Ole Bull Part 3

The wheel of fortune was turning in his favor; the Norns were now weaving bright threads in the web of his life. He played at both concerts, was accompanied to his hotel by a torchlight procession, made honorary member of the Philharmonic Society, and his carriage drawn home by the populace. This was Ole Bull's real _debut_.

Malibran was at first angry, and would neither see nor hear him. He had superseded the man she loved, and she possibly suspected some intrigue.

At last she allowed him to be introduced, and civilly asked him to play something. After the first tones the blood rushed to her face, and when he had finished she exclaimed: "Signor Ole Bull, it is indeed your own fault that I did not treat you as you deserved. A man like you should step forth with head erect in the full light of day, that we may recognize his n.o.ble blood." From that time she had for him not only a friendly but an affectionate interest. Another day when he was playing at her house, she said: "He has a much sweeter tone than you, De Beriot." The latter thought that the superiority lay in the instrument, but failed on trial to satisfy her of this.

One night at the opera Ole Bull, who was standing at the side of the stage, was so completely overcome by the dramatic power and the glorious voice of the great artist, that, unconsciously to himself, the tears were streaming down his face. Suddenly Malibran caught sight of him, turned for a moment from the audience, and without interruption perceptible to them made a most absurd grimace. The discovery of her entire selfcontrol while she moved others to the utmost was a disappointment which he could not afterward disguise, but she laughingly excused it by saying: "It would not do for both of us to blubber;" and when he thought what a comic sight his face must have been he could not help joining in the laugh.

Another evening, having invited him to supper after the performance, Malibran insisted on hurrying him off in her carriage, and, running up the stairs to her rooms before him, she threw over him as he entered a large cape, tied on his head an oldfas.h.i.+oned bonnet, and, pulling down a veil over his face, pushed him into a chair in the corner behind the table just as the rest of the party were heard outside. Putting her finger to her lips to warn him to be silent, she introduced each guest in turn to her "aunt just arrived from the country;" but after they had taken seats at the table a few cuts with her ridingwhip sent bonnet and cape flying from the head and shoulders of her respectable relative.

Among the strangers who came to Bologna to attend Ole Bull's concerts was Prince Carlo Poniatowsky, who invited the artist to visit Florence; and on the 2d of May, 1834, he gave a concert there in the Cocomero Theatre. His "Concerto in A major," made the same sensation as in Bologna. He used to say that from that concert in Florence dated his confidence in his own powers.

He gave two more concerts there a.s.sisted by such artists as Duprez and Madame Ronzi de Begnis. At this time he composed his "Quartetto a Violino Solo," and his "Adagio Religioso: Preghiera d'una Madre,"

written for the friars of Santa Maria Novello at Florence. The circ.u.mstances attending its composition are pleasantly told by Mrs.

Child.

The monks wanted some new music for their church. Ole Bull had promised it, but neglected from day to day to write it. At last, they waited upon him early in the morning, and told him it must be ready for rehearsal the next day. "I was in bed when they came,"

said he; "I had been up all night with the moon, sympathizing with her. I had thought of Norway, of home, of many sad things. I said to the Dominicans that they should have the music the next morning. I took my violin, and it sang to me so sweetly the thoughts of the night! I wrote down its voice, and as this brought before me the image of a mother kneeling at the altar, entreating for her child, I called it 'The Mother's Prayer.' The Dominicans complained that it was too plaintive. They said that they already had so much sad, solemn music, they wanted something cheerful. So I composed something in a more lively strain for them." This was the motive to the "Polacca Guerriera," which had occurred to him while looking at Vesuvius, and which he now wrote out for the monks on the spot, giving it an introduction and accompaniment for the organ.

These friars became very warmly attached to him, and tried hard to persuade him to join their fraternity. "A tame finale," as Mrs. Child remarks, "this would have been to the life opera which began with swinging to the winds in the tops of Norwegian pines."

During the hot months he retired to Pierro a Silve, a small village hanging high in the clefts of the Apennines. He carried a letter from the prior of Santa Maria to the prior of the cloister there. While in this mountain retreat he composed a trio, and wrote a "Grammar of the Violin" for his own use.

In the course of that season, he visited the famous baths of Lucca.

Prince Poniatowsky was there, as also the Duke of Tuscany, the Duke of Lucca, and the Queen Dowager of Naples. Malibran, De Beriot, and Dohler, the pianist, had come all the way from Sinigaglia to hear him. The morning before the concert he was to play at the Duke of Lucca's. After the introduction by the piano had been played, a buzz of conversation was kept up, in which the Queen Dowager was taking a prominent part.

Dohler whispered to Ole Bull not to mind it, and begin his solo; but he quietly placed his violin under his arm in the att.i.tude of waiting. The duke stepped forward and asked if he desired anything. "I am quite ready, your Grace, but fear to interrupt the conversation. The Queen Dowager has probably something of importance to impart, and I would not disturb her." Saying he would speak to her, the duke crossed the room, and, after a whispered sentence, she lifted her eyegla.s.s to scan the spirited young artist; but he was not again annoyed by conversation. The next morning, Ole Bull met on the promenade Mr. Schmucker, one of the gentlemen in attendance on the Queen. He said he had come from her Majesty, who desired to see him, and proposed that he should immediately present him. The Queen opened the conversation by remarking that she supposed they had a great many bears in Norway, to which Ole Bull replied that he had himself had the good fortune to be nursed by one, and that he should always hold in grateful remembrance its tender devotion to him. "But why," she asked, "would you not play last evening?" "I did not wish to disturb your Majesty's conversation." "Oh!

I understood that you were offended; but you must overcome that sensitiveness. In Neapolitan society, conversation always goes on during music." "I should not think of visiting a city so barbarous, where music is considered a mere recreation to lighten the tedium of more important occupations, your Majesty." "But you must come! I sent for you to ask you, and I a.s.sure you that you shall have none but silent listeners, for you deserve them." The Queen continued to show her kindly interest, giving him most valuable letters of introduction, and she often used her influence in his behalf, as he found out later.

By way of Pisa, Leghorn, and Lucca,-where he once more met with Prince Poniatowsky,-he went in the autumn to Naples. The Neapolitans, like the Bolognese, were reputed for their highly cultivated musical taste; but in Naples it was vocal music which was especially appreciated, and the city, when Ole Bull arrived, was ringing with shouts and plaudits for Madame Malibran. He waited for the conclusion of her engagement, and then played in the Theatre of San Carlo. After he had finished his "Quartetto a Violino Solo," and the audience were wild with enthusiasm, De Beriot exclaimed: "What sorcery must a violin possess to electrify the Neapolitans!" As Ole Bull left the stage after the last piece, De Beriot met him, and asked that he would wait until Malibran could come to him; he of course rushed to her box, where she received him with open arms, embracing him amid the plaudits of the vast audience.

He gave several concerts in Naples, but during his stay he met with a sad loss. His Santo Seraphino, his dear violin, which he had used in his first concert at Paris, which Chopin had helped him to procure, and with which he had won his first laurels, was stolen from him. He saw it again, many years later, in Moscow, in the possession of a Russian n.o.bleman, to whom he told its history. To take its place, he bought in Naples a Nicholas Amati.

February 5, 1835, Ole Bull went to Rome. He led a merry life among the artists there during the Carnival. Several of these were Northmen, among whom were the Norse landscape artist, Fearnley, "the best fellow in the world," and Thorwaldsen. It was at this time that Ole Bull completed his "Polacca Guerriera." The circ.u.mstances of its composition are given as told by Mrs. Child.

The "Polacca Guerriera" was first conceived at Naples, alone at midnight, gazing on Mount Vesuvius flaming through the darkness.

He went to Rome soon after, and carried the vague conception in his mind, intending to arrange it there, and bring it out at his last concert. At Rome, he shared the apartment of a talented young artist, who became warmly attached to him. The intimate relation between music and painting was a favorite theme with this young man, and, to the musician, the sounds of an orchestra had always suggested colors. When he slept late in the morning, the artist would often rouse him by saying, "Come, Ole, get up and play to me! I can't paint unless you play to me." Being urged and urged, he would at last shake off his drowsiness, and, half dressed, begin to play. The violin would soon absorb him, till an exclamation from the painter broke in upon his reverie: "Ah, dear Ole, give me that once more, it is such a brilliant red!" or, "Play that again, dear Ole, it is such a heavenly blue!"

Thorwaldsen, who was then at Rome, loved Ole Bull with most devoted affection, and delighted in his genius. These friends, of course, felt a deep interest in his success. From day to day they would ask whether he had done any thing toward completing the Polacca. His answer always was, "No, but I _shall_ do it." As the time for the concert drew nigh, they remonstrated against such dangerous delay. "How can you be so careless of your fame, Ole?"

said Thorwaldsen; "do try to have this new piece done in season; if not for your own sake, at least for mine; for, independent of my affection for you, you know I claim you as a countryman, and my pride of country is at stake."[4]

[4] Norway and Denmark, it will be remembered, were formerly included under the same government.

The concert was advertised, and the Polacca was in the programme; still it had no existence, except in the musician's soul. "_Have_ you written that music?" said Thorwaldsen. "_Are_ you crazy?"

inquired the painter. But he would throw his arms around them, and laugh and jest, as if his musical reputation concerned everybody more than it did himself. The day before the concert his friends were in despair when they saw him prepare to go out after breakfast. "Have you written any of that music?" said they, entreatingly. "No, my dear friends, but I have it all here,"

replied he, playfully touching his forehead. They urged that the concert was to be the next day, and that the piece must be rehea.r.s.ed. "I will do it this evening," said he. "You are an imprudent man," they replied; "the public of Rome will not bear such treatment even from a favorite like yourself; you will make a complete failure." He laughed, and coaxed them caressingly not to be troubled on his account. The evening was far spent when he returned. The artist, in anxious tones, asked, "Dear Ole, _have_ you done anything about that music?" "No, I have not had time."

"Well, do set about it this moment." "Oh, I cannot; I am so tired that I must go directly to bed." In vain the artist remonstrated and entreated. A spirit of mischief had taken possession of the wayward minstrel. He plunged into bed, and soon pretended to be sound asleep. The young man had the habit of talking to himself; and as he listened to the ba.s.s solo of the counterfeit sleeper, he muttered, "How _can_ he go to sleep with nothing done about that music? It is more than I can comprehend. I wish I could feel as easy about it as he does." He retired to rest early, and as soon as he was fairly asleep, Ole sprang out of bed, lighted a candle, and stepped softly into an adjoining room, where he began to write down his music with prestissimo speed. The outline had long been in his mind, and new thoughts for the filling up came with a rush of inspiration. He wrote as fast as the pen could fly. At four o'clock the score for all the orchestral parts was written out.

For his violin part he trusted entirely to his own wonderful memory. Having arranged all, he crept quietly back into bed. The artist, who was an early riser, soon began to stir. Ole breathed sonorously, as if he were in a deep sleep. "Still asleep!"

murmured his friend: "as quietly as if the music were all ready for the orchestra. I wish we were safely through this evening." It was not long before his anxiety took a more active form. He began to shake the sleeper, saying, "Ole, do wake up, and try to do something about that music." But he obtained only the drowsy answer, "Oh I cannot, I am so very sleepy." Vexed and discouraged, the painter went to his easel, and said no more. At breakfast, Ole was full of fun and frolic; but Thorwaldsen and the artist were somewhat impatient with what they deemed such thoughtless trifling with public expectation. "You will come to my concert tonight, will you not?" said the mischievous musician. In dismal tones, they replied, "No, Ole, we love you too well to witness your disgrace. Take it as lightly as you please; but you may be a.s.sured the public of Rome will not bear such treatment." "Oh, do come,"

pleaded the musician coaxingly, "just a little, _little_ within the door; and then when I am disgraced, you can easily slip away."

They would not promise, however, and he hurried off to keep his appointment with the orchestra. He had an excellent band of musicians, who could play the most difficult music with the slightest preparation. The rehearsal went off to his complete satisfaction, and he returned to his friends as gay as a lark. His apparent recklessness made them still more sad. The dreaded evening came. The house was crowded. Ole was full of that joyful confidence which genius is so apt to feel in effusions that have just burst freshly from its overflowing fountain. The orchestra delighted in the composition and played it with their hearts. The brilliancy of the theme and the uncommon beauty of the _cantabile_ took the audience by surprise. The novelty and marvelous difficulty of the finale, in which the violin alone performs four distinct parts and keeps up a continuous shake through fifteen bars, completely electrified them. There was a perfect tempest of applause. In the midst of his triumph, the composer, looking as quiet and demure as possible, glanced toward the door. There stood Thorwaldsen and the artist. The latter had a trick of moving tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other when he was excited and pleased. It was now flying from cheek to cheek almost as rapidly as the violin bow through the continuous shake of fifteen bars.

The moment he left the stage his friends rushed into his arms, exclaiming, "When on earth did you do it? Only tell us that. Oh, it was too beautiful!" "Don't be so gay, my dear friends," replied he, with mock gravity; "you know the public of Rome won't bear such trifling. Why did you come to witness my disgrace?"

The next day all Rome was ringing with praises of the Norwegian violinist. They knew not which to applaud most, his genius or his superhuman strength in performing the four distinct parts on the violin at once, and keeping up the motion of his bow with such lightning swiftness, for so long a time. No person who has not tried it can conceive of the extreme difficulty of playing at once distinct parts on each of the strings. It requires muscles strong as iron, and elastic as indiarubber. Paganini had sufficient elasticity, but not sufficient strength. Ole Bull is the only man in the world that ever did it. When the Parisians first heard him produce this wonderful effect of four violins, it seemed so incredible, that a story was circulated that it was all a deception; that some other musician was playing two of the parts behind the scenes. Thus originated the charge of "charlatanry," so often and so unjustly repeated.

The Polacca brought its composer a brilliant reputation at once; and musical critics were obliged to content themselves with saying that it was not written in the right measure for a Polacca.

In May he went from Rome directly to Paris. The doors of the Grand Opera were now open to him, and he gave several concerts there, making some provincial tours in the intervals. From his second appearance at the Grand Opera dates Jules Janin's criticism written for the _Journal des Debats_. Wergeland says:-

In spite of the half ludicrous selfa.s.sertion of its author, and the unnecessary prominence given to his own personality, it is a very happy piece of art criticism. Jules Janin had a wonderful power of making other people see, hear, and feel as he saw, heard, and felt. His opinions became the opinions of the world. As if with a wizard's wand, he made a fame, and it was only when he tried to unmake one that his own vulnerable points were exposed.

In the present case, he hit most happily upon just those features in Ole Bull's genius and character, which were sure to win sympathy-the simplicity, the brightness, the sweet innocence, which in his music suddenly rises from the chaos of tumultuous pa.s.sion, and the navete, generosity, and warm devotion, which in his personal intercourse with men were so singularly blended with his fierce hatred of all intrigue and malice.

In Norway we read this criticism with great delight. It was the legal rite duly performed. The last anxiety disappeared. Ole Bull was now in the eyes of all the world the great genius, the perfect artist.

Jules Janin's criticism (which would only be marred by translation) was as follows:[5]-

[5] Ole Bull used to mention a personal grievance which Janin had against Paganini: the latter was asked to play for the poor of Janin's native town and refused.

M. OLE B. BULL.

Ce jeune sauvage, qui nous est venu l'an pa.s.se des glaces de la Norwege, son Stradivarius a la main, s'est fait entendre pour la seconde fois a l'opera, lundi pa.s.se. C'est tout a fait le grand musicien que je vous avais predit il y a six mois. Il y a tant de larmes et tant de melancolie dans ce n.o.ble instrument! Il y a tant d'energie et de vigeur et tant de grace sous cet archet de fer! Il chante, il pleure, il se pa.s.sionne; tantot il eleve la voix au dessus des cors et des trombones; tantot il soupire si doucement qu'on dirait une harpe eolienne! C'est un musicien qui n'a pas eu de maitre. C'est un violon qui n'appartient a aucune ecole. C'est quelque chose de naf et d'inspire et d'une puissance incroyable.

On a beaucoup parle de M. Paganini et de sa quatrieme corde. Ils s'etaient fait annoncer, l'une portant l'autre, par toutes les voix de la renommee. Ils etaient venus, la quatrieme corde tendue outre mesure, et celui qui en devait jouer, aussi mal peigne qu'on peut l'etre quand on le fait expres. Eh bien! je ne sais pas, si le succes de M. Bull, le Norwegien, n'eut pas ete aussi grand que le succes de l'Italien et de sa quatrieme corde, s'il avait pris soin de s'entourer du puissant charlatanisme de son confrere.

Mais, que voulez vous? La Norwege est une bonne fille bien simple et bien honnete, qui ne met pas de fard. Elle arrive tout simplement et jette au dehors naturellement et sans efforts tout ce qu'elle a dans l'ame et dans le cur! M. Ole B. Bull est un de ces artistes pleins d'ignorance, de navete, et de bonne foi, qui ne demandent pas mieux que de s'abandonner a leur belle et bonne nature en plein jour, en plein air et en toute liberte. C'est un honnete jeune homme sans charlatanisme, qui ignore le grand art Italien de preparer un succes de longue main. Depuis le premier jour ou je l'entendis a l'opera, en toute admiration, je l'avoue, le hasard me l'a fait entendre souvent ca et la, sur toutes les grandes routes et sur tous les theatres de province, et toujours cependant j'ai retrouve le meme talent, la meme inspiration pa.s.sionee et le meme enthousiasme naf et plein de cur. Un jour dans une auberge de Rouen, j'ai ete reveille par un adagio melancolique et tendre, c'etait le violon d'Ole Bull. Une autre fois dans un cabaret de grande route un plaintif andante m'est venu surprendre, a.s.sis audevant de la porte, sous le bouchon qui servait d'enseigne, c'etait un andante de mon violon favori. Il a ete toute ma providence poetique. L'ete pa.s.se, dans cette ennuyeuse ville de Dieppe, pleine d'Anglais ennuyes et d'Anglaises d'antichambre couvertes d'un voile vert, Ole Bull m'a console de la mer de Dieppe, cette horrible mer qui rend malades les gens bien portants. Meme je le vois encore, accompagne d'une facon si burlesque par la societe dite philharmonique de cette honnete ville, a ce point, que Meyerbeer qui etait la, ne pouvant supporter plus longtemps cet accompagnement barbare, est alle se jeter dans la mer en tenant ses oreilles a deux mains.

J'ai donc conserve un tendre souvenir pour ce grand artiste que j'ai trouve ainsi sur ma route, pour en charmer les ennuis. Ce n'est pas celuila qui s'enfermerait dans sa chambre comme un voleur, pour tirer de son violon les plus doux accords; au contraire, il jetait sa pensee a qui voulait l'entendre, comme on jette sa pet.i.te monnaie aux pauvres du chemin; ce n'est pas celuila qui mettrait a son violon une avare sourdine; au contraire, il n'etait jamais plus joyeux que lorsqu'il y avait foule autour de lui pour l'entendre, pour l'applaudir et pour pleurer gratis; aussi atil recueille partout sur son pa.s.sage, sinon beaucoup d'or, du moins d'honorables sympathies. Les Anglais vagabonds n'ont pas ete a son concert, mais les jeunes gens y sont venus, et les plus pauvres, car c'etait ce pauvre musicien luimeme qui ouvrait sa porte et qui disait; entrez! sans exiger qu'on prit son billet a la porte. Voila comment il faut soutenir la dignite de l'instrument que vous a departi le ciel. Il faut savoir donner quelques lecons de generosite a ces villes egoistes de la province qui ne savent pas que c'est un devoir pour elles d'encourager un grand musicien qui pa.s.se. Il faut savoir donner pour rien les n.o.bles plaisirs que la foule ne sait pas acheter; on revient pauvre, il est vrai, de ces parages, mais qu'importe, puisqu'on revient honore et honorable? On n'a pas le revenu et les sept millions de Paganini; mais qu'importe? M. Baillot a votre retour vous tend la main et vous dit: Mon frere! Et puis n'est ce donc rien que d'avoir le droit de revenir a Paris et de trouver toujours l'opera ouvert, et d'avoir a ses ordres cet admirable orchestre de M. Habeneck, et de venir la sans saluer trop bas recueillir des marques unanimes d'estime et d'admiration?

Jules Janin always called Ole Bull "mon sauvage." This was because, when making his first appearance at the Grand Opera, his last step at the side of the stage, before coming in view of the public, was a misstep. He stumbled on a projecting piece of framework, and was thrown so violently forward that, to save himself from falling headlong, he was obliged to run out. It was as unconventional and awkward a manner of saluting the public as can be imagined, and especially unfortunate in that it was a Parisian audience, who have so keen a sense of the ridiculous. Nor was this all. In the midst of the finale of the "Polacca Guerriera," the A string snapped. Ole Bull turned deathly pale. Monsieur Habeneck immediately offered his violin to the artist; but he dared not use any instrument but his own. With the courage of despair, he transposed the remainder of the piece, and finished it on three strings.

The strain and tension necessary for the accomplishment of such a feat were appreciated by Meyerbeer, who occupied Jules Janin's box and witnessed this incident, which others could not believe, although they heard the snap of the string, because of the brilliant and successful conclusion of the performance. As Meyerbeer's voice rang out above the thunder of applause, Ole Bull said it seemed to him like a voice from heaven.

In 1879, while performing Paganini's "Second Concerto," in the midst of the Adagio the E string broke. The accompanists were startled, but the movement was finished without a change of reading, harmonics being subst.i.tuted for the high notes of the E string. As they left the stage, Mr. Maurice Strakosch reminded Ole Bull, who stood over his violincase in the dressingroom, that the audience were calling vociferously. "But I can't go out, man, until I put on my E string!" "_Mon Dieu!_"

exclaimed the impressario, "did it really break? I could not believe my ears."

Ole Bull used to say, "If you have the audience under your spell, never break it by a change of instruments, even for a broken string;" and on no occasion was he unnerved, even when a wretched orchestral accompaniment ruined his effects, intentionally or otherwise; but, as he said, the tortures he suffered under such circ.u.mstances were "the tortures of the d.a.m.ned."

In the summer of 1836 he was married. He had felt the most affectionate attachment for Madame Villeminot and her granddaughter from his first acquaintance with them. He was very sensible of the debt of grat.i.tude which he owed this motherly friend, and felt that his life had been saved by her care when he had no one else to whom he could turn for help. She thus writes him in 1833:-

Try to be careful of yourself on this long journey, if not for your own sake, for the sake of us, who feel so deeply interested in your welfare. Shall I confess to you, sir, that, since the day of your departure, the hours seem years to us? I can hardly realize that it is but one month since you left us.

She goes on to a.s.sure him of her esteem and sincere attachment, begging him to remember her kindly advice that he should be economical. In May, 1834, he writes:-

Dear Felicie, I cannot write a letter to your grandmother without sending you a friendly word to thank you for your letter forwarded to me from Geneva.... I should have returned before this to Paris, but I would not go back until I had made my reputation and some money, to carry out my plans; but Fortune did not smile upon me at first. It is better with me now.... In Bologna I performed a concerto of mine with full orchestra, the execution of which seemed impossible to those who heard it. My style is much more animated and more refined than formerly.... Please write me at once, and tell me everything-how Mamma is, as I am in the greatest anxiety about you all. If I can be of any service to you, dispose of me, and you will give me the greatest pleasure. I will even leave Italy if your welfare requires it, and come to you.... I shall stay here one month longer. What a beautiful country Italy is! Speak sincerely to me, keep for me your esteem and friends.h.i.+p, and believe me always your true friend and obedient servant,

OLE BULL.

The letters following this were written after his engagement. During a serious illness of Madame Villeminot, he was called to her bedside. She told him how much she desired the protection of a loving friend for her grandchild, whom she feared she was soon to leave; that she believed them adapted to secure each other's happiness, and desired to see them betrothed. His letters during his engagement and married life express his tender, pa.s.sionate devotion to wife and children. Some time after their marriage he writes: "The word _home_ has above all others the greatest charm for me."

When a young man in the first flush of triumph and adulation, he suggested mutual study and work, that their heart and home life might year by year become the richer, more helpful to each other and those whom they influenced.

In speaking of his early ideal, we may also allude here to his later life; how he brought cheer and a tender thought of others ever to his home. He was generously appreciative of all practical helps. His strong, impulsive nature was balanced by a kindly readiness to yield to the desire and happiness of another. His spirit and sense of justice would not brook personal narrowness of feeling, but a direct and dispa.s.sionate opposition commanded his respect, often his approval, always his consideration.