With 1814 began a new epoch in the liberty of the country. It was soon demonstrated that the national spirit was not dead. Men appeared who were able to build up the literature, arts, and sciences of the country, and later Ole Bull led the van among the artists, and inspired those who came after him with courage. He convinced not only the outside world, but the Nors.e.m.e.n themselves, that they could foster sons worthy of their old renown.

The indirect influence of Ole Bull's success upon the art and literature of Norway was very great. The ambition of many a youth was kindled by him, who afterward became widely known as musician, painter, sculptor, or poet.

In 1828, Ole Bull became acquainted with two young men in Christiania who were destined to wield a mighty influence on Norse literature and politics. The one was Johan S. C. Welhaven, born in Bergen in 1807, the other Henrik Arnold Wergeland, born in Christiansand in 1808. Both became very eminent poets, and about 1832 both were leaders of contending parties. Wergeland gave the first poetical expression to the glowing patriotic enthusiasm for liberty and independence. He desired to root out every vestige of Danish influence. Welhaven was the leader of the conservatives, and aimed to build the Norse culture on the basis of the Danish. The discussion, at first limited to the students of the University, soon became a national issue in which every thoughtful man and woman in the land took part.

Wergeland died at the age of thirtysix, but he lived long enough to see his cause victorious, and the fruits of his labors are felt today.

In the celebration of Independence Day commemorative of the Norse const.i.tution, Wergeland saw a powerful means of waking the people from their political sleep to a patriotic fervor. He used all his influence to promote the celebration of this day, which was as unpopular as possible with the king. The latter had more than once attempted to bring about changes in the const.i.tution, but the people had been true to it, refusing to amend it even at royal request.

On the 17th of May, 1829, a peaceful gathering of people in the Christiania marketplace was attacked and dispersed by a troop of cavalry. Ole Bull was with Wergeland, who was severely wounded by one of the soldiers. This roused the people to preserve and defend their rights. The 17th of May has been celebrated with increasing enthusiasm ever since, and Wergeland's name is never omitted from the orations of the day.

The day following the battle of the marketplace and the first celebration of the 17th of May, Ole Bull, as we have said, left for Ca.s.sel to visit Spohr. His reception there was a cold one. "I have come more than five hundred miles to hear you," Ole Bull said, politely, to which Spohr replied: "Very well, you can now go to Nordhausen; I am to attend a musical festival there." To Nordhausen he accordingly went, where he heard a quartette by Maurer, performed by the composer himself, Spohr, Wiele, and the eldest of the brothers Muller. He was so overwhelmed with disappointment at the manner in which the composition was played by these four masters-a manner which differed so utterly from his own conception-that he left the concert with the crushing conviction that he was deceived in his aspirations, and had no true calling for music. He determined at once to give up art and to return to his academic studies.

Falling in with some lively Gottingen students, returning from a trip in the Hartz Mountains, he joined them and went to Gottingen. He stayed there some months, and a merry life his violin called forth. The burgomaster of the neighboring town, Munden, heard of the foreign student who played so marvelously well, and asked a friend to bring him with some other musical acquaintances to Munden, to give a concert for the poor. One fine summer morning, accordingly, eight young fellows set out for Munden, four playing in one carriage, four singing in another.

In grand state the two carriages drew up before the door of the burgomaster, who in full dress received his guests, and immediately led them to the dinnertable. Ole Bull anxiously observed during the feast how one after another of his a.s.sistants dropped off into dreamland. He remonstrated, but was only laughed at; he was in despair, and at last angry. The toasts still kept up: "Long life to the burgomaster-his wife-his daughter-the good city of Munden," etc., and when, at length, they rose from the board, with shaky knees and dizzy heads, the violinist knew not what to do. No rehearsal was held, and none was possible. The last piece on the programme was to be an improvisation, "The Storm," in which the student Ziedler was to give the thunder on the piano in accompaniment to the violin; but he was fast losing himself.

Ole Bull expostulated with him, and tried to rouse him, but in vain. At last, losing his temper in his despair, he called him _Dummer junge_ (stupid fellow). This, as the reader familiar with the customs of the German students knows, is an offense that blood alone can redress. Ole Bull accepted the challenge which followed, practiced fencing for a week, acted on the suggestion of tiring out his adversary by dexterous parrying, and gave him at last a slight scratch. Then came a grand scene of reconciliation, and eternal friendship was sworn; but the director of the police gave the party a friendly hint to leave the town.[2]

[2] This is the sole foundation for the absurd story that has appeared in certain encyclopaedias, to the effect that Ole Bull had killed a fellowstudent in a duel.

September found Ole Bull again in Norway; and a friend wrote thus of his return:-

Feeling as if the very soil of Europe had repelled him, he returned to Christiania. It was a wet autumn evening, and he went to the theatre, the musical direction of which he had given up.

While standing there in a dark corner, he was soon recognized, and it was whispered through the house, "Ole Bull has returned;" then, the whisper rising into a loud cry, the violinist was called to the direction of the orchestra; and on his taking the baton the audience called for the national anthem, thus welcoming him as with the heart of the nation.

To go to Paris, to hear De Beriot, Baillot, and Berlioz, now became his absorbing plan. In the summer of 1830 he visited Trondhjem and Bergen, and gave three concerts, from which he made five hundred dollars. In August, 1831, he went by sea to Ostend, and thence directly to Paris.

Seven years pa.s.sed before he saw Norway again, but good reports soon came from him, and these grew in number and frequency. When he finally came himself, his reputation was made.

His stay in Paris was a venture which brought him many hardships, but which ended like a fairytale in a piece of good fortune. His recommendations from home opened no serviceable doors to him, and to his violin no one seemed willing to listen. A pa.s.serby might stop for a moment and ask, "Who lives here? He plays well." A grisette might open her window across the street, and look at "le pauvre jeune homme la." A melancholy acquaintance among the German musicians might sit down before him in unavailing admiration. But no lessons from Baillot, no engagement at the Grand Opera, and every day the purse growing leaner and leaner.

The cholera was raging terribly in Paris during that winter of 1831. The Revolution of the previous July was still a vivid memory, and under the feverish excitement of danger and death the pulse of life beat with double rapidity in the great city. Madame Malibran was singing at the Opera, and the house was crowded nightly by the enthusiastic Parisians.

In the topmost gallery, in one of the cheapest seats, might be seen a tall young man with feverish eyes, drinking in those tones with his whole soul.

He had still sufficient means to carry him through the winter; but an elderly gentleman who lived in the same house, and who, with a shrewd mingling of cordiality and dignity, played the part of a fatherly friend, contrived to win his confidence, and persuaded him that, in the disturbed state of financial affairs, his money was not safe where he had deposited it. He therefore drew it from the bank. The following morning found him robbed of everything but an old suit of clothes, and his paternal friend gone. He was now reduced to extreme want; but an acquaintance, accidentally meeting him, recommended him to Madame Charon, with whom he himself boarded, and who kept a house patronized chiefly by German music teachers and scholars. She offered to receive Ole Bull until he could hear from home, his friend giving security for sixty francs a month, which provided the young man with black bread for breakfast, and, towards evening, with a dinner of two slices of meat, the first course of soup being much like that which made the sailor boy exclaim, "This is very good; I have found one pea!"

As time went on Madame began to look suspicious, and his friend's manner grew cold. One morning at breakfast, a stranger appeared, who at once attracted his attention. He had black, rough hair, his complexion was olive, his eyes black, large, and penetrating. His expression was cynical, but refined; his conversation cold and ironical; his figure thin and wasted; in short, he looked quite a Mephistopheles. He made a bad impression on young Bull. When told by his friend that the man was a detective, he said that he had suspected as much, which was overheard, and at first made the stranger very angry, but when Ole replied in a calm, manly way his bearing suddenly changed to one of kindly interest in the violinist. "May I trouble you a moment, sir?" Mephistopheles said; "I have something to tell you. Not far from here, in the Rue Vaugirard, is an _estaminet_ where we shall be undisturbed;" and thither they went. It was one of those public houses where the lamp is kept burning all day, and young men, who look as if they had not slept at night, move round the billiardtables in their shirtsleeves, pipes in their mouths, and gla.s.ses filled with _eau de vie_ on the windowseats and the chimneypieces.

"Listen," said the stranger. "I know you are in want; but follow my advice; you must try your luck at play." "But I have no money." "You must manage to get five francs; then go tonight, between ten and eleven o'clock, not earlier, to Frascati's, in the Boulevard Montmartre. Mount the stairs, ring the bell, and give your hat boldly to the liveried servant in attendance; enter the hall, go straight to the table, put your five francs on the red, and let it remain there."

The young man ran home, raised the five francs, and was on the spot at the appointed hour. He made his way to the green table, surrounded by ladies and gentlemen playing at _trente et quarante_. He placed his five francs on the red, but through his awkwardness it rolled over to the black, and was lost. He stood as if struck by lightning, without a _sous_ in his pocket. He came to himself on hearing, "Messieurs, faites vos jeux." He called, "Cinq francs," but his foreign accent made it sound like "Cent francs," and one hundred francs were shoved over to him as his winnings. He stands pale for a moment, unable to speak or move; then places his money on the red, and wins once, again, and yet again, until, at last, eight hundred francs in gold lie in a heap before him.

"I was in a fever," he said, when relating the adventure later; "I acted as if possessed by a spirit not my own. No one can understand my feelings who has not been so tried, left alone in the world, as if on the extreme verge of existence, with the abyss yawning beneath, and at the same time feeling something within that might merit a saving hand at the last moment." Suddenly, from amid the crowd surrounding the table, a delicate hand, gleaming with diamonds, glided over the golden pile; but the iron hand of the Norwegian grasped the little white one. A woman's shriek was heard; several voices called out, "a la porte! a la porte!"

But a man near Ole Bull, in a calm, clear voice that seemed to command all in the room, said: "Madame, leave this gold alone;" and to Bull: "Monsieur, take your money, if you please." It was his strange friend, who, as he afterwards learned, was none other than Vidocq, the famous Parisian chief of police. All give way, the lady turns pale, and Ole Bull mechanically seizes the gold, but, riveted to the spot, sees red winning till the end of the _taille_. Had he had the courage, and left his money there, he would that very night have won a small fortune.

Meanwhile, he had the eight hundred francs in his pocket; but it was only on reaching his room and drawing them out, and hearing the metallic clink and seeing the glitter, that he convinced himself he was not dreaming. "What a hideous joy I felt," he said; "what a horrid pleasure to hold in the hand one's own soul saved by the spoil of others!"

Singularly enough, he never saw Vidocq again. He soon learned that a man could not be true to his art or himself who yielded to the insane excitement of the then polite recreation of gambling.

The artist's notebook, written in pencil, tells us that a house to which he removed through the aid of the Swedish amba.s.sador, Count Lovenhjelm, was soon after invaded by cholera, which was then epidemic in Paris, and that he walked the deserted streets many a night, listening to the moans of the dying in the infected houses, hastening his steps past doors which opened for the egress of those bearing the dead.

He was again reduced to want and almost hopeless. The waters of the Seine had an alluring sound as they murmured between the stone piers of the bridges, while the noise and glare of the Parisian streets, m.u.f.fled or diminished by the influence of the pest, seemed to him peculiarly repulsive and disheartening. The idea of suicide, however, it was easy to keep down; but how subdue the fever which, from the despair of the moment and the natural excitement of his nervous system, began to affect his brain?

One day, while roving about the streets, he stopped in front of No. 19 Rue des Martyrs. He could go no farther; he was exhausted. The house seemed to look kindly on him, and on a little ticket in one of the windows he read: "Furnished rooms to let." The porter insisted that it was a mistake, but remembered, at last, that on the second floor lived an old lady who had recently lost her son, and who, perhaps, might have a vacant room. The young man ascended the stairs, rang the bell, and was received by an elderly and motherlylooking gentlewoman. But, no! there was no vacant room. "Grandmamma, look at him!" cried a young girl. The old lady put on her gla.s.ses, and as she looked at Ole Bull the tears filled her eyes; he resembled so strikingly the son she had just lost.

He meantime stood with a questioning gaze. At last she said: "Very well, Monsieur, if you please, return tomorrow at noon" (_a midi_). "Oui, Madame, a douze heures." A peal of laughter from the young girl greeted his reply, which only a foreigner would have made. This beautiful maiden was Alexandrine Felicie Villeminot, an orphan. She afterwards became the wife of Ole Bull.

The following day found him established in Madame Villeminot's house. He was almost immediately attacked by brain fever. On regaining his consciousness he found the old lady sitting by his bedside, and her first words were of hope and encouragement. She a.s.sured him that he need not worry about his means of payment, and he felt the soothing influence of motherly care and affection.

He was attended by Dr. Dufours, a celebrated physician and an intimate friend of Thiers. His name occurs frequently in Ole Bull's letters, for he was the friend and adviser of himself and his family for many years.

Shortly after the young man's recovery, his friends in Christiania, learning of his misfortunes, sent him three thousand francs from the Musical Lyceum in that city. Matters now began to mend.

Paganini came to Paris the winter of 1831, and was heard for the first time by the young Norwegian, whose notes show how carefully he studied him.

About this time he tried again for a place in the orchestra of the Opera Comique, but in vain. Applicants for the position were obliged to compete, and were given a piece of music to play at sight. To Ole Bull the piece selected seemed so simple that, in the arrogance of youth, he asked at which end he should begin. This offense caused him to be rejected without a hearing.

One day as he was examining an instrument at a dealer's, he made the acquaintance of one Monsieur Lacour, who a.s.sured him that he had discovered a certain varnish by the use of which an ordinary violin would gain the sweetness and quality of a Cremona instrument. Ole Bull found that violins thus treated had really a fine tone, while Monsieur Lacour, on his side, amazed at the young man's power, felt that he had come across the right man to give his instruments a reputation. He arranged with him to play on one of them at a soiree to be given by the Duke of Riario, Italian charge d'affaires in Paris. There he met a very numerous and elegant company. He instinctively felt that Fortune was in the room, if he could but catch her. But, because of the intense heat, that mysterious varnish which Monsieur Lacour applied to his violins gave forth such an intolerable smell from the a.s.saftida it contained that he became first embarra.s.sed, then excited, furious, wild,-and in this state he played. When he had finished and awakened as from a bad dream, Fortune stood before him with smiles, compliments, congratulations, and, as is not always her wont, with more substantial rewards.

The Duke of Montebello, Marshal Ney's son, invited him to breakfast the next day, and shortly after, April 18, 1832, he gave his first concert under the duke's patronage in the German Stoeppel's Hall, Rue Neuve des Augustins, with the a.s.sistance of Ernst, Chopin, and other great artists. His share of the proceeds was fourteen hundred francs. He came to know Chopin intimately, and they played often together in public and private. George Sand, in her _Malgretout_, has given a charming account of the effect of Ole Bull's playing at that period of his life.

As the Grand Opera was still closed to him, he soon made a concert tour through Switzerland and Italy. His first concert at Lausanne was a great success, and he a.s.sisted at a religious festival in Morges on Lake Geneva. From there he went to Milan, where he gave a concert in the Scala Theatre which brought him both money and fame. A few days afterwards he saw in one of the Milan journals a very severe criticism upon his playing. What struck him, however, was not so much its severity as its truth. It was to this effect:-

Monsieur Bull played compositions by Spohr, Mayseder, and Paganini without understanding the true character of the music, which he marred by adding something of his own. It is quite obvious, that what he adds comes from genuine and original talent, from his own musical individuality; but he is not master of himself; he has no style; he is an untrained musician. If he be a diamond, he is certainly in the rough and unpolished.

The artist went to the publisher and asked who had written the criticism. "If you want the responsible person, I am he," was the answer. "No," said the musician, "I have not come to call the writer to account, but to thank him. The man who wrote that article understands music; but it is not enough to tell me my faults, he must tell me how to rid myself of them." "You have the spirit of a true artist," replied the journalist. "It is a singingmaster to whom I shall introduce you. It is in the art of song that you will find the key to the beauties of music in general, and the hidden capacities of the violin in particular; for the violin most resembles the human voice." The same evening he took Ole Bull to one of the most famous of the _repet.i.tore_, a man over seventy years of age, who knew the traditions of the great masters and artists.

Ole Bull used to say that never in his life had he been so impressed as by this old singer whose voice was broken. He found in his delivery and style the clue to the power which he had admired in the great artists.

Now to him also was the secret revealed. He at once became a pupil, devoting himself to continuous study and practice for six months under the guidance of able masters, throwing his whole heart and soul into his work.

From this ardent study, a.s.sisted by eminent teachers of Italian song, came his command of melody, which enabled him to reproduce with their true native character the most delicate and varied modifications of foreign music that he met with-Italian, Spanish, Irish, Arabian, Hungarian, as well as the national songs of his own country. But the chief result of these studies was, that he found himself; he learned to know the nature and limits of his own talent, and was able to give form to his musical feelings.

In a letter to a friend, at this time, he mentions a kind of vision which he had. Worn out and exhausted by the difficulties which he met in the work of a new composition, his "Concerto in A major," his father seemed suddenly to stand before him as he was playing, and to speak, with his eyes rather than his lips, this warning: "The more you overwork the more wretched you make yourself; and the more wretched you are the harder you will have to struggle." Ever afterwards he avoided overpractice, lest it should deaden the finer sensibilities which must be relied upon for inspiration.

In studying Italian music, he discovered how great was his need of schooling; but he found, too, that the rules taught for playing the violin were not sufficient to help him in developing the capacity of the instrument. He therefore kept up, at the same time, a course of independent study. Here again we may quote from Mr. Goldschmidt, who says of his studies at that time:-

We will endeavor to give an exposition of the musical principles upon which he acted, and of the means by which he strove to bring them into practice. What was his aim, and how did he endeavor to reach it? We have heard of his marvelous dexterity, of wonderful "tricks" he displayed on his violin, and of "stupendous effects"

which he produced,-and the question arises, Were these tricks and effects the end, as some have fancied, or were they the means to an end? I answer, they were the means to an end, and this end was _to reproduce the Hulder_. You will ask me to give you an idea of what the Hulder is, not only as a popular fancy, but as a poetic symbol. In trying to do so, let me remind you that from the mountains, forests, and valleys of the North proceeded that race which has conquered half the world; from whose love, devotion, and aspirations chivalry sprang into existence under a more Southern sky; their yearning souls and powerful hands produced the wonders of Gothic architecture; their blood throbs in the veins of your proudest aristocracy; whilst the stern tribe, remaining at home, struggling against a severe climate, against the wild beasts of the forest, and in internal feuds among themselves, had no other organs for their longings, hopes, aspirations, triumphs, and woes, than song and music. As future purpleclad kings and emperors were hidden in the "Odelsbonde,"[3] who sent out his sons as "Vikings," so an unspeakable majesty and delicacy is hidden in the simplicity of Northern strains. But there is more. Amid the subdued yet intense feeling of the glory and dignity of man, suddenly enters the foreboding of death: there is almost always beneath the highest mirth an undercurrent of melancholy,-the pictures are golden, on a black ground. But, at the same time, the foreboding of death augments the feeling of life. The waters, the trees, the mountains, live a life of their own, tempting you with the sweetest, the most potent and secret powers of nature, or crushing you with their colossal strength; no blind powers, no mere creations of superst.i.tious terror, but always animated by a higher spirit, as behooves the fairy beings created by a bigbrained race. And, amid all these sounds, terrible or mysterious, is heard the innocent bellshaped flower, accompanied by the gra.s.s of the meadow. This may give you a faint idea of the Hulder-the spirit of the North. Southern music generally consists of sounds that please the ear, whilst Northern music strives to tell you secret tales of your own soul.

[3] A freeborn owner and cultivator of inherited soil, more than farmer and less than n.o.bleman.

It was the Hulder which Ole Bull would reproduce on the violin; but when he came to feel what really moved itself within him-what musical soul it was that craved for a body, a frame, a voice-the violin put into his hand and the received rules for its use were but illfitted to a.s.sist him in solving the problem. Therefore, descending from the heights of enthusiasm, he began to study the rudiments, and, first of all, the principle on which the old violins-the old mastermakers' violins-were constructed. It has been said that those violins owe their excellence to their age alone. Why is it, then, that the Cremonese instruments are almost human in their temper and character of tone, while contemporary instruments from the Tyrol, etc., are now worth nothing? Whether the Italian masters worked with unconscious ingenuity, or acted upon the principles well known to their great musical epoch, certain it is that their violins, like the buried soul of the legend, challenge a searching question for the betrayal of their secret.

At the end of his six months' study he went from Milan to Venice where his performances created an excitement, and he was made a member of the Philharmonic Society. There and in Trieste his improvisations awakened the liveliest interest, and the extremely enthusiastic criticisms of Dr.

Jael made his name known in Vienna. But he could not then visit that city, as his thoughts and longings turned toward the South. He went first to Bologna, where, in the most extraordinary way, he won the great celebrity which followed him ever afterwards, by one of those happenings in human life, stranger than those which fancy creates, and making visible, as it were, the hand of Providence. It was from Bologna that his friends at home first received the news of his triumphs.

Bologna was, at that time, reputed the most musical city in Italy; and its Philharmonic Society, under the direction of the Marquis Zampieri, was recognized as one of the greatest authorities in the musical world.

Madame Malibran had been engaged by the directors of the theatre for a series of nights; but she had made a condition which compelled them to give the use of the theatre without charge to De Beriot, with whom she was to appear in two concerts. Zampieri seized the opportunity of persuading these artists to appear in a Philharmonic concert. All was arranged and announced, when, by chance, Malibran heard that De Beriot was to receive in recognition of his services a smaller sum than had been stipulated for herself. Piqued at this, she sent word that she could not appear on account of indisposition, and De Beriot himself declared that he was suffering from a sprained thumb.

Ole Bull had now been a fortnight in Bologna. He occupied an upper room in a poor hotel, a sort of soldiers' barracks, where he had been obliged to take temporary refuge, because of the neglect of a friend to send him a moneyorder. Secluded from society, he spent the days in writing on his concerto; and when evening came, and the wonderful tones of his violin sounded from the open windows, the people would a.s.semble in the street below to listen. One evening the celebrated Colbran (Rossini's first wife, and a native of Bologna) was pa.s.sing Casa Soldati and heard those strains. She paused. The sounds seemed to come from an instrument she had never heard before. "It must be a violin," she said, "but a divine one, which will be a subst.i.tute for De Beriot and Malibran. I must go and tell Zampieri."

On the night of the concert, Ole Bull, having retired very early on account of weariness, had already been in bed two hours, when he was roused by a rap on the door, and the exclamation, "Cospetto di Bacco!

What stairs!" It was Zampieri, the most eminent musician of the Italian n.o.bility, a man known from Mont Cenis to Cape Spartivento. He asks Ole Bull to improvise for him; and then cries, "Malibran may now have her headaches!" He must off to the theatre at once with the young artist.

There is no time even for change of dress, and the violinist is hurried before a disappointed but most distinguished audience. The Grand Duke of Tuscany was there, and De Beriot with his hand in a sling. It seemed to Ole Bull that he had been transported by magic, and at first that he could not meet the cold, critical exactions of the people before him; for he knew his appearance was against him, and his weariness had almost unnerved him. He chose his own composition, and the very desperation of the moment, which compelled him to shut his eyes and forget his surroundings, made him play with an _abandon_, an ecstasy of feeling, which charmed and captivated his audience. As the curtain fell and he almost swooned from exhaustion, the house shook with reiterated applause.

When, after taking food and wine, he appeared with renewed strength and courage, he asked three ladies, whose cold, critical manner had chilled him on his first entrance, for themes to improvise upon. The wife of Prince Poniatowsky gave him one from "Norma," and the ladies at her side, one each from the "Siege of Corinth" and "Romeo and Juliet." His improvisation, in which it occurred to him to unite all these melodies, renewed the excitement. The final piece was to be a violin solo. The director was doubtful of Ole Bull's strength, but he stepped forth firmly, saying, "I will play! oh, you must let me play!" and again the same unrestrained enthusiasm followed. When he finished there was a rain of flowers, and he was congratulated by Zampieri, De Beriot, and the princ.i.p.al musicians present. He was at once engaged for the following concert, and the a.s.sistance of the society was offered for a concert of his own. One gentleman asked for sixty tickets, another for one hundred, and Emile Loup, the owner of a large theatre in Bologna, offered him his house and orchestra free of expense.