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 swan–song 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 to–night, first, “Recollections of Havana.” This begins
with a great swelling movement in the orchestra, and then his part
comes in like the under–song 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!
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
assisting so highly esteemed a society in its noble 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.