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, passionate 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
dispassionate opposition commanded his respect, often his approval,
always his consideration.
A true, open–hearted friend might safely venture on severe criticism,
and his love would bear the test even if this was sometimes cruel as
regarded his motives. He readily forgave a wrong to himself, though an
injury to a friend was not forgotten if forgiven. His faults and
failings were always open and manifest, but his gentle courtesy in his
most intimate relations, unfailing when most needed, cannot be told.
However trying or commonplace the circumstances of his life might be,
his resources of thought, aspiration, and work gave him hours of
experience in each day which transformed for him and those in sympathy
with him the hard realities of life,
“Clothing the palpable and familiar
With golden exhalations of the dawn.”
After a series of six concerts in Lyons in the early part of the year of
1836, he had a severe illness, which nearly cost him his life. On his
recovery he hastened back to Paris to play at the Italian Opera. He had
been promised the theatre, but saw an announcement in the papers of
Thalberg’s concerts to be given there. He hurried to Rossini, who was
one of the directors, and asked him what it meant. “I am sorry that it
is not in my power to help you,” said Rossini; “the government has the
entire control in this matter. Have you a letter from Metternich?”
Thalberg, by the by, had brought a letter from the great Austrian to the
Paris authorities. “No,” was the reply. “Then follow my advice and go to
England this very day. This will be a very favorable time for you
there.”
It may be said here that Rossini’s kindness and courtesy were as
constant as the charm of his ready repartee and wit in conversation. Ole
Bull always delighted to recall reminiscences of him.
The violinist determined to follow Rossini’s advice and went to London.
Mr. Laporte, the director of the Italian Opera, with whom he was soon on
good terms, promised him the theatre, and the orchestra under the
direction of Costa, for his concerts. This, however, stirred the bad
blood of Mori, the first violin of the orchestra, who intrigued against
Ole Bull, describing him to Costa and the critics as a mere charlatan,
an impudent and stupid imitator of Paganini. He went even further. When
the time for the first rehearsal was fixed, he contrived very adroitly
that Ole Bull’s notice should read two o’clock, while the orchestra were
called for twelve o’clock. His object was to give the orchestra the
impression that Ole Bull was indifferent to their convenience, and by
the long detention to arouse their indignation. This partially
succeeded. Ole Bull felt that there were influences at work against him,
and determined not to be wholly unprepared, although he did not know on
whom to fix his suspicion. He invited a number of friends and musical
critics to the rehearsal, and a considerable audience had assembled at
the hour. When he himself arrived he found but a remnant of the
orchestra left, and no leader. Where was Monsieur Costa? Where was
Monsieur Laporte? The notification for rehearsal in his hand read
distinctly two o’clock. The violinist rushed to the cashier’s office,
and seizing the man in his strong arms, compelled him to go and announce
to the audience that M. Costa had notified Monsieur Ole Bull that the
hour of rehearsal was two o’clock. With violin in hand Ole Bull then
said: “You must either think, gentlemen, that I do not need an
accompaniment, or that you are unable to play one. I can only accept
your intention as a compliment, and express my thanks in our mutual
language—that of tone.”
Excited as he was, he played his “Quartetto a Violino Solo,” and won the
hearty applause of those present. He then played “God save the King” on
four strings, and the house resounded with shouts. Some persons in the
street heard the noise and rushed in to learn what it all meant. Among
them were Lord Burgesh and Moscheles. The members of the orchestra
present now felt chagrined, and offered to accompany him, but there was
no leader. Lord Burgesh urged Moscheles to take the bâton, which he did,
applauded warmly by the audience; but only a few bars had been played
when Costa rushed out upon him with bitter taunts and insults. Pale with
anger Ole Bull approached the director, and expressed to him his
indignation that he had failed to perceive the generous service
Moscheles was rendering them both. M. Laporte, who understood that the
young artist’s victory over this intrigue was sure to win him favor, now
exerted himself to make peace. At the next rehearsal the orchestra did
their duty, and the house was crowded at the concert, which was a
brilliant success. Ole Bull writes to Madlle. Villeminot, May 20, 1836:—
To–morrow is the day for my first concert. I have to–day had the
third rehearsal with full orchestra. It is impossible to tell you
all the intrigues I have had to encounter. I had everybody against
me, even the director; but the papers have spoken much about the
base treatment I have received, and everybody who sees me, even at
a distance, now raises his hat. Thalberg gives a morning concert
in the King’s Theatre the same day; but few tickets are sold. He
and De Beriot were surprised at the large sale for my concert.