House of Rougeaux

by Jenny Jaeckel

  Alma was doing well for herself, performing in clubs and private concerts. Singing was a razor-thin avenue where a woman might succeed in music. No club would hire a woman to play any instrument, least of all a piano. Eleanor was happy for Alma, to be sure, but with a measure of envy. Alma, having met many new friends in her work, was going with a young man called Jack Zebulon who was a brilliant musician. Though Jack had no formal training, he played anything and everything with strings–guitar, banjo, mandolin–and could burn up a piano without even trying. Jack had a friend, Sam Jupiter, who was a big talker. He aimed at putting together an all-Negro orchestra that would tour Europe as representatives of Dr. W.E.B. Du Bois’ “Talented Tenth.” It all seemed terribly far-fetched to Eleanor, but times were changing. Who knew what was possible?

  * * *

  “Frangipani,” Sam Jupiter said one night. He, Jack and Alma sat with Eleanor and Sam Higgins, clustered around a tiny table at the crowded club where Alma was between sets. Alma always put Eleanor on her guest list, and gave her dresses now and then, saying she couldn’t wear them anymore, but Alma never lorded it over her.

  “Frangipani,” said Alma, “what’s that?”

  “A tropical flower,” said Joop. Now that there were two Sams everyone took to calling Jupiter “Joop” and Higgins “Hig.”

  “A beautiful, exotic flower,” Jack said, making eyes at Alma. Alma always said Jack only ever thought about two things, and music was one.

  “What about it?” said Alma.

  “The Frangipani Orchestra,” said Joop, “that’s going to be the name of it.”

  “Funny name,” said Eleanor.

  Jack looked at Sam Higgins. “When are you going to get yourself a girl, Hig?”

  Sam laughed. “Soon as Eleanor will have me.” He winked at her, and Eleanor smiled at the joke. Though Eleanor enjoyed the friendship of the young men in their circle, she scrupulously avoided all things romantic. She would have no more Gerards, Batiste or otherwise. Eleanor had witnessed traditional courtships in her family and community while growing up. Most everything that took place between young people happened under the watchful eye of elders, with serious courtships ending in either marriage or the occasional carefully guided separation. Nowadays, in modern New York City at least, a whole class of unmarried youth sought their fortunes alone, far from family ties, doing their best to create alliances with no one to advise them. This was the case with Alma and Jack, who were drawn together by a mutual passion for both their art and a pretty face. They made a striking pair to be sure, but what mattered was that underneath all that their affection for one another grew.

  Alma confessed to Eleanor that she was in love with Jack and that she hoped he would ask her to marry him, though not right away, since babies would put an end to her career. Jack was good to her, though susceptible to the lavish attentions he regularly received from other women, and his flirtations were often the subject of their lovers’ quarrels. If once in a while Alma was sufficiently distressed and weeping in despair over their future, Jack would show up with flowers and sweet words, and those kisses that she could never resist. Eleanor was glad to share her friend’s confidences, whatever they consisted of. She worried sometimes, but had no reason to foresee for her friend the disaster that had befallen her what seemed like a lifetime ago.

  * * *

  Joop seemed all talk for the longest time, but then he did it. He found two investors–white businessmen with a love for music and contacts in Europe–a rehearsal space and a group of twenty-five musicians and singers under the direction of a respected conductor, one Lemuel Harris. Joop drew up contracts for Alma and Jack, Eleanor and Hig, without even asking them, and all readily accepted. For Eleanor it was nothing less than a revelation. A career as a performer, even if only for a few months, was suddenly coming into view. She felt exactly as she had the night, when she was just a girl, Mrs. Allison had come to the house to tell them about the Conservatory.

  The orchestra’s repertoire would include an ambitious range of classical and popular pieces, and spirituals with both new and traditional arrangements. The famous Antonin Dvorak served as Director at the Conservatory during Eleanor’s years there (one of Jeannette Thurber’s many coups), where he became enamored of, and influenced by, American Negro music. Joop secured his endorsement of the Frangipani project, and this opened additional European doors.

  In his role as conductor Lemuel Harris had to contend with personalities as well as the music. Some members who were used to being the stars of the show now were to be collaborators. Jack, who was as opinionated as he was charismatic, was one of them. “Play along for now, Jack, please,” Lemuel would say, wearily. “Let’s talk after.” And then the two would debate for hours, over glasses of Hell Gate beer, usually ending with Lemuel taking Jack’s ideas into account, and Jack stepping back in respect of Lemuel’s position.

  * * *

  The Frangipani Orchestra booked a seven-month European tour for the better part of the year 1900, the turn of the century itself. They would be ambassadors to a whole new age, voyaging to Hamburg, then overland to Berlin, Prague, Brussels, Amsterdam, on to Paris, the British Isles, and down to the French Riviera when the weather turned cold. The salaries were hardly extravagant, but there was enough to send something off to Ross and Tilly after covering modest expenses for food and lodging.

  Eleanor made a special arrangement for the transfer of funds home to Montreal, and then gave her notice at the Conservatory together with a long, heartfelt letter of thanks to Mrs. Jeannette Thurber. Mrs. Thurber had her to tea in her sumptuous drawing room where they could have one of their intimate talks, about life and music, Paris where Jeannette had studied, and the changing times. Eleanor was twenty-seven years old and about to embark on an unimaginable journey. She would have so much to write home about.

  Thus, in early April of 1900, the Frangipani Orchestra left its port in New York City aboard the RMS Umbria to voyage across the Atlantic. Once landed in Hamburg, Joop blossomed into a master organizer, pulling together arrangements for hotels, venues, train travel and publicity as if he’d done it all his life. Their first performance, in a small concert hall with extensive gold scrollwork on every architectural edge, brought a standing ovation that would prove to be the first of many.

  Every concert included one or two of Eleanor’s piano solos, usually Beethoven, Bach or Haydn, as she was first among the orchestra’s classical specialists. She accepted the audience’s enthusiastic applause each time with a modest bow, and with a measure of relief that for now her moment in the spotlight was over. For her, the glory was in the music itself. She was at last living the life of an artist, and that flame in herself she’d had to guard so carefully burned brilliantly as never before. If she played for anyone in particular it was Jeannette Thurber, who hovered in her mind’s eye, nodding in approval whenever Eleanor was able to locate and unlock one of those mysterious hidden doors. If there was one that stayed set stubbornly on its hinges, or remained hidden altogether, Eleanor heard Mrs. Thurber’s voice inviting her anew. Further, my dear, take it beyond.

  As the weeks became months, the company became a true family, a band of nomads with a single mission. When tensions arose among the company members, as they sometimes did, it was Lemuel Harris who put out the fires. He had a great capacity to soothe and bring out understanding in even the hottest tempers. Just as New York had thrilled Eleanor in her younger years, the European cities they visited were a marvel. She found she enjoyed German wurst and sauerkraut as much as anything she had ever tasted in New York. Hearing other languages on the streets and seeing the endless stream of new sights were yet another kind of music.

  Eleanor bought stacks of picture postcards to send home, filling their backs with her tiniest script in an attempt to mail away as much of herself as would fit there. On the rare occasion that she received a letter back, having given her family an address in a city they would reach in two or three months’ time, she pored over it first wit
h anxiety that it would bear any bad news. When there was none, to her relief, she would re-read the letter carefully, always hoping to discover something about little Gerard. Sometimes there was a mention of Ross and Tilly and the children, from which Eleanor could extract, if not any particular details, a report of his general well-being.

  In every city the Frangipani Orchestra received invitations to parties, to visit the occasional large estate or historical site with local dignitaries. In Paris, they attended the Exposition Universelle, where they viewed wonders of the world and fantastical innovations of the future. It was astounding to Eleanor that the company rode in any train car, and stayed at any hotel. The white passengers, or other hotel guests, regarded them with curiosity, for the most part, and not much else. If once in a while a set of eyes fell coldly upon them, or an insult was hurled on the street, it was still far less than what they were used to at home.

  People from the audiences, time and again, waited on the street for the company to leave the theater. They wanted to shake hands or flirt, and offer flowers and gifts. They wanted to tell the muscians what the performance had meant to them. One young man in Berlin gripped Eleanor’s hand and shook his head with feeling. He hadn’t much English, but kept repeating the word “Beautiful.”

  All those auditions in New York that had come to nothing, even with Mrs. Thurber’s glowing letter of endorsement, had left a bitter taste in her mouth. At her last appearance in an audition hall, the director had refused to let her play. He claimed that they had already filled the position, even though a man was playing while several more were waiting their turn. He pinched her elbow so hard while steering her out the door, she dropped Mrs. Thurber’s letter and he stepped on it. Eleanor retrieved the battered paper and tucked it into her bag. On the streetcar home, she took it out and read it over and over. The words affirmed her talent, her training, her devotion to her art—those rare and hard-won treasures that should ensure a real career. She read the letter another time, then tore it to shreds.

  Eleanor had taught her classes, given her private lessons, and contributed pieces at occasional benefit concerts. She made her living with music, but not in the way she was born to. Now, in Europe, she had a place such as she had never had before, not as a single star, but as one of a constellation. She felt she could occupy the whole sky.

  As the summer wore on the company all looked forward to their visit to London in July. Joop had arranged a performance at Westminster Hall for none other than the delegates and participants in the First Pan-African Conference. The delegates included leaders from Africa and the West Indies, as well as Great Britain and the United States. Among them would be the eminent Dr. W. E. B. Du Bois, and it would be the great honor of the Frangipani Orchestra to perform for these visionary leaders, whose object was nothing less than to “...secure throughout the world the same facilities and privileges for the black man as the white man enjoys.”

  The concert was held at the end of the last day of the Conference and was relatively brief, with little time to mingle afterwards as the delegates were soon to be whisked away to a tea on the Terrace of Parliament. Nevertheless, the company threw themselves into the performance heart and soul, as this was a rare moment and a very special audience. The Orchestra performed a shortened adaptation of the last movement of Dvorak’s Symphony No. 9, for which Jeannette Thurber had suggested the subtitle From the New World, and a rendition of Old Zion’s Children Marching Along, with Alma’s solo that soared as never before, and arrested all who listened. Mr. Henry Sylvester Williams, a barrister from Trinidad and one of the conference leaders, declared the Frangipani Orchestra a “jewel in Africa’s crown,” and expressed the heartfelt thanks of the delegates, and apologies in equal measure, for their hasty departure. There was a flurry of handshaking and then the delegates went on their way, leaving the Orchestra alone to pack up their instruments. Conductor Lemuel Harris told the company they had made him proud, and Joop strode around nodding, hands in his pockets, saying nothing because he was all choked up.

  Later in the evening, after their supper at the hotel, the celebratory mood persisted and many of the company went out to, as Hig always said, “see what they could see.” Jack and Alma wanted to find a music hall where they could see some entertainment and have a few drinks, and Eleanor, though feeling tired, went along with them. Just as they were leaving the hotel Hig showed up with Della Saunders, another of the company’s singers, on his arm. Della it seemed had designs on Hig, and it looked to Eleanor that he was being a good sport about it. Kind as ever, if not exactly eager prey. They found a place several blocks from the hotel, drawn by the lively music and voices of carousers that issued through an open door.

  It wasn’t too large a place, maybe a hundred patrons seated at tables around a small stage, with a bar on one side, and low-slung wooden beams across the ceiling. Once they were seated at a table, Jack asked the barmaid what was good to drink, and she said the ale they made in-house was very nice.

  “Are you Yanks, then?” she asked. Jack said they were and that they were musicians on a European tour. “Well I never,” she said, smiling so that her cheeks bunched up under her eyes in such a way that Eleanor wondered if she could still see. She was still smiling when she returned with a pitcher of ale and a tray of glasses. “Mr. Davies says the first one’s on the House if you’ll play us something a little later,” she said.

  “I don’t see why not,” said Jack, flashing one of his famous grins. “Della,” he said, leaning toward her, “why don’t we do Ride In, Kind Savior?”

  “Alright,” said Della, “I’d be glad to.”

  The barmaid went back to the bar to speak with the man who was evidently Mr. Davies. He waved a hand at them and they all waved back. Eleanor sipped her ale and let her eyes wander to the stage where a young man batted out a tune on a piano and a woman both danced and sang. Soon enough they settled in and ordered another pitcher. Another singer took the stage, accompanied by the same young man at the piano, and after a few more numbers went to take a break. The barmaid came back, accompanied now by Mr. Davies. They shook hands all around.

  “Would you do us the honor now?” asked Mr. Davies, addressing Jack. Jack said they would, and Mr. Davies called out, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have some visitors from America!” There were cries of approval from the crowd and Jack and Della made their way to the stage, where Della belted out the song while Jack worked his magic on the piano. Tremendous applause and demands for another got a few more songs out of them, ending with Jack spinning out a generous dose of Ragtime. Several in the crowd rose to shake Jack’s hand and slap him on the back, and give polite little bows to Della. Laughter and smiles abounded. But then Eleanor caught the young piano player glaring from the corner, with a look in his eye that made her terribly uneasy.

  “Let’s go,” she whispered to Alma when they were all sitting together again. “I don’t think everyone here is friendly.” But Jack was having a grand time and wasn’t ready to leave.

  “Della and I will see you back,” Hig said to Eleanor. “I think we’re all dog-tired.”

  “We’ll be along soon,” Alma said to her. “Don’t you worry.”

  With that the three of them left, bidding the locals goodbye and stepping out onto the street. Eleanor could still hear Jack’s laugh ringing out from inside.

  * * *

  It was still dark when she heard knocking. She sat up in bed, confused. She heard knocking again, and her name being called, along with Della’s. She and Della had gotten to bed some hours before in their shared room at the hotel, and now there was someone knocking at the door.

  “What is it?” said Della, alarmed but still not quite awake. Eleanor hurried to the door. It was Hig, with Lemuel and Joop. Their breathing was ragged. Joop’s hands shook as he wiped at the sweat on his forehead.

  “Eleanor, it’s Jack,” said Lemuel, his voice breaking.

  “At the hospital,” Joop said.

  “Alma needs you,” said Hig.r />
  The vapors of sleep scattered from Eleanor’s consciousness just as the floor seemed to disappear. Three men had attacked Jack near the music hall, dragged him into an alley just as he and Alma were walking past. They had done him some serious damage before help came, drawn by Alma’s screams. He’d been taken to the hospital at Westminster Abbey, and Hig and Lemuel went with Eleanor in a hansom cab. Joop stayed behind to talk with the rest of the company and to make sure everyone stayed cool.

  Eleanor, Hig, and Lemuel rode the whole way to the hospital without speaking. Eleanor was hardly aware of much other than the sound of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestones, and the sight of breath steaming from their nostrils when the cab passed beneath the street lamps.

  Upon their arrival Hig and Lemuel found a supervising doctor while Eleanor hurried to the ward where Jack was. She made her way through the stone corridors as if in a terrible dream, and found the smaller hall where a figure wove unsteadily on her feet.