| The Lamplighter:
Chapter 17 Wade
In de Water 1892 - New York City Mrs. Jeanette Thurber
-- founder of the National Conservatory and a fanatic patron of the arts -- first
contacted Antonin Dvorak in early spring of 1891. Mrs. Thurber was both bold and
savvy. She vigorously pursued Dr. Dvorak with the hope that through him her lifelong
dream, to build the Conservatory into a strong artistic institution rivaling the
great European schools, would be fulfilled. Dvorak declined Mrs. Thurber's earlier
attempts to persuade him to become Director. He was content in his position as
Professor of Composition at the Prague Conservatory, where he was recognized as
a prolific and honored composer. Headstrong Jeannette Thurber, however, refused
to take no for an answer. Her husband, Francis Thurber, was owner of a
wholesale grocery business with retail outlets throughout the state of New York
and beyond. He was one of the first businessmen in America to sell shares of a
corporation to employees, giving them part-ownership of the enterprise. Through
wise business practices he had risen from humble beginnings to become one of the
wealthiest millionaires in the United States. Through his wife, he also had become
an ardent supporter of the arts. As a result of the Thurber's persuasion, Carnegie,
Belmont, and others had given hundreds of thousands of dollars to support the
Conservatory. Through what she called "the personal touch" Jeanette also
was able to convince her husband to contribute funds to bring the Bohemian master
to America. She finally approached Dr. Dvorak with the handsome offer of $15,000
a year to teach, perform and compose in America. At long last he gave in, agreeing
to become Director of her National Conservatory. But it was not only the money
that persuaded him. He had heard the Fisk Jubilee Singers as they traveled in
Europe and was intrigued by the rich melodies of the spirituals. Many persons
in Europe viewed Americans as uncultured, greedy and materialistic, but Dvorak's
impression was that this was not entirely true. He wanted to observe first-hand
the social and political culture of the United States. Antonin Dvorak strongly
believed that the source of a truly American musical style would be found in African-American
and Native-American themes. By the time Harry T. Burleigh arrived in New
York he had internalized an appreciation of his own Negro folk music heritage
and his training in European-American art music. The combination served the young
singer well at the conservatory. Jeanette Thurber also recognized the genius of
America's black musicians, and established the scholarship that Burleigh won in
order to attract the greatest musical minds in the African-American community
to the Conservation. Burleigh had already been in school for a semester when Dvorak
arrived in the United States. One night Burleigh was busy mopping the floors
and singing while he worked. Dvorak overheard him in the hall -- a coincidence
that changed the course of American musical history. As snow fell on the
streets of New York City, students tracked mud onto the floors of the old building
that housed the National Conservatory of Music. Harry peaked his head into Mrs.
MacDowell's office for instructions. "Harry, we will need to have these floors
mopped this evening. The slush from the street is making a terrible mess," she
instructed, looking up from the opened file she held in her hand. "Dear, have
you finished copying those papers I gave you earlier?" "Yes, Mrs. MacDowell,
I put them right there on your desk." "Oh, my goodness, my desk is a dangerous
place." She sifted through the mountain of papers in front of her. "I have so
many things on my desk that I don't know whether the legs can support it. Ah,
here they are! Thank you, Harry." "You're welcome, Mrs. MacDowell." Burleigh
smiled at the sweet old woman. "If it's all right, I'll be getting to those floors."
"Yes, of course, dear." He turned to walk out of the office. "Harry," she
called. He turned back to her. "Please be sure the walks are shoveled. I nearly
broke my neck slipping on the ice in front of my home this morning." "I'll
throw some salt on them. That should take care of the ice." "Thank you,
my dear. Goodnight." "Goodnight, Mrs. MacDowell." Harry went right
to work on the sidewalk in front of the school. He shoveled the steps and sidewalk
and threw salt out to melt the ice. Coming back in from the cold he hung his coat
in the janitor's closet, turned on the faucet and began filling a metal mop bucket
with hot soapy water. As he waited he whistled one of his grandfather's favorite
songs, Wade in the Water. He pulled the bucket out of the tub, grabbed a mop and
wheeled it down the long, dark hallway. Burleigh loved the echo caused by the
hardwood floors and the plaster ceiling. When he was alone in the building he
liked to whistle and sing as he mopped the floors: Wade in the water, wade
in the water, children Wade in the water, God's gonna trouble de water.
He continued singing as he worked his way down the hall. He often sang
up-tempo songs while keeping rhythm with the mop. I looked over Jordan,
and what did I see? A band of angels coming after me. They're gonna
take me to the heavenly place, Where the streets are paved with gold and
they got pearly gates. Wade in the water. Wade in the water, children,
Wade in the water, God's gonna trouble de water. "What is this sound?"
Startled, Burleigh jumped and spun around as a voice bellowed from down the hall.
Out of his office bounded Dr. Dvorak, the Master himself. He slipped on the freshly
mopped floor as he rounded the corner. Regaining his balance he looked up at the
startled student. "Who was just singing? What is this sound?" he asked again in
his thick eastern European accent. Burleigh swallowed hard, "It was me,
sir. I'm sorry if I disturbed you. I didn't realize anyone was still in the building.
I will stop immediately." "Stop? No, no, no," the Director exclaimed, carefully
approaching him on the soapy floor. "You must sing. You must sing for me those
melodies." For a moment, try as he might, no sound would come from the
young student's mouth. "Right here -- now?" he asked, finally. "Yes, yes,
finish the song," Dvorak insisted, placing his hands in the pockets of his green
satin vest. Burleigh placed the mop against the wall, turned back to the
master, took a deep breath and continued the song: Wade in de water, wade
in de water children, Wade in de water, God's gonna trouble the water.
Some say I've never been redeemed, Just follow me down to Jordan
stream. I tell you how the Lord has set myself free, When I get
to heaven, how happy I'll be." Dvorak stood stroking his wiry gray beard.
Wade in de water, wade in de water children, Wade in de water, God's
gonna trouble de water. The older man clapped his hands together and beamed
with joy. "This is wonderful. What is your name, my young friend?" "Harry
T. Burleigh," he replied. "Are you a student at the Conservatory?" "Yes,
sir." Dvorak struggled with the name, "Well Mr. 'Barley,' you will come
home with me tonight." he ordered. "I want you to sing these melodies to my family."
Burleigh donned an uncomfortable smile. This was a most unusual situation
and he wasn't quite sure what to say. "I would be glad to come to your home, Dr.
Dvorak, but I must finish mopping these halls." "Cannot the halls be mopped
later in the evening?" the Director asked. Burleigh rubbed the back of
his neck, smiled and said, "I suppose they can, sir." "Then you will put
your mop away and you will come with me to my home across the park." Burleigh
had no further argument. He stored the mop and bucket away, grabbed his coat from
the janitor's closet and followed Dvorak out the door. They walked down 17th Street
and past Stuyvesant Square through the wet, freshly fallen snow, finally climbing
the stairs leading to the Dvorak townhouse. Dvorak's father had been a
butcher and innkeeper in Bohemia. The young lad taught himself to play the violin
and was somewhat of an untrained prodigy. He often entertained guests at his father's
inn, playing the violin. The father had misgivings about the boy's love for music
and at eleven years enlisted young Antonin as an apprentice butcher. The son,
however, was interested only in music, and would spend all available spare time
learning to play the organ, viola, and piano. He was also interested in learning
as much as he could about basic composition. In 1857, Dvorak's father finally
allowed him to enroll in the Prague Organ School. After classes Antonin attended
as many concerts as possible, playing along with the orchestra in his head. Upon
graduation, he began earning a living as principal violinist in Prague's new Provisional
Theatre Orchestra. He also taught to supplement his income. In 1871 he gave up
the orchestra in order to compose. The great musician Johannes Brahms was the
first person to recognize Dvorak's great gift for composition. Brahms recommended
the young Bohemian to his publisher in Berlin who, in turn, issued his Moravian
Songs for two voices and piano in 1877. Their reception was overwhelming, and
the publisher quickly called for dances for piano duet similar to Brahms' Hungarian
Dances. The product, Slavonic Dances, were so popular that Dvorak was soon able
to devote the majority of his time to composition and teaching. His reputation
quickly spread throughout Europe and to the United States. Dvorak's purpose in
coming to America was, in part, to study the haunting and beautiful melodies of
African-Americans and the American Indians. He firmly believed that artistic music
should find grounding in folk expression. In Bohemia he had written operas about
peasant life and had composed patriotic and folk songs as well as instrumental
pieces patterned after popular folk songs and dances. He also used folk legend
and popular myth as basis for several concert works. After accepting Jeanette
Thurber's invitation Dvorak sailed across the Atlantic on the S.S. Saale, arriving
in New York with his wife and two of his children on September 27, 1892. He quickly
fell in love with the United States. Earlier, Dvorak developed a fascination with
trains during his years in Prague. The port of New York with its numerous docks
provided him with a new fascination -- steamships. After some time in this country
he likened America to a steamship or a train. "This country has the means to transmit
its culture throughout the world," the composer recognized quickly. Dvorak saw
that in the future, American values and culture would be spread across the globe.
He saw this as a good thing. The great Bohemian musician was intrigued
by the way that many Americans worked to narrow the gap between social and economic
classes. Once while visiting Boston he had been most impressed by a theater that
presented operas and symphonies at inexpensive prices, giving the common man the
opportunity to attend. Part of the reason he decided to direct the Conservatory
was that he wanted to interact with the many black students who studied there.
Arriving at the Dvorak home, the men barely made it through the door when
they were surrounded by the voices of scores of birds. Kicking the snow off of
his shoes Dvorak laughed at the noise. "It is like a tropical paradise with this
sound, yes?" Burleigh nodded in agreement as he removed his coat. Thrushes
filled the house with melodious song. It was as though the master could not live
without the sound of music. Scattered throughout the townhouse were intricately
decorated birdcages of every sort. In the corner of the living room was one large
golden cage that must have housed twenty or more small singing birds. The legs
of the cage looked like vines with gold-covered leaves. The cage itself stood
nearly six feet in the air with perches and feeders mounted from top to bottom.
"You are finally home," Anna Dvorak rushed out from the dining room and
grabbed their coats. "We have kept the food warm for you." She looked at the young
man and then turned and spoke to her husband in their native tongue. "We have
no need for further servants, Antonin. Who is this Negro?" The Master answered
her in English. "He is a student at the conservatory and he is here to sing for
us. Come young man, welcome to our home." He put his arm around Burleigh and led
him through the living room into the dining room where the table was set for dinner.
Anna called up the stairs to the children. "Otylia, Antonin, please join
us." Otylia was a beautiful fourteen-year-old with dark hair and deep steel blue
eyes. She wore a white cotton dress with a blue bow. Antonin was nearly ten years
old and full of spice. The Dvorak's had lost their three oldest children while
they were very young. They could not face the idea of the entire family perishing
together if the ship were to sink during their trans-Atlantic voyage. They decided,
therefore, to take the eldest girl, Otylia, and the eldest boy, Antonin, and leave
the other children with relatives in Prague. As Anna was being seated the
two children rushed into the room. "Papa!" they cried simultaneously, and threw
themselves at their father. Dvorak laughed loudly at their greeting. "My
children!" He gathered one in each arm like a bear drawing in its prey. The faces
of the children nearly disappeared within the great outcrop of whiskers as their
father kissed them. He pulled them away from himself, twisting them around. "Otylia,
Tony, I want you to meet one of our students. This is, ah, ah," he fumbled for
the name. "Harry T. Burleigh," the young man responded, reaching out his
hand to the girl. She extended her hand slowly to the young black man, half-intrigued
and half-frightened. She had not seen a colored person before coming to America.
And since their arrival, her mother had wanted to protect her from what she considered
the riffraff of the New World. The family had a couple of Negro women who cooked
and cleaned in the townhouse, but this was a handsome man. She smiled and bowed
her head as he grasped her hand. Young Tony merely waved and ran to his seat.
The two servants entered carrying silver serving dishes. The tableware
was meticulously arranged on a silk cloth; fine china and silverware placed neatly
at each seat. The meal consisted of soup with liver dumplings, sauerkraut, pork
chops and roasted geese. Wine was poured out for Mrs. Dvorak, pilsner ale for
the master and Burleigh. "Ah," sighed Dvorak after wiping the remnants
of roast geese from his thick whiskers. Suddenly he issued a tremendous belch,
bringing roars of laughter from the children and a disapproving scowl from Mrs.
Dvorak. Burleigh muffled a laugh with his cotton napkin. "And now for music."
The master pushed himself away from the table and announced, "Tonight our guest
shall sing for us the interesting melody he was singing to his mop earlier this
evening." Burleigh blushed as he and the family rose from the table and
strode into the living room. Dvorak lit a thick cigar, blowing a plume of blue
smoke into the air. He unbuttoned the bottom three buttons of his vest and sat
majestically in the corner chair. Annie and Tony sat on the green velvet couch
that matched the master's vest. Otylia took the chair next to the large birdcage,
while Burleigh assumed a concert position in the center of the room next to the
grand piano. In the other room the servants quietly removed items from the table.
"Sing for us one of these songs of your people," commanded Dvorak. This
was a nightly ritual for this musical family. Dvorak brought students and professors
to the home to play and sing for the family. At times one of the master's children
would play a work that they had perfected. "What will you sing for us tonight?"
"How about a song called 'Weepin' Mary'?" "Yes, yes, I am familiar
with it," Dvorak said in his broken English. "Sing us this, please." The
young man smiled, nodded to his teacher and then grew somber. He looked down for
a moment and then raised his head, looking out as though he was viewing a scene
unfolding before him. On his face was a sorrowful expression, reflecting a witness
of endless cruelty with little hope of freedom. Gently parting his lips, he began
singing to the family as if imploring their help. If there's anybody here
like weepin' Mary, Call upon your Jesus, and He'll draw nigh. If
there's anybody here like weepin' Mary, Call upon your Jesus, and He'll
draw nigh. His baritone voice was rich and clear. It flowed like golden
honey. The master sat with his eyes closed, a look of pleasure on his face. Tony
slid over next to his mother and rested his head on her shoulder. Otylia's eyes
sparkled as she watched the handsome young singer perform. Mrs. Dvorak's demeanor
relaxed, though she continued to sit erect and proper. As she listened to the
vibrant voice and watched the sincere manner with which he presented the song,
she became more comfortable with the young stranger. As Burleigh finished
the second verse the sound of his voice grew in intensity with the beginning of
the chorus. He finished the song with a crescendo. Oh-oh glory. Glory hallelujah.
Glory be to my God who rules on high. With the dramatic conclusion
the family broke into applause. Both the master and Otylia rose to their feet.
"Ah, that is wonderful," Dvorak exclaimed. "Wasn't that wonderful, Annie?" She
nodded slowly, closing her eyes, a slight smile on her face. "This music
-- this is the music of American soil. It is why I have come to this country,
for this glorious sound!" "Where did you learn this melody?" asked Otylia.
"Originally I learned it from my grandfather. He was a slave in Maryland
before he moved to our hometown in Pennsylvania." Dvorak bent over to tap
the ash off of his cigar. "And this song, did he learn it on the...the..." He
struggled again for the word, twirling the stogy in the air. "How do you say it?
… the plantation, yes, that is it." "He most likely learned it from his
mother." Just as curious as her father, Otylia broke into the conversation.
"Was it she who wrote this song?" Burleigh chuckled, "Not that I know of.
No one really knows who originally wrote the plantation songs. It's most likely
that they just grew out of work melodies or from religious gatherings." Cigar
smoke circled the master as he exhaled. His eyes glistened with intrigue. "It
is 'Barley,' yes?" "Uh, Burleigh, sir." "Yes, yes," he paused and
spoke more slowly, "Bur -- leigh. Will you sing another for us?" Burleigh
happily sang several more plantation melodies for the family, each one ending
with appreciative applause. The kitchen help stayed to listen through the door
long after the dishes were cleaned. As the hour grew late young Tony drifted off
to sleep, his head resting in his mother's lap. Mrs. Dvorak finally woke him and
led him and a reluctant Otylia up to bed. As they ascended the staircase
Burleigh prepared to return to his chores at the conservatory. As he pulled on
his coat Dvorak walked him to the door. "My wife did not want us to come
to the United States," he confided to his student. "We were quite comfortable
in Prague. But there was something that drew me to this land." They stood alone
together in the small vestibule. "In Prague I was fortunate enough to hear your
Singers of the Jubilee." "The Fisk Jubilee Singers?" Burleigh hesitantly
corrected the genius. "Yes, yes, of course. They sang many of the melodies
you have sung for my family tonight." The great Czech placed his large, tobacco-stained
hand on the young man's shoulder, looking intently into his eyes. "These songs
of the slave, these melodies have haunted me from that time until today." Burleigh
was overwhelmed at Dvorak's transparency. He felt both awe and joy at the thought
that the master was confiding in him. "These songs brought me here, Barley."
The young musician didn't correct him this time. "You say that you know many of
these songs?" "Yes, my grandfather taught me dozens of them." "Then
you must teach them to me." Burleigh was stunned. He stood speechless.
"Yes, and tell me of your grandfather, too. Tell me of the plantations.
I want to know these songs." Burleigh was more than happy to sing for Dvorak.
He tried to make himself available in any way that he could to the maestro. Harry
wasn't advanced enough to be in any of Dvorak's classes. He was glad just to have
been admitted to the conservatory. His main ambition at that time in his life
was to become a concert singer. He was also a member of the Conservatory Orchestra
playing double bass and timpani. He later served as librarian for the orchestra.
One day during rehearsal Dvorak's young son, Antonin, had wandered into
the hall. Since Burleigh spent so much time at the Dvorak house, he had become
friends with the boy. The young lad made a beeline for Harry's kettle-shaped drums.
The Master was a total perfectionist, and was very hard on his musicians. He almost
took Burleigh's head off when he heard the extra drumbeats. "Stop, stop,
stop. What in the sweet name of God are you playing, Burleigh?" The young musician
blushed, and sat speechless. Suddenly, Tony popped up from behind the large drums.
"Oh it is you." He reprimanded the youngster in Czech and then, switching to English,
growled from the podium, "Push him out!" Burleigh obeyed immediately, showing
the younger Antonin to the door. Dvorak took a keen interest in the young
singer. There was an instant connection between them. Years later Ambassador James
Weldon Johnson wrote about their relationship: He not only studied with
Dvorak, but spent a good deal of time with him at his home. Dvorak often listened
hours at a time while Burleigh played the spirituals he had learned during his
youth. Although he never really was a pupil of the master, he knew him better
and perhaps saw more of him than any of his regularly enrolled students. Mr.
Dvorak was fascinated by the spirituals and had Burleigh sing them for him over
and over again, particularly after supper, when he was tired. The melodies and
rhythms were radically different from anything he had heard in Europe. They made
a deep impression on him and he became intimately familiar with them. Burleigh's
training as a stenographer helped him in his relationship with Dvorak. When the
master realized Burleigh's skill, he entrusted to him the task of copying his
manuscripts. But Dvorak was interested mostly in Burleigh's knowledge of the spirituals.
April, 1893 - New York City "'Barley,' come we must go now,"
Dr. Dvorak shouted from his office. The young singer stood in the next room chatting
with Mrs. MacDowell about office duties she had assigned to him. "I have two hours
before my next class. Let us walk together. Bring your notebook." Any time
with the master was precious. So with an apology to Frances MacDowell, Burleigh
grabbed his music notebook and pencils and was off to catch up with the master
who already was outside. Dvorak walked at a brisk pace, and Burleigh almost had
to jog to keep up with his long strides. It was a glorious April day in New York.
Stuyvesant Square was nestled halfway between the Conservatory and Dvorak's townhouse
on 17th Street. An ornate rod iron fence surrounded the neatly manicured park,
located directly across from the tall spires of St. George's Episcopal Church.
Dvorak loved to sit on the iron park bench and watch the birds bathe in the fountain.
Burleigh sat down next to him, laying his notebook on the bench. "It is
so lovely here, so peaceful! It is one place in New York that reminds me of my
home." Burleigh smiled, thinking of the Russell estate and Park Presbyterian
Church situated on the square in Erie. "It is like my home, too," he replied.
"In fact, I come here from time-to-time to remember." Water from the fountain
sparkled in the sunlight, creating a small rainbow. Busy New Yorkers walked quietly
through the park. Some sat on benches, reading their newspapers or talking. A
small family played with a ball on a grassy spot. "The songs of the Negro,
these are songs of the earth." Dvorak paused, taking a long puff on his cigar.
"I am convinced that these are the American folk songs. Yes, truly the American
music." The younger man was caught off guard. This was a radical idea.
No American composer would think of Negro plantation songs as the basis for a
distinctly American music. It took a foreigner to propose such an idea. Dvorak
interrupted his thought, "Your Mrs. Thurber has it right. She is an insistent
woman." Both men laughed at the comment. Jeanette Thurber's full energies had
been devoted to seeing that the conservatory was a success. She had grown tired
of watching America's brightest musical talent sail off to Europe for their training.
She had launched the New York Conservatory to encourage young musicians to remain
in the United States to build a truly American music. "This is why you
must sing these songs to me, 'Barley.' I want to swim in their melodies." The
master stretched his long legs, leaning back on the bench, his face turned toward
the sky. "It is a splendid day. Sing a happy song for me … a song of hope." Burleigh
was not intimidated by the public setting. He was in the presence of one of the
greatest musical minds of the age. Dvorak had been a student of none other than
Brahms. If he wanted him to sing standing on his head, he would do it. The young
vocalist stood next to the bench and began. Joshua fit the Battle of Jericho,
Jericho, Jericho. Joshua fit the battle of Jericho and the walls came tumbling
down. Joshua fit the battle of Jericho, Jericho, Jericho. Joshua
fit the battle of Jericho and the walls came tumbling down. A small crowd
began gathering around the two men. Anything out of the ordinary drew a crowd
in New York, and here was a black man singing a slave song to a world-famous composer.
The onlookers were intrigued. You may talk about your man of Gideon, You
may talk about your man of Saul, There's none like good ole Joshua at the
battle of Jericho. The master was oblivious to the spectators. Dressed
in his usual attire -- gray woolen pants, white silk shirt, black felt homburg,
flamboyant necktie and equally raffish emerald green vest -- his eyes closed tightly,
guarding his mind from distraction. He saw the music in his head, the notes dancing
off Burleigh's tongue, through the master's ears to his brain. Up to the
walls, oh, Jericho, he marched with spear in hand. Go blow them ram horns,
Joshua cried, cause the battle am in my hand. Then the lamb ram sheep horns
begin to blow, trumpets begin to sound. Joshua commanded the children to
shout, And the walls came tumbling down, that morning. The family
stopped playing ball and walked to the edge of the grass. The gathering crowd
spooked the small flock of birds. They flew to the far side of the fountain to
continue their bath. Dvorak took another puff of his cigar. Joshua fit
de battle of Jericho, Jericho, Jericho. Joshua fit de battle of Jericho
and the walls came tumblin down. The bystanders began to clap, thinking
him a street minstrel. Burleigh smiled and nodded his thanks. Dvorak ignored the
applause. "Very good, 'Barley.' Good tone, good control. Now, sit, sit here."
The crowd trickled away, out of the park and down the side streets of Manhattan.
During these times Dvorak asked Burleigh hundreds of questions about slavery,
plantations, the Civil War and about his grandfather. "I have heard of the terrible
slavery that your people were under, and of the great war fought to free them.
Was your grandfather freed after this war?" "No, he gained his freedom
many years before the Civil War." "Tell me of your grandfather. You say
he taught these songs to you?" "Yes, many of them, when I was a boy. While
still a slave my grandfather tried to escape several times. He was always caught
and beaten. One time he tried to teach himself to read, hoping that by reading
he could find his way to freedom. When they caught him with a speller, the master
of the plantation decided to make an example of him." The word master made
Dvorak uncomfortable. He was used to being referred to in these terms, and did
not like the implication of a master who owned other people. He adjusted his body
on the bench. "My grandfather was given seventy lashes with a leather whip
to drive home the rules about learning to read. The whip must have hit his eyes
because he was partially blinded for the rest of his life." The Czech shook
his head in disgust. "It is disgraceful, Harry, man owning another man. If there
is one truth that is absolute, it is that God has created man to be free." He
pondered the thought for a while, staring at the birds that had returned to their
side of the fountain. "How was it that he became free?" "Even before the
beating he had held onto the hope of freedom one way or another. In the late afternoon
slaves were free to go into town to work for local merchants. They would make
money to purchase things they wanted or needed, like new clothes or toys for their
children. It was common for a Master to allow a non-productive slave to purchase
his freedom. My grandfather was able to obtain his freedom this way. He moved
north and worked to raise a family. The older he got the worse his eyes became.
He used to light the gas lamps in Erie, and when he became almost completely blind
my brother and I took turns guiding him on his route. During these times he taught
us the plantation songs." "You are a rich man, Harry T. 'Barley.'" Burleigh
drank the comment in, savoring it for the moment. He thought of his mother working
as a janitor to keep the wolf from the door. He remembered the early mornings
extinguishing the lamps and delivering papers in all kinds of weather. He recalled
the years learning the slave songs in the stables and on the lake steamers, and
of the frustration of working as a stenographer when his desire was to be a concert
singer. Finally his thoughts came to his current situation. "Yes, sir, Dr. Dvorak.
I surely am blessed." The master stretched out his arms and legs. He put
his cigar in his mouth and placed his hands behind his head. "Ah, it is such a
wonderful day. Sing some more. Sing of your grandfather. What song did he like?"
Burleigh stood again and placed his hands at his sides. He paused for a
moment, thinking back to the family gatherings when they would sing their favorite
songs and tell stories of the south. What an honor it was to share these experiences
with such a great man. He felt warm tears come to his eyes. He had to breathe
deeply to collect himself. He closed his eyes and began the sweet refrain. Swing
low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home. Swing low, sweet chariot,
coming for to carry me home. Burleigh pictured his granddaddy, Hamilton
Waters, telling the story of the angels coming on the golden chariot to pick up
God's people. He imagined the seraphim swooping down in a fiery chariot, grabbing
him by the arms and carrying him up into heaven. A tear flowed over his closed
eyelids and down his brown cheeks. I looked over Jordan and what did I
see? Coming for to carry me home. A band of angels coming after
me, coming for to carry me home. Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to
carry me home. Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home. Burleigh
pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dried his eyes. He looked over to the
master who had not said a word. Dvorak sat on the iron bench in the sun, his face
to the sky and his eyes closed tightly. Tears flowed down his cheeks as well,
soaking into his thick gray beard. The vocalist sat down on the bench next to
him. They remained silent for several moments. Burleigh looked ahead at the fountain
but out of the corner of his eye noticed the master's hand slowly moving in time,
as though he were leading an orchestra. After a moment he lifted the other hand
and waved them together. Several minutes later, Dvorak suddenly opened
his eyes and stood up. "Take dictation, 'Barley.'" The young man grabbed his notebook,
opened to a blank page and began writing furiously as the great Bohemian composer
dictated the notes to him. The two worked for nearly an hour before the music
was fully written out. Burleigh had been receiving dictation from Dvorak for several
months and he was growing curious as to what this beautiful music would be. When
he completed the final line Burleigh shook the cramp out of his hand and declared,
"Sir, this is wonderful. What are your plans for this music?" "A symphony,
'Barley.' I am writing a symphony of the new world." Burleigh was filled
with excitement. "Sir, that is wonderful. When will it be completed?" "Soon,
my friend, soon." He took another drag on his cigar. "All right, let us be off
to the Conservatory." And with that they were walking at the familiar rapid pace,
Burleigh jogging to keep up. By the middle of the following month the flowers
in Stuyvesant Square had fully bloomed. Harry walked passed the blossoms and down
17th Street from the Conservatory to the Dvorak townhouse. "Come in 'Barley,'
welcome." Dvorak was in his shirtsleeves, Otylia and Antonin running around in
a circle chasing each other from kitchen to dining room to living room. "Children,
go upstairs now, Harry T. is going to sing for me." The children had grown
quite fond of the young singer and wanted to stay. "Please, papa, please. We will
sit quietly." The master was firm. "No, I must have no distractions. To
your rooms." "But Papa." He interrupted in a growl, "I will have
no distractions." The two looked to Burleigh, but he did not dare intervene.
They trudged slowly up the stairs. "It has been a long day. Huneker gave
me fits today." The Master referred to fellow faculty member James Huneker who
did not share Dvorak's opinion of a national school of music. He slumped in the
corner chair and reached for a cigar. "Sing for me Harry T. Sing "Go Down Moses."
Burleigh sat down at the piano to accompany himself. The family kept the
bird cage doors open so the thrushes flew freely throughout the townhouse. They
joined in the music, singing their own special harmonies. As Burleigh sang
the Master brooded in his chair, taking short, continuous puffs on his cigar.
When Israel was in Egypt's lan', Let my people go, Oppressed
so hard they could not stand, Let my people go. Go down, Moses,
Way down in Egypt's lan', Tell ole Pharaoh, to let my people go.
With the bellowing finale, Dvorak bounded from his chair. "Did they really
sing it that way?" "To the best of my knowledge, sir." Dvorak paced
the floor, the cigar in one hand, his other hand furiously rubbing his brow. The
student watched him walk furtively back and forth. Suddenly Dvorak turned and
exclaimed, "Burleigh, that is as great as a Beethoven theme. I believe firmly
these plantation songs and your Indian melodies can be the basis of an American
school of music. I don't care what that bag of wind Huneker thinks. He and MacDowell
and the whole lot of them are merely Americans who wish they were European. They
don't realize what they have right here." He collapsed back into his chair. "Our
students at the Conservatory and all American composers must learn to value the
music of their own land." "Like you did with the 'Slavonic Dances'?'" Burleigh
asked. "That is it exactly." The master stood up and began to pace again,
the ash of his cigar now more than an inch long. "My people are like yours, Burleigh.
My ancestors were the slaves of the Romans. We both must sing songs of freedom
-- songs that come from the groans of the people under an evil burden, like the
children of Israel." He stood next to the piano, finally tapping the ash
into his favorite tray. "Sing for me my favorite, Burleigh. Sing 'Were You There?'"
Burleigh turned to the keyboard and slowly began to play. Were you
there when they crucified my Lord? Were you there when they crucified my
Lord? Sometimes it makes me want to tremble, tremble, tremble. Were
you there when they crucified my Lord? Dvorak was a godly man. Though he
was a Roman Catholic, he felt a bond with all Christians. He even wrote a symphony
to honor John Huss, a Czech hero and a forerunner of Luther, one of the first
Christian leaders to break free from the Roman Church. Whenever he heard 'Were
You There' he placed his hands over his chest and closed his eyes as if in prayer.
Burleigh finished the song and both men sat in silence for a moment, the chirping
of the thrushes and the muffled sounds of the children playing upstairs filled
the room. The spiritual lifted Dvorak's spirits and changed his countenance.
"I have something to show you Harry," the master sifted through a stack of manuscripts
on the edge of the piano. He pulled out a dog-eared piece, the master's distinctive
sloppy handwriting smudged over the page. "May I sit?" "Of course." Burleigh
moved from the bench and Dvorak sat. He placed the manuscript on the music stand.
Harry recognized the music as part of the new symphony Dvorak had been working
on. Burleigh had already copied a large portion of the piece. "I have worked
on the Largo movement." "Ah, splendid," Burleigh responded. "Then the work
is completed?" "Nearly complete, yes. After reading Longfellow's Hiawatha
I decided this should be a wholly American theme, reflecting the music and spirit
of this country. But I struggled with this movement, Harry. There was something
deep inside of me that I wanted to express, but I just couldn't bring it forth.
Then I thought of what you told me of the American slave plantations. I thought
of your grandfather, Harry. Then it came to me, like a message from heaven, a
simple melody." "It shall begin with the cor anglais, the English
horn set against the strings. As I listened to you sing I recognized that the
English horn closely resembles the sound of your voice, Burleigh." He began
to play. The sound of the second movement was not grand and elegant like the first,
but simple, yet profound in its beauty. He spoke as he played. "As I composed
I heard your voice, Harry, singing those wonderful songs to me. I saw the look
that comes over your face when you sing them. Sometimes you look like you are
the one who is in slavery, with no hope of freedom. I felt the sorrow -- and the
sorrow of your grandfather. I heard your voice, Burleigh, and that is what I have
written." Burleigh had been standing behind the composer, but now his knees
began to feel weak. He worked his way over to the couch and slowly sat down. He
was in shock. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. As Dvorak played the piece
Burleigh's thoughts raced. Here is the greatest musician in the world.
He has welcomed me into his home. He has listened to the songs and stories of
my people. And now he honors my race and my grandfather. It was profoundly
moving. The composer finished the movement and turned to the young singer. Burleigh
stared straight ahead, his eyes glazed. "Well," the Bohemian declared.
"What is it that you are thinking?" The young man blinked twice and slowly
raised his gaze to meet Dvorak's. "It is perfection," he replied. Dvorak
smiled in appreciation. He picked up the manuscript and carried it over to Burleigh
who rose to receive it. "Here you are Harry T. Copy this for me please, and make
the notes as big as my head so that I can see them." He led the young man to the
door. Darkness had fallen on Manhattan and the light from the streetlamp
shone through the window and into the vestibule. Burleigh turned to the Master
and patted the manuscript that he clutched to his chest. "You don't know what
this means to me." He looked down to the ground and then back up at the composer.
"Thank you." A smile stretched across the Master's face. He placed his
hand on Burleigh's shoulder. "Thank you, Harry T. Burleigh, for letting me know
your people." Burleigh turned and made his way down the stairs to 17th
Street. The Master watched as his student made his way home clutching the manuscript
tightly to his chest. The sight of the lonely figure walking in the lamplight
reminded him of his years of training. Dvorak walked over to his bureau
and pulled out a small felt-lined mahogany box. Inside were several personal momentos.
He sifted through the assorted items until he came upon a yellowed envelope. Inside
was a cherished letter from the man who had nurtured, promoted, and even helped
him financially, Johannes Brahms. Dvorak revered the great composer and thought
of their relationship often. He read the kind words of his mentor and was
taken back to those happy, hungry years of study under this great musical mind.
Brahms was on the board of the Austrian State Commission that considered applications
for a prize to assist "young poor and talented artists." Dvorak was the recipient
of this grant and through this came to the attention of the respected Brahms.
Brahms was much impressed by Dvorak's music and wrote a supportive letter
to his publisher, Fritz Simrock, encouraging him to consider Dvorak's work. Dear
S. In connection with the State grant, I have for several years past had
great pleasure in the works of Antonin Dvorak (pronounced Dworschak) in Prague.
This year he sent in, among other things, a volume of Duets for two sopranos with
piano accompaniment, which seems to be very practical for publication...Dvorak
has written all sorts of things: operas (Czech), symphonies, quartets, and piano
music. There is no doubt that he is very talented. And then he is also poor. I
beg you to think the matter over. The Duets won't give you much thought and will
sell well. With best greetings, Yours, J.Br. The instant
and overwhelming success of Dvorak's "Moravian Duets" led Simrock to commission
the equally popular "Slavonic Dances," launching the Bohemian to worldwide fame.
Not long after the success of the "Dances," Dvorak wrote a note of thanks to Brahms:
Your last most valued letter I read with the most joyful excitement; your
warm encouragement, and the pleasure you seem to find in my work, have moved me
deeply, and made me unspeakably happy. I can hardly tell you, esteemed Master,
all that is in my heart. I can only say that I shall all my life owe you the deepest
gratitude for your good and noble intentions towards me, which are worthy of a
truly great artist and man. Your ever grateful Antonin Dvorak The
composer put the note from Brahms back in the treasure box and returned it to
its place. He pulled out the final pages of the new symphony's score. On the last
page he made some final additions to the trombone parts, sat back in his chair
and held the page before him. After playing the parts over in his head he was
finally satisfied. Up in the top corner of the final page he wrote, "Praise God!
Finished on 24 May, 1893." The following week the other four Dvorak children
arrived from Prague with Anna Dvorak's eldest sister, Terezia. For the summer,
the entire family traveled by train to a little Czech colony in Spillville, Iowa.
Mrs. Dvorak had wanted to return to Bohemia, but Antonin felt that it would be
better for the family to stay in America and learn about its customs. During
his stay in Spillville a group of Kickapoo Indians visited the Czech colony selling
medicinal herbs. They entertained the delighted Dvorak's family with songs and
dances at the Inn. The Master became thoroughly convinced that the Negro spirituals,
along with these Indian melodies, could give American composers the raw materials
they needed to develop a national school of music. It was an exciting summer
for the young Burleigh as well. One of his teachers at the Conservatory, Victor
Herbert, secured a summer job for him as a wine waiter at Saratoga's Grand Union
Hotel. Saratoga was one of America's premier summer resorts at the time. Herbert
was assistant conductor of the Grand Hotel orchestra and Burleigh worked as a
wine boy. Harry could never get the wine cold enough for the Maestro, but he made
a name for himself singing for various events. The following summer he was invited
back to Saratoga, this time to sing with Herbert's orchestra and as a baritone
soloist at the Bethesda Episcopal Church. He had formed a strong bond with Herbert
and the two became life-long friends. In August Burleigh was invited by
Will Marion Cook to be the baritone soloist at the 1893 World's Colombian Exposition
in Chicago. This grand event was a world's fair honoring the four hundredth anniversary
of the discovery of America. For the expositions "Colored American Day" Cook was
able to persuade Frederick Douglass to give the principal address. The program
also featured Burleigh, as well as Paul Laurence Dunbar reading his own poetry,
and violinist Joseph Douglass, grandson of Frederick Douglass. Both black and
white bands played in the nightclubs and dance halls. This was a breakthrough
for many black entertainers and musicians looking for recognition for their abilities.
While this opportunity was a great thrill, the highlight of the year came
on December 16, 1893, when Antonin Dvorak's Symphony Number 9 in E minor, nicknamed
"From the New World" by the composer at the last moment, made its world debut
at Carnegie Hall in New York City. Seated in the balcony, at the personal invitation
of the composer, was Harry T. Burleigh. Though he could not rightfully afford
it, he had rented an impressive tuxedo for the occasion. The cultural elite
of New York was in attendance for the gala affair. Musicians, politicians, educators,
industrialists and financiers cleared their schedules and traveled to New York
to be in attendance. The symphony's premier by the New York Philharmonic was conducted
under the wand of the composer's friend, Anton Seidl. Word of the symphony's
Negro and Indian nature had spread through Harlem and many leaders of the African-American
community arrived at Carnegie Hall with great anticipation and matching their
fellow attendees in elegance and grace. New York's ladies knew this would
be the social event of the year, and even, perhaps, the decade. Robed in the finest
of European and American fashion, they gracefully entered Carnegie Hall, accented
with necklaces of diamonds and every other imaginable precious stone. Harry
Burleigh had been one of the first to arrive at the hall, nearly an hour before
the doors opened. As people slowly made their way to their seats he glanced over
the program. Dvorak's comments brought a satisfied smile to his face. "I tried
only to write in the spirit of those national American melodies." In a pre-concert
interview Dvorak had commented to a reporter, "These beautiful and varied themes
are products of the soil. They are American. They are the folk songs of America,
and your composers must turn to them. All great musicians have borrowed from the
songs of the common people. In the Negro melodies of America I discover all that
is needed for a great and noble school of music. They are pathetic, tender, passionate,
melancholy, solemn, religious, bold, merry, gay, gracious or what you will." Looking
up from his program Burleigh noticed a stir in the audience as people turned and
looked to the box seats lining the walls of the auditorium. Suddenly, Dvorak appeared
with his wife on his arm. The audience rose to its feet and broke into excited
applause. He was dressed elegantly in a black suit, silk white shirt, black silk
vest and his trademark emerald green tie. His beard was neatly trimmed for the
occasion, though it was as long as ever. The composer waved to the audience and
then took his seat. After the orchestra was brought into tune by the concertmaster,
Maestro Seidl strode on stage to enthusiastic applause. This was a great moment
for America. A world-class composer had written a symphony from American themes
on American soil, and it would premier under the foremost American symphony. The
atmosphere was electrified! As the audience grew quiet and Seidl raised
his baton, Burleigh felt the goose bumps rise on his arms. He grasped the brass
bar at the edge of the balcony and felt his grip tighten as he anticipated the
first note. Seidl slowly lowered the baton and the Adagio movement began with
a quiet, mellow introduction. The tone changed abruptly after the initial opening
theme. The intensity quickly heightened as the symphony continued to build on
itself through the opening movement. The first highlight of the evening
for Burleigh occurred as the second theme of the first movement came to a close
and the trombones began to carry, note for note, the familiar song of his youth,
"Swing Low, Sweet Chariot." The joy felt by Burleigh was echoed through the hall
as people turned to one another acknowledging familiarity with the plantation
song. The movement ended with a climax so closely resembling the Negro melody
that it was unmistakable. Burleigh had copied many of the orchestral parts
of the "New World Symphony" from the Master's original partitur. He knew the work
inside out, but this was the first time he had heard it with a full orchestra.
His heart raced from the glorious first movement. Again he grasped the railing
to steady himself in anticipation of the Largo. Try as he might to control his
emotions, as the sweet melody of the second movement floated over the audience
Burleigh once again felt hot tears course down his face. The influence of his
people's music was unmistakable. He listened with his eyes closed and saw his
grandfather in chains, teaching himself to read. He heard the songs of the workers
in his stepfather's stables and voices of the stevedores working the docks near
his home. He remembered days sailing on great lake steamers, listening to the
many sailor melodies sung through the night. "Your spirit lives on Granddaddy,"
Harry said under his breath. As the symphony came to its grand conclusion,
Burleigh joined the audience on their feet in thunderous applause. Maestro Seidl
turned, bowed deeply and then waved his hand toward Dvorak's box seat. The composer
stood to receive the admiration of the audience. The deafening ovation continued
with whoops and whistles from the American crowd. Chants of "Encore, encore,"
and "Dvorak, Dvorak," were heard above the applause. The Master stood again, bowed
graciously and waved to the crowd below. "Encore, encore," the shouts emanated
from the enthusiastic American audience. Maestro Seidl remained on the platform,
looking towards the Master. Dvorak reached his hand out in his direction, encouraging
him to continue. To Burleigh's delight, the orchestra encored the Largo
movement, once again filling the hall with the smooth tones of the English horn.
At the majestic climax the audience rose again to its feet in admiration. The
symphony had appealed to American patriotism, being a product of Dvorak's American
experience. The usually tranquil American audience was enthusiastic to the point
of frenzy. People hugged each other and jumped in the aisles. Several threw their
programs in the air. The composer stood again and took a grand bow. He
waved once again in the direction of the audience and extended his arm to his
wife. Anna Dvorak had stood at her husband's side during the ovations. She was
extremely proud of her Antonin, though her proper European training rarely allowed
her to express it. She cherished this special moment and for the first time came
to appreciate the freedom with which Americans expressed their admiration for
the composer. Dvorak later wrote to his publisher, "The papers say
that no composer ever celebrated such a triumph. Carnegie Hall was crowded with
the best people of New York, and the audience applauded so that, like visiting
royalty, I had to take my bows repeatedly from the box like a king! (don't laugh).
You know how glad I am if I can avoid such ovations, but there was no getting
out of it, and I had to show myself willy-nilly." Burleigh lingered at
his seat as the audience slowly drifted out of the concert hall. The significance
of the event was overwhelming. It was the first time in the history of classical
music that an African-American folk song had served as the major theme in a great
symphonic work. This was no accident. The Czech Master incorporated Negro and
Indian themes into the symphony quite consciously. The work was a tribute to the
spirit of these people in the face of severe hardship. It was a cry for freedom
- the longing for home. Finally, the young musician stood and took one
last look around the grand auditorium, drinking in the moment. He ascended the
staircase slowly and made his way out of the hall. In the months to come
critics theorized that the symphony was just Bohemian music with an American title.
In the master's mind it was both. Dvorak was a Czech and he had only been in America
a little less than a year when the piece was completed. Any music written by such
a man would have a Bohemian flavor. But there is no getting around the fact that
Dvorak purposefully set out to write an American symphony -- He announced his
intention to the musical world. At the time other composers and music critics
said it could not be done. But Dvorak didn't believe them. He wrote to
a friend in Bohemia, I have not much work at school so that I have enough
time for my own work and am now finishing my new symphony in E minor. I take great
pleasure in it and it will differ very considerably from my others. Well, the
influence of America must be felt by everyone who has a nose at all. Though
he loved America, beginning in 1894 Dvorak had found himself longing for his homeland.
The melancholy feel of the musical works he created in America during this time
reflected increasing homesickness. Due to financial difficulties plaguing her
husband's business -- the nation was suffering through a dismal financial depression
-- Mrs. Thurber was consistently late with payments on Dvorak's salary. Annie
Dvorak's patience had long since run out. She was the more practical of the two
and knew her husband would have no trouble arranging a comfortable and consistent
income in Europe. The Master himself was much less business-like. He was torn
between the excitement and promise of this new land, and the traditions, simplicity
and elegance of his home. The ostentatious Bohemian tweaked the noses of
American composers with a controversial interview published in the February, 1895
issue of Harper's New Monthly Magazine. He was quoted as saying, "In the Negro
melodies of America I find all that is needed for a great and noble school of
music ... There is nothing in the whole range of composition which cannot be supplied
from this source ... I am satisfied that the future of music in this country must
be founded on what are called Negro melodies." Many of the leading American
composers like Chadwick, Parke, Paine, and MacDowell chose to ignore the composer's
advice. They were offended by the famous European's views. Some felt as though
the Bohemian was lecturing them on how to create their own nationalistic music.
But not everyone rejected Dvorak's ideas. Within the decade many white
and black composers were incorporating Negro, Indian and other ethnic folk music
into their compositions. Harry T. Burleigh and fellow Conservatory student Will
Marion Cook were two of the most gifted composers to adopt Dvorak's theories,
creating music that would contribute to the foundation of a distinctly American
musical style. In an interview published before Dvorak departed for Europe
in 1895 he made reference to his special relationship with Harry T. He told how
he discovered a young black man of talent upon whom he was building strong expectation.
Burleigh's influence on Dvorak became known and was acknowledged by the Czech
composer who deeply appreciated their relationship. Burleigh's fellow student,
Will Marion Cook, called Harry, 'Dvorak's pet'. Before he sailed for Europe,
Dvorak invited young Burleigh to his home for one more dinner. As they sat at
the table, Dvorak reminisced over all that was accomplished during his stay in
America. Burleigh did not want the moment to pass before satisfying a long-held
curiosity. "Master, which movement of the New World Symphony do you like the best?"
Dvorak's eyes sparkled and he replied with a wry smile, "I love them all
alike. Are they not all my children?" Harry T. nodded his head with a smile,
"Yes, sir. They truly are." Once again the family retired to the sitting
room where the young soloist sang the Master's favorite spiritual "Nobody Knows
the Trouble I've Seen." When he finished, Dvorak called Burleigh over to stand
in front of him. Placing his hands on the young man's shoulders he looked intently
into Burleigh's eyes, "God has called you to take the music of your people, combine
it with the music of my people to show the people of the world the music which
came from this great nation that God raised up. Through ungodly slavery these
songs were given as a gift. Now you must take your grandfather's legacy and share
it with the world. Harry," he repeated, "Give those melodies to the world." In
April of 1895 Antonin Dvorak left the United States forever, returning to his
home of Bohemia. In 1901, he became the Director of the Prague Conservatoire.
For the last three years of his life he devoted his creativity to symphonic poems
and operas. He died in 1904, less than ten years after leaving America. Burleigh's
life and musical philosophy was forever altered by his interaction with the great
European Master. In their relationship the Old World met the New, the classic
met the common, and the world of music was changed forever. Burleigh would
later testify, "Dvorak, a Czech with a great love for the common people of all
lands, pointed the way." Contact
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