3

Perhaps I ought not pass on in this narrative without mentioning that the duet was a great success, so great that we were obliged to respond with two encores. It seemed to me that life could hold no greater joy than it contained when I took her hand and we stepped down to the front of the stage bowing to our enthusiastic audience. When we reached the little dressing-room, where the other performers were applauding as wildly as the audience, she impulsively threw both her arms round me and kissed me, while I struggled to get away.

Perhaps I should mention before continuing that the duet was a great success. It was such a success that we had to perform two encores. It seemed to me that life could hold no greater joy than I felt at that moment. I took her hand, and we stepped to the front of the stage and bowed to our enthusiastic audience. When we reached the little dressing room, the other performers were applauding as wildly as the audience. She impulsively threw both arms around me and kissed me, while I struggled to get away.

One day a couple of weeks after my father had been to see us, a wagon drove up to our cottage loaded with a big box. I was about to tell the men on the wagon that they had made a mistake, when my mother, acting darkly wise, told them to bring their load in; she had them unpack the box, and quickly there was evolved from the boards, paper, and other packing material a beautiful, brand-new, upright piano. Then she informed me that it was a present to me from my father. I at once sat down and ran my fingers over the keys; the full, mellow tone of the instrument was ravishing. I thought, almost remorsefully, of how I had left my father; but, even so, there momentarily crossed my mind a feeling of disappointment that the piano was not a grand. The new instrument greatly increased the pleasure of my hours of study and practice at home.

One day, a couple of weeks after my father visited us, a wagon pulled up to our cottage carrying a large box. I was about to tell the men on the wagon they had made a mistake. But my mother, acting as though she knew a secret, told them to bring the box inside. She had them unpack it, and soon a beautiful, brand-new upright piano emerged from the boards, paper, and other packing material. Then she told me it was a present from my father. I sat down at once and ran my fingers over the keys. The piano’s full, mellow tone was enchanting. I thought, almost remorsefully, about how I had left my father. But even then, I felt a moment of disappointment that the piano was not a grand. The new instrument greatly increased my pleasure during the hours I spent studying and practicing at home.

Shortly after this I was made a member of the boys' choir, it being found that I possessed a clear, strong soprano voice. I enjoyed the singing very much. About a year later I began the study of the pipe organ and the theory of music; and before I finished the grammar school, I had written out several simple preludes for organ which won the admiration of my teacher, and which he did me the honor to play at services.

Shortly after this, I joined the boys' choir because I had a clear, strong soprano voice. I enjoyed singing very much. About a year later, I began studying the pipe organ and music theory. Before I finished grammar school, I had written several simple preludes for the organ. My teacher admired them and honored me by playing them at services.

The older I grew, the more thought I gave to the question of my mother's and my position, and what was our exact relation to the world in general. My idea of the whole matter was rather hazy. My study of United States history had been confined to those periods which were designated in my book as "Discovery," "Colonial," "Revolutionary," and "Constitutional." I now began to study about the Civil War, but the story was told in such a condensed and skipping style that I gained from it very little real information. It is a marvel how children ever learn any history out of books of that sort. And, too, I began now to read the newspapers; I often saw articles which aroused my curiosity, but did not enlighten me. But one day I drew from the circulating library a book that cleared the whole mystery, a book that I read with the same feverish intensity with which I had read the old Bible stories, a book that gave me my first perspective of the life I was entering; that book was Uncle Tom's Cabin.

The older I grew, the more I thought about my mother's position and mine. I wondered exactly how we related to the world at large. My understanding of the whole matter was rather vague. My studies of United States history had been limited to periods labeled "Discovery," "Colonial," "Revolutionary," and "Constitutional" in my textbook. I now began to study the Civil War, but the account was so condensed and choppy that I learned very little. It is a wonder that children ever learn any history from books like that. I also began reading newspapers. I often saw articles that aroused my curiosity but did not enlighten me. But one day I borrowed a book from the circulating library that cleared up the whole mystery. I read it with the same feverish intensity I had brought to the old Bible stories. It gave me my first perspective on the life I was entering. That book was Uncle Tom's Cabin.

This work of Harriet Beecher Stowe has been the object of much unfavorable criticism. It has been assailed, not only as fiction of the most imaginative sort, but as being a direct misrepresentation. Several successful attempts have lately been made to displace the book from Northern school libraries. Its critics would brush it aside with the remark that there never was a Negro as good as Uncle Tom, nor a slave-holder as bad as Legree. For my part, I was never an admirer of Uncle Tom, nor of his type of goodness; but I believe that there were lots of old Negroes as foolishly good as he; the proof of which is that they knowingly stayed and worked the plantations that furnished sinews for the army which was fighting to keep them enslaved. But in these later years several cases have come to my personal knowledge in which old Negroes have died and left what was a considerable fortune to the descendants of their former masters. I do not think it takes any great stretch of the imagination to believe there was a fairly large class of slave-holders typified in Legree. And we must also remember that the author depicted a number of worthless if not vicious Negroes, and a slave-holder who was as much of a Christian and a gentleman as it was possible for one in his position to be; that she pictured the happy, singing, shuffling "darky" as well as the mother wailing for her child sold "down river."

This work by Harriet Beecher Stowe has received much unfavorable criticism. It has been attacked not only as wildly imaginative fiction, but also as a direct misrepresentation. Recently, several successful attempts have been made to remove the book from Northern school libraries. Its critics dismiss it by saying that no Negro was ever as good as Uncle Tom, and no slave-holder was ever as bad as Legree. For my part, I never admired Uncle Tom or his kind of goodness. But I believe many old Negroes were as foolishly good as he was. The proof is that they knowingly stayed and worked the plantations that supplied the army fighting to keep them enslaved. In recent years, I have also learned of several old Negroes who died leaving considerable fortunes to their former masters’ descendants. I do not think it takes much imagination to believe that a fairly large class of slave-holders was like Legree. We must also remember that Stowe portrayed a number of worthless, if not vicious, Negroes. She also portrayed a slave-holder who was as much a Christian and a gentleman as anyone in his position could be. She pictured the happy, singing, shuffling "darky" as well as the mother crying for her child sold "down river."

I do not think it is claiming too much to say that Uncle Tom's Cabin was a fair and truthful panorama of slavery; however that may be, it opened my eyes as to who and what I was and what my country considered me; in fact, it gave me my bearing. But there was no shock; I took the whole revelation in a kind of stoical way. One of the greatest benefits I derived from reading the book was that I could afterwards talk frankly with my mother on all the questions which had been vaguely troubling my mind. As a result, she was entirely freed from reserve, and often herself brought up the subject, talking of things directly touching her life and mine and of things which had come down to her through the "old folks." What she told me interested and even fascinated me, and, what may seem strange, kindled in me a strong desire to see the South. She spoke to me quite frankly about herself, my father, and myself: she, the sewing girl of my father's mother; he, an impetuous young man home from college; I, the child of this unsanctioned love. She told me even the principal reason for our coming north. My father was about to be married to a young lady of another great Southern family; She did not neglect to add that another reason for our being in Connecticut was that he intended to give me an education and make a man of me. In none of her talks did she ever utter one word of complaint against my father. She always endeavored to impress upon me how good he had been and still was, and that he was all to us that custom and the law would allow. She loved him; more, she worshiped him, and she died firmly believing that he loved her more than any other woman in the world. Perhaps she was right. Who knows?

I do not think it is saying too much to call Uncle Tom's Cabin a fair and truthful picture of slavery. Whatever the case, it opened my eyes to who and what I was and what my country considered me. In fact, it helped me understand where I stood. But I was not shocked. I took the whole revelation in a kind of stoical way. One of the greatest benefits of reading the book was that I could afterward talk openly with my mother. We discussed all the questions that had been vaguely troubling me. As a result, she no longer held back and often brought up the subject herself. She spoke about things that directly affected her life and mine, and things passed down to her by the "old folks." What she told me interested and even fascinated me. Strange as it may seem, it also gave me a strong desire to see the South. She spoke quite frankly about herself, my father, and me. She had been the sewing girl for my father's mother. He had been an impulsive young man home from college. I was the child of their unsanctioned love. She even told me the main reason we had come north. My father was about to marry a young woman from another great Southern family. She also made sure to tell me another reason we were in Connecticut. He intended to give me an education and make a man of me. In all our talks, she never said one word of complaint against my father. She always tried to impress on me how good he had been and still was. She said he was everything to us that custom and the law would allow. She loved him. More than that, she worshiped him. She died firmly believing that he loved her more than any other woman in the world. Perhaps she was right. Who knows?

All of these newly awakened ideas and thoughts took the form of a definite aspiration on the day I graduated from the grammar school. And what a day that was! The girls in white dresses, with fresh ribbons in their hair; the boys in new suits and creaky shoes; the great crowd of parents and friends; the flowers, the prizes and congratulations, made the day seem to me one of the greatest importance. I was on the program, and played a piano solo which was received by the audience with that amount of applause which I had come to look upon as being only the just due of my talent.

All these newly awakened ideas and thoughts became a clear ambition on the day I graduated from grammar school. And what a day it was! The girls wore white dresses and fresh ribbons in their hair. The boys wore new suits and creaky shoes. A great crowd of parents and friends had gathered. The flowers, prizes, and congratulations all made the day seem hugely important to me. I was on the program and played a piano solo. The audience gave me the amount of applause I had come to see as my talent’s rightful due.

But the real enthusiasm was aroused by "Shiny." He was the principal speaker of the day, and well did he measure up to the honor. He made a striking picture, that thin little black boy standing on the platform, dressed in clothes that did not fit him any too well, his eyes burning with excitement, his shrill, musical voice vibrating in tones of appealing defiance, and his black face alight with such great intelligence and earnestness as to be positively handsome. What were his thoughts when he stepped forward and looked into that crowd of faces, all white with the exception of a score or so that were lost to view? I do not know, but I fancy he felt his loneliness. I think there must have rushed over him a feeling akin to that of a gladiator tossed into the arena and bade to fight for his life. I think that solitary little black figure standing there felt that for the particular time and place he bore the weight and responsibility of his race; that for him to fail meant general defeat; but he won, and nobly. His oration was Wendell Phillips's "Toussaint L'Ouverture," a speech which may now be classed as rhetorical—even, perhaps, bombastic; but as the words fell from "Shiny's" lips their effect was magical. How so young an orator could stir so great enthusiasm was to be wondered at. When, in the famous peroration, his voice, trembling with suppressed emotion, rose higher and higher and then rested on the name "Toussaint L'Ouverture," it was like touching an electric button which loosed the pent-up feelings of his listeners. They actually rose to him.

But "Shiny" stirred the real excitement. He was the main speaker that day, and he proved himself worthy of the honor. He made a striking picture. The thin little black boy stood on the platform in clothes that did not fit him very well. His eyes burned with excitement, and his high, musical voice rang with a defiance that appealed to the audience. His black face shone with such intelligence and sincerity that he was positively handsome. What were his thoughts as he stepped forward and looked at the crowd? All the faces were white, except for about twenty that were lost from sight. I do not know what he thought, but I imagine he felt his loneliness. I think he must have felt something like a gladiator thrown into an arena and ordered to fight for his life. I think that solitary little black figure felt he bore the weight and responsibility of his race there and then. To him, failure meant defeat for all. But he won, and won nobly. He delivered Wendell Phillips's speech "Toussaint L'Ouverture." The speech might now be called overly rhetorical, perhaps even bombastic. But the words had a magical effect as "Shiny" spoke them. It was remarkable that such a young speaker could stir such excitement. In the famous closing passage, his voice trembled with suppressed emotion. It rose higher and higher, then came to rest on the name "Toussaint L'Ouverture." It was like pressing an electric button that released his listeners' pent-up feelings. They actually rose to their feet for him.

I have since known of colored men who have been chosen as class orators in our leading universities, of others who have played on the varsity football and baseball teams, of colored speakers who have addressed great white audiences. In each of these instances I believe the men were stirred by the same emotions which actuated "Shiny" on the day of his graduation; and, too, in each case where the efforts have reached any high standard of excellence they have been followed by the same phenomenon of enthusiasm. I think the explanation of the latter lies in what is a basic, though often dormant, principle of the Anglo-Saxon heart, love of fair play. "Shiny," it is true, was what is so common in his race, a natural orator; but I doubt that any white boy of equal talent could have wrought the same effect. The sight of that boy gallantly waging with puny, black arms so unequal a battle touched the deep springs in the hearts of his audience, and they were swept by a wave of sympathy and admiration.

Since then, I have known colored men chosen as class orators at our leading universities. Others have played on varsity football and baseball teams, and colored speakers have addressed large white audiences. In each case, I believe these men felt the same emotions that moved "Shiny" on his graduation day. And whenever their efforts reached a high standard of excellence, the same outpouring of enthusiasm followed. I think that enthusiasm comes from a basic, though often dormant, principle of the Anglo-Saxon heart: love of fair play. "Shiny" was, as is so common in his race, a natural orator. But I doubt that any white boy of equal talent could have had the same effect. The sight of that boy bravely fighting such an unequal battle with his puny, black arms deeply touched his audience. They were swept up in a wave of sympathy and admiration.

But the effect upon me of "Shiny's" speech was double; I not only shared the enthusiasm of his audience, but he imparted to me some of his own enthusiasm. I felt leap within me pride that I was colored; and I began to form wild dreams of bringing glory and honor to the Negro race. For days I could talk of nothing else with my mother except my ambitions to be a great man, a great colored man, to reflect credit on the race and gain fame for myself. It was not until years after that I formulated a definite and feasible plan for realizing my dreams.

But "Shiny's" speech affected me in two ways. I shared the audience's enthusiasm, and he also passed some of his own enthusiasm on to me. I felt pride leap within me because I was colored. I began to dream wildly of bringing glory and honor to the Negro race. For days, I talked with my mother about nothing but my ambitions. I wanted to be a great man, a great colored man, to bring credit to the race and gain fame for myself. It was not until years later that I made a clear, workable plan to achieve my dreams.

I entered the high school with my class, and still continued my study of the piano, the pipe organ, and the theory of music. I had to drop out of the boys' choir on account of a changing voice; this I regretted very much. As I grew older, my love for reading grew stronger. I read with studious interest everything I could find relating to colored men who had gained prominence. My heroes had been King David, then Robert the Bruce; now Frederick Douglass was enshrined in the place of honor. When I learned that Alexandre Dumas was a colored man, I re-read Monte Cristo and The Three Guardsmen with magnified pleasure. I lived between my music and books, on the whole a rather unwholesome life for a boy to lead. I dwelt in a world of imagination, of dreams and air castles—the kind of atmosphere that sometimes nourishes a genius, more often men unfitted for the practical struggles of life. I never played a game of ball, never went fishing or learned to swim; in fact, the only outdoor exercise in which I took any interest was skating. Nevertheless, though slender, I grew well formed and in perfect health. After I entered the high school, I began to notice the change in my mother's health, which I suppose had been going on for some years. She began to complain a little and to cough a great deal; she tried several remedies, and finally went to see a doctor; but though she was failing in health, she kept her spirits up. She still did a great deal of sewing, and in the busy seasons hired two women to help her. The purpose she had formed of having me go through college without financial worries kept her at work when she was not fit for it. I was so fortunate as to be able to organize a class of eight or ten beginners on the piano, and so start a separate little fund of my own. As the time for my graduation from the high school grew nearer, the plans for my college career became the chief subject of our talks. I sent for catalogues of all the prominent schools in the East and eagerly gathered all the information I could concerning them from different sources. My mother told me that my father wanted me to go to Harvard or Yale; she herself had a half desire for me to go to Atlanta University, and even had me write for a catalogue of that school. There were two reasons, however, that inclined her to my father's choice; the first, that at Harvard or Yale I should be near her; the second, that my father had promised to pay for a part of my college education.

I entered high school with my class and continued studying piano, pipe organ, and music theory. I had to leave the boys' choir because my voice was changing, and I regretted that very much. As I grew older, my love of reading grew stronger. I studied everything I could find about colored men who had become prominent. My heroes had been King David, then Robert the Bruce. Now Frederick Douglass held the place of honor. When I learned that Alexandre Dumas was a colored man, I reread Monte Cristo and The Three Guardsmen with even greater pleasure. I spent my life between music and books, which was, on the whole, rather unhealthy for a boy. I lived in a world of imagination, dreams, and castles in the air. Such a world sometimes nurtures a genius, but more often produces men unfit for the practical struggles of life. I never played ball, went fishing, or learned to swim. In fact, skating was the only outdoor exercise that interested me. Nevertheless, though slender, I grew up well formed and in perfect health. After I entered high school, I began to notice a change in my mother's health. I suppose her health had been declining for some years. She began to complain a little and to cough a great deal. She tried several remedies and finally went to see a doctor. But though her health was failing, she kept her spirits up. She still did a great deal of sewing and hired two women to help her during busy seasons. She was determined to send me through college without financial worries. That purpose kept her working when she was not well enough to do so. I was fortunate enough to organize a class of eight or ten beginning piano students. This allowed me to start a small fund of my own. As my high school graduation drew nearer, our talks centered on plans for my college education. I sent for catalogs from all the prominent schools in the East. I eagerly gathered all the information I could about them from different sources. My mother told me that my father wanted me to go to Harvard or Yale. She herself was somewhat drawn to Atlanta University and even had me write for a catalog. But two reasons inclined her toward my father's choice. At Harvard or Yale, I would be near her. Also, my father had promised to pay for part of my college education.

Both "Shiny" and "Red" came to my house quite often of evenings, and we used to talk over our plans and prospects for the future. Sometimes I would play for them, and they seemed to enjoy the music very much. My mother often prepared sundry Southern dishes for them, which I am not sure but that they enjoyed more. "Shiny" had an uncle in Amherst, Mass., and he expected to live with him and work his way through Amherst College. "Red" declared that he had enough of school and that after he got his high school diploma, he would get a position in a bank. It was his ambition to become a banker and he felt sure of getting the opportunity through certain members of his family.

Both "Shiny" and "Red" often came to my house in the evenings. We would talk about our plans and prospects for the future. Sometimes I played for them, and they seemed to enjoy the music very much. My mother often made various Southern dishes for them. I think they may have enjoyed those even more. "Shiny" had an uncle in Amherst, Mass. He expected to live with his uncle and work his way through Amherst College. "Red" declared that he had had enough of school. After getting his high school diploma, he planned to get a job at a bank. He wanted to become a banker and felt sure certain family members would help him get the opportunity.

My mother barely had strength to attend the closing exercises of the high school when I graduated, and after that day she was seldom out of bed. She could no longer direct her work, and under the expense of medicines, doctors, and someone to look after her our college fund began to diminish rapidly. Many of her customers and some of the neighbors were very kind, and frequently brought her nourishment of one kind or another. My mother realized what I did not, that she was mortally ill, and she had me write a long letter to my father. For some time past she had heard from him only at irregular intervals; we never received an answer. In those last days I often sat at her bedside and read to her until she fell asleep. Sometimes I would leave the parlor door open and play on the piano, just loud enough for the music to reach her. This she always enjoyed.

My mother barely had the strength to attend my high school graduation, and after that day she rarely got out of bed. She could no longer manage her work. The cost of medicine, doctors, and someone to care for her quickly reduced our college fund. Many of her customers and some neighbors were very kind and often brought her food and other nourishment. My mother knew what I did not: she was dying. She asked me to write a long letter to my father. For some time, she had heard from him only occasionally. We never received an answer. In those last days, I often sat by her bed and read to her until she fell asleep. Sometimes I left the parlor door open and played the piano, just loud enough for her to hear. She always enjoyed the music.

One night, near the end of July, after I had been watching beside her for some hours, I went into the parlor and, throwing myself into the big arm chair, dozed off into a fitful sleep. I was suddenly aroused by one of the neighbors, who had come in to sit with her that night. She said: "Come to your mother at once." I hurried upstairs, and at the bedroom door met the woman who was acting as nurse. I noted with a dissolving heart the strange look of awe on her face. From my first glance at my mother I discerned the light of death upon her countenance. I fell upon my knees beside the bed and, burying my face in the sheets, sobbed convulsively. She died with the fingers of her left hand entwined in my hair.

One night near the end of July, I had been sitting beside her for several hours. I went into the parlor, threw myself into the big armchair, and fell into a fitful sleep. One of the neighbors suddenly woke me. She had come to sit with my mother that night. She said: "Come to your mother at once." I hurried upstairs and met the woman acting as nurse at the bedroom door. My heart sank when I saw the strange look of awe on her face. The moment I looked at my mother, I saw the light of death on her face. I fell to my knees beside the bed, buried my face in the sheets, and sobbed uncontrollably. She died with the fingers of her left hand entwined in my hair.

I will not rake over this, one of the two sacred sorrows of my life; nor could I describe the feeling of unutterable loneliness that fell upon me. After the funeral I went to the house of my music teacher; he had kindly offered me the hospitality of his home for so long as I might need it. A few days later I moved my trunk, piano, my music, and most of my books to his home; the rest of my books I divided between "Shiny" and "Red." Some of the household effects I gave to "Shiny's" mother and to two or three of the neighbors who had been kind to us during my mother's illness; the others I sold. After settling up my little estate I found that, besides a good supply of clothes, a piano, some books and trinkets, I had about two hundred dollars in cash.

I will not dwell on this, one of the two sacred sorrows of my life. Nor could I describe the unspeakable loneliness that came over me. After the funeral, I went to my music teacher's house. He had kindly offered to let me stay with him for as long as I needed. A few days later, I moved my trunk, piano, music, and most of my books to his house. I divided the rest of my books between "Shiny" and "Red." I gave some household belongings to "Shiny's" mother and to two or three neighbors. They had been kind to us during my mother's illness. I sold the rest. After settling my small estate, I found I had about two hundred dollars in cash. I also had plenty of clothes, a piano, some books, and trinkets.

The question of what I was to do now confronted me. My teacher suggested a concert tour; but both of us realized that I was too old to be exploited as an infant prodigy and too young and inexperienced to go before the public as a finished artist. He, however, insisted that the people of the town would generously patronize a benefit concert; so he took up the matter and made arrangements for such an entertainment. A more than sufficient number of people with musical and elocutionary talent volunteered their services to make a program. Among these was my brown-eyed violinist. But our relations were not the same as they were when we had played our first duet together. A year or so after that time she had dealt me a crushing blow by getting married. I was partially avenged, however, by the fact that, though she was growing more beautiful, she was losing her ability to play the violin.

I now had to decide what to do. My teacher suggested a concert tour. But we both knew I was too old to be promoted as a child prodigy. I was also too young and inexperienced to perform in public as a fully trained artist. Still, he insisted that the townspeople would generously support a benefit concert. So he took charge and arranged one. More than enough talented musicians and speakers volunteered to put together a program. Among them was my brown-eyed violinist. But our relationship was no longer what it had been when we played our first duet together. A year or so after that duet, she had dealt me a crushing blow by getting married. I had some revenge, though. She was growing more beautiful, but she was losing her ability to play the violin.

I was down on the program for one number. My selection might have appeared at that particular time as a bit of affectation, but I considered it deeply appropriate; I played Beethoven's "Sonata Pathétique." When I sat down at the piano and glanced into the faces of the several hundreds of people who were there solely on account of love or sympathy for me, emotions swelled in my heart which enabled me to play the "Pathétique" as I could never again play it. When the last tone died away, the few who began to applaud were hushed by the silence of the others; and for once I played without receiving an encore.

I was scheduled to perform one piece. My choice might have seemed a little pretentious at the time, but I thought it was deeply appropriate. I played Beethoven's "Sonata Pathétique." When I sat down at the piano, I glanced at the faces of the several hundred people there. They had come solely out of love or sympathy for me. My heart swelled with emotion, and I played the "Pathétique" as I would never be able to play it again. When the last note faded, a few people began to applaud, but the silence of the others hushed them. And for once, I played without receiving an encore.

The benefit yielded me a little more than two hundred dollars, thus raising my cash capital to about four hundred dollars. I still held to my determination of going to college; so it was now a question of trying to squeeze through a year at Harvard or going to Atlanta, where the money I had would pay my actual expenses for at least two years. The peculiar fascination which the South held over my imagination and my limited capital decided me in favor of Atlanta University; so about the last of September I bade farewell to the friends and scenes of my boyhood and boarded a train for the South.

The benefit raised a little more than two hundred dollars for me, bringing my savings to about four hundred dollars. I was still determined to go to college. So I had to choose between trying to scrape by for a year at Harvard and going to Atlanta. In Atlanta, my money would cover my actual expenses for at least two years. The South held a peculiar fascination for me, and my limited funds helped me decide on Atlanta University. So, near the end of September, I said goodbye to the friends and familiar places of my boyhood. Then I boarded a train for the South.