Ole Bull was the Ole Bull of old. His andante and adagio movements
revealed in a remarkable degree that singular subtlety of his
playing by which the instrument and the means seem lost, and only
pure sound remains. Certain of his strokes are like rays of light.
They seem to flash and glisten sound, rather than produce it by
mechanical means. The wild melancholy infused through all these
pieces and which imparts to them rather the character of audible
reveries than of formal compositions, is one of the great
fascinations of his performance. It is always the individuality,
always Norway and its weird interpreter, which affects you. The
tenderness, the yearning plaintiveness, the subdued sweetness of
the “Mother’s Prayer,” in particular, did not fail of a profound
impression on the audience.
Before starting for the West and South, Ole Bull concluded the purchase
of a large tract of land for a settlement of Norwegians. This land,
125,000 acres, was on the Susquehanna, in Potter County, Pennsylvania.
On the inauguration of the colony, he said: “We are to found a New
Norway, consecrated to liberty, baptized with independence, and
protected by the Union’s mighty flag.”
The representations of his countrymen who had settled in the South and
had told him their tales of privations and hardships, to which poor
health was added because of the unfavorable climate, had induced him to
make the experiment of a settlement in the North. Some three hundred
houses were built, with a country inn, a store, and a church, erected by
the founder, and hundreds flocked to the new colony. He entered heart
and soul into the new project of making his countrymen happy and
prosperous. He also continued his concerts for means to carry out his
plans, having risked most of his fortune in the original purchase.
The company of artists with whom Ole Bull made his Western and Southern
tour was a fine one, including the little Adelina Patti, her sister,
Amalia Patti Strakosch, and Mr. Maurice Strakosch. They gave many
concerts, some two hundred, we believe, in all.
The following, from a Southern paper, is interesting for its recognition
of the early promise of the youngest member of the company:—
We are to hear Signorina Adelina Patti, a musical prodigy only
eight years old. Unless the musical critics of the Union are much
mistaken, this child is an extraordinary phenomenon. She sings the
great songs of Malibran, Jenny Lind, Madame Sontag, and Catharine
Hayes with singular power. Her voice is a pure soprano, and such
are its remarkable powers that it is not necessary to make any
allowance for the performance being that of a child.... It is a
mark of great musical intrepidity in a child eight years of age to
sing “Ah, mon giunge,” from “Sonnambula,” and Jenny Lind’s “Echo
Song”; and nothing short of the testimony we have seen could make
us believe such a thing possible. Yet, the whole artistic life of
Ole Bull is a guarantee that nothing but sterling merit can take
part in his concerts. We have no doubt that Signorina Patti will
nestle herself in many a memory to–night, in company with Jenny
Lind and Catharine Hayes, not because she is such a singer as they
are, but because her youth will impart to her performance a charm
that their matured powers cannot give.
From Georgia the violinist wrote his brother Edward, February 6, 1853,
as follows:—
Not indifference, but overwhelming business has prevented my
answering your dear letter,—and unfortunately my reply must be as
short as possible, although I have so much on my heart that I long
to tell you. Of my activity as artist and leader, and controller
of my little State in Pennsylvania, you can have a conception only
when you know that I am engaged simultaneously in laying out five
villages, and am contracting with the Government for the casting
of cannon, some ten thousand in all, for the fortresses,
especially for those in California. Philadelphia has subscribed
two millions to the Sunbury and Erie road, which goes near the
colony on the south; New York has also given two millions to a
branch of the Erie and New York road from Elmira to Oleana, the
northern line of the colony, so that we shall be only twelve
hours distant from New York, ten from Philadelphia, and about
eleven from Baltimore.
So many have applied for land that I have been obliged to look out
for more in the neighborhood; I have bought 20,000 acres to the
west, and in the adjoining county (MacKean) I have the refusal of
112,000 acres. In Wyoming County I am contracting for an old,
deserted foundry with forest, water–power, workshops, and
dwellings, and am taking out patents in Washington for a new
smelting furnace for cannon.
I am giving concerts every day, and must often go without my
dinner, I am so driven. To–day, Sunday, I have a moment free;
to–morrow to Columbia, and on to New Orleans; from there either to
Washington, for the inauguration of President Pierce, or to
California via Nicaragua; and in the latter event I return to New
York to visit the colony the end of April....
This letter indicates sufficiently his plans for the colony, to carry
out which successfully would require the attention and judgment of an
energetic man of business.
* * * * *
About this time he visited California, and in crossing the Isthmus of
Panama his violin case was given a native to carry, the party riding on
donkeys. They soon lost sight of the man, and on arriving at Panama it
was impossible to find either him or the case. The rest of the company,
with Mr. Strakosch, were obliged to take the steamer, and leave Ole
Bull to hunt for his instrument; but this was not his worst misfortune.
While waiting for the next steamer he fell a victim to the yellow fever,
and, a riot or disturbance breaking out in the place, he was wholly
neglected. One night, during the worst of his illness, he was alone, and
was obliged to creep off the bed upon the floor to escape the stray
bullets which crashed through the windows from the affray outside. When
able to get out again, he was miserably weak, but he left for San
Francisco. The advertised dates for his concerts were all passed, and
the time was unfavorable, because of the lateness of the season, but he
played when his skin was so tender that it would break and bleed as he
pressed the strings with his fingers. He had many amusing incidents to
tell of the people and life in the far West. He kept no journal, and
many of his letters written at this time were afterwards destroyed by
fire.
He was now, in his broken state of health, to make a crushing discovery.
He found that the title to the land in Pennsylvania, bought and paid for
by him in full, was fraudulent, and that even the improvements he had
made were a trespass on another man’s property. The forests were
cleared, and 800 settlers had already made their homes there. Mr.
Stewardson, a Quaker, and the rightful owner of the land, had for a
long time tried to reach Ole Bull by messenger and letter; but his
efforts had all been futile, so carefully had Ole Bull’s business agent
watched the mail, always sent to his care, and guarded him from
approach. When at last the artist, on his return to Pennsylvania, was
legally notified that he was trespassing, he was dumb–founded. He
mounted his fine saddle–horse, and, without rest, rode to Philadelphia
to see his lawyer and agent who had made the conveyance, hoping that
this man’s good standing in his profession, the church, and society, was
a guarantee for fair and honest dealing. The latter tried to quiet his
client by telling him that his papers were good, and insisted that he
should eat something before they talked more about the matter. Seated at
the table, Ole Bull felt a sudden aversion to the food, although faint
from his long fast and ride, and he refused to eat or to drink even a
cup of tea. At last the man, when faced by the desperately excited
artist, who insisted upon his going with him to the claimant, Mr.
Stewardson, if the papers were right, suddenly changed his bearing, and
taunted Ole Bull with his inability to do anything to help himself,
saying: “I have your money; now, do your worst!” The sister of this man
met Ole Bull some years later, and told him that on her brother’s death
bed he confessed to her that he had poisoned the food and cup of tea
that he tried to persuade his client to take, and to which he had felt
so strange an aversion.
Mr. Stewardson was interested in Ole Bull’s efforts to found his colony,
and offered to make a sale of the land at a very low price; but the
artist was able only to buy enough land to protect the people already
settled there, and secure the improvements. He brought a suit against
the swindlers, who now became his malignant and relentless persecutors.
They tried to cripple him in every way; to prevent his concerts by
arrests, and, having acted as his counsel, they were in possession of
his papers and valuables, which they claimed for services rendered him,
and attached his violin again and again for debt. While on a trip in the
Western States, he was exposed to malarial influences along the
Mississippi, and the illness which followed proved the most serious
physical ailment he had ever suffered. He was finally prostrated by
chills and fever, was abandoned by his manager, and later taken to a
farm–house on a prairie in Illinois, the hotel–keeper fearing to keep
him, lest the disease should prove to be small–pox. He was so ill that
he was delirious. As soon as he partially recovered his strength, he
resumed his concerts, but the proceeds of these were swallowed up by
the expense of his suit in Pennsylvania, and by the security he was
often forced to give to release his violin from the attachments put upon
it by his persecutors.
With untiring energy, though his health was much broken by fever and
over–work, he persevered with his lawsuits, and succeeded at last in
wresting some thousands of dollars from the man who had swindled him.
Five hard, struggling years were spent in this way. The help and succor
he received, as often before, seemed Providential. The best legal talent
came to his aid un–sought, and in one instance, at least, by a strange
impulse. Reading his newspaper at the breakfast table one morning, Mr.
E. W. Stoughton said to his wife: “I see that Ole Bull is in trouble,
and believe I’ll go into court this morning and find out about the
case.” He had never met the violinist personally, but he went, and just
at the right moment to save some valuables and jewels, which would
otherwise have been lost. A lifelong friendship commenced that day, and
Ole Bull often spent weeks together with the Stoughtons. In their house
he met in the most delightful way the eminent men of the Bench and Bar.
Mr. Stoughton’s great and generous service to him, Ole Bull was ever
delighted to mention.
The following letters written at this time will illustrate the
annoyances to which the artist was exposed:—