole Bull! it may be important,” said Liszt. It was from the son of Rhaczek, the owner of the violin, and imparted the news of his father’s death, adding that a clause of his will directed that the instrument should be offered to Ole Bull. Delighted, he told the news to his friends, who, when they learned the value set upon the violin, advised him to be cautious as to its purchase. “If it is really worth the price you mean to pay for it,” said Mendelssohn, “we must dedicate it together by playing the ‘Kreutzer.’” When it came, and had been put in order, Mendelssohn’s suggestion was carried out. He and Ole Bull played Beethoven’s “Sonata,” which was the first work performed on that wonderful instrument. The following description of the violin, by Mrs. Childs, is entirely faithful and correct:—

The violin, now in possession of Ole Bull, was made to the order
of Cardinal Aldobrandini, one of a noble family at Rome memorable
for their patronage of the fine arts. He gave for it 3,000
Neapolitan ducats, and presented it to the treasury of Innsprück,
where it became a celebrated curiosity, under the name of “The
Treasury–Chamber Violin.” When that city was taken by the French,
in 1809, it was carried to Vienna, and sold to Rhaczek, a wealthy
Bohemian, whose splendid collection of rare and ancient stringed
instruments had attracted universal attention in the musical
world. The gem of his museum was the violin manufactured by Da
Salo, and sculptured by Cellini. He was offered immense sums for
it by English, Russian, and Polish noblemen, but to all such
offers he answered, “Not for the price of half Vienna.”

A few years ago Ole Bull gave some fifteen concerts in Vienna,
with the brilliant success which usually attends him. The
Bohemian, who went with the crowd to hear him, was an enthusiastic
admirer of his genius, and soon became personally acquainted with
him. Until then he had considered himself the most learned man in
Europe in the history of violins, the peculiar merits of all the
most approved manufacturers, and the best methods of repairing
deficiencies, or improving the tones. But with Ole Bull, love of
the violin had been an absorbing passion from his earliest
childhood. He never saw one of a novel shape, or heard one with a
new tone, without studying into the causes of the tone, and the
effects produced by the shape. Through every nook and corner of
Italy he sought for new varieties of his favorite instrument, as
eagerly as an Oriental merchant seeks for rare pearls. He had
tried all manner of experiments; he knew at sight the tuneful
qualities of every species of wood, and precisely how the
slightest angle or curve in the fashion of an instrument would
affect the sound. He imparted to the Bohemian amateur much
information that was new and valuable; and this sympathy of tastes
and pursuits produced a warm friendship between them. Of course,
Ole looked with a longing eye on the oldest and best of his
violins; but the musical antiquarian loved it like an only child.
He could not bring himself to sell it at that time, but he
promised that, if he ever did part with it, the minstrel of Norway
should have the preference over every other man in the world. He
died two years afterward, and a letter from his son informed Ole
Bull that his dying father remembered the promise he had given. He
purchased it forthwith, and it was sent to him at Leipsic.

On the head of this curious violin is carved and colored an
angel’s face, surrounded by flowing curls of hair. Behind this
figure, leaning against the shoulders, is a very beautiful little
mermaid, the human form of which terminates in scales of green and
gold. The neck of the instrument is ornamented with arabesques in
blue, red, and gold. Below the bridge is a mermaid in bronze.
Thorwaldsen took great delight in examining these figures, and
bestowed enthusiastic praise on the gracefulness of the design,
and the excellence of the workmanship. Ole Bull was born in
February, and, by an odd coincidence, the bridge of his darling
violin is delicately carved with two intertwining fishes, like the
zodiacal sign of February. Two little Tritons, cut in ivory, are
in one corner of the bow. Altogether, it is a very original and
singularly beautiful instrument. It has the rich look of the
Middle Ages, and would have been a right royal gift for some
princely troubadour.... The wood is extremely soft, and very
thick. The upper covering is of an exceedingly rare species of
Swiss pine, celebrated in the manufacture of violins. It grows on
the Italian side of the Alps; for sunshine and song seem
inseparably connected, and the balmy atmosphere which makes Italy
so rich in music, and imparts to her language such liquid melody,
seems breathed into her trees. Those acquainted with music are
well aware that the value of an instrument is prodigiously
increased by the age of the wood, and that the purity of its tone
depends very much on the skillfulness of the hand which has played
upon it.

As the best and brightest human soul can never free itself
entirely from the influence of base and vulgar associations in
youth, so a violin never quite recovers from the effect of
discordant vibrations. So perceptible is this to a delicate ear,
that when Ole Bull first performed in Philadelphia, he at once
perceived that the double bass–viol in the orchestra was a very
old instrument, and had been well played on. Some time after, the
horse and rider that represented General Putnam’s leap down the
precipice, plunged into the orchestra of the theatre and crushed
the old bass–viol. As soon as Ole Bull became aware of the
accident he hastened to buy the fragments. The wood of his violin
was so old, and so thoroughly vibrated, that he had never been
able to obtain a sounding–post adapted to it.

This post is an extremely small piece of wood in the interior of
the instrument, but the inharmonious vibration between the old and
the new disturbed his sensitive ear, until he was enabled to
remedy the slight defect by a fragment of the double–bass.

One of the most curious facts in connection with this memorable
violin is, that it was probably never played upon by any other
hand than Ole Bull’s, though it is three hundred years old. It
had always been preserved as a curiosity, and when it came into
his possession it had no bar inside, nor any indication that such
a necessary appendage had ever been put into it. The inward
spiritual carving has been entirely done by this “Amphion of the
North,” as he is styled by Andersen, the celebrated Danish
novelist. The interior is completely covered with indentations in
ovals and circles produced by the vibration of his magic tones.
Doubtless the angels could sing from them fragmentary melodies of
the universe; but to us they reveal no more than wave–marks on the
shores of the ever–rolling sea.

Some of the concerts on the Rhine had not been well announced and prepared, and the artist found himself just too early or late for royal visitors; but the feeling of disappointment expressed in his letters was only transient. In Dresden his wife and child joined him. He gave two concerts there, and then went to Prague.

February 9, 1841, he writes from that city:—

My time has been taken up by illness, parties, rehearsals,
concerts; I have already played seven times in public here, five
times on my own account, and twice for others. I play to–day and
then rest until Sunday, when I play my new “Concerto in E minor”
for the first time. It is not yet finished, but I have time
enough. I have met with such enthusiasm here as I do not remember
to have witnessed in any other country.

Again, on February 17, 1841, he writes:—

I seem to belong to the world here rather than myself. I am
invited every day to dinners, suppers, balls, soirées, matinées,
and the Lord knows what. If I decline, they come again, until I
yield, and if I accept once I cannot refuse again without a
plausible excuse.... My concerts are crowded and my own opinion
(also expressed by others) is that I have played pretty well in
Prague, especially at my concert last Sunday forenoon for the
benefit of the widows of poor musicians. I played my new
composition, the most difficult of all my pieces. It was finished
Saturday morning at half–past eleven o’clock, the rehearsal took
place at half–past three, and the next day at noon I played it in
public. I shall play it again to–morrow, making some
alterations.... I have had flowers, wreaths, and poems thrown me;
one in German, as you can now read it, I send you. Some written in
Bohemian and translated for me are very beautiful.

The following bears date, March 1, 1841:—

I have just given my eleventh and last concert here, and although
nobody remembers so successful a concert in Prague, and all ask me
to give one more, as many persons could not obtain seats for this,
I am compelled to leave in order to reach Russia in due time. I
played a new composition, “Grüss aus des Ferne.” It was finished
only at half–past seven on the morning of the concert. It was a
success.... My warmest greetings to Prof. Dahl.[11]

[11] An eminent Norwegian painter, who was professor at the Royal Academy in Dresden. He was a warm personal friend of Ole Bull.

From Prague Ole Bull went via Breslau to Warsaw, where he played the “Polacca Guerriera.” The youth of the city requested its repetition, but many told him that it only revived in the Poles the memory of their lost liberty, and he did not play it again.

From Wilna he went to St. Petersburg, where a serious illness prostrated him. He writes from there May 4, 1841:—

You ask me to give you a detailed account of what you call my
triumphs. On the road from Wilna to St. Petersburg my carriage
broke down three times; the mud went over the wheels, and eight
horses had the greatest difficulty in drawing it out and onward.
There was no end of trouble at each station to get horses,
although I had a _podoroshna_, or authorization from the
government.... Thursday evening I played at the residence of the
Countess Rossi (the celebrated Sontag), and you will like to know
that I played well. I leave at once for Moscow....

Again, May 22d, he writes:—

I had some sea–captains from Bergen to dine and celebrate with me
the 17th of May, at my hotel. They said we were expected in
Bergen.... When it was known that I intended to leave the city
without giving a concert, a deputation came from the orchestra,
urging me to play.... I accepted on condition that they should
arrange everything for me, that I need not be obliged to leave my
room. This will detain me here longer than I had anticipated....
I have to build castles in the air to try and forget that I am a
prisoner, but I have often been thankful that you were not here to
share the hardships of this journey with me....

As soon as he was able he joined his wife in Dresden, and they went via Hamburg to Norway, to his mother’s house, at Valestrand, near Bergen. This was the summer home of his childhood. For generations it had been in the possession of his father’s family, and he afterwards purchased it, built a house, and lived there some ten or twelve years.

Ole Bull spent the summer of 1841 at Valestrand very quietly. In December he went to Christiania, whence he writes:—

For my encore last evening I gave them an improvisation on the
National Hymn. I may decide to give a good number of concerts, as
they are fighting like wolves for seats. The king is to come soon,
and I should like to remain a little longer to see the good old
man. Countess Wedel has invited me to spend Christmas week at
Jarlsberg, and I am sorry that I cannot. Löwenskjold is extremely
attentive to me.... The Egebergs are as affectionate and true
friends as ever; glad when I come, and never complaining when I do
not, which makes them still dearer to me, if possible. This family
have ever had a great influence on my life; they helped me when I
was in sore need, and gave me good advice; they encouraged and
assisted me in every way in their power, and always without
permitting my gratitude to become a burden.

January 11, 1842, he writes:—

It was three o’clock this morning before I got to bed, as the
actors at the theatre and about a hundred of my friends had
arranged a company for me, which really was delightful.... When I
entered the hall a chorus sang a poem written by A. Munch, to a
melody from the “Polacca.”... At supper your health and the
children’s was proposed and drank, and I responded with my
violin.... When am I to be permitted to lead a peaceful domestic
life with you and our little ones?

His first concert in Christiania was given for the benefit of the theatre. The banquet which he mentioned took place just before his departure. The following is a quotation from one of the local papers:—

Many songs and poems were written in his honor, and the warmth and
pathos of the melodies he played so thrilled all present that they
believed they had never heard him play so well. The guests
accompanied him _en masse_ to his hotel, and cheered again and
again.

The next incident of interest was his concert at Lund, where he went via Frederikshald and Gottenburg. The price of the tickets was very moderate,—one dollar,—but many were sold for ten. The people received him most cordially, and an address of welcome was made by the chancellor of the University, to which the artist replied with his violin. On his departure the students accompanied him in procession, and bade him farewell with songs and cheers. On the 19th of February he went to Copenhagen and Hamburg, where he gave six concerts to crowded houses; then to Amsterdam, where he gave six more concerts, and quite electrified the phlegmatic Dutch. His concerts were an artistic, and at last a financial, success, but it was a success which he conquered.

He writes May 2, 1842, from Amsterdam:—

What shall I say to you of my troubles and vexations! As I could
confide them to no one, they have dwelt in my heart. Art is ever
dearly bought, and the true artist easily deceived, for it is only
by renouncing the material good that he may obtain the divine
happiness of following the guidance of his imagination and
creative power. To understand himself rightly, he must renounce
all else, give himself wholly to his art, and fight ignorance and
stupidity. I am not the man to give up the battle, but how many
wounds and blows before one reaches the goal! The recompense art
gives is a success even in failure. Last year Rubini and Madame
Persiani at the same prices—it really seems impossible—gave
concerts here to empty benches.

In June he returned to Bergen, via Hamburg. In September he went to Christiania to assist a Swedish artist, and in December gave his own concerts. In January, 1843, he visited Sweden, and Wergeland says:—

After giving concerts at Carlstad and Orebro, he arrived one
night, at one o’clock, at Upsala, dragged in a huge old coach by
six horses through the snow. Upsala, cosily nestled among
forest–clad hills, is one of the oldest and most remarkable cities
of Sweden. One thousand years ago it was the principal centre of
heathen worship. In the low temple, on the rude altar, the Vikings
came to offer up to Odin and Thor the customary Yule sacrifice.
All the great movements in the Swedish history of those early days
were inaugurated in this temple, and dim memories thickly shroud
the place. Four hundred years ago the first Swedish university was
founded. All the science, art, literature, and poetry the Swedish
people have produced originated there; and many illustrious names,
such as Linnæus and Berzelius, shed their radiant halo far beyond
the boundaries of the country. Upsala now is only a student’s
camp. Libraries, lecture halls, laboratories, museums, and
dormitories cluster around the cathedral, and all the life of the
place has been absorbed by the one institution—the University. Ole
Bull came to Upsala not to give a concert, but to play for the
students. It is true, as Jules Janin said of him, his violin is
his love, his art his life. To express himself in tones and be
understood is his one great joy, and he went to Upsala because the
students have, and always have had, a great reputation for musical
sensibility and musical education. But his entry was not very
propitious. The night was dark, no inn was to be discovered, and
the cold was biting. Suddenly a swarm of young students returning
from a Christmas masquerade singing, dancing, and making merry,
came along, and, of course, the large old coach and six became the
butt of their frolic. It ended in Ole Bull’s ordering the coach to
turn about and drive back to Stockholm.

This occurrence led to some misrepresentations and ill–natured comments in the local journals, to which Ole Bull replied in a letter published in the _Aftenbladet_, January 22, 1843. After explaining the circumstances, and reminding those who had accused him of failing to keep an engagement that no concert had been announced, and that he was therefore free to act as he thought best, he concludes thus:—

Although I do not recognize the right of any man to call me to
account for my conduct when I have wronged nobody, although I
believe I ought not to be excluded from the universal right of a
man to determine his own actions, still, I am willing to state
briefly my motives for leaving Upsala without playing, cherishing
the hope that a cultured and impartial public will feel and agree
with me that it was something quite other than a freakish
temperament which led me to take that step.

I had laid my route by way of Upsala with the intention of
inviting, as I had done in Lund, the students of the University to
attend my concert, cherishing the fond hope that the cultivated
young men at Sweden’s first University would kindly receive,
through me, a musical greeting from the brother–land, and give me
their approbation. Although the insignificant affair which took
place on my arrival in Upsala of itself neither could so offend me
that it should lead me to leave the town in “angry mood,” nor
seduce me to such an act of injustice as to lay the fault of a few
thoughtless young men at the door of a numerous and honorable
corporation, still, every one who intelligently and impartially
examines the matter will see that it brought me into a frame of
mind not at all in harmony with the problem I was about to solve.
Consequently, it was not anger on account of the wrong I had
suffered, or ill–will toward Upsala town and the students, but
despondency and dejected spirits which led me so quietly to leave
a town which I both desire and expect to see again under more
favorable circumstances, for no one recognizes more fully than I
that it is the aim and object of art to unite, not to disunite.

OLE BULL.

The renowned historian, Professor Gustaf Geijer, now wrote to Ole Bull, urging him to come to Upsala. He cordially consented, and to his first concert he invited the whole body of students. Each selection played by the violinist was warmly applauded, and the excitement culminated in the wildest enthusiasm, when, at the request of Professor Geijer, he improvised variations on the popular Swedish melody, “Lille Karen.” At the close of the concert he was met in the vestibule by the students, who escorted him with songs and cheers to his hotel, where they finally dispersed after giving a hearty cheer in response to his few words of thanks. At six o’clock a “Sexa” was given in the large University Hall. A letter published at this time, said:—

The artist, whose frank, attractive manner won him all hearts, in
responding to the toast proposed in his honor, dwelt especially on
the good–will which in his person had been shown the brother
kingdom and Norse people, and when lifted on the “golden
chair,”[12] proposed from his elevated seat the toast, “Sweden for
ever!” while from the same height Professor Geijer emptied his
glass to “his boys.”

[12] The recipient of this honor is lifted on the shoulders of two men, two more supporting the legs in front, and two the arms behind, and he is carried in triumphal procession, the flaming punch bowl held aloft, while the students, each with a glass in one hand and a lighted taper in the other, follow in order.

Sentiment after sentiment was given, and the guest of the evening
at last expressed his happiness at the misadventure of his first
visit, which had caused him to know better possibly than he would
otherwise have done, the students of Upsala. After midnight the
company followed him to his door, and he promised another concert
in the University Hall, where he said he had received the greatest
honor of his life. No other artist has been the recipient of such
homage.

His second concert was, if possible, a greater success than the first, and both Bishop Faxe and Professor Geijer thanked him in behalf of the Upsala people.

From Upsala Ole Bull returned to Stockholm. There he had very serious trouble, to which he refers in a letter to his wife, January 26, 1843, as follows:—

Pratté wrote his dear friend Mr. R., who five years since
published that pamphlet against me in Copenhagen, and told him
that I had spoken ill of the king and royal family, of the royal
orchestra and its leader, of the Swedes in general, and of
Stockholm in particular. He also sent a criticism to be published
in the papers. Mr. R. circulated these rumors, and succeeded in
making many enemies for me everywhere; but the affair in Upsala,
where I showed much moderation, has already disarmed many people,
and the public begin to know how matters stand. To R.’s published
attacks I have made no reply. _Qui s’excuse s’accuse_—and he is
getting to be too well known to lead people astray longer. Pratté
wrote to R. that Henrik Wergeland was the author of the critique.
It is simply absurd to impute to him such meanness. We must hope
that all will turn out for the best.

February 6, 1843, he writes:—

Intrigue against me has exhausted itself; but he who endures
slavery deserves to live a slave. I have thus far been able to
turn circumstances that seemed against me to my advantage.

Ole Bull was deeply hurt and put to great inconvenience by the ill–will of the musicians of Stockholm, and had been obliged to call in an orchestra from a neighboring town; but in the end his vindication was complete, and the weapons of his assailants recoiled upon themselves. He gave a concert at the palace, arranged by the queen in honor of the king’s birthday, and was received more warmly than ever. His detractors had only helped to establish him more firmly in the esteem of the people of the Swedish capital.

The twenty–fifth anniversary of Karl Johan’s accession to the throne was also Ole Bull’s birthday, and he invited the Norwegians in Stockholm to celebrate the royal festivities, and played the national melodies.

He soon received letters from Henrik Wergeland, in whose house Pratté lived, and who was indignant to find that his name should have been used against his friend. It was to destroy this vexatious fabrication that he determined to write the sketch of Ole Bull’s life which is quoted so often in the present memoir.

On his way from Upsala to Stockholm, Ole Bull met at Jönköping his old teacher Lundholm, who, it will be remembered, had prophesied that his pupil would in time become as good a fiddler as himself. It was at the close of a snowy day, and the northern lights were shooting up the sky. Lundholm, muffled in a bear skin, came along in a sleigh, and unwrapping his face called out to Ole Bull’s driver to stop. Then he shouted to the artist: “Now that you are a celebrated violinist remember that, when I heard you play Paganini, I predicted your career would be a remarkable one.” “You were mistaken,” cried Ole Bull, jumping up; “I did not read Paganini at sight; I had played it before.” “It makes no difference—good–by,” and Lundholm urged on his horse and in a moment was out of sight.

We must pass by pleasant incidents at various cities and hurry on to Copenhagen, where he gave three concerts to audiences numbering several thousands. At the last concert he played his new composition, “Siciliano e Tarantella,” which he was obliged to repeat, and then to acknowledge the ringing plaudits by playing a Norse and Danish national song. He was so happy in uniting these melodies, that the audience, when he had finished, rose to their feet with cries of “Viva Ole Bull!” While in Copenhagen he visited the Students’ Union, and on his entrance was greeted by a song set to one of his own melodies:—

“Thanks for thy giving
Our spirits their freedom;
Thanks for thy greeting
From Sigtuna town.

Bend but thy bow and
Send forth thy arrows,
Bleeds not the bosom
With lovelier wound.”

Here too the students escorted him to his hotel; and the king gave him a handsome ring in brilliants.

The celebrated violinist Ernst and the pianist Döhler were in Copenhagen at this time, and all three artists were living at the same hotel. They were old friends and heartily enjoyed the reunion. Ole Bull used to relate an amusing story of his early acquaintance with Ernst in Paris in 1836. He had been engaged by the Princess Damerond to arrange and take part in some quartette music at one of her soirées, and had secured the aid of Ernst and the brothers Boucher. As the musicians descended the stairs some white Polish dogs followed them, snarling and barking, to the salon. Ernst, who had on silk stockings and low shoes, began to retreat, thus encouraging one of the little brutes to bite him. The cur then rushed at Ole Bull, who deliberately lifted it on his toe and sent it up among the lights of the great chandelier. The attendant found on picking it up that the fall had killed it. The princess, raised on a sort of dais at the end of the apartment, had seen her pet’s mishap, and in her agitation sent a messenger to request the musicians to leave immediately. Ole Bull expressed his willingness to comply with the gracious request, so soon as the compensation of the artists he had engaged should be handed him. Her feelings were somewhat mollified at this suggestion, but as three of the quartette had already left, there was no other course but to pay him the twenty–five louis d’or, which the four friends spent in a supper at the Palais–Royal.

In April Ole Bull left Copenhagen, and gave concerts in Kiel, Hamburg, Bremen, and Oldenburg, returning to Hamburg. He there met Fanny Elssler, who had just returned from the United States. She urged him to try a season in that country, and he decided to make the trip at the earliest moment possible. Just at this time, he saw a malicious attack upon himself written by the secretary of Ernst and Döhler, but, as he discovered, without their knowledge. To meet this attack, so far as it denounced his compositions, he gave Schubert three of his pieces for publication—the first and last he ever published. These were, “Variazioni di Bravoura,” “La Preghiera d’una Madre” (Adagio Religioso), and “Il Notturno.” They were all received with great favor by the critics at the time.

On the 19th of May, he wrote his wife from Hamburg of his happiness that a daughter had been born to them. He also referred to the attack made upon him by Ernst’s secretary. “If artists will make light of and ignore calumny and censure,” he said, “they are sure to repent it in the end. They may keep their nobility of soul, but they will lose the respect of the public, and confidence in their own merits will be weakened. As I am about to go abroad I desire to leave behind some remembrance of myself, and have given Schubert certain pieces to publish.”

In June he returned again to Copenhagen, and the enthusiasm then was, if possible, greater than ever. Ole Bull and his compositions became the universal topic of the newspaper paragraphers and of the people. Before the end of the month he went again to Christiania, and the illustrious Danish poet, Adam Öhlenschläger, happened to be a fellow–passenger on the steamer. In his “Reminiscences” the latter says:—