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LIFE AND LETTERS
OF
LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


BY OCTAVIA HENSEL),,
HIS FRIEND AND PUPIL.
" Nor blame I Death, because he bare
The use of virtue out of earth:
I know transplanted human worth
Will bloom and profit otherwhere.
"A life that all the muses decked
With gifts of grace that might express
All-comprehensive tenderness,
All subtilizing intellect."
TENNYSON.
BOSTON:
OLIVER DITSON AND COMPANY,
277 WASHINGTON STREET.
NEW7 VORK: C. H. DITSON & CO.




Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year s870,
BY OLIVER DITSON & CO.,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington
STEREOTYPED BY C. J. PETERS & SON,
5 WASHINGTON ST., BOSTON.




I CANNOT give these pages to the public before thanking those who
have so kindly encouraged me in this my tribute of love and admiration.
First, to my dear friends,
CELESTINE AND CLARS GOTTSCHALK,
am I most grateful for aiding me with reminiscences of their brother,
and the kind and cordial sympathy they express in my work.
To Mr. FRANCIS G. HILL, Mr. GRENVILLE D   WILSON, and Col.
CHICKERING, of Boston;
To Mrs. CLARA M. BRINKERHOFF, Mr. GEORGE WILLIAM WARREN,
Mr. RICHARD HOFFMANN, and Messrs. HALL & SONS, of New York;
To Mr. CHARLES VEZLN and Miss ANNIE MEYERS, of Philadelphia;
To Mr. GEORGE P. UPTON of Chicago,am I indebted for encouragement and aid. From the laurel leaves their
hands have brought, I have twined a wreath with the simple love and
gratitude which my heart held, and must ever hold, for my dear master
and friend, Louis MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.
OCTAVIA HENSEL.
BOSTON, August, 1870.




I
I




INTRODUCTORY.
41 ALBION STREET, HYDE PARK, LONDON,
March 22, 1870.
To MADAM OcrAvIA HENSEL, BOSTON.
My Dear Madam, —I have received your letter, and,
as far as time allows, will try and satisfy your demands.
But first let me thank you for the true love and respect
with which you speak of our dearly beloved brother, and
tell you that I can entertain no doubt, that, even had you
not the talent to write a book worthy of the greatest and
best man that ever was, the real appreciation you seem
to have had of his purity and nobility of sentiment would
enable you to place before the public a book which his
sisters and brother will fully approve.
Yet let me tell you it is a difficult, and to me, his
sister, almost an impossible task. No words can ever give
an idea of what he was! Those only who had read him
when alive can understand the greatness of his genius and
moral worth. Nevertheless, your book is a tribute of love,
admiration, and respect, and as such must be acceptable to
the public. As to his sisters, -who long to join him, who
yearn to give him an embrace, whose hearts are utterly
broken, whose lives are all dark since their guardian angel
is gone, - what will it be to them I They love those who
6




6


INTRODUCTORY.


have loved him, their heart's treasure; and they thank you,
from their hearts, for trying to give the world an idea of
what they once had the happiness to possess, and now have
lost
He has been - our darling Moreau - every thing to us,
ever since I can remember,- loving, affectionate, yet firm.
As we were separated from father, whose calling kept him
in New Orleans, Moreau was looked up to with reverence;
and in all Iur childish troubles and joys we went to him
(even in preference to our dearest mother), sure to find
there sympathy.
He took especial delight in my progress in music, because he thought I would play well one day: and he would
often call me, when he had friends, to ask me to play; which
I did on one piano, while he at the other was playing most
elaborate harmonies and variations to my simple melody,
immensely enjoying the fact that I thought it was I who was
playing the whole!
My sister Celestine, who is older than myself, has
written what she remembers of him when they were
children together. Had you not been so pressed for time,
I would have sent you some extracts of his letters when a
little boy; but I do not like to keep you waiting.
We intend going to New York for a short time. The
remains of our beloved lost one will be brought from Rio;
and we shall be there to gaze fbr the last time on his darling
loved face, and pay him the last tribute of love and respect.
You tell me that he was kind to you. I am not surprised
at it, but would have wondered if it had been otherwise.
He could no more help being generous and loving than he
could help having been invested with the genius given
him of God I We have had no other support than him
for years. He sent us regularly forty pounds a month,
besides giving us all the money from his music published




INTRODUCTORY.                     7
in Europe; and he would say constantly, "Dearest sisters,
have you enough money to be comfortable? If not, tell me,
and I will send more."
Last Christmas, twelvemonth, he wrote such a loving
letter I (This Christmas he did not write: if he did, they
destroyed it.)  " Think," said he, " how blessed we are to
love each other as we do!  Think of the happiness of
meeting again, strong in each other's love."
I think my sister has not told you our names. We
are four sisters, and one brother. Celestine is the eldest; I,
Clara; Augusta and Blanche. Gaston is our brother's
name. Poor dear Edward was between Celestine and me.
We were educated in Paris.
I must close for post. With very kind regards from
my sisters and myself,
I remain, dear madam,
Yours sincerely,
CLARA GOTTSCHALL




I




PREFACE.
"You Rinom     on't care for tuberoses and jasmines.. I have enough of the tropics in my nature;.. but
send me blue violets and heliotrope: they soothe me into
better thoughts, and make me more worthy to be
"Your sincere friend,
"L. M. GOTTSCHALK."
Violets and heliotrope he ever asked of one to whom he
wrote those words. The flowers themselves shall be placed
upon his grave; but, in the spirit of their symbolism, I ofher
to his memory these words and thouglts, caught from the
sunlight of his genius, nourished by remembrance of his
kindly words and kindlier deeds.




I
kh.
I




ADAGIO.
" TAKE me, oh! take me, while my life is glory.
Ere I he weary, take me to thy rest;
Ere love be feeble, or my locks be hoary:
E'en in my beauty take me to be blest.
Young is my spirit, crowned with dewy roses;
Fresh is my life, as lilies freshly blown.
Love for its sweetness and it. hope reposes
On Thee, Eternal, on Thy smile alone."
"What he suffered bodily was transmuted into a suffering of
the soul. Who is there that can measure this action and re.
action of body and soul? "
"Who inherit, instead of motive powers,
Impulsions God supplied;
Instead of vital spirit,
A clear informing beauty;
Instead of creature duty,
Submission calm as rest."
11




A




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.
" Sonata guasi una Fantasia."
PIANISSIMO.
B   EETqOVEN'S      "Moonlight Sonata," full
of life's saddest yet richest experience, preluded by adagio of passionate longing over love
too pure for earth denied, aptly symbolizes the
character and life of one whose sweet spirit and
noble soul has now finished its work in this
world.
As artistes rarely interpret Beethoven alike; so
dissimilar natures who glance over these sketches
may find in them nothing but rhythmic measures,
phrases of poetic beauty, but made up contrary
to received methods of biographical memoirs:
others may feel their truth, and learn from them
to rightly estimate a life full of poetic beauty,
earnestness, and unsatisfied longings after all that
is highest and noblest in human existence.
13




14


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


"The Moonlight Sonata " has been chosen as
guide in interpreting the life of Louis Moreau
Gottschalk, as it stands among the works of
Beethoven alone, or rather contrary, in the arrangement of its movements, to other sonatas.
As the adagio is first given; so the calm and
peaceful childhood of the boy was passed in the
tropical beauty of a Southern clime. Surrounded
by love, guided by the tenderness of a mother's
sympathy, guarded by the calm judgment and
deeply-loving heart of a father, the child gathered
into his soul tones of passionate love, and trust in
human sympathy. The exquisite luxuriance of
Nature, the perfumes of the tropics, steeped his
every sense in ecstasies of sensuous delight; and
the murmuring of the breeze among the rosysilver magnolia-blooms, the golden haze of moonlight flung through orange-groves, the crimson
hue of camellia and scarlet pomegranate, wove
before his baby vision a picture of delight and
restful joy never afterwards effaced. True, it
did not fully solace and still the longings of a soul
far reaching into the depths of infinite love: but
it filled his whole being with a fervor and worship
of the beautiful, that never found free utterance
save when it received assurances of the approach
of a kindred spirit; and then the long-treasured
dreams would unfold themselves, and through
woof and warp of exquisite texture would glitter




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCIHALK.


15


the pure pearls of truth, the diamond-flash of
intellect, and the amethystine splendor of a sorrow
too deep for human sympatlly.
And perhaps here it would be well to quote the
criticism of one whose charming appreciation of
music is only exceeded by the culture of her style
in expressing her tloughts:  *...  Gottschalk's music is not so Hebraic as
tropical; it suggests present and keen pleasures;
it is too warm; and, like all the sweets and enjoyments of that region which gave birth to his
genius, it is apt to pall. Even the sweet, luscious
' Ricordati' overwhelms one with its exuberant,
fond, sensual melody: it is not pure enough for
the stately pomegranates and bells of tlle synagogues.  Mendelssohn is alone Hebraic.   Both
composers have rich, warm coloring, expressions
of exquisite sentimentality; but in one it is a
present, vivid enjoyment, in tlle other a deep,
melodious ecllo of a solemn poetical past. In
Mendelssohn, ' Le pass' y joue un plus grand lrle
que le present: qui dit passe dit pocsie; le passd
n'est il pas la jeunesse de notre imagination?'
It is just and true; but, lhad she known Gottschalk personally, I feel that slie would have found
in his compositions, not so much the music of
present joy as the remembrance of past delights,
* Anna H. 1. Brewster: " Compensation."




16


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


when life was as an opening flower, and human
love embraced him on every side.
Mendelssohn's life was one of ease: no shadow
of disappointment haunted the pure realm of intellectual power. Through his music, -
" Pure lilies of eternal peace "
fold their chalice beneath the calm stars, while
pinky buds of anemone and blue violet-blooms
breathe in perfume through all the sunny summer
day.   The royal purple of his own powerful
imagination supplies the warm tints, but passion
had no part in his nature; and all appeal to sensuous beauty comes from intellectual appreciation
of harmony and orchestration.
But the adagio of Gottschalk'.s life was filled
with a sadness too deep for human expression,
a sadness that came from the two dissimilar lives
he was obliged to lead. The world into which
his young life was so early thrown was fall of
disappointment and heartlessness.  Few apprehended him; and very soon their simulated
friendship dropped from his regard. Few men
can lose faith in human sympathy, and keep a
kind and generous heart: but this Gottschalk did;
and, although he was occasionally disappointed
where he had hoped to find a nature nobler than
his own, he kept a certain loving trust in human



LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


17


ity, but guarded well the key that gave admittance
to his own true heart.
Dissimulation he never fully learned: there,
fore the armor he wore, of quiet hauteur and
nonchalance, received the sneers of those who
did not know him. Alas, poor world! judging as
it does from appearances, how terribly it is often
deceived!  If the lieaven of St. John's Apocalypse has no foundation save in the brilliant
imagination of that loving disciple, it at least
holds this one truth, that " there shall in no wise
enter into it any thing that defileth, neither
whatsoever worketh abomination  or maketh a
lie."
We know tlat preludes of sorrow and sadness
thrill before every heart-beat of earthly joy: but,
in the glorious hereafter, a God of love "sliall
wipe away all tears; " and "tthere shall be no more
death, neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall
there be any more pain; for the former things are
passed away."
I




18


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


PIANO, DECRESCENDO.
" You thought my heart too far diseased;
You wonder, when my fancies play,
To find me gay among the gay,
Like one with any trifle pleased. - TENNYSON.
OR la calle de despues, se va a la casa de
nunca," murmured Moreau Gottschalk as
lie arose from  tlle piano, and handed the duo
"' William  Tell " to his pupil. " Who walks in
the streets of by and by will stop in the llouse of
never," he repeated in English. " Now, little
hand, write that proverb on your music here, and
remember me; and so, ' good-by.'"    He raised
the lhand to his lips, and turned from tlle room.
"I will write those words in my memory, Mr.
Gottschalk, and never say 'by and by' again.
Before you return, I will learn every tlling you
ever wrote, and without my notes too."    Tie
young girl caught a pencil from  the hand of her
governess, who stood beside the piano, and
motioned to Gottschalk to write thle Spanish
proverb.
"C'est possible," he replied, as lie wrote the
words he had spoken, "I may never return;
out don't look so grave: listen to this good-by I
will play for you."




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


19


He reseated himself at the piano: a few minore
arpeggios rippled over the ivory keys, then flashed
out a motivo so wild, so joyous, that the sorrow of
parting was forgotten, and the margnetic flash
of hope and joy, born amid tlie mysteries of
harmony, thrilled the listener's heart.  " Yes,
that is all you, your very self. No one but Moreau
Gottschalk could describe his own heart so
exactly. You cannot keep to the minore."
"I don't wisli to do so," he replied simply.
"But thlis is a good-by for you alone. Tell me
what it says."
A simple chorale, grland in minor chords, gave
the theme; and then a slumber-song, weird and
wild, wound amid the mazes of tlhe motivo carried
by tile bass. Fainter and stiller grew the melody,
until it was hushed in a ninore so thrillingly
pathetic, tlat death could bring no more intense
sorrow to fiiendly liearts. And so he said "' Goodby," and left his young pupil bitterly weeping.
The following morning, a note written on
delicately rose-tinted paper came to her:"Are you not now convinced that I can keep
to tlie minore?  Thlere is more minore in my
heart than thie world gives me credit for. Who
cares? I clloose to live allegro: death's andante
shall never find the presto of my life's sonata
unfinisled... "If I never see you again, remember only




20


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


the scintillations of my —genius, or nonsense,
comme vous voulez: don't speak of me as any
thing but ' flash and flame.' I know myself, I
know my art. It is not, as you once said, ' quickened by the magic touch of sympathetic genius:
it is pure nature.  I touch the piano, and the
'tone-spirit,' as you call it, wanders at will. If
I am ever any thing better, it will be -when my
head holds my heart in check, and the mysteries
of that ' brighter land' you love to tell me about
are more clearly perceived.  Did not my minore
lullaby yesterday console you for the lightness of
the first strains? Let it symbolize my life. I
will bring that music to you again from the sunnier land to which I go; and you shall never say
that Moreau Gottschalk could not weave into his
life and heart the sadder, holier influence of the
pathetic minore. If I die, it will simply be to you a
'Lost Chord; ' to me, a moment of holier thought,
inspired by memory of your gentle counsels."
A lost chord?  Yes: a chord that
" Flooded the crimson twilight
Like the close of an angel's psalm;
And it lay on my fevered spirit
With a touch of infinite calm.
It quieted pain and sorrow
Like love overcoming strife;
It seemed the harmonious echo
From our discordant life.




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


21


It linked all perplexed meanings
Into one perfect peace,
And trembled away into silence
As if it were loth to cease."
Gottschalk loved that little poem. In referring
to it, he once said, " Yes, death will be welcome
if it gives ' harmonious echo to our discordant
life.' I wonder if it will."
The minore slumber-song is indeed a lost chord
to us; but to him who so keenly apprehended the
beautiful symbolism of music in its relation to
human life, let us hope that death indeed linked
the "perplexed meaning" of the two dissimilar
lives he lived (causing his strange inconsistencies)
into a life more harmonious,- a life beyond death,
more perfect in peace.
For him,"It may be that Death's bright angel
Will speak in that chord again;
It may be that only in heaven
I shall hear that grand Amen."




LIFE AND LETTERS OF


LEGATO.
"His heart was like the ocean:
It had storm and ebb and flow;
And many a pearl was hidden
In its silent depths below." -HEINE.
H    IS  character showed great inconsistencies.
Impulse ruled rather than guided him.
Some one has remarked of a similar nature, " His
imagination controlled him more than his reason,
and, being less firm, let the folds fly loose; and so
his character showed its inconsistencies."
E]uphorion in Goethe's drama, the child of
Faust and Helen, that strange union of luxuriance and deep reasoning power, passionate longing and calm self-control, might better express his
faults and virtues than any words his friends can
use. He was a wayward, passionate child, but
noble and generous in his impulses, led by a glance
or a word against his better judgment, but sorely
repenting his follies when brought back to himself
by a gentler yet firmer nature than his own;
promising to act more wisely, ever repeating that
"errors repented of have no past," but forgetting
that " their future must be one of atonement and
amendment."




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


23


Of a delicate, nervous organization, his physical
strength depended much on the state of his feelings; and, when excited by society, he gave back
the kind of pleasure he received. Truly musicianlike, he kept to the tone that happened to be given
by those around him.   If, among his gay and
thoughtless companions, he was ready for frolic
and mirth, careless of consequences, the next
hour would find him calmly, quietly seated in a
friend's parlor, absorbed in some poem, or arranging a bouquet of freshly-cut flowers, and talking as
only a true lover of Nature can talk of the sentiments they inspire. At such times, his life-theme
seemed only a gentle preluding, full of complex
harmonies too intricate to be easily apprehended
by the careless observer; but to one whose sympathies were quickened by the magnetic power of
his voice-tone, and the veiled spiritual expression
of his eyes, the themes were no longer intricate,
but they were mere voluntaries, that might have
widened into glorious symphonies worthy the
intellect of a Beethoven.
His nature was full of religious sentiment:
music wove about him a realm of waking dreams,
an approach to the infinite, which words could
never express. No sight, no sound, in Nature can
unfold the mysterious depths of a human soul,
which has power in itself to form out of the chaos
of sound an all-encompassing realm, into which,




24


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


through tension of thought and observation, we
can penetrate, and find that chaos no longer
"without form, and void."
It Is only a musician who can describe or
understand a nature like Gottschalk's: he was far
beyond the reach of common human sympathies.
His powers of adaptation were wonderful, - too
good for his own benefit; for careless observers
saw in him nothing but " a musical dandy," and
said, " He is no true artist, merely a musical bonbon for sentimental ladies." They are right as far
as they go; but he was something more to those
friends who had intellect enough to demand true
art and intellect from him. Unfortunately, they
formed but a small portion of the society in which
he was obliged to mingle at the North.
His faults were merely mistakes, - the result
of his generous, passionate nature, and a pliability
of head and heart that seemed a constitutional
defect. " Spoiled by too much flattery in his
younger life," say some who strive to exculpate
him. It has been wisely said, " Great natures are
never injured by appreciation and preference,
even when frankly and openly expressed: they are
encouraged by it, and grow nobler; nor do they
ever misunderstand it.  It is only the petty,
inferior mind which puts a wrong construction on
such regard, and wounds us by its vanity and
conceit." Moreau Gottschalk was not spoiled by




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHIALK.


25


flattery. His mind was neither petty nor inferior,
nor was he vain or conceited in the presence of
true merit.  In the presence of those who boasted
rather loudly, he may have arrogated to himself
more scientific knowledge than he possessed, - a
very common fault in artistes of both sexes.
Deeper, more grievous faults may have been
his; but, God be thanked! his most intimate
friends never saw them, never knew lie possessed
them. Has not " Oiiida " somewhere said, " Scanals arc like dandelion seeds: tlley are arrowheaded, stick where they fall, and bring forth and
multiply fourfold. Scandals and dandelions, both
weeds, relislled by donkeys "? A truth too obvious to be commented upon here.
It has been regretted by many, that Gottsclhalk
allowed himself to make a trade, as it were, of llis
/ genius, and descend to flatter public taste, rather
tlan aid in raising the standard of music in thiis
country.   He knew himself too well to take a
____    ii —is impulsive natur-waoffud i-evet'-alluwhim to hioll. He p-Oferre   to allure, rather than
to be an authority. He inspired il every audience musical appreciation, and guided tlem gradually to more strict musical apprellension; then
\   le stepp)ed aside, and left the field of scientific
and classical lore to older, steadier heads than his
own. He never sought to reform, to revolutionize. -hknew he could not be a leader of the
-----   ----— ~ --- —-,




26


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


classic school; but he did glorious picket-duty,
rode many a raid right gallantly, and brought
many a heart captive into the royal realm of
Music.
Industry formed little part of his nature; and
yet he could be an earnest, untiring student
when the necessity was put upon him.     The
concert-room was the last place to fully understand his wonderful talent, -a talent upheld by
genius and sentiment. Tie music lie played in
public blinds one who would study his true character. It seems the foam on the top of his goblet
of life. Once or twice is that froth flung aside,
and his nobler nature speaks to us in the "M arche
Solennelle," and the motivo of tle " Marche de
Nuit."  Again, in the "Ricordati," " Berceuse,"
and the majeure of "' Serenade," his heart speaks
in simplest strains.  But his " Souvenir de la
Havane," " Bamboula,"    "Bananier,"   " Ojos
Criollos," are mere shams for thle concert-room;
and no one more thoroughly lauglied at them
than their author. "It is only mediocrity that
pays," he often repeated; "and, as I must live,
I must be willing to please others, even if not
myself."
To rightly apprehend Gottsclhalk's talent, it was
necessary to hear him alone, or witll two or three
chosen friends.  He would seat himself at the
piano, - always more readily if a vase of his fl



LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


27


vorite violets and heliotrope stood near, - ani
the improvisations that flowed beneath his skilful
fingers came from his happy, loving heart, as
breezes through an orange-grove.
At times his heart was silent; and then the
brain wove its intricate harmonies into combinations so fantastic, so weird and wildly sweet, that
they seemed like seraph voices chanting from the
far-off spheres in stillness of midnight; and then a
rapid modulation amid arpeggios and chromatics
would flash out as the clear cold northern lights
in a wintry sky: these fading, the heart asserted
its sway; and melodies languishing in dreamy
reverie of sunnier lands, amid perfumes of magnolia and orange groves, thrilled witll passionate
longing the loving soul that listened.  Again,
when the maestro's heart and mind strove with
each other for mastery, a simple theme would for
a moment plunge the hearer into a Lethean
stream, so near the fountain of tears that the poor
heart would tremble in a suspense exquisitely
painful. Emerging from the momentary forgetfulness, sad, slow, minor strains would call up the
purer, better nature; and tears such as little
children shed over their lost or broken treasures
would suffuse the eyes: but, like the sorrows of
little children, these soon passed; for the April
sunshine of his heart streamed over the tear.
laden motivo, and it broke into trilling cf birds,




28


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


and the golden sunlight of simple melodies. In
such an hour, "Home, Sweet Home" flashed
along the keys, and became a home of happiness
glowing in the holiest love.  Rising from the
piano, he would glance around the group, give
one long look into the eyes of the one nearest to
him in sympathy, and, with a weary smile, sink
into his favorite fauteuil, and remain silent for
hours. On one of these occasions, a little child
approached him with an orange, and said, "It's
all I dot: but, when you play, I hear the angels
sing which mamma tells me 'bout; so I div it all to
you."  Gottschalk lifted the beautiful boy in his
arms, and, laying his head close to the golden
ringlets of the child, whispered, " Tell me about
the angels. I haven't any mamma now to tell
me."
Who can know all that passed between the two,
as they nestled close to each other by the fireside,
- the short, dark curls of the mal mingling with
the sunny ringlets of the child, whose sweet voice
lisped the wondrous story of the "In excelsis
gloria."  "Come, little one, and tell me more
pretty stories," was his greeting ever afterwards.
God grant, that, with that angel-child, he now
hears the glorious harmony of the seraph voices
that sometimes glanced into his earthly dreams I




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


29


CRESCENDO.
"Now flashing, sharp on sharp, alongy
Exultant in a mounting throng;
Now dying off into a song
Fed upon minors, - starry sounds
Moved on free-paced, in silver rounds,
Enlarging liberty with bounds.
And every rhythm that seemed to close
Survived in confluent under-flows,
Symphonious with the next that rose."
Mas. BROwNING.
T-   /THEN     Herz entered the concert-rooms of
America, and aroused the dormant musical apprehension of the audiences who crowded to
hear his brilliantly rapid variations on well-known
melodies, a new impulse was given to pianomusic; and opera fantasias, but mostly quadrilles
and waltzes, were heard on every side.
Then came Maurice Strakosch, with his bravouras and polkas surcharged with octaves and
chromatic passages, con fuoco, con brio; and hardly
had the echo of his galops died away, when the
quiet, coldly intellectual Thalbergl spread    before
us the frozen rainbows of his icy intellect. The
smooth harmony, woven in web and woof
with genius and scientific toil, well repaid the




30


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


earnestly intellectual lover of music, and refreshingly cooled, while it dazzled with prismatic lights
the over-wrought brain. Exquisite finish, faultless mechanism, harmony pure as perfect, —
Thalberg gave us statues of marble, in music
poems.
As this" radiant iceberg floated nearer and
nearer the shores of our life-ocean, chilling yet
charming our hearts, a warm breeze from tropical
groves of magnolia and orange flung its delicious
languor upon our senses, and warmed our hearts
into magnetic rapport with its passionate luxuriance.
Louis Moreau Gottschalk stood before us, and A
captivated our senses by speaking to our hearts.
No con fuoco, con brio, tranquillo, morendo, cheered,
pleased, and quieted us; but scintillante, animato,
brilliante, rapido, awoke us to consciousness of
heart-life. The "Danse Ossianique" glittered with
diamonds, not of ice and snow, but brilliantes
like those found in the beds of rivers which wander through the luxuriance of tropical vegetation.
When the majestic measures of the "Grande
Marche Solennelle " and " Marche de Nuit" prepared the way for the religioso of the "Last
Hope," again our hearts warmed to him whose
pure friendship could utter such priere du soir
for one whose mourning, motherly heart asked of
him " une petite mglodie ULTIMA ESPERANZA!




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


31


What if the "Jota Aragonese" recalled the gay
dances of the sunny South, and the "Banjo"
described an unintellectual throng of black faces
and curly wool, or "La Gallina" caused even little
children to say, " Oh, hear the chickens pick up
corn! " what if he took us into human life and
mirth: are we debasing art by asserting our humanity?  It is a stupid fancy ball, where every
one has the dress and dignity of royalty; and
shall we, in this great fancy-ball world, sacrifice
our natural tastes by striving to attune our minds
to the concert-pitch of a purely intellectual dictator?
Louis Moreau Gottschalk was no imitator; he
never sought after mere effects; he listened to the
murmuring of the breeze among the pines of
our Northern forests, and "Murmurs JEolians"
breathed themselves into life. If the " Reflets du
Passe" or "The Dying Poet" saddened for a
moment his joyous heart, then "The Dove"
came on its errand of peace. When " Pastorella
e Cavalliere" told its simple story, old men smiled,
and maidens' eyes filled with mischievous mirth.
Doubtless these grave old gentlemen would have
appeared more imposing, had they paid studious
attention to the prompting of intellectually classic
critics, and frowned at such human nonsense;
while maidens would have appeared more strongminded, and intellectually virtuous, to have sung




LIFE AND LETTERS OF


"Elijah," and ruined their voices in attempting
Beethoven's " Leonora."  But human nature asserted itself; and Moreau Gottschalk, with his
sunny smile, and generous, loving heart, won them
forever by  his beautiful, trustful reliance in
Nature and Truth.
God be thanked, Moreau Gottschalk was not
afraid to show his humanity, and eatablish a
school, a music, of his own. As Teniers in
Antwerp led in the van of the Belgic school of
art, as Turner in Ellnland, as Poussin     and
Lorraine, have given their impress to the naturalness of the French    school; so in  America,
Moreau Gottschalk stands at the head of the
noble army of —yes, martyrs, artists who dare to
be themselves, and abhor the dilettanteism  and
affectation of self-reliant musical critics. He has
done more for the advancement of piano-music
than any man of this century. He is not as the
pianist of the past, lie may not be the pianist of
the future; but he is tle pianist of the present.
Criticism may array itself against him; criticism
loves a bright and shining mark: but criticism
never stifled Cliopin, nor can it peril the fame of
Gottschalk.  Unlike, yet "like in difference,"
alone they stand, Chopin and Gottschalk, unappreciated, never understood, save by those who
were admitted into the sanctuary of their friendship; but the day is dawning, when, in spite of




LOUIS MOREA U GOTTSCHALE.         33
critics and time-honored fables, the works of
Chopin and Gottschalk will be properly translated, and we will no longer stumble blindly into
correct rendition of tones which from them thrilled
with soul-power.








ALLEGRETTO.
" All my life long,
I have beheld with most respect the man
Who knew himself, and knew the ways before him,
And from amongst them chose considerately,
With a clear foresight, not a blindfold courage;
And, having chosen, with a steadfast mind
Pursued his purposes."
"That man is not the most in tribulation, who, resolute of
mind, walks his own way, with answerable skill to plant his
steps." -TAYLOR'S PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE.
"No one need pride himself upon genius, for it is the free
gift of God; hut of honest industry, and true devotion to his
destiny, any man may well be proud. Indeed, this thorough
integrity of purpose is itself the divine idea in its most common
form; and no really honest mind is without communion with
God." - FICHTE.
" I go to prove my soul.
I see my way, as birds their trackless way:
In some time - God's good time- I shall arrive.
He guides ae and the bird." - BROWNING.
86




0




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


37


PIANO.
' What wert thou then? A child most infantine,
Yet wandering far beyond that innocent age
In all but its sweet looks and mien divine;
Even then, methought, with the world's tyrant rage
A patient warfare thy young heart did wage,
When those soft eyes of scarcely conscious thought
Some tale, or thine own fancies, would engage
To overflow with tears, or converse fraught
With passion o'er their depths its fleeting light had wrought."
SHELLEY.
A     S the allegretto of "The Moonlight Sonata"
opens with combined harmony of wondrous
sweetness; so the unfolding life of the infant son
of Edward      Gottschalk    and   Aimee     Marie    de
Brasle brought purest happiness and         joy to the
heart of his beautiful young mother: while the
manly pride and love of his father showed deepest gratitude for the gift of a son so gentle, noble,
and talented.
Of these parents it is needed to say but little:
their life-work and tender care of the children
born to them has its best witness in the beautiful
devotion and love with which these children repaid
their care.    The following simple words, taken
from a letter written by Celestine, their eldest
daughter, are sufficient record:



38


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


" Mamma's name was Aimde Marie de Brasl6;
papa's, Edward Gottschalk.   He was born in
London, studied to be a doctor in Leipsic, but
gave it up at twenty-five years of age, and went
to America, where, in the year 1828, lie married
our mother in New Orleans. She was but fifteen
years old. In 1829, our darling brother Moreau
was born; he was, we were always told, a very fair
and delicate-looking baby, but most exquisitely
pretty."
Not only exquisitely pretty, but exquisitely
good, we learn from a less partial source than a
sister's heart. If ever his baby-voice was lifted
in fietful wail, the soft music of his young mother's slumber-song stilled in an instant the sorrow
and pain, and wove into his soul loving melodies
that were to thrill into beauteous expression
throughout his glorious young life. Very early,
too, did his tiny baby-fingers assert their lifework.
His sister tells us, " When Moreau was three
years old, our mother, being ill, was taken to Pass
Christian, to the seaside. One day, every one
in the house was startled by a faint but most
exquisite melody on the piano. The tone and
touch were perfect. As no one in the house but
mamma played that air, sle was the first to rush
into the drawing-room; and there, to her infinite
surprise, she found little Moreau standing on a




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


39


high stool, playing the melody she had sung to
him in the morning.
"Papa was told of the event, and decided that
Moreau should have a professor as soon as they
returned to town. So Mr. Letellier, a French
gentleman and a very good musician, was called
to teach our little brother. When he was six
years old, he began lessons in French with Monsieur Mauroy, and with Mr. Ely for violin. He
improved rapidly, and could play very difficult
pieces."
" One Sunday morning, during mass, the organist being unable to attend, Mr. Letellier from the
choir saw Moreau kneeling in our pew: he hurried down stairs, took the little fellow in his arms,
and carried him into the organ-loft, where lie
placed him before the organ, and told him to play.
Mr. Letellier pulled the stops and used the pedals,
but Moreau played the whole service, reading at
sight. His delight was unbounded. He ran the
whole way home, and, rushing into mamma's arms,
tried to explain to her what had taken place; but
the excitement of the music, the fatigue of his
race, and the happy feeling of his childish success,
so choked his utterance, that lie could not speak
a word, but only nestle in her arms and weep."
His love and admiration for his mother was
very beautiful: his father, as are all fathers perhaps, was very strict; and Moreau was a little




40


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


afraid of him, as indeed all the children were.
But to his mother he used to go, as to an elder
sister, for every thing. In speaking of this, his
sister says,"It was charming to behold his admiration for
mamma's beauty.    She was his confidante and
comforter in all things. To us, lie was, so far as
we can remember, the most kind, the most devoted, of brothers, -always ready to help us in
our little wants, to play with us; in fact, he was
and has always been our life and light, our all."
In his eighth year, we are told of a charity concert he gave for the benefit of Mr. Miolau, a
violinist from the French opera. This was the
first concert he gave; and the success he obtained
that night held brilliant promise for the future.
When the concert was over, calmly and unassumingly the young boy received the thanks and
congratulations of his friends, and went quietly
home with his parents. The excitement did not
keep him wakeful; and the events of the evening
seemed quickly forgotten in the peacefulness of
sleep, when suddenly the household was awakened
by a magnificent serenade. Mr. Miolau and his
friends, out of compliment to the child, were playing beneath his window.
We turn once more to his sister's reminiscences,
and from them copy the following lines: -
"Almost every Sunday evening, Moreau used


t




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


41


to play at Mrs. Boyer's evening parties. Mrs.
Boyer was at that time the first lady musicteacher in New Orleans. Moreau's genius was
well appreciated there. At last, Mrs. Boyer urged
papa to send our brother to Paris, where he could
secure the very best instruction. At first, papa
hesitated; for mamma could not make up her
mind to part with any of us children, mucl less
with her handsome eldest boy, her idol, of whom
she was so proud. So years passed on, Moreau
becoming more talented, more beautiful.and good,
every day. Mamma hoped that papa had forgotten all about sending our darling to Paris; but not
so: one day he told mamma she must at once get
Moreau ready; for lie liad decided to have him
sail with his friend Capt. Rogers, on the ship ' La
Taglioni.'  Every thing was arranged for his
departure; and in May, 1842, he bade us all farewell. It was the saddest parting we little ones
had ever known."
In the month of March, he gave a farewell
concert in St. Louis Hall, the largest, at that
time, in New Orleans.   An amusing episode
occurred, which caused him great amusement
whenever he recalled the evening. He was a
slender, boyish figure, with a most childlike face;
and the hairdresser, a stranger to whom he had
gone to have his hair curled, supposed he was
some young boy preparing for a child's party. So




42


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


he told him all about the wonderful young pianist,
and asked him if he did not wish he could go and
hear little Gottschalk; then added, " Now, that's
a stupid question; for surely such a mite as you
are will enjoy your party: but you'll not have
many to see you, for everybody in town is going
to the concert."
In speaking of this, he once said, "If you
could have seen the look of contemptuous pity the
man gave me when I.said I liked parties best, and
then the look of astonishment that came into, his
face when I told him who I was, you would have
lauglled as heartily as I (lid."
His sister tells us, " Mother, being in delicate
health, was kept in ignorance of the precise time
of his departure. This parting proved a terrible
shock to her. For a while her life was despaired
of, so intense seemed her grief: she lived only in
the hope of receiving letters from him; and she
was not disappointed. When he arrived in Paris,
he sent her a journal he had kept on board ship,.
in which he gives an admirable description of
meeting an iceberg, and a graphic account of
escape from the danger of shipwreck."
" He was placed at a private school in Paris, kept
by Monsieur and Madame Dussert. Ile was just
twelve years old, his birthday having occurred on
the ship. He took lessons first, but for a short
time only (not more than six months), from




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


43


Charles Halle; but, his teaching being too careless, Madame Dussert changed him for the best
professor in Paris, - Camille Stamaty, - who
showed himself not only a skilful and careful
teacher, but also a true, firm friend, which he-ever
remained. At the age of thirteen, he began the
study of harmony with Mr. Maledan."
Through his aunt, La Comtesse de Lagrange,
and his cousin, La Comtesse de Bourjolly, he was
admitted into some of the best society in Paris.
He was a frequent and welcome guest at the
Duchesse de Narbonne's, where his playing excited
the admiration of all true lovers of art; and many
were the delicious soirees musicales given by the
Duc de Salvandy, where the brilliant improvisations of his friend, the young Gottschalk, added
delight to the hours.
It was about this time that he began to write
some of his most exquisite compositions. His first
was "Ossian," two delicately-written ballads for
his mother's birthday; then " Danse des Ombres,"
which title he afterwards changed to "Danse
Ossianique."
At the age of fifteen he was attacked with
typhoid fever, and for three months was dangerously ill.  During a long and tedious convalescence he composed " Bananier," "Savane,"
" Bamboula:" but the latter took him a long
time to complete; for his physician forbade men

a




44


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


tal work, and sent him, with Madame Dussert, into
the Ardennes, for rest and freedom from excitement.
When he returned to Paris, he bent every
energy to excel in the study of harmony. He
became the pupil, and soon the friend, of Hector
Berlioz. In order that nothing might disturb his
earnest study, he declined an invitation extended
by Isabella, Queen of Spain, to visit the court at
Madrid.
During the summer of 1846, he went on a
pedestrian tour through the Vosges. His forgetfulness of such troublesome accompaniments as
passports frequently caused him amusing detentions.  At one time he reached a small town,
where, having forgotten or mislaid his passport, he
was taken into the police court. Whlile waiting
on a bench, he noticed one of the gendarmes reading a paper in which he saw his last piece
announced, -" Les Colliers d'Or." By this means
he managed to assure the maire of his identity,
and by him was invited home to breakfast; and
they became good friends ever afterwards.
Through his acquaintance with Pleyel, his concerts were most frequently given in Salle Pleyel,
where he was assisted by his friends Marmontel,
Le Couppey, Offenbach, Jos. Ascher, and many
others. It was at this time that he was invited
by Zimmermann, of the Paris Conservatoire, to




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


45


become one of the judges at the concours of the
conservatory.
During the winter of 1846-47, he gave a series
of concerts with Berlioz, at the Italian opera.
They were a most brilliant success.
In the spring of 1847, he was so wearied and
overworked from  his musical studies, that his
physicians recommended a tour through Switzerland. At Geneva, and afterwards at Lausanne,
he met the Grand Duchess of Russia, who was
most kind to him, and presented him with a very
elegant diamond-and-pearl pin.  At Vevay, a
small town on Lake Geneva, he gave a charity
concert for the blind, with the proceeds from
which part of the hospital was built which now
bears his name.
Loaded with gifts, he returned to Paris in
December to welcome his mother, sisters, and
brothers, who had come to meet him.      He
remained with them for a year, working at his
musical studies, and completing some of his most
exquisite pieces, which he had composed during
his tour in Switzerland. Among them  we find
the "Mancenillier," arranged for two pianos,
"Chasse de jeune Henri," "Songe d'une Nuit
d'Et6," and "La Moissonneuse Mazurka."
He did not devote himself so exclusively to the
study of his art as to render him selfish to others.
He gave many concerts, but all for charitable




46


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


purposes. In a letter from his sister Clara, she
mentions one of these concerts, and how painful
his playing had been. She says,"He was very fond of us, and would play with
the little ones on the floor for hours. Once, I
remember, the day of a concert in Paris, he was
amusing little Gaston with a top, when, in taking
it up in his outstretched hand, he ran a splinter
of wood in the finger, and had to play in the
evening with a bleeding hand."
The concert which attracted the most public
attention was the great charity-concert for the
workmen of Mr. Pleyel. The buildings had been
burned, and for three months the poor people had
been in a starving condition. Gottschalk, hearing
of it, immediately gave a monster concert for their
benefit. His sister's account of it is too modestly
simple to be ignored:"At the close of the concert, one of the oldest
workmen stepped upon the platform, and, in the
name of his fellow-workmen, made a little speech
of thankfulness to Moreau, and presented him
with a bouquet. It was such a pretty bouquet,
I remember. Mamma got it, of course; for Moreau gave all his flowers to her."
In the spring of 1849, he started for a concerttour throughout France. He was feasted, courted,
and loaded with every mark of distinction. When
he reached Bordeaux, he heard that his father had




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


47


arrived in Paris fiom New Orleans: so he returned
immediately to the capital. His sister writes,'"After a few days given to supremest enjoyment of our happy re-union, they went together to
Bordeaux; and thither Moreau embarked for
Spain, and papa came back to us."
In Spain he was most kindly received by the
queen, being provided with rooms and entertained
in the palace. From the king he received two
orders, -that of the diamond cross of " Isabella
la Catholique," and that of the " Leon d'Holstein."
The sword of honor, " El Chielanero," was also
presented to him. The Due de Montpensier was
among his friends and admirers.  One of his
finest waltzes for two pianos was composed for a
fite given by the Duchess. As he had but short
notice of the event, he composed the work in four
hours.  The second piano was played by Don
Carlos.
It was during this visit to the Spanish capital
that an incident occurred, strikingly illustrative of
his romantic love of adventure, and the generous
character of his impulses.
It is thus given by a friend: -
" His concerts had produced a decided sensation;
in fact, had taken the people quite by storm. The
furore occasioned by his success was very general:
it was such as easily to fascinate the mind of an
imaginative and impressible young Spanish girl,




48


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


and one such was caught by the splendid glamour.
She was confined to her sick chamber, even to her
bed: her friends considered her near her end.
But she was enthusiastically fond of music, and
the fame of this celebrated young artist had
inspired her with a most passionate desire to hear
him. How idle the hope! Her people were in
very humble circumstances, and accordingly were
not in a condition to compensate the musician for
so great pains as paying her a visit, and giving a
concert for her exclusive benefit, would involve.
But she would take no denial: she felt that she
must hear this man before she died. Could she
but once be entranced by his delicious, dreamy
music; she could say, ' Welcome death '
"Her request was made known to the great
pianist. To the utter astonishment of all, he at
once gave orders for his piano to be conveyed to
her humble abode, and he himself straightway
followed it. Then, by the bedside of that dying
girl, lie proceeded to discourse such music as only
he, perhaps, under the strange circumstances,
could. He was in his element. His fair listener,
it need not be said, was in hers. Nay, she was
only too happy. Under the stress of the rapturous and grateful emotions inspired by this kind
and gratuitous service on the part of the distinguished and beautiful stranger, the frail tabernacle
iontaining that passionate young nature was




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHA1LK.


49


shaken, and the enfranchised spirit had flown ere
he finished his final chord."
He remained in Spain for two years, and
returned to Paris in the autumn of 1852, in order
to say farewell to his mother and sisters, previous
to sailing for New York, where his father and
brother Edward awaited him.                  c~
Notwithstanding the petitions of his friends, he
refused to give a public concert before his departure: he preferred to spend all the time possible
with his mother and sisters. One evening, however, he invited a few friends, and played for
them as he never played in public.    It was a
sweet, dreamy preluding of sorrowful yet prayerful hope for the future, the entrancing harmony
of the present; while the joyous, sparkling memories of his past childhood flashed through the
music-dreams he wove about the loving hearts
who heard him, stilling their sorrow at parting,
holding them spell-bound at visions so pure of the
unknown future into which he was hastening.
The silent, suffering heart of his mother beat
softly as she listened; the beautiful eyes of his
sisters filled and overflowed with weight of tears;
love tender and true filled every heart: and, when
the last vibration of a passionate minor cadence
trembled into silence, gentle voices whispered
"Farewell," and Louis Moreau Gottschalk was
never again heard in Paris.
4




0o          LIFE AND LETTERS OF
"We part forever now, my child," murmured
the soft voice of his mother as he knelt beside
her, his beautiful head resting upon her bosom, his
strong young arms holding her close in a loving
embrace.   He was silent, save the convulsive
sobs that shook his frame. Both felt that they
should never again meet in this world; and, amid
prayers and blessings, her lips rested on his pure
young brow for the last time, - fitting chrism of
holiest love, a memory to calm and hallow for all
time every thought, and lead him in the hour of
temptation and sorrow into nobler dreams, purer,
more spiritual visions of the brighter land whither
she was soon called to await her first-born darling.




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


51


CRESCENDO.
X Friendly love perfecteth mankind." - BACON.
"To have found favor in thy sight
Will still remain
A river of thought, that full of light
Divides the plain." - MILNES.
IT is an easy matter for the biographer of one
so publicly noted as Mi'. Gottschalk to turn
over files of old journals, and gather from them
daily notices and criticisms of concerts; but it is
not so easy to trace the personal history of the
artist in the gratitude his kindly reception in
America caused him to feel. That he was happy
and grateful for these well-earned triumphs is
very true; and his earlier friends all bear testimony to the simplicity and modesty with which
he received congratulations, showered upon him
after his first brilliant concert at Niblo's, in New
York.
How well that night is recalled! In childlike
wonder, a young girl had gazed at the strange
name, "GOTTSCHALK," on the posters at either
side the entrance to Niblo's, as she passed
through Broadway in the afternoon; and in her
private journal is still kept the following notice




52


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


of the distinguished stranger pianist, which she
cut from the evening paper after her father had
laid it aside, and settled back in his " King chair"
for an after-dinner nap.
It is thus that Hector Berlioz speaks of the
young artiste: -
"Gottschalk is one of the very small number who possess all the different elements of a consummate pianist,
all the faculties which surround him with an irresistible
prestige, and give him a sovereign power. He is an accomplished musician: he knows just how far fancy may
be indulged in expression. He knows the limits beyond
which any liberties taken with the rhythm produce only
confusion and disorder; and upon these limits he never
encroaches.  There is an exquisite grace in his manner
of pxrasing sweet melodies, and throwing off light touches
from the higher keys. The boldness and brilliancy and
originality of his play at once dazzles and astonishes, and
the infantile naiveit of his smiling caprices, the charming
simplicity with which he renders simple things, seem to
belong to another individuality, distinct from that which
marks his thundering energy: thus the success of M.
Gottschalk before an audience of musical cultivation is
immense."
Very patiently the young girl stood while her
maid adjusted the pinky bows and laces of her
new  opera-bonnet; and carefully she shook out
the folds of a    pink-satin  opera-cloak, as   she
liaghted from  the carriage, and took her father's
arm to enter the concert-room.


A




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCIIALK.          53
The crowd of beautiful and richly-dressed women, and the low hum of conversational excitement, the flutter of fans, the expectant glances
towards the stage, - how all these flash before
her as she recalls the night of Gottschalk's first
concert in New York. At last the hum of voices
was drowned in the burst of applause that
greeted the entrance of the artiste. There ht
stood, gracefully inclining towards his audience
one hand resting on the corner of the piano, the
other pressed to his breast as he repeatedly
bowed in acknowledgment of his enthusiastic
reception. At last lie- seated himself at the piano,
and drew off his gloves, for a moment his delicate,
slender hands were half clasped or folded together, and then they poised an instant over the keys.
A magnletic thrill flashed over the audience as
lightning-like arpeggios blended harmonies so full
of languor and luxuriance, that one could not
recall the motivo rippling through the fantasia he
played. She cannot recall all of the programme:
she only remembers the magnetic power of the
music, the dreamful beauty of his eyes, and the
softly outlined melancholy in llis face.
"The Home Journal " of the following day contained the best criticism, perhaps, of this concert.
"Mr. Gottschalk, the American pianist, made his debut
xt Niblo's Saloon on Friday, the 11th instant. We mention




5i


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


the date, because we are convinced that the musical history
of the country will require that it should be preserved.
To say that his success was of the most unequivocal description can convey to the reader's mind no idea of the
frenzy of enthusiasm which his performance excited. His
playing is precisely of the kind which most palpably hits
the popular taste. His effects are strong and powerful.
He dashes at the instrument as Murat charged the enemy,
and has command of its most latent possibilities. His
playing has the effect of an orchestra, and the modulation
of a single instrument. He is the only pianist we have yet
heard who can electrify and inflame an assembly.  He
produces the same sort and the same degree of effect as
that which oratory sometimes has in times of public commotion. This is not exaggeration, as every one will bear
witness who has heard him perform; but a simple statement of facts. A sober judgment of his powers as compared with those of other eminent pianists we are not prepared to give; since it was impossible not to be carried
away with the enthusiasm 6f the occasion. But we hope to
hear him again at an early day, and to consider his performance more coolly. The feeling of the audience was well
expressed by a distinguished lady who attended the concert, who remarked, ' Gottschalk has the dexterity of Jaellthe power of De Meyer, and the taste of Herz.'"
But " The Tribune" of New York was nearer
the truth in its criticism  than any other paper,
although it eulogized him    somewhat awkwardly
by implying that Beethoven was well enough in
his way, but it had been permitted to a citizen of
our republic to get ahead of classical " old fogies."
Whether this was intended as a compliment at




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


55


the expense of Beethoven, or of his classical supporters in this country, must be decided by personal common sense.      It will be as well perhaps
to give an extract from     that very excellent but
conservative  journal which     rules   the  Boston
musical world with a rod of iron.     The criticism
is just, and generous inasmuch as the writer has
not "caught the spirit of the article referred to."
"But 'The Tribune,' usually so sound and cautious,
goes ahead of all in the extravagance of its praise, and
has a theory for it: namely, that it is an age of progress,
and that we must not nail our notions of perfection in
piano-music down to Beethoven's 'Sonatas;' and that it
may be permitted to a young man, a citizen of this great
'manifest-destiny' republic, to  go  beyond those 'old
fogies ' who are cried up as ' classical.' That is the drift of
it. And the implied inference is, that Beethoven was well
enough in his way, but that Gottschalk has opened a new
path, &c., &c. In what?   So far as we are told, in
mechanism, in writing music for the piano; so that with its
natural imperfections it may, by dint of wonderful execution, in some manner represent the breadth of a full
orchestra, and ring at once through all the compass of its
seven octaves. Now, Beethoven and composers of creative
genius write secondarily for the piano, but primarily for
art; for the expression of musical ideas and inspirations
born in the mind, and not made to order from the fingers.
In the respects which ' The Tribune' critic mainly looks
to, Gottschalk may very naturally have got beyond Beethoven, as Thalberg and Listz have done; but in the respects which give the sonatas of Beethoven their rank in
history, and their value in the souls of all true music




56


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


lovers, and which are irrespective of mere mechanica.
adaptation to an exhaustive employment of the instrument,
it sounds a little paradoxical to hear it said that these
sonatas are surpassed by a young many an American,
chiefly noted for a brilliant play, and for the composition
of 'Bananiers' and 'Bamboulas.'  Genius, to be sure, is
of no country, is the greatest of God's gifts to man, and
shall be welcome, more than welcome, whenever and under
whatever form it shall approach; but we cannot accept it
on such showing (if we have rightly caught the spirit of
the article referred to).
"Wishing to do full justice in the premises, and not
ignore a 'new phenomenon,' we design soon to condense
for our readers a history of young Gottschalk's career, from
'The Courier des IEtats Unis,' if we can only find its facts,
separable from the superlative eulogy that swells every
sentence, comparing his childhood to Mozart's, his grace
and delicacy to Chopin, his virtuosity in general to that of
Listz and Thalberg, &c., &c."
At the pianist's second concert, Feb. 17, 1853,
h]is playing won if possible even more applause.
The programme contained many of the executant's compositions, - showy, brilliant, and descriptive, well suited to a New-York audience of that
period, but should not be classed with programmes of the present (lay, and judged severely
for its lightness and display of the " modern fingermiracle school."
" Bamboula,"    "Le    Savane,"    "Bananier,"
and " Carnival de Venise," were admirably rendered; but the gem of the evening was the




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


c Jerusalem," played with Mr. Richard Hoffman.
This fantasie had been composed at the request
of Her Imperial Highness, Madame la Grande
Duchesse, Anne de Russie, and was played for
the first time at a fete which this princess gave in
the summer-palace of La Boissiere, in honor of
their Majesties the Queen of Sardinia, Prussia,
Saxony, Prince Albert of Prussia, and Russian
princesses innumerable.
Its grand progression of harmonies works out
a unity of thought that wraps a dreamland of
Eastern splendor about those who hear it, bearing
them far away among the rosy oleander blooms
on the banks of the Jordan, the rippling murmurs
of Brook Kedron, the glorious temple-service
of the earthly type of " Jerusalem the Golden,"
the calm moonlight of Olivet, and the mournful
desolations of the Roman Legions under the Emperor of the West.
It was after this concert that a father asked of
his daughter, " Will you take lessons of Thalberg,
or Gottschalk?"
" Father, how can you ask such a question?
Why, of Gottschalk, most assuredly! But will
he give lessons? "
The question was not decided until three years
later; when, at the urgent request of his numerous friends, he consented to take pupils during the
six or eight weeks of his stay in New York. So,




58


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


one cold March morning in the spring of 1856,
she stood before Mr. Gottschalk as his pupil.
He looked at her with an expression of polite
nonchalance, then raised his eyes to an exquisite
painting of St. Cecilia hanging near the piano,
and a few panels of Fra Angelico's angels sursounding it.
" Do you love pictures, Mr. Gottschalk?" was
her first question.
" Yes," he replied, "such gems as these. Your
parents have excellent taste."
She tossed her head as much as to say, " Wliy
shouldn't they?"  But, catching an amused smile
trying to assert itself in Mr. Gottschalk's face, she
added, "These pictures belonged to my mother's
grandfather. But we think more of the engravings he collected in Europe. Come into the library:
I will show them to you." She was leading the
way across the hall, when he reminded her that
lie must first give the music-lesson. " Oh, no! "
she replied: " it can wait. Pictures are much
more entertaining to us both, I fancy."
"Then mademoiselle does not care for music?"
Indeed I do, but love it too much to endure
my poor attempts. It discourages me to look at
a piano."
"Then I wouldn't look at it. I would just
give it a good sharp strike like this; " and he
seated himself before the " Chickering grand."




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCIIALK.
e


59


It was perfect misery to hear him. She could
not endure wlat seemed a procession of equinoxes, storms of dominant sevenths, - universal
discords to every nerve. " That's horrid! " she
exclaimed at last. " Oil, do let me have some
music! Such undecided notlings frighten me."
A quick glance up to her scowling, face, a merry
laugh, and lie ceased; but that did not please ler.
"No," slhe added quickly; " don't stop there:
just please resolve tllat last chord into the tonic.
I slall wait for it."
Another laugh. " Al! mademoiselle is musicienne. I liope she will not be kept waiting like tle
poor pianist in Prague."  And then he told an
amusing story of a musician, who, practising over
some music, was suddenly interrupted. All day
long lie was busied, and could not return to tlle
piano; and wllen lie retired at nilht, tired as lie
was, lie could not sleep. Suddenly he remembered the cause: lie had been interrupted just
after a note " sensible," and hlis brain was waiting
for tlle resolution of the chord. He arose and
wentto the piano, struck tile chord, and retired
to bed to sleep soundly.
As Mr. Gottschalk spoke, he had been turning
over some of his pupil's music.  c All! here is
something of Gade's,-a scherzo: come play it
for me."
Slie drew back. " No, I am trembling al
over: I can't plav," she replied.




60


LIFE AND LETTERS 01O


"Then watch me. Now please watch very
attentively." He played the first phrases exquisitely; then he made a slight mistake (purposely,
of course): but she had impulsively betrayed her
surprise. She could not see his face, but felt that
he was laughing at her nervousness.  Then lie
made an absurd discord, and, springing up from
the piano, said, " There, sit down, mademoiselle,
and play for me. I want to look at these Passini
landscapes; " and he walked to the farthest corner
of the room.
She obeyed him, and never before had she
played so well; for, being left entirely alone, she
was relieved from nervousness.
As she ceased, Mr. Gottschalk stood beside
her. "You did not finger that passage as I should
have done; at least, it did not sound firm enough.
Of course, I didn't see; but did not you take it
thus?" and he played it, using her habit of fingering. "Now take it thus,- binding the passage in a legato-staccato, if I may so express it, by
using the fourth and fifth fingers for the preparatory trill;" and he gave the phrase with exquisite
delicacy of touch. A  few more simple suggestions, and he left it for her to study, also an etude
of Heller's; and advised her to read four or five
pages from Beethoven every day, noting carefully
the phrasing, but more particularly the rhythm
of each measure in its beautiful completeness, yet




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCYHALK.


61


dependent upon the following measures, "even as
our Southern rhododendrons are dependent upon
the unfolding of each tiny flower for the full
glory of the blossom."
He looked over the music again, and, taking up
the " Mndelssohn Lieder," played over the
Venetian Gondola song, -that exquisite dream
of a republic built amidst the murmur of the
waste of waves, "set like a golden clasp on
the girdle of the earth, her history written on the
white scrolls of the sea-surges, worded in their
thunder to gather and give forth in world-wide
pulsation the glory of the West and of the East,
from the burning heart of her fortitude and
splendor."
The music ceased; he leaned forward, and
looked at his pupil. "Tell me what you thought
about while I played."
" Come to the library, and I will show you."
She took up Ruskin's " Stones of Venice," and
read to Mr. Gottschalk the passage quoted above;
then handed him a little sketch she had once made
of"Only a waste of waters,
Only a tideless sea;"
and, hovering above it in misty vision, the high
altar of Torcello, and the exquisite tracery of St.
Mark's glittering in the golden light of morning.




62


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


"Yes," he replied, after gazing at the sketch,
' that may be the dream, but not the vision Mendelssolln saw: let me read you this passage:"' The greater part of the sublimity of the
sea kpends on its monotony. So also there is
sublimity in darkness in which there is no light.
Monotony, after a certain time or beyond a certain degree, becomes intolerable: the musician is
obliged to break it in one or two ways; the
melody harmonized, new   passages introduced.
Nature uses both kinds of variation perpetually.
The sea-waves, resembling each other in general
mass, but none like its brother in minor divisions
and curves, are a monotony of the first kind; the
great plain, broken by an emergent rock or clump
of trees, is a monotony of the second.
"'' A great man will be ready to endure much
darkness of fortune, in order to reach greater
eminence of power or felicity; while an inferior
man will not pay tle price. Exactly in like mannor a great mind will accept or even delight in
monotony which would be wearisome to an inferior intellect, because it has more patience and
power of expectation, and is ready to pay tlhe full
price for tlle great future pleasure of change. But,
in all cases, it is not that the noble nature loves
monotony, any more than it loves darkness or
pain. But it can bear with it, and receives high
pleasure in the endurance of patience, -a pleasure




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


63


necessary to the well-being of this world; while
those who will not submit to the temporary sameness, but rush from one change to another,
gradually dull the edge of change itself, and bring
a shadow and weariness over the whole world,
from which there is no more escape.'
He closed the book, and hurriedly glanced at
the clock. " How shall I apologize, mademoiselle?
I have been so very rude as to usurp half of your
morning."
"I fear mademoiselle has unintentionally detained you, Mr. Gottschalk," said the governess,
looking up from her embroidery, and speaking for
the first time. "You must punish her by not
giving her another lesson this week, since she has
taken the time of two in one."
"Au contraire, the punisllment would all be
mine in such case: and I don't like to suffer; my
Southern' niture rebels against pain.  I shall
be here on Thursday, mademoiselle."     With
graceful reverence he left their presence; and,
throwing herself at the feet of her governess, the
young aristocrat exclaimed, " What a shame he is
only a music-teacher!"
Ah! little thought that fair girl, that, eight
years later, she, too, would be "only a musicteacher," and Moreau Gottschalk her truest,
noblest friend and benefactor; and tlat, in her
hours of despairing and discouragement, his




64         LIFE AND LETTERS OF
beautiful smile would cause her to blush and
laugh herself into a certain content again, as he
repeated in gentlest tone, " Poor child, what a
shame she is only a music-teacher!"
i




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


65


FORTE.
" Dlness and mediocrity may live unmolested and unattacked; but
people never tire of finding spots on a sun whose brilliancy blinds
them."
" All sound things are simple: it is the sham and rotten ones that
want an intricate scaffolding to keep them from falling. The perfect arch
stands without girders." - OOIDA.
V    ARIOUS were the comments of the Boston
musical world when Gottschalk's first concert in that city was announced to take place at
Music Hall, Oct. 18, 1853. Criticism must precede every thing in Boston: these shrewd people
take nothing   on trust; and    renown, however
great, won in other cities, is nothing here unless
approved by those whose extremely cultured tastes
and superior intellects render them   capable (in
their own esteem   at least) of passing judgment
upon artistes who have made a life-work of a
science which those who listen have only studied
to - criticise!
That Gottschalk passed triumphantly through
this ordeal, the journals of that date bear ample
testimony.   Of course we must partially except
"Dwight's;" for when is that worthy journal
sufficiently unbiassed by the formalities of clas6




66


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


sical criticism to tell earnest truth from a generous
heart?   We would not dispute the vast musical
knowledge and splendid     ability of its editorial
criticism: we only regret that intellectual conservatism is used in the place of the charitable,
catholic spirit which should prevail among those
ho honestly desire musical advancement.
Gottschalk's first concert was judiciously criticised. Let the best portion of the criticism speak
for itself: -
" Well, at the concert, - which, by the way, did not half
fill the Boston Music Hall, owing partly, we believe, to the
one-dollar price, and partly, we hope, to distrust of an artist
who plays wholly his own compositions, -our expectation
was confirmed. There was indeed most brilliant execution; we have heard none more brilliant, but are not yet
prepared to say that Jaell's was less so. Gottschalk's
touch is the most clear and crisp and beautiful that we have
ever known. His play is free and bold and sure and
graceful in the extreme; his runs pure and liquid; his
figures always clean and perfectly defined; his command
of rapid octave passages prodigious: and so we might go
through with all the technical points of masterly execution.
It was great execution. But what is execution, without
some thought and meaning in the combinations to be executed?
"The most imposing piece of Mr. Gottschalk was called
Jerusalem,'  a triumphal fantasia for two pianos, in the
great difficulties of which he was ably seconded by Mr. J.
Pychowsky, who played at disadvantage from a hastilymade manuscript copy. In portions of this there was a
certain De Meyer-like pomp and breadth of harmony; but




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


67


the ideas seemed commonplace, and the work as a whole
left but a heavy and confused impression. There was a
certain grace and individuality in the 'Savane' and 'Bananier,' which he styles ' Poetic Caprices,' though not enough
to build the fame of genius on. His ' Carnival of Venice'
we did not hear.
I" Skilful, graceful, brilliant, wonderful, we own his playing was. But players less wonderful have given us far
deeper satisfaction. We have seen a criticism upon that
concert, in which it was regretted that his music was too
fine for common apprehension, ' too much addressed to the
reasoning faculties,' &c. To us the want was, that it did
not address the reason; that it seemed empty of ideas, of
inspiration; that it spake little to the mind or heart, excited neither meditation nor emotion, but simply dazzled by
the display of difficult feats gracefully and easily achieved.
But of what use were all these difficulties?  (' Difficult! I
wish it was impossible,' said Dr. Johnson.)  Why all that
rapid tossing of handfuls of chords from the middle to the
highest octaves, lifting the hand with such conscious appeal
to our eyes? To what end all those rapid octave passages?
since, in the intervals of easy execution, in the seemingly
quiet impromptu passages, the music grew so monotonous
and commonplace: the same little figure repeated and
repeated, after listless pauses, in a way which conveyed no
meaning, no sense of musical progress, but only the appearance of fastidiously critical scale-practising."
We omit the portion where the editor doubts
whether Gottschalk's forte is composition, and
where he promises to forgive and forget all that is
lacking " to place him in the rank of finely original piano-forte composers," "if with his splendid




68


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


execution he will evince the soul and fire and judgment also " for the works of Beethoven, Onslow,
&c., and turn to the criticism upon his second
concert: -
"In the second concert he played some classic music,
and played it well, - with clearness, delicacy, and feeling;
especially the sonata for four hands by Onslow, in which
he was ably seconded by Mr. Pychowsky. The surpassing
beauty of his touch lent a rare beauty to these works.
The 'Kreutzer Sonata,' with Mr. Suck as violinist, we
enjoyed; but not more than we have done at the hands
of several less remarkable pianists. There might have been
more of the Beethoven fire and earnestness in opening the
adagio, if they had first wrought themselves up to the true
pitch of fervor by playing the first movement.
"Agaain: on the first night Mr. Gottschalk appeared to
play with a cold nonchalance, like a merely executive virtuoso. This time his very sadness (from the news of his
father's death, as well as fiom wounded self-esteem at missing the enthusiasm here which he had raised in Paris)
seemed to re-act in the way of inspiration on his playing:
there was a touch of genuine feeling, added to his grace
of execution.
" Again: the few little pieces of his own which he did
introduce had more charm of individuality than those he
gave before; and they did not disappoint us, because they
did not claim too much. They were quite unpretending,
pleasing little fancies; the ballade with which he answered
an encore was even more than that. But who could think
for a moment of comparing them with such fine inspirations as any of the little mazourkas or nocturnos of Chopin; the ' Invitation' of Weber; the little tone-poems of
Henselt, Stephen Heller, &c., and much more that we might
taame?




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


69


"i His execution of Liszt's fantasia on ' Lucia,' was wonderful, and electrified his audience. But was it wise and
artist-like to introduce more difficulties into the piece than
Liszt had written? We saw the wondrous feats; but, with
our eyes shut, would the music have sounded any better for
them? "
Of this "Lucia " fantasia, " The Boston Traveller " says,"It was a union of all that makes music delightful,pathos and power, sun and storm, infinite variety of expression, and almost orchestral effects.
"We sat near amateurs of acknowledged taste and wide
experience in music; and we all agreed, that, as well in the
Old World as the New, Gottschalk had claims to be considered at the head of his art, joint sovereign with Thalberg.
"May we not fear that the American king of music man
feel no desire to occupy his throne in Boston, and that L
disloyal and unsympathizing subjects may induce him to
desert us for the more genial South?"
It was not these critical, cold-hearted subjects
who caused him to go South. He liked Boston
well enough, for he had most excellent friends and
admirers there; but, for dear Music's sake, he
sought a richer soil wherein to plant his school of
musical composition.
NEW YORK, with its impulsive and generous
heart, received him gladly, and enthroned him
king of pianists, in reverence and love. The




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LIFE AND LETTERS OF


genial, truth-loving PHILADELPHIA welcomed him
with joy; the gay, free-hearted CHICAGO hailed
him  rapturously.  Every city throughout the
Union crowned him king with homage most loyal;
but Boston - that comically conservative, classica, city, where brains appear to petrify the hearts
of the people, and intellectual musical appreciation is (or rather was) measured on the Procustean bed of the " Journal of Music "- dared not
publicly honor him.
To one man, indeed, do the friends of Gottschalk turn with love and reverence; for among
the noblest acts in the life of Jonas Chickering,
was the firm friendship and generous encouragement he ever extended to the young pianist.
During the winter of 1853-54, Gottschalk visited the Middle States and New Orleans, returning
in the fall of 1855 to New York, and giving occasional concerts in Albany, Syracuse, and the
larger cities in the western part of the State.
In November he went to Philadelphia.    The
following letter was written a short time before
his departure for New Orleans and the West
Indies -
To GEORGE WILLIAM WARREN, PROFESSOR OF PIANO,
New York.
My dear, amiable, and worthy Friend, -I have had so
much to do lately, that I could not answer your kind letter.
'The newspapers were received. I read the article, and




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHA LK.


71


gave it to read to all my friends, who declared that it was
one of the best, if not the best, that had been written on me
in this country. I wish I knew how to express my gratitude to you. I was in hopes that you would come to New
York, and that I would have then an opportunity of entertaining you in some way or other: but I see from your
last that you have changed your mind; I am really sorry
for it.
I have received a letter of invitation from a friend of
mine, Zoimileny, pianist in Baltimore, who invites me to
give a farewell concert in that city. He says that he has
organized it, and that I cannot but do well. In Lancaster
I gave one concert last week, and give my second in a few
days. My intention was not to return there; but I received
yesterday an address signed by the most influential people
of the place, requesting me to come and give a farewell
concert.
Berlioz wrote me a long letter, which I received two
days ago. IIe tells me confidentially some decisions of the
jury (Paris World's Fair)...
I saw the "Prophete." It is a mere shadow of Meyerbeer's "Prophete."  They have cut off two-thirds of the
first act; one trio and one chorus in the second act; two
choruses, two arias, and a whole scene in the third; half a
duett and the whole trio in the fourth act; and as to the
last act, it is mutilated. I do not speak of the ballets,
which do not exist at all, although they are most important
in this opera. The new tenor has failed completely. He
has a somewhat pretty voice, but no power, and is no actor
at all. He looks like a cook. Madame LaGrange is a
great artiste. She is the one who supports alone the weight
of the whole opera.
Give my respects to your mother and father, and receive
for yourself, my dear friend, the assurance of my cordial




72           LIFE AND LETTERS OF
and sincere friendship. Excuse my "griffonnage."  I was
in a hurry, and wrote with a most detestable pen. My
regards to our eminent, amiable, and sympathetic friend,
Palmer.*                             GOTTSCHALK.
PHImADELPHIA, Nov. 10, 1855.
* Palmer, the sculptor.




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


73


SENZA FORTE.
" In the afternoon they came unto a land
In which it scemed always afternoon:
All round the coast the languid air did swoon,
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream."
TE NYSON
TN the spring of 1857, Mr. Gottschalk writes
from  Havana to a friend in New York of a
brilliant entertainment given him there by the
captain-general, at which banquet six hundred
guests were present.    His first concert was to be
given the following night at the Tacon Theatre.
Maretzek, who at that time occupied the house
with his Italian opera troupe, resigned the use of
thile theatre in favor of him for one evening.
To the brilliancy and success of this entertainment thle journals of the day bear ample witness.
A few extracts from a letter to a friend will show
how earnestly he enjoyed himself.
"The sky, the air, the flowers, the fruits, are full of
music to me; and, although I cannot say as much for the
ranque, unsympathetic voices of the people, I find enough
pensively-melancholy beauty in some of the faces I see to
keep me in the minore you love so well. Especially children. How dreamily beautiful they are I Such eyes I you




74


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


can look into them, and fairly lose yourself in a labyrinth
more bewitching than the one owned by that cruel papa of
Mademoiselle Ariadne! By the way, study the orchestration of ' Ariadne.' To me it is full of soft, seductive wiles:
you can lose yourself in untying the silken braids of harmony; and when untied, and you hold them in your comprehension, it is nothing but womanly love which can
weave them again. Now I recall the criticism you made
on a similar harmony. Do you remember that matinee at
the academy (the day the little lame boy brought me the
tuberoses, and said he wanted to give them to me
because I was Louis Gottschalk, and made him think of
tuberoses whenever I played)? I have forgotten the
theme they were giving; but I asked you how you liked the
orchestration, and you said, ' It is like a
" Swarm of fire-flies
Tangled in a silver braid."'
Had you said 'silken,' it would have given you my notion
of ' Ariadne.'
" How I have wandered from the subject of my present
surroundings, which I meant to sketch for you! I cannot
say more this morning. I will write by the next steamer,
anless some 'nina hermosa' runs off with my heart before I
have time to say, as ever, ' Dios te haga bueno.'"
No "beautiful child " charmed him into forgetfulness of his correspondence with his friend;
but his letters were more hurried, and filled with
mere local news.   In one he refers to the coming
of Arthur Napoleon, speaking of him        as "un
vrai musicien," and says,



LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


75


"I wish I could be in New York to welcome him.
He is a mere boy; but so bright, so full of poetic fire I
He writes well, and, dearer than all to your heart, he
plays chess well enough to checkmate your brilliant
self I  You could have almost as ' kaleidescopy a conversation' as you do with me; for he speaks French,
German, Spanish, and English: but whether he murders
Italian as effectively as a certain friend of yours, I shall
leave you to discover. Hear him, and tell me every thing
you think of him musically; then I will write -to introduce
him to you. I want you to judge him first, as you would an
utter stranger. I am sorry now I've written so much about
him. He is an artiste of the present."
In another letter he asks," Tell me what you think of ' Chant du Soldat.' Hall
will publish it soon. ' Ricordati' and ' Valse Poetique' I
hope to hear criticised by your own lips; for I now expect
to return before they are published."
It was six years, however, before he returned;
and Arthur Napoleon did not come to this country until tile following December, 1858.
In January, 1859, the musical papers published
in New York, speaking of Gottschalk, tell us of
his still " dallying in the fiagrant islands of the
West Indies."     His career was one      of unexampled prosperity.    His presence in a town was
the signal for a festival: on these occasions, from a
hundred and fifty to two hundred musicians
were secured to assist.     It is not astonishing,




76


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


therefore, that the list of his publications that
year amount to the insignificant ones of " Hurrah
Galop " by " Seven Octaves," and a few others of
that sort. And here, perhaps, will be the best
place to explain Mr. Gottschalk's reason for that
unique nom de plume. He writes to a friend, -
"I think so little of these compositions " (referring to
"Chant de Martyr," " Fairy-land Schottisch," " Love and
Chivalry "), "that I do not care to attach my name to them.
But Ditson will take them with a nomn de plume; so as seven
octaves precede the full tone, why, I take it as the nearest
approach to my name! Isn't that ' delicious egotism,' as
you style any thing particularly absurd?"
Another cheerful letter comes from him in
March, 1859: -
"Come and breakfast with me some morning. Such
chocolate, such bananas, such fried plantain  Why, you
would never patronize Delmonico's again: the very memory
of this tropical life would make it sacrilege 'to enter a lower
sphere.' What a saving of the contents of your porte-monnaic
that would be I Now, really, this life would suit you; and
the volantes would charm you for an afternoon perhaps:
but how you would scold at being prohibited your energetic
morning walk I It is not commne il faut for ladies to walk
here: but you can find exercise enough in a volante, and
you might order your calesero to drive through the narrowest, roughest streets he can find (it will be an easy matter);
and, if every nerve isn't braced to its utmost, ' write me
down' the animal of Dogberry's desire, on the subject of




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


77


physical exercise. Don't expect any thing about music in
this letter. I am working diligently; and, next year, you
shall have a musical ' Souvenir de la Havane,' and perhaps
the effect these ojos Criollos have upon me."
That he had worked more diligently than in
former years, let the following tables of his publications witness:

1857.
Chant de Soldat.
Ricordati.
Valse Podtique.
1858.
Grand March Solennelle.
Minuit a Seville.
Refiets du Passe.
1859.
Hurrah Galop.
Fairy Land Schottisch.
Love and Chivalry.


1860.
Manchega, etude de Concert.
Souvenir de la Havane.
Ardennes.
Jeunesse Mazourka.
Printemps d'Amour.
God save the Queen.
La Chute des Feuilles.
Ojos Criollos. (Duo.)
1861.
Polonia (Caprice de Concert).


[These appeared under the nomr
de plume of " Seven Octaves."]




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LIFE AND LETTERS OF


FORTE PIANO.
Vainly for me love's signal radiance, brightening,
Flames from her altar o'er my truant way:
Absent from thee, the summer's harmless lightning
Less wildly plays around the sun's last ray." — OLD SONG.
IN March of the year 1860, Arthur Napoleon
joined Mr. Gottschalk in Havana, and together
they gave most brilliant concerts throughout the
West Indies; the principal one, at the Tacon in
May, won for both artistes unbounded admiration.
During the summer, Gottschalk was dangerously ill, but able in August to make a professional
tour throughout Central America and Venezuela.
Early in October he returned to Havana, and took
charge of the orchestra at the Tacon Theatre.
His illness returned; and tlroughlout the month
of January he was so dangerously sick as to
require the almost constant attendance of three
eminent physicians. From this attack he rallied,
and once more resumed his position at the Tacon,
directing the orchestra with wondrous ability.
An acquaintance, writing from Cuba in November, 1860, says, -
" I heard your teacher, LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK,
last night. Yes, he has all the musical ability you attribute




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


79


to him; but he seems so very 'dolce far niente,' and seems
so well assured of his own powers, I do not enjoy him as
much as Arthur Napoleon, or even that octave thunderbolt.
Harry Sanderson. They play without arriere pensee, and so
electrify me; but Gottschalk always sets me to thinking
why he covers up his melodies with so much trimming of
trill, roulade, and arpeggio. I never shall understand him,
for I can't go to sleep poetically, as you and the rest of
his fiiends do; but last night I must acknowledge he was
magnificent. Of course I was head over cars in love with
him, for his beautiful face and figure, as he came forward to
the piano. I never saw him looking so well; and the fantasia he played was full of electric trills. I could think of
nothing but our chemical lectures at school, where Prof.
Hyatt touched the Leyden jar with those brass knobs, and
the sparks snapped and flew about. IeI gave, as encore, the
' Valse Poetique.' You once told me he wrote it at Trenton
Falls, and 'attuned it to the dash of water, and the foamspray on the moss-banks.' I should think so: and such a
dream of beauty as it isl I wish I knew him as I do
Harry Sanderson. But I am terribly afraid of him, and
never appear natural when he speaks to me, not even when
I mention you; for he is so quiet and cool, I should think
you were only acquaintances, unless I knew better."
Another letter, written about the same time,
contains these words:
" I send you a programme of Gottschalk's concert, so
that you can see what I enjoyed, - that of which you have
often told me. I was positively carried to the seventh
heaven. Like Macbeth's witches, I vanished into thin air
and I shall never forget.the divine impression such celestial




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LIFE AND LETTERS OF


music made upon me. Now, this is not the effervescence
of boarding-school life, but the sincere milk of the truth."
What if such words were the effervescence of
a fresh, girlish heart? It was to please and captivate young hearts everywhere that Gottschalk
labored. Even if, as " the least of the disciples,"
he labored for dear Music's sake, it was with
holiest mission of love lie spoke to the outcast,
and the poor in knowledge, of musical science.
The man's mission is Christ-like, who goes into
the highways and hedges of social life to gather
into the Church of God the ignorant, the lame,
the halt, and the blind; and, if the Bible tells us
truly that music is the science of heaven,' shall
not the loving heart who speaks to the loiterers
by the roadside, thrilling them with hope and joy,
be accounted worthy higher reward than    the
righteous who never swerve from    the beaten
pathway of classic science, but preach to and
teach only the rich in intellectual tllought?
Be this as it may, T' With my heart and life I
thee worship," seemed Moreau Gottschalk's love
for music. He was true to his nature, true to
himself, in all these tlings; and the young musical world to-day is happier and wiser for his
influence over sensational music, - the music
which pleases the multitude.
His own words regarding his sojourn among




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


81


the West-India Islands, -   the Antilles,- from the
year 1857 to 1862, will give a clearer and better
idea of his life-thoughlts and feelings that often
actuated him.    They are taken from     his articles
published in   " The Atlantic Montllyy"      in the
spring of 1865:"t NOTES   OF  A   PIANIST.
"L. M. G.
"There is a class of persons to whom. art in general is
but a fashionable luxury, and music in particular but an
agreeable sound, an elegant superfluity, serving to relieve
the tedium of conversation at a soiree, and fill up the space
between sherbets and supper. To such, any philosophical
discussion on the aesthetics of art must seem as puerile an
occupation as that of the fairy who spent her time weighing grains of dust with a spider's web. Artists - to whom,
through a foreign prejudice which dates back to the barbarism of the Middle Ages, they persist in refusing any high
place in the social scale-are to them only petty tradesmen
dealing in suspicious wares (in most instances unshrewdly,
since they rarely get rich, which aggravates their position);
while what they call performers are looked upon by them
as mere tricksters or jugglers, who profit by the dexterity
of their fingers, as dancers and acrobats by the suppleness
of their limbs. The painter whose works decorate their
saloons figures in the budget of their expenses on a line
with the upholsterer, whose hangings they speak of in the
same breath with Church's ' Heart of the Andes,' and Rosa
Bonheur's ' Cattle Fair.'
" It is not for such people that I write: but there are
Dthers - and to these I address myself — who recognize ip
6




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LIFE AND LETTERS OF


the artist the privileged instrument of a moral and civilizing influence; who appreciate art because they derive from
it pure and ennobling inspirations; who respect it because
it is the highest expression of human thought aiming at
the absolute ideal; and who love it as we love the friend to
whom we confide our joys and sorrows, and in whom we
find a faithful response to every movement of the soul.
" Lamartine has said with truth, ' Music is the literature
of the heart: it commences where speech ends.' In fact,
music is a psycho-physical phenomenon. In its germ, it is
a sensation; in its full development, an ideal. It is sufficient not to be deaf to perceive music at least, if not to
appreciate it. Even idiots and maniacs are subject to its
influence. Not being restricted to any precise sense, going
beyond the mere letter, and expressing only states of the
soul, it has this advantage over literature, - that every
one can assimilate it to his own passions, and adapt it to
the sentiments which rule him. Its power, limited in the
intellectual order to the imitative passions, is in that of the
imagination unlimited. It responds to an interior indefinable sense possessed by all, - the ideal.
"Literature is always objective: it speaks to the understanuding, and determines in us impressions in keeping with
the determined sense which it expresses. Music, on the
contrary, may be in turn objective and subjective, according
to the dispositions in which we find ourselves at the moment
of hearing it. It is objective, when, affected only by the
purely physical sensation of sound, we listen to it passively,
and it suggests to us impressions. A march, a waltz, a flute
imitating a nightingale, the chromatic scale imitating the
murmuring of the wind in the ' Pastoral Symphony,' may
be taken as examples.
"It is subjective, when, under the empire of a latent
impression, we discover in its general character an accord



LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


83


ance with our psychological state, and we assimilate it to
ourselves: it is then like a mirror in which we see reflected
the movements which agitate us, with a fidelity all the more
exact fiom the fact, that, without being conscious of it, we
ourselves are the painters of the picture which unrolls itself
before our imagination.
"Let me explain. Play a melancholy air to a proscript
thinking of his distant home; to a deserted lover; to a
mother mourning the loss of a child; to a vanquished warrior: and be assured they will all appropriate to themselves
the plaintive harmonies, and fancy they detect in them the
accents of their own grief.
"The fact of music is still a mystery. We know that it
is composed of three principles, - air, vibration, and
rhythmic symmetry. Strike an object in an exhausted
receiver, and it produces no sound, because no air is there;
touch a ringing glass, and the sound stops, because there is
no vibration; take away the rhythm of the simplest air by
changing the duration of the notes that compose it, and you
render it obscure and unrecognizable, because you have
destroyed its symmetry.
"But why, then, do not several hammers striking in
cadence produce music? They certainly comply with the
three conditions of air, vibration, and rhythm. Why is the
accord of a third so pleasing to the ear?  Why is the
minor mode so suggestive of sadness?  There is the mystery, there the unexplained phenomenon.
"VWe restrict ourselves to saying that music, which, like
speech, is perceived through the medium of the ear, does
not, like speech, call upon the brain for an explanation of
the sensation produced by the vibration on the nerves: it
addresses itself to a mysterious agent within us which is
superior to intelligence, since it is independent of it, and
makes us feel that we can neither conceive nor explain.




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LIFE AND LETTERS OF


"Let us examine the various attributes of the musical
phenomenon: -
"1. Music is a physical agent. It communicates to the
body shocks which agitate the members to their base. In
churches, the flame of the candles oscillates to the quake
of the organ. A powerful orchestra near a sheet of water
ruffles its surface. A learned traveller speaks of an iron
ring which swings to and fro to the murmur of the Tivoli
Falls. In Switzerland, I excited at will, in a poor child
afflicted with a frightful nervous malady, hysterical and
catalyptic crises, by playing in the minor key of E flat.
The celebrated Dr. Bertier asserts that the sound of a
drum gives him the colic. Certain medical men state that
the notes of the trumpet quicken the pulse, and produce
slight perspiration. The sound of the bassoon is cold; the
notes of the French horn at a distance, and of the harp,
are voluptuous. The flute, played softly in the middle
register, calms the nerves. The low notes of the piano
frighten children. I once had a dog who would generally
sleep on hearing music; but, the moment I played in the
minor key, lie would bark piteously. The dog of a celebrated singer, whom I knew, would moan bitterly, and
give signs of violent suffering, the instant his mistress
chanted the chromatic gamut. A certain chord produces
on my sense of hearing the same effect as the heliotrope on
my sense of smell, and the pine-apple on my sense of taste.
Rachel's voice delighted the ear by its ring, before one had
time to seize the sense of what was said, or appreciate the
purity of her diction.
" We may affirm, then, that musical sound, -rhythmical
or not, agitates the whole physical economy, quickens the
pulse, incites perspiration, and produces a pleasant momentary irritation of the nervous system.
"2. Music is a moral agent. Through the medium of the




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


85


nervous system, the direct interpreter of emotion, it calls
into play the higher faculties: its language is that of sentiment. Furthermore, the motives which have presided over
particular musical combinations establish links between
the composer and the listener. We sigll with Bellini in
the finale of 'La Sonnambula;' we shudder with Weber
in the sublime phantasmagoria of ' Der Freischiitz;' the
mystic inspirations of Palestrina, the masses of Mozart,
transport us to the celestial regions, towards which they rise
like a melodious incense. Music awakens in us reminiscences, souvenirs, associations. When we have wept over
a song, it ever after seems to us bathed in tears.
" The old man, chilled by years, may be insensible to the
pathetic accents of Rossini, of Mozart; but repeat to him
the simple songs of his youth - the present vanishes, and the
illusions of the past come back again. I once knew an old
Spanish general who detested music. One day I began to
play to him my ' Siege of Saragosta,' in whlich is introduced
the 'Marcha Real' (Spanish national air); and he wept
like a child. This air recalled to him the immortal defence
of the heroic city, behind the falling walls of which he had
fought against the French; and sounded to him, he said,
like the voice of all the holy affections expressed by the
word home. The mercenary Swiss troops, when in France
and Naples, could not hear the ' Ranz des Vaches' (the
shepherd-song of old and rude Helvetia) without being
overcome by it. When from mountain to mountain the
signal of revolt summoned to the cause the three insurgent
cantons, the desertions caused by this air became so frequent that the government prohibited it.
"The reader will remember the comic effect produced
upon the French troops in the Crimea by the Highlanders
marching to battle to the sound of the bagpipe, whose




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LIFE AND LETTERS OF


harsh, piercing notes inspired these brave mountaineers
with valor, by recalling to them their country and its heroic
legends. Napoleon III. finds himself compelled to allow
the Arab troops incorporated into his army, their barbarous
tam-tam music, lest they revot. The measured beat of the
drum sustains the soldier in long marches, which otherwise
would be insupportable. The Marsellaise contributed as
much towards the Republican victories in 1793, when
France was invaded, as the genius of Gen. Dumouriez.
"3. Music is a complex agent. It acts at once on life,
on the instinct, the forces, the organism. It has a psychological action. The negroes charm serpents by whistling
to them. It is said that fawns are captivated by a melodious voice; the bear is aroused with the fife; canaries and
sparrows enjoy the flageolet. In the Antilles, lizards are
enticed from their retreats by the whistle; spiders have an
affection for violinists.  In Switzerland, the herdsmen
attach to the necks of their handsomest cows a large bell,
of which they are so proitl, that, while they are allowed to
wear it, they march at the head of the herd. In Andalusia,
the mules lose their spirit and their power of endurance, if
deprived of the numerous bells with which it is customary
to dcck these intelligent animals.  In the mountains of
Scotland and Switzerland, the herds pasture best to the
sound of the bagpipe; and in the Oberland, cattle strayed
from the herd arc recalled by the notes of the trumpet.
"Donizetti, a year befbre his death, had lost all his
faculties in consequence of a softening of the spinal marrow.
Every means was resorted to for reviving a spark of that
intellect once so vigorous; but all failed.  In a single
instance only, he exhibited a gleam of intelligence; and
that was on hearing one of his friends play the septet of
his opera of ' Lucia.' 'Poor Donizetti I said he: ' what a
pity he should have died so soon I' And this was all.




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


87


"In 1848, after the terrible insurrection which made of
Paris a vast slaughter-house, to conceal my sadness and
disgust I went to the house of one of my friends, who was
superintendent of the immense insane asylum in Clermontsur-Oise. He had a small organ, and was a tolerably good
singer. I composed a mass, to the first performance of
which we invited a few artists fiom Paris, and several of
the most docile of the inmates of the asylum. I was struck
with the bearing of the latter, and asked my friend to
repeat the experiment, and extend the number of invitations. The result was so favorable, that we were soon able
to form a choir from among the patients, of both sexes, who
rehearsed on Saturdays the hymns and chants they were to
sing on Sunday at mass. A raving lunatic -a priestwho was getting more and more intractable every day, and
who often had to be put in a straight-jacket, noticed the
periodical absence of some of the inmates, and exhibited
curiosity to know what they were doing. The following
Saturday, seeing some of his companions preparing to go to
rehearsal, he expressed a desire to go with them. The
doctor told him he might go, on condition that he would
allow himself to be shaved and decently dressed. This
was a thorny point; for he would never attend to his
person, and became furious when required to dress: but,
to our great astonishment, he consented at once. This day
he not only listened to the music quietly, but was detected
several times joining his voice with that of the choir.
When I left Clermont, my poor old priest was one of
the most constant attendants at the rehearsals. He still
had his violent periods, but they were less frequent; and,
when Saturday arrived, he always dressed himself with
tare, and waited impatiently for the hour to go to chapel.
"To resume: Music being a physical agent, that is to
say, acting on the individual without the aid of his intelli



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LIFE AND LETTERS OF


gence; a moral agent, that is to say, reviving his memory,
exciting his imagination, developing his sentiment; and a
complex agent, that is to say, having a physiological action
on the instinct, the organism, the forces, of man,- I deduce
from this that it is one of the most powerful means for
ennobling the mind, elevating the morals, and, above all,
refining the manners. This truth is now so well recognized
in Europe, that we see choral societies - Orpheons and
others - multiplying as by enchantment under the powerful impulse given them by the State. I speak not simply
of Germany, which is a singing nation, whose laborious,
peaceful, intelligent people have in all time associated
choral music as well with tlheir labors as with their pleasures; but I may cite particularly France, which counts today more than eight hundred Orpheon societies, composed of
working-men. How many of these, who formerly dissipated
their leisure time at drinking-houses, now find an ennobling
recreation in these associations, where the spirit of union
and fraternity is engendered and developed I And, if we
could get at the statistics of crime, who can doubt that they
would show it had diminished in proportion to the increase
of these societies? In fact, men are better, the heart is in
some sort purified, when impregnated with the noble harmonies of a fine chorus; and it is difficult not to treat as a
brother one whose voice has mingled with your own, and
whose heart. has been united to yours, in a community of
pure and joyfal emotions.   If Orpheon societies ever
become established in America, be assured that bar-rooms,
the plague of the country, will cease, with revolvers and
bowic-knives, to be popular institutions.
"Music, when employed in the service of religion, has
always been its most powerful auxiliary.  The organ did
more for Catholicism in the middle ages than all its preaching; and Palestrina and Marcello have reclaimed, and




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.               89
still reclaim, more infidels than all the doctors of the
Church.
" We enter a house of worship. Still under the empire
of the external world, we carry there our worldly thoughts
and occupations: a thousand distractions deter us from
religious reflection and meditation.  The word of the
preacher reaches the ear, indeed, but only as a vague
sound. The sense of what is said is arrested at the surface,
without penetrating the heart. But let the grand voice of
the organ be heard, and our whole being is moved; the
physical world disappears, the eyes of the soul open; we
bow the head, we bend the knee, and our thoughts, disengaged from matter, soar to the eternal regions of the Good,
the Beautiful, and the True."
"Written without method, dotted down carelessly, and
currente calamo, on the leaves of my pocket-book, the notes
I now publish were never intended to be read by any one
but myself. A wanderer for many long years, I have contracted the habit of making daily memoranda of the fleeting, evanescent impressions of my travels, and thus giving
them a more tangible form. These notes, drawn up hastily,
and for myself alone, have no literary merit whatever; but
they most unequivocally tell the truth. Is this an adequate
compensation for the numerous negligences of style which
criticism may discover in them?
"Be that as it may, these reminiscences of travel have
often solaced the ennui and fatigue of my erratic life. In
writing of the present, the bitterness of the past vanished
and again, if the present were tedious, or fraught with care
I reverted to the sunny pages of the time that is no more,
and revived the sweet emotions of the long-forgotten past.
" These poor leaves have been the partners of my joys
and my griefs, of my toils and my leisure, during the last three




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LIFE AND LETTERS OF


years that have whirled me relentlessly in that most monotonous yet agitated circle yclept 'a life of concerts. Should
you find evidence too flagrant of the inexperience of my
pen, bear in mind, I pray you, that I am but a musician,
and only a pianist at that.
"January, 1862.- Once more in New York, after an
absence of six years, -six years madly squandered, scattered to the winds, as if life were infinite, and youtheternal; six years, in the space of which I have wandered
at random beneath the blue skies of the tropics, yielding
myself up indolently to the caprice of Fortune, giving a
concert wherever I happened to find a piano, sleeping
wherever night overtook me, -on the green grass of the
savanna, or under the palm-leafed roof of a vaguero, who
shared with me his corn-tortilla, coffee, and bananas, and
thought himself amply remunerated when at dawn I took
my departure with a ' Dios se lo pague C V. " (May God
reward you!); to which he responded by a ' Vaya V. con
Dios!' (God be with you!) these two formulae constituting,
in such unsophisticated countries, the entire operation, so
ingeniously perfected by civilized nations, which generally
is known by the name of 'settling the hotel-bill.' And
when, at last, I became weary of the same horizon, I crossed
an arm of the sea, and landed on some neighboring isle, or
on the Spanish Main. Thus, in succession, I have visited
all the Antilles, - Spanish, French, English, Dutch, Swedish, and Danish; the Guianas, and the coasts of Para. At
times, having become the idol of some obscure pueblo, whose
untutored ears I had charmed with its own simple ballads,
I would pitch my tent for five, six, eight months, deferring
my departure from day to clay, until finally I began seriously to entertain the idea of remaining there for evermore.
Abandoning myself to such influences, I lived without care
as the bird sings, as the flower expands, as the brook flows;




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


91


oblivious of the past, reckless of the future, and sowed both
my heart and my purse with the ardor of a husbandman
who hopes to reap a hundred ears for every grain he confides to the earth. But, alas! the fields where is garnered
the harvest of expended doubloons, and where vernal loves
bloom anew, are yet to be discovered; and the result of
my prodigality was, that, one fine morning, I found myself a
bankrupt in heart, with my purse at ebb-tide. Suddenly
disgusted with the world and myself, weary, discouraged,
mistrusting men (ay, and women too), I fled to a desert
on the extinct volcano of M —, where, for several months,
I lived the life of a ccnobite, with no companion but a poor
lunatic whom I had met on a small island, and who had
attached himself to me. He followed me everywhere, and
loved me with that absurd and touching constancy of
which dogs and madmen alone are capable. [My friend,
whose insanity wa.s of a mild and harmlless character, fancied himself the greatest genius in the world. He ws,
moreover, under the impression that -he suffered from a
gigantic, monstrous tooth. Of the two idiosyncrasies, the
latter alone made his lunacy discernable; too many individuals being affected with the other symptom to render it an
anomalous feature of the human mind. My friend was in
the habit of protesting that this enormous tooth increased
periodically, and threatened to encroach upon his entire
jaw. Tormented, at the same time, with the desire of
regenerating humanity, he divided his leisure between the
study of dentistry, to which he applied himself in order. to
impede the progress of his hypothetical tyrant, and a
voluminous correspondence which he kept up with the
Pope, his brother, and the Emperor of the French, his
cousin. In the latter occupation he pleaded the interests
of humanity, styled himself ' the prince of thought,' and
exalted me to the dignity of his illustrious friend and bene



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LIFE AND LETTERS OF


factor. In the midst of the wreck of his intellect, one thing
still survived, - his love of music. He played the violin;
and, strange as it may appear, although insane, he could
not understand the so-called music of the future.
"My hut, perched on the verge of the crater, at the very
summit of the mountain, commanded a view of all the surrounding country. The rock upon which it was built projected over a precipice, whose abysses were concealed by
creeping plants, cactus, and bamboos. The species of
table-rock thus formed had been encircled with a railing,
and transformed into a terrace on a level with the sleeping-room, by my predecessor in this hermitage. His last
wish had been to be buried there; and from my bed I could
see his white tombstone gleaming in the moonlight, a few
steps from my window. Every evening I rolled my piano
out upon the terrace; and there, facing the most incomparably beautiful landscape, all bathed in the soft and limpid
atmosphere of the tropics, I poured forth on the instrument,
and for myself alone, the thoughts with which the scene
inspired me. And what a scene! Picture to yourself a
gigantic amphitheatre hewn out of the mountains by an
army of Titans; right and left, immense virgin forests, full
of those subdued and distant harmonies which are, as it
were, the voices of Silence; before me, a prospect of twenty
leagues, marvellously enhanced by the extreme transparency
of the air; above, the azure of the sky; beneath, the creviced sides of the mountain sweeping down to the plain;
afar, the waving savannas; beyond them, a grayish speck
(the distant city); and, encompassing them all, the inmmensity of the ocean. closing the horizon with its deep-blue
line. Behind me was a rock on which a torrent of melted
snow dashed its white foam, and there, diverted from its
course, rushed with a mad leap, and plunged headlong into
the gulf that yawned beneath my window.




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


93


"Amid such scenes I composed ' Rponds-moi la Marche
des Gibaros,' 'Polonia,' ' Columbia,' ' Pastorella e Cavaliere,' 'Jeunesse,' and many other unpublished works. I
allowed my fingers to run over the keys, wrapped up in the
contemplation of these wonders; while my poor friend,
whom I heeded but little, revealed to me, with a childish
loquacity, the lofty destiny he held in reserve for humanity.
Can you conceive the contrast produced by this shattered
intellect, expressing at random its disjointed thoughts, as
a disordered clock strikes by chance any hour, and the
majestic serenity of the scene around me? I felt it instinctively. My misanthropy gave way. I became indulgent
towards myself and mankind, and the wounds of my heart
closed once more. My despair was soothed; and soon the
sun of the tropics, which tinges all things with gold, -dreams
as well as fruits, - restored me with new confidence and
vigor to my wanderings.
"I relapsed into the manners and life of these primitive
countries: if not strictly virtuous, they are, at all events
terribly attractive. Existence in a tropical wilderness, in
the midst of a voluptuous and half-civilized race, bears no
resemblance to that of a London cockney, a Parisian
lounger, or an American Quaker.  Times there were,
indeed, when a voice was heard within me, that spoke of
nobler aims. It reminded me of what I once was, of what
I yet might be; and commanded imperatively a return to a
healthier and more active life. But I had allowed myself j
to be enervated by this baneful languor, this insidious far
niente; and my moral torpor was such that the mere thought
of re-appearing before a polished audience struck me as
superlatively absurd. ' Where was the object?' I would
ask myself. Moreover, it was too late; and I went on
dreaming with open eyes, careering on horseback through
the savannas, listening at break of day to the prattle of the




94


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


parrots in the guava-trees, at nightfall to the chirp of the
grillos in the cane-fields, or else smoking my cigar, taking
my coffee, rocking myself in a hammock, - in short, enjoying all the delights that are the very heart-blood of a guajiro, and out of the sphere of which he can see but death,
or, what is worse to him, the feverish agitation of our
Northern society. Go and talk of the funds, of the landed
interest, of stock-jobbing, to this Sybarite, lord of the wilderness, who can live all the year round on luscious bananas and delicious cocoa-nuts, which he is not even at the
trouble of planting; who has the best tobacco in the world
to smoke; who replaces to-day the horse he had yesterday
by a better one, chosen from the first caballada he meets;
who requires no further protection from the cold than a pair
of linen trousers, in that favored clime where the seasons
roll on in one perennial summer; who, more than all this,
finds at eve, under the rustling palm-trees, pensive beauties
eager to reward with their smiles the one who murmurs in
their ears those three words, ever new, ever beautiful, 'To
te quiero.'
"Moralists, I am aware, condemn this life of inaction
and mere pleasure; and they are right. But poetry is often
in antagonism with virtuous purposes; and now that I am
shivering under the icy wind and dull sky of the North;
that I must needs listen to discussions on Erie, Prairie du
Chien, Harlem, and Cumberland; that I read in the papers
the lists of the killed and wounded, that havoc and conflagration, violence and murder, are perpetrated all around
me, -I find myself excusing the half-civilized inhabitant of
the savanna, who prefers his poetical barbarism to our barbarous progress.
"Unexpectedly brought back to the stern realities of
life by a great affliction, I wished to destroy every link that
connected me with the six years I had thrown away. It




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


95


was at this period that Strakosch wrote to me, offering an
engagement for a tour of concerts through the United
States. I hesitated an instant: one sad look was cast upon
the vanished days.  I breathed a regret, and - sighed.
The dream was over; I was saved: but who could say, if,
in the rescue, youth and poetry had not perished? Poetry
and youth are of a volatile mood, - they are butterflies.
Shut them up in a cage, and they will dash their delicate
wings to pieces against its bars. Endeavor to direct them
as they soar, and you cramp their flight, you deprive them
of their audacity, -two qualities which are often to be met
with in inexperience, and the loss of which - am I wrong
in saying so? -is not always compensated by maturity of
talent."
" New  York, February, 1862. —One thing surprises
me. It is to find New York, to say the least of it, as brilliant as when I took my departure for the Antilles in 1857.
In general, the press abroad relates the events of our war
with such a predetermined pessimist spirit, that at a distance it is impossible to form a correct estimate of the state
of the country, For the last year I have read in the
papers statements to this effect: ' The theatres are closed;
the terrorism of Robespierre sinks into insignificance compared to the excesses of the Americans; the streets of New
York are deluged with blood' (I very nearly had a
duel in Puerto Rico, for venturing to question the authenticity of this last assertion, propounded by a Spanish
officer): 'in short, the North is in a starving condition.'
"'How can you think of giving concerts to people who
are in want of bread?' was the remark of my friends on
being apprised of my resolution to return to the United
States; and, in all humility, I must acknowledge that the
same question suggested itself not unfrequently to my mind,




96


LIFE AND LETTERS-OF


when I discussed within me the expediency of my voyage.
I have still in my possession a newspaper in which a correspondent states the depreciation of our currency to be
such, that he actually saw a baker refuse to take a dollar
from a famished laborer in exchange for a loaf of bread.
"The number of these trustworthy correspondents has
increased in the direct ratio of our prosperity, the development of our resources, and the umbrage these blessings
give to the enemies of democratic principles. There are
very few governments that would not deem it a matter of
duty to exult over the ruin of our Republican edifice.
Fear actuates the less enlightened; jealousy is the motive
of the more liberal. A celebrated statesman once said to
me,' A republic is theoretically a very fine thing, but it is
a Utopia.' Like the man in antiquity, who, on hearing
motion denied, refuted the assestion by simply rising and
walking, we had hitherto put the 'Utopia' into practice;
and the thing did march on and proved a reality. The argument was peremptory. A principle can be discussed: a
fact is undeniable. Although refracted by the organs of
the foreign press, the light of truth still flashed at times
upon the people of Europe, and taught it to reflect. When
our troubles broke out, I was in Martinique. In all the
Antilles, - Spanish, French, Danish, English, Swedish,
Dutch, - it was but one unanimous cry, ' Did not we say so? '
and the truthful and independent correspondents immediately embraced this opportunity to redouble their zeal, and
forthwith began to multiply like mosquitoes in a tropical
swamp after a summer shower.
"But it is not my province to pronounce upon lofty
political and moral questions. I would merely say that
New York, for a deserted city, is singularly animated; that
Broadway yesterday was thronged with pretty women,
who, famished as they are, present, nevertheless, the delu



LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


97


sive appearance of health, and brave with heroic indifference the bloody tumults of whih our streets are daily the
theatre; that art is not so utterly dead among us but that
Maretzek gives ' Un Ballo in Maschera' to crowded houses,
and Church sees his studio filled with amateurs desirous of
admiring his magnificent and strange 'Icebergs,' which he
has just finished.
" It is difficult to account for the extreme ignorance of
many foreigners with regard to the political and intellectual standing of the United States, when one considers the
extent of our commerce, which covers the entire world like
a vast net, or when one views the incessant tide of immigration which thins the population of Europe to our profit.
A French admiral, Viscount Duquesne, inquired of me at
Havana, in 1853, if it were possible to venture in the
vicinity of St. Louis without apprehending being massacred by the Indians. The father of a talented French
pianist who resides in this country wrote a few years since
to his son, to know if the furrier business in the city of
New York was exclusively carried on by Indians. Her
Imperial Highness, the Grand Duchess of Russia, on seeing Barnum's name in an American paper, requested me to
tell her if he were not one of our prominent statesman.
For very many individuals in Europe, the United States
have remained just where they were when Chateaubriand
wrote ' Les Natchez,' and saw parrots (?) on the boughs of
the trees which the majestic 'MI6chasbcl,' rolled down the
current of its mighty waters. All this may seem improbable; but I advance nothing that I am not fully prepared
to prove. There is, assuredly, an intelligent class of people who read and know the truth; but, unfortuuately, it is
not the most numerous, nor the most inclined to render us
justice. Proudhon himself —that bold, vast mind, ever
struggling for the triumph of light and progress - regards
7




98


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


the pioneer of the West merely as an heroic outlaw, ant
the Americans in general as half-civilized savages. From
Talleyrand, who said, " L' Amrique est un pays de cochons
sales et de sales cochons,' down to Zimmermann, the director
of the piano-classes at the Conservatory of Paris, who,
without hearing me, gave as a reason for refusing to receive
me in 1841, that "America was a country that could produce
nothing but steam-engines," there is scarcely an eminent
man abroad who has not made a thrust at the Americans.
It may not be irrelevant to say he;e, that the little Louisianian who was refused as a pupil in 1841 was called upon
in 1851 to sit as a judge on the same bench with Zimmermann, at the ' Concours' of the Conservatory.
"Unquestionably there are many blanks in certain
branches of our civilization. Our appreciation of the fine
arts is not always as enlightened, as discriminating, as elevated, as it might be. We look upon them somewhat as interlopers, parasites, occupying a place to which they have no
legitimate right. Our manners, like the machinery of our
government, are too new to be smooth and polished: they
occasionally grate. We are more prone to worship the golden
calf, in bowing down before the favorites of fortune, than
disposed to kill the fatted calf in honor of the elect of
thought and mind. Each and every one of us thinks himself
as good as, and better than, any other man, —an invaluable
creed when it engenders self-respect; but, alas! when we
put it in practice, it is generally with a view of putting
down to our level those whose level we could never hope to
reach.  Fortunately, these little weaknesses are  not
national traits. They are inherent in all new societies, and
will completely disappear when we shall attain the full
development of our civilization with the maturity of age."
lMy impresarios, Strakosch and Grau, have made the




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


99


important discovery, that my first concert in New York, on
my return from Europe in 1853, took place the 11th of
February, and consequently have decided to defer my reappearance for a few days in order that it may fall upon
the 11th of February, 1862. The public (which takes not
the remotest interest in the thing) has been duly informed
of this memorable coincidence by all the papers.
" Query by some of my friends: ' Why do you say such
and such things in the advertisements? Why do you not
eliminate such and such epithets from the bills? '
"Answer. Alas I are you ignorant of the fact that the
artist is a piece of merchandise, which the impresario has
purchased, and which he sets off to the best advantage
according to his own taste and views? You might as well
upbraid certain pseudo gold-mines for declaring dividends
which they will never pay, as to render the artist responsible for the puffs of his managers. A poor old negress
becomes, in the hands of the Jupiter of the Museum, the
nurse of Washington: after that, can you marvel at the
magniloquent titles coupled with my name?
" The artist is like the stock which is to be quoted at
the board, and thrown upon the market. The impresario
and his agents, the broker and his clique, cry out that it is
'excellent, superb, unparalleled: the shares are being
carried off by magic; there remain but very few reserved
seats.' (The house will perhaps be full of dead-heads, and
the broker may be meditating a timely failure.) Nevertheless, the public rushes in, and the money follows a similar course. If the stock be really good, the founders of
the enterprise become millionnaires.  If the artist has
talent, the impresario occasionally makes his (the impresario's) fortune. In case both stock and artist prove bad,
they fall below par and vanish, after having made (quite
innocently) a certain number of victims.  Now, in all


J




100


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


sincerity, of the two humbugs, do you not prefer that of
the impresario? At all events, it is less expensive.
I heard Brignoli yesterday evening in ' Martha.' The
favorite tenor has still his charming voice, and has retained,
despite the progress of an embonpoint that gives him some
uneasiness, the aristocratic elegance, which, added to his
fine hair and ' beautiful throat,' has made him so successful
with the fair sex. Brignoli, notwithstanding the defects
his detractors love to heap upon him, is an artist I sincerely
admire. The reverse of vocalists, who, I am sorry to say,
are for the most part vulgar ignoramuses, he is a thorough
musician, and perfectly qualified to judge a musical work.
His enemies would be surprised to learn that he knows by
heart Hummel's Concerto in A minor. He learned it as a
child when he contemplated becoming a pianist, and still
plays it charmingly. Brignoli knows how to sing; and,
were it not for the excessive fear that paralyzes all his faculties before an audience, he would rank among the best
singers of the day.
"I met Brignoli for the first time at Paris in 1849. He
was then very young, and had just made his debut at the
Theatre Italien, in 'L'Elisire d' Amore,' under the sentimental patronage of Madame R., wife of the celebrated
barytone. In those days, Brignoli was very thin, very awkward; and his timidity was rendered more apparent by the
proximity of his protectress. Madame R. was an Italian
of commanding stature, impassioned and jealous.   She
sang badly, although possessed of a fine voice, which she
was less skilful in showing to advantage than in displaying the luxuriant splendor of her raven hair. The public,
initiated into the secret of the green-room, used to be intensely amused at the piteous attitudes of Nemorino
Brignoli, contrasting, as they did, with the ardent panto-:. '- * #:'.:,: *




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.             101
mime of Adina R., who looked by his side like a
wounded lioness. Poor womanl What has been your
fate? The glossy tresses of which you were so proud in
your scenes of insanity, those tresses that brought down
the house when your talent might have failed to do so, are
now frosted with the snow of years. Your husband has
forsaken you.  After a long career of success, he has
buried his fame under the orange-groves of the Alhambra.
There he directs, according to his own statement (but I
can scarce credit it), the phantom of a conservatory for
singing. I am convinced he has too much taste to break
in upon the poetical silence of the old Moorish palace with
portamenti, trills, and scales; and I flatter myself that the
plaintive song of the nightingales of the Generalife, and
the soft murmur of the Fountain of the Lions, are the only
concerts that echo gives to the breeze that gently siChs at
night from the mountains of the Sierra Nevada. Alas, poor
woman! your locks are silvered, and Brignoli - has grown
fat I ' Sic transit gloria mundi '"




102


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


PIANO.
"Home again I home again I
From a foreign shore:
And, oh I it fills my soul with joy
To meet my friends once more 1   S-M. P. IKE.
N February, 1862, Mr. Gottschalk returned to
New York. His concert was announced for
the 11th of February, the anniversary of his first
concert in America. In a letter to a friend, he
makes amusing comment of this: "The public
have been duly informed of my arrival, and the
time of my concert postponed until the 11th,
as if that was any grand prestige of success; mais
que voulez-vous, when one is in the hands of an
impressario, ilfaut obeir!  My friends know I am
not such a dolt as to allow these things published
by will of my own."
At this first concert, in Irving Hall, he was
assisted by Miss Hinckley, Brignoli, Susini, Mancusi, and Mollenhauer, violoncellist.  Spanish subjects seemed to possess his fancy; for his programme was filled with Souvenirs de la Havane.
He played brilliantly, but some arriere-pensee
seemed to hold his heart in check: his touch pos



LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


103


sessed wondrous technique, but the      magnetic
thrill was gone. It was but for a season: at his
next appearance, before the Brooklyn Phillarmonic Society, he was the same electric, dreamy,
and passionate child of a tropical clime.
In March, he gave concerts in Philadelphia,
and his praises were heard on      every tongue.
Writing to a friend, he says," I'll not send you the newspapers: they will sicken you.
I am glad, of course, to give pleasure; but such flattery
is overdoing the matter. I go West, to Chicago, next
month; but will return to New York before that, and
show you some MSS. I have ready for Hall. So you don't
like Polonia (caprice de concert)? Neither do I; but I have
a poor opinion of all I do. I wish all was better. Perhaps
it will be some day: until then continue to scold and criticise               "Your unworthy friend,
"L. M. G."
April 14, 1862, he first appeared in Chicago, in
conjunction with Carlotta Patti, George Simpson,
Morine, and Carl Bergmann. Tlle enthusiasm
of his reception was characteristic of Western
whole-heartedness.  No silly hypercriticism  chills
true merit at the West. Fortunately for Chicago,
old fogyism has been left growling at the East;
and life is too short and brilliant to be wasted in
picking flaws in an art which entrances them.
In May and June, Mr. Gottscllalk remained in
New York. One concert, llowever, he gave, at the




104


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


solicitation of friends, in Roxbury. It was " delectable fine fun " to hear and read the criticisms
his kindly consent to please his friends drew upon
him. Certain critics remind us of hungry dogs,
like old Mother Hubbard's who found the cupboard bare of bones; and when, from sheer sympathy, a neighbor tossed one to the starving animal, how the poor doggie growled! he didn't
often get such nice rich meat to satisfy his hunger!  Just so hungry, pedantic critics caught
at the joyous, llapl:y-hearted Gottscllalk, and
growled over him, and criticised according to
classic rule and measure; thus writing themselves
down the truest Dogberrys upon earth
"Why will they exhaust their ten-pounders in
order to kill mosquitoes?" exclaimed Moreau
Gottschalk, with his merry laugh, when one of
these criticisms was placed before him. " Poor
Don Quixote of a critic: let us smoke a cigarette
to his memory!"
The warm, sunny August days found him at
Schooley's Mountains.  His letters are full of
beautiful thougllts, and descriptions of the scenery,
the rest and refieshment he found in Nature.
These letters are too personal to be of general
interest; and the friend to whom   they were
written declines to make them   public.  One
extract alone seems too beautiful to be lost. The
letter is dated Aug. 18:

il




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCIHALK.


105


"Your letter telling me of --  's death saddened me all
last evening; nor has the feeling passed away. I have just
been thinking that the use of great sorrow and trouble may
be to serve as rocks for the echo I
"Strangely enough expressed: the following is not much
better: -
"Our paths lie not together!
Thine as far from mine as heaven's pure sunlight
From the cavern's gloom.
Our paths lie not together!  ~
Mine o'er roughened rocks is traced,
My pathway smoothed by tears.
Angel-guide, with hand upon my shoulder resting,
Is it thy voice I hear?
'Tis but the breeze of heaven sighing
'Mid the am'ranth on thy brow,
Softly lingerkig, softly dying.
Hark! Unbroken stilness now!
Rest, rest, I give to thee.
Sister, come unto me:
Faint not, though wearily
Thou toil'st on thy way.
Clearly by thee is heard
The Mary Mother's word,
Who has for thee reserved
A heavenly home.
Weep no more; smile through thy tears;
List the music of the spheres,
Nearer roling golden years
To still thy heart's deep pain.
Rocks retain the echo's note:
Over hill and vale will float
Clearly, though far remote,
The echo-call.




106


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


Then if upon Life's road,
Leading to the blest abode
Of the Holy Triune God,
Rocks thee surround,Louder still will come his voice,
Bidding thee rejoice, rejoice
Sorrowing child of earth!
"It is not poetry, it is not rhyme, perhaps it is not reason: but it is the sympathy my heart holds for you; and I
am not near enough to weave it into a tone-poem for your
ears alone."
In October he returned to New York, and soon
after went to Boston, where he gave a concert at
Chickering Hall, and another at the Melodeon.
Chopin and Henselt were the composers whose
works he rendered; for, as Chopin had transcribed the traits of Poland to his mazourkas and
Polonaise, Gottschalk had striven to reproduce
the characteristic life of the West Indies in his
music.
The criticism that awaited him was duly seasoned
with salt-grains of justice. His playing was pronounced better than it was at his first concert,
nine years before.  His "Meditation R6ligeuse,"
his " Romance d'un Martyr," were said to possess
dignity of character, and impressed the critic
"we "as being similar in style to the music of
Ernst. Fearing, however, that this was too liberal, the just and generous critic declared that




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


107


the effect of his playing was doubtless due to the
superiority of the instrument!
And what said Moreau Gottschalk to this upright critique? Simply this:"That's a nice thing for Chickering's pianos, and I'm
glad of it; for they are grand, and inspire me. Where's
my cigar-case?"
What a comment on the pedantic, labored
criticism that evidently cost time and thought to
the " We " who penned it!
In November, he was once more in New York,
and assisted at the Brooklyn Philharmonics.  He
played at one concert with Eugenie Barnetche, a
young pianiste from the Paris Conservatoire; and
very charmingly he kept his own wondrous power
of ornamentation in check, in order to give
greater scope to her power of trill and cadenza.
In December, he gave concerts in Cllicago and
Cincinnati. The criticism from this latter place
seems to have been penned by a Boston " We.'
The daily papers were wildly enthusiastic over him;
but tle higher, clearer-minded correspondent of
an Eastern musical journal accuses him    of
"descending to clap-trap" and "showy     bravura."  Mr. Gottschalk and his friends were as
deeply affected as usual over this highly sensible
effusion.




108


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


In the spring of 1863, he gave several concerts
at Irving Hall, New York; but the illness of his
brother, to whom he was devoted, prevented him
from travelling as he had intended. He took his
brother to Saratoga during the summer; but the
disease, consumption, was too deeply seated to be
removed by change of air and invigorating
waters. In the fall they returned to New York,
where, in the early part of October, Edward
Gottschalk died.
During the fall and winter, Moreau remained
in New York, studying music, and writing most
diligently. A severe attack of fever, brougllt on
by too constant care of his brother, prostrated
him for several weeks: when lie recovered, lie
was engaged by Strakoscll for a season of concerts. Most of these were given in New York;
although the finest was given in Philadelphia,
where he played his arrangement from Gade's
Scotch Symphony, " Imn Hocl1and," with Wolfsohn. The andante and scherzo of this symphony
were especial favorites of his: he compared them
to " Lady of the Lake;" for the dreamful beauty
of Loch Katrine was mirrored in the wave-like
tempo of the andante; and the perfume of heather
and gorse, the graceful swaying of the blue
harebells upon the rocky slopes of mountain
crags, breathed their life and beauty into the
scherzo.




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


109


From Philadelphia, he returned to New York,
where he gave a concert for the Soldiers' Relief
Association. A concert in Hartford, and another
in Chicago, completed his. work for the year 1863.
It was at this Hartford concert that another
clever newspaper correspondent discovered in himn
nothing but the " Adonis of the concert-room,"
remarked on the manner in which he drew off his
gloves, (which was very graceful indeed: this we
is glad that that WE had an opera-glass to note
things so carefully), and finally ended his intellectual comments by pronouncing Gottschalk " a
ninny!"
In the spring of 1864, he left New York for a
short concerting tour in Canada and a portion of
the West, returning through the State of New
York. It was during this tour that he refused to
play " DIXIE " at a concert in Montreal. He was
repeatedly encored, and a request for "Dixie"
came from  every quarter. Gottschalk went toi
the piano, and played " Yankee Doodle!"  To a
friend to whom lie related the affair, he said,
"' Nothing would have tempted me to play that
disgraceful secesh Dixie: no, not if it had been to
save my head! "
In April and May, he gave concerts in Ohio
and New-York State; from    Auburn he was
called to New York on business that required his
personal supervision. In June, lie was engaged




110


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


by Muzio for a concert-tour through the Middle
States.   They went west to      Clicago, on which
occasion he inaugurated Smith and Nixon's new
music-hall.   He was assisted by Madame Muzio
(Lucy Simons), Morelli, barytone, and Doehler,
the violinist.
In January, 1865, they were at Pittsburg.
The following hurried note from there will show
that the tour was profitable, at least:"You lazy fellow, did you not receive the letter I wrote
you three weeks ago?
"My health is passable, though I have a bad cold. We
are going down to the South-west, and will be back North
in four weeks.
"Muzio is making, I reckon, from three to four thousand clear a month. Pretty good!!
"Affectionately yours in haste,
" GOTTSCHALK.
"PITTSBURa, Jan. 30, 1865."
The   following  list of music will show       that
hours of study were not neglected amid the excitement of travel:1862.                      1863.
Pastorella e Cavalliere.       Union.
0 ma Charmante (caprice).      My only Love, good-by.
Suis Moi (caprice).            Mountaineer's Song.
Murmures Eoliens               Idol of Beauty.
Berceuse.                      Slumber on, Baby dear.




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


111


1864.           Overture to William Tell.
Songs.
Illusions Perdues.         Stay, my Charmer.
La Colombe (Dove Polka).   O loving Heart, trust on.
Ojos Criollos (solo).
Miserere du Trovatore.              1865.
Rdponds Moi (duo).         Shepherdess and Knight (song)
Home, sweet Home.          La Gallina (duo.)
He returned to New York in the spring, and
made preparation to go to the Pacific coast with
Muzio, by whom he had been re-engaged. In
June, 1865, he sailed for California.
And here, in the golden summer-time, for
a while we leave him sailing towards the Golden
Gate, the golden Sunset Land! The sighs of
parting friends cannot mingle with the allegretto,
however andante the closing measures may be
given. Let, therefore, the rapid movement of the
presto come to lighten our sadness as the misty
tears gather in our eyes, and we no longer note
the receding vessel bearing away our dearly
valued friend, Louis MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.




I
qh
14




PRESTO.
A harmony, that, finding vent,
Upward in grand ascension wen,
Winged to a heavenly argument.
A harmony sublime and plain,
Which cleft..... those undertones
Of perplext chords, and soared at once,
And struck out from the starry thrones
Their silver octaves, as
It passed to God! The music was
Of divine stature, - strong to pass!
And those who heard it understood
Something of life in spirit and blood,
Something of Nature's fair and good.'
MRs. BROWNIRG.
118








LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


115


SENZA FORTE.
" What living man will bring a gift
Of his own heart, and help to lift
The tune? The race is to the swift I"
"For where my worthiness is poor,
My will stands richly at the door,
To pay short-comings evermore.
I only would have leave to loose
(In tears and blood, if so He choose)
Mine inward music out to use."
B    RIGHT      firelight glowed    throughout    the
cheerful little parlor of a young musicteacher in New-York City. The gas was not
lighted; but the crimson curtains and plain gilt
frames of simple photographs reflected the glowing
fire, giving to the room a luxuriance and beauty
more subtile than any imparted by brilliant light.
A bouquet of carnations and tea-roses filled a
parian vase upon one side of the piano; while from
a basket on the other side floated sprays of heliotrope and jasmine. A guitar lay in the crimsonvelvet fauteuil beside the fire, and a heap of
bright worsteds and canvas on an ottoman near
by. At the piano sat the young teacher, weep



L16


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


ing  most bitterly.  Beethoven's "Moonlight
Sonate " was before her.
With head bowed in her hands, she arose and
paced the room, murmuring to herself, "It is
wrong, oh! very wrong, for me to teach: I am not
worthy. It is sacrilege for a mere amateur like
myself to impart the sacred mysteries of such
music: it should be the work of wiser, older
heads than mine, to guide the hearts of American
girls into correct appreciation of the classic
school."  Then more bitterly she exclaimed,
"How can Czerny, Heller, and Cramer etudes
pave the way to purely classical music in an unappreciative mind? Chopin, too, is to them untranslatable; and most pianists are mere variationists, and have no style of their own! Oh for
a Maestro who can sparkle out and allure into the
glorious heaven of musical science!"
A knock at the door, followed by a low, musical
voice, asking, " Puis-je entrer " interrupted her.
" I'm in a hurry so desperate, I can't wait but a
minute."
The lady hastily wiped away her tears, and
held out her hand to Moreau Gottschalk, who
stood before her.
He turned her towards the firelight, and looked
into her eyes. " Yes," he said slowly, " it is just
as I supposed: you are in trouble! "
Without heeding her exclamations of surprise




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


117


and curiosity, he threw aside his cloak and cap,
and, lifting the guitar, sat down in the chair, and
quietly lighted a cigarette, saying first, " I know
you do not object."
" Mais dep6chez-vous donc, pourguoi asseyezvous?" the lady smilingly questioned, as she
drew her little sewing-chair to the fire, and
gathered up her embroidery. "I thought you
were in a hurry; but, if you are going to stay,
I'll light the gas!"
"I am 'going to stay,'" he replied smiling;
"because you need my society more than
to-night." Then added gayly, " But you shall not
astonish my nerves by gas-light just yet. Now
confess the trouble: have your pupils persisted in
playing C sharp for B flat all day?"
"No: they were all flat; no sharp to them. And
yet the flattest of all has just returned from Boston, and wants classical music, - the ' Moonlight
Sonate,' par exemple. But tell me: why are you
here? You said, at the Philharmonic yesterday,
you had an engagement every evening for a
month."
" ' Cst vrai, ma chere madame, mais que voulezvous   I stood in Hall's this afternoon as you
passed; and your face was so sad, so sad, it- it
spoiled my dinner: so I am here to know what is
the matter."
" But you'll lose your supper-party if you stay.




118


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


I am only discouraged. I fear I am too stupid to
teach. I cannot impart my enthusiasm to my
pupils: they neither understand Mendelssohn nor
Chopin; Listz is too hard; and if I teach you all
the time, why, I shall be called one of your
adorers, or ' Gottschalk crazy.' And I believe it is
half true:. I'm such a dunce, I cannot understand
modern pianists as I do you. Oh, dear! why
didn't I 'go on the stage,' rather than be a music*eacher?"
"Never, oh, promise me you will never think
such thoughts again! The stage! Horrible! It
would kill you. No, no. I have two more pupils
for you: they shall pay you well. I know some
nice music too, and will select it to-morrow."
"Indeed, you misunderstand me," exclaimed
the lady hastily.  " I am doing splendidly, thanks
to you and —.    But I have lost confidence in
myself; I've lost my interest: pupils are so stupid,
or else I am. Oh! " And the hot tears streamed
down her cheeks: she could not restrain them; for
Gottschalk turned upon her one of those veiled,
pitiful looks, so flll of sympathy and childlike
helplessness.
He arose and went to the piano. He played
the adagio of the " Moonlight," and then modulated into soft, low strains, in which angel messengers seemed winging their way through moonlight to earth, to uphold and strengthen a fainting




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


119


soul.  How long he played, the sufferer never
knew: she only felt the power and hopefulness of
his own spirit imparted to her by magnetic sympathy; and she grew strong and radiant, upheld by
his strong and happy heart.
She arose and stood beside him. "Thank
you, oh, thank you, truest of fiiends I I am happy,
self-reliant, once more. How can I ever show you
all my gratitude?"
He took the hand that toyed with the heliotropes, and drew the lady nearer to him. He
raised his beautiful eyes full upon her own, and
replied, " I ask no thanks, but to know that you
are strong and self-reliant, - to see your face no
longer sorrowful, but radiant as it was before your
elegant home was lost to you. Ah I you will yet
find friends who will love you and appreciate you
far more than those cruel, fashionable people who
look down upon you because you have lost your
wealth. I am honored in serving one who so
nobly bears her reverses, and seeks only too conscientiously to do her duty. You know I admired
you in the satins and diamonds of your wealth -
but this little parlor in this unfrequented street is
a thousand times more worthy my respect than
the drawing-rooms of your palace home. _There
I was only your music-teacher: here you are my
teacher. All that is good and best in my heart I
bring to you; for I trust you, I believe in you."




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LIFE AND LETTERS OF


She shook her head sadly. " Don't remind me
of that wretched time when I met you as only my
teacher. I know you now, and only regret that
I dare not tell the world how grand and noble you
are. Ah! will they ever find it out? "
" No," he replied decidedly: s" I don't care to
be known as a good or a great man. I am just
simply myself, - Moreau Gottschalk; plein d 'oisivete, la mere de tous les vices, faineant, un peu trop
amoureux des jolies demoiselles peut-etre, mais
— 'ma charmante, epargnez moi.'"  He stopped
abruptly; for the steadfast gaze of the womanly
eyes recalled his truer self.  Well, I cannot be
silly before you. I must be sensible. Let the
gas be lighted, and tell me more of your trials
to-day."
In a few minutes the little round table was
covered with the rich materials of the lady's
embroidery, and her busy needle flew back and
forth, while Gottschalk leaned back in the comfortablefauteuil, smoking his cigarettes, and gazing into the dull red coke-glare from the grate.
Suddenly he started up: "I'm  going out for a
few moments: I forgot something." In an instant
he was gone.
"Such an erratic being! he is like an electric
shock at times," exclaimed the teacher to herself
as the door closed. "I wonder what he is after
now? While he is gone, I'll play that ' Moon



LOUIS MOREEAU GOTTSCHIALK.


121


light' as near like him as I can." She seated
herself at the piano, and the efflorescence melodique
of the adagio floated in dreamful beauty beneath
her touch.
No wonder that Berlioz in his " Voyage Musicale," and De Lanz in his analysis of that sonate,
has called it " one of those poetical conceptions
that human language does not know how to
express."  In the opening of the adagio is seen
"the tomb of buried hopes, the grave of love;
but, as the chord of E major sounds, one hears the
rustling of flowers, and feels the fragrance of
their sweet breath. Though bitter tears mighlt be
shed over the tomb, though the heart milght be
almost crushed with the weary weight of a lonely
life, the grand, solemn chords of the bass speak
of courageous self-reliance, of the strength and
fortitude of a truly great heart. The treble tells
its passionate accents, but no human consolation
can be accepted; and the deep, slow bass repeats
this to the treble. Not even human sympathy:
the grief must be borne in silence and alone. It
is a sadness without limit, without remedy. The
abyss of separation can never be bridged; a
raging torrent rolls between. The soul clambers
with patient firmness up the ascent without one
consoling friend, and seeks the solitude of its sorrow; finding a proud content in its own selfiupport, in its own heroic courage."




122


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


As the final chord vibrated, a deep sigh startled
the pianiste from  her reverie.  She turned:
Moreau Gottschalk stood behind her.  He llad
entered the room while she played. " Why cannot you play in that way at all times?" he asked
a little severely. "You mock me. I play some
things for you, which you understand as well as I
do myself, perhaps better; for you know what it
is to be sad, and lose every thing that makes life
happy, —wealth, friends, and the one you best
love of all tile world; but I know nothing of all
that. Come, don't play more: I don't care to be
sad. I went for these: I know you love them;"
and he placed before her a basket filled with wlite
grapes and tropical fruits.  " Hush! don't cry
over such a simple offering: if you were in a
brilliant concert-room, and had played like that,
you would have been greeted with great bouquets,
and I would have sent you a bunch of white
camellias and violets.' I would not have brought
it for you all Iy own self, as I have this basket,
for then ' the world' would have said, 'Moreau
Gottschalk loves the beautiful pianiste;' and les
jolies demoiselles would have been so jealous:
n'est ce pas?"  His merry laugh rang out as he
lifted a bunch of grapes, and handed them to the
lady. "You know I don't love anybody xery
long; but I love to make fun of ' les femmes
savantes.' I love cigarettes; but, more than all, I




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


123


love to hear you laugh, and to see you sit down
and eat grapes, and to hear you talk of music.
Music! my only real love, the only bride I'll ever
claim."
"Do not talk so, Moreau. I hope you will
marry, one of these days, and give up your roving
life; and may your wife be a 'femme' sufficiently 'savante' to appreciate you, and make
every allowance for your strange, inconstant,
inconsistent nature! A happy home would be a
paradise for you."
He raised his eyes to her face, and replied,
"Never: I shall never marry, - not by my own
free will, at least; nor will any thing compel me
so to do but my own conscience. Enough: let
us talk of happier things."  The conversation
wandered to the musical news of the day, the
Philharmonic rehearsals, and the concert-rooms.
' Now tell me all the ugly things you've heard of
me in the classical coterie at."
"I only tell you in order to aid you to reform.
They say you are 'no artist,' only a ' musical
mechanic.' You give no grand theme, only a
melody overladen with ornaments of trill, arpeggio, and ' le chant bien soutenu et lie",' canto ben
sostenuto.' Explain to me now why you are 'no
artist.'"
" Because I do not follow in the track of the
great schools of musical art; because I am Moreau




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LIFE AND LETTERS OF


Gottschalk, and nobody else; because I feel joy
in my soul, and let the 'tone-spirit' fly, or because
I feel sad and cling to my ' tone-spirit,' striving to
impart to her my heart-throbs, and calling to her
from my soul in the love and despair of my passion. Music is my bride to cheer and delight me.
Music is my friend to amuse and make me gay.
Music - all! it is my angel to lead me to
God."
" But does it not speak in an unknown tongue
to the clique at -?"
He smiled, and shook his head. There was
sadness in the tone as he answered, " No, I think
not; but it speaks of such simple things, that they
understand it too well.  They like those who
work for the future, or those who imitate the past.
They forget that I work to cheer younger musicians in their toilsome way, and, when I no longer
please them, let them go higher, perhaps; but
others take their place. Ah! one day I will do
wonders; and you shall see me wield a baton as
graceful and grand as -: but not like him will
I soothe and rest my audience. No: I'll thrill
them with excitement and love; I'll inspire them
with worship for my music-bride. Her soothing
must be for me alone; and she shall rest me only
in heaven."
As he said these words, lie arose from his chair,
his eyes fixed on the marble Madonna over the




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


125


mantle, his hands crossed on his breast, his whole
frame trembling and quivering with excitement.
" Hush, Moreau! Music in your soul can never
die. For what is worthy of life in us, there can be
no death."
" Go! don't speak to me now," he exclaimed,
as she came near to him, and tried to lead his mind
to other things.  " I am tired, excited: leave
me!"
" No, I will not," replied the firm, soft,
womanly voice; " no, you    shall obey me."
She drew the chair back from the fire, and, taking the arm of the young artist, led him to the
sofa. "Now lie down."  A few gentle mesmeric
touches upon his brow, and his eyes closed.
Slie returned to her embroidery, and worked
diligently till the silver-toned clock told the hour
of ten; and then she turned her head and whispered, "Moreau, Moreau, ne dormez plus."
He opened his eyes, and started up. " Ah!
I've been dreaming of my fame again.   How
good you are to let me rest! You must speak
Italian, and say 'in sonno placido io dormiro.'
But, good-nilght: I know you will not let me stay
longer."
He put on his overcoat, and, with the lady's
permission, lit a cigar; but, before taking up his
hat, he seated himself at the piano. Never did
the " Miserere du Trovatore " speak in holier




126         LIFE AND LETTERS OF
tones. "Non di scorda di me," and " Addio,"
rang out from a burdened, loving heart, impatiently longing, earnestly repeating, -
"Sconto col sangue mio,
L'amor che pose in te,
Non ti scorda di me, non ti scorda "
He turned from the piano, and, bowing low, left
the lady's presence without another word.




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


127


PIANO.
' Our acts our angels are." -JOHN FLETCHEB.
' Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere."-GBAY.
" Good, the more
Communicated, more abundant grows." - MILTON.
T was a lovely evening in August, and the
setting sun filled tle little village of Geneseo
with a golden, misty haze.    Young girls flitted
from cottage to cottage: all seemed merry and
gay, for Concert Hall was to be opened by Mr.
Bassini's Normal pupils, with a private musical
reception.  A friend of Mr. Gottschalk, residing
in the village, was one of the few who was favored
with an invitation.
Three of the best piano soloists among the
pupils had offered their services; and their young
friends were gathering around them, urging them
to play their favorite morceaux.  "No: I will play
'Last Hope,'" replied one sweet, low voice.  If
Lorette plays Thalberg, I'll follow with Gotts
chalk."
The passer-by shuddered, and murmured to
herself, "Ah! must I hear poor Moreau murdered
by school-girl attempts at music?   I've half a
mind not to go to-nigllt."




128


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


Evening came, and the brilliantly-lighted hall
was crowded with guests. The music was well
rendered; and, when a fair girl arose from Thalberg's " Home, Sweet Home," the encore she
received was fully deserved. After a charming
aria by the sweetest and purest soprano in the
class, a young girl took her place at the piano,
and the opening chords of "Last Hope" filled
the room  with their minore religioso.  It was
marvellously well played: the girl was a fine exeeutante; but there was something more than
mere execution, -a soul filled with that peculiar
magnetic power which Gottschalk's most earnest
instruction ever imparted.
A few days after the concert, Mr. Gottschalk's
friend sought an introduction to the young girl
and her mother.  ' Is your daughter a pupil of
Mr. Gottschalk? " was one of the first questions
she asked. " Her rendition of the ' Last Hope'
was so excellent, so like one of the composer's
happiest methods of rendering it (and he had
many), I felt that you must have taken it from
himself."
"You are right," replied the lady; " but ny
daughter has never been a pupil of any one: I
have been her only music-teacher. She learned
fhe 'Last Hope' a year ago; but, after hearing
Mr. Gottschalk play it at a concert last winter,
she declared she never could play it again. The




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCIIALK.


129


morning after the concert, hearing that Mr.
Gottschalk was detained in town for several
hours, I took my daurghter to hlim, and begged
him to give her a silinle lesson.  IIe was all interest and kindness at once. I never passed a
happier hour. He played it page by page, and
she imitated him until sle caught his idea sufficiently to carry it into ler execution.  He was
only too generous," added tlhe lady; " for he
utterly refused any remuneration, and seemed
quite shocked at the idea of my supposing lie
would take it.  ' Are we not both teachers? ' he
replied, gracefully extending his hand to me:
'surely we should aid each other. Bring your
daughter to New York some time, and I will aid
her still more; for she has great talent, and that is
something I dearly love.' "
Yes, he loved talent, but more he loved to encourage it; and there can be stories innumerable
fold of his generosity and self-sacrifice for the
happiness of others. " Unselfish as Gottsclhalk"
became a proverb among a certain musical coterie
in New York; and to this day it is quoted when
any truly great artists (too few of them, alas!)
give their services as quietly and unostentatiously
as Gottschalk ever gave his.
Where is tlhe artist who can equal him in
charities to the sick and suffering, the poor and
the ignorant? In Buenos Ayres he gave con9




130


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


certs for the benefit of the English, French, German, and native hospitals, to the amount of twelve
thousand dollars in gold. He was one of the
founders of the Invalid Hospital; and all honor to
the grateful hearts who presented him a golden
medal for these munificent gifts! And how does
he speak of it? Not in self-gratulation or glorification. In a letter to his friend, Mr. F. G.
Hill of Boston, le merely says,"The board of public schools, common council, the
directors of hospitals, and the government of Valparaiso,
offered me a beautiful gilt box, enclosing a breast-pin and
two dozen magnificently embroidered handkerchiefs."
They were offered, it is true, but not accepted
The gold medal from the Invalid's Hospital, and
the beautiful set of mosaic from the ladies
of Buenos Ayres, were so forced upon him       by
fair hands that he could not refuse their acceptance; and he ever treasured them as mementos
of grateful hearts, rather than as acknowledgments of his generosity.  In Montevideo he was
one of the founders of the society called " Friends
of the Education of the People," the object of
which is the founding of public schools.   Of the
medals which he received, he merely remarks,"I have been honored with three gold medals, one of
which is the: gift of the ladies of the Republic of Uruguay."




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


13]


But it is not so much his public charities, of
whiclh all may be assured, tlat we ought to speak.
It is of those daily acts of kindness that distinguished and filled his life with a quiet content in
the happiness of others. A single instance will
show more thoroughly wlat sucll simple kindnesses were.
It was a winter afternoon of sunshine and
sparkling snow-drifts; and sleigh-bells sounded
their silvery tones througllout Central Park, for
the roads there were splendid.  Mr. Gottschalk,
in the luxurious sleigll of one of New York's
fairest daugllters, was enjoying the drive.  As
the sleigh of an intimate acquaintance passed,
he noticed that an invalid brother of the gentleman driving was not as usual beside him.  Tu/ining to the lady, he asked, "Where is       today?"
" Much worse," she replied.  "He is discouraged; fears lie never will get well, and says he
means to die as soon as lie can. lie feels he is a
burden to himself and his friends."
A look of deep sadness came into Gottschalk's
face: lie gazed at the brilliant scene around him,
and thlen at the hills beyold, where snow-laden
cypresses pointed heavenward.    After a few
moments of earnest tlioughtl, lie again turned to
the lady, and said in a hesitating tone, as if fearing to offend, " Mademoiselle, I feel that I ought




132


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


to see     to-day. I had not heard he was
worse. Will you leave me here at the corner? I
will go to him at once."
It was in vain the beautiful girl offered to
drive with him to his friend's house: lie thanked
her with the utmost gratitude, but insisted on
walking. As his graceful, elegant form was seen
upon the avenue, sleigh after sleigh drove up,
and the fair occupants desired him to drive with
them; and many were the smiles, bows, and
sighs wafted to him from pretty girls and stately
matrons. " Tlis is too much: I must get out of
this! " he said to a friend who had joined him.
" Come, Harry, let's go into Sixtl Avenue." But
"Harry," who was never known to walk half a
step out of his way, kept on the avenue; and it
was only through some ruse that Gottschalk managed to leave him.
Before one of the largest confectioners on
Sixth Avenue, a crowd of little ragged children
stood gazing with longing eyes into the window.
As Gottschalk approached them, a lady friend
walking on the opposite side of the street observed him. When he reached the children, ant
saw the cause of their admiration,- a huge pyramid of sugar-plums rising from a foundation of
cake, - and heard their envious sighs of the rich
children who thronged to purchase the "goodies,"
he made his way to the shop-door, and with a




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCILALK.


133


pleasant smile, and "Come, you youngsters, I'll
treat," he invited the crowd into the store.
The lady, who had crossed the street to meet
Gottschalk, saw and heard all. She, too, entered
the shop; and there, to be sure, was the young
maestro filling the hands and pockets of the ragged
crowd with sugar-plums. If lie ever gave a cross
look or spoke a hasty word in his life, he did on
the occasion when his friend threw back her veil
and exclaimed, "Mai.s, Loreau, que fais-ta parmi
les bonbons? "
" You here! ah, you spy!" and he actually
blushed as if caught in an ungentlemanly act;
but continued, " I am only on a little foldtrerie, -
a harmless petit soupe', d la liaison Doree, pour les
enfants. But, come: these poor children are too
full to speak. Let us go."
Full or not, the ragged crowd gave a parting
cheer that was more grateful to his kind heart
than the bravos of the concert-room.
" You are real good, Moreau. But how comes
it you are in this part of the world alone? "
In a few words lie explained the cause, and
added, " I was going to stop at your rooms and
get a book to read to -. What shall I take?"
"Adelaide Procter, or Tennyson, if you like."
"Yes, I'll take Adelaide Procter: I like that
best. And I'll read ' Give me thy Heart.' There
is a breath of music all through that poem: you




134


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


hear the organ-notes die away, and the voices of
spirits speaking in the shadowy gloom of evening." They walked on in silence for a while;
and then he exclaimed suddenly, "Ah, well!
why isn't it just as well to be a heap of sugarplums as an applauded musician?"
"What are you thinking about? " questioned
the lady in an amused tone.
"Only this: if I were sugar-plums, the little
children would like me and admire me, and I
could make them happy."
"But you make older ones happy now."
"Do I really? or is it only that they make
themselves happy in thinking I serve them?"
" You mean they arrogate to themselves your
power of pleasing. For instance: a beautiful
woman favors you, honors you with delicately
scented billets-doux, pets you ' en faisant les beaux
yeux:' you feel she only admires you because you
have striven to please her; not because she knows
your inner nature, and apprehends you yourself."
" Exactly. You know I don't belong to myself
before the world: I am in the employ of the
manager wlio engages me, and I must do all I
can to attract fine audiences: therefore I must
'faire les beaux yeux' in return, and allow myself
to be petted, flattered, and caressed."
"Ohl, you absurdly arrogant creature! How
yon must suffer! how you must dislike to resort
to such deception!"




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALKT.


135


"' Please do not pretend to misunderstand me,"
he said, as he looked down into her upraised eyes
with his sad but radiant smile. "It is all very
nice indeed: I'm a man, and I like it immensely.
But you know wliat I mean: it does not satisfy
me; it is not thle pure, childlike love which my
soul craves; it is a made-up sentiment, witll which
sympathy and kindred tastes have nothing to do.
What do you suppose I care for the sentimental
trash of these women, any woman indeed? "
"But, Moreau, you couldn't live without their
caresses! "
tIe turned upon her a glance of anger like a
lightning flash. " What do you suppose life is
to me, if you really think that true?  Life for
me must be love; but not the sort of love a
woman who flirts witli me can give. Life must
be gay and bright, but bright with my own deeds
of helpfulness to others. Life must be for some end
and aim; and you know wlhat my aim is, - to aid
and cheer those wlio listen to my music, to interpret the good I feel in my own heart to those
striving as I lhave striven. I may fail; but I
shall do my best to be true to myself and to tlhe
science for wliicli I live."
" Moreau, are you true to yourself when you
hide your real nature from the world?  So few
really know you."
"But my friends do," lie replied quickly,




136


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


" and that is all I ask: and I hope, if I am genej
ous and charitable, my example will be followed
by others; and if they, in their turn, do all the
good they can, why, I think the world will be
none the worse for the indolent, dolce far niente
life of Louis Moreau Gottschalk."
Noble, generous cllild of those glorious tropical
climes where no cold "calculatina costs" comes
to check the generous impulses of the heart! In
that day when the crown-jewels of a Saviour are
made up, when the recording angel reads from
the golden record the names of those who have
" loved their'fellow-men," al! methinks the name
of Louis MOREAU GOTTSCHALK will be foremost
in the van of that glorious company; and the
music of heaven will be stilled while the words,
which, eighteen llundred years ago, were spoken
in Judaea, will re-echo throughout the golden
summer-land, -
"Inasmuch as ye have done it to one of the
least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto
ME."




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


137


FORTISSIMO.,,
"On dit que dans ses amours
I1 fut caresse des belles.
Qui le suivirent toujours,
Tant qu'il marcha devant elles."
BERNARD DE LA MONNOYE,
Man delights not me: no, nor woman neither." - SHAKSPEARE.
A     DARK November day had lung over New
York; and tlle city was damp, cllilly, and
mournful.   The crowd of carriages, witl tleir
elegantly-dressed occupants, were rapidly driving
home from Central Park; and every face looked
blue and cold in the fast-gatlering light of evening.  On the steps of one of the most elegant
mansions in Fifth Avenue stood Moreau Gottschalk.
He had lighted his cigar, and was wrapping his
graceful Spanisl cloak more closely about him,
when he caught sight of a lady who passed the
house and turned into Twenty-third Street.   In
an instant he was beside her.   Throwing away
his cigar, and taking the music-roll she carried,
he offered her his arm, saying, " It is too dark for
you to be walking alone. Come, I will go home
with you."




138


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


"No: it is your dinner-hour, and I can take
the cars in Sixth Avenue."
" Now be quiet, and don't talk any more. 1
was coming to see you, even if I had not met
you; for I have much to ask you."
There was such" hesitancy and doubt in his
tone, that the lady looked up to his sad face, and
asked quickly, " Are you ill, Moreau?"
" No: only tired, ' discouraged ' as you say.
I know," he continued, not heeding her. expression of surprise, " it is not from over-exertion in teaching, for that is not required of me by
the pupils I've had to-day; but it is so hard to
talk sentimental musical nonsense to amateurs who
are not even appreciative, save from rote, -some
musical, nonsensical criticism they've learned."
Why do you talk to them, then? "
"How can I help it?   When a sweet, pretty
woman looks at me, and asks a sensible question
about music, I answer her from mere impulse;
and so am often drawn into a half-and-half flirtation; for, of course, that is all I attempt."
The lady laughed. " Ah, Moreau! when do
you attempt whole flirtations with your sincere
friends, - myself, for instance?"
" No," he   said very quietly.   " I  never
attempt to storm a battery so much stronger than
myself. I should have my own guns turned
against me in the first onset! "




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


139


( Treve de compliments, Moreau," and tle
lady laughed aloud. "'Your answer is claracteristic, and I'm ashamed of myself for suggesting
such a strain of talk."
His merry smile re-assured her, and he said,
"It isn't in human nature.to talk sense all the
time; and I know I should consider you rather
inhuman, 'strong-minded' perhaps, if you did.
Mais voilad, nous sommes chez vous: no, I'm not
coming in just yet," lie said, as lie handed her
her music-roll. " I will be here at eight o'clock.
And don't make any other engagement for the
evening: I am going to take you somewhere with
me. Eat your dinner in peace, and don't be
curious."  He lit another cigar, and turned towards Broadway.
The nine-o'clock bell at City Hall had sounded,
and still Moreau Gottschalk sat in the velvet
fauteuil in his friend's lparlor. On the ottoman
beside him, her arm resting on his chair, sat the
lady, pleading as only a woman can plead with
a wayward, obstinate child. "Moreau, what
earthly pleasure can it give you to go to those
'petits soupers'? It is not the kind of excitement
that you ought to indulge in. There are plenty
of sweet, good women in the world."
" O mon Dieu! yes," he exclaimed: "un peu
trop!"
"Now, hush! I mean there are plenty of quliet




140


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


home-bodies, who never appear in public; and
surely they could make an evening pass pleasantly
to you "She paused: his amused laugh silenced ler;
and he answered, " My dear young woman, who
knows best what is good for me?-you who never
went to an artiste supper at Maison-Doree in all
your life, or myself? True, I can pass my evenings pleasantly enough all alone; my music and
my reveries are more entertaining than any thing
I can find away from my own room: but I need
the laisser-aller of the companions I meet tonight; and - yes, I may as well tell the truth -
the badinage and repartee of those you call
actresses and artistes are so far superior to any
thing I hear in la haute societe, that it wakes me
up, and amuses me when weary."
" I am sorry you know so little, then, of la
Tonne societe," she said in rather a hesitating
tone. "Perhaps it is wicked to say it: but somehow these soupers d'artiste remind me of demimonde; and that fiightens me. I know there is a
brilliancy and sparkle that can only come from
gentle birth and intellectual culture, - exceptions
innumerable, I grant you: but, after all, la bonne
societe is like the river fed with pure mountain
springs, although those springs may have risen
from the black earth, and trickled through moss.
banks; while demi-monde is tile aqua fontana of
chemists, brought through pipes, pumps."




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSC2IALK.


141.


" Do please say filters," le exclaimed with his
merriest laugh. "I only want your absurd sentiment to get you into a trap; for you know filtered
water is the purest. But never mind: I know
what you mean better than you do yourself; and
I'll not turn your own word-weapons against
you. To me, demi-monde.implies artificial society,
worldly women, intriguantes, adventuresses, and
those whom common sense cannot approve: but,
after all, they are women; and you know what
Burns says, -
'What's done we partly may compute,
But know not what's resisted.
I shall shock you, I suppose, if I tell you, that,
in Europe, I've met queens of demi-monde who
were intellectually superior to the women who
honor me with concert-room or philharmonic
rehearsal flirtations; and you know some of these
belong to la bonne societe in New York! "
The lady was silent, and rose to look over the
evening papers on the table; but Mr. Gottschalk
motioned to her to sit down again. "I know you
are getting angry, and I rather like it; for it isn't
often you do a silly thing. Now, you know I
intend to go to Madam -— 's supper at la MaisonDoree to-nigllt, and intend to take you with me."
Like a flash of lightning the lady sprang from




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LIFE AND LETTERS OF


her chair and stood before him. " How dare
you, Moreau? " But tears checked her utterance:
with a cry of pain she sank on the floor, and
buried her face in her hands.
He too had risen, the dreamy look gone from
his eyes, a proud, indignant expression rendering
them far more beautiful. He raised the halfkneeling woman, whispering softly but sternly,
"Hush, Octavie: do you dare to doubt me, -you
whom I love as my sister, you whose child I have
held to my heart as a little brother? By the memory of that angel-boy, listen to me."
With face suffused with tears and blushes, she
faltered, " Forgive me, Moreau: I never doubted
you; only I forgot that I am now only a musicteacher in our bonne society, and must mingle
more with the artistes of my profession.   I
know "-she paused again, tears came so fast;
4" I know Madam ---   does not belong to demimonde; but she used to sing at my soirdes professionally. She was not an invited guest."
" And why not? " he asked coolly, as he drew
a fautetil towards the lady, and leaned against
the mantle with folded arms.  " Was she not
equal to you in good sense, superior to you in
beauty, if not in grace? was she not ladylike?
Ahi! this boasted equality in republican Americawhat a myth it is! But come; I'll not discuss the
question: you don't know how to argue. ' We'll




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


143


agree to disagree.' One thing I'm  certain of:
you're a born aristocrat."
"Yes, thank God! " flashed out the lady.
" Don't become heroic: you'll eclipse Ristori,"
he said with cool sarcasm. "Every true woman
is an aristocrat: self-respect and truth make the
gentlewoman, not clothes nor culture. If your
ancestors did hold rank in the Court of Lady
Washington, are you any more ' sang pur' than
the good little maid who swee)s this room?"
" No; but more sang froid, and capable of
reminding Moreau Gottschalk that even my
regard for him will not allow me to listen to what
I deem his impudence."
" Cela m'est 6gal," lie replied with perfect indifference, and walked to the piano.     A  few
strangely wild arpeggios rippled from tle keys;
abrupt modulations rushed into a demoniac p6lka;
a tornado of anger swept through the wild measures: but still the small voice of conscience
occasionally trilled far up in the treble, and in
doubting, hesitating chromatics, came down at
last into the passion and anger of the surging
bass, stilling its wild rage. Suddenly lie started
up, and the next moment was kneeling beside the
lady's chair; like a tired child he came with tearfill eyes, and whispered, "Madre, forgive me: I
did wrong to anger you. I know I am right on
my side the picture, and I am sure you are right




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LIFE AND LETTERS OF


on yours. One of these days you'll come over on
my side, and see that I am right: till then I can
only wait in patience."
" Moreau," and the lady laid her hand on his
beautiful brow, "I, too, was angry and rude: I
need your forgiveness. I know I have self-respect
and truth, but cannot yet
'Smile at the claims of long descent.'
You who know the world so well, and know just
what women are, help me to be a true, noble
woman, whether aristocrat or plebeian."
"There spoke my brave, splendid Octavie
again! " he said, springing to his feet, and taking
her hand. "Come, let us play ' RJponds-moi!'"
And they went to the piano. Such a merry,
laughing duo as it was! Those delicate, beautiful hands of the artiste flew here and there, in
and out, improvising trills and roulades of exquisite melody. It was a danse cubaine to the trilling
of birds, amid plant-orchestration of tropical hue,
and perfume of the forgetful Egyptian lotus
sweeping over the souls so lately filled with anger
and strife. At its close he turned to his friend,
and with soft, low tones full of persuasion, said,
" You will go to Maison-DorEe with me to-night?
BRponds-moi."
" Yes, I will," she answered.




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCIIALK.


145


~' That is right. Now you have half an hour
to appear en grande toilette. You are too distinguee in that plain black; you look like an empress
in disguise: but in colors you look like other
women. Now go and dress, please, and come
down closely veiled. The carriage will be here a
eleven o'clock. But wait: before you go, I want
to tell you that I do not smile
At the claims of long descent;'
although I hold to the belief that
'Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood.'
I do like those born of a long line of patrician
ancestry: they are more refined, more quickly
susceptible to the sympathetic spiritual needs of
their friends, than those new to culture and social
rank."
" Al, Moreau! I forgive you entirely."
The blue-room at la Maison-Dor6e was never
lighted for a merrier party of artists and pianists than that given by Madam -       in honor
of a splendid concert success lately achieved by a
fair debutante. Three of the most brilliant journalists were present; and although their wives
and daughters were quietly at home, doubtless
10




146


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


pitying the business that detained the " father of
the family" in the editorial chair, these poor
business-men were full of amusing witticisms, and
provoked most brilliant repartee from  the fair
artiste by whom they were entertained. It must
be confessed, there was a moment's hesitation and
awkwardness when the door opened to admit
Gottschalk and his friend; for she was an utter
stranger to Madam -, who had invited her at
Gottschalk's request. The embarrassment was
but momentary; for Gottschalk, in mirth-provoking manner, caugllt up a liquor-glass, and, filling it
with clampagne, poured a few drops on her head,
saying, " Soyez le bienvenue, Octavie, reine des
chromatiques."
It was impossible not to laugh, and the laugh
silenced questioning; and she was never known to
any except as " Octavie, une Frangaise, l'amie de
Gottschalk."
What a gay, merry night it was! Most delicious viands covered the table, and choice wines
sparkled in delicate glasses. Art and music were
the topics of conversation; and many a brilliant
criticism flashed out under the exlilarating influences of Cliquot, and " Sunshine " equal to that of
Monte Bone. Gottschalk, although at the head
of the table, was not the leader in these wild but
merry tales: he listened, and smoked his cigarettes,
or toyed with the fruits before him, his eyes fixed




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCIIALK.


147


on his friend, who sat at his right, also quiet,
but amused, and enjoying the new social sphere
into which she had entered.
"'R eine des chromatiques,' - what does that
mean, Monsieur Gottschalk?" asked one of the
ladies on the other side of the table. "Is mademoiselle vocaliste, or pianiste? "
"Both," he replied smiling. "So, of course,
she is all tones combined, rests nowhere; but
flashes and sparkles like ' La Source,' which, by
the way, -- played so finely at your concert;"
and so lie turned the conversation from his friend.
But it was of no avail: in a few moments the
lady returned to the charge.
"She sings, I am sure: such a rippling laugh
as that designates a soprano."
"Ali! what a faultless art critique you are!"
retorted Gottschalk, laughing. " Just listen, and
say no more."  He led " Octavie " to the piano.
"You must sing, to quiet and satisfy them," he
whispered. " They are mystified enough. Come,
what shall it be? I want your grandest contralto
tones: then you shall go home; for I know you
must be tired."  All this was said as he improvised an exquisite minore prelude to Bassini's
"Soledad," arranged for contralto.
It was impossible to hesitate or falter, uplield
by such accompaniment: the applause her execution received was due more to the pianiste than
to her own merit.




148


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


" Well, am I foolish, or not, to waste my time
among such associates?" he asked, when they
were seated in the carriage again.
"No: if every supper-party is like this, I think
it is recreation for you."
" But for yourself, how do you like it? "
" Oh, not at all! " she exclaimed, shuddering.
"I prefer my own little room, my books and my
piano, to all the men and women in the world.
For myself, such evenings would be silly waste
of time. I would rather read that bad Grenville de
Vigne, or listen to your absurd flirtation stories
de Paris, than participate in any such scene.
But with you it is different: I think it wakes you
out of your dream-life. You may,go whenever
you please. And now, good-night; for here we
are at my home."
As lie handed her from the carriage, and accompanied her up to the door, he said, " Thanks
for your permission. But I don't care for suppers:
I had much rather go to bed and have a good night's
rest; my health demands it. But I was determined you should attend a supper, and so know
how to criticise the actions of your gentlemen
friends when you hear of ' midnight orgies' at
' Maison-Dor6e,' or any other ' Maison.'  To,
night was a fair sample of my 'orgies bach,
chanale '!"
"In the presence of women you mean?"
questioned the lady.




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.        149
"Ask my gentlemen friends how much worse
I am with them. I know I am happier with
them; and, knowing that, you should remember
' La charity se rejouit du bonheur d'autrui.' "
" I had better remember that ' Les plus sage ne
d sont pas toujours.' "




15G


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


AGITATO.
None knew thee but to love thee,
Nor named thee but to praise 1
When hearts whose truth was proven,
Like thine, are laid in earth,
There should a wreath be woven
To tell the world their worth.
It should be mine to braid it
Around thy faded brow;
But I've in vain essayed it,
And I feel I cannot now.
While memory bids me weep thee,
Nor thoughts nor words are free,
The grief is fixed too deeply
That mourns a man like thee."
OCT. 25, 1863. I have just copied the above
verses. Moreau Gottschalk gave them         to me
last week.    His sad face to-day, as he passed me
on the avenue, recalled them. I fear his poor
brother Edward is worse."
The foregoing paragraph, taken         from   an  old
journal, seems aptly fitted to introduce the following  sketches   gathered    from   conversations with
friends who were frequently with Mr. Gottschalk
during the spring, summer, and fall of 1863.
" I remember the day Gottschalk expected his




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


151


brother. It was in the early spring of 1863, - a
damp, raw afternoon. He asked me to go with him
to the steamer, somewhere down by the Battery, I
believe. As a Bostonian, I do not know enough of
New York to be sure of tile direction we took: I
only know, thlat, when we reached there, we were
told that the vessel was detained at quarantine,
and it was not known when it would arrive.
"The next morning, however, while Gottschalk
was receiving some friends at his boarding-place,
his brother came. 'Take Edward up to my
room, please,' he said to me: ' I will follow immediately.'
"I ran up stairs, quite forgetting how weak and
ill poor Eldard was. When we reached his
brother's room, lie could hardly speak: his breath
was gone. I led him to the sofa, and he lay
down. Gottschalk, entering soon after, went to
him, and, putting his arm around him, sought to
amuse him by conversation. He was too weary
to speak, and only said, ' Play for me.'
"' Yes; play "Berceuse," ' I suggested: 'Edward has never heard it.'
" Gottschalk went to the piano, and, with all the
pathos and soul-power of which he was master,
he gave that exquisite cradle-song, almost the
lullaby of death into life eternal; only holding
the loved one to earth by the lingering love-kiss
of the closing measures, - those pure, sweet meas




152


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


ures, fieighted with the passion of a mother's kiss
upon the eyelids of her sleeping darling!
"How it called up the mother-love in the hearts
of those long-parted brothers! Clasped in each
other's arms, Moreau and Edward Gottschalk
wept such tears as only pure-hearted, earnest
men weep, -tears that assoil the soul of sin, tears
that ' drop like amber' while the heart cries out
for that
'Divinest voice complete
In humanest affection;'
even God's blessing, that they might
'Lose the sense of losing. "
The summer days came on; and the brothers
went to Saratoga, hoping that the medicinal waters
and the dry inland air would benefit the declining
strength of the young invalid. Moreau Gottschalk was untiring in- his devotion to his brother.
He drove out with him when able to ride; but
most of his time was passed in his brother's room,
reading to him, and amusing him by every means
in his power. It is true he was often seen in the
parlor, playing for the guests: it was the only
way he could return the many kindnesses shown
him and his brother by the fair inmates of the
hotel. What if these beautiful women thronged




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


153


about him? was it a mark of unmanliness to
receive their sweet adulation?  However much
they may have wearied him, - for weary him they
did, - he rarely manifested his weariness: he was
at all times a perfect gentleman.
One evening, however, when flattery and praise
A had fairly sickened him, he whispered to a friend
with whom he was playing a duo, " I can't endure
this any longer. I must go: Edward needs me;"
and so he left the thoughtless crowd, and shut
himself in his brother's room, utterly refusing to
go to the parlor again.
But he did not deny his friends the delight of
hearing his wonderful improvisations. At night,
after the dancing was over, and the guests had
gone to their rooms, Gottschalk and a few friends
would come down to the parlor of Union Hall,
and there he would play for them. Delicious
moments, never to be forgotten! When hours
flew by, and the moonlight faded from the long
corridors, and the stillness of midnight reigned
over all, out on the calm night-wind floated
strains of melody, freighted with the red wine of
love poured out in the golden silence of the soul's
sympathy. Again and again the rich purple hue
of suffering swept athwart the heart, and the minore
deepened into harmonies of amethystine splendor;
but the day-star of hope rose silvery clear in the
Orient of the poet's soul, and flung its luxuriant




154


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


radiance over the passion of the contrite, purple
sadness.
A seraph, bending from his sphere,
Marvelled such tones should linger here:
He stilled his harp, then caught the strain,
And bore it home to heaven again.
Thus memory echoeth the tone
That love once breathed for love alone!
All too quickly flew by those summer hours,
and the September days found the brothers once
more in New York.      The coveted strength had
not been   granted the invalid; and very soon
Moreau Gottschalk knew that his brother must
die.  What pen can paint the anguish of that
loving heart! His own words but dimly shadow
forth his grief. The following hurried note to a
friend,* written during a season of great suffering,
must tell its own story:DEAR -, -I have not written to you this long
while, on account of poor Edward's illness. He is fading
away gradually, and, alas! will leave this world for another
-better, I hope- ere the week is over. The doctor tells
me to-night that he may perhaps not last so long; that at
any moment he may -  I cannot write the dreadful word I
You can imagine my feelings better than my pen could
ever describe them. Adieu, dear F-.
Yours truly and sadly,
GOTTSCHALK.
WEDNESDAY, 10, P.M.
* To Mr. F. G. Hill of Boston.




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


155


Edward Gottschalk died, and Moreau was left
alone. The winter came on, and quietly and
sadly Gottschalk devoted his time to the study
and practice of hllis art: his chief recreation being
the companionship of his musical friends. He
rarely appeared in public. Occasionally he looked
in at the Philharmonic rehearsals, when Beethoven's music was given. One afternoon, the
" Eroica " was played. Gottschalk was sitting
beside a fiiend, in an obscure part of the house.
As thle magnificent orchestration of the " Marche
Funeb)re " resounded througrhout tlle academy, lie
leaned his head on one hand, every nerve in his
body quivering and trembling as with pain. All
through that glorious apotheosis to a heroic soul
his breast heaved with convulsive sobs, only suppressed by strongest self-control.  His friend
slipped her hand into his, whispering, "Ayez pitie
de moi, Moreau: vous savez bien que je souffre."
It was her only hope of arousing lin, - appealing to his generous nature. His hand closed on
hers with an iron clasp; and in a voice choked
with tears he replied, " Oil, help me to bear it
I am very weak. This music is agony. No hope
no hope! 0 Edward, my brother I"
But the music -


" A strain more noble than the first
Mused... and outburst.




156


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


With giant march, from floor to roof
Rose the full notes; now parted off
In pauses massively aloof,
Like measured thunders; - now rejoined
In concords of mysterious kind,
Which won together sense and mind I"
As the closing measures, throbbing with the
noble despair of proud hearts, sank into silence,
he raised his head, his pale face glowing with a
look almost unearthly in its expression of peace,
and said, " Forgive this selfish  sorrow.   Ah,
Beethoven! again thy voice is leading me. I will
conquer." Then, for the first time becoming conscious of the poor little hand hle had bruised in his
strong clasp, he looked into the face of his silent
companion with an expression of bewilderment,
as sad as amusing. "Let us go," was all he said.
" I have been a brute to make you suffer so."
"I have not felt the pain before this moment,
Moreau. Like you, I suffered mentally; but, unlike you, I have not heard Beethoven's voice guiding me into nobler, more generous life-duties."
"You have no need of Beethoven: you are
beyond his comfort; you hear a voice that I do not
always hear, - the voice that Mrs. Browning asks
in the lines,' Speak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet;
From out the hallelujahs sweet and low."'




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


157


"Go on: recall the next lines, and you, too,
will hear that voice, -
'Not missed by any that entreat.'
Ah, you. have heard it: but it came to your
artiste soul in the pulsing of the music; and' As a child,
Whose song-bird seeks the wood for evermore,
Is sung to in its stead by mother's mouth,
Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled,
He sleeps the faster that he wept before. "
"Sleep is very sweet, then, if this comfort 1 now
feel be sleep. I only hope it will last me till I
awake in the better land."
" Sleep?  Al, no, Moreau! it is the awakening to a life of nobler endeavor; and you must
work,' Make clear the forest-tangles
Of the wildest stranger-land.'"
"Hush! I must be more practical; I must
'make clear' a pathway for piano-music.  I have
begun by publishing such descriptive pieces as
'The Banjo,' much to the disgust of those who
think I can't do better, and condemn me for
debasing my genius. But what care I? I know




158


LIFE AND LETTERS.


the method by which I intend to develop a love
for piano-music. It is an ungenerous nature who
cannot 'stoop to conquer.' If I condescend to
be attractive to the less intellectually appreciative,
I will make them  love me, and so follow me
while I lead them step by step nigher. I am
willing to bear criticism; for, before F die, I am
convinced my music will be appreciated, whether
my motives are or not."
" You shall be rightly known one of these days,
Moreau; for the few who know you now will
never suffer you to be misunderstood. But so live,
my dear friend, that
'When the summons comes,'
you will be
' Sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust.'"
"I will. How could I be unfaithful to those
who know and love me?   I shall die at work; I
feel sure of that. Oh! I hope now it is not far
off: I am so weary of life! " And his beautiful
eyes filled with tears; he pressed his lips firmly
togther, and, after a few moments' silence, continued: " No, that is wrong: I have work to do
yet, and I will conquer."




FINALE.
THE finale is like the teeming waves of lava flowing from
Vesuvius. The flame darts up from the summit of this glorious
mountain-sonata; the thunderous explosion sounds; then there is
a halt; and then pours from the volcanic breast of the poet all
the solitary moan over the bitter absinthe-draught contained in
his dark goblet of life. -mDE LANZ: Analysis of The MoonlightSonata.
"Now thou art blessed in some celestial air
Whose calm effulgence floods the jasper sea.
I know 'tis surely so: heaven's splendors rise
From thy dissolving tabernacle's wreck.
Oh might they flash in vision on these eyes!
When shall it be?..
How many trailing seasons shall it be
Before I tread with thee the sphery way,
And the deep things we talked of scan with thee,
Drinking the morning stars' triumphal symphony?"
159








LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


161


CON SORDINO.
"They are never alone that are accompanied with ncole thoughts.'
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.
"Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee:
Ccrruption wins not more than honesty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues; be just, and fear not.
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,
Thy God's, and truth's."-SHIrAKSPEARE.
" L' injure se grave en metal,
Et le bienfait s' ecrit en 1' onde."
JEAN BERTRANT.
ROM     the Golden Gate of San Francisco, a
vessel sailed southward to the Chilian coast,
bearing to the heart of the tropics one whose
genius glowed with the fervor and brilliancy of
that southern clime.
Away from an envious and jealous throng
sailed tile ship; from those who sought by shameful slander to shadow the fair name of a noble,
generous man: and Moreau Gottschalk, unconscious of the lying reports creeping towards the
North, went southward to gladden        music-loving
souls of a sunnier land.      Ah! could he have
known    the   cruel stories   which   wounded    and
angered the true-hearted friends he had        left in
the United States, he would have returned at
11




162     LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


once and faced his calumniators: but before let.
ters from  friends, urging his presence in New
York, reached him, it was too late to return; his
engagements forced him    to  remain.   It made
little difference: what cared he for the    rude
rabble whose own evil hearts led them  to believe
a lie?  His friends knew him   and trusted him,
and soon traced out the slanderers. And what
reply made Gottschalk when he heard it?
In a private letter to    a friend  are  these
words: -
" It is beneath my dignity as a man of honor to notice
such slanders. Surely my friends can never credit them;
and, if believed by those who are not my friends, I only
pray kind Heaven give them better minds. A man whose
nature allowed him to commit so dishonorable an act could
also lie, and disown it I Let the story of my whole life be
told, every act scrutinized; and, if you can find in it any
thing to prove me capable of such unmanly conduct, cast
me from your regard, blot my name forever from your
memory."
Let these manly words silence forever the
dastardly attempt to injure a noble soul.
When the thunderous applause of crowded
concert-rooms is for a moment lushed, again
Moreau Gottschalk turns his loving regards to his
Northern friends; and the following simple notes
will show how little his trustful heart doubted
their friendship: -




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163


To MR. F. G. HnLu of Boston.
DEAR H.,- This may interest you: I am in good
health, concerts successful, longing to go back to the States,
often thinking of dear old firiend Hill.
Have composed lots of pieces for piano, violin, voice,
&c., besides two symphonies for orchestra, two cantatas and
choruses, one grand march dedicated to the Sultan, a
triumphal hymn to the Emperor of Brazil, a tarantella for
piano and orchestra, dedicated to the King of Italy.
In Peru I gave about sixty concerts; was presented
with a gold, diamond, and pearl decoration. In Chili the
government voted me a grand gold medal. The board of
public schools, the common council, the board of visitors of
hospitals, and the government of Valparaiso, each presented
me with a gold medal.
Please let me know how you are. I feel always the
same towards you. Time and absence never change my sentiments towards those I once have loved; consequently I
am always your friend.
If you ever write, direct
"L. M. Gottschalk, a! cuidado del
Senor Agustin de Castro,
Montevideo Republica del Uruguay"
A hearty shake-hands.
Yours as ever,           L. M. G.
MONTEVIDEO, April 14, 1869.
To FRANCIS G. HILT,, Professor of Piano, Boston.
DEAR OLD HILL, -Last night, at ten, I got your kind
letter dated Feb. 5. Need I say how pleased I was to
hear from you?
Thanks for the notices in papers. I hope you will occasionally keep the friendly portion of our public posted up




164    LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


about poor old Gottschalk, who is and has been ill used
very often, and is certainly not half as bad as some would
make him to be.
Chickering writes me that Strakosch is anxious to have
me go back to the United States, and offers me an engagement, which, so far, I have not accepted.
My latest compositions, written within the last three
months, are three LEtudes de Concert, one Impromptu, one
Scherzo, a Septuor, a Capriccio, and several Lieder.
Write to me soon; letters from the North are such a
happiness to me.
Ever faithfully your friend,
GOTTSCHALK.
This is all he tells of the laurel wreaths crowning his brow; but from " The Montevideo Standard " (El Siglo), Oct. 9, 1868, the following is
taken   -
"MR. GOTTSCHALK IN MONTEVIDEO,- D. Jose P.
Varela has had the kindness to communicate to us the
following charming letter from the celebrated Gottschalk, in
which he offers to give a concert in favor of the 'Society
of the Friends of Education.'
"We know not whether we please or displease Mr.
Gottschalk by saying, with our habitual frankness, that his
letter, be it considered as a literary production, or in reference to the doctrines which it advocates, rivals the best
compositions which he ever conceived for his magic instrument.
" To the thoughtful, there is as much pure harmony in
these sincere and enthusiastic lines, inspired perchance by
the remembrance of his country, which we endeavor to




LIFE AND LETTERS OF


165


ennoble and take as a model among us, as may be found
by the dilletanti in his select compositions, ' La Muerta,' or the
' Murmullos Eolicos.'
"And for us poor hunters of an ideal which continually
escapes us, Gottschalk gains more prestige by thus revealing
himself in this new character, than on the scene of his
triumphs; entrancing all hearts by the combination and
force, united to the sweetness of the torrent of harmonics
which spring from his hands in obedience to the inspiration and genius of the artist.
"The offer of Mr. Gottschalk, for the rest, is most important; and it is proper to warmly thank this noble American
citizen for the material aid which the society is about to
receive."
The   following   is the  letter of Mr. Gottschalk: -
MY DEAR SIR AND FRIEND,-The kind invitation
you sent me has afforded me the pleasure of hearing the
eloquent speeches which you and Dr. Carlos Maria
Ramirez delivered upon "Popular Education," -a subject
so important, and of such vital interest to the progress of
the new American nations.
It befitted you, who studied and understood the institutions of my great and beloved country, to imitate this
noble undertaking, and to transmit to the Oriental youth,
of whom you are one of the most distinguished representatives, with the enthusiasm  of your generous convictions,
the result of your observations in the United States.
" Let us enlighten the masses," you rightly said, "and
we will purify them."
And, certainly, of all the forms of government, the
republic is that which exacts from the people the greatest




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LIFE AND LETTERS OF


dcree of enlightenment: under it each citizen ought to
actively participate in its destinies; as he constitutes, so
to speak, a fraction of the government itself.
Those favored by fortune can educate themselves in all
countries: and it is for that reason that the American
thinkers did not dedicate their cares to the aristocratic
element of society, but rather to the lowest ranks of the
great mass of the people, whom they have struggled to
enlighten; comprehending that education ought not to be a
privilege, but something which belongs to all, as much as
the air we breathe; and tllat every citizen has as imlprescriptible a right to the light of the Spirit as lie has to the
light of the sun which illuminates him.
The popular system of education in the United States,
in that austere claboration, which, of a child, makes successively a man, and later a citizen, has, for its principal
object, to prepare hin for the use of liberty, - that cuirass
of the strong, but which frequently, for the weak, is transformed into the shirt of Nessus.
In my country, it is not its eminent individuals, but the
superiority of the intellectual level of tle people, which
attracts the attention of the observer; oir, however great
Prescott, BLongtllow, Everett, Bancroft, and many others,
may be, thlle  noble characters arc lost to view in presence
of the enlightenment of' the collective entity,- the "people."  It is of great interest indeed( to our political existence and to our p)rosperity, that tle nmot obscure of the
farmers of the "Far West" can lay asilde the plough to
ascend the tribune, and spread abroad from thence the most
Iatriotic and progressive ideas.
But I perceive, sir, that I am rep)eating badly what you
have alrea(ly said with so much talent.
I was among the first to sign lmy name on the list of the
"Friends of Popular Education; " but a sterile adhesion is




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


167


not enough for a work which demands material efforts to
overcome the obstacles which prevent its realization.
I therefore offer you a concert, in benefit of the assoc iation of the " Friends of Popular Education."
Later, others will come, who, perhaps, stimulated by my
example, may offer you a more efficacious assistance; but I
can assure you that none will be animated by wishes and
sentiments more sincere than those of your friend,
LoUis M. GOTTSCHALK.
However severely      the  ignorant may     assail
Moreau    Gottschalk's  character   at the   North,
there were those in South America who knew
his worth and noble deeds.
The following is the reply to his letter from    a
Directory   who   knew   how    to  appreciate   and
reward noble acts and great artists: -
MIONTEVIDEO, Oct. 14, 1868.
SIR, - The Directory, through the means of one of its
members, Mr. Jose Pedro Varcla, has been advised of the
noble and generous offer with which you kindly favor the
society of the " Friends of Popular Education."
The name of Gottschalk, inscribed on the first record of
the society, filled with satisfaction the original commission;
and now the Directory, composed in great part of the same
persons, sees with pride the same name of Gottschalk associated with the first manifestation of public aid that the
society receives after its installation. The great idea of
the education of the people, the beautiful ideal of selfgovernment, which counts you among its sons, inspires
our humanitarian association. In view of your disinter



168


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


ested and spontaneous offer, the society could imagine, that,
in some measure, the great Republic sends it her approval
and her aid, through the organ of her glorious and enlightened artist.
The Directory accepts with pleasure and enthusiasm
your generous offer; and its secretaries are charged to
arrange with you the method of carrying it out.
In the name of the society of the "Education of the
People," the Directory fulfils its duty by expressing to you
the profound thankfulness with which your noble conduct
inspires it, and takes this opportunity to salute you with
the expression of its highest consideration.
ELBIO FERNANDEZ, President.
CARLOS M. RAMIREZ, Secretary.
PEDRO JosE VARELA, Secretary.
To MR. Louis M. GOTTSCHALK.
Not only in Montevideo, but in Buenos Ayres,
were his noble charities most freely given. Then
it was that he determined upon his festival of
three hundred and fifty musicians.     " The Montevideo   Standard"    gives   the   following   extracts: -
[Tuesday, Nov. 10.]
"For the whole of the last fortnight, the only topic of
conversation was Gottschalk's great festival, in which
over three hundred persons would take part. Everybody
was looking out for seats; and such was the demand, that,
yesterday morning, all the localities in the spacious Solis
Theatre were already sold.
"Reports of persons who had assisted at the rehearsal
gave to understand that the concert would prove a very




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCIIALK.


169


great success; but, raised to an extraordinary degree
though the expectations were, the reality yet surpassed
them by far.
"The theatre was filled with a select and elegant audience; nearly all notabilities, both native and foreign, being
represented.
"The festival commenced with Verdi's ' Traviata,' sung
by the Italian Opera Company; and, after a short pause, the
curtain rose again, and Gottschalk appeared, greeted by
the warmest applause.
"It cannot be our intention to speak again of Gottschalk's eminent qualities as a pianist. Everybody who has
heard him, and who has not had this good fortune, knows
that he has few rivals throughout the whole world. Of the
three pieces which he played on Chickering's piano, we
have to point out his ' Faust Fantasic,' -one of the richest
gems of his composition, full of the most melodious notes
and the most wonderful harmonious combinations.
" At last the third part of the concert commenced, - the
real festival! Over three hundred persons filled the stage.
Nearest to the audience were the pianos, stringed instruments, flutes, clarionets, oboes, &c., leaving in their midst
an elevated platfbrm for Gottschalk. At the back of the
stage, on an amphitheatre, were the drums and brass instruments.
" When the opening chords of the march from ' Le
Prophbte' began, the audience seemed electrified. Such
sonorous music was never heard before; and how admirably was the enormous orchestra conducted by Gottselalk I
That he did it without having before him any partitura, is
scarcely to be wondered at, in a talent like his; but still,
what a memory must he have! Not once during the whole
concert had he any music lying before him.
"In the' Priere from Moise,' the chorus of ninety per



170


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


sons was admirably effective; and this masterpiece of
Rossini's found general applause. The two last numbers
on the programme were Gottschalk's own compositions,
-' Marche Solennelle,' and ' Montevideo.'
"Gottschalk may well be proud of the triumph which he
obtained last night. What immense difficulties of all kinds
he has had to overcome, what incessant work he had to do
for the last two weeks, nobody can imagine; and well does
he deserve the praise of being the man who has given the
greatest and most successful concert ever heard in this part
of South America. May he, in his brilliant career, remember now and then his grateful and sincere admirers in
Montevideol When shall we hear again an artist like
him?
" His work may better be imagined than described, when
it is known, that, although Chili is the country of musicmakers, from the highest to the lowest orders, not an eighth
part of the musicians he engaged could either read or
write; and not a fourth part of them knew a note or character of music, and yet ' Tannhauser,' ' Le Proph6te,' and
'Fidelio,' were perfectly familiar to them."
In  the  spring of 1869, about May        10, he
went to Rio de Janeiro.
Echoes of the thunderous applause his genius
won in the concert-rooms of Rio soon reached
his friends at the North.   His own letters give so
simple and pleasing an account of these triumphs,
it will not be wrong to quote from them    --
To MK. F. G. HILL, BOSTON.
JMy Dear Old Friend, - My concerts nere are a perfect
furore. All my houses are sold eight days in advance.




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


171


Boxes in the hands of speculators (you may judge if they
are alive) bring seventy-five dollars premium, and single
seats twenty-five dollars.
The emperor, imperial family, and court never missed
yet one of my entertainments.
His Majesty received me frequently at palace. He is
very kind to me, made me sit near him. We chatted last
time over an hour and a half. The Grand Orient of the
masonry of Brazil gave me a solemn reception. A deputation was appointed to wait on me. '
The enthusiasm with which I have been received here
is indescribable. At the last concert, I was crowned on the
stage by the artists of Rio, headed by my dear and muchtalented friend, the great Portuguese pianist, Arthur Napoleon, whom you, no doubt, remember as one of the most
successful artists who visited the United States.
The emperor is very fond of my compositions, especially
"Printemps D'Amour," and " Ossian."
My " Morte " (she is dead!) has had here, the same as in
the Rio and La Plata, un success de larmes, as several of my
fair listeners wept at listening to that rather sad and disconsolate of my last effusions, which is my favorite now,
and which 1 consider as being neither better nor worse than
old " Last Hope."
My fantaisie on the national hymn of Brazil, of course,
pleased the emperor, and tickled the national pride of my
public. Every time I appear I must play it.
In great haste, yours as ever,
GOTTSCHALK.
Rio, June 22, 1869.
To MR. F. G. HILL, BOSTON.
Miy dear II., —Although you did not reply by this
packet to my last letters, I suppose you have them, since I
received a letter from --- Thanks. My concerts are just




172


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


now over, on account of Ristori having the monopoly of the
theatre in which I was giving them; but as soon as she
leaves, which will be soon, I will resume my entertainments.
The San Pedro College tendered me a reception, which
was quite an affair. The young men (six hundred), with
bands, flags, professors, priests, ladies, &c., drawn up in a
line, welcomed me in a most enthusiastic manner. I was
marched into the HALL processionally, played for them,
was cheered, &c.
There was afterwards a banquet (about three hundred
guests at the table). A beautiful speech was made by one
of the Honors of the University, to which I responded
amidst hurrahs and cheers.
" The Prosperity of the Great Republic of the United
States" was proposed by the president of the college; to
which I, of course, was bound to answer. My speech was,
I suppose, less bad than those I am called upon to make so
often; for it was published in the papers, and praised by
some writers, political and literary. It was about education, free schools, the duties and rights of citizens, &c.
On the 30th, the emperor gives a grand fete at the
palace, at which I am to play. I see his Majesty very
often. He is a very kind and liberal-minded man. IHe is
fond of inquiring about the States; and we have long talks
together, alone in his private apartments.
As ever,        L. M. G.
Rio Tuly 24, 1869.
To MR. F. G. HILL, BOSTON.
Dear H., -I am recovering slowly. Of course I do
not yet feel strong; but, thank God! I am in good health.
I receive occasionally the papers you are kind enough to
send me.




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


173


The papers in the Rio Plata have had me dead lately.
The fact is, that, on the 5th of August, I was so low
(yellow fever) that my physicians gave me up. The emperor, who had constantly shown me the greatest kindness
since my arrival, as soon as he knew of my sickness, sent
every day officiously (?!) one of his chamberlains to inquire after my health; but, on the 5th of August, he
ordered his first gentleman in waiting to call on me officially. At half past eight in the evening, a court carriage
stopped at my door; and, a few minutes afterwards, the
chamberlain in full court uniform stood at my bedside. Of
course I could not speak, and hardly understood what was
going on; the fever being so intense that I had been delirious, singing, and making political speeches, during four
consecutive nights and days.
Notwithstanding my being unconscious, the courtly
gentleman, in his glittering tail coat, delivered solemnly the
imperial message, and, after remaining half an hour in my
room, returned to the palace. All this I heard of when
the fever subsided. As soon as I could stand on my feet
again, my first visit was for the emperor to thank him for
the kind interest he and the empress had shown me.
I gave a concert night before last, crowded: it is my
seventh in Rio. The next one takes place day after tomorrow. After that, I give a new series, with orchestra
and thirty pianists; and at last, for the bonne bouche, three
grand festivals, with eight hundred performers, at which I
will produce my symphonies, and the grand "Marche
Triumphale" I dedicated to the emperor. He is very anxious to have those festivals organized, and has offered me
the means to muster in Rio all the musicians that can be
had within the province.
If you can speak of all this in the papers, you will please
me much, as I would like our people to know that there is




174


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


one emperor who is not a tyrant, and who likes the Americans.
In great haste, but yours as ever,
GOTTSCHALK.
Rio, Sept. 24, 1869.
To MR. F. G. HILL. BOSTON.
Dear H., - No time to write. Received musical papers,
in which I read some notices of my doings, no doubt emanating from the gifted pen of F. G. H.
Am preparing grand festival, eight hundred musicians;
new symphony to be performed under my baton.
The emperor has issued an order to secretaries of war,
navy, and justice, by which I am appointed, pro tempore,
director-general of all the bands of national guards, army
and marine. I have already three hundred and seventyfour men working. Five hundred more await my orders.
Just think of eight hundred performers and eighty drums
to lead.
Yours as ever, in great haste,
L. M. G.
Rio, Oct. 24, 1869.
VAL3ICA, 22d Aug., 1869.
To OLIVER DITSON, Boston.
My Dear Sir, - I have been very ill, and feel very weak
yet. My physicians say I have had the yellow fever: all I
know is, that I suffered much, and was very near emigrating from this planet to parts unknown. Thank God, it is
all over now; and I give - although still in a very dilapidated condition - a concert to-morrow night.
I had heard of Gilmore's great undertaking. I am glad
he succeeded. I accept your offer, &c.
My sister, Clara Gottschalk, has sent me lately the manuscripts of some of her piano compositions, which are re,




LOUIS MOREAU GOTZSCHIALK.


175


markably pretty and taking. I have no doubt they wil
become popular, because they are not difficult, and theit
style is peculiarly elegant, with a touch of feminine sensi
bility and poetry which cannot fail to please the masses.
I have not heard for three months from friend F. G.
Hill. I hoy e he is not sick. As ever,
Yours truly,
GOTTSCHALLK
To Messrs Hall & Son of New York, he
writes, -
Rio, Oct. 24, 1869.
Herewith 1 send you a new piece (" Morte," -" She
is Dead "), - a lamentation. I do not know whether it will
be successflill or not, but I believe it to be my best effort for
years. Ever since 1 have played it, it has been encored;
and a great many women have hysterics and weep over it
— maybe owing to the romantic title.  Iowever, here it
is. Please beg your engraver, for common-sense' sake, to
pay some attention to the orthography of the French indication and to the title. He has given me so often proofs
of his complete unconcern, interpolating all sorts of nonsensical words of his own invention, that my request ought
to be taken into consideration.
I am preparing a festival for eight hundred performers;
-will lead myself, and have performed several new works of
my own composition. I have been appointed by his Majesty director-general (temporarily) of all the bands of the
army, navy, and national guards. An order from the emperor, issued to the secretaries of the navy, justice, and war,
has been issued, communicating his intention that I am tc
be obeyed. In great haste, yours always,
GOTTSCHALK
':... -.




176


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


SAN ISIDRO, OCT. 24, 1869
To GEORGE WILLIAM WARREN, Professor of Piano, New York.
Mly dear George, - Ashforth leaves to-morrow for the
United States; and I' avail myself of the opportunity to
remind you of your old friend G., who, although silent,
never forgot you, and is just as sincerely your fiiend now
as he has ever been for the last fifteen years.
One of the first names which came to my memory when
I saw Ashforth was your own name; and glad I was to hear
that you were doing splendidly, and were always as great a
favorite amongst the profession and with the upper-tendom.
As for myself, you know pretty much all I have done
since I left the United States. I went to Peru whilst civil
war was raging; was at the battle of Lima when the city
was stormed by that black-hearted, half-breed, ignorant,
savage dictator Prado. In Chili I organized, after having
given sixteen concerts in the capitol (Santiago), several
festivals of four hundred and fifty musicians, which I led,
and had several of my symphonies performed.      The
Government decorated me with a gold medal. I then gave
several concerts for the hospitals, and afterwards a series
of performances for the benefit of the public schools. The
Board of Instruction of Santiago presented me with another
gold medal, as did also the ' National Society of Lima:"
this last medal is ornamented with pearls and diamonds.
In Buenos Ayres, Valparaiso, Montevideo, &c., &c., I was
also decorated with gold medals, diplomas of membership
of academies, institutes, &c., &c. Having given for the building of the German hospital one concert in Buenos Ayres,
which netted over sixteen thousand dollars, the Board of
Directors agreed that my name should be inscribed on a
marble tablet in the lobby of the establishment.
My new compositions are very numerous. They are as follows: two books of Etudes (le Concert: two symphonies fib




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


171


orchestra; one "Marche Heroique," dedicated to the emperor of Brazil; also, for orchestra, six mazurkas de concert,
six waltzes de concert, about a dozen of bravura pieces, a
score of melodies, nocturnes, romances, and a grand Tarantella for pianos and orchestra, which is my " chevoal de battaille," as it is called for at all my concerts, and always
encored. This last piece I have dedicated to HI. R. II., the
princess of Savoy; and I received lately a letter from Count
-     (I forget his name), minister of the king of Italy, in
which he assures me that I am to be made very soon a
companion of the new order of Italy, " La Stella d' Italia,"
and that the cross of knighthood will be sent me.
I am ashamed of myself, after looking over these badlywritten four or five pagecs, and discovering that I have done
nothing but speak of myself. Well, my dear George, you
must excuse me, and see in that Ego-tism a proof of my
faith in your friendship.
How many children have you now? Please write me
soon and lengthily, as nothing can give me more pleasure
than hearing from my United-States friends, and especially
from you.
Within four weeks I expect to be in Rio, where papers
say that I am to be well received.
I was delighted, and so were you, I am sure, to hear of our
friend Chickering's triumph in Paris. His pianos deserve,
undoubtedly, all their fame; and here they are becoming
the rage since I have made them known. Is Albert Wood
slill at Steinway's?
If you see our excellent and most respected friends, Mr.
and Mrs. Sidney Mason, please give them my best and
kindest regards. Tell Mirs. AIason I intend sending her
my photograph very soon (also to you).
Adieu, my dear old fellow: I send you mentally a hearty
shake-hand. My respects to your wife.
GOTISCHALL




L78


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


How full of enthusiasm    and honest pride are
these lines, - the last, alas, he ever penned to his
friends at the North!
Faithfully and earnestly he worked to make
this festival the grandest ever known in Rio.
Faithfully and earnestly, giving out his magnetic
strength to inspire with his own genius those who
were lacking, or slow to win perfection in performance.   Weakened by long       illness, during  the
burning summer, his nervous system    excited and
wrought to    highest tension, he    worked    on.
We know     not what divine strength may have
been vouchsafed him; but God, in his mercy,
granted him his heart's desire, and the vision he
had seen in the little parlor of his friend " Octavie," in New York, was realized.
On the evening of the 26th of November, the
long-expected festival was given.     The   Opera
House was crowded, and       the  entire  imperial
family was in attendance.
"The music was superb. The ' Marche Solemne,' which
he had composed and arranged for the entire orchestra, and
dedicated to the emperor, was the last and crowning piece
of the evening. It was received with such manifestations
of approval as one rarely witnesses in a life-time. When,
towards the close of it, was heard the well-known strains
of the national hymn, which were so beautifully interwoven with the original theme of the composition, the
effect upon the audience was electrical. All sprang to
their feet, and the wildest enthusiasm prevailed. This




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


179


was one of the proudest moments of Gottschalk's life
Again and again was he called to the front of the scene,
and it was long before the audience finally dispersed.
This proved to be the last concert that he was destined to
give, - the fitting completion of a great career."
The following day he was too ill to rise fiom
his bed; but when evening came, rather than disappoint his audience, although suffering intense
pain, he exerted his iron will, ordered his carriage,
and went to the Opera House.
The thronged house greeted him witl shouts of
joyous welcome; but alas! the beautiful brow
was flushed with pain, and the white lips could
only murmur regrets and excuses for inability to
lead his orchestra that nigllt. He returned to his
hotel; and Dr. Severiano, one of the best physicians in Rio, took charge of him.
About the 8th of December, lie was removed to
Tijuca, a plateau about two or three miles from
Rio, where change of air promised to restore his
strength.  At first, there seemed reason to hope
that recovery was possible: the violent internal
pains decreased; but lis weakness was so great,
that after an operation, which caused some relief,
he gradually sank, and, at four o'clock on the
morning of the 1Stl of December, breathed Ilia
last.  On the afternoon of the same day, lis
remains were removed to the hall of the Philharmonic Society, where he had touched the piane




180


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


for the last time; and there, under the direction
of his physicians, Dr. Severiano, Rodriguez Martins, and  Dr. Costa Ferrar, his body was embalmed.
The love and almost reverence in which Gotts
chalk was held is fully shown by extracts frorr
the journals of the capital. The following is from
the " Journal da Tande " of the 18th instant:
"The great artist is dead. At four o'clock this morning,
after prolonged sufferings, Gottschalk breathed his last,
victim of that art to which he had consecrated the choicest
years of his life. One more Levite for the temple of immortality, one more star to shine in the firmament of the
elect of God. The sepulchre may conceal his body; but it
cannot hide his name, which not even coming ages shall
have the power to destroy.
"Still are sounding in our ears the echoing harmonies
of that final concert, last song of the dying swan, solemn
and majestic as the sound of his own fame. Son of that
giant country which will yet dictate laws to the world,
Gottschalk was a universal celebrity.
"Geniuses have no fatherland. In speaking of great
poets, the world is their country and all ages claim them.
He was born in America; and, though he had visited many
lands, fate still destined that on American soil he should
find his last resting-place. Gifted with rare endowments
of intellect, not less conspicuous were the qualities of his
heart.
"The muse of Gottschalk was ever employed In the
noblest of objects. To alleviate suffering was with him a
constant practice, as it was also his delight. How many
times has it dried the tears of orphans? How often has it




OLOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


181


tempered the grief of the widow? Many concerts were
given by him in aid of different benevolent societies, and
the numerous medals which he had received were the most
convincing proofs of his charity and intelligence.  The
public, then, of this capital should go to-morrow to pay the
debt of gratitude they owe to Gottschalk, shedding unfeigned tears upon the tomb that is to enclose the remains
of a great man."
In the early (awn of morning, news reached
the city that Moreau Gottsclalk had passed away
from earth! Everywhere upon the.Rua Ovador,
the Palais Royale of Rio, groups gathered to
mourn over the death of one whom        all loved.
Behind the shaded     lattice  of many a    house,
gentle hearts beat sorrowfully, and beautiful eyes
were weeping; for he whose glorious music had
thrilled them  with joy and hope had gone forever from their sighlt!
With earnest respect and loving admiration for
his genius, the Philharmonic Society, the oldest
and most important musical association in the city,
claimed the privilege of arranging his funeral.
We are told that,"One of their number, a distinguished surgeon, with
several assistants, promptly and successfully performed the
operation of embalming; and, on the 19th, the body was
exposed in state in the front hall of the society until the
time of commencing the funeral ceremonies, when it was
removed to the interior and larger hall, where were assem



182


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


bled the principal mourners. Before removing the body to
the cemetery, the orchestra of the society played one of the
great artist's favorite compositions, entitled 'Morte.' At
this moment, the scene was most solemn and impressive.
" As the deceased was a PRoman Catholic, the ceremony
was conducted with the usual rites of that church. After
some brief service read over the body at the doors of the
society, the cortege moved on. The coffin was preceded
by a band of music, which at intervals played the solemn
strains of a dirge. The funeral car was not brought into
requisition at first; but the artist-friends of the dead, among
whom were seen Arnaud, Ellena, Lambert, Wagner, Cavallo, and Arthur Napoleon, competed with each other for
the sad privilege of bearing with their own hands his precious remains. Immediately after, in two long lines, came
the mourners and friends, uncovered, and carrying in their
hands lighted torches. The route of the procession, which
passed in this manner as far as Largo da Lapa - the distance of perhaps a mile - was crowded on both sides by
the populace, who paid the greatest respect to the cortege
as it passed. The coffin having been placed in the funeral
car upon its arrival at the Lapa, it was borne directly to
the cemetery of San Juan Baptista, in Bota Fogo, distant
some five or six miles, followed by hundreds of the mourners in carriages. All along the road the highest marks of
respect were being constantly shown. The cemetery itself
was found thronged wilh people, anxious to have one last
look at the face of the deceased. But only a few enjoyed
this privilege. When the coffin had been placed within
the little chapel, and opened to remove the medals and
decorations, - now worn for the last time, - it was per.
mitted to gaze once more upon the well-known features
of the dead.   Two brief and fervid orations, in accordance with the custom of the country, were then pro




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


183


nouncel by the side of the open coffin, amid the profoundest emotion. The scene was most impressive. The sombre
aspect of the place, lighted only by flickering torches; the
ghastly features of the dead; the trembling voices of the
speakers, and the unfeigned grief of all, -combined to make
it a scene never to be forgotten."
The following appeared in the "Reforma " of
the 21st instant: -
" The funeral of Gottschalk was a splendid public manifestation.  The Philharmonic Society had claimed the
honor of guarding the precious remains of the great artist
until the time of burial. It was an act of consideration and artistic fraternity, which honored alike the society
and the country. The body was embalmed at the expense
of the same society, by Dr. Costa Ferrar, who gratuitously
offered his services.
" Day before yesterday, up to the hour of the ceremony,
the body lay in state in one of the principal halls of the
society, appropriately decorated.  Near by was seen,
covered with crape, the piano upon which Gottschalk had
played for the last time, on the night of the 25th ult.
Previous to removing the body, the orchestra of the society
performed the 'Morte,' one of the most beautiful and
touching compositions of the great artist. The coffin was
carried by hand as far as Largo da Lapa, preceded and followed by hundreds of persons of all classes bearing
torches. A band of music led the way. The street and
squares were crowded. Sadness marked the faces of all,
and many eyes were bathed in tears.
" In the Cemetery of San Juan Baptista, the press of
people was even still greater. Here, in the midst of pro.




184


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


found emotion, was spoken the last sad farewell to the
remains of one of the greatest artists of our time. Dr.
Achilles Varejao and the distinguished academician of La
Paulo, Sefior Antonio Cardoso de Manezes, made themselves the interpreters of the general grief.  They spoke
with trembling voices, and were heard amid tears.
"The following facts regarding the last moments of the
great artist have been communicated to us: At midnight
he predicted that within four hours he would be dead; and
he died at ten minutes to four the following morning. Ie
wished to make some testamentary dispositions; but he had
not the strength to sign what he had ordered his secretary
to write. Two unmarried sisters, who reside in London,
are the heirs of his fortune, which consists of property in
the United States, and certain funds left in the hands of
persons in his confidence.
"He leaves many unpublished works, including three
operas, one of which — Isaura de Salerno - was his favorite composition, and upon which he constantly worked to
perfect it. His intentions were, upon leaving Brazil, to
give a series of concerts in the United States, and afterwards to go to Europe and bring out his unpublished compositions, and then make a journey to Palestine to visit the
holy places, as he had promised his mother to do when she
died.".And the promise would have been kept: for
through the long summer evenings when watching at his brother's bedside in Saratoga, again and
again he referred to that promise, and cheered his
brother with thoughts that together they might
wander among the hills of Palestine; and at such
times the exquisite imagery of his imagination




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCIIALK.       185
would picture the scenes he so longed to view.
The oleanders on the banks of Jordan, the wild
luxuriance of the hills about Jerusalem, were
vividly pictured to his young brother, and such
dreams of beauty as his words inspired soothed
and calmed the fainting heart of the dying one.
But we sorrow not as those without hope, over
the wealth of heart and mind God has taken fiom
this cruel world. Music is the science of heaven;
and Louis Moreau Gottschalk, in that lie has
done what he could upon earth, shall find a nobler
sphere of action in the presence of the angels of
God.




-86           LIFE AND LETTERS OF
TEMPO PR-IMO.
" They tell me I am shrewd with other men.
With thee I'm slow and difficult of speech:
With others, I may guide the car of talk;
Thou wing'st it oft to realms beyond my reach.
For them I wile the hours with tale or song,
Or web of fancy, fRinged with careless rhyme;
But how to find a fitting lay for thee,
Who hast the harmonies of every time?
JULIA WARD HOWE.
/EANY        beautiful   tributes  to   Gottschalk's
I —     memory are lying       before  me: it would
not be kind to close these memoirs without
notice of them.      First among them      I find the
following pages from     Madame Clara MiI. Brinkerhoff.
She   prefaces her " Sketches" by        a  note   to
Madame Hensel, in which she says, -
"I enclose some recollections of my dear friend, that
may differ somewhat from those you have on hand.    Our
acquaintance was one that drew out the highest and best
of a man's nature, the recognition of soul to soul. No
length of time or space could blot out one iota of a friend
ship formed, as ours was, on mutual respect and esteem.




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


187


"Mly acquaintance with Mr. L. M. Gottschalk dated
from about the year 1854.
At our first meeting, our conversation, instead of finishing in a few moments, as would have been natural under
the circumstances (a piano-room introduction), lasted for
more than an hour and a half. I knew that I had met a
man of genius and high culture.
"He recognized in me one who could read his better
nature, which he so often chose to hide under the semblance of a man of gallantry, whose highest aim was to
please, and gain woman's bright smiles for himself, -or a
certain sort of patient demeanor, which said, ' I am dreadfully bored; but have your own way, I'll bear it as long as I
can!'
"Our conversations were generally of a most serious
nature. On some occasions, he would advance French rationalism, and other views of the most atheistical kind, for no
other reason than to make me combat them. It seemed
impossible for him to see me, without being desirous of
entering into an argument. A ball-room, where every eye
was upon him, would have been as likely as any other
place for him to have commenced the never-to-be-finished
topic. I knew that he was a consistent Catholic, and revered
the religion taught him by his mother; yet his education,
and the influences of his many friends that were non-religionists, or at least steeped in Positivism, undoubtedly at
times shook his faith. There was a religiousness in him
(if I may so term it), that absolutely required communion
with the Eternal Spirit to satisfy his nature.
" He had lof'ly imagination, sturdy logic, vivacious wit,
tender sensibilities, strong passions, and an indomitable
will; yet his purposes, plans, and wondrous energies were
guided and harmonized by the spiritual element within
him. Notwithstanding occasional outbreaks and yielding to




188          LIFE AND LETTERS OF
temptations (for which due allowance must be made, he
oeing human, and not divine), his faith in Christ, the image
of the invisible God, never really swerved: therefore it
seemed a positive pleasure to him to be vanquished by
simple words of truth.
"When he was on the right side of a question, he was
all-powerful. I remember meeting him at a quiet dinnerparty: among the number was a gentleman, who, though
Northern-born, took sides against the Union. This gentleman had annoyed me much by his proslavery views. lie
never hesitated to advance his most ultra opinions as to the
right of the South to secede. We were seated next each
other at the table. News had reached us from Port Royal
that day. Gottschalk, without seeming to intend it, took
the lead in the conversation, and expressed his views on the
merits of the war, as also on slavery. I touched my neighbor, and said, ' Why don't you answer him? Now you have
a fair opponent; you hear what he says.'
" He could not. Gottschalk seemed to have had a spirit
of fire descend upon him. I-e spoke rapidly, brilliantly,
wilth Such power, such swvepiig eloq(uencel, such a crushingout of pettiness, and upholding of the everlasting truth,
that tears filled my eyes, - not mine alone, but all felt his
power to uphold the right, and show us the good and true
spirit which must prevail over wrong and selfishness.
" Gottschalk's memory was pecaliar. I met him while
travelling at Montreal. He joined our party at the theatre. With us was a young lady who saw a theatrical representation for the first time. Ile appeared delighted at the
fieshness of her remarks.  Sometimes he helped her to
understand the play in the most absurd manner. The play
was' School for Scandal.' I took him to task for something
he said. Of course that started an argument. I told hlilm
could not talk then, but after we returned to the hotel I




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


189


would; and so I did. The greater part of the conversation
was held while standing in the parlor; for it was getting
late, and I had to join my friends: so we left off abruptly
as the clock struck twelve. Our party left Montreal the
next day without seeing him. Four months afterwards, we
met in New York.    He began the conversation exactly
where we left off', not even premising it with, ' How do you
do?' The moment his eyes rested on me, he was back
again in imagination in the parlor at Montreal.
"He sometimes jokingly called me his brother, and said
I thought too much for a sister in art. I do not think he
admired, as a general thing, very intellectual women. lIe
said their minds were illy balanced; and, to gain a great
name in the world, they sacrificed all the most lovable and
womanly qualities in attaining it. It was not likely Iwould agree to this, even if' there was more truth than fiction in it; hence endless warfare on the.subject whenever it
was introduced.
" His power of concentration was great.  He could
abstract himself from every thing outside of what he
wanted to do. In practising, he could keep his mind on the
music at will. He was a great student and ardent admirer
of Beethoven's music. I had the privilege, never to be
forgotten, of hearing him play some of Beethoven's sonatas~
He rarely played them in public; for he was so sentient,
that pretenders stood no chance of deceiving him. He knew
at a glance who enjoyed and comprehended the music; and
lie found the proportion so very small, that he did not bore
the many for the pleasure of being cavilled at by the few.
This is the usual recompense for the artist who plays classical music in general concerts.
"I had always supposed that Gottschalk was )ne of
those natural players that do but comparatively-little work;
but I was greatly mistaken. I remember when he wa&




190


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


studying 'Weber's Concert-Stuck,' that he practised it hours
at a time, although he seemed to play it perfectly well
when he first played it. I remarked that I thought he
knew it. ' Oh, no!' he replied: 'I find a new beauty every
time I play it over. There is no end to study.'
"I said to him, one day, that I never used half the
resources of my voice or art before the public, owing to
nervousness, or, more properly, want of self-possession.
'To begin with, my heart beats so rapidly that it annoys me.'
" Ah I' he replied, ' that is all owing to your neglect to
make yourself at ease. The will is all-powerful to do this'
you are no more nervous than I am, but you see I never do
commence till I feel at ease. I make myself deliberate, and
keep my head cool. I walk in very leisurely, I salute very
moderately, I begin to take off my gloves as if I had come
on for that purpose. Then I glance around in hopes of
seeing an inspiring face, or at least a friendly one, so that
my spirit may be in consonance with the music I am going
to play, even if I am not in the mood.'
' But I can't take off my gloves as you do.'
"'No,' he replied; 'but you can walk in deliberately,
and speak to the accompanist. At any rate, never commence till you have mastered yourself.'
" True to this theory, on one occasion, when he accompanied me in a fugitive song of his own composition (from an
opera lost, with many other valuable works, on a Southern
railroad, the trunk never having been recovered), he
turned to me, and spoke about the most indifferent subjects.
He knew I was nervous; for he was late, and the place of
the piece on the programme had to be changed on his account. He just quietly preluded the song,* speaking to
me all the while till he thought I was at ease.
* This composition is in my possession. IIe had no copy of it him.
self, unless he has rewritten it since, wlich is not probable, as he recalled it especially for me. Gen. William Miorris wrote the words for
him.




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCIHALK.


191


"In regard to his playing, he stands alone in the perfection of phrasing, and exquisite shading of sentiment in the
melody. In my estimation, many approach him in technique, but none in these points. IHe towers above all other
pianists I have heard in this country or Europe, in giving
voice and soul to the piano. lie found an answering chord
in this dry instrument that all other artists -I will not except one that I have heard -have yet to find. Iis melodies were pictures to the mind: one not only heard, but sawo
them. The familiar me lody of ' Iome, Sweet Home,' was
absolutely sung on the piano by him: he formed, as it were,
a vox-humana out of clanging wires.
"In his composition' Last IIope,' we have a specimen
of his religious temperament. I abstracted the melody from
it and adapted the words, —
' My God, permit me not to be
A stranger to myself and thee.'
I showed it to him, and underlined the words,
Amidst a thousand thoughts I rove,
Forgetful of my hliglest love.'
The hymn was unknown to him. He read it, and seemed
pleased to see his music wedded to such beautif'ul words. I
told him it was one of our Sunday-evening hymns; so he
would be sure to be thought of once a week, and that I
Fhould sing the words for him as well as myself.
"'Will you!' he sail, and gave a never-to-be-forgotten
glance. It expressed thanks and prayer.
"lie always permitted me to scolld him, if I thought he
had done wrong: and on one occasion it was about something he explained away very reacily. I was very glad,




192


LIPE AND LETTERS OF


for I could not bear to see such a beautiful character
marred by even a slight blemish. I said I was glad it was
not true.
"' Promise me,' he said, ' you will never believe ill of me,
unless it is impossible for you to do otherwise. So many
lies are told about me, without any earthly foundation for
them. I know you have set a high standard for me, and I
wish to deserve and retain your esteem all my life.'
"I willingly gave him the promise. Thank God! I have
had no reason to believe any of the thousand and one
falsehoods, manufactured and set afloat by cupidity and
malice, as a counterbalance for the great love and everready fiiendship, that has ever been tendered to our lamented Gottschalk, by the refined and cultivated of every
land which it was his pleasure to visit.
"His power to please was unlimited. He gained the
friendship and love of men, young and old; and I have
this day read a letter from one of his firmest and oldest
fiiends. Iis words are, 'I shall never recover from this
blow: I idolized him, - my whole plans of life are blank to
me now.'
"Few men in the world have been so much loved; but,
like all other high-strung spirits, he had to swallow bitter
as well as sweet.
"I-I sometimes felt annoyed at the remarks made on
account of his playing his own music so much in concerts.
It would have been much more to the purpose to have
blamed the listeners who n joyed it.
"On one occasion. he ha(l been solicited so strongly to
play a favorite sonata of Beethoven's, at a small party of
connoisseurs, that he acceded to the reCltIest. IHe began,
and hadl not played more than ten measures, when one, who
had been mIost anxious to hear it, began talking.  Gottschalk went on, endealvoring to keep his mind so in the




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHTALK.


193


music as to gratify one fair girl who really enjoyed the
sonata, and was familiar with it from beginning to end. At
last, the buzz becamc general: then he gave vent to his pentup annoyance, and went into the wildest extempore ever
heard on a piano. IIe played on, he would not stop; but
they did, wondering at hini. At last, tired out, he flung himself into a chair, and received compliments of every kind
for his rendering of the magnificent ' Beethoven sonata.'
It surpassed any thing they had ever heard.  How his
artist spirit suffered that night an artist only can know.
" Benevolence was a very marked feature in his character; and he was constantly besieged by those who knew his
tenderness for suffering humanity.  IIe was a Freemason,
and liable to be called on at any time for aid, but never
in vain. On one occasion, he was going to a suburb of a
city for some purpose. When he arrived, thu ferry-boat
did not make trips in the evening. A poor laboring man
came up just as Mr. Gottschaik was retracing his steps
homeward. The man asked him if the boat had gone. To
his reply ' Yes,' the poor man set up a lamentation. His
familv would be so anxious: he did not know what to do.
Gottschalk said he woull see what could be done. He
found a man who had a row-boat. The trip was dangerous,
but he would go over for twenty dollars. The poor man
said he could not pay so much. ' Never mind, I will pay,'
said Gottschalk. But the laborer refused to go at his cost.
At last he said to the man, 'I want to go over; so jump in:
it will cost no more to take you than for me to go alone.'
"His assertion prevailed; and the man jumped into the
boat, and was soon with his family. There was a delicacy
in his making the obligation light to the poor man, that was
peculiarly his own.
"His.feeling for cleanliness was so strong az to be
thought by some 'over-fastidiousness.'
18




194


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


"He had a pupil who was in many respects an estimable
man, but had to him most objectionable faults: his hands
were hardly ever strictly clean, nails never; his teeth
showed that tobacco was not a stranger to his mouth; his
linen was often tumbled and soiled. Gottschalk meant to
send him away after the first lesson. He made up his mind to
this while he was pacing up and down the room, as was his
habit when he gave a lesson; but when the man turned
his beautiful eyes on him, and thanked him so heartily for
his lesson, he had not the heart to tell him not to come. IHe
endured it for three more lessons: no improvement had been
made in his pupil's toilet. He asked Gottschalk something
about his music: but he answered him, that the first thing
necessary for a pianist and teacher was to be a gentleman;
and the first thing necessary to being a gentleman was
clean hands, well-kept nails and teeth, and unspotted linen.
A man who was careless in these points lacked self respect,
and also respect for others.
"It was a strange sight to see the young man glance at
his soiled cuffs and hands, and then jump up from the
piano, and beg Gottschalk's pardon for thus offending. It
corrected his carelessness, and pupil and master became
firm friends.
" I have said but little about his compositions, for they
are so well known. His larger works for orchestra it was
not his fortune to have performed in New York.
"There are doubtless many who can give you much
more testimony to his high-souled integrity and great worth
than I can.                                C. M. B."
From   a memorial sketch by       Marguerite F.
Aymar, the following extracts are gathered:"His mother was Mademoiselle Aimee de Brasle, a




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHAL1K.


195


granddaughter of the governor of Hayti of that name,
under Louis XV.
s" His early childhood was passed in a poetic and wild
retirement, far from the noise of cities, or the realities of
the world of men. On the romantic shores of Lake Pontchartrain he drew his first inspirations from the wisest and
beneficent of all teachers,- Nature. At the age of four,
he sought an outlet for his wonderful inspiration, for by no
other name can it be called, on the piano; and not unfrequently at that tender, nay, baby age, his mother would be
awakened in the long, still nights, by faint, sweet melodies
from below, and descend to find the child fingering the
'beautiful cold keys,' with a marvellous rapt look on his
little face. The first opera he ever heard, was ' Robert le
Diable;' and, upon his return from the theatre, he sat down
and played all the principal airs with a miraculous exactitude. Long years after, when the child had grown to a
world-famnous man, he says, speaking of the death of
Meyerbcer, ' I will not attempt to tell you of my grief; to
understand it, you must have been habituated, like myself,
from infancy, to something little short of worship for this
great genius, whose first chef-d'oeuvre, " Robert le Diable,"
filled my early years with ineffable joy."'
Of his sojourn in Switzerland she says," When he concluded to take some necessary repose, he
chose the wild, rare mountains of Switzerland, as in perfect
consonance with his high-strung, vivid young nature.
This season of rest, however, was not of long duration; but
Gottschalk did not quit his retirement without leaving a
lasting memorial of his goodness and generosity, so rarely
met with in one so young, in the form of a hospital for the
aged, which he founded at Yverclun."




196


LIFE AND LET21RS OF


Referring to his mountain life, she writes,"These years, especially one of them, passed in the
grand solitude of the highest peak of the mountains of
Guadaloupe, with no living soul near him save one faithful
servant, Kaleb, Gottschatk affirms to have been the happiest of his life. There he gave himself up to mute illimitable communion with his God and nature. The pure, sweet
air, the flowers and the birds, and the winds and the
changeful clouds, were the food his spirit lived upon; and
here he wolled. Such work must have been his pleasure.
'Printemps d'Amour,' 'Jeunesse,' the 'Pastorella,' and
many others, are dated from this dim, sweet year of loveliness. But again lie was lured from his resting-place; and,
after a series of glories in Havana, he once more returned
to America, -New York."
"Of Gottschalk's compositions, there is, or can be, but
one opinion regarding them as a whole,-wonderful in
their elastic, vivid refinement of culture and sensibility,
their subtle, voluptuous charm  of rhythm, and melodic
significance, and in their marvellous suggestive qualities.
There was ever a faint, sweet something left to each listener
when Gottschalk had finished playing one of lis own compositions, - a delicious, untold emanation, which each could
interpret to his own fancy.
"But there are those amone his works which evince
the grand, free soul, soaring above the earth and its earthly
passions, into that heaven of divine inspiration. 'Jerusalem,' for instance, is mighty in its solemn grandeuw; and its
under-tone is the mysterious passion of the soul, not the
luxurious modulations of the heart. The symphony of the
'Siege of Saragossa' is another exhibit of the splendor of
iusical phraseology as an interpretation of the higher




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


197


emotions, untouched by the softer moods he so usually fell
into. And again, ' La Nuit des Tropiques,' one of the
mIost exquisitely thrilling, high-wrought, and pure symphonies we ever listened to. Gottschalk's was a great soul,
and his inspiration was from the Giver of all great and
good gifts. Not always did the soul rise above its poetic,
sensuous, human accompaniments; but that it did sometimes is undeniable.
" Of his private life, we have no word to say, save the
pure, good truth. He was a devoted son, and, at the time
of his death, was looking forward to the fulfilment of a last
request of his mother's,- a pilgrimage to the Holy Land.
A more than devoted brother; and lasting monuments of his
large-hearted charities are not failing in any land where
his name and face have been known. A true American,
proud of his birthright, and an ardent lover of liberty, one
of the fairest jewels in his crown was the liberation of his
slaves in Louisiana. IIis triumphs, from every point of
view, were unprecedented in the annals of pianists, -the
recipient of medals and orders from nearly every crowned
head in Europe and South America. His personal friends
were many and warm; and in numberless households the
news of his death, rendered doubly hard in that it occurred
in a foreign land, will cause no ordinary grief.
"To his enemies,-for, like every great man, he had
them, -we can but say, he is dead, —gone from your sight
into the great hereafter, whither God hath called him.  To
his friends: his memory, and the undying consolation of
his works, will speak in a voice well beloved, since they ar,
a part of himself."
Here is another, from    the pen of Mr. George
Upton.    It is too    truthfully  beautiful to   be
omitted: --




198


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


IN MEMORIAM.
"And poor Louis Gottschalk is dead I
" From the heart of the tropics, which he loved so well,
- for his whole nature was tropical, - into the heart of this
northern winter comes the sad news borne on southern
gales, - Louis Gottschalk is dead.
"And when the recording angel saw him coming, ar..
called out, ' Louis Moreau Gottschalk,' how quickly he must
have answered, with that sad smile kindling on his face,
'Died on the field of duty.'
"It seems but yesterday, although it was a cold winter
afternoon in 1864, that I bade him good-by, little dreaming
that it was for the last time. I had been sitting with him
all that afternoon; and he had played to me, in his dreamy
way, the 'Midsummer-Night's Dream' and some of Mendelssohn's' Lieder ohne Worte ' as I had never heard them
before,- as I may never hear them again. Hour after hour
he played, only pausing to light a fiesh cigar, saying nothing, but weaving into a gorgeous web of music the t.houghts
of the great masters.
" And some small souls, who could only see the outer
man, had told me he was affected and egotistic. Affected
and egotistic! This man, who lived in music; whose
dreams were embroidered with threads of melody; who
was as delicate in his tastes as a refined woman; whose
soul shut up like a flower from contact with strangers, and
only opened and expanded to receive a friend I
" The history of his life is told in a few words. He was
born in New Orleans, in 1829. His mother was a French
Creole, and his father a Spanish Jew; and such a love as
he gave to that father and mother is rare in this world
Like all musical geniuses, he lisped in music, and gave un
mistakable evidences of his talent at a very early age. He




LOUIS MOREA U GOTTSCIALK.


199


went to Paris when he was only twelve years of age, and,
after studying music four years, came back to this country,
and made his first public appearance as a pianist in 1845.
From that time until 1853, he made a professional tour of
Europe. In 1853, he returned to this country, and up to
his death had divided his time between the United States
and South America. That is the sum of his life, as far
as mere incidents are concerned; but it was only a small
part.
" I think that our country has never been blessed with
such a real musical genius as Louis Gottschalk.  Ice was
thoroughly original.  His music was unlike any other.
Nearly all pianists are plagiarists. Gottschalk was original, because he wrote out of his inner nature.. Run over
his compositions, - the 'Printemps D'Amour,' ' Murmures
Eolicns,' 'La Colombe,' the ' Banjo Fantasia,' that inimitable ' Berceuse,' the ' Chant du Soldat,' the ' Last IHope,'
the 'Marche de Nuit,' the 'Ojos Creollos,' the ' Souvenirs
D'Andalousie,' his ballad ' Serenade,' the ' O ma Charmante Caprice,' and his splendid instrumentation of the
overture to ' William Tell,' or the little gems of waltzes
and polkas which he published under the familar nom de
plume of ' Seven Octaves,'- and see if you can find their
motives anywhere else in the whole realm of music. He
was as distinctive as Chopin, and as dreamy and suggestive
as Robert Franz. And what a technique he had I His
runs were like the rippling of water, his octaves as clear
and distinct as the flash of a diamond, and his touch purity
itself. Under the magic of his long, delicate fingers, a
piano sung like a rich soprano.
"He was thoroughly tropical in his nature,- dreamy,
Abstracted, and warm-blooded.  A   superficial observer
would have called him indolent, for he passed much time in
reveries; and many of these reveries, in his inspired




200


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


moments, he interpreted upon the piano, which have never
seen papir.  He was as uneasy in these cold climes as
some rare-plumaged bird pining in its gilded cage. It was
only among these fiery birds, among the rank, luxurious
vegetation, among the dark-eyed Spanish beauties of the
tropics, that he really lived. Ilis best compositions were
born in the warm breath of southern climes; and all that he
wrote in the temperate zones were but reminiscences of,
and yearnings for, that country. He was faultlessly delicate
in his tastes, and could never sympathize with any thing
that was grotesque, bizarre, or rude. His physical organization was moulded of the finest clay. His hands were a
study of beauty. His voice was low and musical, and his
face the very embodiment of tropical beauty. Once your
friend, he was always your friend; for he loved with intensity,
and hated with ardor. HIe made but few friends: perhaps
would have made more if there had been more who could
understand and appreciate such a nature as his, which had
so little in common with other men. And under all this
warmth and delicacy of nature flowed an undereurrent. of
sadness, which pervaded his whole being, and tinged all his
music.  It was a sadness not dependent upon circumstances, nor growing out of any fate, but a part of himself;
and always a component part of all true artists. It was
not so dark nor so turbid a torrent as that which wrecked
Chopin, not such a deep regret as that which separated
Beethoven from men, and made him stand out like some solitary mountain, looming up in awful grandeur; but rather
a tender feeling of' regret, ' tie tender grace of a day that
is dead.' It was broad enough and deep enough to give
character to his life and color to his music.
(" He died as any musician would like to (die, I should
think, in the midst of his friends, standing before his
orchestra with his baton in his hands, and, by a sad coinci



LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.               201
dence, directing one of his own compositions,' La Morte.'
It was Mozart, and his Requiem over again.
"And the singers closed their books, and the instruments ceased, and in place of their sound caine the terrible,
solemn silence of death. And on the next day the same
singers and players tenderly bore him to the populous Acre
of God. And men and women whomn he had charmed and
made better with the great blessing of his music came each
to drop into the open grave some flower of grateful love
and remembrance. And royalty deemed. it an honor to
touch the pall of the dead musician. So, under those blue
skies, ant amid the fiery-plunmaged birds and gorgeouspetalled flowers he loved so well, they laid him down to
sleep his long, last sleep. And from this desk, under these
cold, gray skies, in which no bird sings, and from  these
frozen plains, upon which no flower blooms, do I send today, down to that Southern grave, this slight tribute of
admiration I am glad to own, of friendship it was my good
fortune to share.
"And as I thus say good-night to the dead friend and musician, I am reminded of those lines of Gerald Massey's:'The dear ones who are worthiest of our love
Below are also worthiest above.
Too lofty is his place in glory now
For hands like ours to reach and wreathe his brow:
A few pale flowers we plant upon his tomb,
Watered with tears to make them breathe and bloom.'"
From   "Thle World " (New York) of Jan. 23,
I am glad to copy this appreciative sketch, written
before lie left the United States for South Amer.
ica.  It is a most fitting tribute to place upon his
tolL: -
16




202


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


"With the roar of cannon and tramp of armed men
resounding through the land, and the fair young face of the
Republic disfigured to our eyes by the deep furrows of war,
it is pleasant to know, that, in certain nooks and corners,
gentler sounds of harmony still linger, and that ateliers
exist where men's fancies grow on canvas from day to day
into soothing visions of loveliness. The scarlet and gold
and general paraphernalia of' war are too tempting to pallet and brush, not to be seized on with avidity, and reproduced with marvellous truth; but it is more agreeable to
pass over accurate representations of the Irish Zouaves,
with Celtic features, not purely classical in outlines, glovwing defiantly under the red cap of the Arab, and Teutonic
cavalrymen clinging clumsily to their steeds, and turn for
solace to the grand, solemn shores of Niagara, to wander
amid the tangled luxuriance of the Heart of the Andes, or
to bask in Jile sweet silence' of twilight in the wilderness.
There are icebergs, too, floating in the Arctic Sea, frozen
white and mute with horror at the dread secrets of ages;
but, responsive to the versatile talent of the hand that
creates them, they glow with prismatic light of many
colors. Mr. Church irradiates the frozen regions with the
coruscations of his own genius, bringing to these lonely,
despairing masses of ice the revivifying hope and promise
of warmer climates. In pondering over the sad mystery of
these icebergs, we float down again to tropical seas and
islands; anjas we linger under the shade of palm and
banana tree, the rude chant of the negro strikes the ear in
the grotesque and characteristic framework of the 'Bananier,' the plaintive melody of ' La Savane' sighs past on
the evening breeze, Spanish eyes flash out temptingly
from the enticing cadence of the ' jos Criollos,' and
Spanish guitars tinkle in the soft moonlight of the ' Minuit
% Seville,' and tropical life awakes to melody under the




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


203


touch of the Creole poet of the piano, Mr. Gottschalk.
There are many beings, otherwise estimable, to whom the
tropical sense is wanting; who are ever suspicious of malaria lurking under the rich, glossy leaves of the orange
groves; who look with disgust and loatling at the exaggerated proportions and venomous nature of all creeping
things; who find the succulence of the fruit unpleasant to
the taste, and the flowers, though fair to the eye, deadly as
the upas-tree to all other sense; for whom it is no compensation to feel, with the first breath of morning air, the
dull, leaden weight of life lifted, or no happiness to watch
the sea heaving and palpitating with delight under the rays
of the noonday sun, and to know that the stars at night
droop down lovingly and confidingly to the embrace of
warm tropical earth. With an insensibility to these influences, there can be but little sympathy or appreciation of
the works of Mr. Gottschalk; for all that is born of the
tropics partakes of its beauties and its defects, its passionate languor, its useless profusion, and its poetic tenderness. And where else in the United States can we look
for a spontaneous gush of melody? Plymouth Rock and its
surroundings have not hitherto seemed favorable to the
growth and manifestations of musical genius; for the old
Puritan element, in its savage intent to annihilate the esthetic part of man's nature, under the deadening dominion
of its own blue-laws, and to crush out whatever of noble
inspiration had been vouchsafed to man by his Creator,
rarely sought relief in outbursts of song. Psalmody appears to have been the chief source of musical indulgence;
and for many a long, weary year hymns of praise, nasal in
tone and dismal in tendency, have ascended from our prin
forefathers to the Throne of Grace on high. Suc(h depressing musical antecedents have not prepared New England
fbr greater efforts of melody than are to be fiund in the




204


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


simple ballads supposed to originate with.the plantation
negro, who, in addition to his other burdes, is thus chosen
to assume the onerous one of Northern song, as being the
only creature frivolous enough to indulge in vain carolling.
If we can scarcely affirm that the Americans are yet a
musical people, that they would be is an undeniable fact,
and one constantly evinced in their lavish support of
artists, from the highest to the lowest grade. Among th,
musical aspirants to popular favor, none has of late enjoyed
so large a share of notice and admiration as Mr. Gottschalk; and, to return from our recent digression, we will
proceed to the consideration of his compositions. Fragmentary and suggestive as are his ideas, there is infinite
method and system in their treatment. Avoidinc thus far
what is termed sustained effort, and which fiequently implies the same demands on the patience of the listener as
on the creative power of the composer, Mr. Gottschalk's
compositions contain just so muth of the true poetic vein
as can be successfully digested and enjoyed in a piano
piece of moderate length.  With the power to conceive,
and the will and discipline of mind to execute, there is no
reason why, with p)erhaps a. diminished tendency to fritter
away positive excellence at the shrine of effect. enduring
proofs of the genius of our American pianist should not be
given to the world. As a mere player, the popularity of
Mr. Gottschalk with the uninitiated masses is due, in a
great measure, to his tact in discecrnin the American cra;!ing tor novelty and sensation, and to Iis nalive originality
and brilliancy, which allow him to respond so fully to these
exigencies of public taste, as to possess on all occasions the
key-note to applause. The faculty of never degenerating
into dulness, the rock on which most pianists are wrecked
in early youth, is another just cause for insuring to our
compatriot the pre-eminence which he enjoys.   Viewed




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


205


from a critical point, the mechanical endowments and acquirements of Gottschalk are such as to enable him to subject his playing to the test of keenest analysis without
detriment to his reputation. For clearness and limpidity
of touch and unerring precision, for impetuosity of style
combined with dreamy delicacy, he has few rivals. The
evenness and brilliancy of his trill are unequalled; the
mechanical process required to produce it being lost to
sight in the wonderful birdlike nature of the effect. In the
playing of classical music, Mr. Gottschalk has to contend
against his own individuality.  This individuality, naturally intense, and of a kind calculated to meet with public
favor, has been cultivated and indulged in to such an
extent, as to prove an occasional obstacle to the exclusive
absorption and utter identiication with the ideas of
another composer that classical music demands.  In the
mere matter of execution, there is no difficulty which the
fingers of this skilful pianist cannot overcome; and his intellectual grasp of a subject enables him to discern and
interpret the beauties of all musical themes: but where an
earnest, passionate interest in the music of the old masters
is not felt by the performer, it is rarely communicated to
his hearers. The world of letters, however, has not seemingly regretted the inability of Byron to trammel his muse
with the uncongenial fetters of Pope's metre, and has certainly never quarrelled with Tom Moore for not assuming
the manners and diction of the revered Samuel Johnson,
LL.D. With due allowance for difference of latitude, and
wide difference of aim  and pursuit, the contemplation of
the master of Creole melody recalls to us a genius which
found utterance in song, none the less melodious that it was
written, not sung.  The 'ashen sky,' and 'crisped, sear
leaves of the lonesome October,' so thrillingly pictured by
Edgar Poe in his ' Ulalume,' find echo in the foreboding




206


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


sadness of the opening bars to Gottschalk's' Last Hope;
and as both poems grow in vague, dreamy sound, they culminate in a cry of smothered despair at the tomb where all
hopes lie buried with the lost Ulalume. The same weird
conception and eccentricity of design, with knowledge of
rhythmical effect and extreme carefulness of finish, are
prominent traits of both artists; and the American disregard of tradition, as evinced in all enterprises, whether
literary, artistic, or commercial, and which readily infects
the simple sojourner among us as well as the happy being
born to republican privileges, marks alike the nationality
of poet and pianist."
"The London Orchestra " says, -
" We have had already occasion to say that Gottschalk
was not only a pianist and eminent composer, but a writer
remarkable for the variety anl freshness of his thoughts as
well as for his rare and profound instruction; and his premature death is no less a loss for music than it is for
literature.
" His morality excelled his intellectual manhood. Charitable, good, kind, free from ridiculous vanity, capable of
the greatest abnegation for his fiiends, and even for those
who were indifferent to him, he combined those rare qualities which made him the idol of all those who had the
happiness of knowinz him.  A model of the noblest and
most delicate address, the musical art was to him  an
adoration, - a holy thing. IeI was not only a man of talent,
but a man of genius.  His compositions bear the seal of
perfect individuality.
" The news of his death will surprise painfully and afflict
the musical world; but the tomb which covers his remains




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCIIALK.


207


will not conceal from the face of the oarth the name which
time cannot erase."
A Rio Janeiro journal, speaking of the death of
Gottschalk, says," His music has ceased for us on earth, but the memory
of those exalted strains can never (lie. No other hand can
gather in such harmonies, no other mind weave melodies so
entrancing lo the soul. The land that gave him birth may
well be proud, for now no niche in its temple of fame is
unfilled. Poets, painters, statesmen has she crowned with
immortelles, and now a musician, American born and nurtured, wins the brightest laurels of undying renown."
Another Rio journal adds, -
"The mass of the 30th day for Gottschalk took place
to-day in the church of San Francisco de Paula, under the
auspices of the Philharmonic Society of this city. The
attendance was very large; and the ceremonies were conducted with a degree of pomp and splendor rarely witnessed
on similar occasions. It will be long before the memory of
this great artist will pass away.  Scarcely a day comes
without some new tribute to his worth in the shape of a
musical or poetical composition; and, in the shop-windows
everywhere, one continually meets his photograph, - a noble
head, with handsome, well-cut features, marking the possession not only of rare intelligence, but also of a kind and
generous heart."
And last, there comes from one of whomn Gottsclialk once said to me, " Warren's sympathy foi
ne is perfect: he understands every phase of mj
nature "::



208           LIFE AND LETTERS OF
To MADAME OCTAVIA HENSEL, Boston.
6, GARDEN STREET, BROOKLYN, April 20, 1870.
Dear Madame,- What can I give you but a, hurried
sketch of my long friendship with the dear departed.
Gottschalk came to Albany (where I was then living) in
October, 1855. I then heard him for the first time, and
succumbed at once. It was love at first sight, -love for the
man, his genius, his most extraordinary playing, and the
utter (inner) simplicity of character, which I discovered at
a glance; although many, who were never willing to do him
justice, saw only the outside man in evening dress, decorated with medals, and doing his utmost to please a promiscuous audience. They knew not Gottschalk in private life,
at the piano (he was always there), with a few warm fricnds
listening, —the tender-hearted. sensitive artist and loyal
friend, ready with extended hand to help any poor struggling wight of' the key-board, -ready with a good word
and resistless smile to reward the efforts of his confrires of
the profession.
I could go on in this strain at great length, and give you
many touching evidences of his goodness and largeness of
heart; for we were together often and often, and under
all kinds of circumstances.
In 1860, I moved to my present home; and soon after he
returned fiom South America, and for a few 'years I was
more intimate witll him than ever before. Ie had wonderful
power to move those around him. He was musical electricity itself  I could mentioll many instances, but will only
allow myself one incident.  He was just beginning to be,
very serious; and he was a most intense observer, and with
strong sym)pathies on the right side of the question.  I
shall never forget a scene at the house of Mr. Vim. T.
Blodgett of New York.     It was a most distinguished
gathering of artistic and celebrated gentlemen, from cvery



LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


209


where and of all kinds. Church's picture, " The Heart of
the Andes," was then the lion in a collection of pictures as
rare as their owner is liberal and beloved as a patron
of fine arts; and the painter himself was of the group,
of which Gottschalk was another; and happy is he who
can remember to have been present that evening. There
was much admiring to be done by eyesight, and much
talking that had responsive and delighted listening,; but
the ear needed its sweetest refreshment as well as the eye
and palate, and some music was a necessity. Gottschalk,
as usual, was amiable, and most happy to entertain his
distinguished audience.  He played as an artist never can
at a concert; and his listeners were correspondingly appreciative, - all except one Englishman (maybe a duke)
who made some slur on all that was American in music,
which brought Gottschalk to his feet in del'nce of his
brother-workers. White as a sheet, and in his excited and
overwhelming eloquence, he told them of a melody then
being sung by regiment after regiment, marchingr down
Broadway en route for the cars to Washington; of a
melody they learned at home in the far West, and that they
would carry with them, and sing it on the battle-field; of a
melody that would sustain them in the thickest fight. And,
on the spur of the moment, he sprang to the piano again,
and gave such an astounding rhapsody on George F. Root's
well-known " We'll Rally Round the Fla," as is entirely
beyond description. 1 never heard any thing like it, and
never will again; for Liszt himself could not have appreciated
the situation, and Liszt is not Creole-Amlerican. The effect
was carthquakean almost.  These men of art are enthusiastic; and they were frantic. The uproar could have been
heard a mile.   Gottschalk was nearly killed with embraces, -and the gentleman fiom England had departed.
I have been with my dear friend, time after time, wher




210


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


he has carried his listeners beyond space, and affected them
with a magician's power.  His playing was often most
solemn and religious, when the hammer could not be
heard against the string, and the whole thing was organtoned.  His use of the pedals was a study, producing
results the most unique and interesting. But what is the
use of reviewing what we all know of his playing.  It
united every thing,- power the most magnificent, dexterity unequalled.  Think of the trill and cadenza in
"Murnnures Eoliens", - delicacy and grace beyond criticism,
and a largeness and breadth peculiar to the man; and,
lastly, the Gottschalk originality, - a something unlike any
thing or anybody else. And how sad to me - so sad, that,
were I a woman, the tears would flow afresh -to know that
on this earth we shall never hear his like again 1
In public, our dear friend was the expounder of his
own school of composition; for which he has been taxed
heavily by all those who do not believe in the works of
living composers, and some others too.  Now that he is
really dead (and it seems impossible), we may expect some
justice by and by; and who knows but in the course of a
few hundred years the name of Gottschalk may be just a
little classical (What is classical? - conundrum  to be
given up)?
At a concert which I had the pleasure of arranging for
him and Madame De la Grange, at Albany, in May, 1856,
he played,Impromptu in A flat..... Chopin.
"If I were a Bird,"-Etude... Henselt.
Benevenuti Cellini of Berlioz, transcribed by Liszt.
Silver Spring...... Wn Mason.
Fantasie ' Lucia".... Gottschalk.
Last Hope.......
Marche de Nuit.......,
Banjo.........




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.


211


I have yet to hear Chopin's Impromptu rendered with any
such fire and intense feeling as on that occasion. His
nature sprang out to meet the idiosyncrasy of Chopin's
works; and I am happy in knowing that I have heard
our friend interpret (in private if not in public) the
majority of the works of the wonderful pianoforte poet.
Yes: and I know of the sincere worship that Gottschalk
laid at the feet of that master, and also of his reverence
and study of the greatest of masters, the immortal Beethoven.
Gottschalk felt that while he lived he must demonstrate
the genius of Go tschalk; and where is there a musician
of any like talent who would not do just the same thing?
Our friend was faithful to his friends unto death. The
touching letter from his sister, which you kindly sent me
to read, is ample proof; and I trust you will publish it.
To the Chickerings he was a tower of strength: for,
although tempting offers were made him to leave that house
and use other pianos, he could not change his opinion or do
a mean thing; and where he had in the first place given
that honest opinion, there he abided. No pianos suited his
finger so well. Their power and brilliancy added to his
triumphs; their great durability on his long tours over the
country made him grateful; and he is entirely identified with
the house of Chickering. So with all his friends: he never
forgot them. He was 'way above the small envyings and
jealousies of the profession. He wished all well, and was
lovable to the last degree. Sympathetic and clinging, he
appealed to the tender affection of those he loved best
continually.
His last picture, sent to me from Rio last summer, is
before me as I finish this hasty tribute to his memory. I look
at the dear face which often looked at mine in life (you know
his way) while the fingers rolled forth the harmonies. Would




212


LIFE AND LETTERS OF


that I had been able to say something more worthy the ever.
to-be-lamented subject of your book I
Sincerely your friend,
GEORGE WILLIAM WARREN.
And thus I close my simple sketches of one
whose noble and beautiful life should indeed be an
example to those who still labor here for the
advancement of music, the only science we are
assured we shall find in the heaven - realm of
God!
Words cannot fully express the meaning or the
mission of music upon earth; but power is sometimes given a human soul to impart, through
wondrous combination of tones, pictures to the
imagination, until a spiritual gleam of knowledge
is through sympathy vouchsafed to others, of the
subtle power of music for the good of human
kind. If those who hold this key to the glorious
realm of purest love and passionate longing for an
unattained bliss are but true to themselves, and
use aright their God-given power, life will be rich
in splendor of intellectual enjoyment; and when
shadows of death encompass them, when the tidal
waves of the dark river chill the life-blood of the
heart, their spirits shall rise, in the rapture of
chanting seraphim, far above the stars' triumphal
symphony, borne on the breath of heavenly
anthems, through gates of gleaming pearl and




LOUIS MOREAU GOTTSCHALK.      213
flashing jasper-stone, forever onward to that
Holy of Holies, where the voice of God thrills
the majestic harmonies of angel and archangel
with the simple tone-power of the words, -
" Well done, thou good and faithful servant I
thou hast been faithful over a few things; I will
make thee ruler over many things: enter thou
into the joy of thy Lord."




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