played before an audience made up of
such artists and celebrities as Cherubini, Auber, Herold, Adam, Lesueur,
Pacini, Paer, Habeneck, Plantade, Blangini, La-font, Pleyel, Ivan
Muller, Viotti, Pellegrini, Boieldieu, Schlesinger, Manuel Garcia, and
others. These areopagites of music set the mighty seal of their approval
on Moscheles's genius. He was invited everywhere, to dinners, balls, and
_fetes_, and there was no _salon_ in Paris so high and exclusive which
did not feel itself honored by his presence. His public concerts were
thronged with the best and most critical audiences, and he by no means
shone the less that he appeared in conjunction with other distinguished
artists. He often entertained parties of jovial artists at his lodgings,
and music, punch, and supper enlivened the night till 3 A.M. Whoever
could play or sing was present, and good music alternated with amusing
tricks played on the respective instruments. "Altogether," he writes,
"it is a happy, merry time! Certainly, at the last state dinner of
the Rothschilds, in the presence of such notabilities as Canning
or Narischkin, I was obliged to keep rather in the background. The
invitation to a large, brilliant, but ceremonious ball appears a very
questionable way of showing me attention. The drive up, the endless
queue of carriages, wearied me, and at last I got out and walked.
There, too, I found little pleasure." On the other hand, he praises the
performance of Gluck's opera at the house of the Erards. The "concerts
spirituels" delight him. "Who would not," he says, "envy me this
enjoyment? These concerts justly enjoy a world-wide celebrity. There I
listen with the most solemn earnestness." On the other hand, there are
cheerful episodes, and jovial dinners with Carl Blum and Schlesinger, at
the Restaurant Lemelle. "Yesterday," he writes, "Schlesinger quizzed me
about my slowness in eating, and went so far as to make the stupid bet
with me, that he would demolish three dozen oysters while I ate one
dozen, and he was quite right. On perceiving, however, that he was on
the point of winning, I took to making faces, made him laugh so heartily
that he couldn't go on eating; thus I won my bet." We find the
following notice on the 20th of March: "I spent the evening at Ciceri's,
son-in-law of Isabey, the famous painter, where I was introduced to
one of the most interesting circles of artists. In the first room were
assembled the most famous painters, engaged in dra