NEW YORK, _April 16, 1857_.
DEAR SIR,—Mr. Ole Bull, for whose welfare I feel a deep interest,
leaves this morning for New Haven, where he intends to give a
concert this evening. A judgment has been obtained against him by
a Mr. H. of this city. Upon this judgment he was arrested on
Saturday and discharged. I fear an attempt may be made to arrest
him again upon the same claim in your city, and that he may be
imprisoned amongst strangers. This apprehension is based upon the
idea that there is a disposition to persecute him. He has lately
been very ill and is not yet recovered, and I wish to preserve him
from any unpleasant excitement.
The purpose of this, therefore, is to request that, should Mr. H.
institute proceedings against Mr. Bull of the character I have
suggested, you will procure for him the necessary bail and act as
his counsel; and I will guarantee you and the bail you may procure
against all liability, and will pay all counsel fees, and, should
the bail prefer it, I will on your requirement immediately deposit
in your hands an amount equal to their liability.
By doing this you will aid a most estimable and much injured and
unfortunate man, and will confer a great favor upon
Yours truly,
E. W. STOUGHTON.
All of Ole Bull’s correspondence shows that his friends knew how apt he
was to neglect his own affairs, and that they were watchful of his
interests and sympathized with him in his reverses. To such a nature as
his this was everything; it gave him courage—it saved him.
When worn out and ill, both from anxiety and from physical weakness, he
received one day a note from Mrs. Child. She told him that she had heard
of his troubles and his need of rest, and wanted him to come to her
country home at once. He followed her directions implicitly like a
child, taking the train she had named without even going first to his
hotel. Arrived at the station he found her and her husband waiting to
drive him to their home. The peace and quiet of the country, and the
presence of these kind friends, were like heaven to him. Noticing
probably how tired he was, they took him to his room, a chamber with a
view of trees and fields beyond, the windows shaded by muslin curtains,
and suggested that he should rest before going down to tea. With one
look at the quiet landscape outside he threw himself on the bed. On
waking he found Mrs. Child watching by his side, and started up with an
apology for having kept her, as he feared, waiting too long. She smiled
and told him that it was almost twenty–four hours since he had lain down
for a few moments’ rest. The anxiety of his friends was relieved when he
woke refreshed, and, as he said, his reason saved.
The following letter will also show the help and encouragement his
friends gave him at this hard period of his life:—
ANDOVER, Monday, _October 8_.
DEAR FRIEND,—We are all sitting around our centre table; the blaze
of the fire flickering on the walls, and enlivening the hearth. We
are recalling the pleasant hours spent in Hartford. My husband
says to me—Did you indeed see Ole Bull? He has always been one of
my ideals—how I wish he would come here! Why, says I, he did
promise to come, perhaps:—so you see that you are not forgotten.
Do not, my dear friend, despair of human nature—nor wholly despair
of America; the experience of the past has shivered so many
brilliant illusions. You remember that hope remains even at the
bottom of Pandora’s box.
Meanwhile let me send you my husband’s assurance with mine that a
fireside welcome is ever kept for you at the old stone cabin in
Andover. It is not “the elephant,” interesting as he is, but the
elephant’s master, that shall be made welcome—welcome for the
music within, whether he choose or not to give it outward
expression.
Come speak to us of the lovely fjords and dripping waterfalls and
glittering lakes of Norway—and, if you come soon enough, we will
take you to see our beautiful lakes in Andover.
But if you cannot come, let our invitation remain by you as a
token of a place where you might rest for a while in kind and
simple friendly welcome,—where you may at any time, if you choose,
come and sleep a day without our troubling you with a word; in
short, where you shall find rest and do exactly as you please.
Nobody shall ask you to play a tune; nobody shall hinder your
playing an opera; you shall come and go at will and be as free as
in the wood. Liberty is about all that we keep here and that we
offer.
I trust that your affairs in New York are not going ill; but
however they go, let me hope that you will be borne above this
world. God is light, and in Him is no darkness at all. When we
perish with hunger there is always bread enough to spare in our
Father’s house.
With kindliest feelings and remembrances,
Truly yours,
H. B. STOWE.
James Gordon Bennett had been most kind to Ole Bull from the time of his
first visit to the United States. When at that time the friends of
Vieuxtemps were assailing him by personal attacks as well as musical
criticism, Mr. Bennett called, and offered the columns of the _Herald_
for any answer Ole Bull might like to make. With a warm pressure of the
hand, he replied in his broken English: “I tink, Mr. Benneett, it is
best tey writes against me and I plays against tem.” “You’re right, Ole
Bull, quite right,” said the editor with a laugh; “but remember the
_Herald_ is always open to you.” The following characteristic quotation
is from one of Mr. Bennett’s notes: “I am happy you are again so
successful. You, and you only, can raise the devil or the angels.”