# Notes of a Pianist/Biographical Sketch/Chapter 3

CHAPTER III.
In May, 1842, Moreau left New Orleans on the Taglioni, a sailing vessel, bound for Havre, under the command of Captain Rogers, a friend of Mr. Gottschalk, in whose charge ​he was placed. His departure broke the hearts of the family, but the father was inflexible, and the mother yielded. The July following he arrived in Paris, and was placed to board in a private family, who never received more than six boarders at a time. His first musical . professor was Hallé, but those to whom Moreau was confided, not liking the nonchalant manner with which he taught his pupils, gave him up and placed Moreau under the musical tutelage of the best French professor of the time, Camille Stamaty, a most conscientious, noble-hearted, and high-minded man. Moreau, in after years, was often pleased to say that he had never loved and respected any man more than his dear professor, Mr. Stamaty. In addition to music, he seriously engaged in other studies. Composition was taught him by Mr. Maleden, whose name is celebrated for the scholars he has educated, among whom may be mentioned Saint Saëns. French, Italian, Latin, Greek, riding, and fencing—nothing was neglected. At the same time he was introduced into the noble and elegant society of Paris, and his refined and delicate manners soon made him a favorite. The Duke of Salvandi, and the Duchesse de Narbonne, to whom he was introduced at the house of his grandaunt, the Marquise de la Grange, became his patrons; afterwards, the Duke d'Ecarre, Rothschild, and Edouard Rodrigue were added to the list of those who most admired and esteemed him.
Moreau pursued his studies with great ardour. He possessed a very remarkable memory for music, being able to recollect hundreds of pages of it after one or two days' study. In literature, however, it was different, and he had more difficulty in retaining what he had learned. Piqued by the remonstrances of his professor, he formed a system of musical mnemotechny, which he applied to history and geography. In the same way he applied it to the 'Art poétique' of Boileau, and learned it by heart, and by this means soon became very proficient. At the age of seventeen, he could converse with equal facility in English, French, and Italian. He read Virgil, translated Dante, recited the 'Orientales' of Victor Hugo, and, when twenty-two, spoke Spanish like Gil Blas.
Previous to 1845, he had only played in the salons of the ​Parisian aristocracy, among whom he was fêted and caressed on account of his aristocratic manners and great talent as an artist. He now, however, decided to appear in public, and in April of this year gave a concert, non payant, at the Salle Pleyel, the announcement of which created a marked sensation. Rumour had spoken so frequently of the young Gottschalk in the fashionable world, he had been so much applauded, that all were eager to hear him. Besides, he was an "American," and the question was asked, "Could America produce an artist?" The hall was filled to overflowing.
The anticipations of this brilliant assemblage, composed of the Parisian and foreign aristocracy, as well as of his fellow-countrymen then resident in Paris, as also of all the principal artists, were perfectly realized. The splendid playing of the young pianist, at once elegant and vigorous, his expression so pure and impassioned, and the gleams of decided originality, all combined to secure for him the most brilliant success. At the close of the concert the applause was immense, and a wreath of flowers was thrown to the young virtuoso. The graceful and modest manner with which he received it completed his success. Chopin, who was present, after the concert, said in the artists' room, in the presence of his friends, putting his hands on his head, 'Donnez moi la main, mon enfant; je vous prédis que vous serez le roi des pianistes." (Give me your hand, my child; I predict that you will become the king of pianists.) These few and simple words Moreau valued more than all the bravos he had received, for Chopin was chary of his praise. From that hour he held his diploma as an artist.
He had hitherto been known only from playing the compositions of others, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Liszt, Thalberg, and Chopin. He now became a composer himself. In 1846 he wrote his 'Danse Ossianique.' It was but a trifle, but gave evidence of future greatness. This germ of originality revealed itself more and more in the pieces entitled 'Les Ballades d'Ossian,' or 'Le Lai du Dernier Ménestrel,' 'La Grande Valse,' and 'La Grande Etude de Concert,' which appeared in 1847.
In the month of November, 1847, he wished to make his first trial in one of the provinces before a paying public, and like Liszt and Thalberg he chose for his debût the city of ​Sedan, which enjoyed a certain reputation for dilettanteism. He was not less fortunate than his illustrious predecessors, and was received with rapturous applause.
It might be supposed that such great success would have spoiled him, and that the way in which he was courted and fêted everywhere would have robbed him of his simplicity of heart. But such was not the case; he remained the same kind, gentle, benevolent, modest youth that his infant days gave promise of. The following anecdote will give some insight into his nature.
One Sunday eve in Paris, as he was walking leisurely home, he heard a deep-drawn sigh, then a sob; turning round he beheld a young recruit, almost a child, bedewed in tears. His sorrow was so genuine, his grief so unfeigned, that he asked him if he could do anything to help him. "Alas, no," answered the lad; "an accident has happened to me that has no remedy, and which will bring on me such a punishment as I shall never be able to bear." "But what is it?" asked Gottschalk. "Well, you see, sir, whenever we tear or lose any of our clothes, we have to remain in perfect confinement for a week or more, sometimes in darkness; it depends on the nature of the article we have lost or torn. I have just torn my trousers, and I dare not go back to the barracks, for if I have to undergo such a punishment I shall make away with myself. Fancy, Monsieur, I, coming from the country, being deprived of air and light for a fortnight!" Gottschalk, greatly touched, bade the recruit to follow, and, being near the Rue de Londres, where he knew a kind and obliging tailor, he retraced his steps thither. He found the man and his family gathered together reading; he explained the case, and begged the tailor for the poor young man's sake to see what was needed to be done. The kind tailor readily complied, and with the help of his wife managed to repair the garment, and thus save the young man from his dreaded punishment, Needless to say, he paid the tailor handsomely for the time and labour he had expended.
Once, when about entering one of those large confectioneries called restaurants in Paris, he noticed a young soldier who was standing at the window admiring and seeming ready to devour all the good things so beautifully decorated and arranged to tempt the public. The young ​soldier's face was so honest and he seemed so to enjoy the fruit, meats, and other things through the glass, that Gottschalk turned round and spoke to him. The youth started, blushed, and taking off his cap kept turning it round and round in his fingers. "No, indeed, I do not joke," replied Gottschalk, "when I ask you if you should like to go inside and take dinner there." "But, Monsieur, who is to pay for it?" "I, of course," answered Gottschalk. "O Monsieur!" was all the soldier could say. They went in; by Gottschalk's order the bill of fare was handed to the soldier. He kept reading it, but now that he had his choice he could not make up his mind, and at last with a deep sigh he said, "I cannot choose, Monsieur." Gottschalk, laughing, called the waiter and ordered a dinner, such as, more than likely, the son of Mars had never eaten, and never did eat in aftertimes. On his return home Gottschalk told it to his family, and said he was touched to tears to see with what avidity the poor lad ate and how grateful he was for such a treat.