Before Gottschalk's departure from Paris, Hector Berlioz thus wrote of
his _protégé_, for whom we may fancy he had a strong bias of liking; and
no judge is so generous in estimation as one artist of another, unless
the critic has personal cause of dislike, and then no judge is so
sweepingly unjust: "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 freedom taken with the rhythm produces only confusion and disorder,
and upon these limits he never encroaches. There is an exquisite grace
in his manner of phrasing sweet melodies and throwing off light touches
from the higher keys. The boldness, brilliancy, and originality of his
play at once dazzle and astonish, and the infantile _naivete_ 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."
But even this enthusiastic praise was pale in comparison with the
eulogiums of some of the New York journals, after the first concert of
Gottschalk at Niblo's Garden Theatre. One newspaper, which arrogated
special strength and good judgment in its critical departments,
intimated that after such a revelation it was useless any longer to
speak of Beethoven! Whether Beethoven as a player or Beethoven as a
composer was meant was left unknown. Gottschalk at his earlier concerts
played many of his own compositions, made to order for the display
of his virtuosoism, and their brilliant, showy style was very well
calculated to arouse the enthusiasm of the general public. Perhaps the
most sound and thoughtful opinion of Gottschalk expressed during the
first enthusiasm created by his playing was that of a well-known musical
journal published in Boston:
"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 denned; 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?... Skillful, 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,' etc.
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-practicing."
In the series of concerts given by Gottschalk throughout the United
States, the public generally showed great enthusiasm and admiration,
and the young pianist sustained himself very successfully against the
memories of Jaell, Henri Herz, and Leopold de Meyer, as well as the
immediate rivalry of Thalberg, who appealed more potently to a select
few. The hold the American pianist had secured on his public did not
lessen during the five years of concert-giving which succeeded. No
player ever displayed his skill before American audiences who had in so
large degree that peculiar quality of geniality in his style which so
endears him to the public. This characteristic is something apart from
genius or technical skill, and is peculiarly an emanation from the
personality of the man.
In the spring of 1837 Gottschalk found himself in Havana, whither he had
gone to make the beginning of a musical tour through the West Indies.
His first concert was given at the Tacon Theatre, which Mr. Maretzek,
who was giving operatic representations then in Havana, yielded to
him for the occasion. The Cubans gave the pianist a tropical warmth of
welcome, and Gott-schalk's letters from the old Spanish city are full
of admiration for the climate, the life, and the people, with whom there
was something strongly sympathetic in his own nature. The artist had not
designed to protract his musical wanderings in the beautiful island of
the Antilles for any considerable period, but his success was great,
and the new experiences admirably suited his dreaming, sensuous,
pleasure-loving temperament. Everywhere the advent of Gottschalk at
a town was made the occasion of a festival, and life seemed to be one
continued gala-day with him.