Ole Bull: A Memoir

by Sara Chapman Thorp Bull

On his return to Paris, in the winter of 1839, his engagement at the Grand Opéra was broken up, through an intrigue of Schlesinger, the publisher of La Revue Musicale, and he gave a few concerts at the Théâtre de la Renaissance. In the spring of 1840 he went to London, taking Mr. Morandi, a harpist, as his secretary; but finding him unreliable in some respects, he determined to break loose from the connection at the risk of losing twelve hundred francs, which he had already advanced to Morandi. The latter, knowing that he could hold him on his contract, acted accordingly.

One day when Ole Bull was playing with Franz Liszt, in the latter’s room, the manager of the hotel was announced, who told Ole Bull that a policeman was outside with a warrant obtained by Morandi, and that the latter himself was standing at the corner of the street to watch the arrest. The artist spent a pleasant afternoon and evening with Liszt, and returned quietly to his own hotel at midnight, the officer and Morandi having meanwhile become tired of watching for him. The following day he went to his ambassador, Count Bjornstjerna, and Morandi’s lawyer was sent for, who demanded sixty pounds, for breach of contract. Ole Bull was indignant, and refused to pay a penny; but what was to be done? It was two o’clock. At three he was to play at St. James for the queen, and at the corner of the street two policemen were waiting with the warrant for his arrest, if the claim of the lawyer should not be conceded. A cab was summoned, and one of Count Bjornstjerna’s footmen, wrapped in Ole Bull’s cloak, entered the vehicle and moved rapidly off, followed by the policemen; while five minutes later, the artist himself was driven quietly to the palace, in the count’s carriage. In the evening the matter was compromised, Ole Bull paying twenty pounds, in addition to the twelve hundred francs already advanced.

In a letter to his wife, dated in London, May 15, 1840, he writes of Liszt as follows:—

I have not spoken to you of Franz Liszt, with whom I have formed the warmest friendship in a very short time. We have played together and are mutually inspired with admiration and sympathy for each other. You will make his acquaintance....

Ole Bull used to tell an amusing incident concerning Liszt and himself. They had played a good deal together, often giving concerts without the aid of a manager. On one occasion when a manager had been employed, and many distinguished artists appeared, Ole Bull had been advertised with special prominence as the “eminent” violinist, but did not know of this. On going to his friend’s somewhat late to supper, Liszt remarked, in a cutting tone, “Ah, our eminent friend has arrived!” Ole Bull saw that the feeling of the company was not cordial, and that Liszt had only been the spokesman of their discontent. At last he arose and said: “I do not understand the drift of your conversation, but can readily see that my presence is not agreeable. I am pained in proportion as I have entertained the warmest admiration and friendship for you, Monsieur Liszt;” and he courteously took his leave. As he was walking rapidly away he heard his name shouted two or three times on the street, and, turning, saw Liszt running after him, hatless, and waving his napkin as he shouted, “My good friend, there must be some mistake. I beg you to come back, and let us discover who has played us this trick.” He then explained the cause of their irritation, and Ole Bull, in his turn, made it clear that he was not responsible for the offense. Cordiality was at once restored, and Liszt was the life of the evening. At its close he insisted that the company should breakfast with him the next morning. The invitation was accepted, and, after the breakfast and many pleasant topics had been discussed, Liszt suddenly turned to the manager, who was present, and said: “We have decided to have a trial. I am to be judge, and you shall be permitted to answer, if you can, the charges brought against you as to that announcement of yesterday.” After an examination and cross–examination, in which the man denied all responsibility in the matter, the judge pronounced sentence solemnly: “Ole Bull, I charge you to take this man, and hold him at arm’s length out of the window”—they were in the third story—“until he do confess.” So said, so done; and, dangling over the street, the man did confess a plot to breed jealousy and ill–will, in order to break up a combination of two names which, as already stated, had sometimes made the services of an impressario unnecessary. The torment of the culprit was heightened by an occasional query on the part of Ole Bull if he was not soon to be relieved, as his arms were too tired to hold out much longer; but Liszt kept the poor wretch hanging there until the last moment, when he released him only on the promise that he would never offend again.

During this season, Liszt and Ole Bull played the Beethoven “Kreutzer Sonata,” at one of the Philharmonic Concerts. There was a great diversity of opinion among the critics as to the performance. The Philharmonic Society themselves gave expression to their judgment by the presentation of a piece of silver plate to the violinist.

The following note from Liszt is a pleasant reminder of the engagements of that time:—

Mon cher Ole,—Arrivé hier à 3 heures; concert à 8 heures et demi. Leurs altesses le grand Duc de Bade et le prince de S. l’ont honoré de leur presence. Du reste assemblée très–choisie, aristocratique—mais non pas très–nombreuse.

Benazet pourtant m’a assuré qu’il y avait là toute la bonne compagnie de Baden.

D’apres cette épreuve, et quelques conversations, je crois pouvoir dire que vous ferez surement un ou deux bons concerts ici, et je vous engage beaucoup à ne pas rester d’avantage dans les environs sans vous faire entendre ici.