Chapter M: Ole B. Bull (4)

No artist has ever visited our country and received so many honors. Poems by the hundred have been written to him; gold vases, jewels, medals, etc., have been presented to him by various corporations. His whole remarkable appearance in this country is really unexampled in glory and fame. He came from Norway, the most northern country of Europe, the birthplace of Odin, and inspired all America. His tender farewell composition in New York made the tears come to many eyes.... After having thus for over two years won triumph upon triumph and an abundance of gold and fame in the New World, Ole Bull left on December 3d for Havre, whence he intended to go to Paris....

Mrs. Child’s and Mrs. Botta’s good–byes seem most fitting to close this account of Ole Bull’s first American trip. The former is as follows:—

Where on this planet is a place so sublimely appropriate as the
rocky coast of Norway, to the newly–invented Æolian sea–signals?
Metal pipes, attached to floating buoys, are placed among the
breakers, and through these do the winds lift their warning
voices, louder and louder, as the sea rages more and more
fiercely. Here is a magnificent storm–organ, on which to play,
“Wind of the winter night, whence comest thou?”

On this coast has Ole Bull, from childhood, heard the waves roar
their mighty bass to the shrill soprano of the winds, and has seen
it all subside into sun–flecked, rippling silence. There, in view
of lofty mountains, sea–circled shores, and calm, deep, blue
fjords, shut in by black precipices and tall green forests, has he
listened to “the fresh mighty throbbings of the heart of Nature.”
Had he lived in the sunny regions of Greece or Italy, instead of
sea–girt Norway, with its piled–up mountains, and thundering
avalanches, and roaring waterfalls, and glancing auroras, and the
shrill whispering of the northern wind through broad forests of
pines, I doubt whether his violin could ever have discoursed such
tumultuous life, or lulled itself to rest with such deep–breathing
tenderness.

I know not what significance the Nordmen have in the world’s
spiritual history; but it must be deep. Our much boasted
Anglo–Saxon blood is but a rivulet from the great Scandinavian
sea. The Teutonic language, “with its powerful primeval words—keys
to the being of things”—is said by the learned to have come from
the East, the source from which both light and truth dawned upon
the world. This language has everywhere mixed itself with modern
tongues, and forms the bone and nerve of our own. To these
Nordmen, with their deep reverence, their strong simplicity, their
wild, struggle–loving will, we owe the invention of the organ, and
of Gothic architecture. In these modern times, they have sent us
Swedenborg, that deep in–seeing prophet, as yet imperfectly
understood, either by disciples or opponents; and Frederika
Bremer, gliding like sun–warmth into the hearts of many nations;
and Thorwaldsen, with his serene power and majestic grace; and
Beethoven, with aspirations that leap forth beyond the “flaming
bounds of time and space;” and Ole Bull, with the primeval
harmonies of creation vibrating through his soul in infinite
variations. Reverence to the Nordmen; for assuredly their strong
free utterance comes to us from the very _heart_ of things....

Wordsworth thus describes the young maiden, to whom Nature was
“both law and impulse:”—

“She shall lean her ear
In many a secret place,
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And Beauty, born of murmuring sound,
Shall pass into her face.”

The engraved likeness of Ole Bull often reminds me of these lines.
It seems listening to one of his own sweet strains of melody,
passing away, away,—and vanishing into the common air, fine as the
mist scattered afar by the fountains. The effect, thus transmitted
in form by the artist, reproduces its cause again; for, as I look
upon it, a whirling spray of sound goes dancing through my memory,
to the clink of fairy castanets. When I look at Domenichino’s
“Cumæan Sibyl,” and Allston’s wonderful picture of the “Lady
Hearing Music,” my soul involuntarily listens, and sometimes hears
faint, wandering strains of melody....

This spiritual expression of music is heard in very different
degrees by different people, and by some not at all. One man
remarked, as he left Ole Bull’s concert, “Well, there is no such
thing as getting a dollar’s worth of music out of a fiddle, in
three hours.” Of the same concert, a man of thorough musical
science, and deep feeling for his musical art, writes to me thus:
“Ole Bull has certainly impressed me as no man ever impressed me
before. The most glorious sensation I ever had was to sit in one
of his audiences, and feel that all were elevated to the same
pitch with myself. My impulse was to speak to every one as to an
intimate friend. The most indifferent person was a living soul to
me. The most remote or proud I did not fear or despise. In that
element they were all accessible, nay, all worth reaching. This
surely was the highest testimony to his great art and his great
soul.”

An eloquent writer, who publishes under the fictitious signature
of “John Waters,” describes his first impressions of Liszt’s
piano–playing, with an enthusiasm that would doubtless seem very
ridiculous to many who listened to the same sounds. He says that,
“with blow after blow upon the instrument with his whole force, he
planted large columnar masses of sound, like the Giant’s Causeway.
The instrument rained, hailed, thundered, moaned, whistled,
shrieked round those basaltic columns, in every cry that the
tempest can utter in its wildest paroxysms of wrath.... Then we
were borne along, through countless beauties of rock and sky and
foliage, to a grotto, by the side of which was a fountain that
seemed one of the Eyes of the Earth, so large and darkly brilliant
was it, so deep and so serene. Here we listened to the voices
rather than the songs of birds, when the music by degrees
diminished and ceased.”

A lady to whom he spoke of the concert acknowledged that the
sounds had brought up very similar pictures to her soul; but
probably not ten of the large audience listened in such a spirit.
That it was thus received by _any_, shows that it was _in_ the
music, whether the composer was aware of it or not; and genius
only can produce those magical effects, even on a few.

To Him who made the ear a medium of pleasure to the soul, I am
humbly grateful for delight in sweet sounds; and still more deeply
am I grateful that the spiritual sense of music is more and more
opened to me. I have joy in the consciousness of growth, as I can
imagine a flower might be pleased to feel itself unfolding and
expanding to the sunlight. This _expressiveness_ of music no man
ever revealed to me like Ole Bull, and therefore, in my joy and
gratitude, I strive, like a delighted child, to bring all manner
of garlands and jewels wherewith to crown his genius.

Here is a wreath of wild flowers to welcome his return:—

Welcome to thee, Ole Bull!
A welcome warm and free!
For heart and memory are full
Of thy rich minstrelsy.

’Tis music for the tuneful rills
To flow to from the verdant hills;
Music such as first on earth
Gave to the Aurora birth.

Music for the leaves to dance to;
Music such as sunbeams glance to;
Treble to the ocean’s roar,
On some old resounding shore.

Silvery showers from the fountains;
Mists unrolling from the mountains;
Lightning flashing through a cloud,
When the winds are piping loud.

Music full of warbling graces,
Like to birds in forest places,
Gushing, trilling, whirring round,
Mid the pine–trees’ murm’ring sound.

The martin scolding at the wren.
Which sharply answers back again,
Till across the angry song
Strains of laughter run along.

Now leaps the bow with airy bound,
Like dancer springing from the ground,
And now like autumn wind comes sighing,
Over leaves and blossoms dying.

The lark now singeth from afar
Her carol to the morning–star,
A clear soprano rising high,
Ascending to the inmost sky.

And now the scattered tones are flying,
Like sparks in midnight darkness dying;
Gems from rockets in the sky,
Falling—falling—gracefully.

Now wreathed and twined—but still evolving
Harmonious oneness in revolving;
Departing with the faintest sigh,
Like ghost of some sweet melody.

As on a harp with golden strings,
All nature breathes to thee,
And with her thousand voices sings
The infinite and free.

Of beauty she is lavish ever;
Her urn is always full;
But to our earth she giveth never
Another Ole Bull.

Mrs. Botta’s poem is entitled

A FAREWELL TO OLE BULL.

There was a fountain in my heart
Whose depths had not been stirred;
A thirst for music in my soul
My ear had never heard;

A feeling of the incomplete
To all bright things allied;
A sense of something beautiful,
Unfilled, unsatisfied.

But, waked beneath thy master–hand,
Those trembling chords have given
A foretaste of that deep, full life
That I shall know in heaven.

In that resistless spell, for once,
The vulture of unrest,
That whets its beak upon my heart,
Lies charmed within my breast.

Pale Memory and flushed Hope forget;
Ambition sinks to sleep;
And o’er my spirit falls a bliss
So perfect that I weep.

Oh, stranger! though the farewell notes
Now on the breeze may sigh,
Yet, treasured in our thrilling hearts,
Their echo shall not die.

Thou’st brought us from thy Northern home
Old Norway’s forest tones,
Wild melodies from ancient lands,
Of palaces and thrones.

Take back the “Prairie’s Solitude,”
The voice of that dry sea
Whose billowy breast is dyed with flowers,
Made audible by thee.

Take back with thee what ne’er before
To Music’s voice was given,
The anthem that “Niagara” chants
Unceasingly to heaven;

The spirit of a people waked
By Freedom’s battle cry;
The “Memory of their Washington,”
Their song of victory.

Take back with thee a loftier fame,
A prouder niche in art,
Fresh laurels from our virgin soil,
And take—a nation’s heart!

The wife and children of Ole Bull awaited his coming in Paris. His letters make frequent mention of his children, for whom he had many pet names, and he delighted to tell his friends about them. In one of his last letters from New York he said:—

I have dreamed of Alexander and Thorvald, and my soul is filled
with grief—for they would not recognize me.... I must play
to–morrow, and this kills one.[14] I shall soon come to you
myself, and you will hear more from my own lips than I will trust
to this cold paper.

[14] He had just heard of the death of their youngest son.

It is easy to imagine the pleasure of the meeting,—and also the pain, since he could not yet feel that his independence was sufficiently secured to justify him in giving up his professional tours. He had not received the proportion of the returns from his two years’ work that was fairly his due. He had left, as he habitually did, his business settlements till the last moment, and often trusted his funds in what proved to be unsafe hands. As a consequence, he was still obliged to think of the pecuniary results of his work.

In the spring of 1846 he appeared several times in Paris, and on the 19th of April he gave a concert at the Italian Opera. The following is an extract from an advance notice in the _Corsaire Satan_, of the 15th of April:—

Each year public opinion, having fluttered about for a time, at
last settles upon an artist, who, to use an English phrase,
becomes the lion of the season. This happy advantage has been
accorded this year to Ole Bull. After the extraordinary success
which he had attained at Roger’s entertainments, he could not
leave Paris without giving a grand concert at the Théâtre
Italien. This is a custom made fashionable by Liszt, Thalberg,
Madame Pleyel,—in fact, by all great artists; a fashion which some
lesser stars with more boldness than success have followed. Ole
Bull was not too sanguine in regard to his strength, for all the
tickets are already sold. This part of the problem has been
solved; to solve the other half he only needs to play, as he has
done at the Grand Opéra, and the Opéra Comique, and his victory
will be both brilliant and complete.... Ole Bull’s violin does not
pipe and shriek like those of some of his confrères, who whine
when they pretend to sing; his bow really possesses something
magic and inspired. It is the human voice in its most exalted
expression.

The following criticism of the performance, by P. A. Fiorentino, appeared in _Le Constitutionnel_ for the 22d of April:—

Ole Bull has given a grand concert at the Théâtre Italien. All the
Norse courage and daring was needed in venturing to offer the
public a very battle of five violin pieces. What fire and what
power! But a favorable result justifies the greatest rashness, and
Ole Bull, in the course of the evening, showed us that he was not
over–sanguine in regard to his powers. He first played variations
of a diabolic difficulty and originality on Bellini’s aria:
“L’amo, ah, l’amo, e m’è più cara.” It was as if the spirits of
hell, sunk in dark despair, must love and long for the light of
heaven. Paganini’s “Carnival,” which, as by magic, carries us to
_Via del Corso_, in the very midst of the ringing laughter and
joyful abandon of the Maccolettians, was repeated at the emphatic
demand of the audience. “A Mother’s Prayer,” composed by the
artist beneath the quiet arches of the cloister of Santa Maria, is
a great and severe piece, full of mystic tenderness and religious
warmth. Finally, the “Polacca Guerriera,” which we had twice heard
before, seemed to us more and more to merit the enthusiastic
reception the public is everywhere giving it. Ole Bull sang
splendidly last night. He was applauded and recalled so many
times, that he might have believed himself in Venice, Florence, or
Naples.

In May Ole Bull was playing in Bordeaux, to the rapturous applause of that city. Before his departure, he gave a banquet at the Hotel de la Paix, to which the _Courrier de la Gironde_ refers as follows:—

The apartments which Ibrahim Pacha had occupied a fortnight
previous were fitted up for the occasion, and were truly regal in
the elegance of their appointments. The large salon, especially,
was dazzling; and the brilliant toilets of the fairest ladies of
the city heightened the effect, as they clustered about the piano.
All persons in Bordeaux distinguished for talent, rank, or wealth,
participated in the reception. A quintette, by Mozart, was played
by the artist with our ablest amateurs, and a duet for piano and
violin, by Mayseder, was accompanied by a lady. Compositions and
improvisations of the violinist followed. As a host, Ole Bull was
a prince; one of the most distinguished ladies present remarked,
when she saw him receive with the exquisite courtesy and
aristocratic charm of manner peculiarly his own, that Ole Bull
seemed to her that evening a second Count of Monte Christo.... No
artist has ever been received with so much distinction and
enthusiasm in Bordeaux.

At the end of the month he filled a most successful engagement in Toulouse, where a _fête lyrique_ was given in his honor by the residents of that city at the Théâtre du Capitole. In Lyons he gave a concert for the benefit of a poor actress, who, friendless, and unable to obtain an engagement, had been driven in her despair to attempt suicide.

In July he appeared in Marseilles, where he had full houses, although he complains in his letters that, as his concerts had not been well announced or arranged in advance, his profits were less than they should have been. His financial success could not always be measured by his artistic triumphs. The Marseilles _Le Sud_ said of him:—

His place is between Paganini and Liszt. If we were asked what
distinction we would make between the young Norse artist and the
immortal Genoese virtuoso, we should answer, that, so far as
talent is concerned, the question is a difficult one. Who among us
remembers with sufficient distinctness the marvels performed by
Paganini’s bow in this place ten years ago, to be able to
determine with exactness whether Ole Bull overcomes equally great
difficulties? It is possible that at certain moments Paganini’s
manner was even more wonderful and powerful; but nothing is more
certain than that Ole Bull is his equal, if not his superior, in
beauty, warmth, tenderness, and variety. When, on the other hand,
we leave out of the account purely technical questions, which even
artists themselves cannot decide, it must be admitted that
admiration is more readily accorded to the frank, modest,
unselfish young man, who has given evidence, in many ways, of an
exalted nobility of character....

A no less electric enthusiasm broke forth again and again, when
the artist played the “Carnival of Venice,”—his own variations.
One can hardly imagine with what power of originality Ole Bull has
mastered this favorite theme of Paganini’s. He is especially
brilliant in the humorous part. If we remember right, Paganini did
not produce that natural and gushing sprightliness in the
conversation between Punchinello and the policeman. It is strange
enough, that the Northman has been able to put more sly cunning
and rollicking fun into the scene than the Italian Mephistopheles.
Ole Bull ends this composition with a bird–song, which is the most
surprising imitation one can imagine. Here his instrument is no
more a violin, but a gathering of the most charming song–birds.

Ole Bull here met frequently with his friend Hans Andersen, who was visiting Marseilles.

In the autumn of 1847 he crossed the Mediterranean to Algiers, joining his friend General Youssuf, and they had many an exciting adventure on their journey across the desert. He had his violin with him and played for the officers in the little town of Milianah. His audience was a singularly mixed one, being composed of Europeans, Arabs, and negroes; and the expressions of admiration or wide–mouthed astonishment which followed his playing were in keeping. The violin case had been given by General Youssuf, with strict instructions, to the keeping of two Arabs; they regarded it with a holy awe, and handled it with the greatest care, too proud of their trust to permit any one to come near it.

From Algiers the artist went to Spain. The melodies and songs of that country charmed him, and he declared them to be the most beautiful in the world. He was delighted too with the language, and often spoke of its admirable adaptiveness to express the finest shadings of thought, combined with strength and sonorousness.

During the festivities attending the marriage of Isabella II. with Francisco d’Assiz, and Donna Fernanda with the Duc de Montpensier, he gave concerts in Madrid. He composed by request “La Verbena de San Juan,” which he dedicated to the Queen, who offered him a general’s commission. She thought, no doubt, that the brilliant dress of a staff–officer would become him, but he declined the honor. Her majesty presented him a flower composed of one hundred and forty brilliants in the form of a verbena, and the order of Charles III. in brilliants; also the Portuguese order of Christus.

From a long notice in the _Español_ of the 15th of October the following is taken:—

It is now fifteen years since we heard Ole Bull for the first time
in Paris. He was very young then, but gave promise of becoming
what he now is, a great violinist. We also knew Paganini, and can
assure our readers that of all the violinists we have heard, Ole
Bull nearest approaches him in his performance. Besides his
wonderful execution, only to be accomplished by an arm of iron
like his, he draws from his instrument a powerful and vigorous
tone; he plays the andante to perfection, and besides clearness
and precision he makes his instrument sing, a quality without
which all his other accomplishments would be colorless. This
violinist has created the greatest sensation ever known in Madrid;
and his triumph is all the greater for coming as he did unheralded
by the trumpets of fame. He has performed pieces of great length,
which were not fantasias or variations on known operas, of which
the Spanish are fond; and as instrumental concerts are not much
liked here, we feared that the efforts and skill of Ole Bull would
not be duly recompensed; but his immense talent very soon
commanded the sympathies of the public and compelled their
applause. The Norwegian artist deserves no less praise as a
composer than as a performer. His great “Concerto” has all the
severity and qualities of that form of composition....

The following is from the Valencia _Fenix_ of June 27, 1847:—

The violin in Ole Bull’s hands is a perfect orchestra, and an
impetuous torrent of delightful harmonies; it seems as if the
strings multiply themselves, and, obedient to the inspiration of
the artist, they as well imitate the human voice as the trumpet of
the warrior, the song of the maiden, or the lyre of the poet. We
have heard nothing so magical, seducing, and astonishing.

The delirious public offered him an ovation such as no other
artist had received here before....

From Spain he returned to Paris, bringing with him seven pictures by old Spanish masters, one of them from the 10th century, and two fine violins. _En route_, he gave concerts in Bordeaux and Nantes. His letters spoke of the Spaniards, their music, their boundless hospitality, and the dangers of travel in the mountains on account of bandits. Because of this he returned by sea to Marseilles, and rejoined his wife, spending with her some months in the country, at St. Michel, near Paris.

During the revolution of 1848, he went, at the head of the Norwegians in Paris, to the Palais de Justice, and presented a Norwegian flag to President Lamartine, with an address, as evidence of their sympathy. This flag was preserved in the Hotel de Ville till that building was destroyed by the Commune in 1871. He also gave a concert in Paris for the wounded of the revolution.

He remained in that city most of the summer, working upon and studying the construction of the violin, with his friend, the great violin–maker Vuillaume. The following extract from a letter of Vuillaume’s may be of interest here:—

Since you left us so long ago, I have wished twenty times to write
to you. I have had many things of all sorts to tell you—very
important, as you may imagine, and which I have promised myself
much pleasure in communicating. Something or other has always
prevented my doing this; but to–day here I am in the country for
four hours, and I improve the opportunity to chat with you....

You are aware that my daughter Emilie is married to Alard, and we
are all well pleased with the match. You do not know him, but when
you come you shall make his acquaintance....

When you were in Paris I showed you some instruments with which I
had taken extraordinary pains, and you liked them. I have since
kept up this kind of work, and had made some quartettes and
double–basses for the Exposition; but finding nothing novel in all
this finished work, I resolved to make something colossal—an
_octobasse_! It is the giant of bow instruments. I have never seen
nor heard of anything like it. It is made exactly, in all its
proportions, like a double–bass, but it is twelve feet in height.
It is strung with three enormous chords, which give the notes
_re_, _sol_, _ut_. The sound is clear, deep, and sonorous,
nothing at all like the dull and thick tone of the ordinary
double–bass. The fingering is done by means of mechanism connected
with keys at the lower end of the finger–board, which the
performer, standing on a stool, easily reaches with the left hand,
while with the right he draws a big bow across the strings. The
use of this instrument must be reserved for the grander effects of
harmony. It is like the sub–bass of the organ. I believe I have
added a new and powerful voice to the family of instruments....

Give me some news of yourself, of your family, of your plans, what
your children are doing—all this will interest me....

I have just arranged a room for my collection of old instruments.
I have already many interesting specimens, to which I shall add as
occasion offers. The finish and the furniture of the room are all
in old carved oak of the time of Francis I.... You see I am not
afraid of tiring you with all these details. I hope to bore you
still more in showing you all my relics when you come....

In October Ole Bull returned to Norway and bought a place near Christiansand, having decided to remain for a time in his own country. He gave many concerts, and was everywhere enthusiastically received. His success determined him to attempt to found a National Theatre. The country had, up to that time, depended upon Danish plays, Danish actors, and Danish musicians. He wanted a national drama and the national music, and for this he spent his money and his time without stint.

It should be remarked, perhaps, here, that Ole Bull was too apt to consider that loyalty to an undertaking meant a confidence and interest so entire as not only to demand the giving all that he had, but often the burning of his ships behind him in the neglect of his own legitimate work. It was characteristic of him all his life, to stake all without reserve, and to feel that he could not hope for success unless he was willing to do this. His great undertakings, as a rule, failed only in their benefit to himself. Almost without exception, they have resulted in permanent good, and that which lay nearest his heart he lived to see recognized by his countrymen. The seed of national feeling and national dramatic and musical work he had planted grew in his time, and bore the best fruit. Jonas Lie says:—

With all the influence which his mighty name gave him, Ole Bull
demanded the realization of a national drama. What Waldemar Thrane
had begun in his Norse Opera should be continued in a development
of the national music; whatever of dramatic art had been
previously borrowed from Denmark should be replaced by what was
purely Norwegian. Beside the current which swept through the
country from the French Revolution at that time, there were other
circumstances which also tended to awaken a national feeling,
since, beside Ole Bull, there were several Norse painters at home,
because of the troubles abroad. Among these were Tidemand and
Gude. To these exiled artists, the return home was like a
re–baptism of patriotism, and their presence inspired the people
in their turn. The air was filled with ideal demands, and a
movement was inaugurated which marked an epoch in our National
Art, as well as in the development of our literature.

A Norse theatre with a Norse orchestra was what Ole Bull, in his
enthusiasm, determined to realize in his birthplace, Bergen. He
appointed committees, engaged actors, built and furnished a
theatre. He himself led the orchestra, worked up public sentiment,
and inspired the press, until at last, on the 2d of January, 1850,
his National Theatre was opened with a representation which was
acknowledged, by his opponents even, to have been a surprising
success.[15]

[15] Among the correspondence of this period is a long letter from the well–known Norse poet, Aasmund O. Winje, dated at Christiania, December 3, 1849, and beginning thus:—

“Norse Ole! My naïve address will almost shock you; I could find no characteristic epithet for you, and, so far as I know, the peasants call you only Ole Bull—as if titles did not become this name. Therefore, Norse Ole!... May all go well! May the annoyances which necessarily attend your undertaking be as few as possible!”

The hasty, animated lines which he wrote to his wife that day, in which he mentions his exertions, his many disappointments, and his persevering, energetic hope for the undertaking, strike one very forcibly.

The selection of plays was restricted, since they were necessarily adapted to the limited powers of the actors. Ole Bull conducted the orchestra and played, as did also his friend, Möllar–gutten, or Thorgeir Andunson of Haukelid–Rock. Mr. Goldschmidt thus speaks of this peasant–violinist, celebrated all over Norway:[16]—

[16] Kristofer Janson has given a graphic and charming picture of Möllar–gutten in his “Spell–Bound Fiddler,” translated by Auber Forestier.

He used to play at dancing parties, and in him many of the old
legends, pointing to the demoniac power of music, were revived. In
order to understand this, one must have seen the national dances
of Norway—the Halling–dance especially. It commences with a slow,
majestic measure, and it is surprising to see with what dignity
and grace the powerful forms of old and young move; by degrees it
becomes quicker, the elder folk retire, and at last it turns into
a leaping dance, which only the strongest young people can safely
perform, and during which formidable leaps are executed by the
lads.

“Oh, never talk again to me
Of Spanish girls and Southern dancers,”

you would say, paraphrasing Byron, if you saw this passionate,
frantic, though serious and chaste dance, that exhibits the
fierce, martial spirit of Norwegian youth. It once happened that,
whilst the dance whirled to the wild, fiery music—to the strain
proceeding, as it were, from the depths of earth, from the foaming
waterfall from the howling tempest of the mountains—the knives of
the lads “became loose in their sheaths,” and blood flowed along
the floor. The cellar–man, on proceeding to the cellar to bring up
beer, saw seated behind a hogshead Old Nick himself playing the
fiddle; then, understanding why blood flowed so freely above, he
came up and cried out: “Stop your ears, the devil plays the
fiddle!” Well, it was said that Thorgeir Andunson could play in
like manner, having on his lonely rock of Haukelid learnt it from
the spirit reigning in the foaming river below, although his
appearance was quiet and gentle and frequently sad. He had married
a girl of the same station of life as himself, but always looked
up to her as to a peculiar being that had descended to him. Being
once asked what was his ambition in life, he answered: “To be able
to buy a pair of shoes and a silk neckerchief for my wife.” Having
heard of Ole Bull, he came to pay him a visit, and was quite
bewildered when he heard one of Mozart’s compositions. “Well,” he
said, “this is music!” and strolling about the garden all night,
tried to play it from memory; but in his hands it turned into mere
Halling–dance. His fine sense showed him in Ole Bull the happier
artist, and far from envying, he attached himself to him with a
kind of devotion that proved itself afterwards when the violinist
established at Bergen the first Norwegian theatre. When the
messenger came to Thorgeir, bidding him to gird his loins, and
come down to play before a public, the shy artist overcame his
bashfulness, and followed the messenger at once, “for I must do
something to see and hear Ole.” The farmers along the mountain
road, meanwhile, having heard the tidings that Thorgeir was going
to Ole to establish an independent Norse theatre, gave him a
mounted escort as a prince. One great farmer, a descendant of the
old kings, wished to retain Thorgeir for a night to give a
_soirée_, as we should say, and on Thorgeir declining and escaping
from his house,—“for Ole expects me at the Norse theatre,”—it
nearly came to a battle between the squads, which was prevented by
Thorgeir’s solemn promise that he would return and play to the
dancers “three entire nights.” He returned home a wealthy man. Ole
Bull had made him earn 2000 specie dollars (about £400),—an
immense fortune for the fiddler on Haukelid–Rock.

Let me be permitted, before I leave Thorgeir Andunson, to add a
few words about the popular music of Norway, which, the dance
music included, is most intimately connected with the old ballads,
often instead of instrumental music accompanying the dance, and of
a peculiarly sweet, romantic character. There are myriads of these
ballads, but I will select only a few. A girl meets the elf–king,
who sings so enchantingly to her that she follows him to the
mountain, which opens itself and closes again when they have
entered. The girl’s father, hearing in the forest his daughter’s
plaintive call for help, hastens to the spot. If the church bell
be rung by the mountain until sunset, the elf–folks must give up
their prey; so the bell is taken down from the steeple, and, with
the assistance of all the village, brought to the mountain and set
in motion. Already is the sun near setting, when the rope breaks,
and the girl has disappeared forever. Now, at the risk of being
taxed with exaggeration, I assert that through this music is
heard, or felt, the demoniac power of the elf–folks; at the same
time there is a wail for the loss of the girl, as if all the
tender, sweet attraction of love between man and woman, all the
delicacy, yearning, and devotion which man can feel, were
challenged by the outrage committed on the girl.

An old Odelsbonde, renowned for his strength, would only marry his
daughter to a lad who could overcome him in wrestling; a handsome
youth, whose daring and love are stronger than his awe of the
mighty Odelsbonde, comes to woo and wrestle. With incomparable,
simple, patriarchal grace the Odelsbonde arises from his _Höisæde_
(chair of honor), and, waving his hand, bids the wooer welcome;
after which, descending the steps into the middle of the hall, he
calmly begins the wrestling match. By degrees the combat becomes
animated, and the wrestlers hot and passionate, each adversary
forgetting in the struggle the object of it—the trembling girl; at
last the old giant, lifting the youth up above his head, flings
him down at his feet, a corpse. The music, which has marvelously
expressed the incidents of the story throughout, here stops short
with a wail of terror and compassion; and I assure you at the last
note your brow will be moist, and if not ashamed of your weakness
you will admit that you tremble with emotion. [I allude not to the
old song only, but to Ole Bull’s composition.]

Lastly, I will give only a short legend. A lad, a violin player,
unable to conquer the instrument and elicit from it what he had
on his heart, held its apertures to the mouth of his dying mother,
and from that time people, when he played, stood spell–bound,
listening with heart and soul to tones not of this world. When Ole
Bull went forth to the world, his mother, old Norway, had breathed
into his violin, but not her last breath; the spell that bound his
listeners had in it something healthy and cheerful joined with its
magic power.

From the outside districts Ole Bull brought peasants to perform the national dances in his theatre. Thus the first winter passed, and the summer was spent in preparing with all possible energy for the next season; the actors and musicians worked _con amore_, and success rewarded them; the theatre could now stand on its own merits. After the enterprise had progressed so far, Ole Bull asked of the Storthing, in 1851, a yearly appropriation to ensure its perpetuity. His aim was not alone to secure a certain sum for the establishment of a permanent dramatic school, but he desired a public acknowledgment of the National Theatre itself. His petition was refused by a small majority. This grieved him, and, together with other troubles growing out of the management, made him, to a degree, lose heart and courage.

But now the Norse students determined to do all in their power to give him the desired public approval; with the aid of citizens, representing all classes of society and interests, they arranged a great musical festival in Christiania for the benefit of the Bergen Theatre. This gave Ole Bull a new impulse. He composed a chorus for male voices, which was sung after the prologue, and played several numbers on that occasion with brilliant success. Later in the evening a “Sexa” was given in his honor, and those present were touched to see the happiness he felt in the acknowledgment and acceptance of his pet idea in the Norwegian capital. On his return to Bergen a dramatic performance was given at his suggestion for the University Building Fund in Christiania, in recognition of the sympathy the students had so substantially shown the theatre.[17]

[17] Ole Bull was made an honorary member of the Students’ Union in 1848, and composed for a fête given him at the time his “Saeterbesög,” which he dedicated to the Norse Students.

Winter Hjelm, who has supplied many of these details, continues:—

It was not alone the Norse Theatre to which Ole Bull gave
thousands of dollars, but every public enterprise of importance
was aided liberally by him. He assisted Tidemand and Gude at this
time in a series of entertainments given for the benefit of young
artists kept at home by the troubles abroad.

The theatre was too great an undertaking for one man to carry. Ole Bull not only lost much money, but he became involved in controversies and lawsuits with the authorities. It will be readily understood that the Norse national feeling he worked for and inspired was unpopular with those who represented the established order of things, and that every possible advantage was seized upon to annoy and harass him. He, as usual, left points open to his adversaries.

On the opening of the theatre the police officials thought that not only they themselves but their assistants (a term which they would have interpreted broadly enough to include their families) should have had tickets presented to them; and they threatened to take measures for closing the theatre if their claims were not conceded. Ole Bull then asked and received their demands in writing. They claimed three permanent, reserved seats for the master, adjutant, and attorney of the police, and more when desired for their assistants; the seats to have a view of stage and audience, and to be chosen before the sale was open to the public. This stupid demand the violinist met with ridicule. He reserved the seats asked for, but hung above them a placard with the inscription in large black letters, “Seats for the Police,” and over this a large green lantern to light the placard. For this offense the officials called him to answer in court; and the case being decided against him he carried it up to the Supreme Court. The distinguished advocate to the crown, Mr. Duncker, an intimate friend of Ole Bull, asked the privilege of acting as his counsel. The appeal was argued in Christiania. Mr. Duncker took the ground that the granting of the seats was a courtesy and not a legal obligation. He indulged in much sarcasm and ridicule at the expense of the complaining officials, and concluded thus: “Who does not feel that in Ole Bull’s person art and genius have been offered a grievous insult for which the police of Bergen will never be able to atone? But the satisfaction which the court can give will, I am confident, be granted to Ole Bull.” The case was decided in his favor, but not a newspaper in the kingdom dared report the defeat of a government official; and the able defense of Mr. Duncker was printed in Copenhagen by the _North and South_, which said: “We gladly offer our columns to print Mr. Duncker’s defense for circulation in Norway, that such a man as Ole Bull may receive the satisfaction due him.”

The police officials were naturally irritated at the result of this suit, and watched for opportunities of annoying him. On one occasion he was called upon, under an obsolete municipal regulation, to answer the charge of smoking a cigar in the street in Bergen, as the law allowed only covered pipes to be smoked on the streets. The judge and officers of the court being most of them old friends or former school comrades, the trial was very amusing. The violinist entered the court room, and having in the most courteous and natural manner offered the judge and officers each a cigar, which of course each declined, he lighted his own, remarking that he had not had time at so early an hour to enjoy his regular morning smoke. He was soon acquitted, as it was found that the indictment against him was for smoking “in the square,” whereas the regulation forbade it only on the _streets_.

On another occasion, when he was called to answer a charge of the same trivial character, he happened to be summoned to appear in court on the morning of his birthday, the 5th of February, an occasion for visits of congratulation in Norway. A great crowd of his friends, not finding him at home and learning where he was, assembled outside the court–house. Among the number were many peasants who had come in from the country to express their good wishes. During the forenoon the thousands in the streets became so clamorous for his appearance, to tell them what treatment he was receiving, that the officials were much disturbed. Although requested by the judge to speak to the crowd, the artist declined to do so; but at last the excitement became so intense that at the urgent entreaty of this official he took his arm and walked home to dinner with him, to satisfy and quiet the people.

The children even were interested in these contests, and would accompany Ole Bull to and from the theatre by hundreds, while they took every occasion to torment his annoyers. The affection always shown him by the children of Bergen touched him more than any demonstration on the part of their elders.

Jonas Lie, referring to the establishment of the theatre, says:—

The culture of the country which had fostered his Norse violin was
not yet sufficiently advanced for the new step. After two years
the theatre passed into other hands, but the 2d of January, 1850,
will always be regarded as the birthday of the Norse National
Drama and a memorable day in Ole Bull’s life. Johannes Brun, Mrs.
Gundersen, Mrs. Brun, Mrs. Wolf, and Mrs. Juel,—these artists who
have since shed so much lustre on our National Theatre at the
capital,—all began their artistic careers in Ole Bull’s theatre.

In the disappointments and heartaches which the artist suffered from the misunderstanding of his best motives and most unselfish efforts, should not be forgotten the sympathy and helpfulness of the men and women of whom Norway is proud to–day. A few letters of this time have been preserved.

The following must have given him new courage and stimulus:—

BALESTRAND,[18] _September 4, 1849_.

[18] A most beautiful spot, the scene of “Frithiof’s Saga.”

... As I am not certain to meet you in Christiania when I go
there, I write a few words to tell you what a lively interest I
feel in your grand undertaking, the laying of the corner–stone of
a _Norse_ theatre. And next, I have a strong desire to thank you
for the happy hours you made me pass when we were last together.
It would not do for everybody to express their gratitude by
letter, but my artistic conceit makes me feel that the good I
gained from your playing was of another kind than that which most
people received; but, be that as it may, I have often thought that
I must write and thank you some time, and this present occasion is
a good one, since this is to be a sort of business letter. I have
studied to find if there was not some way I could give my mite to
this important work. In any case my suggestion can do no harm if
it should not be practicable. I am thinking naturally of
painting—the decorations. The manner in which this should be done
is no unimportant matter, and especially important is it that it
should be done by a Norseman and be Norse in spirit. As I am
pretty certain not to be depriving any fellow–countrymen of work,
I offer my services. The theatre must pay for the canvas and
colors, or we might procure them in some other way that may occur
to us later. You will best know how the directors would receive my
offer. This much is certain, that it would give me great pleasure
to work for the young theatre in this way. I could have the help
of some of the younger artists in Christiania, as it would be too
hard a task for me alone. It will be delightful if we can talk
this over a fortnight hence in Christiania. The work you have
before you will demand courage and endurance, and I wish you
enough of both, since of necessity many serious obstacles will
surely come in your way. Therefore good courage!—as the song says.
I am living amid all this glory and beauty, and know not whether
to be sad or happy; for it is in every way delightful, but—what
will come of it? The summer joy will soon be past, as already I
must light my fire of an evening as I sit and muse in the chimney
corner; but this is not so bad either. I leave for Christiania in
a week and shall arrive a fortnight hence, when I hope to meet
you.

Your very devoted HANS GUDE.

The following congratulatory letter from the poet Wergeland is characteristic:—

THE GROTTO, _22d July_.

DEAR OLE,—Welcome _Home_! I am cursing Denmark, in which you will
sympathize with me. You see that I date this from a spot unknown
to you. It is my new country–place, and I look forward to having
you of an evening on my balcony, which commands the most glorious
view the environs of Christiania can offer. I want, too, to ask
you if I should give you the text of what I am now writing. I have
two delightful subjects, but both exotic; the one is Persian, the
other filled with raven–black negroes from the Congo coast and
copper–colored Portuguese. Or do you wish something Norse? The
latter might be preferable, though the Oriental subjects are
exceedingly charming. I dare suggest these, since they are not my
own. Let me know your decision.... I have a Norse vaudeville lying
by me, which I can send you, if you will set it to music....

Having arranged for the business management of the theatre during his absence, Ole Bull visited Hamburg and Copenhagen. He also went to Prussia, giving concerts in several cities. At the end of the year he left Bergen for America, sailing from Liverpool for New York in January, 1852.

Early in March he went to Baltimore to see his counsel, who had written him of the favorable termination of his suit with Schubert. He also visited Lexington, Kentucky, among other places; and the following note from Henry Clay must have been written at that time, though it bears no date:—

LEXINGTON.

MY DEAR SIR,—I am truly sorry that my bad cold, which the change
of weather and the prospect of rain induce me to apprehend I might
increase by going out at night, deprives me of an opportunity of
witnessing your performance from which I anticipated so much
pleasure to–night. All the other members of my family, who are not
indisposed, have gone to enjoy that satisfaction.

I made an unsuccessful effort to see you to–day, but left no card.
I hope to pay my respects to–morrow, if you do not leave the city
before the afternoon.

I am, respectfully, your obedient servant,

H. CLAY.

MR. OLE BULL, Lexington.

Ole Bull the next morning went to Mr. Clay’s house, taking with him his violin. He went into the room adjoining the one in which Mr. Clay was seated, and played in a low tone the great statesman’s favorite melody, “The Last Rose of Summer.” Mr. Clay’s interest was immediately aroused, and he asked if some one was not playing in the street. As the air continued, he remarked, “Ah, that must be Ole Bull; no one but he could play the old familiar air in that manner.” When the artist finished, the doors were thrown open, and they embraced.

The following correspondence is interesting from the association of distinguished names:—

SENATE CHAMBER, WASHINGTON, _March 15, 1852_.

OLE BULL, ESQ.:

Sir,—Understanding that your present visit to this country is not
made with any professional purpose, we take occasion to state
that it would give us sincere gratification to be afforded an
opportunity to witness a display of your peculiar powers in that
art in which, by acknowledgment of the world, you are allowed to
be a master. We wish to express the hope that you may find it
convenient to give a public concert, during the course of your
stay in Washington, in such manner and at such time and place as
you may choose to indicate.

Very respectfully, your obedient servants,

James Shields,
R. M. T. Hunter,
Chas. T. James,
Hamilton Fish,
Geo. W. Jones,
S. P. Chase,
John J. McRae,
Richard Brodhead,
Pierre Soule,
J. W. Bradbury,
H. Clay,
A. P. Butler,
Wm. M. Gwin,
S. R. Mallory,
Chas. Sumner,
J. D. Bright,
J. M. Mason,
S. U. Downs,
Thomas G. Pratt,
H. Hamlin,
Thomas J. Rusk,
M. Norris,
James C. Jones,
Jackson Morton,
W. P. Mangum,
Lewis Cass,
John Davis,
S. A. Douglas,
Truman Smith,
John H. Clarke,
Wm. H. Seward.

The undersigned unite cordially in the foregoing request, and hope
that it may be convenient and agreeable to gratify us:

Daniel Webster,
J. J. Crittenden,
A. H. H. Stuart,
Wm. A. Graham,
Thomas Corwin,
Winfield Scott,
A. De Bodisco,
Sartiges,
John T. Crampton,
F. Testa,
A. Calderon de la Barca,
Fr. V. Gerolt,
Marcoleta,
F. Molina,
De Bosch Spencer,
G. Sibbern,
De Sodre.

In accordance with this invitation, Ole Bull gave a concert in
Washington on the 26th of March. He had visited the city to learn
more about the inducements and advantages offered emigrants to go
to the Western States. He had now a better opportunity than ever
of studying and understanding the government of this country,
because of personal acquaintance with such men as Webster, Clay,
and Sumner. Minister Sibbern, the resident Swedish ambassador at
that time, was a friend of Ole Bull, and did everything in his
power to make his stay pleasant.

He now performed by invitation in Philadelphia, Baltimore, and New
York. The following notice of one of his concerts at this time (in
the New York _Tribune_ of May 24, 1852) is from the pen of Mr.
George William Curtis:—