Ole Bull: A Memoir

by Sara Chapman Thorp Bull

Some who never like to admit that the greatest stands before them say that Paganini played the “Carnival of Venice” better than his Norwegian rival. I know not. But if ever laughter ran along the chords of musical instrument with a wilder joy, if ever tones quarreled with more delightful dissonance, if ever violin frolicked with more capricious grace than Ole Bulbul’s in that fantastic whirl of melody, I envy the ears that heard it....

His reception in New York has exceeded all preceding stars. His first audience were beside themselves with delight, and the orchestra threw down their instruments in ecstatic wonder. Familiarity with his performance brings less excitement, but I think more pleasure.

From Richmond Ole Bull went to Charleston, and thence to New Orleans. He gave five concerts in that city at the same time that Vieuxtemps and Madame Damoreau were giving a series of soireés. The Spanish, English, and German papers rivaled the American in their friendly criticisms of his performances. After three concerts in Mobile, he returned again to New Orleans for two final concerts there.

An anecdote of one of his first Southern visits, told by the late Mr. Thomas R. Gould, the sculptor, is illustrative of his many curious adventures at that time. A large diamond in his violin bow, which had been given him by the Duke of Devonshire with the request that he should use it, had attracted the attention of a man, who came to him and told him that he wanted the stone. The violinist replied, that, as it was a gift, it had associations, and he could neither give it away nor sell it. “But I am going to have that stone!” said the man, as he began to draw his bowie knife from the collar of his coat; but the movement was parried by the musician’s muscular arm, and the fellow was felled to the floor by a blow with the edge of the hand across his throat. “The next time I would kill you,” said Ole Bull, with his foot on the man’s chest, “but you may go now.” On his release the fellow expressed his admiration for Ole Bull’s dexterity and muscle, and asked him to accept the bowie knife, which he had meant to use against him. This was not the only present of the kind he received—as five knives, four given him in the Southern States, and one in Spain, were kept among his curiosities at home, and sometimes drew from him a story of his adventures. He was often obliged, while in the South, to take the cash box, after his concerts, from one place to another, the banks being few and far between, and was finally warned by detectives of a gang of men who were following him for the sake of plunder. He had several encounters with them, and was more than once in serious danger. He writes at this time:—

My brave servant Henry watches over me as a father over a son. He always fears that I may be attacked by villains; but I do not think I am in danger from any weaponed hand.

One more story will sufficiently illustrate his Southern and Western adventures. Going down the Mississippi, he met on the steamboat a party of half–savage men, colonists from the far West. While reading his newspaper he was accosted by one of the men, who had been sent as spokesman by his companions, with the request that the fiddler would take a drink with them, offering him a whiskey flask at the same time. “I thank you,” said Ole Bull politely, “but I never drink whiskey.” With a curse, the fellow asked if he was a teetotaler. “No, but whiskey is like poison to me.” “If you can’t drink, come and fight then!” The man’s comrades had gathered round him meantime, and they all cried, “If you won’t drink, you must fight. You look d‑‑n strong; show us what you are good for.” “A Norseman can fight as well as anybody when his blood is up, but I can’t fight when my blood is cold, and why should I?” “You look like a strong fellow, and d‑‑n it, you shall fight.” Seeing no way of escape, Ole Bull quietly said, “Since you insist on testing my strength and there is no reason for fighting, I will tell you what I will do. Let any one of you take hold of me in any way he likes, and I’ll wager that in half a minute he shall lie on his back at my feet.” A big fellow was chosen, who stepped forward and grasped the violinist round the waist, but was instantly thrown over his head by a sudden wrench and lay senseless on the deck. Ole Bull now felt himself in a very uncomfortable position, for he saw one of the man’s comrades draw his bowie knife, but was relieved when it was used only to open a flask. A good dose of its contents poured down his throat soon revived the fainting man, and his first question, “How the devil was I thrown down here?” was answered by a shout of laughter from his companions, in which he himself joined. He sprang to his feet, and after vainly trying to persuade Ole Bull to show him how he had thrown him, he said: “Take this knife home with you; you fight d—d well; you are as quick as lightning!” The artist heard of the same fellow later as having gone to an editor to call him to account for an adverse criticism on his playing, ready to fight for “the strongest fiddler he had ever seen, anyhow!”

Ole Bull now decided to visit Cuba, and landed in Havana. He there wrote two compositions on Cuban motives: “Agiaco Cubano,” and “Recuerdos de la Habana,” which he played at his last concert.

He wrote to his wife from New Orleans, January 24, 1844:—

All these days we have had summer weather, very warm but extremely damp; the atmosphere is very heavy, and my strings break constantly.... Yesterday I gave my last concert in New Orleans for this visit; I was overwhelmed with bouquets and flowers. I have practiced speech–making, and it goes better than one would think, as I have no facility in speaking English; but a firm will can accomplish much.... The French are still pursuing me, that they may hold up Vieuxtemps and Artot; they invent all manner of outrageous stories to lower me in the public estimation, but as yet without success. It is probable that these rumors will be circulated in Paris, with the same end in view. Well, my dear, one must bear much malice and misrepresentation when he has become a public character, and you know I have already had my share; but, at the same time, I have met with forbearance and generosity, and this ought not to be forgotten. My life has hitherto, as you know, been a most changeful one, and superhuman strength is sometimes needed to enable one to stand against such infamous attacks and—keep silence. But enough of this.... I am sorry you are not satisfied with the nurse Miette; she is the only servant to whom I feel really indebted for the care she has given our children, and I believe that she loves us. Try to overlook little faults, which are of no consequence; we must remember her good qualities, and the attachment she has shown us in the past. Give her my greetings, say that I am grateful for all the love she has shown our children up to this time, and that I thank her for what I know she will still do in the future.... My regards to the Vuillaumes. Say that when I return I desire to play in Paris. They shall see that I have not wasted my time during our separation....

He also wrote of Havana as follows:—