From Boston he went to the chief towns of New England, New York, and Canada, returning to Bristol, R. I., for rest in the months of August and September. He there wrote down his musical thoughts of Niagara. He had spent many days at the falls at different times, and saw them in all lights-in sun and storm. One evening great forest fires added their blaze and glare to the silvery shimmer of the moonlit rapids, and the lurid light with the grand rush and roar of the waters made a deep impression upon him. His enjoyment was heightened during that visit by the society of Mr. George Ticknor and his family, whom he happened to meet there. He had already been hospitably received by Mr. Ticknor in Boston, and the notes of invitation preserved among his papers show that their intercourse at Niagara was of the same pleasant nature. The last winter he spent in Boston, when he again visited this house, so famous for its generous hospitality, and was kindly welcomed by the venerable hostess, grateful recollections of the eminent man and scholar, who had done so much to make him at home when a stranger, crowded upon his memory.

While in Bristol Ole Bull had received a letter from the directors of the Musical Fund Society in Philadelphia, in which they asked him to appear at their first concert for the season, and expressed the hope that he would make his terms as moderate as possible, as their object was to start a fund for the support of poor musicians. He returned a letter of thanks, and said "his only remuneration should be the honor of a.s.sisting so highly esteemed a society in its n.o.ble efforts." When they received this answer they resolved to strike a medal in his honor, and it was presented to him at the close of the concert.

The "Niagara," which he played for the first time in New York that winter of 1844, was disappointing to the general public, while the criticisms were favorable. It gradually came more into favor, and was well received on its first performance in Philadelphia. Another composition, "The Solitude of the Prairies," won a more immediate popular success, and had to be played at nearly every concert. A religious composition, "David's Psalm," was also much liked.

N. P. Willis wrote as follows of the "Niagara":-

We believe that we have heard a transfusion into music-not of "Niagara," which the audience seemed _bonafide_ to expect, but of the _pulses of a human heart at Niagara_. We had a prophetic boding of the result of calling the piece vaguely "Niagara,"-the listener furnished with no "argument" as a guide through the wilderness of "treatment" to which the subject was open. This mistake allowed, however, it must be said that Ole Bull has, geniuslike, refused to misinterpret the voice within him-refused to play the charlatan, and "bring the house down"-_as he might well have done by any kind of "uttermost," from the drums and trumpets of the orchestra_.

The emotion at Niagara is all but mute. It is a "small, still voice" that replies within us to the thunder of waters. The musical mission of the Norwegian was to represent the insensate element _as it was to him_-to a human soul, stirred in its seldom reached depths by the call of power. It was the _answer_ to Niagara that he endeavored to render in music-not the _call_!

After his December concerts in New York Ole Bull returned to Boston, where he gave several concerts, and revisited some of the New England towns. He then returned to New York, to give his last concert in that city for the season, at the Tabernacle, to an audience of 3500 people.

The criticisms from the papers of that date would be p.r.o.nounced as extravagant as Mrs. Child's letters, while her accounts are more vividly descriptive of the intense excitement which prevailed. Another quotation from her is therefore given-from the letter dated December 24, 1844:-

You ask me for my impressions of Ole Bull's "Niagara."

It is like asking an aeolian harp to tell what the great organ of Freyburg does. But since you are pleased to say that you value my impressions because they are always my own, and not another person's-because they are spontaneous, disinterested, and genuine,-I will give you the tones as they breathed through my soul, without anxiety to have them pa.s.s for more than they are worth....

Grand as I thought "Niagara" when I first heard it, it opened upon me with increasing beauty when I heard it repeated. I then observed many exquisite and graceful touches, which were lost in the magnitude of the first impression. The mult.i.tudinous sounds are bewildering in their rich variety.

"The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep."

"The whispering air Sends inspiration from the rocky heights, And dark recesses of the caverned rocks; The little rills, and waters numberless, Blend their notes with the loud streams."

There is the pattering of waterdrops, gurglings, twitterings, and little gushes of song.

"The leaves in myriads jump and spring, As if, with pipes and music rare, Some ROBIN GOODFELLOW were there, And all the leaves, in festive glee, Were dancing to the minstrelsy."

It reminded me of a sentence in the "Noctes Ambrosianae," beautifully descriptive of its prevailing character: "It keeps up a bonnie wild musical sough, like that o' swarming bees, springstartled birds, and the voices of a hundred streams, some wimpling awa' ower the Elysian meadows, and ithers roaring at a distance frae the clefts."

The sublime waterfall is ever present with its echoes, but present in a calm, contemplative soul. One of the most poetic minds I know, after listening to this music, said to me: "The first time I saw Niagara, I came upon it through the woods, in the clear sunlight of a summer's morning; and these tones are a perfect transcript of my emotions!" In truth, it seems to me a perfect disembodied poem; a most beautiful mingling of natural sounds with the reflex of their impressions on a refined and romantic mind. This serene grandeur, this pervading beauty, which softens all the greatness, gave the composition its greatest charm to those who love poetic expression in music; but it renders it less captivating to the public in general than they had antic.i.p.ated. Had it been called a Pastorale composed within hearing of Niagara, their preconceived ideas would have been more in accordance with its calm, bright majesty.

She also mentions his "Prairie Solitude," and says:-

A friend acquainted with prairie scenery said it brought vividly before her those "dreamlike, beesung, murmuring, and musical plains."

Many who have hitherto been moderate in their enthusiasm about Ole Bull recognize in these new compositions more genius than they supposed him to possess. Tastefully intertwined Fantasias, or those graceful musical garlands, Rondos, might be supposed to indicate merely a pleasing degree of talent and skill. But those individuals must be hard to convince who do not recognize the presence of genuine inspiration in the earnest tenderness of the "Mother's Prayer," that sounds as if it were composed at midnight, alone with the moon; in the mad, wild life of the "Tarantella"; in the fiery, spiritstirring eloquence of the "Polacca Guerriera"; in the deep spiritual melody of the "Prairie Solitude"; and in the serene majesty of "Niagara."

If I appear to speak with too much decision, it is simply because my own impressions are distinct and strong, and I habitually utter them alike without disguise and without pretension. In the presence of mere skill, I know not what to say. It may please me somewhat; but whether it is more or less excellent than some other thing I cannot tell. But bring me into the presence of genius, and I know it by rapid intuition as quick as I know a sunbeam. I cannot tell how I know it. I simply say, This is genius, as I say, This is a sunbeam.

It is an old dispute, that between genius and criticism, and probably will never be settled, for it is one of the manifold forms of conservatism and innovation. In all departments of life, genius is on the side of progress, and learning on the side of established order. Genius comes a Prophet from the future to guide the age onward. Learning, the Lawgiver, strives to hold it back upon the past. But the Prophet always revolutionizes the laws, for thereunto was he sent. Under his powerful hand, the limitations gradually yield and flow, as metals melt into new forms at the touch of fire.

"Over everything stands its daemon, or soul," says Emerson; "and as the _form_ of the thing is reflected to the eye, so is the _soul_ of the thing reflected by a melody. The sea, the mountain ridge, Niagara, superexist in precantations, which sail like odors in the air; and when any man goes by with ears sufficiently fine, he overhears them, and endeavors to write them down without diluting or depraving them." Thanks to "old, everyoung Norway,"

she has sent us her finelyorganized son, to overhear the voices and echoes, and give them to us in immortal music....

America, in taking the Norwegian minstrel thus warmly to her heart, receives more than she can give. His visit has done, and will do, more than any other cause to waken and extend a love of music throughout the country; and where love exists, it soon takes form in science. All things that are alive are born of the heart.

From New York and Brooklyn he went to Philadelphia, and then, after visiting Louisville and Wilmington, he returned to New Orleans, where he gave five concerts in the Great Armory Hall.

While in New Orleans, he gave a banquet to his friends at the St.

Charles Hotel. Late in the evening a stranger was announced, who had just arrived from Europe, Mr. Alexander, the prestidigitateur. He was cordially received by Ole Bull. Alexander soon suggested to his host that it would give him pleasure to entertain the company with some of his tricks, if, in return, he might hear Ole Bull play. After he had astonished the company with his sleightofhand marvels, he turned to Ole Bull and asked to see the silver medal presented him in Philadelphia. On opening the case it was found to contain only a piece of lead; and when the violin was taken from its case, the strings were found broken, and the instrument cracked as it was lifted out. Ole Bull turned pale, as he feared his own instrument had been tampered with, but soon discovered that both his violin and medal were safe. He played far into the night for his friends, who insisted that they had not heard him do so well in public.

During the spring and summer months concerts were given in every place of note in the Mississippi Valley. The Mammoth Cave in Kentucky was also visited. At one point in the cave the artist was too venturesome, and his rashness nearly cost him his life. He had gone on in advance of the guide, and was near falling into one of the subterranean rivers, his light being extinguished as he crawled through an opening which at one point seemed too narrow to permit of his going forward or retreating.

Fortunately, he had scaled the narrow ledge in the darkness, and was quite unconscious of the chasm on the verge of which he had been creeping till lights were brought, when he found that one false move would have precipitated him into the depths. He played in the cave, and the music had a weird, unearthly sound, as it was echoed through those eerie, uncanny chambers.

In St. Louis the only concert hall belonged to a private gentleman. It was lighted by oil lamps, as gas had not been introduced. A local paper relates the following incident:-

The hall was crowded by the elite of this old French city; the audience was enjoying the last encore, when a sudden draught from an open window extinguished one of the lamps, which, smoking and spluttering, sent a puff of smoke and soot over Ole Bull's face and person. Absorbed in his performance, he did not notice what had happened, but having finished, and taken out his pocket handkerchief to wipe his forehead, alas!-what a change was there in the appearance of poor Ole! His face was black, his pocket handkerchief, his hands, his violin-all black! Looking at his violin, he exclaimed, "My poor fiddle, I am _so_ sorry for you!"

In October, 1845, Ole Bull returned to New York and Boston, to give a series of concerts before his departure for Europe. The knowledge that he was so soon to leave the country made the rush for places greater than ever. A new composition, to the "Memory of Washington," a descriptive piece, was much liked then, and was found to be effective when played the last time in 1876, in Boston. On the 30th of October he gave his last concert in New York, in the Broadway Tabernacle, to an audience of more than 4000 people. The proceeds were given by the artist to a fund for the widows and orphans of Masons. During the intermission between the parts of the programme, he was presented with the regalia of the Masons of the State of New York. The Secretary concluded his long presentation speech with, "You will be followed by the 'mother's prayer'

and the warm grat.i.tude of the fatherless.... The world will learn that the strongest bond is the union of free and honest men in the indissoluble tie of brotherly love."

The warmth of feeling shown by the audience, in response to the words spoken, deeply touched Ole Bull. He said in a low voice:-

"My homage to the memory of Washington is not mine alone; it is the homage of the whole Norse folk that is heard through me. The principles for which this people drew the sword and shed their blood inspired the Norwegians, and strengthened them in their struggle for independence.

The admiration of the Nors.e.m.e.n for American inst.i.tutions and for their great founder was early implanted in my breast, and admiration for Washington and love of liberty were indelibly impressed upon the tablets of my heart."

In November he gave concerts in Philadelphia and Baltimore, and was just preparing to leave America when he received a letter signed by the princ.i.p.al musicians of New York, requesting him to visit that city once more before he left. He consented to do so, and appointed the 26th of November for the concert, to which he invited all the inmates of the New York Asylum for the Blind, by the following letter:-

ASTOR HOUSE, N. Y., _November 18, 1845_.

MY FRIENDS!-I have heard that many of you are fond of music. In a few days I am to leave America, and if I, before my departure, could afford you some pleasure, it would be to me a pleasant thing to remember. If, therefore, all of you, pupils and teachers, will come and hear me next Wednesday, I will do my best to entertain you. It would be my greatest desire to be able for a moment to make you forget that you are unable to enjoy the beauty of the flowers.

Your sympathetic friend, OLE B. BULL.

To the Members of the Asylum for the Blind.

This invitation was accepted, and the house was filled two hours before the performance began. Among the manifestations of regard he received from the great audience must be mentioned a song written for the occasion and sung by a choir of the pupils from the Blind Asylum, after an address of thanks. From his first appearance in the country to the last, he was welcomed with more than cordiality and kindness. He left the sh.o.r.es of the New World feeling that his love of liberty and republican government was strengthened, though he could not help recognizing their unequal distribution in the United States. Slavery could not but be hateful to him; its evil effects on the whites seemed to him as apparent as on the blacks.

He wrote to his wife November 30, 1845:-

Soon after you receive these lines you will have me with you. I leave Wednesday, December 3, on the Baltimore for Havre. There are several reasons for my preference to go by a sailing vessel.

First, its movements are much pleasanter; you haven't the smoke or jar of the machinery. I shall, too, avoid unpacking my cases in England; and lastly, I need some rest after my exertions and late hours. I have been greatly benefited by my intercourse with n.o.ble and distinguished men and women here. My relation to the Americans is that of an adopted son.... My farewell concerts in Boston, in Philadelphia, and especially in New York, were remarkable for the regret which the people expressed at my departure, and I was deeply touched.

The _New York Herald_ wrote as follows of his American visit:-

The unparalleled enthusiasm awakened by him everywhere and his popularity in every city were most remarkable.

He gave his first concert in New York in the Park Theatre, and the house was crowded; with the same success he gave six more in the same hall. Then by the advice of his friends he went to the Tabernacle, which seats 4000 people, and here too he had a full house. On one occasion he played to 7000 people for the American Inst.i.tute in Niblo's Garden.

From New York, Ole Bull traveled through the United States and Canada and a part of the West Indies, and everywhere called forth the same tremendous enthusiasm and overwhelming joy. He traveled in these countries more than 100,000 miles, and played in every city of importance. From his first landing till his departure he gave over 200 concerts, of which some netted him only $200, while others, as for instance those in New York, netted him over $3000. Estimating them as low as $400 on the average, his concerts must have given him a profit of $80,000. Besides he contributed more than $20,000 by concerts to charitable inst.i.tutions, and to artists who a.s.sisted him he paid $15,000.

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 goodbyes 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 newlyinvented aeolian seasignals?

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 stormorgan, on which to play, "Wind of the winter night, whence comest thou?"