On se réunit à 9 heures.
(Il n’y aura pas de “violon” ni même de piano.)
At midnight, however, the violin was sent for at Liszt’s request, and not till after two o’clock in the morning did the company disperse. The walk to the hotel along the fine river embankment in the brilliant starlight, with the wonderful tones still sounding in one’s brain, cannot be forgotten. After a brilliant improvisation on the same motives which Ole Bull had chosen for the violin, Liszt had closed with a dreamy, tender nocturne.
The master’s real interest in his friend’s work was shown by his chiding him with warmth for the state of his musical manuscripts which he insisted on looking through, and which he earnestly entreated him to prepare for publication.
The following note brought Liszt himself in answer, and the last adieux were said:—
Illustre Ami,—En partant, le courage de vous remercier de vive voix de votre hospitalité princière me fait défaut. Vos précieux conseils, inséparables compagnons de votre âme, inséparables souvenirs de lumière de notre réunion après tant d’années d’épreuves, sont gage sincere d’amitié—gage et promesse en même temps! Ma chère femme, toute émue sous l’influence de votre génie si gracieux, me prie d’exprimer sa reconnaissance, et permettez–moi de souhaiter que l’Etre Suprême vous rende aussi heureux que possible; voila ce que désire ardemment
Votre dévoué admirateur et ami,
F. Liszt Ole Bull.
A month at the baths in Wiesbaden, where friends made the stay most pleasant, and a summer in the Norse home, followed. That summer home–coming was always a delight to Ole Bull.
The grand old mountains, weird and forbidding in the early spring storms but glorified by the Northern summer, called him, and he heard. The beloved Lysekloster valley, whose wooded slopes commanded the fjord, the sea, the islands, and the great range of the Hardanger; the road his childish steps had trod, winding its way down to the sea from the church of the old ancestral home, at every turn giving a picturesque glimpse of lake or cliff; the path shaded by birches and maples, and the fields fragrant with wood violets and lilies–of–the–valley; the cottagers at work, the red jackets of the women and caps of the men giving a dash of color here and there; the workers shouting their respectful “welcome back” as he hurries down to the boat waiting to carry him to his own enchanted isle,—this was the picture which lured him every spring, and when realized gave him the happiest moment of the year.