Critics said he lacked technique. I am glad he
did: his music went straight to the heart. At the last he told us he
would give the tune always played after a wedding when the guests had
stayed long enough--usually three days--and their departure was
desired. We were to listen for one shrill note which was imperative.
No one would care or dare to remain after that.
Dr. Doremus showed me one evening a watch he was wearing, saying:
In Ole Bull's last illness when he no longer had strength to
wind his watch, he asked his wife to wind it for him, and then
send it to his best friend, saying: 'I want it to go ticking
from my heart to his.'
That watch magnetized by human love passing through it is now in the
possession of Arthur Lispenard Doremus, to whom it was left by his
father. It had to be wound by a key in the old fashion, and it ran in
perfect time for twenty-nine years. Then it became worn and was sent
to a watchmaker for repairs. It is still a reliable timekeeper, quite
a surprising story, as the greatest length of time before this was
twenty-four years for a watch to run.
I think of these rare souls, Ole Bull and Dr. Doremus, as reunited,
and with their loved ones advancing to greater heights, constantly
receiving new revelations of omnipotent power, which "it is not in the
heart of man to conceive.
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