The violin in Ole Bull’s hands is a perfect orchestra, and an
impetuous torrent of delightful harmonies; it seems as if the
strings multiply themselves, and, obedient to the inspiration of
the artist, they as well imitate the human voice as the trumpet of
the warrior, the song of the maiden, or the lyre of the poet. We
have heard nothing so magical, seducing, and astonishing.
The delirious public offered him an ovation such as no other
artist had received here before....
From Spain he returned to Paris, bringing with him seven pictures by old
Spanish masters, one of them from the 10th century, and two fine
violins. _En route_, he gave concerts in Bordeaux and Nantes. His
letters spoke of the Spaniards, their music, their boundless
hospitality, and the dangers of travel in the mountains on account of
bandits. Because of this he returned by sea to Marseilles, and rejoined
his wife, spending with her some months in the country, at St. Michel,
near Paris.
During the revolution of 1848, he went, at the head of the Norwegians in
Paris, to the Palais de Justice, and presented a Norwegian flag to
President Lamartine, with an address, as evidence of their sympathy.
This flag was preserved in the Hotel de Ville till that building was
destroyed by the Commune in 1871. He also gave a concert in Paris for
the wounded of the revolution.
He remained in that city most of the summer, working upon and studying
the construction of the violin, with his friend, the great violin–maker
Vuillaume. The following extract from a letter of Vuillaume’s may be of
interest here:—
Since you left us so long ago, I have wished twenty times to write
to you. I have had many things of all sorts to tell you—very
important, as you may imagine, and which I have promised myself
much pleasure in communicating. Something or other has always
prevented my doing this; but to–day here I am in the country for
four hours, and I improve the opportunity to chat with you....
You are aware that my daughter Emilie is married to Alard, and we
are all well pleased with the match. You do not know him, but when
you come you shall make his acquaintance....
When you were in Paris I showed you some instruments with which I
had taken extraordinary pains, and you liked them. I have since
kept up this kind of work, and had made some quartettes and
double–basses for the Exposition; but finding nothing novel in all
this finished work, I resolved to make something colossal—an
_octobasse_! It is the giant of bow instruments. I have never seen
nor heard of anything like it. It is made exactly, in all its
proportions, like a double–bass, but it is twelve feet in height.
It is strung with three enormous chords, which give the notes
_re_, _sol_, _ut_. The sound is clear, deep, and sonorous,
nothing at all like the dull and thick tone of the ordinary
double–bass. The fingering is done by means of mechanism connected
with keys at the lower end of the finger–board, which the
performer, standing on a stool, easily reaches with the left hand,
while with the right he draws a big bow across the strings. The
use of this instrument must be reserved for the grander effects of
harmony. It is like the sub–bass of the organ. I believe I have
added a new and powerful voice to the family of instruments....
Give me some news of yourself, of your family, of your plans, what
your children are doing—all this will interest me....
I have just arranged a room for my collection of old instruments.
I have already many interesting specimens, to which I shall add as
occasion offers. The finish and the furniture of the room are all
in old carved oak of the time of Francis I.... You see I am not
afraid of tiring you with all these details. I hope to bore you
still more in showing you all my relics when you come....
In October Ole Bull returned to Norway and bought a place near
Christiansand, having decided to remain for a time in his own country.
He gave many concerts, and was everywhere enthusiastically received. His
success determined him to attempt to found a National Theatre. The
country had, up to that time, depended upon Danish plays, Danish actors,
and Danish musicians. He wanted a national drama and the national
music, and for this he spent his money and his time without stint.
It should be remarked, perhaps, here, that Ole Bull was too apt to
consider that loyalty to an undertaking meant a confidence and interest
so entire as not only to demand the giving all that he had, but often
the burning of his ships behind him in the neglect of his own legitimate
work. It was characteristic of him all his life, to stake all without
reserve, and to feel that he could not hope for success unless he was
willing to do this. His great undertakings, as a rule, failed only in
their benefit to himself. Almost without exception, they have resulted
in permanent good, and that which lay nearest his heart he lived to see
recognized by his countrymen. The seed of national feeling and national
dramatic and musical work he had planted grew in his time, and bore the
best fruit. Jonas Lie says:—
With all the influence which his mighty name gave him, Ole Bull
demanded the realization of a national drama. What Waldemar Thrane
had begun in his Norse Opera should be continued in a development
of the national music; whatever of dramatic art had been
previously borrowed from Denmark should be replaced by what was
purely Norwegian. Beside the current which swept through the
country from the French Revolution at that time, there were other
circumstances which also tended to awaken a national feeling,
since, beside Ole Bull, there were several Norse painters at home,
because of the troubles abroad. Among these were Tidemand and
Gude. To these exiled artists, the return home was like a
re–baptism of patriotism, and their presence inspired the people
in their turn. The air was filled with ideal demands, and a
movement was inaugurated which marked an epoch in our National
Art, as well as in the development of our literature.
A Norse theatre with a Norse orchestra was what Ole Bull, in his
enthusiasm, determined to realize in his birthplace, Bergen. He
appointed committees, engaged actors, built and furnished a
theatre. He himself led the orchestra, worked up public sentiment,
and inspired the press, until at last, on the 2d of January, 1850,
his National Theatre was opened with a representation which was
acknowledged, by his opponents even, to have been a surprising
success.[15]
[15] Among the correspondence of this period is a long letter from
the well–known Norse poet, Aasmund O. Winje, dated at Christiania,
December 3, 1849, and beginning thus:—
“Norse Ole! My naïve address will almost shock you; I could find
no characteristic epithet for you, and, so far as I know, the
peasants call you only Ole Bull—as if titles did not become this
name. Therefore, Norse Ole!... May all go well! May the annoyances
which necessarily attend your undertaking be as few as possible!”
The hasty, animated lines which he wrote to his wife that day, in
which he mentions his exertions, his many disappointments, and his
persevering, energetic hope for the undertaking, strike one very
forcibly.
The selection of plays was restricted, since they were necessarily
adapted to the limited powers of the actors. Ole Bull conducted the
orchestra and played, as did also his friend, Möllar–gutten, or Thorgeir
Andunson of Haukelid–Rock. Mr. Goldschmidt thus speaks of this
peasant–violinist, celebrated all over Norway:[16]—
[16] Kristofer Janson has given a graphic and charming picture of
Möllar–gutten in his “Spell–Bound Fiddler,” translated by Auber
Forestier.
He used to play at dancing parties, and in him many of the old
legends, pointing to the demoniac power of music, were revived. In
order to understand this, one must have seen the national dances
of Norway—the Halling–dance especially. It commences with a slow,
majestic measure, and it is surprising to see with what dignity
and grace the powerful forms of old and young move; by degrees it
becomes quicker, the elder folk retire, and at last it turns into
a leaping dance, which only the strongest young people can safely
perform, and during which formidable leaps are executed by the
lads.
“Oh, never talk again to me
Of Spanish girls and Southern dancers,”
you would say, paraphrasing Byron, if you saw this passionate,
frantic, though serious and chaste dance, that exhibits the
fierce, martial spirit of Norwegian youth. It once happened that,
whilst the dance whirled to the wild, fiery music—to the strain
proceeding, as it were, from the depths of earth, from the foaming
waterfall from the howling tempest of the mountains—the knives of
the lads “became loose in their sheaths,” and blood flowed along
the floor. The cellar–man, on proceeding to the cellar to bring up
beer, saw seated behind a hogshead Old Nick himself playing the
fiddle; then, understanding why blood flowed so freely above, he
came up and cried out: “Stop your ears, the devil plays the
fiddle!” Well, it was said that Thorgeir Andunson could play in
like manner, having on his lonely rock of Haukelid learnt it from
the spirit reigning in the foaming river below, although his
appearance was quiet and gentle and frequently sad. He had married
a girl of the same station of life as himself, but always looked
up to her as to a peculiar being that had descended to him. Being
once asked what was his ambition in life, he answered: “To be able
to buy a pair of shoes and a silk neckerchief for my wife.” Having
heard of Ole Bull, he came to pay him a visit, and was quite
bewildered when he heard one of Mozart’s compositions. “Well,” he
said, “this is music!” and strolling about the garden all night,
tried to play it from memory; but in his hands it turned into mere
Halling–dance. His fine sense showed him in Ole Bull the happier
artist, and far from envying, he attached himself to him with a
kind of devotion that proved itself afterwards when the violinist
established at Bergen the first Norwegian theatre. When the
messenger came to Thorgeir, bidding him to gird his loins, and
come down to play before a public, the shy artist overcame his
bashfulness, and followed the messenger at once, “for I must do
something to see and hear Ole.” The farmers along the mountain
road, meanwhile, having heard the tidings that Thorgeir was going
to Ole to establish an independent Norse theatre, gave him a
mounted escort as a prince. One great farmer, a descendant of the
old kings, wished to retain Thorgeir for a night to give a
_soirée_, as we should say, and on Thorgeir declining and escaping
from his house,—“for Ole expects me at the Norse theatre,”—it
nearly came to a battle between the squads, which was prevented by
Thorgeir’s solemn promise that he would return and play to the
dancers “three entire nights.” He returned home a wealthy man. Ole
Bull had made him earn 2000 specie dollars (about £400),—an
immense fortune for the fiddler on Haukelid–Rock.
Let me be permitted, before I leave Thorgeir Andunson, to add a
few words about the popular music of Norway, which, the dance
music included, is most intimately connected with the old ballads,
often instead of instrumental music accompanying the dance, and of
a peculiarly sweet, romantic character. There are myriads of these
ballads, but I will select only a few. A girl meets the elf–king,
who sings so enchantingly to her that she follows him to the
mountain, which opens itself and closes again when they have
entered. The girl’s father, hearing in the forest his daughter’s
plaintive call for help, hastens to the spot. If the church bell
be rung by the mountain until sunset, the elf–folks must give up
their prey; so the bell is taken down from the steeple, and, with
the assistance of all the village, brought to the mountain and set
in motion. Already is the sun near setting, when the rope breaks,
and the girl has disappeared forever. Now, at the risk of being
taxed with exaggeration, I assert that through this music is
heard, or felt, the demoniac power of the elf–folks; at the same
time there is a wail for the loss of the girl, as if all the
tender, sweet attraction of love between man and woman, all the
delicacy, yearning, and devotion which man can feel, were
challenged by the outrage committed on the girl.
An old Odelsbonde, renowned for his strength, would only marry his
daughter to a lad who could overcome him in wrestling; a handsome
youth, whose daring and love are stronger than his awe of the
mighty Odelsbonde, comes to woo and wrestle. With incomparable,
simple, patriarchal grace the Odelsbonde arises from his _Höisæde_
(chair of honor), and, waving his hand, bids the wooer welcome;
after which, descending the steps into the middle of the hall, he
calmly begins the wrestling match. By degrees the combat becomes
animated, and the wrestlers hot and passionate, each adversary
forgetting in the struggle the object of it—the trembling girl; at
last the old giant, lifting the youth up above his head, flings
him down at his feet, a corpse. The music, which has marvelously
expressed the incidents of the story throughout, here stops short
with a wail of terror and compassion; and I assure you at the last
note your brow will be moist, and if not ashamed of your weakness
you will admit that you tremble with emotion. [I allude not to the
old song only, but to Ole Bull’s composition.]
Lastly, I will give only a short legend. A lad, a violin player,
unable to conquer the instrument and elicit from it what he had
on his heart, held its apertures to the mouth of his dying mother,
and from that time people, when he played, stood spell–bound,
listening with heart and soul to tones not of this world. When Ole
Bull went forth to the world, his mother, old Norway, had breathed
into his violin, but not her last breath; the spell that bound his
listeners had in it something healthy and cheerful joined with its
magic power.
From the outside districts Ole Bull brought peasants to perform the
national dances in his theatre. Thus the first winter passed, and the
summer was spent in preparing with all possible energy for the next
season; the actors and musicians worked _con amore_, and success
rewarded them; the theatre could now stand on its own merits. After the
enterprise had progressed so far, Ole Bull asked of the Storthing, in
1851, a yearly appropriation to ensure its perpetuity. His aim was not
alone to secure a certain sum for the establishment of a permanent
dramatic school, but he desired a public acknowledgment of the National
Theatre itself. His petition was refused by a small majority. This
grieved him, and, together with other troubles growing out of the
management, made him, to a degree, lose heart and courage.
But now the Norse students determined to do all in their power to give
him the desired public approval; with the aid of citizens, representing
all classes of society and interests, they arranged a great musical
festival in Christiania for the benefit of the Bergen Theatre. This gave
Ole Bull a new impulse. He composed a chorus for male voices, which was
sung after the prologue, and played several numbers on that occasion
with brilliant success. Later in the evening a “Sexa” was given in his
honor, and those present were touched to see the happiness he felt in
the acknowledgment and acceptance of his pet idea in the Norwegian
capital. On his return to Bergen a dramatic performance was given at his
suggestion for the University Building Fund in Christiania, in
recognition of the sympathy the students had so substantially shown the
theatre.[17]
[17] Ole Bull was made an honorary member of the Students’ Union in
1848, and composed for a fête given him at the time his “Saeterbesög,”
which he dedicated to the Norse Students.