Ole Bull

19. New York.

21. Baltimore.

23. Baltimore.

25. Washington.

26. Baltimore.

27. Washington.

28. Richmond.

29. Petersburg.

30. Richmond.

And up to 1879 many months of winter and spring, and sometimes nine months of a year, would show similar records of travel and work. It was not his fine physique alone that enabled him to bear the strain, but a rigid adherence to simple diet and habits, with an almost total abstinence from stimulants during the season of work, and constant exercise in the open air during the summer vacation in Norway. He doubtless traveled more miles and was heard by a larger number of people than any other man among his contemporaries.

Mrs. Child"s account of his New York concerts written for the _Boston Courier_, and published later in her "Letters from New York," will be of interest. She did not speak from the judgment of a cultivated musical ear. She a.n.a.lyzed and expressed the effects of Ole Bull"s performance on the mult.i.tude.

In Mrs. Child"s first letter, she says:-

I have twice heard Ole Bull. I scarcely dare to tell the impression his music made upon me. But, casting aside all fear of ridicule for excessive enthusiasm, I will say that it expressed to me more of the infinite than I ever saw, or heard, or dreamed of, in the realms of Nature, Art, or Imagination.

They tell me his performance is wonderfully skillful; but I have not enough of scientific knowledge to judge of the difficulties he overcomes. I can readily believe of him, what Bettina says of Beethoven, that "his spirit creates the inconceivable, and his fingers perform the impossible." He played on four strings at once, and produced the rich harmony of four instruments. His bow touched the strings as if in sport, and brought forth light leaps of sound, with electric rapidity, yet clear in their distinctness.

He made his violin sing with flutelike voice, and accompany itself with a guitar, which came in ever and anon like big drops of musical rain. All this I felt as well as heard without the slightest knowledge of _quartetto_ or _staccato_. How he did it, I know as little as I know how the sun shines, or the spring brings forth its blossoms. I only know that music came from his soul into mine, and carried it upward to worship with the angels.

Oh, the exquisite delicacy of those notes! Now tripping and fairylike as the song of Ariel; now soft and low as the breath of a sleeping babe, yet clear as a finetoned bell; now high as a lark soaring upward, till lost among the stars!

n.o.ble families sometimes double their names, to distinguish themselves from collateral branches of inferior rank. I have doubled his, and in memory of the Persian nightingale have named him Ole Bulbul....

When urged to join the throng who are following this star of the North, I coolly replied: "I never like lions; moreover I am too ignorant of musical science to appreciate his skill!" But when I heard this man, I at once recognized a power that transcends science, and which mere skill may toil after in vain. I had no need of knowledge to feel this subtle influence, any more than I needed to study optics to perceive the beauty of the rainbow. It overcame me like a miracle, I felt that my soul was for the first time baptized in music; that my spiritual relations were somehow changed by it, and that I should henceforth be otherwise than I had been. I was so oppressed with "the exceeding weight of glory"

that I drew my breath with difficulty.

As I came out of the building, the street sounds hurt me with their harshness. The sight of ragged boys and importunate coachmen jarred more than ever on my feelings. I wanted that the angels that had ministered to my spirit should attune theirs also. It seemed to me as if such music should bring all the world into the harmonious beauty of divine order. I pa.s.sed by my earthly home and knew it not. My spirit seemed to be floating through infinite s.p.a.ce. The next day I felt like a person who had been in a trance, seen heaven opened, and then returned to earth again.

This doubtless appears very excessive in one who has pa.s.sed the enthusiasm of youth, with a frame too healthy and substantial to be conscious of nerves, and with a mind instinctively opposed to lionworship. In truth it seems wonderful to myself; but so it was. Like a romantic girl of sixteen, I would pick up the broken string of his violin and wear it as a relic, with a half superst.i.tious feeling that some mysterious magic of melody lay hidden therein.

I know not whether others were as powerfully wrought upon as myself; for my whole being pa.s.sed into my ear, and the faces around me were invisible. But the exceeding stillness showed that the spirits of the mult.i.tude bowed down before the magician. While he was playing, the rustling of a leaf might have been heard; and when he closed, the tremendous bursts of applause told how the hearts of thousands leaped up like one.

His personal appearance increases the charm. He looks pure, natural, and vigorous, as I imagine Adam in Paradise. His inspired soul dwells in a strong frame, of admirable proportions, and looks out intensely from his earnest eyes. Whatever may be his theological opinions, the religious _sentiment_ must be strong in his nature; for Teutonic reverence, mingled with impa.s.sioned inspiration, shines through his honest Northern face and runs through all his music. I speak of him as he appears while he and his violin converse together. When not playing there is nothing observable in his appearance, except genuine health, the unconscious calmness of strength in repose, and the most unaffected simplicity in dress and in manner. But when he takes his violin and holds it so caressingly to his ear to catch the faint vibration of its strings, it seems as if "the angels were whispering to him." As his fingers sweep across the strings, the angels pa.s.s into his soul, give him their tones, and look out from his eyes, with the wondrous beauty of inspiration. His motions sway to the music like a tree in the winds; for soul and body chord. In fact "his soul is but a harp, which an infinite breath modulates; his senses are but strings, which weave the pa.s.sing air into rhythm and cadence."

If it be true, as has been said, that a person ignorant of the rules of music, who gives himself up to its influence, without knowing whence it comes or whither it goes, experiences, more than the scientific, the pa.s.sionate joy of the composer himself in his moments of inspiration, then was I blest in my ignorance. While I listened, music was to my soul what the atmosphere is to my body; it was the breath of my inward life. I felt more deeply than ever that music is the highest symbol of the infinite and holy. I heard it moan plaintively over the discords of society, and the dimmed beauty of humanity. It filled me with inexpressible longing to see man at one with Nature and with G.o.d; and it thrilled me with joyful prophecy that the hope would pa.s.s into glorious fulfillment.

With renewed force I felt what I have often said, that the secret of creation lay in music. "A _voice_ to light gave being." Sound led the stars into their places and taught chemical affinities to waltz into each others" arms.

"By one pervading spirit Of tones and numbers all things are controlled; As sages taught, where faith was found, to merit Initiation in that mystery old."

Some who never like to admit that the greatest stands before them say that Paganini played the "Carnival of Venice" better than his Norwegian rival. I know not. But if ever laughter ran along the chords of musical instrument with a wilder joy, if ever tones quarreled with more delightful dissonance, if ever violin frolicked with more capricious grace than Ole Bulbul"s in that fantastic whirl of melody, I envy the ears that heard it....

His reception in New York has exceeded all preceding stars. His first audience were beside themselves with delight, and the orchestra threw down their instruments in ecstatic wonder.

Familiarity with his performance brings less excitement, but I think more pleasure.

From Richmond Ole Bull went to Charleston, and thence to New Orleans. He gave five concerts in that city at the same time that Vieuxtemps and Madame Damoreau were giving a series of soirees. The Spanish, English, and German papers rivaled the American in their friendly criticisms of his performances. After three concerts in Mobile, he returned again to New Orleans for two final concerts there.

An anecdote of one of his first Southern visits, told by the late Mr.

Thomas R. Gould, the sculptor, is ill.u.s.trative of his many curious adventures at that time. A large diamond in his violin bow, which had been given him by the Duke of Devonshire with the request that he should use it, had attracted the attention of a man, who came to him and told him that he wanted the stone. The violinist replied, that, as it was a gift, it had a.s.sociations, and he could neither give it away nor sell it. "But I am going to have that stone!" said the man, as he began to draw his bowie knife from the collar of his coat; but the movement was parried by the musician"s muscular arm, and the fellow was felled to the floor by a blow with the edge of the hand across his throat. "The next time I would kill you," said Ole Bull, with his foot on the man"s chest, "but you may go now." On his release the fellow expressed his admiration for Ole Bull"s dexterity and muscle, and asked him to accept the bowie knife, which he had meant to use against him. This was not the only present of the kind he received-as five knives, four given him in the Southern States, and one in Spain, were kept among his curiosities at home, and sometimes drew from him a story of his adventures. He was often obliged, while in the South, to take the cash box, after his concerts, from one place to another, the banks being few and far between, and was finally warned by detectives of a gang of men who were following him for the sake of plunder. He had several encounters with them, and was more than once in serious danger. He writes at this time:-

My brave servant Henry watches over me as a father over a son. He always fears that I may be attacked by villains; but I do not think I am in danger from any weaponed hand.

One more story will sufficiently ill.u.s.trate his Southern and Western adventures. Going down the Mississippi, he met on the steamboat a party of halfsavage men, colonists from the far West. While reading his newspaper he was accosted by one of the men, who had been sent as spokesman by his companions, with the request that the fiddler would take a drink with them, offering him a whiskey flask at the same time.

"I thank you," said Ole Bull politely, "but I never drink whiskey."

With a curse, the fellow asked if he was a teetotaler. "No, but whiskey is like poison to me." "If you can"t drink, come and fight then!" The man"s comrades had gathered round him meantime, and they all cried, "If you won"t drink, you must fight. You look d--n strong; show us what you are good for." "A Norseman can fight as well as anybody when his blood is up, but I can"t fight when my blood is cold, and why should I?" "You look like a strong fellow, and d--n it, you shall fight." Seeing no way of escape, Ole Bull quietly said, "Since you insist on testing my strength and there is no reason for fighting, I will tell you what I will do. Let any one of you take hold of me in any way he likes, and I"ll wager that in half a minute he shall lie on his back at my feet." A big fellow was chosen, who stepped forward and grasped the violinist round the waist, but was instantly thrown over his head by a sudden wrench and lay senseless on the deck. Ole Bull now felt himself in a very uncomfortable position, for he saw one of the man"s comrades draw his bowie knife, but was relieved when it was used only to open a flask.

A good dose of its contents poured down his throat soon revived the fainting man, and his first question, "How the devil was I thrown down here?" was answered by a shout of laughter from his companions, in which he himself joined. He sprang to his feet, and after vainly trying to persuade Ole Bull to show him how he had thrown him, he said: "Take this knife home with you; you fight d-d well; you are as quick as lightning!"

The artist heard of the same fellow later as having gone to an editor to call him to account for an adverse criticism on his playing, ready to fight for "the strongest fiddler he had ever seen, anyhow!"

Ole Bull now decided to visit Cuba, and landed in Havana. He there wrote two compositions on Cuban motives: "Agiaco Cubano," and "Recuerdos de la Habana," which he played at his last concert.

He wrote to his wife from New Orleans, January 24, 1844:-

All these days we have had summer weather, very warm but extremely damp; the atmosphere is very heavy, and my strings break constantly.... Yesterday I gave my last concert in New Orleans for this visit; I was overwhelmed with bouquets and flowers. I have practiced speechmaking, and it goes better than one would think, as I have no facility in speaking English; but a firm will can accomplish much.... The French are still pursuing me, that they may hold up Vieuxtemps and Artot; they invent all manner of outrageous stories to lower me in the public estimation, but as yet without success. It is probable that these rumors will be circulated in Paris, with the same end in view. Well, my dear, one must bear much malice and misrepresentation when he has become a public character, and you know I have already had my share; but, at the same time, I have met with forbearance and generosity, and this ought not to be forgotten. My life has. .h.i.therto, as you know, been a most changeful one, and superhuman strength is sometimes needed to enable one to stand against such infamous attacks and-keep silence. But enough of this.... I am sorry you are not satisfied with the nurse Miette; she is the only servant to whom I feel really indebted for the care she has given our children, and I believe that she loves us. Try to overlook little faults, which are of no consequence; we must remember her good qualities, and the attachment she has shown us in the past. Give her my greetings, say that I am grateful for all the love she has shown our children up to this time, and that I thank her for what I know she will still do in the future.... My regards to the Vuillaumes.

Say that when I return I desire to play in Paris. They shall see that I have not wasted my time during our separation....

He also wrote of Havana as follows:-

I was advised to be very careful; not to expose myself to the sun or moonlight, to keep quiet after dinner, and to eat no fruit in the evening. As I heeded this advice, I remained seven weeks in Havana without an attack of the yellow fever or the diseases raging there. I gave ten concerts, four in the princ.i.p.al theatre and six in the immense Tacon Theatre. To show the inhabitants how grateful I felt for their enthusiasm, I composed two pieces, in which I introduced some of the most popular Cuban airs. I think you will like them. I was much excited and nearly beside myself when I composed and played them for a people so favored by nature and climate. The fairylike and beautiful climate of the tropics surpa.s.ses all description. How strange to see an orchestra composed almost without exception of negroes and mulattoes! Their faces recorded the sentiments and pa.s.sion of the music, at times laughing, then weeping, and sometimes rolling their eyes in a melancholy fashion, as they turned their goodnatured physiognomies to the audience, to their music stands, or towards me. They are the best musicians in all America! In the "Polacca,"

which was demanded at nearly every concert, I was accompanied by picked players from the seven regimental bands in Havana.

But suddenly a dangerous conspiracy was discovered among the negroes; they had planned to poison all the whites on the island!

The owners of several sugar and coffee plantations were murdered in the most barbarous manner; n.o.body dared to go out after dark; the soldiers killed people in the streets without warning, nor were they called to account for it. More than seven hundred negroes were shot by order of the governor. I had engaged support, and my expenses were four thousand francs a night. I considered myself fortunate not to lose money in the circ.u.mstances. But who could foresee such a catastrophe? I exerted all my strength in that intense heat. I played with all possible animation, and truly the enthusiasm of the Havanese paid me amply for my exertions!

They sent me many beautiful poems, and garlands enough to cover the stage; one of the wreaths, with inscriptions, I have saved for you, my beloved.... I shall work for you and our children, and do all in my power to a.s.sure them a good education. This is a great and sacred duty, which gives me strength to brave all danger. From Havana I returned by sea to Charleston. I slept for a couple of hours exposed to the sun, and the consequence was that my whole body, a week after, was poisoned. My face was covered with a thick crust, and I suffered very much; it was a miracle that I did not die on the spot! But I treated myself with cold water, ate very little, took cold baths and much exercise.... I pray you not to have the least anxiety, since I am now well again.

From Charleston he went to Columbia and Norfolk, and thence by sea to Baltimore, giving concerts in each place. He then went direct to Boston, by way of New York, where Schubert (who had come with him from Hamburg as secretary) had him arrested for debt, though in reality Schubert was himself indebted to Ole Bull for the publication of his compositions.

The arrest compelled Ole Bull to give security for $5,000, and brought upon him a troublesome lawsuit, which was not decided till 1852, and then in his favor. He never received from Schubert a penny of the sum promised him for his compositions, which pa.s.sed through many editions.

This attempted detention was intended to prevent the artist"s meeting his engagements in Boston, but it rather benefited than injured him, so far as the public was concerned. He gave his concerts in Boston in the "Melodeon," which seated 2,000 persons, but the orchestra had to go on the stage to make room for more seats. The papers were filled with articles and anecdotes concerning his life and work. A visit which he made to a lady, too ill to attend his concerts, taking his violin and playing for her, was commented on; but to his countrymen at home, who knew how often he had done this, for the sick or poor, special mention of the incident seemed strange. The insane hospitals were often visited by him in the different cities, and he felt a real pleasure in seeing the delight that his playing gave the inmates.

No expression of thanks for a visit to the sickroom was ever more appreciative than the account written by Alice Cary of his coming one morning, after she was confined to her room during her last illness, and bringing the cheer and comfort of his voice and instrument. Her sensitive, beautiful face was radiant with a loving welcome, which kept bravely back the pain and weakness fast gaining the ascendency. Fearing that this was to be his last sight of her, he resolved that he would share and soothe one of the many hours of pain and apprehension, which those n.o.ble and lovely women were bearing so patiently. When he again visited this country, both Alice and Phebe Cary had pa.s.sed away, leaving their friends how much the poorer for their loss!

Mrs. Mary Clemmer, in a letter recently received, says:-

My own first personal meeting with Ole Bull was at the house of Alice Cary; indeed, on that special evening she invited him expressly to give me the great pleasure of meeting him.

Before I saw him, she said: "In meeting Ole Bull I seem to renew my entire youth; not merely the years of youth, but all the freshness, fullness, rapturous sweetness of its impressions. I have the feeling that should I stay in his presence I could never grow old. It is many years since I have met any human being who could arouse in me such emotions."...

Recalling what the presence and music of Ole Bull were to Alice Cary in her comparative health and fullness of life, you can realize what they must have been to charm and uplift her spirit when, wistfully dropping human loves, with pathetic grief, yet with abiding faith, she stood at the very close of the valley of shadows, listening to his seraphic strains, sweet to pain, yet full of the promise and melody of heaven.

You may be sure, in the silence that came afterwards, _she_ breathed out her swansong to him.

Of this first visit to Boston and the many things written concerning it, none were of more interest, perhaps, than this extract from Margaret Fuller"s private journal, written in March, 1844, and sent by a friend afterwards to the artist:-

At six o"clock William and C---- came out with carriage to take me to the Ole Bull concert. The music this evening plunged me in anguish, and raised me to rapture. The "Mountains of Norway," and the "Siciliano e Tarantella" were the great pieces. The last is unlike anything I ever heard, and _how_ he looked when he played it! When encored, he played, among other things, "On the Lake where drooped the Willow," and again, "The Last Rose of Summer."

He loves that as I do. I could not sleep at all, and went up to C."s room and wrote.

Evening. Ole Bull again. I am extremely happy in him. He is one of my kin....

He played tonight, first, "Recollections of Havana." This begins with a great swelling movement in the orchestra, and then his part comes in like the undersong of thought. I do not know whether the piece was fine or not. I soon forgot it, and was borne away into the winged life. Being encored, he played "The Last Rose of Summer," and modulated into "Auld Robin Gray." These sweet simple strains of human tenderness become celestial in his violin; their individual expression is more, not less, definite by being thus purified. Next, a "Notturno Amoroso," and, being encored, the "Adagio Religioso." Both were enchanting. I felt raised above all care, all pain, all fear, and every taint of vulgarity was washed out of the world!