^SYLV4a. ■vTW HARRISBURG, PA. PISL-1A COMMONWEALTH OP PENNSYLVANIA 5DM 5-67 DEPARTMENT OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTION STATE LIBRARY HARRISBURQ In case of failure to return the books the borrower agrees to pay the original price of the same, or to replace them with other copies. The last borrower is held responsible for any mutilation. Return this book on or before the last date stamped below. APR 3 0 « 189 r)A JUL 3 0 1984 , V/': ' iKiiis aiiiiia Mailman mniiiiiiiigHimiiitaii 0 1 6 1 3 4 8 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2018 with funding from This project is made possible by a grant from the Institute of Museum and Library Services as administered by the Pennsylvania Department of Education through the Office of Commonwealth Libraries https://archive.org/details/newnegrointerpreOOunse 1 i 0 J , » • J * • » • * • • . ••...• ”*•••• • • • * » > J 1 > > i > J > i ) J JO - -> • * * • • J • • ’ i > J 1 J :’/: * * »• * * i j , >, , » J ^ j j.j ) > > J 3 I J > 3 J j 3 > ) 1 • • » • • i • » J J • •: > > > > > j > > > > > j j The Brown Madonna c c c c c C t c ►►►►►►►►>► THE NEW NEGRO AN INTERPRETATION EDITED BT ALAIN LOCKE BOOK DECODATION AND PORTTDAITr BY WINOLD DEI^ ALBERTANDCHARLE/ BONI NEWYORK 1925 ■vn Copyright , 1925, by Albert & Charles Boni, Inc. Published, December, 1925 Second printing, March, 1927 \ % ^ . |||f . W n ^ I vv'- 7-ffi Printed in the 'United States of America This Volume Is Dedicated To THE YOUNGER GENERATION O, rise, shine for Thy Light is a’ com-ing. (Traditional.) ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Thanks are due and acknowledgment made by the Editor and Pub¬ lishers for the kind permission of the authors and publishers listed for the use of copyright material in the preparation of this volume. Especial acknowledgment is made to the Survey Associates and the Editors of the Survey Graphic for the assignment of the material of the Harlem Number, March, 1925, of Survey Graf hie, the bulk of which, with much additional new material, has been incorporated. The Atlantic Monthly Co.: The City of Refuge y by Rudolph Fisher. Boni and Liveright: Carma and Fern and two poems from Cane, by Jean Toomer. Harcourt, Brace & Co.: Baftism and the Harlem Dancer from “Har¬ lem Shadows”, by Claude McKay, and Creation from “The Book of American Negro Verse”, by James W. Johnson. G. Schirmer Co.: for the text and music of Father Abraham from “Afro-American Folk Songs”, by H. E. Krehbiel, and Listen to the Lambs from “Negro Folk Songs”, by Nathalie Curtis Burlin. The New Age: the Balm Porchy by Eric Walrond. The Survey and Harper Bros.: Seven Poems of Harlem Life and Heritage from “Color”, by Countee Cullen. Vanity Fair: for Drawings, by Miguel Covarrubias. The Barnes Foundation: for reproductions of African Art objects. Foreign Affairs: for Color Worlds , by W. E. B. Du Bois. The Crisis: for The Negro in American Literature , by Wm. Stanley Braithwaite; Jaxxoniay by Langston Hughes, Escafe by Georgia D. Johnson. The Brimmer Co.: for two Poems from “Bronze”, by Georgia Doug¬ las Johnson. The Liberator: for Negro Dancer sy by Claude McKay. The Bookman: To a Brown Boyy by Countee Cullen. Harper’s Magazine: Fruit of the Flower , by Countee Cullen. Opportunity: Fogy by John Matheus; S funky by Zora Hurston; Black Finger , by Angelina Grimke, Riddle by Georgia D. Johnson. Survey Graphic and Alfred A. Knopf: for five poems from “ The Weary Blues” y by Langston Hughes. Survey Graphic: for Tuskegee} Hamfton and Points North , by Robert R. Moton. Winold Reiss: for his series of Negro Portrait Studies. • • Vll o This volume aims to document the New Negro culturally and socially, — to register the transformations of the inner and outer life of the Negro in America that have so significantly taken place in the last few years. There is ample evidence of a New Negro in the latest phases of social change and prog¬ ress, but still more in the internal world of the Negro mind and spirit. Here in the very heart of the folk-spirit are the essential forces, and folk interpretation is truly vital and rep¬ resentative only in terms of these. Of all the voluminous literature on the Negro, so much is mere external view and commentary that we may warrantably say that nine-tenths of it is about the Negro rather than of him, so that it is the Negro problem rather than the Negro that is known and mooted in the general mind. We turn therefore in the other direction to the elements of truest social portraiture, and discover in the artistic self-expression of the Negro to-day a new figure on the national canvas and a new force in the foreground of affairs. Whoever wishes to see the Negro in his essential traits, in the full perspective of his achievement and possibilities, must seek the enlightenment of that self-portraiture which the present developments of Negro culture are offering. In these pages, without ignoring either the fact that there are important interactions between the national and the race life, or that the attitude of America toward the Negro is as important a factor as the attitude of the Negro toward America, we have nevertheless concentrated upon self-expression and the forces and motives of self-determination. So far as he is culturally (articulate, we shall let the Negro speak for himself. Yet the New Negro must be seen in the perspective of a New World, and especially of a New America. Europe seeth¬ ing in a dozen centers with emergent nationalities, Palestine full of renascent Judaism — these are no more alive with the X FOREWORD progressive forces of our era than the quickened centers of the lives of black folk. America seeking a new spiritual expansion and artistic maturity, trying to found an American literature, a national art, and national music implies a Negro- American culture seeking the same satisfactions and objectives. Separate as it may be in color and substance, the culture of the Negro is of a pattern integral with the times and with its cultural setting. The achievements of the present generation have eventually made this apparent. Liberal minds to-day cannot be asked to peer with sympathetic curiosity into the darkened Ghetto of a segregated race life. That was yesterday. Nor must they expect to find a mind and soul bizarre and alien as the mind of a savage, or even as naive and refreshing as the mind of the peasant or the child. That too was yesterday, and the day before. Now that there is cultural adolescence and the approach to maturity, — there has come a development that makes these phases of Negro life only an interesting and significant segment of the general American scene. Until recently, except for occasional discoveries of isolated talent here and there, the main stream of this development has run in the special channels of “race literature” and “race journalism.” Particularly as a literary movement, it has grad¬ ually gathered momentum in the effort and output of such progressive race periodicals as the Crisis under the editorship of Dr. Du Bois and more lately, through the quickening en¬ couragement of Charles Johnson, in the brilliant pages of Opportunity , a Journal of Negro Life. But more and more the creative talents of the race have been taken up into the general journalistic, literary and artistic agencies, as the wide range of the acknowledgments of the material here collected will in itself be sufficient to demonstrate. Recently in a project of The Survey Graphic , whose Harlem Number of March, 1925, has been taken by kind permission as the nucleus of this book, the whole movement was presented as it is epitomized in the progressive Negro community of the American metrop¬ olis. Enlarging this stage we are now presenting the New Negro in a national and even international scope. Although there are few centers that can be pointed out approximating XI FOREWORD Harlem’s significance, the full significance of that even is a racial awakening on a national and perhaps even a world scale. That is why our comparison is taken with those nascent movements of folk-expression and self-determination which are playing a creative part in the world to-day. The galvaniz¬ ing shocks and reactions of the last few years are making by subtle processes of internal reorganization a race out of its own disunited and apathetic elements. A race experience penetrated in this way invariably flowers. As in India, in China, in Egypt, Ireland, Russia, Bohemia, Palestine and Mexico, we are wit¬ nessing the resurgence of a people: it has aptly been said, — “For all who read the signs aright, such a dramatic flowering of a new race-spirit is taking place close at home — among American Negroes.” Negro life is not only establishing new contacts and found¬ ing new centers, it is finding a new soul. There is a fresh spiritual and cultural focusing. We have, as the heralding sign, an unusual outburst of creative expression. There is a renewed race-spirit that consciously and proudly sets itself apart. Justifiably then, we speak of the offerings of this book embodying these ripening forces as culled from the first fruits of the Negro Renaissance. Alain Locke. Washington, D. C. November, IQ25. Foreword PAGE ix Part I: The Negro Renaissance The New Negro .... Alain Locke . 3 Negro Art and America Albert C. Barnes . 19 The Negro in American Litera- ture . William Stanley Braith- waite .... 29 Negro Youth Speaks Alain Locke . 47 fiction : The City of Refuge Rudolph Fisher 57 Vestiges .... Rudolph Fisher 75 Fog . John Matheus 85 Carma, from Cane Jean Toomer . 96 Fern, from Cane Jean Toomer . 99 Spunk . Zora Neale Hurston . 105 Sahdji . Bruce Nugent 113 The Palm Porch Eric Walrond “5 poetry: Poems . Countee Cullen 129 Poems . Claude McKay J33 Poems . Jean Toomer . 136 The Creation James Weldon Johnson 138 Poems . Langston Hughes . 141 The Day-Breakers Arna Bontemps 145 Poems .... Georgia Johnson . 146 Lady, Lady Anne Spencer 148 The Black Finger . A ngelina Grimke 148 Enchantment Lewis Alexander . 149 XIV CONTENTS PAGE drama: The Drama of Negro Life Montgomery Gregory 153 The Gift of Laughter Jessie Fauset . 161 Compromise (A Folk Play) Willis Richardson 168 music: The Negro Spirituals . Alain To eke . 199 Negro Dancers Claude McKay 214 Jazz at Home J. A. Rogers . 216 Song . Gwendolyn B. Bennett 225 Jazzonia . Langston Hughes 226 Nude Young Dancer . Langston Hughes 227 The Negro Digs up His Past American Negro Folk Litera- Arthur A. Schomburg 23 1 ture . Arthur Huff Fauset . 238 T’appin . Told by Cugo Lewis 245 B’rer Rabbit Fools Buzzard . • • • • • • 248 Heritage . The Legacy of the Ancestral Countee Cullen . 250 Arts . Alain Locke . 254 Part II: The New Negro in a New World The Negro Pioneers .... Paul U. Kellogg 271 The New Frontage on American Life . Charles S. Johnson 00 The Road . Helene Johnson 3°o The New Scene: Harlem: the Culture Capital . Howard: The National Negro James Weldon Johnson 301 University . Hampton-T uskegee : Missioners Kelly Miller . 312 of the Masses .... Robert R. Moton 323 i: 4 CONTENTS Durham: Capital of the Black Middle Class ... E. Franklin Frazier . Gift of the Black Tropics . W. A. Domingo . The Negro and the American Tradition The Negro’s Americanism The Paradox of Color The Task of Negro Woman¬ hood . Melville J . Herskovits Walter White Elise Johnson McDou - gald Worlds of Color: The Negro Mind Reaches Out W. E. B. DuBois Bibliography Who’s Who of the Contributors . A Selected List of Negro Americana and Africana . The Negro in Literature . Negro Drama . Negro Music . Negro Folk Lore . The Negro Race Problems . XV PACE 333 34i 353 . 361 369 385 4i5 421 427 432 434 442 449 I ILLUSTRATIONS Cover design and book decorations by Winold Reiss Drawings by Winold Reiss The Brown Madonna . • Frontispiece Portrait Sketch: Alain Locke .... facing page 6 Portrait: Jean Toomer . (< cc IOO Portrait: Countee Cullen . CC cc 132 Study: Paul Robeson as “Emperor Jones” cc cc 166 Portrait: Roland Hayes . cc cc 208 African Phantasie: Awakening .... CC cc 232 Type Sketch: “Ancestral” . cc cc 242 Portrait: Charles S. Johnson .... cc cc 278 Portrait: James Weldon Johnson cc cc 306 Portrait: Robert Russa Moton .... cc cc 324 Type Sketch: “From the Tropic Isles” . cc cc 342 Portrait Sketch: Elise Johnson McDougald cc cc 370 Portrait: Mary McLeod Bethune cc cc 378 Portrait: W. E. Burghardt Du Bois cc cc 386 Type Sketch: “The Librarian” cc u 394 Type Sketch: “The School Teachers” . * * * * * (C cc 410 Drawings and Decorative Designs by Aaron Douglas Meditation . • page 54 Rebirth . cc 56 Sahdji . cc 1 1 2 The Poet . cc 128 The Sun-God . cc 138 “Emperor Jones” . cc 152 “Roll, Jordan, Roll” . cc 196 “And the Stars began to Fall” . cc 198 xvii XV111 1LLUSTRA TIONS Music . The Spirit of Africa “From the New World” . W. V. Ruckterschell: Young Negro . Drawings by Miguel Covarrubias Jazz . Blues Singer page 216 “ 228 “ 270 U 46 'page 225 “ 227 Negro- Americana: Title Pages from the Schomburg Collection Title Page — Jupiter Hammon “ — Slave Narrative a (C u — Jacobus Capitein From other Collections: Bronze Mask (Guillaume Collection) Congo Portrait Statue (Tervuren Museum) . Benin Bronze (Berlin Ethnological Museum) Ceremonial Mask, — Dahomey (Frankford Museum) . page (( « 26 28 230 African Sculptures From the Barnes Foundation Collection: Baoule Mask . Page Bushongo Mask . Soudan-Niger Mask . Y abouba Mask . Ceremonial Mask (Ivory Coast) .... Dahomey Bronze . . . . « (( (( (( it 244 255 257 258 259 260 page 256 263 265 a (C it 268 Part I THE NEGRO RENAISSANCE THE NEW NEGRO V f THE NEW NEGRO 1 Alain Locke In the last decade something beyond the watch and guard of statistics has happened in the life of the American Negro and the three norns who have traditionally presided over the Negro problem have a changeling in their laps. The Sociolo¬ gist, the Philanthropist, the Race-leader are not unaware of the New Negro, but they are at a loss to account for him. He simply cannot be swathed in their formulas. For the younger generation is vibrant with a new psychology ; the new spirit is awake in the masses, and under the very eyes of the profes¬ sional observers is transforming what has been a perennial problem into the progressive phases of contemporary Negro life. Could such a metamorphosis have taken place as suddenly as it has appeared to? The answer is no; not because the New Negro is not here, but because the Old Negro had long become more of a myth than a man. The Old Negro, we must remem¬ ber, was a creature of moral debate and historical controversy. His has been a stock figure perpetuated as an historical fiction partly in innocent sentimentalism, partly in deliberate reaction¬ ism. The Negro himself has contributed his share to this through a sort of protective social mimicry forced upon him by the adverse circumstances of dependence. So for genera¬ tions in the mind of America, the Negro has been more of a formula than a human being — a something to be argued about, condemned or defended, to be “kept down,” or “in his place,” or “helped up,” to be worried with or worried over, harassed or patronized, a social bogey or a social burden. The thinking Negro even has been induced to share this same general attitude, 4 THE C^E W U^EGRO to focus his attention on controversial issues, to see himself in the distorted perspective of a social problem. His shadow, so to speak, has been more real to him than his personality. Through having had to appeal from the unjust stereotypes of his oppressors and traducers to those of his liberators, friends and benefactors he has had to subscribe to the traditional posi¬ tions from which his case has been viewed. Little true social or self-understanding has or could come from such a situation. But while the minds of most of us, black and white, have thus burrowed in the trenches of the Civil War and Reconstruction, the actual march of development has simply flanked these posi¬ tions, necessitating a sudden reorientation of view. We have not been watching in the right direction; set North and South on a sectional axis, we have not noticed the East till the sun has us blinking. Recall how suddenly the Negro spirituals revealed them¬ selves; suppressed for generations under the stereotypes of Wesleyan hymn harmony, secretive, half-ashamed, until the courage of being natural brought them out — and behold, there was folk-music. Similarly the mind of the Negro seems sud¬ denly to have slipped from under the tyranny of social intimi¬ dation and to be shaking oflF the psychology of imitation and implied inferiority. By shedding the old chrysalis of the Negro problem we are achieving something like a spiritual emancipation. Until recently, lacking self-understanding, we have been almost as much of a problem to ourselves as we still are to others. But the decade that found us with a problem has left us with only a task. The multitude perhaps feels as yet only a strange relief and a new vague urge, but the thinking few know that in the reaction the vital inner grip of prejudice has been broken. With this renewed self-respect and self-dependence, the life of the Negro community is bound to enter a new dynamic phase, the buoyancy from within compensating for whatever pressure there may be of conditions from without. The migrant masses, shifting from countryside to city, hurdle sev¬ eral generations of experience at a leap, but more important, the same thing happens spiritually in the life-attitudes and 5 THE O^EW NiEGRO self-expression of the Young Negro, in his poetry, his art, his education and his new outlook, with the additional advantage, of course, of the poise and greater certainty of knowing what it is all about. From this comes the promise and warrant of a new leadership. As one of them has discerningly put it: We have tomorrow Bright before us Like a flame. Yesterday, a night-gone thing A sun-down name. And dawn today Broad arch above the road we came. We march! This is what, even more than any “most creditable record of fifty years of freedom,” requires that the Negro of to-day be seen through other than the dusty spectacles of past contro¬ versy. The day of “aunties,” “uncles” and “mammies” is equally gone. Uncle Tom and Sambo have passed on, and even the “Colonel” and “George” play barnstorm roles from which they escape with relief when the public spotlight is off. The popular melodrama has about played itself out, and it is time to scrap the fictions, garret the bogeys and settle down to a realistic facing of facts. First we must observe some of the changes which since the traditional lines of opinion were drawn have rendered these quite obsolete. A main change has been, of course, that shifting of the Negro population which has made the Negro problem no longer exclusively or even predominantly Southern. Why should our minds remain sectionalized, when the problem itself no longer is? Then the trend of migration has not only been toward the North and the Central Midwest, but city-ward and to the great centers of industry — the problems of adjustment are new, practical, local and not peculiarly racial. Rather they are an integral part of the large industrial and social problems of our present- day democracy. And finally, with the Negro rapidly in process 6 THE 5S CEW C^EGRO of class differentiation, if it ever was warrantable to regard and treat the Negro en masse it is becoming with every day less possible, more unjust and more ridiculous. In the very process of being transplanted, the Negro is becoming transformed. The tide of Negro migration, northward and city- ward, is not to be fully explained as a blind flood started by the demands of war industry coupled with the shutting off of foreign migration, or by the pressure of poor crops coupled with increased social terrorism in certain sections of the South and Southwest. Neither labor demand, the boll- weevil nor the Ku Klux Klan is a basic factor, however con¬ tributory any or all of them may have been. The wash and rush of this human tide on the beach line of the northern city centers is to be explained primarily in terms of a new vision of opportunity, of social and economic freedom, of a spirit to seize, even in the face of an extortionate and heavy toll, a chance for the improvement of conditions. With each suc¬ cessive wave of it, the movement of the Negro becomes more and more a mass movement toward the larger and the more democratic chance — in the Negro’s case a deliberate flight not only from countryside to city, but from medieval America to modern. Take Harlem as an instance of this. Here in Manhattan is not merely the largest Negro community in the world, but the first concentration in history of so many diverse elements of Negro life. It has attracted the African, the West Indian, the Negro American ; has brought together the Negro of the North and the Negro of the South j the man from the city and the man from the town and village \ the peasant, the student, the business man, the professional man, artist, poet, musician, adventurer and worker, preacher and criminal, exploiter and social outcast. Each group has come with its own separate motives and for its own special ends, but their greatest experi¬ ence has been the finding of one another. Proscription and prejudice have thrown these dissimilar elements into a common area of contact and interaction. Within this area, race sympa¬ thy and unity have determined a further fusing of sentiment WINOLP PEI// -V Alain Locke 7 THE 3^EW U^EGRO and experience. So what began in terms of segregation becomes more and more, as its elements mix and react, the laboratory of a great race-welding. Hitherto, it must be admitted that American Negroes have been a race more in name than in fact, or to be exact, more in sentiment than in experience. The chief bond between them has been that of a common con¬ dition rather than a common consciousness ; a problem in com¬ mon rather than a life in common. In Harlem, Negro life is seizing upon its first chances for group expression and self- determination. It is — or promises at least to be — a race capital. That is why our comparison is taken with those nascent centers of folk-expression and self-determination which are playing a creative part in the world to-day. Without pretense to their political significance, Harlem has the same role to play for the New Negro as Dublin has had for the New Ireland or Prague for the New Czechoslovakia. Harlem, I grant you, isn’t typical — but it is significant, it is prophetic. No sane observer, however sympathetic to the new trend, would contend that the great masses are articulate as yet, but they stir, they move, they are more than physically restless. The challenge of the new intellectuals among them is clear enough — the “race radicals” and realists who have broken with the old epoch of philanthropic guidance, senti¬ mental appeal and protest. But are we after all only reading into the stirrings of a sleeping giant the dreams of an agitator? The answer is in the migrating peasant. It is the “man farthest down” who is most active in getting up. One of the most characteristic symptoms of this is the professional man, himself migrating to recapture his constituency after a vain effort to maintain in some Southern corner what for years back seemed an established living and clientele. The clergyman following his errant flock, the physician or lawyer trailing his clients, sup¬ ply the true clues. In a real sense it is the rank and file who are leading, and the leaders who are following. A transformed and transforming psychology permeates the masses. When the racial leaders of twenty years ago spoke of de¬ veloping race-pride and stimulating race-consciousness, and of the desirability of race solidarity, they could not in any accurate g ?HE JiEW NIEGRO degree have anticipated the abrupt feeling that has surged up and now pervades the awakened centers. Some of the recog¬ nized Negro leaders and a powerful section of white opinion identified with “race work” of the older order have indeed attempted to discount this feeling as a “passing phase, an attack of “race nerves” so to speak, an “aftermath of the war,” and the like. It has not abated, however, if we are to gauge by the present tone and temper of the Negro press, or by the shift in popular support from the officially recognized and orthodox spokesmen to those of the independent, popular, and often radical type who are unmistakable symptoms of a new order. It is a social disservice to blunt the fact that the Negro of the Northern centers has reached a stage where tutelage, even of the most interested and well-intentioned sort, must give place to new relationships, where positive self-direction must be reckoned with in ever increasing measure. The Amer¬ ican mind must reckon with a fundamentally changed Negro. The Negro too, for his part, has idols of the tribe to smash. If on the one hand the white man has erred in making the Negro appear to be that which would excuse or extenuate his treatment of him, the Negro, in turn, has too often un¬ necessarily excused himself because of the way he has been treated. The intelligent Negro of to-day. is resolved. not to make discrimination an extenuation for his shortcomings, in performance, individual or collective; he is trying to hold him¬ self at par, neither inflated by sentimental allowances nor de¬ preciated by current social discounts. For this he must know himself and be known for precisely what he is, and for that reason he welcomes the new scientific rather than the old senti¬ mental interest. Sentimental interest in the Negro, has ebbed. We used to lament this as the falling off of our friends; now we rejoice and pray to be delivered both from self-pity and condescension. The mind of each racial group has had. a bitter weaning, apathy or hatred on one side matching disillusionment or resentment on the other; but they face each other to-day with the possibility at least of entirely new mutual attitudes. It does not follow that if the Negro were better known, he would be better liked or better treated. But mutual under- 9 THE C^EW C^EGRO standing is basic for any subsequent cooperation and adjust¬ ment. The effort toward this will at least have the effect of remedying in large part what has been the most unsatisfactory feature of our present stage of race relationships in America, namely the fact that the more intelligent and representative elements of the two race groups have at so many points got quite out of vital touch with one another. The fiction is that the life of the races is separate, and increasingly so. The fact is that they have touched too closely at the unfavorable and too lightly at the favorable levels. While inter-racial councils have sprung up in the South, drawing on forward elements of both races, in the Northern cities manual laborers may brush elbows in their everyday work, but the community and business leaders have experienced no such interplay or far too little of it. These segments must achieve contact or the race situation in America becomes des¬ perate. Fortunately this is happening. There is a growing realization that in social effort the co-operative basis must sup¬ plant long-distance philanthropy, and that the only safeguard for mass relations in the future must be provided in the care¬ fully maintained contacts of the enlightened minorities of both race groups. In the intellectual realm a renewed and keen curiosity is replacing the recent apathy 5 the Negro is being carefully studied, not just talked about and discussed. In art and letters, instead of being wholly caricatured, he is being seriously portrayed and painted. To all of this the New Negro is keenly responsive as an augury of a new democracy in American culture. He is con¬ tributing his share to the new social understanding. But the desire to be understood would never in itself have been suffi¬ cient to have opened so completely the protectively closed por¬ tals of the thinking Negro’s mind. There is still too much possibility of being snubbed or patronized for that. It was rather the necessity for fuller, truer self-expression, the realiza¬ tion of the unwisdom of allowing social discrimination to segregate him mentally, and a counter-attitude to cramp and fetter his own living — and so the “spLte-wall” that the intel¬ lectuals built over the “color-line” has happily been taken 10 THE ViEW ^CEGRO down. Much of this reopening of intellectual contacts has centered in New York and has been richly fruitful not merely in the enlarging of personal experience, but in the definite en¬ richment of American art and letters and in the clarifying of our common vision of the social tasks ahead. The particular significance in the re-establishment of contact between the more advanced and representative classes is that it promises to offset some of the unfavorable reactions of the past, or at least to re-surface race contacts somewhat for the future. Subtly the conditions that are molding a New Negro are molding a new American attitude. However, this new phase of things is delicate; it will call for less charity but more justice; less help, but infinitely closer understanding. This is indeed a critical stage of race relation¬ ships because of the likelihood, if the new temper is not under¬ stood, of engendering sharp group antagonism and a second crop of more calculated prejudice. In some quarters, it has already done so. Having weaned the Negro, public opinion cannot continue to paternalize. The Negro to-day is inevitably moving forward under the control largely of his own objectives. What are these objectives? Those of his outer life are hap¬ pily already well and finally formulated, for they are none other than the ideals of American institutions and democracy. Those of his inner life are yet in process of formation, for the new psychology at present is more of a consensus of feeling than of opinion, of attitude rather than of program. Still some points seem to have crystallized. Up to the present one may adequately describe the Negro’s “inner objectives” as an attempt to repair a damaged group psychology and reshape a warped social perspective. Their realization has required a new mentality for the American Negro. And as it matures we begin to see its effects; at first, negative, iconoclastic, and then positive and constructive. In this new group psychology we note the lapse of sentimental appeal, then the development of a more positive self-respect and self-reliance; the repudiation of social dependence, and then the gradual recovery from hyper-sensitiveness and “touchy” nerves, the repudiation of the double standard of II THE O^EW CNiEGRO judgment with its special philanthropic allowances and then the sturdier desire for objective and scientific appraisal; and finally the rise from social disillusionment to race pride, from the sense of social debt to the responsibilities of social contri¬ bution, and offsetting the necessary working and commonsense acceptance of restricted conditions, the belief in ultimate esteem and recognition. Therefore the Negro to-day wishes to be known for what he is, even in his faults and shortcomings, and scorns a craven and precarious survival at the price of seem¬ ing to be what he is not. He resents being spoken of as a social ward or minor, even by his own, and to being regarded a chronic patient for the sociological clinic, the sick man of American Democracy. For the same reasons, he himself is through with those social nostrums and panaceas, the so-called solutions of his “problem,” with which he and the country have been so liberally dosed in the past. Religion, freedom, education, money — in turn, he has ardently hoped for and pe¬ culiarly trusted these things ; he still believes in them, but not in blind trust that they alone will solve his life-problem. Each generation, however, will have its creed, and that of the present is the belief in the efficacy of collective effort, in race co-operation. This deep feeling of race is at present the mainspring of Negro life. It seems to be the outcome of the reaction to proscription and prejudice; an attempt, fairly suc¬ cessful on the whole, to convert a defensive into an offensive position, a handicap into an incentive. It is radical in tone, but not in purpose and only the most stupid forms of opposi¬ tion, misunderstanding or persecution could make it otherwise. Of course, the thinking Negro has shifted a little toward the left with the world-trend, and there is an increasing group who affiliate with radical and liberal movements. But fundamen¬ tally for the present the Negro is radical on race matters, con¬ servative on others, in other words, a “forced radical,” a social protestant rather than a genuine radical. Yet under further pressure and injustice iconoclastic thought and motives will in¬ evitably increase. Harlem’s quixotic radicalisms call for their ounce of democracy to-day lest to-morrow they be beyond cure. The Negro mind reaches out as yet to nothing but American I2 THE U^EW 5S CEGRO wants, American ideas. But this forced attempt to build his Americanism on race values is a unique social experiment, and its ultimate success is impossible except through the fullest shar¬ ing of American culture and institutions. There should be no delusion about this. American nerves in sections unstrung with race hysteria are often fed the opiate that the trend of Negro advance is wholly separatist, and that the effect of its operation will be to encyst the Negro as a benign foreign body in the body politic. This cannot be— even if it were desirable. The racialism of the Negro is no limitation or reservation with respect to American life ^ it is only a constructive effort to build the obstructions in the stream of his progress into an efficient dam of social energy and power. Democracy itself is obstructed and stagnated to the extent that any of its channels are closed. Indeed they cannot be selectively closed. So the choice is not be¬ tween one way for the Negro and another way for the rest, but between American institutions frustrated on the one hand and American ideals progressively fulfilled and realized on the other. There is, of course, a warrantably comfortable feeling in being on the right side of the country’s professed ideals. We realize that we cannot be undone without America’s undoing. It is within the gamut of this attitude that the thinking Negro faces America, but with variations of mood that are if anything more significant than the attitude itself. Sometimes we have it taken with the defiant ironic challenge of McKay: Mine is the future grinding down to-day Like a great landslip moving to the sea, Bearing its freight of debris far away Where the green hungry waters restlessly Heave mammoth pyramids, and break and roar Their eerie challenge to the crumbling shore. Sometimes, perhaps more frequently as yet, it is taken in the fervent and almost filial appeal and counsel of Weldon John¬ son’s: O Southland, dear Southland! Then why do you still cling To an idle age and a musty page, To a dead and useless thing? THE TiEW S^EGRO *3 But between defiance and appeal, midway almost between cyni¬ cism and hope, the prevailing mind stands in the mood of the same author’s To America , an attitude of sober query and stoical challenge: How would you have us, as we are? Or sinking ’neath the load we bear, Our eyes fixed forward on a star, Or gazing empty at despair? Rising or falling? Men or things? With dragging pace or footsteps fleet? Strong, willing sinews in your wings, Or tightening chains about your feet? More and more, however, an intelligent realization of the great discrepancy between the American social creed and the American social practice forces upon the Negro the taking of the moral advantage that is his. Only the steadying and sobering effect of a truly characteristic gentleness of spirit prevents the rapid rise of a definite cynicism and counter-hate and a defiant superiority feeling. Human as this reaction would be, the majority still deprecate its advent, and would gladly see it forestalled by the speedy amelioration of its causes. We wish our race pride to be a healthier, more positive achievement than a feeling based upon a realization of the shortcomings of others. But all paths toward the attainment of a sound social attitude have been difficult $ only a relatively few en¬ lightened minds have been able as the phrase puts it “to rise above” prejudice. The ordinary man has had until recently only a hard choice between the alternatives of supine and humiliating submission and stimulating but hurtful counter- srejudice. Fortunately from some inner, desperate resource¬ fulness has recently sprung up the simple expedient of fighting arejudice by mental passive resistance, in other words by trying 0 ignore it. For the few, this manna may perhaps be effective, nit the masses cannot thrive upon it. Fortunately there are constructive channels opening out into I4 THE T{EW Ci_EGRO which the balked social feelings of the American Negro can flow freely. , , Without them there would be much more pressure and dan¬ ger than there is. These compensating interests are racial but in a new and enlarged way. One is the consciousness of acting as the advance-guard of the African peoples in their contact with Twentieth Century civilization; the other, the sense of a mis¬ sion of rehabilitating the race in world esteem from that loss of prestige for which the fate and conditions of slavery have so largely been responsible. Harlem, as we shall see is the center of both these movements; she is the home of the Negro s “Zionism.” The pulse of the Negro world has begun to beat in Harlem. A Negro newspaper carrying news material in English, French and Spanish, gathered from all quarters of America, the West Indies and Africa has maintained itself in Harlem for over five years. Two important magazines both edited from New York, maintain their news and circulation consistently on a cosmopolitan scale. Under American auspices and backing, three pan-African congresses have been held abroad for the discussion of common interests, colonial ques¬ tions and the future co-operative development of Africa. In terms of the race question as a world problem, the Negro mind has leapt, so to speak, upon the parapets of PreJu“c and extended its cramped horizons. In so doing it has linked up with the growing group consciousness of the dark-peoples and is gradually learning their common interests. As * one of our writers has recently put it: “It is imperative that we understand the white world in its relations to the non-white world.” As with the Jew, persecution is making the Negro international. As a world phenomenon this wider race consciousness a different thing from the much asserted rising tide of color. Its inevitable causes are not of our making. The consequences are not necessarily damaging to the best interests of civilization Whether it actually brings into being new Armadas of conflict or argosies of cultural exchange and enlightenment can only be decided by the attitude of the dominant races in an era of critical change. With the American Negro, his new inter 15 THE CJ^EW ViEGRO nationalism is primarily an effort to recapture contact with the scattered peoples of African derivation. Garveyism may be a transient, if spectacular, phenomenon, but the possible role of the American Negro in the future development of Africa is one of the most constructive and universally helpful missions that any modern people can lay claim to. Constructive participation in such causes cannot help giving the Negro valuable group incentives, as well as increased pres¬ tige at home and abroad. Our greatest rehabilitation may pos¬ sibly come through such channels, but for the present, more immediate hope rests in the revaluation by white and black alike of the Negro in terms of his artistic endowments and cultural contributions, past and prospective. It must be in¬ creasingly recognized that the Negro has already made very substantial contributions, not only in his folk-art, music espe¬ cially, which has always found appreciation, but in larger, though humbler and less acknowledged ways. For generations the Negro has been the peasant matrix of that section of America which has most undervalued him, and here he has contributed not only materially in labor and in social patience, but spiritually as well. The South has unconsciously absorbed the gift of his folk-temperament. In less than half a genera¬ tion it will be easier to recognize this, but the fact remains that a leaven of humor, sentiment, imagination and tropic nonchalance has gone into the making of the South from a humble, unacknowledged source. A second crop of the Negro’s gifts promises still more largely. He now becomes a conscious contributor and lays aside the status of a beneficiary and ward for that of a collaborator and participant in American civiliza¬ tion. The great social gain in this is the releasing of our tal¬ ented group from the arid fields of controversy and debate to the productive fields of creative expression. The especially cultural recognition they win should in turn prove the key to that revaluation of the Negro which must precede or accom¬ pany any considerable further betterment of race relationships. But whatever the general effect, the present generation will have added the motives of self-expression and spiritual devel¬ opment to the old and still unfinished task of making material 16 THE Vi EW D^EGRO headway and progress. No one who understandingly faces the situation with its substantial accomplishment or views the new scene with its still more abundant promise can be entirely without hope. And certainly, if in our lifetime the Negro should not be able to celebrate his full initiation into American democracy, he can at least, on the warrant of these things, celebrate the attainment of a significant and satisfying new phase of group development, and with it a spiritual Coming of Age. NEGRO ART AND AMERICA NEGRO ART AND AMERICA Albert C. Barnes That there should have developed a distinctively Negro art in America was natural and inevitable. A primitive race, transported into an Anglo-Saxon environment and held in sub¬ jection to that fundamentally alien influence, was bound to undergo the soul-stirring experiences which always find their expression in great art. The contributions of the American Negro to art are representative because they come from the hearts of the masses of a people held together by like yearnings and stirred by the same causes. It is a sound art because it comes from a primitive nature upon which a white man’s education has never been harnessed. It is a great art because it embodies the Negroes’ individual traits and reflects their suffering, aspira¬ tions and joys during a long period of acute oppression and distress. The most important element to be considered is the psycho¬ logical complexion of the Negro as he inherited it from his primitive ancestors and which he maintains to this day. The outstanding characteristics are his tremendous emotional en¬ dowment, his luxuriant and free imagination and a truly great power of individual expression. He has in superlative measure that fire and light which, coming from within, bathes his whole world, colors his images and impels him to expression. The Negro is a poet by birth. In the masses, that poetry ex¬ presses itself in religion which acquires a distinction by extraor¬ dinary fervor, by simple and picturesque rituals and by a surrender to emotion so complete that ecstasy, amounting to automatisms, is the rule when he worships in groups. The outburst may be started by any unlettered person provided 20 THE U^EW S^EGRO with the average Negro’s normal endowment of eloquence and vivid imagery. It begins with a song or a wail which spreads like fire and soon becomes a spectacle of a harmony of rhythmic movement and rhythmic sound unequalled in the ceremonies of any other race. Poetry is religion brought down to earth and it is of the essence of the Negro soul. He carries it with him always and everywhere; he lives it in the field, the shop, the factory. His daily habits of thought, speech and movement are flavored with the picturesque, the rhythmic, the euphonious. T The white man in the mass cannot compete with the Negro in spiritual endowment. Many centuries of civilization have attenuated his original gifts and have made his mind dominate his spirit. He has wandered too far from the elementary human needs and their easy means of natural satisfaction. The deep and satisfying harmony which the soul requires no longer arises from the incidents of daily life. The requirements for practical efficiency in a world alien to his spirit have worn thin his religion and devitalized his art. His art and his life are no longer one and the same as they were in primitive man. Art has become exotic, a thing apart, an indulgence, a some¬ thing to be possessed. When art is real and vital it effects the harmony between ourselves and nature which means happiness. Modern life has forced art into being a mere adherent upon the practical affairs of life which offer it no sustenance. The result has been that hopeless confusion of values which mis¬ takes sentimentalism and irrational day-dreaming for art. The Negro has kept nearer to the ideal of man’s harmony with nature and that, his blessing, has made him a vagrant in our arid, practical American life. But his art is so deeply rooted in his nature that it has thrived in a foreign soil where the traditions and practices tend to stamp out and starve out both the plant and its flowers. It has lived because it was an achievement, not an indulgence. It has been his . happiness through that mere self-expression which is its own immediate and rich reward. Its power converted adverse material con¬ ditions into nutriment for his soul and it made a new world in which his soul has been free. Adversity has always been his O^EGRO turns. jV «P °< <*“ ** * Qu«»’i VSbgt.- ■■ Or».tnali J per«i« dutGoJh jx>nfptAtr at “ PiTi, Kulod, h. U.u •* wwkrtii wrt® ' A&! *, 54, *5* .N £ W - Y O R K : hrMi t>, C A R *0 LI. ttJPATTERSOS X». js. M*i4»-Lu«. THE NEGRO IN AMERICAN LITERATURE THE I HEROIC SLAVE,* Ia^thrilijnc roiWAmOTRss of § MADISON WASHINCTOM, | js mwi « u»sm. PUBLISH SC pSO PIUOBJ 10 W Devoured her with their eager, passionate gfze; . But, looking at her falsely-smiling face ; , , I knew her self was not in that strange piac£. , a* I n ’ r if> ' »' •> 1 , ' ■' ► With Georgia Johnson, Anne Spencer and Angelina Giirnke, the Negro woman poet significantly appears., Mrs. Johnson o ^ > * * 40 THE T^EW DC EGRO especially has voiced in true poetic spirit the lyric cry of Negro womanhood. In spite of lapses into the sentimental and the platitudinous, she has an authentic gift. Anne Spencer, more sophisticated, more cryptic but also more universal, reveals quite another aspect of poetic genius. Indeed, it is interesting to notice how to-day Negro poets waver between the racial and the universal notes. Claude McKay, the poet who leads his generation, is a genius meshed in this dilemma. His work is caught between the currents of the poetry of protest and the poetry of ex¬ pression j he is in turn the violent and strident propagandist, using his poetic gifts to clothe arrogant and defiant thoughts, and then the pure lyric dreamer, contemplating life and nature with a wistful sympathetic passion. When the mood of Spring in New Hampshire or the sonnet The Harlem Dancer pos¬ sesses him, he is full of that spirit and power of beauty that flowers above any and all men’s harming. How different in spite of the admirable spirit of courage and defiance, are his poems of which the sonnet If We Must Die is a typical example. Negro poetic expression hovers for the moment, par¬ donably perhaps, over the race problem, but its highest alle¬ giance is to Poetry — it must soar. Let me refer briefly to a type of literature in which there have been many pens, but a single mind. Dr. Du Bois is the most variously gifted writer which the race has produced. Poet, novelist, sociologist, historian and essayist, he has pro¬ duced books in all these fields with the exception, I believe, of a formal book of poems, and has given to each the distinc¬ tion of his clear and exact thinking, and of his sensitive imagi¬ nation and passionate vision. The Souls of Black Folk was the bo’o'L'of an era; it was a painful book, a book of tor¬ tured dreams woven into the fabric of the sociologist’s docu¬ ment; 'This book has more profoundly influenced the spiritual temper '©-f ‘the race than any other written in its generation. It - is only 'through the intense, passionate idealism of such substance’ Us makes The Souls of Black Folk such a quivering rhapsody of wrongs endured and hopes to be fulfilled that THE 5\ CEGRO IN AMERICAN LITERATURE 41 the poets of the race with compelling artistry can lift the Negro into the only full and complete nationalism he knows — that of the American democracy. No other book has more clearly revealed to the nation at large the true idealism and high aspiration of the American Negro. In this book, as well as in many of Dr. Du Bois’s essays, it is often my personal feeling that I am witnessing the birth of a poet, phoenix-like, out of a scholar. Between The Souls of Black Folk and Darkwater , published four years ago, Dr. Du Bois has written a number of books, none more notable, in my opinion, than his novel The Quest of the Silver Fleece , in which he made Cotton the great protagonist of fate in the lives of the Southern people, both white and black. I only know of one other such attempt and accomplishment in American fiction — that of Frank Norris — and I am somehow of the opinion that when the great epic novel of the South is written this book will prove to have been its forerunner. Indeed, the Negro novel is one of the great potentialities of American literature. Must it be written by a Negro? To recur to the article from which I have already quoted: “The white writer seems to stand baffled before the enigma and so he expends all his energies on dialect and in general on the Negro’s minstrel characteristics. . . . We shall have to look to the Negro himself to go all the way. It is quite likely that no white man can do it. It is reasonable to suppose that his white psychology will always be in his way. I am not thinking at all about a Negro novelist who shall arouse the world to the horror of the deliberate killings by white mobs, to the wrongs that condemn a free people to political serfdom. I am not thinking at all of the propaganda novel, although there is enough horror and enough drama in the bald statistics of each one of the annual Moton letters to keep the whole army of writers busy. But the Negro novelist, if he ever comes, must reveal to us much more than what a Negro thinks about when he is being tied to a stake and the torch is being applied to his living flesh ; much more 42 THE TiEW TiEGRO than what he feels when he is being crowded off the side¬ walk by a drunken rowdy who may be his intellectual inferior by a thousand leagues. Such a writer, to succeed in a big sense, would have to forget that there are white readers; he would have to lose self-consciousness and forget that his work would be placed before a white jury. He would have to be careless as to what the white critic might think of it; he would need the self-assurance to be his own critic. He would have to forget for the time being, at least, that any white man ever attempted to dissect the soul of a Negro.” What I here quote is both an inquiry and a challenge! Well informed as the writer is, he does not seem to detect the forces which are surely gathering to produce what he longs for. The development of fiction among Negro authors has been, I might almost say, one of the repressed activities of our lit¬ erary life. A fair start was made the last decade of the nineteenth century when Chestnutt and Dunbar were turning out both short stories and novels. In Dunbar’s case, had he lived, I think his literary growth would have been in the evo¬ lution of the Race novel as indicated in The Uncalled and the Sport of the Gods. The former was, I think, the most ambitious literary effort of Dunbar j the latter was his most significant; significant because, thrown against the background of New York City, it displayed the life of the race as a unit, swayed by currents of existence, of which it was and was not a part. The story was touched with that shadow of destiny which gave to it a purpose more important than the mere racial machinery of its plot. But Dunbar in his fiction dealt only successfully with the same world that gave him the inspiration for his dialect poems; though his ambition was to “write a novel that will deal with the educated class of my own people. Later he writes of The Fanatics’. “You do not know how my hopes were planted in that book, but it has utterly dis¬ appointed me.” His contemporary, Charles W. Chestnutt, was concerned more primarily with the fiction of the Color THE O^EGRO IN AMERICAN LITERATURE 43 Line and the contacts and conflicts of its two worlds. He was in a way more successful. In the five volumes to his credit, he has revealed himself as a fiction writer of a very high order. But after all Mr. Chestnutt is a story-teller of genius transformed by racial earnestness into the novelist of talent. His natural gift would have found freer vent in a flow of short stories like Bret Harte’s, to judge from the facility and power of his two volumes of short stories, The Wife of His Youth and Other Stories and The Conjure Woman. But Mr. Chestnutt’s serious effort was in the field of the novel, where he made a brave and partially successful effort to correct the distortions of Reconstruction fiction and offset the school of Page and Cable. Two of these novels, The Marrow of Tra¬ dition and The House Behind the Cedars , must be reck¬ oned among the representative period novels of their time. But the situation was not ripe for the great Negro novelist. The American public preferred spurious values to the genuine; the coinage of the Confederacy was at literary par. Where Dunbar, the sentimentalist, was welcome, Chestnutt, the realist, was barred. In 1905 Mr. Chestnutt wrote The Colonel's Dream , and thereafter silence fell upon him. From this date until the past year, with the exception of The Quest of the Silver Fleece , which was published in 19 11, there has been no fiction of importance by Negro authors. But then suddenly there comes a series of books, which seems to promise at least a new phase of race fiction, and possibly the era of the major novelists. Mr. Walter White’s novel The Fire in the Flint is a swift moving straightforward story of the contemporary conflicts of black manhood in the South. Coming from the experienced observation of the author, him¬ self an investigator of many lynchings and riots, it is a social document story of first-hand significance and importance; too vital to be labelled and dismissed as propaganda, yet for the same reason too unvarnished and realistic a story to be great art. Nearer to the requirements of art comes Miss Jessie Fauset’s novel There is Confusion. Its distinction is to have created an entirely new milieu in the treatment of the race in fiction. She has taken a class within the race of established 44 THE Vi EW JiEGRO social standing, tradition and culture, and given in the rather complex family story of The Marshalls a social document of unique and refreshing value. In such a story, race fiction, detaching itself from the limitations of propaganda on the one hand and genre fiction on the other, emerges » >he line and is incorporated into the body of general and universal aI"t. Finally in Jean Toomer, the author of Cane, we come upon the very first artist of the race, who with all an artist s passion and sympathy for life, its hurts, its sympathies, its desires, its joys, its defeats and strange yearnings, can write about t Negro without the surrender or compromise of the artists vision. So objective is it, that we feel that it is a mere acci en that birth or association has thrown him into contact w h t life he has written about. He would write just as well, just as poignantly, just as transmutingly, about the Peasants o Russia, or the peasants of Ireland, had experience brought him in touch with their existence. Cane is a book of go an bronze, of dusk and flame, of ecstasy and pain, and Jea Toomer is a bright morning star of a new day of the race in literature. NEGRO YOUTH SPEAKS Young Negro NEGRO YOUTH SPEAKS Alain Locke The Younger Generation comes, bringing its gifts. They are the first fruits of the Negro Renaissance. Youth speaks, and the voice of the New Negro is heard. What stirs inarticu¬ lately in the masses is already vocal upon the lips of the tal¬ ented few, and the future listens, however the present may shut its ears. Here we have Negro youth, with arresting vi¬ sions and vibrant prophecies 3 forecasting in the mirror of art what we must see and recognize in the streets of reality to¬ morrow, foretelling in new notes and accents the maturing speech of full racial utterance. Primarily, of course, it is youth that speaks in the voice of egro youth, but the overtones are distinctive; Negro youth speaks out of an unique experience and with a particular repre- >entativeness. All classes of a people under social pressure ire permeated with a common experience; they are emotion- i y welded as others cannot be. With them, even ordinary iving has epic depth and lyric intensity, and this, their material lan icap, is their spiritual advantage. So, in a day when art ias run to classes, cliques and coteries, and life lacks more and nore a vital common background, the Negro artist, out of the lepths of his group and personal experience, has to his hand ilmost the conditions of a classical art. Negro genius to-day relies upon the race-gift as a vast spiritual endowment from which our best developments have ome and must come. Racial expression as a conscious motive, t is true, is fading out of our latest art, but just as surely the -ge of truer, finer group expression is coming in— for race expression does not need to be deliberate to be vital. Indeed t its best it never is. This was the case with our instinctive n quite matchless folk-art, and begins to be the same again 48 < THE D^EW J^EGRO as we approach cultural maturity in a phase of art that promises now to be fully representative. The interval between has been an awkward age, where from the anxious desire and attempt to be representative much that was really unrepresentative has come; we have lately had an art that was stiltedly self-con¬ scious, and racially rhetorical rather than racially expressive. Our poets have now stopped speaking for the Negro— they speak as Negroes. Where formerly they spoke to others and tried to interpret, they now speak to their own and try to express. They have stopped posing, being nearer the attain¬ ment of poise. , . . • The younger generation has thus achieved an objective a tude toward life. Race for them is but an idiom of experience, a sort of added enriching adventure and discipline, giving subtler overtones to life, making it more beautiful and interest¬ ing, even if more poignantly so. So experienced, it affords a deepening rather than a narrowing of social vision. The artistic problem of the Young Negro has not been so much that of acquiring the outer mastery of form and technique as that of achieving an inner mastery of mood and spirit. That accomplished, there has come the happy release from self-consciousness, rhetoric, bombast, and the hampering hab. of setting artistic values with primary regard for moral effect _ all those pathetic over-compensations of a group inferiori y complex which our social dilemmas inflicted upon several un¬ happy generations. Our poets no longer have the hard choice between an over-assertive and an appealing attitude. y same effort they have shaken themselves free from ^ strel tradition and the fowling-nets of dialect, and throug acquiring ease and simplicity in serious expression, have carried the folk-gift to the altitudes of art. There they seek and find art’s intrinsic values and satisfactions— and if America were deaf, they would still sing. _ - , But America listens— perhaps in curiosity at first, later, may be sure, in understanding. But— a moment of patience- The generation now in the artistic vanguard inherits the fin* and dearly bought achievement of another generation of cre¬ ative workmen who have been pioneers and path-breakers u V(EGRO TOUTH SPEAKS 49 the cultural development and recognition of the Negro in the arts. Though still in their prime, as veterans of a hard strug¬ gle, they must have the praise and gratitude that is due them. We have had, in fiction, Chestnutt and Burghardt Du Bois; in drama, Du Bois again and Angelina Grimke; in poetry Dunbar, James Weldon Johnson, Fenton and Charles Bertram Johnson, Everett Hawkins, Lucien Watkins, Cotter, Jameson ; and in another file of poets, Miss Grimke, Anne Spencer, and Georgia Douglas Johnson ; in criticism and belles lettres , Braith waite and Dr. Du Bois; in painting, Tanner and Scott; in sculpture, Meta Warrick and May Jackson; in acting, Gilpin and Robeson; in music, Burleigh. Nor must the fine collab¬ oration of white American artists be omitted; the work of Ridgeley Torrence and Eugene O’Neill in drama, of Stribling, and Shands and Clement Wood in fiction, all of which has helped in the bringing of the materials of Negro life out of the shambles of conventional polemics, cheap romance and journalism into the domain of pure and unbiassed art. Then, rich in this legacy, but richer still, I think, in their own endow¬ ment of talent, comes the youngest generation of our Afro- American culture: in music Diton, Dett, Grant Still, and Roland Hayes; in fiction, Jessie Fauset, Walter White, Claude McKay (a forthcoming book); in drama, Willis Richardson; in the field of the short story, Jean Toomer, Eric Walrond, Rudolph Fisher; and finally a vivid galaxy of young Negro poets, McKay, Jean Toomer, Langston Hughes and Countee Cullen. These constitute a new generation not because of years only, but because of a new aesthetic and a new philosophy of life. They have all swung above the horizon in the last three years, and we can say without disparagement of the past that in that short space of time they have gained collectively from pub¬ lishers, editors, critics and the general public more recognition than has ever before come to Negro creative artists in an entire working lifetime. First novels of . unquestioned distinction, first acceptances by premier journals whose pages are the am¬ bition of veteran craftsmen, international acclaim, the conquest for us of new provinces of art, the development for the first 5° THE $iEW TiEGRO time among us of literary coteries and channels for the contact of creative minds, and most important of all, a spiritual quick¬ ening and racial leavening such as no generation has yet felt and known. It has been their achievement also to bring the artistic advance of the Negro sharply into stepping alignment with contemporary artistic thought, mood and style. They are thoroughly modern, some of them ultra-modern, and Negro thoughts now wear the uniform of the age.. Through their work, these younger artists have declared for a lusty vigorous realism; the same that is molding con¬ temporary American letters, but their achievement of it, as it has been doubly difficult, is doubly significant. The elder gen¬ eration of Negro writers expressed itself in cautious moralism and guarded idealizations; the trammels of Puritanism were on its mind because the repressions of prejudice were heavy on its heart. They felt art must fight social battles and com¬ pensate social wrongs; “Be representative”: put the better foot foremost, was the underlying mood. Just as. with the Iris, Renaissance, there were the riots and controversies over Synge s folk plays and other frank realisms of the younger school, so we are having and will have turbulent discussion and dissatis¬ faction with the stories, plays and poems of the younger Negro group. But writers like Rudolph Fisher, Zora Hurston, Jean Toomer, Eric Walrond, Willis Richardson and Langston Hughes take their material objectively with detached artisti vision; they have no thought of their racy folk types as typical of anything but themselves or of their being taken or, mistaken as racially representative. Contrast Ellen Glasgow s Barren Ground with Thomas Nelson Page, or Waldo Frank s Hohday with anything of Mr. Cable’s, and you will get the true clue for this contrast between the younger and fheeidergeneration of Negro literature; Realism in “crossing the Potomac had also to cross the color line. Indeed it was the other way round; the pioneer writing of the fiction of the New ou was the realistic fiction of Negro life. Fortunateiy justatt time the younger generation was precipitating out, Batomla came to attention through the award of the Prix Goncourt Rene Maran, its author, in 1923- Though Batomla is not ot ^CEGRO TOUTH SPEAKS Si the American Negro either in substance or authorship, the influence of its daring realism and Latin frankness was educa¬ tive and emancipating. And so not merely for modernity of style, but for vital originality of substance, the young Negro writers dig deep into the racy peasant undersoil of the race life. Jean Toomer writes: “Georgia opened me. And it may well be said that I received my initial impulse to an individual art from my experience there. For no other section of the country has so stirred me. There one finds soil, soil in the sense the Russians know it, — the soil every art and literature that is to live must be imbedded in.” • The newer motive, then, in being racial is to be so purely for the sake of art. Nowhere is this more apparent, or more justified than in the increasing tendency to evolve from the racial substance something technically distinctive, something that as an idiom of style may become a contribution to the general resources of art. In flavor of language, flow of phrase, accent of rhythm in prose, verse and music, color and tone of imagery, idiom and timbre of emotion and symbolism, it is the ambition and promise of Negro artists to make a distinctive contribution. Much of this is already discernible. The inter¬ esting experiment of Weldon Johnson in Creation: A Negro Sermon , to transpose the dialect motive and carry it through in the idioms of imagery rather than the broken phonetics of speech, is a case in point. In music such transfusions of racial idioms with the modernistic styles of expression has already taken place; in the other arts it is just as possible and likely. hus under the sophistications of modern style may be de¬ tected in almost all our artists a fresh distinctive note that the majority of them admit as the instinctive gift of the folk- spint. Toomer gives a musical folk-lilt and a glamorous sensuous ecstasy to the style of the American prose modernists. McKay adds Aesop and peasant irony to the social novel and folk clarity and naivete to lyric thought. Fisher adds the terseness and emotional raciness of Uncle Remus to the art 52 THE CNiEW 3^ EGRO of Maupassant and O. Henry. Walrond has a tropical color and almost volcanic gush that are unique even after more than a generation of exotic word painting by master artists. Lang¬ ston Hughes has a distinctive fervency of color and rhythm, and a Biblical simplicity of speech that is colloquial in deriva¬ tion, but full of artistry. Roland Hayes carries the rhapsodic gush and depth of folk-song to the old masters. Countee Cullen blends the simple with the sophisticated so originally as almost to put the vineyards themselves into his crystal goblets. There is in all the marriage of a fresh emotional endowment with the finest niceties of art. Here for the enrichment of American and modern art, among our contemporaries, in a people who still have the ancient key, are some of the things we thought culture had forever lost. Art cannot disdain the gift of a natural irony, of a transfiguring imagination, of rhapsodic Biblical speech, of dynamic musical swing, of cosmic emotion such as only the gifted pagans knew, of a return to nature, not by way of the forced and worn formula of Roman¬ ticism, but through the closeness of an imagination that has never broken kinship with nature. Art must accept such gifts, and revaluate the giver. Not all the new art is in the field of pure art values. There is poetry of sturdy social protest, and fiction of calm, dispas¬ sionate social analysis. But reason and realism have cured us of sentimentality: instead of the wail and appeal, there is chal¬ lenge and indictment. Satire is just beneath the surface of our latest prose, and tonic irony has come into our poetic wells. These are good medicines for the common mind, for us they are necessary antidotes against social poison. Their influence means that at least for us the worst symptoms of the social distemper are passing. And so the social promise of our recent art is as great as the artistic. It has brought with it, first of all, that wholesome, welcome virtue of finding beauty in oneself \ the younger generation can no longer be twitted as cultural nondescripts” or accused of “being out of love with their own nativity.” They have instinctive love and pride of race, and, spiritually compensating for the present lacks of America, * CEGRO YOUTH SPEAKS 53 ardent respect and love for Africa, the motherland. Gradually too, under some spiritualizing reaction, the brands and wounds of social persecution are becoming the proud stigmata of spiritual immunity and moral victory. Already enough prog¬ ress has been made in this direction so that it is no longer true that the Negro mind is too engulfed in its own social dilemmas for control of the necessary perspective of art, or too de¬ pressed to attain the full horizons of self and social criticism. Indeed, by the evidence and promise of the cultured few, we ar~ at last spiritually free, and offer through art an emanci¬ pating vision to America. But it is a presumption to speak further for those who in the selections of their work in the succeeding sections speak so adequately for themselves. FICTION THE CITY OF REFUGE Rudolph Fisher i Confronted suddenly by daylight, King Solomon Gillis stood dazed and blinking. The railroad station, the long, white-walled corridor, the impassible slot-machine, the terri- fying subway train — he felt as if he had been caught up in the jaws of a steam-shovel, jammed together with other help¬ less lumps of dirt, swept blindly along for a time, and at last abruptly dumped. There had been strange and terrible sounds: “New York! Penn Terminal— all change!” “Pohter, hyer, pohter, suh?” Shuffle of a thousand soles, clatter of a thousand heels, in¬ numerable echoes. Cracking rifle-shots — no, snapping turn¬ stiles. Put a nickel in!” “Harlem? Sure. This side — next train. Distant thunder, nearing. The screeching onslaught of the fiery hosts of hell, headlong, breath-taking. Car doors rattling, sliding, banging open. “Say, wha’ d’ye think this is, a baggage car?” Heat, oppression, suffocation — eternity — f Hundred n turdy-fif’ next!” More turnstiles. Jonah emerg¬ ing from the whale. Clean air, blue sky, bright sunlight. ^ Gillis set down his tan-cardboard extension-case and wiped his black, shining brow. Then slowly, spreadingly, he grinned it what he saw: Negroes at every turn; up and down Lenox l^venue, up and down One Hundred and Thirty-fifth Street; }ig, lanky Negroes, short, squat Negroes; black ones, brown ^nes, yellow ones; men standing idle on the curb, women, uundle-laden, trudging reluctantly homeward, children rattle- 58 THE 3^EW C^EGRO trapping about the sidewalks 3 here and there a white face drifting along, but Negroes predominantly, overwhelmingly everywhere. There was assuredly no doubt of his where¬ abouts. This was Negro Harlem. Back in North Carolina Gillis had shot a white man and, with the aid of prayer and an automobile, probably escaped a lynching. Carefully avoiding the railroads, he had reached Washington in safety. For his car a Southwest bootlegger had given him a hundred dollars and directions to Harlem ; and so he had come to Harlem. Ever since a travelling preacher had first told him of the place, King Solomon Gillis had longed to come to Harlem. The Uggams were always talking about it 5 one of their boys had gone to France in the draft and, returning, had never got any nearer home than Harlem. And there were occasional “colored” newspapers from New York: newspapers that men¬ tioned Negroes without comment, but always spoke of a white person as “So-and-so, white.” That was the point. In Harlem, black was white. You had rights that could not be denied you 5 you had privileges, protected by law. And you had money. Everybody in Harlem had money. It was a land of plenty. Why, had not Mouse Uggam sent back as much as fifty dollars at a time to his people in Waxhaw? The shooting, therefore, simply catalyzed whatever sluggish mental reaction had been already directing King Solomon’s fortunes toward Harlem. The land of plenty was more than that now: it was also the city of refuge. Casting about for direction, the tall newcomer’s glance caught inevitably on the most conspicuous thing in sight, a magnificent figure in blue that stood in the middle of the crossing and blew a whistle and waved great white-gloved hands. The Southern Negro’s eyes opened wide; his mouth opened wider. Tf the inside of New York had mystified him, the outside was amaz¬ ing him. For there stood a handsome, brass-buttoned giant directing the heaviest traffic Gillis had ever seen 3 halting un¬ numbered tons of automobiles and trucks and wagons and pushcarts and street-cars; holding them at bay with one hand while he swept similar tons peremptorily on with the other; W.EGRO YOUTH SPEAKS 59 ruling the wide crossing with supreme self-assurance; and he, too, was a Negro! e Yet most of the vehicles that leaped or crouched at his bid¬ ding carried white passengers. One of these overdrove bounds a few feet and Gillis heard the officer’s shrill whistle and gruff reproof, saw the driver’s face turn red and his car draw back like a threatened pup. It was beyond belief— impossible. Black might be white, but it couldn’t be that white! “Done died an’ woke up in Heaven,” thought King Solomon, watching, fascinated ; and after a while, as if the wonder of it were too great to believe simply by seeing, “Cullud police¬ mans! he said, half aloud; then repeated over and over, with greater and greater conviction, “Even got cullud policemans — even got cullud — ” “Where y’ want to go, big boy?” Gillis turned. A little, sharp-faced yellow man was ad¬ dressing him. “Saw you was a stranger. Thought maybe I could help y’ out.” P King Solomon located and gratefully extended a slip of paper. “Wha’ dis hyeh at, please, suh?” The other studied it a moment, pushing back his hat and scratching his head. The hat was a tall-crowned, unindented brown felt; the head was brown patent-leather, its glistening brush-back flawless save for a suspicious crimpiness near the clean-grazed edges. See that second corner? Turn to the left when you get there. Number forty-five’s about halfway the block.” “Thank y’, suh.” “You from — Massachusetts?” “No, suh, Nawth Ca’lina.” /s at so? You look like a Northerner. Be with us long?” “Till I die,” grinned the flattered King Solomon. “Stoppin’ there?” Reckon I is. Man in Washin’ton ’lowed I’d find lodgin’ it dis ad-dress.” “Good enough. If y’ don’t, maybe I can fix y’ up. Harlem’s pretty crowded. This is me.” He proffered a card. 6o THE O^EW JiEGRO “Thank y’, suh,” said Gillis, and put the card in his pocket. The little yellow man watched him plod flat-footedly on down the street, long awkward legs never quite straightened, shouldered extension-case bending him sidewise, wonder upon wonder halting or turning him about. Presently, as he pro¬ ceeded, a pair of bright-green stockings caught and held his attention. Tony, the storekeeper, was crossing the sidewalk with a bushel basket of apples. There was a collision; the apples rolled; Tony exploded; King Solomon apologized. The little yellow man laughed shortly, took out a notebook, and put down the address he had seen on King Solomon’s slip of paper. “Guess you’re the shine I been waitin’ for,” he surmised. As Gillis, approaching his destination, stopped to rest, a haunting notion grew into an insistent idea. “Dat li’l yaller nigger was a sho’ ’nuff gen’man to show me de road. Seem lak I knowed him befo’ — ” He pondered. That receding brow, that sharp-ridged, spreading nose, that tight upper lip over the two big front teeth, that chinless jaw — He fumbled hurriedly for the card he had not looked at and eagerly made out the name. “Mouse Uggam, sho’ ’nuff! Well, dog-gone!” ii Uggam sought out Tom Edwards, once a Pullman porter, now prosperous proprietor of a cabaret, and told him: “Chief, I got him: a baby jess in from the land o’ cotton and so dumb he thinks ante-bellum’s an old woman.” “Wher’d you find him?” “Where you find all the jay birds when they first hit Har¬ lem — at the subway entrance. This one come up the stairs, batted his eyes once or twice, an’ froze to the spot — with his mouth open. Sure sign he’s from ’way down behind the sun an’ ripe f’ the pluckin’.” Edwards grinned a gold-studded, fat-jowled grin. “Gave him the usual line, I suppose?” “Didn’t miss. An’ he fell like a ton o’ bricks. ’Course & CEGRO rOUTH SPEAKS 6 1 I ve got him spotted, but damn1 if I know jess how to switch ’em on to him.” “Get him a job around a store somewhere. Make out you’re befriendin’ him. Get his confidence.” Sounds good. Ought to be easy. He’s from my state. Maybe I know him or some of his people.” Make out you do, anyhow. Then tell him some fairy tale that 11 switch your trade to him. The cops’ll follow the trade. We could even let Froggy flop into some dumb white cop’s hands and ‘confess’ where he got it. See?” “Chief, you got a head, no lie.” “Don’t lose no time. And remember, hereafter, it’s better to sacrifice a little than to get squealed on. Never refuse a customer. Give him a little credit. Humor him along till you can get rid of him safe. You don’t know what that guy that died may have said; you don’t know who’s on to you now. And if they get you — I don’t know you.” “They won’t get me/9 said Uggam. King Solomon Gillis sat meditating in a room half the size of his hencoop back home, with a single window opening- into an airshaft. An airshaft: cabbage and chitterlings cooking ; liver and onions sizzling, sputtering ; three player-pianos out-plunking each other 5 a man and woman calling each other vile things 5 a sick, neglected baby wailing ; a phonograph broadcasting blues } dishes clacking ; a girl crying heartbrokenly; waste noises, waste odors of a score of families, seeking issue through a common channel; pollution from bottom to top — a sewer of sounds and smells. «-rP0ntem^^at^n^ t^^S’ S°l°mon grinned and breathed, °£“£one! A little later, still gazing into the sewer, he grinned again. “Green stockin’s,” he said; “loud green I” The sewer gradually grew darker. A window lighted up op¬ posite, revealing a woman in camisole and petticoat, arranging her hair. King Solomon, staring vacantly, shook his head and grinned yet again. “Even got cullud policemans!” he mum¬ bled softly. 6 2 THE J(EW WIEGRO hi Uggam leaned out of the room’s one window and spat maliciously into the dinginess of the airshaft. “Damn glad you got him,” he commented, as Gillis finished his story. “They’s a thousand shines in Harlem would change places with you in a minute jess f’ the honor of killin’ a cracker.” “But I didn’t go to do it. ’Twas a accident.” “That’s the only part to keep secret.” “Know whut dey done? Dey killed five o’ Mose Joplin’s hawses ’fo he lef’. Put groun’ glass in de feed-trough. Sam Cheevers come up on three of ’em one night pizenin’ his well. Bleesom beat Crinshaw out o’ sixty acres o’ lan’ an’ a year’s crops. Dass jess how ’tis. Soon’s a nigger make a li’l sump’n he better git to leavin’. An’ ’fo long ev’ybody’s goin’ be lef’!” “Hope to hell they don’t all come here.” The doorbell of the apartment rang. A crescendo of foot¬ falls in the hallway culminated in a sharp rap on Gillis’s door. Gillis jumped. Nobody but a policeman would rap like that. Maybe the landlady had been listening and had called in the law. It came again, loud, quick, angry. King Solomon prayed that the policeman would be a Negro. Uggam stepped over and opened the door. King Solomon’s apprehensive eyes saw framed therein, instead of a gigantic officer, calling for him, a little blot of a creature, quite black against even the darkness of the hallway, except for a dirty, wide-striped silk shirt, collarless, with the sleeves rolled up. “Ah hahve bill fo’ Mr. Gillis.” A high, strongly accented Jamaican voice, with its characteristic singsong intonation, inter¬ rupted King Solomon’s sigh of relief. “Bill? Bill fo’ me? What kin’ o’ bill?” “Wan bushel appels. T’ree seventy-fife.” “Apples? I ain’ bought no apples.” He took the paper and read aloud, laboriously, “Antonio Gabrielli to K. S. Gillis, Debtor — ” ’ | “Mr. Gabrielli say, you not pays him, he send policemon.” “What I had to do wid ’is apples?” 63 ^ CEGRO TOUTH SPEAKS You bumps into him yesterday, no? Scatter appels every¬ where— on de sidewalk, in de gutter. Kids pick up an’ run away. Others all spoil. So you pays.” Gillis appealed to Uggam. “How ’bout it, Mouse?” . “He’s a damn liar. Tony picked up most of ’em; I seen him. Lemme look at that bill — Tony never wrote this thing. This baby s jess playin’ you for a sucker.” “Am’ had no apples, ain’ payin’ fo’ none,” announced King Solomon, thus prompted. “Didn’t have to come to Harlem to git cheated. Plenty o’ dat right wha’ I come fum.” But the West Indian warmly insisted. “You cahn’t do daht, mon. Whaht you t’ink, ’ey? Dis mon loose ’is appels an’ ’is money too?” “What diff’ence it make to you, nigger?” Who you call nigger, mon? Ah hahve you understahn’ — ” Oh, well, white folks, den. What all you got t’ do wid dis hyeh, anyhow?” “Mr. Gabrielli send me to collect bill ! ” “Howl know dat?” “Do Ah not bring bill? You t’ink Ah steal t’ree dollar, ’ey?” 9 « )17\ree dolIars an’ sebenty-fi’ cent,” corrected Gillis. Nuther thing: wha’ you ever see me befo’? How you know dis is me?” „ “Ah S£e, y°U’ SUre- Ah heIP Mr‘ Gabrielli in de store. When you knocks down de baskette appels, Ah see. Ah follow you. Ah know you comes in dis house.” “Oh, you does? An’ how come you know my name an’ flat m room so good? How come dat?” ‘Ah fin’ out. Sometime Ah brings up here vegetables from store.” ^Humph ! Mus’ be workin’ on shares.” “J°u. pays, ’ey? You pays me or de policemon?” ait a minute,” broke in Uggam, who had been though t- ully contemplating the bill. “Now listen, big shorty. You iaul hips on back to Tony. We got your menu all right”— le'ruVe«rhe blll~“but we don’t eat your kind o’ cookin’, see?” I he West Indian flared. “Whaht it is to you, ’ey? You 6 4 THE O^EW V^EGRO can not mind your own business? Ah hahve not spik to you!” “No, brother. But this is my friend, an5 I’ll be john- browned if there’s a monkey-chaser in Harlem can gyp him if I know it, see? Bes’ thing P you to do is catch air, toot sweet.” Sensing frustration, the little islander demanded the bill back. Uggam figured he could use the bill himself, maybe. The West Indian hotly persisted ; he even menaced. Uggam pocketed the paper and invited him to take it. Wisely enough, the caller preferred to catch air. When he had gone, King Solomon sought words of thanks. “Bottle it,” said Uggam. “The point is this: I figger you got a job.” “Job? No I ain’t! Wha’ at?” “When you show Tony this bill, he’ll hit the roof and fire that monk.” “What ef he do?” “Then you up ’n ask f’ the job. He’ll be too grateful to refuse. I know Tony some, an’ I’ll be there to put in a good word. See?” King Solomon considered this. “Sho’ needs a job, but ain’ after stealin’ none.” “Stealin’? ’Twouldn’t be stealin’. Stealin’s what that damn monkey-chaser tried to do from you. This would be doin’ Tony a favor, an’ gettin’ y’self out o’ the barrel. What’s the hold-back?” “What make you keep callin’ him monkey-chaser?” “West Indian. That’s another thing. Any time y’ can knife a monk, do it. They’s too damn many of ’em here. They’re an achin’ pain.” “Jess de way white folks feels ’bout niggers.” “Damn that. How ’bout It? Y’ want the job?” “Hm — well — I’d ruther be a policeman.” “Policeman?” Uggam gasped. “M-hm. Dass all I wants to be, a policeman, so I kin police all de white folks right plumb in jail!” Uggam said seriously, “Well, y’ might work up to that But it takes time. An’ y’ve got to eat while y’re waitin’.” C^EGRO YOUTH SPEAKS 65 paused to let this penetrate. “Now, how ’bout this job at Tony’s in the meantime? I should think y’d jump at it.” King Solomon was persuaded. “Hm — well — reckon I does,” he said slowly. “Now y’re tootin’!” Uggam’s two big front teeth popped out in a grin of genuine pleasure. “Come on. Let’s go.” IV Spitting blood and crying with rage, the West Indian scrambled to his feet. For a moment he stood in front of the store gesticulating furiously and jabbering shrill threats and unintelligible curses. Then abruptly he stopped and took himself off. King Solomon Gillis, mildly puzzled, watched him from Tony’s doorway. “I jess give him a li’l shove,” he said to himself, “an’ he roll’ clean ’cross de sidewalk.” And a little later, disgustedly, “Monkey-chaser!” he grunted, and went back to his sweeping. “Well, big boy, how y’ cornin’ on?” Gillis dropped his broom. “Hay-o, Mouse. Wha’ you been las’ two-three days?” “Oh, around. Gettin’ on all right here? Had any trouble?” “Deed I ain’t — ’ceptin’ jess now I had to throw ’at li’l jigger out.” “Who? The monk?” “M-hm. He sho’ Lawd doan like me in his job. Look like he think I stole it from him, stiddy him tryin’ to steal from me. Had to push him down sho’ ’nuff ’fo I could git rid of ’im. Den he run off talkin’ Wes’ Indi’man an’ shakin’ his fis’ at me.” “Ferget it.” Uggam glanced about. “Where’s Tony?” “Boss man? He be back direckly.” “Listen — like to make two or three bucks a day extra?” “Huh?” “Two or three dollars a day more’n what you’re gettin’ already?” 66 THE CM^EW C^EGRO “Ain’ I near ’nuff in jail now?” “Listen.” King Solomon listened. Uggam hadn’t been in France for nothing. Fact was, in France he’d learned about some valuable French medicine. He’d brought some back with him, — little white pills, — and while in Harlem had found a certain druggist who knew what they were and could supply all he could use. Now there were any number of people who would buy and pay well for as much of this French medicine as Uggam could get. It was good for what ailed them, and they didn’t know how to get it except through him. But he had no store in which to set up an agency and hence no single place where his customers could go to get wrhat they wanted. If he had, he could sell three or four times as much as he did. King Solomon was in a position to help him now, same as he had helped King Solomon. He would leave a dozen pack¬ ages of the medicine — just small envelopes that could all be carried in a coat pocket — with King Solomon every day. Then he could simply send his customers to King Solomon at Tony’s store. They’d make some trifling purchase, slip him a certain coupon which Uggam had given them, and King Solomon would wrap the little envelope of medicine with their purchase. Mustn’t let Tony catch on, because he might object, and then the whole scheme would go gaflooey. Of course it wouldn’t really be hurting Tony any. Wouldn’t it increase the number of his customers? Finally, at the end of each day, Uggam would meet King Solomon some place and give him a quarter for each coupon he held. There’d be at least ten or twelve a day — two and a half or three dollars plumb extra! Eighteen or twenty dollars a week! “Dog-gone!” breathed Gillis. “Does Tony ever leave you heer alone?” “M-hm. Jess started dis mawnin’. Doan nobody much come round ’tween ten an’ twelve, so he done took to doin’ his buyin’ right ’long ’bout dat time. Nobody hyeh but me fo’ ’n hour or so.” “Good. I’ll try to get my folks to come ’round here mostly while Tony’s out, see?” 67 S^EGRO YOUTH SPEAKS “I doan miss.” “Sure y’ get the idea, now?” Uggam carefully explained it all again. By the time he had finished, King Solomon was wallowing in gratitude. “Mouse, you sho’ is been a friend to me. Why, ’f ’t hadn’ been fo’ you — ” “Bottle it,” said Uggam. “I’ll be round to your room to¬ night with enough stuff for to-morrer, see? Be sure ’n be there.” “Won’t be nowha’ else.” “An’ remember, this is all jess between you ’n me.” “Nobody else but,” vowed King Solomon: Uggam grinned to himself as he went on his way. “Dumb Oscar! Wonder how much can we make before the cops nab him? French medicine — Hmph!” v Tony Gabrielli, an oblate Neapolitan of enormous equator, wabbled heavily out of his store and settled himself over a soap box. Usually Tony enjoyed sitting out front thus in the evening, when his helper had gone home and his trade was slackest. He liked to watch the little Gabriellis playing over the side¬ walk with the little Levys and Johnsons ; the trios and quar¬ tettes of brightly dressed, dark-skinned girls merrily out for a stroll; the slovenly gaited, darker men, who eyed them up and down and commented to each other with an unsuppressed “Hot damn!” or “Oh no, now!” But to-night Tony was troubled. Something was wrong in the store; something was different since the arrival of King Solomon Gillis. The new man had seemed to prove himself honest and trustworthy, it was true. Tony had tested him, as he always tested a new man, by apparently leaving him alone in charge for two or three mornings. As a matter of fact, the new man was never under more vigilant observation than dur¬ ing these two or three mornings. Tony’s store was a modifica- 68 THE O^EW C^EGRO tion of the front rooms of his flat and was in direct communi¬ cation with it by way of a glass-windowed door in the rear. Tony always managed to get back into his flat via the side- street entrance and watch the new man through this unobtru¬ sive glass-windowed door. If anything excited his suspicion, like unwarranted interest in the cash register, he walked un¬ expectedly out of this door to surprise the offender in the act. Thereafter he would have no more such trouble. But he had not succeeded in seeing King Solomon steal even an apple. What he had observed, however, was that the number of customers that came into the store during the morning’s slack hour had pronouncedly increased in the last few days. Before, there had been three or four. Now there were twelve or fifteen. The mysterious thing about it was that their pur¬ chases totalled little more than those of the original three or four. Yesterday and to-day Tony had elected to be in the store at the time when, on the other days, he had been out. But Gillis had not been overcharging or short-changing; for when Tony waited on the customers himself — strange faces all — he found that they bought something like a yeast cake or a five-cent loaf of bread. It was puzzling. Why should strangers leave their own neighborhoods and repeatedly come to him for a yeast cake or a loaf of bread? They were not new neighbors. New neighbors would have bought more variously and ex¬ tensively and at different times of day. Living near by, they would have come in, the men often in shirtsleeves and slippers, the women in kimonos, with boudoir caps covering their lumpy heads. They would have sent in strange children for things like yeast cakes and loaves of bread. And why did not some of them come in at night when the new helper was off duty? As for accosting Gillis on suspicion, Tony was too wise for that. Patronage had a queer way of shifting itself in Harlem. You lost your temper and let slip a single “negre” A week later you sold your business. Spread over his soap box, with his pudgy hands clasped on his preposterous paunch, Tony sat and wondered. Two men came up, conspicuous for no other reason than that they were ViEGRO YOUTH SPEAKS 69 white. They displayed extreme nervousness, looking about as if afraid of being seen 5 and when one of them spoke to Tony it was in a husky, toneless, blowing voice, like the sound of a dirty phonograph record. “Are you Antonio Gabrielli?” “Yes, sure,” Strange behavior for such lusty-looking fel¬ lows. He who had spoken unsmilingly winked first one eye then the other, and indicated by a gesture of his head that they should enter the store. His companion looked cautiously up and down the Avenue, while Tony, wondering what ailed them, rolled to his feet and puffingly led the way. Inside, the spokesman snuffled, gave his .shoulders a queer little hunch, and asked, “Can you fix us up, buddy?” The other glanced restlessly about the place as if he were constantly hearing unaccountable noises. Tony thought he understood clearly now. “Booze, ’ey?” he smiled. “Sorry — I no got.” “Booze? Hell, no!” The voice dwindled to a throaty whisper. “Dope. Coke, milk, dice — anything. Name your price. Got to have it.” “Dope?” Tony was entirely at a loss. “What’s a dis, dope?” “Aw, lay off, brother. We’re in on this. Here.” He handed Tony a piece of paper. “Froggy gave us a coupon. Come on. You can’t go wrong.” “I no got,” insisted the perplexed Tony; nor could he be budged on that point. Quite suddenly the manner of both men changed. “All right,” said the first angrily, in a voice as robust as his body. “All right, you’re clever, You no got. Well, you will get. You’ll get twenty years!” “Twenty year? Whadda you talk?” “Wait a minute, Mac,” said the second caller. “Maybe the wop’s on the level. Look here, Tony, we’re officers, see? Policemen.” He produced a badge. “A couple of weeks ago a guy was brought in dying for the want of a shot, see? Dope he needed some dope — like this — in his arm. See? Well, we tried to make him tell us where he’d been getting it, but he was too weak. He croaked next day. Evidently he hadn’t had money enough to buy any more. “Well, this morning a little nigger that goes by the name of Froggy was brought into the precinct pretty well doped up. When he finally came to, he swore he got the stuff here at your store. Of course, we’ve just been trying to trick you into giving yourself away, but you don’t bite. Now what’s your game? Know anything about this?” Tony understood. “I dunno,” he said slowly ; and then his own problem, whose contemplation his callers had interrupted, occurred to him. “Sure!” he exclaimed. “Wait. Maybeso, I know somet’ing.” “All right. Spill it.” “I got a new man, work-a for me.” And he told them what he had noted since King Solomon Gillis came. “Sounds interesting. Where is this guy?” “Here in da store — all day.” “Be here to-morrow?” “Sure. All day.” “All right. We’ll drop in to-morrow and give him the eye. Maybe he’s our man.” “Sure. Come ten o’clock. I show you,” promised Tony. VI Even the oldest and rattiest cabarets in Harlem have sense of shame enough to hide themselves under the ground — for instance, Edwards’s. To get into Edwards’s you casually enter a dimly lighted corner saloon, apparently — only apparently — a subdued memory of brighter days. What was once the family entrance is now a side entrance for ladies. Supporting yourself against close walls, you crouchingly descend a narrow, twisted staircase until, with a final turn, you find yourself in a glaring, long, low basement. In a moment your eyes become accus¬ tomed to the haze of tobacco smoke. You see men and women seated at wire-legged, white-topped tables, which are covered with half-empty bottles and glasses; you trace the slow-jazz accompaniment you heard as you came down the stairs to a ^EGRO TOUTH SPEAKS 71 pianist, a cornetist, and a drummer on a little platform at the far end of the room. There is a cleared space from the foot of the stairs, where you are standing, to the platform where this orchestra is mounted, and in it a tall brown girl is swaying from side to side and rhythmically proclaiming that she has the world in a jug and the stopper in her hand. Behind a counter at your left sits a fat, bald, tea-colored Negro, and you wonder if this is Edwards — Edwards, who stands in with the police, with the political bosses, with the importers of wines and worse. A white-vested waiter hustles you to a seat and takes your order. The song’s tempo changes to a quicker 5 the drum and the cornet rip out a fanfare, almost drowning the piano j the girl catches up her dress and begins to dance. GiUis’s wondering eyes had been roaming about. They stopped. “Look, Mouse,” he whispered. “Look a-yondert” “Look at what?” “Dog-gone if it ain’ de self-same gal!” “Wha’ d’ye mean, self-same girl?” “Over yonder, wi’ de green stockin’s. Dass de gal made me knock over dem apples fust day I come to town. ’Member? Been wishin’ I could see her ev’y sence.” “What for?” Uggam wondered. King Solomon grew confidential. “Ain’ but two things in dis world, Mouse, I really wants. One is to be a policeman. Been wantin’ dat ev’y sence I seen dat cullud traffic-cop dat day. Other is to git myse’f a gal lak dat one over yonder!” “You’ll do it,” laughed Uggam, “if you live long enough.” “Who dat wid her?” “How’n hell do I know?” “He cullud?” “Don’t look like it. Why? What of it?” “Hm — nuthin’ - ” “How many coupons y’ got to-night?” Ten. ’ King Solomon handed them over. “Y’ought to ’ve slipt ’em to me under the table, but it’s all right now, long as we got this table to ourselves. Here’s y medicine for to-morrer.” 72 THE JS CEW U^EGRO “Wha’?” “Reach under the table.” Gillis secured and pocketed the medicine. “An5 here’s two-fifty for a good day’s work.” Uggam passed the money over. Perhaps he grew careless; certainly the passing this time was above the table, in plain sight. “Thanks, Mouse.” Two white men had been watching Gillis and Uggam from a table near by. In the tumult of merriment that rewarded the entertainer’s most recent and daring effort, one of these men, with a word to the other, came over and took the vacant chair beside Gillis. “Is your name Gillis?” “ ’Tain’ nuthin’ else.” Uggam’s eyes narrowed. The white man showed King Solomon a police officer’s badge. “You’re wanted for dope-peddling. Will you come along without trouble?” “Fo’ what?” “Violation of the narcotic law — dope-selling.” “Who— me?” “Come on, now, lay off that stuff. I saw what happened just now myself.” He addressed Uggam. “Do you know this fellow?” “Nope. Never saw him before to-night.” “Didn’t I just see him sell you something?” “Guess you did. We happened to be sittin’ here at the same table and got to talkin’. After a while I says I can’t seem to sleep nights, so he offers me sump’n he says’ll make me sleep, all right. I don’t know what it is, but he says he uses it him¬ self an’ I offers to pay him what it cost him. That’s how I come to take it. Guess he’s got more in his pocket there now.” The detective reached deftly into the coat pocket of the dumfounded King Solomon and withdrew a packet of envel¬ opes. He tore off a corner of one, emptied a half-dozen tiny white tablets into his palm, and sneered triumphantly. “You’ll make a good witness,” he told Uggam. 73 P^EGRO TOUTH SPEAKS The entertainer was issuing an ultimatum to all sweet mammas who dared to monkey round her loving man. Her audience was absorbed and delighted, with the exception of one couple— the girl with the green stockings and her escort. They sat directly in the line of vision of King Solomon’s wide eyes, which, in the calamity that had descended upon him, for the moment saw nothing. “Are you coming without trouble?” Mouse Uggam, his friend. Harlem. Land of plenty. City of refuge city of refuge. If you live long enough - Consciousness of what was happening between the pair across the room suddenly broke through Gillis’s daze like flame through smoke. The man was trying to kiss the girl and she was resisting. Gillis jumped up. The detective, taking the act for an attempt at escape, jumped with him and was quick enough to intercept him. The second officer came at once to his fellow s aid, blowing his whistle several times as he came. People overturned chairs getting out of the way, but nobody ran for the door. It was an old crowd. A fight was a treat $ and the tall Negro could fight. “ Judas Priest!” “Did you see that?” “Damn I ” White both white. Five of Mose Joplin’s horses. Poison¬ ing a well. A year’s crops. Green stockings — white — white — “That’s the time, papa!” “Do it, big boy!” “Good night!” Uggam watched tensely, with one eye on the door. The second cop had blown for help — Downing one. of the detectives a third time and turning to grapple again with the other, Gillis found himself face to face with a uniformed black policeman. He stopped as if stunned. For a moment he simply stared. Into his mind swept his own words like a forgotten song suddenly recalled : “Cullud policemans ! ” 74 THE C^EW NiEGRO The officer stood ready, awaiting his rush. “Even — got — cullud — policemans — ” Very slowly King Solomon’s arms relaxed ; very slowly he stood erect j and the grin that came over his features had something exultant about it. A A VESTIGES Harlem Sketches Rudolph Fisher i shepherd! lead us Ezekiel Taylor, preacher of the gospel of Jesus Christ, walked slowly along One Hundred and Thirty-third Street conspicuously alien. He was little and old and bent. A short’ bushy white beard framed his shiny black face and his tieless celluloid collar. A long, greasy, green-black Prince Albert, with lapels frayed and buttons worn through to their metal hung loosely from his shoulders. His trousers were big and baggy and limp, yet not enough so to hide the dejected bend of his knees. A little boy noted the beard and gibed, “Hey, Santa Claus I Taint Chns’mas yet!” And the little boy’s playmates chorused, “Haw, haw! Lookit the colored Santa Claus!” “For of such is the kingdom of heaven,” mused Ezekiel laylor. No. The kingdom of Harlem. Children turned into mockers. Satan in the hearts of infants. Harlem— city of the devil — outpost of hell. Darkness settled, like the gloom in the old preacher’s heart; arkness an hour late, for these sinners even tinkered with God s time, substituting their “daylight-saving.” Wicked, yes. out sad too, as though they were desperately warding off the inescapable night of sorrow in which they must suffer for their sms Harlem. What a field! What numberless souls to save These very taunting children who knew not even the simplest of the commandments — But he was old and alone and defeated. The world had called to his best. It had offered money, and they had gone; ftrst the young men whom he had fathered, whom he had 75 76 THE J(EW V^EGRO brought up from infancy in his little Southern church; then their wives and children, whom they eventually sent for; and finally their parents, loath to leave their shepherd and their dear, decrepit shacks, but dependent and without choice. “Whyn’t y’ come to New York?” old Deacon Gassoway had insisted. “Martin and Eli and Jim Lee and his fambly’s all up da’ now an’ doin’ fine. We’ll all git together an’ start a chu’ch of our own, an’ you’ll still be pastor an’ it’ll be jes’ same as ’twas hyeh.” Full of that hope, he had come. But where were they? He had captained his little ship till it sank; he had clung to a splint and been tossed ashore; but the shore was cold, gray, hard and rock-strewn. He had been in barren places before but God had been there too. Was Harlem then past hope? Was the connection be¬ tween this place and heaven broken, so that the servant of God went hungry while little children ridiculed? Into his mind, like a reply, crept an old familiar hymn, and he found himself humming it softly: The Lord will provide, The Lord will provide, In some way or ’nother, The Lord will provide. It may not be in your way, It may not be in mine, But yet in His own way The Lord will provide. Then suddenly, astonished, he stopped, listening. He had not been singing alone — a chorus of voices somewhere near had caught up his hymn. Its volume was gradually increasing. He looked about for a church. There was none. He covered his deaf ear so that it might not handicap his good one. The song seemed to issue from one of the private houses a little way down the street. He approached with eager apprehension and stood wonder- ingly before a long flight of brownstone steps leading to an open entrance. The high first floor of the house, that to which &CEGRO TOUTH SPEAKS 77 the steps led, was brightly lighted, and the three front win¬ dows had their panes covered with colored tissue-paper de¬ signed to resemble church windows. Strongly, cheeringly the song came out to the listener: The Lord will provide, The Lord will provide, In some way or ’nother, The Lord will provide. Ezekiel Taylor hesitated an incredulous moment, then smil¬ ing, he mounted the steps and went in. The Reverend Shackleton Ealey had been inspired to preach the gospel by the draft laws of 19x7. He remained in the profession not out of gratitude to its having kept him out of war, but because he found it a far less precarious mode of living than that devoted to poker, black-jack and dice. He was stocky and flat-faced and yellow, with many black freckles and the eyes of a dogfish. And he was clever enough not to conceal his origin, but to make capital out of his conversion from gambler to preacher and to confine himself to those less enlightened groups that thoroughly believed in the possibility of so sudden and complete a transformation. The inflow of rural folk from the South was therefore fortune, and Reverend Shackleton Ealey spent hours in Penn¬ sylvania station greeting newly arrived migrants, urging them to vis!t his meeting-place and promising them the satisfaction of that old-time religion.” Many had come— and contributed. fhis was prayer-meeting night. Reverend Ealey had his seat on a low platform at the distant end of the double room originally designed for a “parlor.” From behind a pulpit- stand improvised out of soap-boxes and covered with calico he counted his congregation and estimated his profit. A stranger entered uncertainly, looked about a moment, and took a seat near the door. Reverend Shackleton Ealey ap¬ praised him: a little bent-over old man with a bushy white beard and a long Prince Albert coat. Perfect type— fertile soil. He must greet this stranger at the close of the meeting and effusively make him welcome. 78 THE $iEW J^EGRO But Sister Gassoway was already by the stranger’s side, shak¬ ing his hand vigorously and with unmistakable joy; and during the next hymn she came over to old man Gassoway and whis¬ pered in his ear, whereupon he jumped up wide-eyed, looked around, and made broadly smiling toward the newcomer. Others turned to see, and many, on seeing, began to whisper excitedly into their neighbor’s ear and turned to see again. The stranger was occasioning altogether too great a stir. Rev¬ erend Ealey decided to pray. His prayer was a masterpiece. It besought of God protec¬ tion for His people in a strange and wicked land; it called down His damnation upon those dens of iniquity, the dance halls, the theaters, the cabarets; it berated the poker-sharp, the blackjack player, the dice-roller; it denounced the drunkard, the bootlegger, the dope-peddler; and it ended in a sweeping tirade against the wolf-in-sheep’s clothing, whatever his mo¬ tive might be. Another hymn and the meeting came to a close. The' stranger was surrounded before Reverend Ealey could reach him. When finally he approached the old preacher with extended hand and hollow-hearted smile, old man Gassoway was saying: “Yas, suh, Rev’n Taylor, dass jes’ whut we goin’ do. Start makin’ ’rangements tomorrer. Martin an’ Jim Lee’s over to Ebeneezer, but dey doan like it ’tall. Says hit’s too hifalutin for ’em, de way dese Harlem cullud folks wushup; Ain’t got no Holy Ghos’ in ’em, dass whut. Jes’ come in an’ set down an’ git up an’ go out. Never moans, never shouts, never even says ‘amen.’ Most of us is hyeh, an’ we gonna git together an’ start us a ch’ch of our own, wid you f’ pastor, like we said. Yas, suh. Hyeh’s Brother Ealey now. Brother Ealey, dis hyeh’s our old preacher Rev’n Taylor. We was jes’ tellin’ him — ” The Reverend Shackleton Ealey had at last a genuine reve¬ lation — that the better-yielding half of his flock was on the wing. An old oath of frustration leaped to his lips — “God — ” but he managed to bite it in the middle — “bless you, my brother,” he growled. W.EGRO rOUTH SPEAKS 79 II MAJUTAH It was eleven o’clock at night. Majutah knew that Harry would be waiting on the doorstep downstairs. He knew better than to ring the bell so late — she had warned him. And there was no telephone. Grandmother wouldn’t consent to having a telephone in the flat — she thought it would draw lightning. As if every other flat in the house didn’t have one, as if light¬ ning would strike all the others and leave theirs unharmed! Grandmother was such a nuisance with her old fogeyisms. If if weren’t for her down-home ideas there’d be no trouble getting out now to go to the cabaret with Harry. As it was, Majutah would have to steal down the hall past Grandmother’s room in the hope that she would be asleep. Majutah looked to her attire. The bright red sandals and scarlet stockings, she fancied, made her feet look smaller and her legs bigger. This was desirable, since her black crepe dress, losing in width what style had added to its length, would not permit her to sit comfortably and cross her knees without occa¬ sioning ample display of everything below them. Her vanity- ^se mirror revealed how exactly the long pendant earrings matched her red coral beads and how perfectly becoming the aew close bob was, and assured her for the tenth time that Egyptian rouge made her skin look lighter. She was ready. Into the narrow hallway she tipped, steadying herself igainst the walls, and slowly approached the outside door at he end. Grandmother’s room was the last off the hallway. Vlajutah reached it, slipped successfully past, and started ilently to open the door to freedom. “Jutie?” How she hated to be called Jutie! Why couldn’t the neddlesome old thing say Madge like everyone else? “Ma’am?” “Wha’ you goin’ dis time o’ night?” “Just downstairs to mail a letter.” 8o THE U^EW y(EGRO “You easin’ out mighty quiet, if dat’s all you goin’ do. Come ’eh. Lemme look at you.” Majutah slipped off her pendants and beads and laid them on the floor. She entered her grandmother’s room, standing where the foot of the bed would hide her gay shoes and stockings. Useless precautions. The shrewd old woman in¬ spected her granddaughter a minute in disapproving silence, then asked: “Well, wha’s de letter?” “Hello, Madge,” said Harry. “What held you up? You look mad enough to bite bricks.” “I am. Grandmother, of course. She’s a pest. Always nosing and meddling. I’m grown, and the money I make supports both of us, and I’m sick of acting like a kid just to please her.” “How’d you manage?” “I didn’t manage. I just gave her a piece of my mind and came on out.” “Mustn’t hurt the old lady’s feelings. It’s just her way of looking out for you.” “I don’t need any looking out for — or advice either!” “Excuse me. Which way — Happy’s or Edmonds’?” “Edmonds’ — darn it!” “Right.” It was two o’clock in the morning. Maj Utah’s grandmother closed her Bible and turned down the oil lamp by which she preferred to read it. For a long time she sat thinking of Jutie — and 0f Harlem, this city of Satan. It was Harlem that had changed Jutie — this great, noisy, heartless, crowded place where you lived under the same roof with a hundred people you never knew; where night was alive and morning dead. It was Harlem — those brazen women with whom Jutie sewed, who swore and shimmied and laughed at the suggestion of going to church. Jutie wore red stockings. Jutie wore dresses that looked like nightgowns. Jutie painted her face and straightened her hair, instead of leaving it as God intended. J utie — lied — often. 8 1 A CEGRO TOUTH SPEAKS And while Madge laughed at a wanton song, her grand¬ mother knelt by her bed and through the sinful babel of the airshaft, through her own silent tears, prayed to God in heaven for Jutie’s lost soul. hi learnin’ “Too much learnin’ ain’ good P nobody. When I was her age I couldn’t write my own name.” “You can’t write much mo’ ’n that now. Too much learnin’! Whoever heard o’ sich a thing!” Anna’s father, disregarding experience in arguing with his wife, pressed his point. “Sho they’s sich a thing as too much learnin’! ’At gal’s gittin’ so she don’t b’lieve nuthin’!” “Hmph ! Didn’t she jes’ tell me las’ night she didn’ b’lieve they ever was any Adam an’ Eve?” “Well, I ain’ so sho they ever was any myself! An’ one thing is certain: If that gal o’ mine wants to keep on studyin’ an go up there to that City College an’ learn how to teach school an’ be somebody, I’ll work my fingers to the bone to help her do it! Now! ” “That ain’ what I’m talkin’ ’bout. You ain’ worked no harder n I is to help her git this far. Hyeh she is ready to graduate from high school. Think of it — high school! When we come along they didn’ even have no high schools. Fus’ thing y know she be so far above us we can’t reach her with a fence-rail. Then you’ll wish you’d a listened to me. What I says is, she done gone far enough.” Ain’ no sich thing as far enough when you wants to go farther. ’Tain’ as if it was gonna cost a whole lot. That’s the trouble with you cullud folks now. Git so far an’ stop — set down — through — don’t want no mo’.” Her disgust was boundless. “Y’ got too much cotton field in you, that’s what! ” The father grinned. “They sho’ ain’ no cotton field in yo’ aiouth, honey.” “No, they ain’t. An’ they ain’ no need o’ all this arguin’ either, ’cause all that gal’s got to do is come in hyeh right now 82 THE CNiEW O^EGRO an’ put her arms ’roun’ y’ neck, an5 you’d send her to Europe if she wanted to go ! ” “Well, all I says is, when dey gits to denyin’ de Bible hit’s time to stop ’em.” “Well all I says is, if Cousin Sukie an’ yo’ no ’count brother, Jonathan, can send their gal all the way from Athens to them Howard’s an’ pay car-fare an’ boa’d an’ ev’ything, we can send our gal — ” She broke off as a door slammed. There was a rush, a de¬ lightful squeal, and both parents were being smothered in a cyclone of embraces by a wildly jubilant daughter. “Mummy! Daddy! I won it! I won it!” “What under the sun — ?” “The scholarship, Mummy! The scholarship!” “No!” “Yes, I did! I can go to Columbia! I can go to Teachers College! Isn’t it great?” Anna’s mother turned triumphantly to her husband ; but he was beaming at his daughter. “You sho’ is yo’ daddy’s chile. Teachers College! Why, that’s wha’ I been wantin’ you to go all along!” IV REVIVAL Rare sight in a close-built, top-heavy city — space. A wide open lot, extending along One Hundred and Thirty-eighth Street almost from Lenox to Seventh Avenue; baring the mangy backs of a long row of One Hundred and Thirty-ninth Street houses; disclosing their gaping, gasping windows, their shameless strings of half-laundered rags, which gulp up what little air the windows seek to inhale. Occupying the Lenox Avenue end of the lot, the so-called Garvey tabernacle, wide, low, squat, with its stingy little entrance; occupying the other, the church tent where summer camp meetings are held. Pete and his buddy, Lucky, left their head-to-head game of coon-can as darkness came on. Time to go out — had to save & C.EGRO TOUTH SPEAKS 83 gas. Pete went to the window and looked down at the tent across the street. “Looks like the side show of a circus. Ever been in?” I Not me. I m a preacher’s son — got enough o’ that stuff when I was a kid and couldn’t protect myself.” “Ought to be a pretty good show when some o’ them old- time sisters get happy. Too early for the cabarets 5 let’s go in a while, just for the hell of it.” “You sure are hard up for somethin’ to do.” “Aw, come on. Somethin’ funny’s bound to happen. You might even get religion, you dam’ bootlegger.” Lucky grinned. “Might meet some o’ my customers, you mean.” Through the thick, musty heat imprisoned by the canvas shelter a man’s voice rose, leading a spiritual. Other voices chimed eagerly in, some high, clear, sweet; some low, mellow, full,— all swelling, rounding out the refrain till it filled the place, so#that it seemed the flimsy walls and roof must soon be torn from their moorings and swept aloft with the song: Where you running, sinner? Where you running, I say? Running from the fire — You can’t cross here! The preacher stood waiting for the song to melt away. There was a moment of abysmal silence, into which the thou¬ sand blasphemies filtering in from outside dropped unheeded. The preacher was talking in deep, impressive tones. One 0 d patriarch was already supplementing each statement with a matter-of-fact “amen!” of approval. The preacher was describing hell. He was enumerating without exception the horrors that befall the damned: mad¬ dening thirst for the drunkard; for the gambler, insatiable ame, his own greed devouring Jiis soul. The preacher’s voice no longer talked — it sang; mournfully at first, monotonously up and down, up and down — a chant in minor mode ; then more intensely, more excitedly; now fairly strident. 84 THE ViEW NIEGRO The amens of approval were no longer matter-of-fact, per¬ functory. They were quick, spontaneous, escaping the lips of their own accord ; they were frequent and loud and began to come from the edges of the assembly instead of just the front rows. The old men cried, “Help him, Lord!” “Preach the word!” “Glory!” taking no apparent heed of the awfulness of the description, and the old women continuously moaned aloud, nodding their bonneted heads, or swaying rhythmically forward and back in their seats. Suddenly the preacher stopped, leaving the old men and old women still noisy with spiritual momentum. He stood mo¬ tionless till the last echo of approbation subsided, then repeated the text from which his discourse had taken origin; repeated it in a whisper, lugubrious, hoarse, almost inaudible: “ ‘In— hell — ’ ” paused, then without warning, wildly shrieked, “ ‘In hell — ’ ” stopped — returned to his hoarse whisper — “ ‘he lifted up his eyes. . . d ” “What the hell you want to leave for?” Pete complained when he and Lucky reached the sidewalk. “That old bird would ’a’ coughed up his gizzard in two more minutes. What’s the idea?” “Aw hell — I don’t know. — You think that stuff’s funny. You laugh at it. I don’t, that’s all.” Lucky hesitated. The urge to speak outweighed the fear of being ridiculed. “Dam’ ’f I know what it is — maybe because it makes me think of the old folks or somethin’ — but — hell — it just sorter — gets me — ” Lucky turned abruptly away and started off. Pete watched him for a moment with a look that should have been astonished, outraged, incredulous — but wasn’t. He overtook him, put an arm about his shoulders, and because he had to say something as they walked on, muttered reassuringly: “Well — if you ain’t the damndest fool — ” John Matheus The stir of life echoed. On the bridge between Ohio and West Virginia was the rumble of heavy trucks, the purr of high power engines in Cadillacs and Paiges, the rattle of Fords. A string of loaded freight cars pounded along on the C. & P. tracks, making a thunderous, if tedious way to Mingo. A steamboat’s hoarse whistle boomed forth between the swish, swish, chug, chug of a mammoth stern paddle wheel with the asthmatic poppings of the pistons. The raucous shouts of smutty speaking street boys, the noises of a steam laundry, the clank and clatter of a pottery, the godless voices of women from Water Street houses of ill fame, all these blended in a sort of modern babel, common to all the towers of destruction erected by modern civilization. These sounds were stirring when the clock sounded six on top of the Court House, that citadel of Law and Order, with the statue of Justice looming out of an alcove above the im¬ posing stone entrance, blindfolded and in her right hand the scales of Judgment. Even so early in the evening the centers from which issued these inharmonious notes were scarcely visible. This sinister cloak of a late November twilight Ohio alley fog had stealthily spread from somewhere beneath the somber river bed, down from somewhere in the lowering West Virginia hills. The fog extended its tentacles over city and river, gradually obliterating traces of familiar landscapes. At ve-thirty the old Panhandle bridge, supported by massive sandstone pillars, stalwart as when erected fifty years before to serve a generation now passed behind the portals of life °utjine a^inst the Sky as the toll keepers the New bridge looked northward up the Ohio River. 1 Awarded first prize Opportunity contest, 1925. 8S 86 THE A (EW A CEGRO Now at six o’clock the fog no longer distorted $ it blotted out, annihilated. One by one the street lights came on, giving an uncertain glare in spots, enabling peeved citizens to tread their way homeward without recognizing their neighbor ten feet ahead, whether he might be Jew or Gentile, Negro or Pole, Slav, Croatian, Italian or one hundred per cent American. An impatient crowd of tired workers peered vainly through the gloom to see if the headlights of the interurban car were visible through the thickening haze. The car was due at Sixth and Market at six-ten and was scheduled to leave at six-fifteen for many little towns on the West Virginia side. At the same time as these uneasy toilers were waiting, on the opposite side of the river the car had stopped to permit some passengers to descend and disappear in the fog. The motor- man, fagged and jaded by the monotony of many stoppings and startings, waited mechanically for the conductor’s bell to signal, “Go ahead.” The fog was thicker, more impenetrable. It smothered the headlight. Inside the car in the smoker, that part of the seats nearest the motorman’s box, partitioned from the rest, the lights were struggling bravely against a fog of tobacco smoke, almost as opaque as the dull gray blanket of mist outside. A group of red, rough men, sprawled along the two op¬ posite bench-formed seats, parallel to the sides of the car, were talking to one another in the thin, flat colorless English of their mountain state, embellished with the homely idioms of the coal mine, the oil field, the gas well. “When does this here meetin’ start, Bill?” “That ’air notice read half after seven.” “What’s time now?” “Damned ’f I know. Hey, Lee, what time’s that pocket clock of yourn’s got?” “Two past six.” There was the sound of a match scratching against the sole of a rough shoe. “Gimme a light, Lafe.” In attempting to reach for the burning match before its flame was extinguished, the man stepped forward and stumbled 0\ CEGRO YOUTH SPEAKS 87 over a cheap suitcase of imitation leather. A vile-looking stogie fell in the aisle. “God! Your feet’re bigger’n Bills’s.” The crowd laughed uproariously. The butt of this joke grinned and showed a set of dirty nicotine-stained teeth. He recovered his balance in time to save the flaring match. He was a tremendous man, slightly stooped, with taffy-colored, straggling hair and little pig eyes. Between initial puffs he drawled: “Now you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree. I only wear elevens.” “Git off’n me, Lee Cromarty,” growled Bill. “You hadn’t ought to be rumlin’ of my feathers the wrong way — and you a-plannin’ to ride the goat.” Lake, a consumptive appearing, undersized, bovine-eyed in¬ dividual, spat out the remark: “Naow, there! You had better be kereful. Men have been nailed to the cross for less than that.” “Ha! ha! — ho! ho! ho!” There was a joke to arouse the temper of the crowd. A baby began to cry lustily in the rear and more commodious end of the car reserved for nonsmokers. His infantine wail¬ ing smote in sharp contrast upon the ears of the hilarious joshers, filling the silence that followed the subsidence of the laughter. “Taci, bimba. Non aver paura!” Nobody understood the musical words of the patient, Madonna-eyed Italian mother, not even the baby, for it con¬ tinued its yelling. She opened her gay-colored shirt waist and pressed the child to her bosom. He was quieted. “She can’t speak United States, but I bet her Tony Spaghetti votes the same as you an’ me. The young ’un ’ll have more to say about the future of these United States than your children an’ mine unless we carry forward the work such as we are going to accomplish to-night.” “Yeh, you’re damned right,” answered the scowling com¬ panion of the lynx-eyed citizen in khaki clothes, who had thus commented upon the foreign woman’s offspring. “They breed like cats. They’ll outnumber us, unless - ” 88 THE 2(EW A CEGRO A smell of garlic stifled his speech. Nich and Mike Axa- minter, late for the night shift at the La Belle, bent over the irate American, deluging him with the odor of garlic and voluble, guttural explosions of a Slovak tongue. “What t’ hell! Git them buckets out o’ my face, you hunkies, you!” Confused and apologetic the two men moved forward. • • « • • “Isn’t this an awful fog, Barney,” piped a gay, girlish voice. “I’ll tell the world it is,” replied her red-haired companion, flinging a half-smoked cigarette away in the darkness as he assisted the girl to the platform. They made their way to a vacant seat in the end of the car opposite the smoker, pausing for a moment respectfully to make the sign of the cross before two Sisters of Charity, whose flowing black robes and ebon headdress contrasted strikingly with the pale whiteness of their faces. The nuns raised their eyes, slightly smiled and continued their orisons on dark decades of rosaries with pendant crosses of ivory. “Let’s sit here,” whispered the girl. “I don’t want to be by those niggers.” In a few seconds they were settled. There were cooings of sweet words, limpid-eyed soul glances. They forgot all others. The car was theirs alone. “Say, boy, ain’t this some fog. Yuh can’t see the old berg.” “ ’Sthat so. I hadn’t noticed.” Two Negro youths thus exchanged words. They were well dressed and sporty. “Well, it don’t matter, as long as it don’t interfere with the dance.” “I hope Daisy will be there. She’s some stunnin’ high- brown an’ I don’t mean maybe.” “O boy!” Thereupon one began to hum “Daddy, O Daddy” and the other whistled softly the popular air from “Shuffle Along” entitled “Old-Fashioned Love.” “Oi, oi! Ven I say vill dis car shtart. Ve must mek dot train fur Pittsburgh.” S^EGRO TOUTH SPEAKS 89 “Ach, Ish ka bibble. They can’t do a thing without us, Laban.” They settled down in their seats to finish the discussion in Yiddish, emphasizing the conversation with shrugs of the shoulder and throaty interjections. In a seat apart to themselves, for two seats in front and behind were unoccupied, sat an old Negro man and a Negro woman, evidently his wife. Crowded between them was a girl of fourteen or fifteen. “This heah is suah cu’us weather,” complained the old man. “We all nevah had no sich fog in Oklahoma.” The girl’s hair was bobbed and had been straightened by “Poro” treatment, giving her an Egyptian cast of features. “Gran’pappy,” said the girl, “yo’ cain’t see ovah yander.” “Ain’t it de troot, chile.” “Ne’ min’, sugah,” assured the old woman. “Ah done paid dat ’ployment man an’ he sayed yo’ bound tuh lak de place. Dis here lady what’s hirin’ yo’ is no po’ trash an’ she wants a likely gal lak yo’ tuh ten’ huh baby.” ■ Now these series of conversations did not transpire in chronological order. They were uttered more or less simul¬ taneously during the interval that the little conductor stood on tiptoe in an effort to keep one hand on the signal rope, craning his neck in a vain and dissatisfied endeavor to pierce the miasma of the fog. The motorman chafed in his box, thinking of the drudging lot of the laboring man. He regis¬ tered discontent. The garrulous group in the smoker were smoldering cauldrons of discontent. In truth their dissatisfaction ran the gamut of hate. It was stretching out to join hands with an unknown and clandestine host to plot, preserve, defend their dwarfed and twisted ideals. The two foreign intruders in the smoker squirmed under the merciless, half articulate antipathy. They asked nothing but a job to make some money. In exchange for that magic English word job, they endured the terror that walked by day, 90 THE E^EW 3\ CEGRO the boss. They grinned stupidly at profanity, dirt, disease, disaster. Yet they were helping to make America. Three groups in the car on this foggy evening were united under the sacred mantle of a common religion. Within its folds they sensed vaguely a something of happiness. The Italian mother radiated the joy of her child. Perhaps in honor of her and in reverence the two nuns with downcast eyes, trying so hard to forget the world, were counting off the rosary of the blessed Virgin — “Ave, Maria,” “Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women.” The youth and his girl in their tiny circle of mutual attrac¬ tion and affection could not as in Edwin Markham’s poem widen the circle to include all, or even embrace that small cir¬ cumscribed area of humanity within the car. And the Negroes? Surely there was no hate in their minds. The gay youths were rather indifferent. The trio from the South, journeying far for a greater freedom philosophically accepted the inevitable “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” The Jews were certainly enveloped in a racial consciousness, unerringly fixed on control and domination of money, America’s most potent factor in respectability. The purplish haze of fog contracted. Its damp presence slipped into the car and every passenger shivered and peered forth to see. Their eyes were as the eyes of the blind! At last the signal bell rang out staccato. The car suddenly lurched forward, shaking from side to side the passengers in their seats. The wheels scraped and began to turn. Almost at once a more chilling wetness filtered in from the river. In the invisibility of the fog it seemed that one was travelling through space, in an aeroplane perhaps, going nobody knew where. The murmur of voices buzzed in the smoker, interrupted by the boisterous outbursts of laughter. A red glare tinted the fog for a second and disappeared. La Belle was “shooting” the furnaces. Then a denser darkness and the fog. The car lurched, scintillating sparks flashed from the trolley wire, a terrific crash — silence. The lights went out. Before S^EGRO TOUTH SPEAKS 91 anybody could think or scream, there came a falling sensation, such as one experiences when dropped unexpectedly in an ele¬ vator or when diving through the scenic railways of the city amusements parks, or more exactly when one has nightmare and dreams of falling, falling, falling. “The bridge has given way. God! The muddy water! The fog! Darkness. Death.” These thoughts flashed spontaneously in the consciousness of the rough ignorant fellows, choking in the fumes of their strong tobacco, came to the garlic scented “hunkies,” to the Italian Madonna, to the Sisters of Charity, to the lover boy and his lover girl, to the Negro youths, to the Jews thinking in Yiddish idioms, to the old Negro man and his wife and the Egyptian-faced girl, with the straightened African hair, even to the bored motorman and the weary conductor. < To drown, to strangle, to suffocate, to die! In the dread silence the words screamed like exploding shells within the beating temples of terror-stricken passengers and crew. Then protest, wild, mad, tumultuous, frantic protest. Life at bay and bellowing furiously against its ancient arch-enemy and antithesis — Death. An oath, screams — dull, paralyzing, vomit-stirring nausea. Holy, unexpressed intimacies, deeply rooted prejudices were roughly shaken from their smug moor- ings. The Known to be changed for an Unknown, the ever expected, yet unexpected, Death. No! No! Not that. Lee Cromarty saw things in that darkness. A plain, one- story frame house, a slattern woman on the porch, an over¬ grown, large-hipped girl with his face. Then the woman’s whining, scolding voice and the girl’s bashful confidences. What was dimming that picture? What cataract was blurring bis vision? Was it the fog? To Lafe, leader of the crowd, crouched in his seat, his fingers clawing the air for a grasping place, came a vision of a hill-side grave his wife’s — and he saw again how she looked in her coffin — then the fog. “I’ll not ^port at the mine,” thought Bill. “Wonder what fld Bunner will say to that.” 92 THE O^EW 2(EGR0 The mine foreman’s grizzled face dangled for a second be¬ fore him and was swallowed in the fog. Hoarse, gasping exhalations. Men, old men, young men, sobbing. “Pieta! Madre mia! — Mercy, Virgin Mary! My child!” No thoughts of fear or pain on the threshold of death, that shadow from whence all children flow, but all the Mother Love focused to save the child. “ Memorare> remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that any one who fled to thy protection, implored thy help and sought thy intercession was left un¬ aided.” The fingers sped over the beads of the rosary. But looming up, unerasable, shuttled the kaleidoscope of youth, love, be¬ trayal, renunciation, the vows. Miserere y Jesu ! Life is ever lord of Death And Love can never lose its own. The girl was hysterical, weeping, screaming, laughing. Did the poet dream an idle dream, a false mirage? Death is mas¬ ter. Death is stealing Love away. How could a silly girl believe or know the calm of poesy? The boy crumbled. His swagger and bravado melted. The passionate call of sex became a blur. He was not himself, yet he was looking at himself, a confusion in space, in night, in Fog. And who was she hanging limp upon his arm? That dance? The jazz dance? Ah, the dance! The dance of Life was ending. The orchestra was playing a dirge and Death was leading the Grand March. Fog! Impenetrable fog! All the unheeded, forgotten warnings of ranting preachers, all the prayers of simple black mothers, the Mercy-Seat, the Revival, too late. Terror could give no articulate expression to these muffled feelings. They came to the surface of a blunted consciousness, incoherent. Was there a God in Israel? Laban remembered Russia anc the pogrom. He had looked into the eyes of Fate that day anc n CEGRO TOUTH SPEAKS 93 watched God die with his mother and sisters. Here he was facing Fate again. There was no answer. He was silent. His companion sputtered, fumed, screeched. He clung to Laban in pieces. Laban remembered the pogrom. The old Negro couple remembered another horror. They had been through the riots in Tulsa. There they had lost their son and his wife, the Egyptian-faced girl’s father and mother. They had heard the whine of bullets, the hiss of flame, the howling of human wolves, killing in the most excruciating manner. The water was silent. The water was merciful. The old woman began to sing in a high quavering minor key: Lawdy, won’t yo’ ketch mah groan, O Lawdy, Lawdy, won’t yo’ ketch mah groan. The old man cried out: "Judgment! Judgment!” The Egyptian-faced girl wept. She was sore afraid, sore afraid. And the fog was round about them. Time is a relative term. The philosophers are right for once. What happened inside the heads of these men and women seemed to them to have consumed hours instead of seconds. The conductor mechanically grabbed for the trolley rope, the motorman threw on the brakes. The reaction came. Fear may become inarticulate and paralyzed. Then again it may become belligerent and self- protective, striking blindly in the maze. Darkness did not destroy completely the sense of direction. "The door! The exit!” A mad rush to get out, not to be trapped without a chance, like rats in a trap. Out of my way! Damn you — out of my way!” Somebody yelled: "Sit still!” Somebody hissed: "Brutes! Beasts!” Another concussion, accompanied by the grinding of steel. The car stopped, lurched backward, swayed, and again stood still. Excited shouts re-echoed from the ends of the bridge. 94 THE 3^EW S^E'GRO Automobile horns tooted. An age seemed to pass, but the great splash did not come. There was still time — maybe. The car was emptied. “Run for the Ohio end!” someone screamed. The fog shut off every man from his neighbor. The sound of scurrying feet reverberated, of the Italian woman and her baby, of the boy carrying his girl, of the Negro youths, of the old man and his wife, half dragging the Egyptian-faced girl, of the Sisters of Charity, of the miners. Flitting like wraiths in Homer’s Hades, seeking life. In a few minutes all were safe on Ohio soil. The bridge still stood. A street light gave a ghastly glare through the fog. The whore houses on Water Street brooded evilly in the shadows. Dogs barked, the Egyptian-faced girl had fainted. The old Negro woman panted, “Mah Jesus! Mah Jesus!” The occupants of the deserted car looked at one another. The icy touch of the Grave began to thaw. There was a gen¬ erous intermingling. Everybody talked at once, inquiring, congratulating. “Look after the girl,” shouted Lee Cromarty. “Help the old woman, boys.” Bells began to ring. People came running. The ambulance arrived. The colored girl had recovered. Then everybody shouted again. Profane miners, used to catastrophe, were strangely moved. The white boy and girl held hands. “Sing us a song, old woman,” drawled Lafe. “He’s heard mah groan. He done heard it,” burst forth the old woman in a song flood of triumph. Yes, he conquered Death and Hell, An’ He never said a mumblm’ word, Not a word, not a word. “How you feelin’, Mike,” said Bill to the garlic eater. “Me fine. Me fine.” The news of the event spread like wildfire. The street wa; now crowded. The police arrived. A bridge official appeared announcing the probable cause of the accident, a slipping oi J^EGRO TOUTH SPEAKS 95 certain supports. The girders fortunately had held. A ter¬ rible tragedy had been prevented. I, I m a wash-foot Baptist an’ I don’t believe in Popery,5* said Lake, but, fellers, let’s ask them ladies in them air mournin’ robes to say a prayer of thanksgiving for the bunch.” The Sisters of Charity did say a prayer, not an audible peti¬ tion for the ears of men, but a whispered prayer for the ears of God, the Benediction of Thanksgiving, uttered by the Catholic Church through many years, in many tongues and places. “De profundis,” added the silently moving lips of the white- I faced nuns. “Out of the depths have we cried unto Thee, O Lord. And Thou hast heard our cries.” The motorman was no longer dissatisfied. The conductor’s strength had been renewed like the eagle’s. “Boys,” drawled Lake, “I’ll be damned if I’m goin’ to that rneetin’ to-night.” “Nor me,” affirmed Lee Cromarty. “Nor me,” repeated all the others. The fog still crept from under the bed of the river and iown from the lowering hills of West Virginia— dense, .enacious, stealthy, chilling, but from about the hearts and ninds of some rough, unlettered men another fog had begun 0 lift. 6 6 CARMA 1 Jean Toomer Wind is in the cane. Come along. Cane leaves swaying, rusty with talk, Scratching choruses above the guinea’s squawk, Wind is in the cane. Come along. Carma, in overalls, and strong as any man, stands behind the old brown mule, driving the wagon home. It bumps, and groans, and shakes as it crosses the railroad track. She, riding it easy. I leave the men around the stove to follow her with my eyes down the red dust road. Nigger woman driving a Georgia chariot down an old dust road. Dixie Pike is what they call it. Maybe she feels my gaze, perhaps she expects it. Anyway, she turns. The sun, which has been slanting over her shoulder, shoots primitive rockets into her mangrove- gloomed, yellow flower face. Hi! Yip! God has left the Moses-people for the nigger. “Gedap.” Using reins to slap the mule, she disappears in a cloudy rumble at some indefinite point along the road. (The sun is hammered to a band of gold. Pine-needles, like mazda, are brilliantly aglow. No rain has come to take the rustle from the falling sweet-gum leaves. Over in the forest, across the swamp, a sawmill blows its closing whistle. Smoke curls up. Marvellous web spun by the spider sawdust pile. Curls up and spreads itself pine-high above the branch, a single silver band along the eastern valley. A black boy . . . you are the most sleepiest man I ever seed, Sleeping Beauty . . . cradled on a gray mule, guided by the hollow sound of cowbells, heads for them through a rusty cotton field. From down the railroad track, the chug-chug of a gas engine announces that the repair gang is coming home. A girl in the 1 From Cane. 96 P(EGRO TOUTH SPEAKS 97 yard of a whitewashed shack not much larger than the stack of worn ties piled before it, sings. Her voice is loud. Echoes, like rain, sweep the valley. Dusk takes the polish from the rails. Lights twinkle in scattered houses. From far away, a sad strong song. Pungent and composite, the smell of farm¬ yards is the fragrance of the woman. She does not sing; her body is a song. She is in the forest, dancing. Torches flare . . juju men, greegree, witch-doctors . . . torches go out . . The Dixie Pike has grown from a goat path in Africa. Night. Foxie, the bitch, slicks back her ears and barks at the rising moon.) Wind is in the corn. Come along. Corn leaves swaying, rusty with talk, Scratching choruses above the guinea’s squawk, Wind is in the corn. Come along. Carma’s tale is the crudest melodrama. Her husband’s in the gang. And it’s her fault he got there. Working with a con¬ tractor, he was away most of the time. She had others. No one blames her for that. He returned one day and hung around the town where he picked up week-old boasts and rumors. . . . Bane accused her. She denied. He couldn’t see that she was becoming hysterical. He would have liked to take his fists and beat her. Who was strong as a man. Stronger. Words, like corkscrews, wormed to her strength. It fizzled out. Grabbing a gun, she rushed from the house and plunged across the road into a cane-brake. . . . There, in quarter heaven shone the crescent moon. . . . Bane was afraid to fol¬ low till he heard the gun go off. Then he wasted half an hour gathering the neighbor men. They met in the road where lamp-light showed tracks dissolving in the loose earth about the cane. The search began. Moths flickered the lamps. They put them out. Really, because she still might be live enough to shoot. Time and space have no meaning in a canefield. 98 THE C^EW R^EGRO No more than the interminable stalks. . . . Someone stumbled over her. A cry went up. From the road, one would have thought that they were cornering a rabbit or a skunk. ... It is difficult carrying dead weight through cane. They placed her on the sofa. A curious, nosey somebody looked for the wound. This fussing with her clothes aroused her. Her eyes were weak and pitiable for so strong a woman. Slowly, then like a flash, Bane came to know that the shot she fired, with averted head, was aimed to whistle like a dying hornet through the cane. Twice deceived, — and one deception proved the other. His head went off. Slashed one of the men who’d helped, the man who’d stumbled over her. Now he’s in the gang. Who was her husband. Should she not take others, this Carma, strong as a man, whose tale as I have told it is the crudest melodrama? Wind is in the cane. Come along. Cane leaves swaying, rusty with talk, Scratching choruses above the guinea’s squawk, Wind is in the cane. Come along. FERN1 Jean Toomer Face flowed into her eyes. Flowed in soft cream foam and plaintive ripples, in such a way that wherever your glance may momentarily have rested, it immediately thereafter wavered in the direction of her eyes. The soft suggestion of down slightly darkened, like the shadow of a bird’s wing might, the creamy brown color of her upper lip. Why, after noticing it, you sought her eyes, I cannot tell you. Her nose was aquiline, Semitic. If you have heard a Jewish cantor sing, if he has touched you and made your own sorrow seem trivial when compared with his, you will know my feeling when I follow the curves of her profile, like mobile rivers, to their common delta. They were strange eyes. In this, that they sought nothing — that is, nothing that was obvious and tangible and that one could see, and they gave the im¬ pression that nothing was to be denied. When a woman seeks, you will have observed, her eyes deny. Fern’s eyes desired nothing that you could give her; there was no reason why they should withhold. Men saw her eyes and fooled them¬ selves. Fern’s eyes said to them that she was easy. When she was young, a few men took her, but got no joy from it. And then, once done, they felt bound to her (quite unlike their hit and run with other girls), felt as though it would take them a lifetime to fulfill an obligation which they could find no name for. They became attached to her, and hun¬ gered after finding the barest trace of what she might de¬ sire. As she grew up, new men who came to town felt as almost everyone did who ever saw her: that they would not be denied. Men were everlastingly bringing her their bodies. Something inside of her got tired of them, I guess, for I am 1 From Cane. 99 100 THE ^EW NiEGRO certain that for the life of her she could not tell why or how she began to turn them off. A man in fever is no trifling thing to send away. They began to leave her, baffled and ashamed, yet vowing to themselves that some day they would do some fine thing for her: send her candy every week and not let her know whom it came from, watch out for her wedding-day and give her a magnificent something with no name on it, buy a house and deed it to her, rescue her from some unworthy fellow who had tricked her into marrying him. As you know, men are apt to idolize or fear that which they cannot under¬ stand, especially if it be a woman. She did not deny them, yet the fact was that they were denied. A sort of superstition crept into their consciousness of her being somehow above them. Being above them meant that she was not to be approached by anyone. She became a virgin. Now a virgin in a small southern town is by no means the usual thing, if you will be¬ lieve me. That the sexes were made to mate is the practice of the South. Particularly, black folks were made to mate. And it is black folks whom I have been talking about thus far. What white men thought of Fern I can arrive at only by analogy. They let her alone. Anyone, of course, could see her, could see her eyes. If you walked up the Dixie Pike most any time of day, you’d be most like to see her resting listless-like on the railing of her porch, back propped against a post, head tilted a little forward because there was a nail in the porch post just where her head came which for some reason or other she never took the trouble to pull out. Her eyes, if it were sunset, rested idly where the sun, molten and glorious, was pouring down between the fringe of pines. Or maybe they gazed at the gray cabin on the knoll from which an evening folk-song was coming. Perhaps they followed a cow that had been turned loose to roam and feed on cotton-stalks and corn leaves. Like as not they’d settle on some vague spot above the horizon, though hardly a trace of wistfulness would come to them. If it were dusk, then they’d wait for the search-light of the evening train which you could see miles up the track before it flared Jean Toomer IOI C^EGRO YOUTH SPEAKS across the Dixie Pike, close to her home. Wherever they looked, you’d follow them and then waver back. Like her face, the whole countryside seemed to flow into her eyes. Flowed into them with the soft listless cadence of Georgia’s South. A young Negro, once, was looking at her, spellbound, from the road. A white man passing in a buggy had to flick him with his whip if he was to get by without running him over. I first saw her on her porch. I was passing with a fellow whose crusty numbness (I was from the North and suspected of being prejudiced and stuck-up) was melting as he found me warm. I asked him who she was. “That’s Fern,” was all that I could get from him. Some folks already thought that I was given to nosing around ; I let it go at that, so far as questions were concerned. But at first sight of her I felt as if I heard a Jewish cantor sing. As if his singing rose above the unheard chorus of a folk-song. And I felt bound to her. I too had my dreams: something I would do for her. I have knocked about from town to town too much not to know the futility of mere change of place. Besides, picture if you can, this cream-colored solitary girl sitting at a tenement window looking down on the indifferent throngs of Harlem. Better that she listen to folk-songs at dusk in Georgia, you would say, and so would I. Or, suppose she came up North and married. Even a doctor or a lawyer, say, one who would be sure to get along — that is, make money. You and I know, who have had experience in such things, that love is not a thing like prejudice which can be bettered by changes of town. Could men in Washington, Chicago, or New York, more than the men of Georgia, bring her something left vacant by the bestowal of their bodies? You and I who know men in these cities will have to say, they could not. See her out and out a prostitute along State Street in Chicago. See her move into a southern town where white men are more aggressive. See her become a white man’s concubine. . . . Something I must do for her. There was myself. What could I do for her? Talk, of course. Push back the fringe of pines upon new horizons. To what purpose? and what for? Her? My¬ self? Men in her case seem to lose their selfishness. I lost 102 THE J\ CEW Z^EGRO mine before I touched her. I ask you, friend (it makes no difference if you sit in the Pullman or the Jim Crow as the train crosses her road), what thoughts would come to you — that is, after you’d finished with the thoughts that leap into men’s minds at the sight of a pretty woman who will not deny them; what thoughts would come to you, had you seen her in a quick flash, keen and intuitively, as she sat there on her porch when your train thundered by? Would you have got off at the next station and come back for her to take her where? Would you have completely forgotten her as soon as you reached Macon, Atlanta, Augusta, Pasadena, Madison, Chicago, Boston, or New Orleans? Would you tell your wife or sweetheart about a girl you saw? Your thoughts can help me, and I would like to know. Something I would do for her. . . . One evening I walked up the Pike on purpose, and stopped to say hello. Some of her family were about, but they moved away to make room for me. Damn if I knew how to begin. Would you? Mr. and Miss So-and-So, people, the weather, the crops, the new preacher, the frolic, the church benefit, rab¬ bit and possum hunting, the new soft drink they had at old Pap’s store, the schedule of the trains, what kind of town Macon was, Negro’s migration north, boll-weevils, syrup, the Bible — to all these things she gave a yassur or nassur, without further comment. I began to wonder if perhaps my own emotional sensibility had played one of its tricks on me. “Let’s take a walk,” I at last ventured. The suggestion, coming after so long an isolation, was novel enough, I guess, to surprise. But it wasn’t that. Something told me that men before me had said just that as a prelude to the offering of their bodies. I tried to tell her with my eyes. I think she understood. The thing from her that made my throat catch, vanished. Its pass¬ ing left her visible in a way I’d thought, but never seen. We walked down the Pike with people on all the porches gaping at us. “Doesn’t it make you mad?” She meant the row of petty gossiping people. She meant the world. Through a canebrake that was ripe for cutting, the branch was reached. ViEGRO YOUTH SPEAKS 103 Under a sweet-gum tree, and where reddish leaves had dammed the creek a little, we sat down. Dusk, suggesting the almost imperceptible procession of giant trees, settled with a purple haze about the cane. I felt strange, as I always do in Georgia, particularly at dusk. I felt that things unseen to men were tangibly immediate. It would not have surprised me had I had vision. People have them in Georgia more often than you would suppose. A black woman once saw the mother of Christ and drew her in charcoal on the courthouse wall. . . . When one is on the soil of one’s ancestors, most anything can come to one. . . . From force of habit, I suppose, I held Fern in my arms — that is, without at first noticing it. Then my mind came back to her. Her eyes, unusually weird and open, held me. Held God. He flowed in as I’ve seen the countryside flow in. Seen men. I must have done something — what, I don’t know, in the confusion of my emotion. She sprang up. Rushed some distance from me. Fell to her knees, and began swaying, swaying. Her body was tortured with something it could not let out. Like boiling sap it flooded arms and fingers till she shook them as if they burned her. It found her throat, and spattered inarticulately in plaintive, convulsive sounds, mingled with calls to Christ Jesus. And then she sang, brokenly. A Jewish cantor singing with a broken voice. A child’s voice, uncertain, or an old man’s. Dusk hid her; I could hear only her song. It seemed to me as though she were pounding her head in anguish upon the ground. I rushed to her. She fainted in my arms. There was talk about her fainting with me in the cane- field. And I got one or two ugly looks from town men who’d set themselves up to protect her. In fact, there was talk of making me leave town. But they never did. They kept a watch-out for me, though. Shortly after, I came back North. From the train window I saw her as I crossed her road. Saw her on her porch, head tilted a little forward where the nail was, eyes vaguely focused on the sunset. Saw her face flow into them, the countryside and something that I call God, flowing into them. . . . Nothing ever really happened. Noth- 104 THE EW O^EGRO mg ever came to Fern, not even I. Something I would do for her. Some fine unnamed thing. . . . And, friend, you? She is still living, I have reason to know. Her name, against the chance that you might happen down that way, is Fernie May Rosen. SPUNK1 Zora Neale Hurston i A giant of a brown-skinned man sauntered up the one street of the Village and out into the palmetto thickets with a small pretty woman clinging lovingly to his arm. “Looka theah, folkses!” cried Elijah Mosley, slapping his leg gleefully. “Theah they go, big as life an5 brassy as tacks.” All the loungers in the store tried to walk to the door with an air of nonchalance but with small success. “Now pee-eople!” Walter Thomas gasped. “Will you look at ’em!” “But that’s one thing Ah likes about Spunk Banks — he ain’t skeered of nothin’ on God’s green footstool — nothin'! He rides that log down at saw-mill jus’ like he struts ’round wid another man’s wife — jus’ don’t give a kitty. When Tes’ Miller got cut to giblets on that circle-saw, Spunk steps right up and starts ridin’. The rest of us was skeered to go near it.” A round-shouldered figure in overalls much too large, came nervously in the door and the talking ceased. The men looked at each other and winked. “Gimme some soda-water. Sass’prilla Ah reckon,” the new¬ comer ordered, and stood far down the counter near the open pickled pig-feet tub to drink it. Elijah nudged Walter and turned with mock gravity to the new-comer. “Say, Joe, how’s everything up yo’ way? How’s yo’ wife?” Joe started and all but dropped the bottle he held in his hands. He swallowed several times painfully and his lips trembled. “Aw ’Lige, you oughtn’t to do nothin’ like that,” Walter grumbled. Elijah ignored him. 1 Awarded second prize, Opportunity contest, 1925. 105 10 6 THE ViEW V^EGRO “She jus’ passed heah a few minutes ago goin’ thata way,” with a wave of his hand in the direction of the woods. Now Joe knew his wife had passed that way. He knew that the men lounging in the general store had seen her, moreover, he knew that the men knew he knew. He stood there silent for a long moment staring blankly, with his Adam’s apple twitching nervously up and down his throat. One could ac¬ tually see the pain he was suffering, his eyes, his face, his hands and even the dejected slump of his shoulders. He set the bottle down upon the counter. He didn’t bang it, just eased it out of his hand silently and fiddled with his suspender buckle. “Well, Ah’m goin’ after her to-day. Ah’m goin’ an’ fetch her back. Spunk’s done gone too fur.” He reached deep down into his trouser pocket and drew out a hollow ground razor, large and shiny, and passed his mois¬ tened thumb back and forth over the edge. “Talkin’ like a man, Joe. Course that’s yo} fambly affairs, but Ah like to see grit in anybody.” Joe Kanty laid down a nickel and stumbled out into the street. Dusk crept in from the woods. Ike Clarke lit the swinging- oil lamp that was almost immediately surrounded by candle- flies. The men laughed boisterously behind Joe’s back as they watched him shamble woodward. “You oughtn’t to said whut you did to him, Lige — look how it worked him up,” Walter chided. “And Ah hope it did work him up. ’Tain’t even decent for a man to take and take like he do.” “Spunk will sho’ kill him.” “Aw, Ah doan’t know. You never kin tell. He might turn him up an’ spank him fur gettin’ in the way, but Spunk wouldn’t shoot no unarmed man. Dat razor he carried outa heah ain’t gonna run Spunk down an’ cut him, an’ Joe ain’t got the nerve to go up to Spunk with it knowing he totes that Army .45. He makes that break outa heah to bluff us. He’s gonna hide that razor behind the first likely palmetto root an’ sneak back home to bed. Don’t tell me nothin’ ’bout that 107 M. * NEGRO TOUTH SPEAKS rabbit-foot colored man. Didn’t he meet Spunk an’ Lena face to face one day las’ week an’ mumble sumthin’ to Spunk ’bout lettin’ his wife alone?” “What did Spunk say?” Walter broke in — “Ah like him fine but ’tain’t right the way he carries on wid Lena Kanty, jus’ cause Joe’s timid ’bout fightin’.” “You wrong theah, Walter. ’Tain’t cause Joe’s timid at all, it’s cause Spunk wants Lena. If Joe was a passle of wile cats Spunk would tackle the job just the same. He’d go after anything he wanted the same way. As Ah wuz sayin’ a min¬ ute ago, he tole Joe right to his face that Lena was his. ‘Call her,’ he says to Joe. ‘Call her and see if she’ll come. A woman knows her boss an’ she answers when he calls.’ ‘Lena, ain’t I yo’ husband?’ Joe sorter whines out. Lena looked at him real disgusted but she don’t answer and she don’t move outa her tracks. Then Spunk reaches out an’ takes hold of her arm an’ says: ‘Lena, youse mine. From now on Ah works for you an’ fights for you an’ Ah never wants you to look to nobody for a crumb of bread, a stitch of close or a shingle to go over yo’ head, but me long as Ah live. Ah’ll git the lumber foh owah house to-morrow. Go home an’ git yo’ things to¬ gether!’ “ ‘Thass mah house,’ Lena speaks up. ‘Papa gimme that.’ “ ‘Well,’ says Spunk, ‘doan give up whut’s yours, but when youse inside don’t forgit youse mine, an’ let no other man git outa his place wid you!’ “Lena looked up at him with her eyes so full of love that they wuz runnin’ over, an’ Spunk seen it an’ Joe seen it too, and his lip started to tremblin’ and his Adam’s apple was galloping up and down his neck like a race horse. Ah bet he’s wore out half a dozen Adam’s apples since Spunk’s been on the job with Lena. That’s all he’ll do. He’ll be back heah after while swallowin’ an’ workin’ his lips like he wants to say somethin’ an’ can’t.” “But didn’t he do nothin' to stop ’em?” “Nope, not a frazzlin’ thing — jus’ stood there. Spunk took Lena’s arm and walked off jus’ like nothin’ ain’t happened and he stood there gazin’ after them till they was outa sight. Now io8 THE C^EW CNiEGRO you know a woman don’t want no man like that. I’m jus’ waitin’ to see whut he’s goin’ to say when he gits back.” ii But Joe Kanty never came back, never. The men in the store heard the sharp report of a pistol somewhere distant in the palmetto thicket and soon Spunk came walking leisurely, with his big black Stetson set at the same rakish angle and Lena clinging to his arm, came walking right into the general store. Lena wept in a frightened manner. “Well,” Spunk announced calmly, “Joe come out there wid a meatax an’ made me kill him.” He sent Lena home and led the men back to Joe — Joe crumpled and limp with his right hand still clutching his raz°r. “See mah back? Mah does cut clear through. He sneaked up an’ tried to kill me from the back, but Ah got him, an got him good, first shot,” Spunk said. The men glared at Elijah, accusingly. “Take him up an’ plant him in ‘Stoney lonesome,’ ” Spunk said in a careless voice. “Ah didn’t wanna shoot him but he made me do it. He’s a dirty coward, jumpin’ on a man from behind.” Spunk turned on his heel and sauntered away to where he knew his love wept in fear for him and no man stopped him. At the general store later on, they all talked of locking him up until the sheriff should come from Orlando, but no one did anything but talk. A clear case of self-defense, the trial was a short one, and Spunk walked out of the court house to freedom again. He could work again, ride the dangerous log-carriage that fed the singing, snarling, biting, circle-saw; he could stroll the soft dark lanes with his guitar. He was free to roam the woods again; he was free to return to Lena. He did all of these things. y(EGRO YOUTH SPEAKS 109 hi “Whut you reckon, Walt?” Elijah asked one night later. “Spunk’s gittin’ ready to marry Lena!” . “Naw! Why, Joe ain’t had time to git cold yit. Nohow Ah didn’t figger Spunk was the marryin’ kind.” “Well, he is,” rejoined Elijah. “He done moved most of Lena’s things — and her along wid ’em — over to the Bradley house. He’s buying it. Jus’ like Ah told yo’ all right in heah the night Joe wuz kilt. Spunk’s crazy ’bout Lena. He don’t want folks to keep on talkin’ ’bout her — thass reason he’s rushin’ so. Funny thing ’bout that bob-cat, wan’t it?” “What bob-cat, ’Lige? Ah ain’t heered ’bout none.” “Ain’t cher? Well, night befo’ las’ was the fust night Spunk an’ Lena moved together an’ jus’ as they was goin’ to bed, a big black bob-cat, black all over, you hear me, black , walked round and round that house and howled like forty, an’ when Spunk got his gun an’ went to the winder to shoot it, he says it stood right still an’ looked him in the eye, an’ howled right at him. Xhe thing got Spunk so nervoused up he couldn’t shoot. But Spunk says twan’t no bob-cat nohow. He says it was Joe done sneaked back from Hell!” “Humph!” sniffed Walter, “he oughter be nervous after what he done. Ah reckon Joe come back to dare him to marry Lena, or to come out an’ fight. Ah bet he’ll be back time and agin, too. Know what Ah think? Joe wuz a braver man than Spunk.” There was a general shout of derision from the group. “Thass a fact,” went on Walter. “Lookit whut he done; took a razor an’ went out to fight a man he knowed toted a gun an’ wuz a crack shot, too; ’nother thing Joe wuz skeered of Spunk, skeered plumb stiff! But he went jes’ the same. It took him a long time to get his nerve up. ’Tain’t nothin’ for Spunk to fight when he ain’t skeered of nothin’. Now, Joe’s done come back to have it out wid the man that’s got all he ever had. Y’ll know Joe ain’t never had nothin’ nor wanted nothin’ besides Lena. It musta been a h’ant cause ain’ nobody never seen no black bob-cat.” no THE C^EW CMiEGRO “ ’Nother thing,” cut in one of the men, “Spunk wuz cussin’ a blue streak to-day ’cause he ’lowed dat saw wuz wobblin’ — almos’ got ’im once. The machinist come, looked it over an’ said it wuz alright. Spunk musta been leanin’ t’wards it some. Den he claimed somebody pushed ’im but ’twant nobody close to ’im. Ah wuz glad when knockin’ off time come. I’m skeered of dat man when he gits hot. He’d beat you full of button holes as quick as he’s look atcher.” IV The men gathered the next evening in a different mood, no laughter. No badinage this time. “Look, ’Lige, you goin’ to set up wid Spunk?” “Naw, Ah reckon not, Walter. Tell yuh the truth, Ah’m a lil bit skittish. Spunk died too wicket — died cussin’ he did. You know he thought he wuz done outa life.” “Good Lawd, who’d he think done it?” “Joe.” “Joe Kanty? How come?” “Walter, Ah b’leeve Ah will walk up thata way an’ set. Lena would like it Ah reckon.” “But whut did he say, ’Lige?” Elijah did not answer until they had left the lighted store and were strolling down the dark street. “Ah wuz loadin’ a wagon wid scantlin’ right near the saw when Spunk fell on the carriage but ’fore Ah could git to him the saw got him in the body — awful sight. Me an’ Skint Mil¬ ler got him off but it was too late. Anybody could see that. The fust thing he said wuz: ‘He pushed me, ’Lige — the dirty hound pushed me in the back!’ — He was spittin’ blood at ev’ry breath. We laid him on the sawdust pile with his face to the East so’s he could die easy. He helt mah han’ till the last, Walter, and said: ‘It was Joe, ’Lige — the dirty sneak shoved me ... he didn’t dare come to mah face . . . but Ah’ll git the son-of-a-wood louse soon’s Ah get there an’ make hell too hot for him. . . . Ah felt him shove me. . . !’ Thass how he died.” • Ill NEGRO TOUTH SPEAKS I “If spirits kin fight, there’s a powerful tussle goin’ on some¬ where ovah Jordan ’cause Ah b’leeve Joe’s ready for Spunk an’ ain’t skeered any more — yas, Ah b’leeve Joe pushed ’im mahself.” They had arrived at the house. Lena’s lamentations were deep and loud. She had filled the room with magnolia blos¬ soms that gave off a heavy sweet odor. The keepers of the wake tipped about whispering in frightened tones. Everyone in the village was there, even old Jeff Kanty, Joe’s father, who a few hours before would have been afraid to come within ten feet of him, stood leering triumphantly down upon the fallen giant as if his fingers had been the teeth of steel that laid him low. The cooling board consisted of three sixteen-inch boards on saw horses, a dingy sheet was his shroud. The women ate heartily of the funeral baked meats and wondered who would be Lena’s next. The men whispered coarse conjectures between guzzles of whiskey. SAHDJI Bruce Nugent That one now .... that’s a sketch of a little African girl . . . delightfully black ... I made it while I was passing through East Africa . . . her name was Sahdji . . . wife of Konombju . . . chieftain ... of only a small tribe . . . Warpuri was the area of his sovereign domain . . . but to get back to Sahdji . . . with her beautiful dark body . . .rosy black . . . graceful as the tongues of flame she loved to dance around . . . and pretty . . . small features .... large liquid eyes . . . over-full sensuous lips . . . she knew how to dance too . . . better than any . Sahdji was proud . . . she was the favorite wife ... as such she had privileges . . . she did love Konombju. . . Mrabo . . . son of Konombju, loved Sahdji ... his father . . fifty-nine .... too old for her . . . fifty-nine and eighteen ... he could wait ... he loved his father . . . but .... maybe death ... his father was getting old . Numbo idolized Mrabo . . . Numbo was a young buck .... would do anything to make Mrabo happy. . . . one day Sahdji felt restless . . . why ... it was not un¬ usual for Konombju to lead the hunt . . . even at his age . . . Sahdji jangled her bracelets ... it was so still and warm . . . she’d wait at the door .... standing there . . . shifting ... a blurred silhouette against the brown of the hut . . . she waited . . . waited. . . maybe . . . she saw the long steaming stream of natives in the distance . . . she looked for Konombju . . what was that burden they carried . . . why were they so solemn . . . where was Konombju. . . . the column reached her door . . . placed their burden at her feet . . . Konombju . an arrow in his back . . . 1 14 THE y^EW 3\ CEGRO just accident . . . Goare go shuioa go elui run — (when men die they depart for ever) — they hadn’t seen him fall . . hunt¬ ing, one watches the hunt ... a stray arrow . . . Konombju at her feet. . . preparations for the funeral feast ... the seven wives of Konombju went to the new chief’s hut . . . Mrabo . . . one . . two . . three . . he counted ... no Sahdji . . .six . . seven . . no Sahdji. . . the funeral procession filed past the door . . . and Mrabo . . . Mrabo went too . . the drums beat their boom . . boom . . . deep pulsing heart-quivering boom . . . and the reeds added their weird dirge . . . the procession moved on . . . on to Konombju’s hut . . . boom . . b-o-o-m . there from the doorway stepped Sahdji . . . painted in the funeral red . . . the flames from the ground are already catch¬ ing the branches . . . slowly to the funeral drums she swayed . . . danced . . . leading Konombju to his grave . . . her grave . . . their grave. . . they laid the body in the funeral hut . . . Goa shoa motho go sale motho — (when a man dies a man remains) — Sahdji danced slowly . . . sadly . . . looked at Mrabo and smiled . . . slowly triumphantly . . . and to the wails of the wives . . . boom-boom of the drums . . . gave herself again to Ko¬ nombju . . . the grass-strewn couch of Konombju. . . . Mrabo stood unflinching . . . but Numbo, silly Numbo had made an old . . old man of Mrabo. THE PALM PORCH Eric Walrond Nobody had ever heard of Miss Buckner before she swept into The Palm Porch. The Palm Porch was not a cantine; it was a house. Still, one was not sure of that, either 5 for a house, assuredly, is a place where people live. But Miss Buck¬ ner did not only live there: she had cut up the house in small, single rooms, each in separate and distinct entities. Each had its armor of leafy laces, its hangings of mauve and cream- gold; each its loadstones and daggers; its glowing dust and scarlet. Each its wine and music, powders and mirrors. High against the sky, on slender, ant-proof poles, The Palm Porch looked down upon the squalid cosmos of Colon. Fac¬ ing north — a broad expanse of red, arid land. Before the Revolution it was a black, evil forest-swamp. Deer, lions, mongooses and tiger cats went prowling through it. Then the Americans came . . . came with saw and spear, tar and lysol. About to rid it . . . molten city ... of its cancer, fire swept it up on the bosom of the lagoon. Naked, virgin trees; limbless. Gaunt, hollow stalks. Huge shadows falling. Dredges in the golden mist; dredges on the lagoon. Horny iron pipes spouted over the fetid swamp. Noise; grat¬ ing noise. Earth stones, up from the bowels of the sea, rat¬ tled against the ribs of scaly pipes like popping corn. Crackling corn. Water, red, black, gray, gushed out of big, bursting pipes. For miles people heard its lap-lapping. Dark as the earth, it flung up on its crest stones, pearls, sharks’ teeth . . . jewels of the sunken sea. Frogs, vermin, tangled things. . . . It browned into a lake of dazzling corals. Slowly the sun began to sop, harden, dry it up. Upon its surface, buoying it, old tree stumps; guava, pine. On them snipes flew. Wild geese came low, dipping up an earth-burned sprat. Off again. 115 ii 6 THE J(EW R^EGRO River stakes. Venturing to explore it enterprising kids would slip through . . . plop ... go down . . . seized by the in¬ tense suction. Ugly rescue work. In time it gave in to the insistence of the sun. White and golden husks shone upon it. Shells ; half-shells. It cut, dazed and dazzled you. Queer things, half-seen, on the dry, salty earth. Ghastly white bones ; skulls, ear-rings, bangles. Scrambling. Rows. Sea-scum fought and slew each other over them. As time went on it became a bare, vivid plain. City’d soon spring upon it. Of a Sunday blacks would skip over to the beach to bathe or pick cocoanuts on the banks of the lagoon. On the lagoon ... a slaughter house and a wireless station. Squeaking down at the flat, low city. Pigs being stuck, the unseeing hoofs of cattle . . . the wireless . . f tang ta-tang, tang ta-tang stole out of the meridian dusk. Upon the lake of sea-earth, dusk swept a mantle of majestic coloring. East of The Palm Porch, roared the city of Colon. Hudson Alley, “G” Street . . . coolies, natives, Island blacks swarm¬ ing to the Canal. All about, nothing but tenements . . . city word for cabins . . . low, soggy, toppling. Near the sky rose the Ant’s Nest. Six stories high and it took up half a city block. One rickety staircase ... in the rear. No two of its rooms connected. Each sheltered a family of eight or nine. A balcony ringed each floor. Rooms . . • each room . . . opened out upon it. Only one person at a time dared walk along any point of it. The cages of voice¬ less yellow birds adorned each window. Boards were stretched at the bottom of doors to stop kids from wandering out . . . to the piazza below. Flower-pots . . . fern, mint, thyme, parsley, water cress ... sat on the scum-moist sills of the balconies. Over the hot, low city the Ant’s Nest lorded it. Reared its mouth to the heavens. Sneered truculently at it. Offensive, P(EGRO YOUTH SPEAKS 117 muggy, habitation made it giddy, bilious. Swarms of black folk populated it. . . . Sorry lot. Tugging at the apron strings of life, scabrous, sore-footed natives, spouting saliva into unisolated cisterns. Naked on the floors Chinese rum shops and chow-stands. Nig¬ ger-loving Chinks unmoved and unafraid of the consequences of a breed of untarnished . . . seemingly . . . Asiatics grow¬ ing up around the breasts of West Indian maidens. Pious English peasant blacks . . . perforating the picture . . . go¬ ing to church, to lodge meetings, to hear fiery orations. Ant’s Nest. On one hand the Ant’s Nest. On the other, the sand-gilt lake. In this fashion it was not an unexpected rarity to find The Palm Porch prospering. Austerely en¬ trenched, the rooms on the ground floor went to a one-eyed baboo and a Panama witch doctor. Gates at the top of the stairs kept intruders off. A wolf hound insured the logic of the precaution. Around the porch Miss Buckner had unsheathed a strip of bright enamel cloth. From a man’s waist it rose to the roof. It was beyond reason for anyone to peep up from the piazza and see what was taking place up there. Of course there were iron bars below the white screen, but Miss Buckner had covered these with crates of fern and violets strung along it. In addi¬ tion, Miss Buckner had not been without an eye to a certain tropical exactness. About Miss Buckner the idea of surfeit . . . oxen hips, long, pliable hands, roving, sun-staring breasts . . .took on the magic of reality. Upon the yellow stalk of her being there shot up into mist and crystal space a head the shape of a sawed- off cocoanut tree top. Pressed close to its rim were tiny wrinkles . . . circles, circlets, half-circles ... of black, crisp hair. It was even bobbed ... an unheard of proceeding among the Victorian maidens of the Indian tropics. Unheard of, indeed. Further to confound the canaille a heretical part slid down the front of it. Strangely anti-sexual, it helped, too, to create a brightly sodden air about Miss Buckner in the ramified circles in which she set her being. 1 1 8 THE ViEW 3\ CEGRO Urged on by the ruthless, crushing spirit which was firmly and innately a part of her, Miss Buckner, consciously unaware of the capers she was cutting amid the synthetic hordes . . . black, brown, yellow folk . . . had, perhaps, a right to insist on such things as a frizzly head of hair. Perhaps to her it was a trivial item of concern — to her and her only. And, by way of sprucing up lagging ends in her native endowments, items such as wavy, sylvan tresses, or a slim, pretty figure, Miss Buckner had .an approach to one . . . life . . . that was sim¬ ply excruciating. Where, oh! where, folk asked, did she ac¬ quire it? London . . . Paris . . . Vienna? No! In reality Miss Buckner, a dame of sixty — it was the first time that she had deserted the isle of her birth in an animated raffle across the sea, — would have fallen ill at the very suggestion of having to go to Europe or anywhere in fact beyond the crimson rim of Jamaica in quest of manners. Absurd! And so, like a bit of tape, this manner to Miss Buckner stuck. Upon women Miss Buckner had meager cause to ply it, for at The Palm Porch precious few women, except, of course, Zuline, her Surinam cook, and, of course, her five daughters, were ever allowed. It was a man’s house. When, as a result, Miss Buckner, beneath a brilliant lorgnette, con¬ descended to look at a man, she looked sternly, unsmilingly down at him. When, of a Sabbath, Miss Buckner, hair in oily, overt frills, maidenly in a silken shawl of gold and blue, a dab of carmine on her mouth, decided to go to the mercado , followed by the slow, trepid steps of Zuline, to buy achi and Lucy-yam and cocoa-milk and red peas, she had half of the city gaping at the very wonder of her. Erratically, entirely in command of herself, Miss Buckner, by a word or gesture . . . quick, stabbing, petulant . . . would outbuy a deftly-en¬ shrined Assyrian candymaker, the most abject West Indian fish dealer or the meekest native vendor of cebada. Colorful as a pheasant, she swept on, through the mist of crawling folk, the comely Zuline at her elbow, plying her with queries surely she did not expect her to possess enough virginity to answer. Dumping as she swept along vegetables, meats, spices in the bewildered girl’s basket. Her head high above the dusky mob, S^EGRO TOUTH SPEAKS 119 her voice, at best a thing of angel-colors, uncaught by the shreds of patois going by her. In fact, from Colon to Cocoa Grove, Miss Buckner, by the color-crazed folk who swam head-high in the bowl of luring life stirred by her, was a woman to tip one’s hat to — regal rite — a woman of taste, culture, value. Executives at Balboa, pilots on the locks, sun-burned sea folk attested to that. They gloried at the languor of Miss Buckner’s salon. Of course, by words that came flashing like meteors out of Miss Buckner’s mouth, one got the impression that Miss Buck¬ ner would have liked to be white ; but, alas! she was only a mulatto. No one had ever heard of her before she and her innocent darlings moved into The Palm Porch. Of course, it was to be expected, the world being what it is, that there were people who — De la Croix, a San Andres wine merchant, De Pass, a Berbice horse breeder — murmured words of treason: that, out of their roving lives they’d seen her at a certain Bar in Matches Lane stringing out from over a broad, clean counter words of rigid cheer to the colonizing English barque men . . . but such, too, were cast to the dogs to be devoured as expres¬ sions of useless and undocumented chatter. Whether the re¬ sult of a union of white and Negro, French or Spanish, English or Maroon ... no one knew. And her daughters, sculptural marvels of gold and yellow, were enshrined in a similar mys¬ tery. Of their father and their ascension to the luxury of one, the least heard, so far as the buzzing community was con¬ cerned, the better. And in the absence of data tongues began to wag. Norwegian bos’en. Jamaica lover . . . Island trumph. Crazy Kingston nights. . . . To the charming ladies in question, it was a subject of adoring indifference. Miss Buckner herself, who had a contempt for statistics, was a trifle hazy about the whole thing. . . . One of the girls, white as a white woman, eyes blue as a Viking maid’s, strangely, at sixteen, had eloped, much to Miss Buckner’s disgust, with a shiny-armed black who at one time had been sent to the Island jail for the proletarian crime of predial larceny. Neighbors swore it was love at first sight. But it irked, piqued Miss Buckner. “It a dam’ pity shame,” 120 THE O^EW T^EGRO she had cried, between dabs at her already cologne-choked nose, “it a dam’ pity shame.” Another girl, the eldest of the lot (Miss Buckner had had seven in all), had oh! ages before given birth to a pretty, gray¬ eyed baby boy, when she was but seventeen, and, much to Miss Buckner’s disgrace, had later taken up with a willing young mulatto, a Christian in the Moravian church, and brutishly undertaken the burdens of concubinage. He was able, honest, industrious and wore shoes, but Miss Buckner nearly went mad — groaned at the pain her wayward daughters were bringing her. “Oh, Gahd,” she cried, “Oh, Gahd, dem ah send me to de dawgs . . . dem ah send me to de dawgs!” Clerk in the cold storage j sixty dollars a month . . . wages of an accursed “Silver” employee. Silver is nigger ; nigger is silver. Nigger- silver . . . blah! Why, debated Miss Buckner, stockings couldn’t be bought with that, much more take care of a woman accustomed to “foxy clothes an’ such” and a dazzling baby boy. Silver employee! Why couldn’t he be a “Gold” em¬ ployee . . . and get $125 a month, like “de fella nex’ tarrim, he?” He did not get coal and fuel free, besides. He had to dig down and pay extra for them. He was not, alas! white. And that hurt, worried Miss Buckner. Caused her nights of anxious sleeplessness. Wretch! “To tink dat a handsome gal like dat would-ah tek up with a dam’ black neygah man like him, he? Now, wa’ you tink o’ dat? H’ answer me, no!” Oh, how her poor little ones were going to the dogs! And so, to dam the flow of tears, Miss Buckner and the re¬ maining ones of her flamingo-like brood, drew up at The Palm Porch. Sense-picture. All day Miss Buckner’s brunettes would be there on the veranda posturing nude, half-nude. Exposed to the subdued warmth, sublimated by the courting of fans and shadow-implements, they’d be there, galore. Gor¬ geous slippers, wrought by some color-drunk Latin, rested on the tips of toes — toes blushing, hungering to be loved and kissed. Brown and silver ones. Purple and orange-colored kimonos fell away from excitably harmless anatomies. Inex¬ haustible tresses of night-gloss hair, hair — echoes of Miss Buckner’s views on the subject — hair the color of a golden 121 y(EGRO YOUTH SPEAKS moon, gave shade and sun glows to rose-red arms and bosoms. Vases of roses, flowers . . . scented black and green leaves . . . crowned the night. Earth-sod fragrances ; old, prema¬ turely old, and crushed, withered flowers. Stale French per¬ fumes. . . . Gems. Gems on the tips and hilts of mediaeval daggers. Priceless stones strewn on boudoirs. Hair pins of gold; diamond headed hat pins. Shoe heels ablaze with white, frosty diamonds. . . . Upon the porch sat the cream of Miss Buckner’s cultivation. Sprawling, legs . . . soft, round, dimpled ... on the arms of bamboo chairs . . . smoking . . . drinking . . . expostu¬ lating. On the bare floor, dismal gore-spots on various parts of their crash and crocus bag — eyes watering at them — were men, white men. In the dead of night, chased by the crimson glow of dawn, intense white faces, steaming red in the burning tropics, flew madly, fiercely across the icy-flows of the Zone to the luxurious solitude of The Palm Porch. To-night, the girls, immune to the vultures of despair, lie, sprawled on bamboo lounges, sat at three-legged tables, eyes sparkling, twittering. . . . O ! cornin’ down with a bunch o’ roses Cornin’ down Come down when Ah call ya’ . . . Rustle of silks. European taffeta silk. Wrestling-tight. On an open, buxom body, cherished under the breezes of a virgin civilization, it was a trifle unadoring. It pressed and irked one. “There now, boys, please be quiet . . . the captain is com¬ ing. . . .” Anywhere else she’d have slipt up, but here it rippled like an ocean breeze free of timidity or restraint. In the presence of Islanders it might have resulted otherwise, but to strangers — and it was so easy to fool the whites — the color of one’s voice went unobserved. “Skipper, eh? Who is he? Wha’ ta hell tub is ’e on?” Expectorations. Noisy-tongued lime juicers. . . . 122 THE J(EW JiEGRO “Let the bleddy bastard go to ” “Now, Tommy, that isn’t nice. . . .” “Hell it ain’t! Blarst ’im! Gawd blimmah, I’ll blow ta holy car load o’ yo\ . . .” Again the swift, swift rustle of silks. Olive one of silk 5 sweating, arranging, eliminating. . . . “Anesta, dear, take Baldy inside. . . .” “But, mother!” “Do, darling. . . !” “No, Gawd blarst yo’ . . . lemme go! Lemme go, I say!” “Be a gentleman, Baldy, and behave!” “What a hell of a ruction it are, eh?” “Help me wit’ ’im, daughter. . . .” “Do, Anesta, dear. . . .” Yielding ungently, he staggered along on the girl’s arm. He stept in the crown of Mr. Thingamerry’s hat. A day before he had put on a spotless white suit. Laundered by the Occupa¬ tion, the starch on the edges of it made it dagger-sharp. Now, it was a sight. Ugly wine stains darkened it. Drink, perspira¬ tion, tobacco weed moistened his sprigless shirt front. Awry — his tie, collar, trousers. His reddish brown hair was wet, bushy, ruffled. Grimy curses fell from his red, grime-bound lips. Six months on the Isthmus, its nights and the lure of The Palm Porch had caught him in its enervating grip. It held him tight. Sent from Liverpool to the British Postal Agency at Colon, he had fallen for the languor of the sea coast . . . had been seized by the magic glow of The Palm Porch. He came down from Heaven to earth Day by day like us He grew. ...” La la la, la la la la-ah ah La la la, la la la la-ah ah ah. . . ... “John three, sixteen, and the Lord said there was light. ‘And the light shineth in darkness, and the darkness compre- hendeth it not.’ . . .” ViEGRO TOUTH SPEAKS Upon a palpitating bosom, Miss Buckner put a young, eager hand. It was wildly in quest of something . . . anchorage, perhaps. Viewing it — queer, the disorderly temperature of women — Captain Tintero, a local vigilante , shot a red, staring eye at her. . . . “Well, my good lady, I see you are nervous as usual. . . . Is not that so?” Flattered by the captain’s graciousness, Miss Buckner curt¬ sied. Her eyelids giggled coquettishly. “Oh, my dear cap¬ tain,” she said, “it is so splendid of you to come. Pve been thinking of you all day — really. Wasn’t I, Anesta, dear? Of course! Anesta, dear? Anesta, where are you, my dear? Where oh where are you?” “It’s good to be this way. God blarst mah, it is. ‘And the Lord said unto him, this is my beloved Son in whom I’m well pleased.’ . . .” “ . . . now laddie boys, don’t be naughty ... be quiet, children. Captain, as I was saying . . . naughty . . . naughty boys. . . . Harmless, captain. Harmless, playful things. Anesta, Anestita? Is that the way you . . . per¬ suasive captain!” Cackling like a hen, pitching men to one side, she swept along. One or two British youths, palsied with liquor, desire, glared at her . . . then, at the olive figure, gold and crimson epaulets, high, regal prancing, at the uncovered, wolf-like fangs of the Captain. . . . “Christ, He was your color. Christ was olive. Jesus Christ was a man of olive . . .” Grimy Britishers. Loquacious lime-juicers. Wine-crazed, women-crazed. . . . Bringing up the rear, Captain Tintero, at best a dandy of the more democratic salons, grew warm at the grandeur of ennui, the beauty of excess. He, too, alas!* was not to be outdone when he had set his heart upon a thing. Beau Brummel of the dusky policiay he was vain, handsome, sun-colored. He gloried in a razor slash on his right cheek which he had ob¬ tained at a brawl over a German maiden in a District cantine. Livid, the claret about to spring out of it, it did not disfigure 124 THE CNiEW J^EGRO him. It lit up the glow women fancied in him. When he laughed it would turn pale, starkly pale; when he was angry it oozed red, blood-red. . . . For a vigilante the road to gallantry was clear. Heart of iron, nerves of steel — to be able to club a soused Marine to smithereens . . . possessing these, it was logic to exact tribute from the sulky vermin of the salons. . . . Inflated by such authority, the Captain swore, spat, dug his heels in the faces of the English. . . . Applying a Javanese fan to her furious bosom, Miss Buck¬ ner, her taffeta silk kicking up an immense racket, returned to the Captain. A bolden smile covered her frank, open face. “Now, you impetuous Panamanian!” she warmed, the pearls on the top row of her teeth a-glitter, “you must never be too impatient. The Bible says, ‘Him that is exalted. . . ? The gods will never be kind to you if you keep on that way. ... No use . . . you won’t understand the Bible! Come! . . .” Gathering up the ruffles of her skirt, she sped along. Into a realm of shadowy mists. Darkness. “Too much liquor,” she turned, by way of apology, tapping her black bandeau and indicating the tossing figure of the British Postal Agent . . . “too much liquor . . . don’t mind . . . el es Ingles . . . postal agental . . . Ingles. . . .” “ Necios ! B arbaridades ! ” “ ... no matter what he says. . . “Nigger bastard!” “Baldy! Why, the very itheah! . . . Go quietly, dear. . . .” “Really, Captain,” Miss Buckner waved a jewel-flaming wrist, “it is quite comic. Why, the fellow’s actually offensive! And all I can do is keep the dear child out of the wretch’s filthy embrace . . . advances!” It didn’t matter very much, after all. And brushing the slip aside, Miss Buckner went on, “But of course,” she con¬ ceded, “one has to be pleasant to one’s guests. O! Captain, in dear old Kingston, none of this sort of thing ever occurred. . . . None! — And of course it constrains me profusely /— “Anesta, where are you, my dear?” S\ CEGRO TOUTH SPEAKS 125 Out of the dusk the girl came. Her grace, her beauty, the endless dam of color, of emotion that flooded her face be¬ witched, unnerved the captain. In an attitude of respectful indecision she paused at the door, one hand at her throat, the other held out to the captain. . . . In one’s mouth it savored of butter. Miss Buckner, there at the door, viewing the end of an embarrassing quest, felt happy. The captain, after all, was such a naughty boy! Down on the carpetless porch, dipt in the brine of shadows, the hoarse, catching voice of an Englishman called. “Anesta, Anesta . . . mulatto girl . . . Gawd blarst the bleddy spig- goty to ’ell! Come to me, Anesta! So ’elp me Gawd if ’e goes artah ’er I’ll cut the gizzard out . . . hey . . . where’s that bleddy Miss Buckner. . . ?” Sore, briny silence. “And His word is mine. And the word was God, and all things made by Him, and God. . . . No. Gawd damn it, that isn’t right. Jesus! . . .” “And the light shineth in darkness, and the darkness com- prehendeth it not. . . .” Endless emotion. Swung up upon the shores of a spirit-sea, where the owls and saints and the shiny demons of the hideous morass emerged at the low tide to mate and war and converse on the imperishable odes of time . . . ghastly reality! Scream ... it touched no one. Doing its work at a swift, unerring pace. ... A death-rattle, and the descent of shadows and solitude. At noon the day after the cops came and got the body. Over the blood-black hump a sheet was flung. It ate up the scarlet. Native crowds stuck up their chins at it . . . even the tiny drip-drip on the piazza. From the dark roof hanging over the pavement it came. . . . Way back — to be exact, a week after life moved on The Porch — a new white screen-cloth had been put together and pelted out that way. A slow, rigid procession of them. Now, its edge — that is the novelty of it — taken off, Miss Buckner, 126 THE CNiEW O^EGRO firm in the graces of the Captain drunk in Anesta’s boudoir, was so busy with sundry affairs she did not have space to devote to the commotion the spectacle had undoubtedly created. To put it briefly, Miss Buckner, while Zuline sewed a button on her suede shoes, was absorbed in the task of deciding whether to have chocolate souffle or maiden hair custard at lunch that afternoon. . . . POETRY TO A BROWN GIRL What if his glance is bold and free, His mouth the lash of whips? So should the eyes of lovers be, And so a lover’s lips. What if no puritanic strain Confines him to the nice? He will not pass this way again Nor hunger for you twice. Since in the end consort together Magdalen and Mary, Youth is the time for careless weather $ Later, lass, be wary. — Countee Cullen . TO A BROWN BOY That brown girl’s swagger gives a twitch To beauty like a queen ; Lad, never dam your body’s itch When loveliness is seen. For there is ample room for bliss In pride in clean, brown limbs, And lips know better how to kiss Than how to raise white hymns. And when your body’s death gives birth To soil for spring to crown, Men will not ask if that rare earth Was white flesh once, or brown. — Countee Cullen. 129 130 THE J^EW D^EGRO TABLEAU Locked arm in arm they cross the way. The black boy and the white. The golden splendor of the day The sable pride of night. From lowered blinds the dark folk stare And here the fair folk talk, Indignant that these two should dare In unison to walk. Oblivious to look and word They pass, and see no wonder That lightning brilliant as a sword Should blaze the path of thunder. — Countee Cullen . HARLEM WINE This is not water running here, These thick rebellious streams That hurtle flesh and bone past fear Down alleyways of dreams. This is a wine that must flow on Not caring how or where, So it has ways to flow upon Where song is in the air. So it can woo an artful flute With loose, elastic lips, Its measurement of joy compute With blithe, ecstatic hips. — Countee Cullen. V(EGRO YOUTH SPEAKS 131 SHE OF THE DANCING FEET SINGS I And what would I do in heaven, pray, Me with my dancing feet, And limbs like apple boughs that sway When the gusty rain winds beat? And how would I thrive in a perfect place Where dancing would be sin, With not a man to love my face, Nor an arm to hold me in? The seraphs and the cherubim Would be too proud to bend To sing the faery tunes that brim My heart from end to end. The wistful angels down in hell Will smile to see my face, And understand, because they fell From that all-perfect place. — Countee Cullen . % 'A BROWN GIRL DEAD With two white roses on her breasts, White candles at head and feet, Dark Madonna of the grave she rests; Lord Death has found her sweet. Her mother pawned her wedding ring To lay her out in white; She’d be so proud she’d dance and sing To see herself to-night. — Countee Cullen . 132 THE 2(EW A(EGRO FRUIT OF THE FLOWER My father is a quiet man With sober, steady ways; For simile, a folded fan; His nights are like his days. My mother’s life is puritan, No hint of cavalier, A pool so calm you’re sure it can Have little depth to fear. And yet my father’s eyes can boast How full his life has been; There haunts them yet the languid ghost Of some still sacred sin. And though my mother chants of God, And of the mystic river, I’ve seen a bit of checkered sod Set all her flesh aquiver. Why should he deem it pure mischance A son of his is fain To do a naked tribal dance Each time he hears the rain? Why should she think it devil’s art That all my songs should be Of love and lovers, broken heart, And wild sweet agony? Who plants a seed begets a bud, Extract of that same root; Why marvel at the hectic blood That flushes this wild fruit? Countee Cullen. VVfMaLD Countee Cullen C^EGRO TOUTH SPEAKS 133 IN MEMORY OF COLONEL CHARLES YOUNG Along the shore the tall, thin grass That fringes that dark river, While sinuously soft feet pass, Begins to bleed and quiver. The great dark voice breaks with a sob Across the womb of night ; Above your grave the tom-toms throb, And the hills are weird with light. The great dark heart is like a well Drained bitter by the sky, And all the honeyed lies they tell Come there to thirst and die. No lie is strong enough to kill The roots that work below; From your rich dust and slaughtered will A tree with tongues will grow. — Countee Cullen . BAPTISM Into the furnace let me go alone ; Stay you without in terror of the heat. I will go naked in — for thus ’tis sweet — Into the weird depths of the hottest zone. I will not quiver in the frailest bone, You will not note a flicker of defeat; My heart shall tremble not its fate to meet, Nor mouth give utterance to any moan. The yawning oven spits forth fiery spears; Red aspish tongues shout wordlessly my name. Desire destroys, consumes my mortal fears, Transforming me into a shape of flame. I will come out, back to your world of tears, A stronger soul within a finer frame. — Claude McKay. 134 THE S^EW O^EGRO WHITE HOUSES Your door is shut against my tightened face, And I am sharp as steel with discontent; But I possess the courage and the grace To bear my anger proudly and unbent. The pavement slabs burn loose beneath my feet, A chafing savage, down the decent street, And passion rends my vitals as I pass, Where boldly shines your shuttered door of glass. Oh I must search for wisdom every hour, Deep in my wrathful bosom sore and raw, And find in it the superhuman power To hold me to the letter of your law! Oh I must keep my heart inviolate Against the potent poison of your hate. — Claude McKay . LIKE A STRONG TREE Like a strong tree that in the virgin earth Sends far its roots through rock and loam and clay, And proudly thrives in rain or time of dearth, When the dry waves scare rainy sprites away; Like a strong tree that reaches down, deep, deep, For sunken water, fluid underground, Where the great-ringed unsightly blind worms creep, And queer things of the nether world abound: So would I live in rich imperial growth, Touching the surface and the depth of things, Instinctively responsive unto both, Tasting the sweets of being and the stings, Sensing the subtle spell of changing forms, Like a strong tree against a thousand storms. — Claude McKay . ViEGRO TOUTH SPEAKS 135 RUSSIAN CATHEDRAL Bow down my soul in worship very low And in the holy silences be lost. Bow down before the marble man of woe, Bow down before the singing angel host. What jewelled glory fills my spirit’s eye! What golden grandeur moves the depths of me! The soaring arches lift me up on high Taking my breath with their rare symmetry. Bow down my soul and let the wondrous light Of Beauty bathe thee from her lofty throne Bow down before the wonder of man’s might. Bow down in worship, humble and alone 5 Bow lowly down before the sacred sight Of man’s divinity alive in stone. — Claude McKay. THE TROPICS IN NEW YORK Bananas ripe and green, and ginger root, Cocoa in pods and alligator pears, And tangerines and mangoes and grape fruit, Fit for the highest prize at parish fairs. Set in the window, bringing memories Of fruit-trees laden by low-singing rills, And dewy dawns, and mystical blue skies In benediction over nun-like hills. My eyes grew dim, and I could no more gaze; A wave of longing through my body swept, And, hungry for the old familiar ways, I turned aside and bowed my head and wept. — Claude McKay . 3$ THE U^EW ^EGRO I \ GEORGIA DUSK The sky, lazily disdaining to pursue The setting sun, too indolent to hold A lengthened tournament for flashing gold, Passively darkens for night’s barbecue, A feast of moon and men and barking hounds, An orgy for some genius of the South With blood-hot eyes and cane-lipped scented mouth Surprised in making folk-songs from soul sounds. The sawmill blows its whistle, buzz-saws stop, And silence breaks the bud of knoll and hill, Soft settling pollen where ploughed lands fulfill Their early promise of a bumper crop. Smoke from the pyramidal sawdust pile Curls up, blue ghosts of trees, tarrying low Where only chips and stumps are left to show The solid proof of former domicile. Meanwhile, the men, with vestiges of pomp, Race memories of king and caravan, High-priests, an ostrich, and a juju-man, Go singing through the footpaths of the swamp. Their voices rise . . . the pine trees are guitars, Strumming, pine-needles fall like sheets of rain . . . Their voices rise . . . the chorus of the cane Is carolling a vesper to the stars. O singers, resinous and soft your songs Above the sacred whisper of the pines, Give virgin lips to cornfield concubines, Bring dreams of Christ to dusky cane-lipped throngs. — Jean Toomer . 137 A CEGRO TOUTH SPEAKS ■- 4 l,; SONG OF THE SON Pour, O pour that parting soul in song, O pour it in the saw-dust glow of night, Into the velvet pine-smoke air to-night, And let the valley carry it along, And let the valley carry it along. O land and soil, red soil and sweet-gum tree, So scant of grass, so profligate of pines, Now just before an epoch’s sun declines Thy son, in time, I have returned to thee, Thy son, I have in time returned to thee. In time, although the sun is setting on A song-lit race of slaves, it has not set; Though late, O soil, it is not too late yet To catch thy plaintive soul, leaving, soon gone, Leaving, to catch thy plaintive soul soon gone. O Negro slaves, dark purple ripened plums, Squeezed, and bursting in the pine-wood air, Passing, before they strip the old tree bare One plum was saved for me, one seed becomes An everlasting song, a singing tree, Caroling softly souls of slavery, What they were, and what they are to me, Carolling softly souls of slavery. — Jean Toomer. THE C^EW JiEGRO THE CREATION A Negro Sermon And God stepped out on space, And He looked around and said, ( Roll ” MUSIC “An* the stars began to fall” THE NEGRO SPIRITUALS Alain Locke The Spirituals are really the most characteristic product of the race genius as yet in America. But the very elements which make them uniquely expressive of the Negro make them at the same time deeply representative of the soil that produced them. Thus, as unique spiritual products of American life, they become nationally as well as racially characteristic. It may not be readily conceded now that the song of the Negro is America’s folk-song ; but if the Spirituals are what we think them to be, a classic folk expression, then this is their ultimate destiny. Already they give evidence of this classic quality. Through their immediate and compelling universality of ap¬ peal, through their untarnishable beauty, they seem assured of the immortality of those great folk expressions that survive not so much through being typical of a group or representative of a period as by virtue of being fundamentally and everlast- ingly human. This universality of the Spirituals looms more and more as they stand the test of time. They have outlived the particular generation and the peculiar conditions which pro¬ duced them; they have survived in turn the contempt of the slave owners, the conventionalizations of formal religion, the repressions of Puritanism, the corruptions of sentimental bal- ladry, and the neglect and disdain of second-generation respect¬ ability. They have escaped the lapsing conditions and the fragile vehicle of folk art, and come firmly into the context of formal music. Only classics survive such things. In its disingenuous simplicity, folk art is always despised and rejected at first; but generations after, it flowers again and transcends the level of its origin. The slave songs are no ex¬ ception; only recently have they come to be recognized as ar¬ tistically precious things. It still requires vision and courage 200 THE C^EW C^E G R 0 to proclaim their ultimate value and possibilities. But while the first stage of artistic development is yet uncompleted, it appears that behind the deceptive simplicity of Negro song lie the richest undeveloped musical resources anywhere available. Thematically rich, in idiom of rhythm and harmony richer still, in potentialities of new musical forms and new technical traditions so deep as to be accessible only to genius, they have the respect of the connoisseur even while still under the senti¬ mental and condescending patronage of the amateur. Proper understanding and full appreciation of the Spirituals, in spite of their present vogue, is still rare. And the Negro himself has shared many of the common and widespread limitations of view with regard to them. The emotional intuition which has made him cling to this folk music has lacked for the most part that convinced enlightenment that eventually will treasure the Spirituals for their true musical and technical values. And al¬ though popular opinion and the general conception have changed very materially, a true estimate of this body of music cannot be reached until many prevailing preconceptions are completely abandoned. For what general opinion regards as simple and transparent about them is in technical ways, though instinctive, very intricate and complex, and what is taken as whimsical and child-like is in truth, though naive, very pro¬ found. It was the great service of Dr. Du Bois in his unforgettable chapter on the Sorrow Songs in The Souls of the Black Folk to give them a serious and proper social interpretation, just as later Mr. Krehbiel in his Afro-American Folk Songs gave them their most serious and adequate musical analysis and in¬ terpretation. The humble origin of these sorrow songs is too indelibly stamped upon them to be ignored or overlooked. But underneath broken words, childish imagery, peasant sim¬ plicity, lies, as Dr. Du Bois pointed out, an epic inten¬ sity and a tragic profundity of emotional experience, for which the only historical analogy is the spiritual experience of the Jews and the only analogue, the Psalms. Indeed they transcend emotionally even the very experience of sorrow out of which they were born} their mood is that of religious exal- 201 * CEGRO TOUTH SPEAKS tation, a degree of ecstasy indeed that makes them in spite of the crude vehicle a classic expression of the religious emotion. They lack the grand style, but never the sublime effect. Their words are colloquial, but their mood is epic. They are primi¬ tive, but their emotional artistry is perfect. Indeed, spiritually evaluated, they are among the most genuine and outstanding expressions of Christian mood and feeling, fit musically and emotionally, if not verbally, of standing with the few Latin hymns, the handful of Gregorian tunes, and the rarest of Ger¬ man chorals as a not negligible element in the modicum of strictly religious music that the Christian centuries have pro¬ duced. Perhaps there is no such thing as intrinsically religious music j certainly the traceable interplay of the secular and the religious in music would scarcely warrant an arbitrary opinion in the matter. And just as certainly as secular elements can be found in all religious music are there discoverable sensuous and almost pagan elements blended into the Spirituals. But something so intensely religious and so essentially Christian dominates the blend that they are indelibly and notably of this quality. The Spirituals are spiritual. Conscious artistry and popular conception alike should never rob them of this herit¬ age, it is untrue to their tradition and to the folk genius to give them another tone. That they are susceptible of both crude and refined secularization is no excuse. Even though their own makers worked them up from the “shout” and the rhythmic elements of the sensuous dance, in their finished form and basic emotional effect all of these elements were completely sublimated in the sincere intensities of religious seriousness. To call them Spirituals and treat them otherwise is a travesty. It was the Negro himself who first took them out of their original religious setting, but he only anticipated the inevitable by a generation for the folk religion that produced them is rapidly vanishing. Noble as the purpose of this transplanting was, damage was done to the tradition. But we should not be ungrateful, for surely it was by this that they were saved to posterity at all. Nevertheless it was to an alien atmosphere that the missionary campaigning of the Negro schools and 202 THE F(EW C^EGRO colleges took these songs. And the concert stage has but taken them an inevitable step further from their original setting. We should always remember that they are essentially congre¬ gational, not theatrical, just as they are essentially a choral not a solo form. In time, however, on another level, they will get back to this tradition, — for their next development will undoubtedly be, like that of the modern Russian folk music, their use in the larger choral forms of the symphonic choir, through which they will reachieve their folk atmosphere and epic spirituality. It is a romantic story told in the Story of the Jubilee Singers , and retold in Professor Work’s Folk Song of the American Negro; the tale of that group of singers who started out from Fisk University in 1871, under the resolute leadership of George L. White, to make this music the appeal of the strug¬ gling college for philanthropic support. With all the cash in the Fisk treasury, except a dollar held back by Principal Adam K. Spence, the troupe set out to Oberlin, where, after an un¬ successful concert of current music, they instantly made^ an impression by a program of Negro Spirituals. Henry Ward Beecher’s invitation to Brooklyn led to fame for the singers, fortune for the college, but more important than these things, recognition for the Spirituals. Other schools, Hampton, At¬ lanta, Calhoun, Tuskegee joined the movement, and spread the knowledge of these songs far and wide in their concert cam¬ paigns. Later they recorded and published important collec¬ tions of them. They thus were saved over that critical period of disfavor in which any folk product is likely to be snuffed out by the false pride of the second generation. Professoi Work rightly estimates it as a service worth more racially and nationally than the considerable sums of money brought to these struggling schools. Indeed, as he says, it saved a folk art and preserved as no other medium could the folk tempera¬ ment, and by maintaining them introduced the Negro to him¬ self. Still the predominant values of this period in estimating the Spirituals were the sentimental, degenerating often into patronizing curiosity on the one side, and hectic exhibitionism on the other. Both races condescended to meet the mind of the Z^EGRO TOUTH SPEAKS 203 Negro slave, and even while his moods were taking their hearts by storm, discounted the artistry of genius therein. It was only as the musical appreciation of the Spirituals grew that this interest changed and deepened. Musically I think the Spirituals are as far in advance of their moods as their moods are in advance of their language. It is as poetry that they are least effective. Even as folk poetry, they cannot be highly rated.. But they do have their quaint symbolisms, and flashes, sometimes sustained passages of fine imagery, as in the much quoted I know moonlight, I know starlight I lay dis body down I walk in de graveyard, I walk troo de graveyard To lay dis body down. I lay in de grave a n’ stretch out my arms, I lay dis body down. I go to de judgment in de evenin’ of de day When I lay dis body down, An5 my soul an’ yo’ soul will meet de day I lay dis body down. or Bright sparkles in de churchyard Give light unto de tomb 5 Bright summer, spring’s over — Sweet flowers in their bloom. My mother once, my mother twice, my mother, she’ll rejoice, In the Heaven once, in the Heaven twice she’ll rejoice. IMay the Lord, He will be glad of me In the Heaven, He’ll rejoice. or again My Lord is so high, you can’t get over Him, My Lord is so low, you can’t get under Him, You must come in and through de Lamb. 204 THE Kew ^KEGRO In the latter passages, there is a naivete, and also a faith and fervor, that are mediaeval. Indeed one has to go to the Middle Ages to find anything quite like this combination of childlike simplicity of thought with strangely consummate artistry of mood. A quaintly literal, lisping, fervent Chris¬ tianity, we feel it to be the evangelical and Protestant counter¬ part of the naive Catholicism of the tenth to the thirteenth centuries. And just as there we had quaint versions of Ber¬ nard of Clairvaux and Saint Francis in the Virgin songs and Saints Legends, so here we have Bunyan and John Wesley per¬ colated through a peasant mind and imagination, and concen¬ trated into something intellectually less, but emotionally more vital and satisfying. If the analogy seems forced, remember that we see the homely colloquialism of the one through the glamorous distance of romance, and of the other, through the disillusioning nearness of social stigma and disdain. How regrettable though, that the very qualities that add charm to the one should arouse mirthful ridicule for the other. Over-keen sensitiveness to this reaction, which will com¬ pletely pass within a half generation or so, has unfortunately caused many singers and musicians to blur the dialect and pun¬ gent colloquialisms of the Spirituals so as not to impede with irrelevant reactions their proper artistic and emotional effect. Some have gone so far as to advocate the abandonment of the dialect versions to insure their dignity and reverence. But for all their inadequacies, the words are the vital clues to the moods of these songs. If anything is to be changed, it should be the popular attitude. One thing further may be said, without verging upon apologetics, about their verbal form. In this broken dialect and grammar there is almost invariably an unerring sense of euphony. Mir. Work goes so far as to sug¬ gest — rightly, I think — that in many instances the dropped, elided, and added syllables, especially the latter, are a matter of instinctive euphonic sense following the requirements of the musical rhythm, as, for example, “The Blood came a twinklin’ down” from “The Crucifixion” or “Lying there fo’ to be heal” from “Blind Man at the Pool.” Mr. Work calls attention to the extra beat syllable, as in “De trumpet WiEGRO YOUTH SPEAKS 205 soun’s it m-a’ my soul,” which is obviously a singing device a. subtle Phrase-molding element from a musical point of view, even if on verbal surface value, it suggests illiteracy. Emotionally, these folks songs are far from simple. They are not only spread over the whole gamut of human moods, with the traditional religious overtone adroitly insinuated in each instance, but there is further a sudden change of mood in the single song, baffling to formal classification. Interesting and intriguing as was Dr . Du Bois’s analysis of their emotional themes, modern interpretation must break with that mode of analysis, and relate these songs to the folk activities that they motivated, classifying them by their respective song-types. rom this point of view we have essentially four classes the almost ritualistic prayer songs or pure Spirituals, the freer and more unrestrained evangelical “shouts” or camp-meeting songs, the folk ballads so overlaid with the tradition of the Spirituals proper that their distinctive type quality has almost been un- noticed until lately, and the work and labor songs of strictly secular character. In choral and musical idiom closely related these song types are gradually coming to be regarded as more and more separate, with the term Spiritual reserved almost exclusively for the songs of intensest religious significance and unction. Indeed, in the pure Spirituals one can trace the broken fragments of an evangelical folk liturgy, with confes¬ sion, exhortation, “mourning,” conversion and “love-feast” rejoicing as the general stages of a Protestant folk-mass. The instinctive feeling for these differences is almost wholly lost, . 11 ™.U squire the most careful study of the communal life is it still lingers in isolated spots to set the groupings even ipproximately straight. Perhaps after all the final appeal will lave to be made to the sensitive race interpreter, but at present nany a half secularized ballad is mistaken for a “spiritual ” md many a camp-meeting shout for a folk hymn. It is not 1 question of religious content or allusion,— for the great ma- |0rity of the Negro songs have this— but a more delicate ques- •ion of caliber of feeling and type of folk use. From this im- 3°^nt P°int of v!ew> Negro folk song has yet to be studied. 1 he distinctiveness of the Spirituals after all, and their finest 204 THE JiEW CMiEGRO In the latter passages, there is a naivete, and also a faith and fervor, that are mediseval. Indeed one has to go to the Middle Ages to find anything quite like this combination of childlike simplicity of thought with strangely consummate artistry of mood. A quaintly literal, lisping, fervent Chris¬ tianity, we feel it to be the evangelical and Protestant counter¬ part of the naive Catholicism of the tenth to the thirteenth centuries. And just as there we had quaint versions of Ber¬ nard of Clairvaux and Saint Francis in the Virgin songs and Saints Legends, so here we have Bunyan and John Wesley per¬ colated through a peasant mind and imagination, and concen¬ trated into something intellectually less, but emotionally more vital and satisfying. If the analogy seems forced, remember that we see the homely colloquialism of the one through the glamorous distance of romance, and of the other, through the disillusioning nearness of social stigma and disdain. How regrettable though, that the very qualities that add charm to the one should arouse mirthful ridicule for the other. Over-keen sensitiveness to this reaction, which will com¬ pletely pass within a half generation or so, has unfortunately caused many singers and musicians to blur the dialect and pun¬ gent colloquialisms of the Spirituals so as not to impede with irrelevant reactions their proper artistic and emotional effect. Some have gone so far as to advocate the abandonment of the dialect versions to insure their dignity and reverence. But for all their inadequacies, the words are the vital clues to the moods of these songs. If anything is to be changed, it should be the popular attitude. One thing further may be said, without verging upon apologetics, about their verbal form. In this broken dialect and grammar there is almost invariably an unerring sense of euphony. Mr. Work goes so far as to sug¬ gest — rightly, I think — that in many instances the dropped, elided, and added syllables, especially the latter, are a matter of instinctive euphonic sense following the requirements of the musical rhythm, as, for example, “The Blood came a twinklin’ down” from “The Crucifixion” or “Lying there fo’ to be heal” from “Blind Man at the Pool.” Mr. Work calls attention to the extra beat syllable, as in “De trumpet W.EGRO TOUTH SPEAKS 205 soun’s it in-a’ my soul,” which is obviously a singing device, a. subtle phrase-molding element from a musical point of view, even if on verbal surface value, it suggests illiteracy. Emotionally, these folks songs are far from simple. They are not only spread over the whole gamut of human moods, with the traditional religious overtone adroitly insinuated in each instance, but there is further a sudden change of mood in the single song, baffling to formal classification. Interesting and intriguing as was Dr . Du Bois’s analysis of their emotional themes, modern interpretation must break with that mode of analysis, and relate these songs to the folk activities that they motivated, classifying them by their respective song-types. From this point of view we have essentially four classes, the almost ritualistic prayer songs or pure Spirituals, the freer and more unrestrained evangelical “shouts” or camp-meeting songs, the folk ballads so overlaid with the tradition of the Spirituals proper that their distinctive type quality has almost been un¬ noticed until lately, and the work and labor songs of strictly secular character. In choral and musical idiom closely related these song types are gradually coming to be regarded as more and more separate, with the term Spiritual reserved almost exclusively for the songs of intensest religious significance and function. Indeed, in the pure Spirituals one can trace the broken fragments of an evangelical folk liturgy, with confes¬ sion, exhortation, “mourning,” conversion and “love-feast” rejoicing as the general stages of a Protestant folk-mass. The instinctive feeling for these differences is almost wholly lost, and it will require the most careful study of the communal life as it still lingers in isolated spots to set the groupings even approximately straight. Perhaps after all the final appeal will have to be made to the sensitive race interpreter, but at present many a half secularized ballad is mistaken for a “spiritual ” and many a camp-meeting shout for a folk hymn. It is not a question of religious content or allusion,— for the great ma¬ jority of the Negro songs have this— but a more delicate ques¬ tion of caliber of feeling and type of folk use. From this im- portant point of view, Negro folk song has yet to be studied. The distinctiveness of the Spirituals after all, and their finest 20 6 THE V(EW CNIEGRO meaning resides in their musical elements. It is pathetic to notice how late scientific recording has come to the task of preserving this unique folk art. Of course the earlier four- part hymn harmony versions were travesties of the real folk renditions. All competent students agree in the utter dis¬ tinctiveness of the melodic, harmonic and rhythmic elements in this music. However, there is a regrettable tendency, though a very natural one in view of an inevitable bias of technical in¬ terest, to over-stress as basically characteristic one or other of these elements in their notation and analysis. Weldon John¬ son thinks the characteristic beauty of the folk song is harmonic, in distinction to the more purely rhythmic stress in the secular music of the Negro, which is the basis of “ragtime and jazz ; while Krehbiel, more academically balances these elements, re¬ garding the one as the African component in them, and the other as the modifying influence of the religious hymn. “In the United States,” he says, “the rhythmic element, though still dominant, has yielded measurably to the melodic, the dance having given way to religious worship, sensual bodily move¬ ment to emotional utterance.” But as a matter of fact, if we separate or even over-stress either element in the Spirituals, the distinctive and finer effects are lost. Strain out and em¬ phasize the melodic element a la Foster, and you get only the sentimental ballad ; emphasize the harmonic idiom, and you get a cloying sentimental glee; over-emphasize the rhythmic idiom and instantly you secularize the product into syncopated dance elements. It is the fusion, and that only, that is finely characteristic; and so far as possible, both in musical settings and in the singing of the Negro Spirituals, this subtle balance of musical elements should be sought after and maintained. The actual mechanics of the native singing, with its syllabic quavers, the off-tones and tone glides, the improvised inter¬ polations and, above all, the subtle rhythmic phrase balance, has much to do with the preservation of the vital qualities of these songs. Let us take an example. There is no more careful and ap¬ preciative student of the Spirituals than David Guion; as far as is possible from a technical and outside approach, he has bent 207 y(EGRO YOUTH SPEAKS his skill to catch the idiom of these songs. But contrast his ver¬ sion of “God’s Goin’ to Set Dis WorP on Fire” with that of Roland Hayes. The subtler rhythmic pattern, the closer phrase linkage, the dramatic recitative movement, and the rhapsodic voice glides and quavers of the great Negro tenor’s version are instantly apparent. It is more than a question of m — c=r - ft-A-A-N Ur-RM 1 = -4-q A V-l. ‘ ' *=*= &ls "k*»**X* ft (A t ■ ~ * fU. - J f - a musicianship, it is a question of feeling instinctively qualities put there by instinct. In the process of the art development of this material the Negro musician has not only a peculiar advantage but a particular function and duty. Maintaining spiritual kinship with the best traditions of this great folk art, he must make himself the recognized vehicle of both its trans¬ mission and its further development. At present the Spirituals are at a very difficult point in their musical career; for the moment they are caught in the transi¬ tional stage between a folk-form and an art-form. Their in¬ creasing concert use and popularity, as Carl Van Vechten has clearly pointed out in a recent article, has brought about a dan¬ gerous tendency toward sophisticated over-elaboration. At the same time that he calls attention to the yeoman service of Mr. Henry T. Burleigh in the introduction of the Spirituals to the attention and acceptance of the concert stage, Mr. Van Vechten thinks many of his settings tincture the folk spirit with added concert furbelows and alien florid adornments. This is true. Even Negro composers have been perhaps too much influenced 208 THE C^EW C^EGRO by formal European idioms and mannerisms in setting these songs. But in calling for the folk atmosphere, and insisting upon the folk quality, we must be careful not to confine this wonderfully potential music to the narrow confines of “simple versions” and musically primitive molds. While it is proper to set up as a standard the purity of the tradition and the maintenance of idiom, it is not proper to insist upon an arbi¬ trary style or form. When for similar reasons, Mr. Van Vech- ten insists in the name of the folk spirit upon his preference for the “evangelical renderings” of Paul Robeson’s robust and dramatic style as over against the subdued, ecstatic and spiritu¬ ally refined versions of Roland Hayes, he overlooks the fact that the folk itself has these same two styles of singing, and in most cases discriminates according to the mood, occasion and song type, between them. So long as the peculiar quality of Negro song is maintained, and the musical idiom kept unadul¬ terated, there is and can be no set limitation. Negro folk song is not midway its artistic career as yet, and while the preser¬ vation of the original folk forms is for the moment the most pressing necessity, an inevitable art development awaits them, as in the past it has awaited all other great folk music. The complaint to be made is not against the art development of the Spirituals, but against the somewhat hybrid treatment characteristic of the older school of musicians. One of the worst features of this period has been the predominance of solo treatment and the loss of the vital sustained background of ac¬ companying voices. In spite of the effectiveness of the solo versions, especially when competently sung by Negro singers, it must be realized more and more that the proper idiom of Negro folk song calls for choral treatment. The young Negro musicians, Nathaniel Dett, Carl Diton, Ballanta Taylor, Ed¬ ward Boatner, Hall Johnson, Lawrence Brown and others, while they are doing effective solo settings, are turning back gradually to the choral form. Musically speaking, only the superficial resources in this direction have been touched as yetj just as soon as the traditional conventions of four-part harmony and the oratorio style and form are broken through, we may expect a choral development of Negro folk song that may equal V^A> Roland Hayes VN j N Uu V I JJ O^EGRO TOUTH SPEAKS 209 or even outstrip the phenomenal choral music of Russia. With its harmonic versatility and interchangeable voice parts, Negro music is only conventionally in the four-part style, and with its skipped measures and interpolations it is at the very least potentially polyphonic. It can therefore undergo without breaking its own boundaries, intricate and original development in directions already the line of advance in modernistic music. Indeed one wonders why something vitally new has not already been contributed by Negro folk song to modern choral and orchestral musical development. And if it be objected that it is too far a cry from the simple folk spiritual to the larger forms and idioms of modern music, let us recall the folk song origins of the very tradition which is now classic in European music. Up to the present, the resources of Negro music have been tentatively exploited in only one direction at a time, _ melodically here, rhythmically there, harmonically in a third direction. A genius that would organize its distinctive elements in a formal way would be the musical giant of his age. Such a development has been hampered by a threefold tradition, each aspect of which stands in the way of the original use of the best in the Negro material. The dominance of the melodic tradition has played havoc with its more original harmonic features, and the oratorio tradition has falsely stereotyped and overlaid its more orchestral choral style, with its intricate threading in and out of the voices. Just as definitely in an¬ other direction has the traditional choiring of the orchestra stood against the opening up and development of the Negro and the African idioms in the orchestral forms. Gradually these barriers are being broken through. Edgar Varese’s Integrates , a “study for percussion instruments,” presented last season by the International Composers’ Guild, suggests a new orchestral technique patterned after the characteristic idiom of the African “drum orchestra.” The modernistic, From the Land of Dreams , by Grant Still, a young Negro composer who is his student and protege, and Louis Grunberg’s setting for baritone and chamber orchestra of Weldon Johnson’s The Creation: a Negro Sermon , are experimental tappings in still other directions into the rich veins of this new musical ore. 210 THE C^EW C^EGRO In a recent article ( The Living Age , October, 1924), Darius Milhaud sums up these characteristic traits as “the possibilities of a thoroughgoing novelty of instrumental technique.” Thus Negro music very probably has a great contribution yet to make to the substance and style of contemporary music, both choral and instrumental. If so, its thematic and melodic contributions from Dvorak to Goldmark’s recent Negro Rhapsody and the borrowings of rhythmical suggestions by Milhaud and Stravinsky are only preluding experiments that have pro¬ claimed the value of the Negro musical idioms, but have not fully developed them. When a body of folk music is really taken up into musical tradition, it is apt to do more than con¬ tribute a few new themes. For when the rhythmic and har¬ monic basis of music is affected, it is more than a question of superstructure, the very foundations of the art are in process of being influenced. In view of this very imminent possibility, it is in the interest of musical development itself that we insist upon a broader conception and a more serious appreciation of Negro folk song, and of the Spiritual which is the very kernel of this distinctive folk art. We cannot accept the attitude that would merely preserve this music, but must cultivate that which would also develop it. Equally with treasuring and appreciating it as music of the past, we must nurture and welcome its contribu¬ tion to the music of to-morrow. Mr. Work has aptly put it in saying: “While it is now assured that we shall always preserve these songs in their original forms, they can never be the last word in the development of our music. . . . They are the starting point, not our goal; the source, not the issue, of our musical tradition.” jy \EGRO YOUTH SPEAKS 211 Andante Father Abraham Ten it” \ a r Fa>ther a * bra-ham sit-tin down side-a ob de ho-ly Lamb, HdnmC °,?7 fAr0m Calhoun Plantation Songs.” Collected and edited Hallo^e11* Arranged by H. T. Burleigh. Reprinted by permission G. Schirmer Co., from Afro-American Folk Songs , by H. E. Krehbiel, 1914. 212 THE NiEW J(EGRO Listen to de Lambs A little faster (Mil. J = es) in strict rhythm Reprinted by permission of G. Schirmer Co., from Negro Folk Songs , Vol. a, recorded by Natalie Curtis Burlin, 1918. W.EGRO TOUTH SPEAKS 213 F&ster(M.M. «J=88) Very rhythmic and spirited. •UsMyoa first two beats) /^Sol°^ In strict time. ff* pm1 W' m t 1. Come on,, 2. Come on,_ te=== sis-ter.widyo’ ups an' downs, Wanl t. „0 t' Hea-v’n when I sis-ter, an* a-dont be ’shame, * jy?-v Q-. 1,1 ~ rqrjhrPfftS s Want t’ go t’ Hea-vto when I •^Ijyiyyyyi Want t’ go t’ itea-v’nwhen I f/Or r'P'PTfT Want t’ go t’ Hea-v’n when I Slower Reoit:ft«/VtfA much expression) Ifl strict rhythm (M.M .4 = 88)' _ -= =— ^ ^ Chorus D.C.' \ P^r fir ' P^ffTr-r-^ 1 P ’Qf) Pp die. A"-Slswait-in; fo’ t; giveyou crown Wantt. g0 Hea-v'nwhenI die. A m- gels wait-in’ fo’ t’ write vo’ names. 6 Wanti’ go t’ Hea-v’nwhenI die. NEGRO DANCERS Claude McKay i Lit with cheap colored lights a basement den, With rows of chairs and tables on each side, And, all about, young, dark-skinned women and men Drinking and smoking, merry, vacant-eyed. A Negro band, that scarcely seems awake, Drones out half-heartedly a lazy tune, While quick and willing boys their orders take And hurry to and from the near saloon. Then suddenly a happy, lilting note Is struck, the walk and hop and trot begin, Under the smoke upon foul air afloat ; Around the room the laughing puppets spin To sound of fiddle, drum and clarinet, Dancing, their world of shadows to forget. ii JTis best to sit and gaze; my heart then dances To the lithe bodies gliding slowly by, The amorous and inimitable glances That subtly pass from roguish eye to eye, The laughter gay like sounding silver ringing, That fills the whole wide room from floor to ceiling, — A rush of rapture to my tried soul bringing — The deathless spirit of a race revealing. Not one false step, no note that rings not true! Unconscious even of the higher worth Of their great art, they serpent-wise glide through The syncopated waltz. Dead to the earth And her unkindly ways of toil and strife, For them the dance is the true joy of life. 214 y(EGRO YOUTH SPEAKS hi And yet they are the outcasts of the earth, A race oppressed and scorned by ruling man 5 How can they thus consent to joy and mirth Who live beneath a world-eternal ban? No faith is theirs, no shining ray of hope, Except the martyr’s faith, the hope that death Some day will free them from their narrow scope And once more merge them with the infinite breath. But, oh ! they dance with poetry in their eyes Whose dreamy loveliness no sorrow dims, And parted lips and eager, gleeful cries, And perfect rhythm in their nimble limbs. The gifts divine are theirs, music and laughter 5 All other things, however great, come after. A A / JAZZ AT HOME J. A. Rogers Jazz is a marvel of paradox: too fundamentally human, at least as modern humanity goes, to be typically racial, too inter¬ national to be characteristically national, too much abroad in the world to have a special home. And yet jazz in spite of it all is one part American and three parts American Negro, and was originally the nobody’s child of the levee and the city slum. Transplanted exotic — a rather hardy one, we admit — of the mundane world capitals, sport of the sophisticated, it is really at home in its humble native soil wherever the modern unsophisticated Negro feels happy and sings and dances to his mood. It follows that jazz is more at home in Harlem than in Paris, though from the look and sound of certain quarters of Paris one would hardly think so. It is just the epidemic contagiousness of jazz that makes it, like the measles, sweep the block. But somebody had to have it first: that was the Negro. What after all is this taking new thing, that, condemned in certain quarters, enthusiastically welcomed in others, has nonchalantly gone on until it ranks with the movie and the dollar as a foremost exponent of modern Americanism? Jazz 216 217 P^EGRO YOUTH SPEAKS isn’t music merely, it is a spirit that can express itself in almost anything. The true spirit of jazz is a joyous revolt from con¬ vention, custom, authority, boredom, even sorrow — from every¬ thing that would confine the soul of man and hinder its riding free on the air. The Negroes who invented it called their songs the “Blues,” and they weren’t capable of satire or decep¬ tion. Jazz was their explosive attempt to cast off the blues and be happy, carefree happy, even in the midst of sordidness and sorrow. And that is why it has been such a balm for modern ennui, and has become a safety valve for modern machine-ridden and convention-bound society. It is the revolt of the emotions against repression. The story is told of the clever group of “Jazz-specialists” who, originating dear knows in what scattered places, had found themselves and the frills of the art in New York and had been drawn to the gay Bohemias of Paris. In a little cabaret of Montmartre they had just “entertained” into the wee small hours fascinated society and royalty ; and, of course, had been paid royally for it. Then, the entertainment over and the guests away, the “entertainers” entertained themselves with their very best, which is always impromptu, for the sheer joy of it. That is jazz. In its elementals, jazz has always existed. It is in the Indian war-dance, the Highland fling, the Irish jig, the Cossack dance, the Spanish fandango, the Brazilian maxixey the dance of the whirling dervish, the hula hula of the South Seas, the danse du ventre of the Orient, the carmagnole of the French Revolution, the strains of Gypsy music, and the ragtime of the Negro. Jazz proper, however, is something more than all these. It is a release of all the suppressed emotions at once, a blowing off of the lid, as it were. It is hilarity expressing itself through pandemonium y musical fireworks. The direct predecessor of jazz is ragtime. That both are atavistically African there is little doubt, but to what extent it is difficult to determine. In its barbaric rhythm and exuber¬ ance there is something of the bamboula, a wild, abandoned dance of the West African and the Haytian Negro, so stirringly described by the anonymous author of Untrodden Fields of 2l8 THE NIEW y(EGRO Anthropology , or of the ganza ceremony so brilliantly de¬ picted in Maran’s Batouala. But jazz time is faster and more complex than African music. With its cowbells, auto horns, calliopes, rattles, dinner gongs, kitchen utensils, cymbals, screams, crashes, clankings and monotonous rhythm it bears all the marks of a nerve-strung, strident, mechanized civilization. It is a thing of the jungles — modern man-made jungles. The earliest jazz-makers were the itinerant piano players who would wander up and down the Mississippi from saloon to saloon, from dive to dive. Seated at the piano with a care¬ free air that a king might envy, their box-back coats flowing over the stool, their Stetsons pulled well over their eyes, and cigars at an angle of forty-five degrees, they would “whip the ivories” to marvellous chords and hidden racy, joyous mean¬ ings, evoking the intense delight of their hearers who would smother them at the close with huzzas and whiskey. Often wholly illiterate, these humble troubadours knowing nothing of written music or composition, but with minds like cameras, would listen to the rude improvisations of the dock laborers and the railroad gangs and reproduce them, reflecting perfectly the sentiments and the longings of these humble folk. The improvised bands at Negro dances in the South, or the little boys with their harmonicas and jews’-harps, each one putting his own individuality into the air, played also no inconsiderable part in its evolution. “Poverty,” says J. A. Jackson of the Billboard , “compelled improvised instruments. Bones, tam¬ bourines, make-shift string instruments, tin can and hollow wood effects, all now utilized as musical novelties, were among early Negroes the product of necessity. When these were not available ‘patting juba5 prevailed. Present-day ‘Charleston5 is but a variation of this. Its early expression was the ‘patting5 for the buck dance.55 The origin of the present jazz craze is interesting. More cities claim its birthplace than claimed Homer dead. New Orleans, San Francisco, Memphis, Chicago, all assert the honor is theirs. Jazz, as it is to-day, seems to have come into being this way, however: W. C. Handy, a Negro, having digested the airs of the itinerant musicians referred to, evolved C^EGRO YOUTH SPEAKS 219 the first classic, ’Memphis Blues. . Then came Jasbo Brown, a reckless musician of a Negro cabaret in Chicago, who played this and other blues, blowing his own extravagant moods and risque interpretations into them, while hilarious with gin. To give further meanings to his veiled allusions he would make the trombone “talk” by putting a derby hat and later a tin can at its mouth. The delighted patrons would shout, “More, Jasbo. More, Jas, more.” And so the name origi¬ nated. As to the jazz dance itself: at this time Shelton Brooks, a Negro comedian, invented a new “strut,” called “Walkin’ the Dog.” Jasbo’s anarchic airs found in this strut a soul mate. Then as a result of their union came “The Texas Tommy,” the highest point of brilliant, acrobatic execution and nifty foot¬ work so far evolved in jazz dancing. The latest of these dances is the “Charleston,” which has brought something really new to the dance step. The “Charleston” calls' for activity of the whole body. One characteristic is a fantastic fling of the legs from the hip downwards. The dance ends in what is known as the “camel-walk” — in reality a gorilla-like shamble — and finishes with a peculiar hop like that of the Indian war dance. Imagine one suffering from a fit of rhythmic ague and you have the effect precisely. The cleverest “Charleston” dancers perhaps are urchins of five and six who may be seen any time on the streets of Harlem, keeping time with their hands, and surrounded by admiring crowds. But put it on a well-set stage, danced by a bobbed- hair chorus, and you have an effect that reminds you of the abandon of the Furies. And so Broadway studies Harlem. Not all of the visitors of the twenty or more well-attended cabarets of Harlem are idle pleasure seekers or underworld devotees. Many are serious artists, actors and producers seek¬ ing something new, some suggestion to be taken, too often in pallid imitation, to Broadway’s lights and stars. This makes it difficult to say whether jazz is more char¬ acteristic of the Negro or of contemporary America. As was shown, it is of Negro origin plus the influence of the American environment. It is Negro-American. Jazz proper, however, is 220 THE D\ CEGRO in idiom — rhythmic, musical and pantomimic — thoroughly American Negro ; it is his spiritual picture on that lighter comedy side, just as the spirituals are the picture on the tragedy side. The two are poles apart, but the former is by no means to be despised and it is just as characteristically the product of the peculiar and unique experience of the Negro in this country. The African Negro hasn’t it, and the Caucasian never could have invented it. Once achieved, it is common property, and jazz has absorbed the national spirit, that tremendous spirit of go, the nervousness, lack of conventionality and boisterous good-nature characteristic of the American, white or black, as compared with the more rigid formal natures of the English¬ man or German. But there still remains something elusive about jazz that few, if any of the white artists, have been able to capture. The Negro is admittedly its best expositor. That elusive some¬ thing, for lack of a better name, I’ll call Negro rhythm. The average Negro, particularly of the lower classes, puts rhythm into whatever he does, whether it be shining shoes or carrying a basket on the head to market as the Jamaican women do. Some years ago while wandering in Cincinnati I happened upon a Negro revival meeting at its height. The majority present were women, a goodly few of whom were white. Under the influence of the “spirit” the sisters would come forward and strut — much of jazz enters where it would be least expected. The Negro women had the perfect jazz abandon, while the white ones moved lamely and woodenly. This same lack of spontaneity is evident to a degree in the cultivated and inhibited Negro. In its playing technique, jazz is similarly original and spon¬ taneous. The performance of the Negro musicians is much imitated, but seldom equalled. Lieutenant Europe, leader of the famous band of the “Fifteenth New York Regiment,” said that the bandmaster of the Garde Republicaine, amazed at his jazz effects, could not believe without demonstration that his band had not used special instruments. Jazz has a virtuoso technique all its own: its best performers, singers and players, lift it far above the level of mere “trick” or mechanical effects. 221 W.EGRO TOUTH SPEAKS Abbie Mitchell, Ethel Waters, and Florence Mills; the Blues singers, Clara, Mamie, and Bessie Smith; Eubie Blake, the pianist; “Buddy” Gilmore, the drummer, and “Bill” Robin¬ son, the pantomimic dancer to mention merely an illustrative few — are inimitable artists, with an inventive, improvising skill that defies imitation. And those who know their work most intimately trace its uniqueness without exception to the folk- roots of their artistry. Musically jazz has a great future. It is rapidly being sub¬ limated. In the more famous jazz orchestras like those of Will Marion Cook, Paul Whiteman, Sissle and Blake, Sam Stewart, Fletcher Henderson, Vincent Lopez and the Clef Club units, there are none of the vulgarities and crudities of the lowly origin or the only too prevalent cheap imitations. The pioneer work in the artistic development of jazz was done by Negro artists; it was the lead of the so-called “syncopated orchestras of Tyers and Will Marion Cook, the former play- mg ^or the Castles of dancing fame, and the latter touring as a concertizing orchestra in the great American centers and abroad. Because of the difficulties of financial backing, these expert combinations have had to yield ground to white orches¬ tras of the type of the Paul Whiteman and Vincent Lopez organizations that are now demonstrating the finer possibilities of jazz music. “Jazz,” says Serge Koussevitzky, the new con¬ ductor of the Boston Symphony, “is an important contribution to modern musical literature. It has an epochal significance— it is not superficial, it is fundamental. Jazz comes from the soil, where all music has its beginning.” And Leopold Stokow¬ ski says more extendedly of it: “Jazz has come to stay because it is an expression of the times, of the breathless, energetic, superactive times in which we are living, it is useless to fight against it. Already its new vigor, its new vitality is beginning to manifest itself. . . . America’s contribution to the music of the past will have the same revivifying effect as the injection of new, and in the larger sense, vulgar blood into dying aristocracy. Music will then be vulgarized in 222 THE C^EW 2(EGR0 the best sense of the word, and enter more and more into the daily lives of people. . . . The Negro musicians of America are playing a great part in this change. They have an open mind, and unbiassed outlook. They are not hampered by conventions or traditions, and with their new ideas, their constant experiment, they are causing new blood to flow in the veins of music. The jazz players make their instruments do entirely new things, things fin¬ ished musicians are taught to avoid. They are pathfinders into new realms.” And thus it has come about that serious modernist music and musicians, most notably and avowedly in the work of the French modernists Auric, Satie and Darius Milhaud, have be¬ come the confessed debtors of American Negro jazz. With the same nonchalance and impudence with which it left the levee and the dive to stride like an upstart conqueror, almost overnight, into the grand salon, jazz now begins its conquest of musical Parnassus. Whatever the ultimate result of the attempt to raise jazz from the mob-level upon which it originated, its true home is still its original cradle, the none too respectable cabaret. And here we have the seamy side to the story. Here we have some of the charm of Bohemia, but much more of the demoralization of vice. Its rash spirit is in Grey’s popular song, Runnin ’ Wild: Runnin5 wild; lost control Runnin5 wild; mighty bold, Feelin5 gay and reckless too Carefree all the time; never blue Always goin5 I don’t know where Always showin5 that I don’t care Don5 love nobody, it ain’t worth while All alone; runnin5 wild. Jazz reached the height of its vogue at a time when minds were reacting from the horrors and strain of war. Humanity welcomed it because in its fresh joyousness men found a tern- &CEGRO YOUTH SPEAKS 223 porary forgetfulness, infinitely less harmful than drugs or alcohol. It is partly for some such reasons that it dominates the amusement life of America to-day. No one can sensibly condone its excesses or minimize its social danger if uncon¬ trolled j all culture is built upon inhibitions and control. But it is doubtful whether the “jazz-hounds” of high and low estate would use their time to better advantage. In all prob¬ ability their tastes would find some equally morbid, mischievous vent. Jazz, it is needless to say, will remain a recreation for the industrious and a dissipater of energy for the frivolous, a tonic for the strong and a poison for the weak. For the Negro himself, jazz is both more and less dangerous than for the white — less, in that he is nervously more in tune with it; more, in that at his average level of economic develop¬ ment his amusement life is more open to the forces of social vice. The cabaret of better type provides a certain Bohemian- lsm for the Negro intellectual, the artist and the well-to-do. But the average thing is too much the substitute for the saloon and the wayside inn. The tired longshoreman, the porter, the housemaid and the poor elevator boy in search of recreation, seeking in jazz the tonic for weary nerves and muscles, are only too apt to find the bootlegger, the gambler and the demi-monde who have come there for victims and to escape the eyes of the police. . Yet in sPite of its present vices and vulgarizations, its sex informalities, its morally anarchic spirit, jazz has a popular mission to perform. Joy, after all, has a physical basis. Those who laugh and dance and sing are better off even in their vices than those who do not. Moreover, jazz with its mocking dis¬ regard for formality is a leveller and makes for democracy. The jazz spirit, being primitive, demands more frankness and sincerity Just as it already has done in art and music, so eventually in human relations and social manners, it will no doubt have the effect of putting more reality in life by taking some of the needless artificiality out. . . . Naturalness finds the artificial in conduct ridiculous. “Cervantes smiled Spain's c lvalry away,” said Byron. And so this new spirit of joy and spontaneity may itself play the role of reformer. Where at 224 THE KEW C^EGRO present it vulgarizes, with more wholesome growth in the future, it may on the contrary truly democratize. At all events, jazz is rejuvenation, a recharging of the batteries of civilization with primitive new vigor. It has come to. stay, and they are wise, who instead of protesting against it, try to lift and divert it into nobler channels, SONG I am weaving a song of waters, Shaken from firm, brown limbs, Or heads thrown back in irreverent mirth. My song has the lush sweetness Of moist, dark lips Where hymns keep company With old forgotten banjo songs. Abandon tells you That I sing the heart of a race While sadness whispers That I am the cry of a soul. . . . A-shoutin’ in de ole camp-meetin’ place, A-strummin’ o’ de ole banjo. Singin’ in de moonlight, Sobbin’ in de dark. Singin’, sobbin’, strummin’ slow . . . Singin’ slow; sobbin’ low. Strummin’, strummin’, strummin’ slow. . . . Words are bright bugles That make the shining for my song, And mothers hold brown babes To dark, warm breasts To make my singing sad. A dancing girl with swaying hips Sets mad the queen in a harlot’s eye. Praying slave Jazz band after Breaking heart To the time of laughter. . . . Clinking chains and minstrelsy Are welded fast with melody. A praying slave With a jazz band after . . . Singin’ slow, sobbin’ low. Sun-baked lips will kiss the earth. Throats of bronze will burst with mirth. Sing a little faster, Sing a little faster! — Gwendolyn B. Bennett. JAZZ0N1A Langston Hughes Oh, silver tree! Oh, shining rivers of the soul! In a Harlem cabaret Six long-headed jazzers play. A dancing girl whose eyes are bold Lifts high a dress of silken gold. Oh, singing tree! Oh, shining rivers of the soul! Were Eve’s eyes In the first garden Just a bit too bold? Was Cleopatra gorgeous In a gown of gold? Oh, shining tree! Oh, silver rivers of the soul! In a whirling cabaret Six long-headed jazzers play. 226 C^EGRO YOUTH SPEAKS 227 NUDE YOUNG DANCER What jungle tree have you slept under, Midnight dancer of the jazzy hour? What great forest has hung its perfume Like a sweet veil about your bower? What jungle tree have you slept under, Dark brown girl of the swaying hips? What star-white moon has been your lover? To what mad faun have you offered your lips? 4 ■BMM m 1 fl t 4 The Spirit of Africa THE NEGRO DIGS UP HIS PAST SERVITUTE, LI BERTA' rJ CHRIS¬ TIANA NON CONTR/xPJA. 0 V A M ANNUENYE DEO T. ' JJ Sui P»£tltl« Viri Sutnme Revcrtndi fc? Cshhrnm JOANNIS van den ffONERT, T. H. *». S. S. Tb. Deft, bujufque Facuhatis , vt £? Hi for. Ecrf* JiaJlica , in Academ . Prtfeff Gulin, vec non Etc left? I eidcnfi Pajlnvis , ^ Publics placidsque difguifiticni fubjiciC JACOBUS ELISA JOANNES CAPIT ElM, Afer, Defensurus a u c t o r. Ad diem 10. Martii, 3 borisQ.tf iQ.antt meridiem, tfbtrisi. IS Z-ttftmcrldicnt. LUGBUN1 B ATAVOTLU M, Apud SA Ml- E LEM LUCHTM ANS & FlllUH, dwiemie JypgfflpbM: MDCCXLII# THE NEGRO DIGS UP HIS PAST Arthur A. Schomburg The American Negro must remake his past in order to make his future. Though it is orthodox to think of America as the one country where it is unnecessary to have a past, what is a luxury for the nation as a whole becomes a prime social neces¬ sity for the Negro. For him, a group tradition must supply compensation for persecution, and pride of race the antidote for prejudice. History must restore what slavery took away, for it is the social damage of slavery that the present genera¬ tions must repair and offset. So among the rising democratic millions we find the Negro thinking more collectively, more retrospectively than the rest, and apt out of the very pressure of the present to become the most enthusiastic antiquarian of them all. Vindicating evidences of individual achievement have as a matter of fact been gathered and treasured for over a century: Abbe Gregoire’s liberal-minded book on Negro notables in 1808 was the pioneer effort ; it has been followed at intervals by less known and often less discriminating compendiums of exceptional men and women of African stock. But this sort of thing was on the whole pathetically over-corrective, ridiculously over-laudatory j it was apologetics turned into biography. A true historical sense develops slowly and with difficulty under such circumstances. But to-day, even if for the ultimate pur¬ pose of group justification, history has become less a matter of argument and more a matter of record. There is the definite desire and determination to have a history, well documented, widely known at least within race circles, and administered as a stimulating and inspiring tradition for the coming generations. Gradually as the study of the Negro’s past has come out of the vagaries of rhetoric and propaganda and become sys- tematic and scientific, three outstanding conclusions have been established: First, that the Negro has been throughout the centuries of controversy an active collaborator, and often a pioneer, in the struggle for his own freedom and advancement. This is true to a degree which makes it the more surprising that it has not been recognized earlier. Second, that by virtue of their being regarded as something “exceptional,” even by friends and well-wishers, Negroes of attainment and genius have been unfairly disassociated from the group, and group credit lost accordingly. Third, that the remote racial origins of the Negro, far from being what the race and the world have been given to understand, offer a record of credible group achievement when scientifically viewed, and more important still, that they are of vital general interest because of their bearing upon the beginnings and early development of human culture. With such crucial truths to document and establish, an ounce of fact is worth a pound of controversy. So the Negro his¬ torian to-day digs under the spot where his predecessor stood and argued. Not long ago, the Public Library of Harlem housed a special exhibition of books, pamphlets, prints and old engravings, that simply said, to skeptic and believer alike, to scholar and school-child, to proud black and astonished white, “Here is the evidence.” Assembled from the rapidly growing collections of the leading Negro book-collectors and research societies, there were in these cases, materials not only for the first true writing of Negro history, but for the rewriting of many important paragraphs of our common American history. Slow though it be, historical truth is no exception to the proverb. Here among the rarities of early Negro Americana was Jupiter Hammon’s Address to the Negroes of the State of New York, edition of 1787, with the first American Negro poet’s famous “If we should ever get to Heaven, we shall find nobody to reproach us for being black, or for being slaves.” Here was Phyllis Wheatley’s Mss. poem of 1767 addressed to the students of Harvard, her spirited encomiums upon African Phantasy: Awakening THE NJZGRQ T>IGS UP HIS PAST 233 4 George Washington and the Revolutionary Cau4e, and John MarrantVSt. John’s Day eulogy to the “Brothers of African Lodge No. 459” delivered at Boston in 1789. Here too were Lemuel Haynes’ Vermont commentaries on the American Revolution and his learned sermons to his white congregation in Rutland, Vermont, and the sermons of the year 1 808 by the Rev. Absalom Jones of St. Thomas Church, Philadelphia, and Peter Williams of St. Philip’s, New York, pioneer Episcopal rectors who spoke out in daring and influential ways on the Abolition of the Slave Trade. Such things and many others are more than mere items of curiosity: they educate any re¬ ceptive mind. Reinforcing these were still rarer items of Africana and foreign Negro interest, the volumes of Juan Latino, the best Latinist of Spain in the reign of Philip V, incumbent of the chair of Poetry at the University of Granada, and author of Poems printed there in 1573 and a book on the Escurial pub¬ lished 1576; the Latin and Dutch treatises of Jacobus Eliza Capitein, a native of West Coast Africa and graduate of the University of Leyden, Gustavus Vassa’s celebrated autobi¬ ography that supplied so much of the evidence in 1796 for Granville Sharpe’s attack on slavery in the British colonies, Julien Raymond’s Paris expose of the disabilities of the free people of color in the then (1791) French colony of Hayti, and Baron de Vastey’s Cry of the Fatherland , the famous polemic by the secretary of Christophe that precipitated the Haytian struggle for independence. The cumulative effect of such evidences of scholarship and moral prowess is too weighty to be dismissed as exceptional. But weightier surely than any evidence of individual talent and scholarship could ever be, is the evidence of important collaboration and significant pioneer initiative in social service and reform, in the efforts toward race emancipation, coloniza¬ tion and race betterment. From neglected and rust-spotted pages comes testimony to the black men and women who stood shoulder to shoulder in courage and zeal, and often on a parity of intelligence and talent, with their notable white benefactors. There was the already cited work of Vassa that aided so ma- 234 THE D^EW ViEGRO terially the efforts o£ Granville Sharpe, the record of Paul Cuffee, the Negro colonization pioneer, associated so impor¬ tantly with the establishment of Sierra Leone as a British colony for the occupancy of free people of color in West Africa j the dramatic and history-making expose of John Bap¬ tist Phillips, African graduate of Edinburgh, who compelled through Lord Bathhurst in 1824 the enforcement of the articles of capitulation guaranteeing freedom to the blacks of Trinidad. There is the record of the pioneer colonization project of Rev. Daniel Coker in conducting a voyage of ninety expatriates to West Africa in 1820, of the missionary efforts of Samuel Crowther in Sierra Leone, first Anglican bishop of his diocese, and that of the work of John Russwurm, a leader in the work and foundation of the American Colonization Society. When we consider the facts, certain chapters of American history will have to be reopened. Just as black men were in¬ fluential factors in the campaign against the slave trade, so they were among the earliest instigators of the abolition move¬ ment. Indeed there was a dangerous calm between the agita¬ tion for the suppression of the slave trade and the beginning of the campaign for emancipation. During that interval colored men were very influential in arousing the attention of public men who in turn aroused the conscience of the country. Continuously between 1808 and 1845, men like Prince Saunders, Peter Williams, Absalom Jones, Nathaniel Paul, and Bishops Varick and Richard Allen, the founders of the two wings of African Methodism, spoke out with force and initia¬ tive, and men like Denmark Vesey (1822), David Walker (1828) and Nat Turner (1831) advocated and organized schemes for direct action. This culminated in the generally ignored but important conventions of Free People of Color in New York, Philadelphia and other centers, whose platforms and efforts are to the Negro of as great significance as the nationally cherished memories of Faneuil and Independence Halls. Then with Abolition comes the better documented and more recognized collaboration of Samuel R. Ward, William Wells Brown, Henry Highland Garnett, Martin Delaney, Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth, and Frederick Douglass THE !\EGRO VI GS UP HIS PAST 23 5 with their great colleagues, Tappan, Phillips, Sumner, Mott, Stowe and Garrison. But even this latter group who came within the limelight of national and international notice, and thus into open com¬ parison with the best minds of their generation, the public too often regards as a group of inspired illiterates, eloquent echoes of their Abolitionist sponsors. For a true estimate of their ability and scholarship, however, one must go with the anti¬ quarian to the files of the Anglo- African Magazine , where page by page comparisons may be made. Their writings show Douglass, McCune Smith, Wells Brown, Delaney, Wilmot Blyden and Alexander Crummell to have been as scholarly and versatile as any of the noted publicists with whom they were associated. All of them labored internationally in the cause of their fellows ; to Scotland, England, France, Germany and Africa, they carried their brilliant offensive of debate and propaganda, and with this came instance upon instance of sig¬ nal foreign recognition, from academic, scientific, public and official sources. Delaney’s Princi'pia of Ethnology won pub¬ lic reception from learned societies, Pennington’s discourses an honorary doctorate from Heidelberg, Wells Brown’s three year mission the entree of the salons of London and Paris, and the tours of Frederick Douglass, receptions second only to Henry Ward Beecher’s. After this great era of public interest and discussion, it was Alexander Crummell, who, with the reaction already setting in, first organized Negro brains defensively through the founding of the American Negro Academy in 1897 at Washington. A New York boy whose zeal for education had suffered a rude shock when refused admission to the Episcopal Seminary by Bishop Onderdonk, he had been befriended by John Jay and sent to Cambridge University, England, for his education and ordination. On his return, he was beset with the idea of pro¬ moting race scholarship, and the Academy was the final result. It has continued ever since to be one of the bulwarks of our intellectual life, though unfortunately its members have had to spend too much of their energy and effort answering de¬ tractors and disproving popular fallacies. Only gradually have 236 THE J^EW R^EGRO the men of this group been able to work toward pure scholar¬ ship. Taking a slightly different start, The Negro Society for Historical Research was later organized in New York, and has succeeded in stimulating the collection from all parts of the world of books and documents dealing with the Negro. It has also brought together for the first time co-operatively in a single society African, West Indian and Afro-American scholars. Direct offshoots of this same effort are the extensive private collections of Henry P. Slaughter of Washington, the Rev. Charles D. Martin of Harlem, of Arthur Schomburg of Brooklyn, and of the late John E. Bruce, who was the en¬ thusiastic and far-seeing pioneer of this movement. Finally and more recently, the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History has extended these efforts into a scientific research project of great achievement and promise. Under the direction of Dr. Carter G. Woodson, it has continuously maintained for nine years the publication of the learned quar¬ terly, The Journal of Negro History , and with the assistance and recognition of two large educational foundations has main¬ tained research and published valuable monographs in Negro history. Almost keeping pace with the work of scholarship has been the effort to popularize the results, and to place before Negro youth in the schools the true story of race vicissitude, struggle and accomplishment. So that quite largely now the ambition of Negro youth can be nourished on its own milk. Such work is a far cry from the puerile controversy and petty braggadocio with which the effort for race history first started. But a general as well as a racial lesson has been learned. We seem lately to have come at last to realize what the truly scientific attitude requires, and to see that the race issue has been a plague on both our historical houses, and that history cannot be properly written with either bias or counter¬ bias. The blatant Caucasian racialist with his theories and as¬ sumptions of race superiority and dominance has in turn bred his Ethiopian counterpart — the rash and rabid amateur who has glibly tried to prove half of the world’s geniuses to have been Negroes and to trace the pedigree of nineteenth century Americans from the Queen of Sheba. But fortunately to-day THE CEGRO DIGS UP HIS PAST 237 there is on both sides of a really common cause less of the sand of controversy and more of the dust of digging. Of course, a racial motive remains — legitimately compatible with scientific method and aim. The work our race students now regard as important, they undertake very naturally to overcome in part certain handicaps of disparagement and omis¬ sion too well-known to particularize. But they do so not merely that we may not wrongfully be deprived of the spiritual nourishment of our cultural past, but also that the full story of human collaboration and interdependence may be told and realized. Especially is this likely to be the effect of the latest and most fascinating of all of the attempts to open up the closed Negro past, namely the important study of African cultural origins and sources. The bigotry of civilization which is the taproot of intellectual prejudice begins far back and must be corrected at its source. Fundamentally it has come about from that depreciation of Africa which has sprung up from ignorance of her true role and position in human history and the early development of culture. The Negro has been a man without a history because he has been considered a man without a worthy culture. But a new notion of the cultural attainment and potentialities of the African stocks has recently come about, partly through the corrective influence of the more scientific study of African institutions and early cultural history, partly through growing appreciation of the skill and beauty and in many cases the historical priority of the African native crafts, and finally through the signal recognition which first in France and Germany, but now very generally, the astonishing art of the African sculptures has received. Into these fascinating new vistas, with limited horizons lifting in all directions, the mind of the Negro has leapt forward faster than the slow clearings of scholarship will yet safely permit. But there is no doubt that here is a field full of the most intriguing and inspiring pos¬ sibilities. Already the Negro sees himself against a reclaimed background, in a perspective that will give pride and self-re¬ spect ample scope, and make history yield for him the same values that the treasured past of any people affords. AMERICAN NEGRO FOLK LITERATURE Arthur Huff Fauset Most people are acquainted with Negro Folk Literature even if they do not recognize it as such. There are few chil¬ dren who have not read the Uncle Remus stories of Joel Chandler Harris, which were based upon the original folk tales of the African slaves. But the great storehouse from which they were gleaned, that treasury of folk lore which the American Negro inherited from his African forefathers, is little known. It rivals in amount as well as in quality that of any people on the face of the globe, and is not confined to stories of the Uncle Remus type, but includes a rich variety of story forms, legends, saga cycles, songs, proverbs and phan- tastic, almost mythical, material. It simply happens that the one type of Negro story has struck the popular fancy, and becoming better known, blurred out the remaining types. For this result, we are indebted to Joel Chandler Harris, who saw the popular possibilities of the “B’rer Rabbit” tales, and with his own flair for literature, adapted them with such remarkable skill and individuality that to-day they rank with the best known and most highly appreciated works of American literature. Familiar as he was with his material, and with an instinct for its value — even in his day these tales were fast disappear¬ ing among “modern” colored folk — his approach was never¬ theless that of the journalist and literary man rather than the folk-lorist. “Written,” as has been said, “with no thought of the ethnological bearing which critics were so quick to dis¬ cern in them, they established themselves at a bound as among the most winsome of folk tales.” There is some possibility of their having passed out unnoticed and thus being lost to 23S THE y^EGRO T>IGS UP HIS PAST 239 posterity if he had not done the work which drew attention to them. Yet in spite of the happy providence that produced a Harris, and although his intentions were of the best, we are forced to recognize the harm as well as the good that these 1 stories have done. This query may come as a shock to some, I but on further analysis we shall see there is reason for won¬ dering. In the first place, the Uncle Remus stories, as the Harris tales have become known, are not folk tales, but adaptations. This fact alone is enough to warrant some hesitancy about placing them in the category of folk lore. To be sure, folk lore was their background, but this can be said of many literary works (Dracula, for example) which we would not think of classifying with folk literature. The misrepresentation goes further than simply the name, however. The very dialect of the Uncle Remus Stories is questionable, statements to the contrary notwithstanding. Scholars have tried to show that Harris very faithfully re¬ corded the dialect of his time, in its truly intimate expressions, mannerisms and colloquialisms, but it is doubtful whether Negroes generally ever used the language employed in the works of Joel Chandler Harris. Rather, in these works we observe the consciously devised, artistically wrought, patiently carved out expressions of a story writer who knew his art and employed it well. They have too much the flavor of the popular trend of contemporary writing of the Thomas Nelson Page tradition, and though they endeavored to give a faithful portrait of the Negro and did so more successfully than any other of these Southern writers, it cannot be denied that such portraits as they gave were highly romanticized, presenting an interpretation of the Negro seen neither objectively nor real¬ istically. These stories of Chandler Harris made and still make their most powerful impression and appeal through the character of Uncle Remus himself. But it is in just this projection into the picture of this amiable and winsome ante-bellum personality that contorts the Negro folk tale from its true plane. The American Negro folk tale, borrowed as it most certainly was 240 THE CM^EW CMiEGRO from Africa, is an animal cycle, recounting the exploits of various members of the animal world of which “B’rer Rabbit” was arch-villain or hero, as you please. As in the case of all true folk tales, the story teller himself was inconsequential ; he did not figure at all — a talking machine might serve the pur¬ pose just as well. As a result the stories take on an impersonal character, more or less lacking in artistic embellishments. The Uncle Remus stories break this tradition, however ; instead the story teller plays an important, a too important, role. By that very fact, this type of story ceases to be a folk tale; and be¬ comes in reality a product of the imagination of the author. Of course there is such a thing as an intermediate type; there is a place for Hans Andersen, and Brothers Grimm. But Harris, familiar with his material and genuinely loving it, could not be spiritually saturated with it under the circumstances. And this was more a matter of class than race ; for human kinships are spiritual after all, but these stories cannot present Negro folk life and feeling seen and felt on its own level. Enough has been said, perhaps, to show, without in any way detracting from the true service and real charm of the Harris stories, that there are enough incongruous elements insinuated into the sit¬ uation to make it impossible to accept them as a final rendering of American Negro folk lore. We would not be so much concerned about a “distinction without a difference” if there were actually no difference. Un¬ fortunately the treatment of these stories by Harris resulted in certain developments which are too noteworthy to pass by. The most striking consequence of the fact that Uncle Remus is written all over and interwoven into the stories which bear his name, is that the Harris variety of the Negro folk tale assumes to interpret Negro character instead of simply telling his stories. The result is a composite picture of the ante-bel¬ lum Negro that fits exactly into the conception of the type of Negro which so many white people would like to think once existed, or even now exists; whereas in the material in ques¬ tion there is reflected a quite different folk temperament — apart from the question of what is or what isn’t the Negro tem- THE ytEGRO T>IGS UP HIS PAST 241 perament. When we find one critic naively suggesting that Uncle Remus “makes clear to every thoughtful reader that the system of slavery pernicious as it may appear to us now, took the dusky savage from his haunts in the African jungle and made of him a Christian and a gentleman,” we can clearly see that any writing that can be taken as an apologia for a social system, or the idealization of the plantation regime, cannot be taken unsuspiciously as the chronicle of a primitive folk lore. Nevertheless, Harris wrought well from the standpoint of art, and by so doing let the world know that Negroes pos¬ sessed a rich folk lore. The unquestionable result of this was a keener interest in the Negro and his lore. Just the same, the intrusion of a dominant note of humor, not by any means as general in the material as one would suppose, fell in line with an arbitrary and unfortunately general procedure of regarding anything which bore the Negro trademark as inherently comic and only worth being laughed at. It is not necessary to draw upon sentiment in order to realize the masterful quality of some of the Negro tales: it is simply necessary to read them. Moralism, sober and almost grim, irony, shrewd and frequently subtle, are their fundamental tone and mood — as in the case of their African originals — and the quaint and sentimental humor so popularly prized is oftener than not an overtone merely. But the unfortunate thing about American thought is the habit of classifying first and investigating after. As a result this mis¬ representation of the temper and spirit of Negro folk lore has become traditional, and for all we know, permanent. There is strong need of a scientific collecting of Negro folk lore before the original sources of this material altogether lapse. Sentimental admiration and amateurish praise can never adequately preserve or interpret this precious material. It is precious in two respects — not only for its intrinsic, but for its comparative value. Some of the precious secrets of folk history are in danger of fading out in its gradual disappear¬ ance. American folk-lorists are now recognizing this, and sys¬ tematic scientific investigation has begun under the influence and auspices of the Society for American Folk Lore and such com- 242 THE V^EW O^EGRO petent ethnologists as Franz Boas, Elsie Clews Parsons, and others. Simply because we are considering Negro folk lore, we do not say that it is superior to other folk material, nor even that it is as great as any other folk literature ; but we do insist that all folk material, in order to be appraised justly, must be read and considered in the light of those values which go to make up great folk literature. Briefly stated, these values are: 1. Lack of the self-conscious element found in ordinary literature. 2. Nearness to nature. 3. Universal appeal. Search the body of Negro folk literature and you will find these characteristics dominant. To the African, as one writer puts it, “All nature is alive, anthropomorphized as it were, replete with intelligences 5 the whispering, tinkling, hissing, booming, muttering, zooming around him are full of myste¬ rious hints and suggestions.” Out of this primitive intimacy of the mind with nature come those naive personifications of the rabbits, foxes and wolves, terrapins and turtles, buzzards and eagles which make the animal lore of the world. Many tales ascribed to lands far away find parallels in Negro stories bear¬ ing indubitable traces of African origin ; opening out into the great question of common or separate origin. Fundamentally, as Lang points out, they prove the common ancestry of man, both with regard to his mental and cultural inheritance. Which¬ ever way the question is solved, the physical contacts of com¬ mon origins or the psychological similarities of common capacity and endowment, it is essentially the same fundamental point in the end — human kinship and universality. Yet there is much that is distinctively African in animal lore, and of a quality not usually conceded. The African proverb, in its terseness and pith, the shrewd moralisms of the fables, the peculiar whimsicality and turn to the imagination in many of the tales, are notably outstanding. Clive Bell to the contrary, it is by their intelligence, their profound and abstract underlying con¬ ceptions, that they possess a peculiar touch and originality that Ancestral: a Type Study THE C^EGRO "DIGS UP HIS PAST 243 is distinctively African. ^Esop, it is claimed was African, but any folk-lorist knows that the African folk fable of indigenous growth outmasters ^Esop over and over. Africa in a sense is the home of the fable ; the African tales are its classics. It is interesting, in this connection, to consider the case of the rabbit, which figures so largely in Negro Folk Lore. It was the belief of Harris, and still is the belief of many, that the Negro chose the weak rabbit and glorified him in his stories because this animal was a prototype of himself during slavery times ; according to this theory, the stronger, more rapacious animals such as wolves, foxes, etc., represented the white mas¬ ters. But this cannot be so, for as Ambrose E. Gonzales aptly points out in his volume entitled, TEsop Along the Black Border , these stories, or their types at least, came with the Negro from Africa where they had existed for centuries. In the African tales, the hare is the notable figure. Surely, then, the rabbit is none other than the African hare. As a matter of fact, the “B’rer Rabbit” character simply confirms the opinion that Negro Folk Lore is a genuine part of world folk literature, for we find the hare one of the animals most frequently encountered in folk lore the world over. In Scottish and Irish Tales he is associated with witches. In the ancient Druidical mysteries the hare was employed in auguries to indicate the outcome of war. Chinese and East Indian stories feature the hare, and he is common even in the tales of the American Indian. The Easter “bunny” shows the hare crop¬ ping up in a Teutonic atmosphere. So that when all these instances are added to the African and American Negro we may be reasonably safe in assuming that “B’rer Rabbit” comes into American lore from the level of true primitive folk material. The antiquity and authentic folk lore ancestry of the Negro tale make it the proper subject for the scientific folk-lorist rather than the literary amateur. It is the ethnologist, the philologist and the student of primitive psychology that are most needed for its present investigation. Of course no one will deny or begrudge the delightful literary by-products of this material. Negro writers themselves will shortly, no doubt, 244 THE CNiEW NIEGRO be developing them as arduously as Chandler Harris, and we hope as successfully, or even more so. But a literary treat¬ ment based on a scientific recording will have much fresh material to its hand, and cannot transgress so far from the true ways of the folk spirit and the true lines of our folk art. T’APPIN 1 ( T errapin ) Told by Cugo Lewis , Plateauy Alabama. Brought to America from West Coast Africa , 1859. It was famine time an’ T’appin had six chillun. Eagle hide bellin’ cloud an’ he went crossed de ocean an’ go gittin’ de palm oil; got de seed to feed his chillun wid it. T’appin see it, say ahol’ on, it har’ time. Where you git all dat to feed your t’ree chillun? I got six chillun, can’t you show me wha’ you git all dat food?” Eagle say, “No, I had to fly ’cross de ocean to git dat.” T’appin say, “Well, gimme some o’ you wings an’ I’ll go wid you.” Eagle say, “A’ right. When shall we go?” T’appin say, “ ’Morrow morning’ by de firs’ cock crow.” So ’morrow came but T’appin didn’ wait till mornin’. T’ree ’clock in de mornin’ T’appin come in fron’ Eagle’s house say, “Cuckoo — cuckoo — coo.” Eagle say, “Oh, you go home. Lay down. ’Tain’t day yit.” But he kep’ on, “Cuckoo, cuckoo, coo,” an’ bless de Lor’, Eagle got out, say, “Wha’ you do now?” T’appin say, “You put t’ree wings on this side an’ t’ree on udda side.” Eagle pull out six feathers an’ put t’ree on one side an’ t’ree on de udda. Say, “Fly, le’s see.” So T’appin commence to fly. One o’ de wings fall out. But T’appin said, “Da’s all right, I got de udda wings. Le’s go.” So dey flew an’ flew; but when dey got over de ocean all de eagle wings fell out. T’appin about to fall in de water. Eagle went out an’ ketch him. Put him under his wings. T’appin say, “I don’ like dis.” Eagle say, “Why so?” T’appin say, “Gee it stink here.” Eagle let him drop in ocean. So he went down, down, down to de underworl’. De king o’ de underworl’ meet him. He say, “Why you come here? Wha’ you doin’ here?” T’appin say, “King, we in te’bul condition on de earth. We can’t git nothin’ to eat. I got six chillun an’ I can’t git nothin’ 1 “T’appin” and “Brer Buzzard” were collected by Mr. Fauset in the South August, 1925. 245 246 ‘THE u^EW Oi_EGRO to eat for dem. Eagle he on’y got t’ree an’ he go ’cross de ocean an’ git all de food he need. Please gimme sumpin’ so I kin feed my chillun.” King say, “A’ right, a’ right, so he go an’ give T’appin a dipper. He say to T’appin, “Take dis dipper. When you want food for your chillun say: Bakon coleh Bakon cawbey Bakon cawhubo lebe lebe. So T’appin carry it home an’ go to de chillun. He say to dem, “Come here.” When dey all come he say: Bakon coleh Bakon cawbey Bakon cawhubo lebe lebe. Gravy, meat, biscuit, ever’ting in de dipper. Chillun got plenty now. So one time he say to de chillun, “Come here. Dis will make my fortune. I’ll sell dis to de King.” So he showed de dipper to de King. He say: Bakon coleh Bakon cawbey Bakon cawhubo lebe lebe. Dey got somet’ing. He feed ev’ryone. So de King went off, he call ev’ryboda. Pretty soon ev’ryboda eatin’. So dey ate an’ ate, ev’ryt’ing, meats, fruits, and all like dat. So he took his dipper an’ went back home. He say, “Come, chillun.” He try to feed his chillun $ nothin’ came. (You got a pencil dere, ain’t you?) When it’s out it’s out. So T’appin say, “Aw right, I’m going back to de King an’ git him to fixa dis up.” So he went down to de underworl’ an’ say to de King, “King, wha’ de matter? I can’t feeda my chillun no mora.” So de King say to him, “You take dis cow hide an’ when you want somepin’ you say: Sheet n oun n-jacko nou o quaako. THE P^EGRO TiIGS UP HIS PAST 247 So T’appin went off an’ he came to cross roads. Den he said de magic: Sheet n oun n-jacko nou o quaako. De cowhide commence to beat um. It beat, beat. Cowhide said, “Drop, drop.” So T’appin drop an’ de cowhide stop beatin’. So he went home. He called his chillun in. He gim um de cowhide an5 tell dem what to say, den he went out. De chillun say: Sheet n oun n-jacko nou o quaako. De cowhide beat de chillun. It say, “Drop, drop.” Two chillun dead an’ de others sick. So T’appin say, “I will go to de King.” He calls de King, he call all de people. All de people came. So before he have de cowhide beat, he has a mortar made an’ gets in dere an’ gets all covered up. Den de King say: Sheet n oun n-jacko nou o quaako. So de cowhide beat, beat. It beat everyboda, beat de King too. Dat cowhide beat, beat, beat right t’roo de mortar wha’ was T’appin an5 beat marks on his back, an* da’s why you never fin’ T’appin in a clean place, on’y under leaves or a log. B’RER RABBIT FOOLS BUZZARD Once upon a time B’rer Rabbit an’ B’rer Buzzard. Buzzard say gonna shut up Rabbit five days until he starve to death. So he put him in a hole an’ cover him up. Every day he come to him an5 sing: if r r _ -i — 1 — -V p- — Diddledum-diddledum-day-day Young man, I’m here. B’rer Rabbit he sing it after him. Did that five days. Every day Rabbit gittin’ lower an’ lower. B’rer Buzzard come ’round an’ sing louder an’ louder: Tf— ■ ' A p ft N , r r ft”* J 1 ^ u t U t 1 — 1 — L [— V ( j,- Diddledum-diddledum-day-day Young man, I’m here. De las’ day Buzzard sing louder still ; but B’rer Rabbit he very faint. He kin jes’ barely say: 0 - - ' r d. f . ^ L - 33 ^ M » > f m * Didd — le — dum — didd — le — dum d — a — a - d — a — a 248 THE S\ CEGRO VI GS UP HIS PAST 249 So Buzzard decide it is time to take Rabbit home to his lit¬ tle ones. As he was carryin’ Rabbit to his little ones he said: Diddledum-diddledum-day-day Young man, here he. All come ’round de table. Dey meant to eat him. Had knives an’ everything, an’ were jes’ gonna cut him up when de father said: m w-t U l Diddledum-diddledum-day-day Young man, let’s eat. But jes’ den ol’ B’rer Rabbit jumped up from de table an’ said: Diddledum-diddledum-day-day Young man, I’m gone. Stepped on a pin Hit bent That’s the way he went. HERITAGE Countee Cullen What is Africa to me: Copper sun, a scarlet sea, Jungle star and jungle track, Strong bronzed men and regal black Women from whose loins I sprang When the birds of Eden sang? One three centuries removed From the scenes his fathers loved Spicy grove and banyan tree , What Is Africa to me? Africa? A book one thumbs Listlessly, till slumber comes. Unremembered are her bats Circling through the night, her cats Crouching in the river reeds Stalking gentle flesh that feeds By the river brink ; no more Does the bugle-throated roar Cry that monarch claws have leapt From the scabbards where they slept. Silver snakes that once a year Doff the lovely coats you wear Seek no covert in your fear Lest a mortal eye should see: What’s your nakedness to me? All day long and all night through One thing only I must do 250 THE NEGRO TUGS UP HIS PAST Quench my pride and cool my blood, Lest I perish in their flood, Lest a hidden ember set Timber that I thought was wet Burning like the dryest flax, Melting like the merest wax, Lest the grave restore its dead. Stubborn heart and rebel head. Have you not yet realized You and 1 are civilized ? So I lie and all day long Want no sound except the song Sung by wild barbaric birds Goading massive jungle herds, Juggernauts of flesh that pass Trampling tall defiant grass Where young forest lovers lie Plighting troth beneath the sky. So I lie, who always hear Though I cram against my ear Both my thumbs, and keep them there, Great drums beating through the air. So I lie, whose fount of pride, Dear distress, and joy allied, Is my somber flesh and skin With the dark blood dammed within. Thus I lie, and find no peace Night or day, no slight release From the unremittent beat Made by cruel padded feet, Walking through my body’s street. Up and down they go, and back Treading out a jungle track. So I lie, who never quite Safely sleep from rain at night 251 252 THE JiEW J^EGRO While its primal measures drip Through my body, crying, “Strip! Doff this new exuberance, Come and dance the Lover’s Dance.” In an old remembered way Rain works on me night and day. Though three centuries removed From the scenes my fathers loved. My conversion came high-priced. I belong to Jesus Christ, Preacher of humility: Heathen gods are naught to me — Quaint, outlandish heathen gods Black men fashion out of rods, Clay and brittle bits of stone, In a likeness like their own. “ Father , Son and Holy Ghost ” Do I make an idle boast, Jesus of the twice turned cheek, Lamb of God, although I speak With my mouth thus, in my heart Do I not play a double part? Ever at thy glowing altar Must my heart grow sick and falter Wishing He I served were black. Thinking then it would not lack Precedent of pain to guide it Let who would or might deride it; Surely then this flesh would know Yours had borne a kindred woe. Lord, I fashion dark gods, too, Daring even to give to You Dark, despairing features where Crowned with dark rebellious hair, Patience wavers just so much as Mortal grief compels, while touches 253 THE J^EGRO T)1GS UP HIS PAST Faint and slow, of anger, rise To smitten cheek and weary eyes. Lord, forgive me if my need Sometimes shapes a human creed. THE LEGACY OF THE ANCESTRAL ARTS1 Alain Locke Music and poetry, and to an extent the dance, have been the predominant arts of the American Negro. This is an emphasis quite different from that of the African cultures, where the plastic and craft arts predominate ; Africa being one of the great fountain sources of the arts of decoration and design. Except then in his remarkable carry-over of the rhythmic gift, there is little evidence of any direct connection of the American Negro with his ancestral arts. But even with the rude trans¬ planting of slavery, that uprooted the technical elements of his former culture, the American Negro brought over as an emo¬ tional inheritance a deep-seated aesthetic endowment. And with a versatility of a very high order, this offshoot of the African spirit blended itself in with entirely different culture elements and blossomed in strange new forms. There was in this more than a change of art-forms and an exchange of cultural patterns j there was a curious reversal of emotional temper and attitude. The characteristic African art expressions are rigid, controlled, disciplined, abstract, heavily conventionalized 5 those of the Aframerican, — free, exuberant, emotional, sentimental and human. Only by the misinterpre¬ tation of the African spirit, can one claim any emotional kin¬ ship between them — for the spirit of African expression, by and large, is disciplined, sophisticated, laconic and fatalistic. The emotional temper of the American Negro is exactly oppo¬ site. What we have thought primitive in the American Negro — his naivete, his sentimentalism, his exuberance and his impro- vizing spontaneity are then neither characteristically African nor to be explained as an ancestral heritage. They are the result of his peculiar experience in America and the emotional up- 1 Illustrations are from the Barnes Foundation Collection. 254 THE C^EGRO T>IGS UP HIS PAST 255 heaval of its trials and ordeals. True, these are now very char¬ acteristic traits, and they have their artistic, and perhaps even their moral compensations ; but they represent essentially the working of environmental forces rather than the outcropping of a race psychology ; they are really the acquired and not the original artistic temperament. BUSHONGO A further proof of this is the fact that the American Negro, even when he confronts the various forms of African art ex¬ pression with a sense of its ethnic claims upon him, meets them in as alienated and misunderstanding an attitude as the average European Westerner. Christianity and all the other European conventions operate to make this inevitable. So there would be little hope of an influence of African art upon the western African descendants if there were not at present a growing in- 256 THE U^EW C^EGRO fluence of African art upon European art in general. But led by these tendencies, there is the possibility that the sensitive artistic mind of the American Negro, stimulated by a cultural pride and interest, will receive from African art a profound and galvanizing inAuence. The legacy is there at least, with prospects of a rich yield. In the Arst place, there is in the mere knowledge of the skill and unique mastery of the arts of the ancestors the valuable and stimulating realization that the Negro is not a cultural foundling without his own inherit¬ ance. Our timid and apologetic imitativeness and overburden¬ ing sense of cultural indebtedness have, let us hope, their nat¬ ural end in such knowledge and realization. Then possibly from a closer knowledge and proper apprecia¬ tion of the African arts must come increased effort to develop our artistic talents in the discontinued and lagging channels of sculpture, painting and the decorative arts. If the forefathers could so adroitly master these mediums, why not we? And there may also come to some creative minds among us, hints of a new technique to be taken as the basis of a characteristic expression in the plastic and pictorial arts; incentives to new artistic idioms as well as to a renewed mastery of these older arts. African sculpture has been for contemporary European painting and sculpture just such a mine of fresh motifs , just such a lesson in simplicity and originality of expression, and surely, once known and appreciated, this art can scarcely have less inAuence upon the blood descendants, bound to it by a sense of direct cultural kinship, than upon those who inherit by tradition only, and through the channels of an exotic curiosity and interest. But what the Negro artist of to-day has most to gain from the arts of the forefathers is perhaps not cultural inspiration or technical innovations, but the lesson of a classic background, the lesson of discipline, of style, of technical control pushed to the limits of technical mastery. A more highly stylized art does not exist than the African. If after absorbing the new content of American life and experience, and after assimilating new patterns of art, the original artistic endowment can be suAiciently augmented to express itself with equal power in SOUDAN-NIGER, 2 5S THE ^CEW A CEGRO more complex patterns and substance, then the Negro may well become what some have predicted, the artist of American life. . • • As it is, African art has influenced modern art most consid¬ erably. It has been the most influential exotic art of our era, YABOUBA Chinese and Japanese art not excepted. The African art object, a half generation ago the most neglected of ethnological curios, is now universally recognized as a “notable instance of plastic representation,” a genuine work of art, masterful over its material in a powerful simplicity of conception, design and effect. This artistic discovery of African art came at a time when there was a marked decadence and sterility in certain forms of European plastic art expression, due to generations of the inbreeding of style and idiom. Out of the exhaustion THE 3\ CEGRO DIGS UP HIS PAST 259 of imitating Greek classicism and the desperate exploitation in graphic art of all the technical possibilities of color by the Impressionists and Post Impressionists, the problem of form and decorative design became emphasized in one of those re- IVORY COAST actions which in art occur so repeatedly. And suddenly with this new problem and interest, the African representation of form, previously regarded as ridiculously crude and inade¬ quate, appeared cunningly sophisticated and masterful. Once the strong stylistic conventions that had stood between it and a true aesthetic appreciation were thus broken through, Negro art instantly came into marked recognition. Roger Fry in an essay on Negro Sculpture has the following to say: “I have to admit that some of these things are great sculpture — greater, ■I think, than anything we produced in the Middle Ages. Cer- 260 THE C^EW NiEGRO tainly they have the special qualities of sculpture in a higher degree. They have indeed complete plastic freedom, that is to say, these African artists really can see form in three dimen- DAHOMEY sions. Now this is rare in sculpture. . . . So — far from the clinging to two dimensions, as we tend to do, the African artist actually underlines, as it were, the three-dimensionalness of his forms. It is in some such way that he manages to give to his forms their disconcerting vitality, the suggestion that they THE A CEGRO VI GS UP HIS PAST 261 make of being not mere echoes of actual figures, but of possess¬ ing an inner life of their own. . . . Besides the logical compre¬ hension of plastic form which the Negro shows he has also an exquisite taste in the handling of his material.” The most authoritative contemporary Continental criticism quite thor¬ oughly agrees with this verdict and estimate. Indeed there are many attested influences of African art in French and German modernist art. They are to be found in work of Matisse, Picasso, Derain, Modigliani and Utrillo among the French painters, upon Max Pechstein, Elaine Stern, Franz Marc and others of the German Expressionists, and upon Modigliani, Archipenko, Epstein, Lipschitz, Lembruch, and Zadkine and Faggi among sculptors. In Paris, centering around Paul Guillaume, one of its pioneer exponents, there has grown up an art coterie profoundly influenced by an aesthetic devel¬ oped largely from the idioms of African art. And what has been true of the African sculptures has been in a lesser degree true of the influence of other African art forms — decorative design, musical rhythms, dance forms, verbal imagery and symbolism. Attracted by the appeal of African plastic art to the study of other modes of African expression, poets like Guillaume Appolinaire and Blaise Cendrars have attempted artistic re-expression of African idioms in poetic symbols and verse forms. So that what is a recognized school of modern French poetry professes the inspiration of African sources, — Appolinaire, Reverdy, Salmon, Fargue and others. The bible of this coterie has been Cendrars’ Anthologie Negrey now in its sixth edition. The starting point of an aesthetic interest in African musical idiom seems to have been H. A. Junod’s work, — Les Chants et les Contes des Barongas (1897)* From the double source of African folk song and the study of American Negro musical rhythms, many of the leading French modernists have derived inspiration. Berard, Satie, Poulenc, Auric, and even Honneger, are all in diverse ways and degrees affected, but the most explicit influence has been upon the work of Darius Milhaud, who is an avowed propagandist of the possibilities of Negro musical idiom. The importance of these absorptions of African 262 THE ^EW CNiEGRO and Negro material by all of the major forms of contemporary art, some of them independently of any transfer that might be dismissed as a mere contagion of fad or vogue, is striking, and ought to be considered as a quite unanimous verdict of the modern creative mind upon the values, actual and potential, of this yet unexhausted reservoir of art material. • • • • • There is a vital connection between this new artistic respect for African idiom and the natural ambition of Negro artists for a racial idiom in their art expression. To a certain extent contemporary art has pronounced in advance upon this objective of the younger Negro artists, musicians and writers. Only the most reactionary conventions of art, then, stand between the Negro artist and the frank experimental development of these fresh idioms. This movement would, we think, be well under way in more avenues of advance at present but for the timid conventionalism which racial disparagement has forced upon the Negro mind in America. Let us take as a comparative in¬ stance, the painting of the Negro subject and notice the retard¬ ing effect of social prejudice. The Negro is a far more familiar figure in American life than in European, but American art, barring caricature and genre , reflects him scarcely at all. An occasional type sketch of Henri, or local color sketch of Wins¬ low Homer represents all of a generation of painters. Where¬ as in Europe, with the Negro subject rarely accessible, we have as far back as the French romanticists a strong interest in the theme, an interest that in contemporary French, Belgian, Ger¬ man and even English painting has brought forth work of singular novelty and beauty. This work is almost all above the plane of genre , and in many cases represents sustained and lifelong study of the painting of the particularly difficult values of the Negro subject. To mention but a few, there is the work of Julius Hiither, Max Slevogt, Max Pechstein, Elaine Stern, von Reuckterschell among German painters ; of Dinet, Lucie Cousturier, Bonnard, Georges Rouault, among the French j Klees van Dongen, the Dutch painter ; most nota¬ bly among the Belgians, Auguste Mambour j and among Eng*- lish painters, Neville Lewis, F, C. Gadell, John A. Wells, and CONGO PORTRAIT STATUE 264 THE V(EW V^EGRO Frank Potter. All these artists have looked upon the African scene and the African countenance, and discovered there a beauty that calls for a distinctive idiom both of color and modelling. The Negro physiognomy must be freshly and objectively conceived on its own patterns if it is ever to be seriously and importantly interpreted. Art must discover and reveal the beauty which prejudice and caricature have overlaid. And all vital art discovers beauty and opens our eyes to that which previously we could not see. While American art, in¬ cluding the work of our own Negro artists, has produced noth¬ ing above the level of the genre study or more penetrating than a Nordicized transcription, European art has gone on ex¬ perimenting until the technique of the Negro subject has reached the dignity and skill of virtuoso treatment and a dis¬ tinctive style. No great art will impose alien canons upon its subject matter. The work of Mambour especially suggests this forceful new stylization; he has brought to the Negro subject a modeling of masses that is truly sculptural and particularly suited to the broad massive features and subtle value shadings of the Negro countenance. After seeing his masterful han¬ dling of mass and light and shade in bold solid planes, one has quite the conviction that mere line and contour treatment can never be the classical technique for the portrayal of Negro types. The work of these European artists should even now be the inspiration and guide-posts of a younger school of Ameri¬ can Negro artists. They have too long been the victims of the academy tradition and shared the conventional blindness of the Caucasian eye with respect to the racial material at their immediate disposal. Thus there have been notably successful Negro artists, but no development of a school of Negro art. Our Negro American painter of outstanding success is Henry O. Tanner. His career is a case in point. Though a professed painter of types, he has devoted his art talent mainly to the portrayal of Jewish Biblical types and subjects, and has never maturely touched the portrayal of the Negro subject. War¬ rantable enough — for to the individual talent in art one must never dictate — who can be certain what field the next Negro 266 THE ViEW ^CEGRO artist of note will choose to command, or whether he will not be a landscapist or a master of still life or of purely decorative painting? But from the point of view of our artistic talent in bulk — it is a different matter. We ought and must have a school of Negro art, a local and a racially representative tradi¬ tion. And that we have not, explains why the generation of Negro artists succeeding Mr. Tanner had only the inspiration of his great success to fire their ambitions, but not the guidance of a distinctive tradition to focus and direct their talents. Con¬ sequently they fumbled and fell short of his international stride and reach. The work of W. E. Scott, E. A. Harleston, W. Braxton, W. Farrow and Laura Wheeler in painting, and of Meta Warrick Fuller and May Howard Jackson in sculpture, competent as it has been, has nevertheless felt this handicap and has wavered between abstract expression which was imi¬ tative and not highly original, and racial expression which was only experimental. Lacking group leadership and concentra¬ tion, they were wandering amateurs in the very field that might have given them concerted mastery. A younger group of Negro artists is beginning to move in the direction of a racial school of art. The strengthened tend¬ ency toward representative group expression is shared even by the later work of the artists previously mentioned, as in Meta Warrick Fuller’s “Ethiopia Awakening,” to mention an outstanding example. But the work of young artists like Archibald Motley, Otto Farrill, Albert Smith, John Urquhart, Samuel Blount, and especially that of Charles Keene and Aaron Douglas shows the promising beginning of an art move¬ ment instead of just the cropping out of isolated talent. The work of Winold Reiss, fellow-countryman of Slevogt and von Reuckterschell, which has supplied the main illustrative mate¬ rial for this volume has been deliberately conceived and exe¬ cuted as a path-breaking guide and encouragement to this new foray of the younger Negro artists. In idiom, technical treat¬ ment and objective social angle, it is a bold iconoclastic break with the current traditions that have grown up about the Negro subject in American art. It is not meant to dictate a style to the young Negro artist, but to point the lesson that contempo- THE A CEGRO DIGS UP HIS PAST 267 rary European art has already learned — that any vital artistic expression of the Negro theme and subject in art must break through the stereotypes to a new style, a distinctive fresh tech¬ nique, and some sort of characteristic idiom. While we are speaking of the resources of racial art, it is well to take into account that the richest vein of it is not that of por- traitistic idiom after all, but its almost limitless wealth of decorative and purely symbolic material. It is for the develop¬ ment of this latter aspect of a racial art that the study and ex¬ ample of African art material is so important. The African spirit, as we said at the outset, is at its best in abstract decorative forms. Design, and to a lesser degree, color, are its original fortes. It is this aspect of the folk tradition, this slumbering gift of the folk temperament that most needs reachievement and re¬ expression. And if African art is capable of producing the ferment in modern art that it has, surely this is not too much to expect of its influence upon the culturally awakened Negro artist of the present generation. So that if even the present vogue of African art should pass, and the bronzes of Benin and the fine sculptures of Gabon and Baoule, and the superb designs of the Bushongo should again become mere items of exotic curiosity, for the Negro artist they ought still to have the import and influence of classics in whatever art expression is consciously and representatively racial. Part II THE NEVE NEGRO IN A NEIE IEORLD THE NEGRO PIONEERS Paul U. Kellogg In Vandemark’s Folly and other of his novels, Herbert Quick interpreted the settlement of the Mississippi basin. He gave us its valor and epic qualities. But in that series of re¬ markable biographical sketches which were cut short by his death, he lamented the cultural wastage of American pioneer¬ ing. He laid a wreath on the unknown graves of the artists, poets, singers, the talented of youth, who were submerged in the westward trek of peoples on the new continent as, in the course of two hundred and fifty years, they hewed their way through the forests and at last came out on the open prairie. In the northward movement of the Negroes in the last ten years, we have another folk migration which in human sig¬ nificance can be compared only with this pushing back of the Western frontier in the first half of the last century or with the waves of immigration which have swept in from overseas in the last half. Indeed, though numerically far smaller than either of these, this folk movement is unique. For this time we have a people singing as they come — breaking through to cultural expression and economic freedom together. In our generation the children and grandchildren of the settlers of the Middle West have uprooted themselves as their sires did, but to-day their faces are turned cityward. In this new urban shift, the Negro is sharing, but so swiftly and with such a peculiar quickening as he pours for the first time into this new terrain of American economic and community life, that for him it is more than a migration, it is a rebirth. The full significance of this belated sharing in the American tradi- a72 THE 2iEW 2(EGR0 tion of pioneering by black folk from the South should not escape us; nor the rare fortune that they bring with them cul¬ tural talents long buried and only half revealed in the cotton lands from which they come. In a way, two great modes of impulse have been at work in the settlement of the United States, other than the material one of bettering one’s lot. In no small part, ours has been the history of the under-dog — of common people rising against kings and overlords, of Pilgrims and Puritans and Catholics working loose from re¬ ligious intolerance, of rebels seeking a new freedom, of adven¬ turers breaking away from the fixity of things. This tradition we share with England and Western Europe j the impulse became a dominant force in New England and was at flood throughout the tidewater colonies when in the Revolution they threw off the Georges. We may trace its re-emergence in a new form even in the part which the South took in the Civil War. This may be put in terms of its idealists, as resistance to imposed authority by men who sought the governance of their own lives, however much they might deny it to their slaves. We have another tradition — or, at least, another mode of the same impulse. Not alone rebellion against what has been, but opportunity for what may be, shaped its course. Set off by three thousand miles of sea, settled on a continent which had been kept in reserve ten thousand years, the spirit of our people has been molded by the frontiers we cleared. It drew and grew from the open spaces, from wildernesses giving way to settlements, from the building processes of countryside and commonwealth and nation. Its like is not known in the older countries of the world, still in the process of shaking loose from old tyrannies. We may abuse this heritage, but it is ours, a broader and more dynamic, more creative conception of liberty. Spiritually we are rebels. But we are also pioneers. The Civil War may be interpreted in its final outcome, as the clash between these two great streams of impulse in Ameri¬ can life and the triumph of this newer native embodiment of the thing that has stirred and molded the American soul. THE JiEW C\ CEGRO IN J[ J^EW WORLD 273 For, while the record of Western settlement in our dealings with the Indians is a chapter not without black pages which may be compared with our slave trade, nonetheless it was the free play of free men on free Jand that built up the Middle West j and it was the rapidly mounting weight of men and means of that hinterland, flung into the conflict by common faith in an order which meant opportunity for all, which tipped the scales as between North and South, preserved the Union and freed the slaves. Lincoln was its man; not its leader merely, but framed of the bone and marrow of its plain people; his spirit, the embodiment of frontiersmen and settlers. And what has this to do with the northward migration of the Negro — or its counterpart, his partnership in agricultural reconstruction in the South? It has more to do than that children and grandchildren of the emancipated slaves enter the gates of the cities with the children and grandchildren of the old frontier. Or even that in this new generation they are fellow adventurers as never before in the inveterate quest of our people for new horizons — on the land and in industry. These things are in themselves of tremendous import. But my point is, that in the pioneering of this new epoch, they are getting into stride with that of the old. By way of the typical American experience, they become for the first time a part of its living tradition. The great folkway which is America need no longer be a thing abstract, apart from them. The Negro boy, who with his satchel steps off the train in Pittsburgh or Chicago, Detroit or New York, to make his way in what Robert Woods called the city wilderness, may draw at the same springs of inspira¬ tion as the boy next him from Wisconsin or Kansas, or that other who, still westward bent, throws in his lot in the valley of some irrigation project in the mountain states. The same can be said of the Corn Club boys and girls of Georgia or South Carolina, who are building up farm homes with new tools and husbandry in regions which have been held in the mesh of a worn out economy. The Hampton and Tuskegee graduates, the farm demonstrators and co-operators who break that mesh, its tough warp of the one crop and its binding woof 274 THE O^EW & CEGRO of the credit system, and help weave in its stead the texture of a new and more self-reliant rural life, are settlers in a very real sense. And so are the men and women who, in a great city district like Harlem, against the pressure of overcrowding and high rents, against the drag of black exploiters and white, and the hazards of sickness and precariousness of livelihood, odds which all of us face in our great city machines, and which bear down with redoubled force upon youth and childhood — these men and these women, who strand by strand fashion the fabric of the good life in a city neighborhood, are of the breed of the old pioneers. They are builders. Do not mistake me, the land they come to is not all milk and honey. Nor was the way of the frontiersman, or the fron¬ tier woman, or the frontier child. Nor were these all cast in heroic or congenial, or even tolerable, molds. But the new order in the Southern countryside, the new order in the North¬ ern city, offers an economic foothold, as did the old clearing. It calls on the spirit of team play, as did the old settlement with its road building and its barn raisings. There is a smack of opportunity and freedom in the air. The very process as bound up in those changes in individual fortune, is instinct with that group consciousness of common adventure, is fresh with the tang of growth and expansion, which the wagon trains carried with them to the West, and which became the theme of our pioneering. The vocational schools for Negroes in the South have en¬ couraged, among other things, the vigorous spirit of individual initiative which we like to associate with American character. The recoil among Negroes against political suppression and ter¬ rorism which has animated much of their leadership of protest in the last thirty years has been kin to our old rebel tradition. But here in this new pioneering, we have the nascent begin¬ nings of that other great mode of social impulse. And we catch its gleam in a newer, more positive and creative leader¬ ship of self-expression. Those of us who trace our blazed ways to the Atlantic Sea¬ board, to Pilgrim Rock or James River blockhouse or Dutch trading post, can perhaps not realize what it means to a people BHB THE NEW NEGRO IN selves, not as superior creatures, but as elder brothers. They voluntarily divested themselves of all superior claims and pretensions in order that they might the more effectually serve those who needed their help. They planted Howard Uni¬ versity and projected it as the national institution for the j training of leaders of the benefited race. They understood j that their tenure was temporary. i The members of one group cannot furnish ideals for another, if they must needs live a life apart from those whom they would serve. The sentiment of the times has changed. Crys¬ tallized laws and customs, in sections where the Negro colleges are located, now make it impossible for the white man to iden¬ tify his life and interests with the colored race, even if he desires so to do. The two races cannot ride in the same car, send their children to the same school, or attend the same church, and must perforce walk the streets apart. Under such 3I9 THE O^EW SCENE circumstances a perfect meeting of minds is impossible. Any national Negro enterprise must derive its future leadership and guidance from within the race. A national enterprise for any group is ordinarily supposed to derive its support from internal sources. There can be no stable equilibrium so long as the center of gravity falls out¬ side. Interestingly enough, Howard University, almost from the beginning, has rested on the material maintenance of the Negro race, through its own contributions by way of tuition, and through governmental grants based upon the just dues of the Negro from the public treasury. Quite unfortunately, as the writer feels, general philanthropy that has done so much for other institutions has all but neglected the claims of this institution. The last report of the treasurer shows that for the fiscal year 1923-4, the students contributed in tuition and in other fees, $179,000. Congress appropriated $190,000, while donations from all other sources amounted to only $27,000. During the past two years, the Negro race has con¬ tributed $250,000 for the endowment of the Medical School to meet a like contribution from the General Education Board. And yet Howard University makes the strongest possible appeal, not merely to the self-support of the Negro himself, but for the vicarious help of American statesmanship, philan¬ thropy and religion combined. The great objective of philan¬ thropy in this field is to help the Negro to help himself, and to relieve the national tension around the issue of race. There is no institution in the land that is so well calculated to deal effectually with the Negro problem as a national issue as is Howard University. The right type of leadership is essential to any attempt at solution. Howard University, as we have seen, furnishes in very large part the leadership for the race. In 1879, the President of Howard University persuaded Congress to vote a grant of $10,000 to aid Howard University because of the national character of the type of work it was doing. From that time to the present the annual congressional grants have gradually increased, until the fiscal year 1924, the allotment amounted to $365,000. The total sum appropriated during the forty-six years amounts to the magnificent sum of 320 THE V(EW C^EGRO $3,568,815. As result the University has sent into the field already white unto harvest over six thousand graduates who are distributed over the entire range of the professional and practical callings and are scattered over the entire area wher¬ ever any considerable number of Negroes reside. Congress is challenged to isolate a like sum that has resulted in so much national service and advantage as the amount devoted to this national University of the Negro race. But a national Negro university must be a conscious and recognized center of the higher life and cultural interests of the race. Howard University has gathered about itself more than a hundred Negro educators, who are filling its various chairs of instruction. There cannot be duplicated anywhere in the world such an aggregation of Negro educators, scholars and thinkers. With such a nucleus, Howard must become in due time the recognized center of Negro scholarship, especially for the fostering and development of those special studies of race history and of the pressing contemporary problems of race rela¬ tions which are, in last analysis, the special field and functions of such an institution. There exists as yet no such center in spite of the obvious need for one. Every group, coming into cultural maturity, needs its Forum and its Acropolis. A na¬ tional Negro university must shed the light of reason on the particular issues of Negro life and add the guidance of science to the tangled issues of race adjustment. A body of intellec¬ tual, moral and spiritual elite, consecrated to these ideals and . co-operating in this aim, is calculated to put a new front on the whole scheme of racial life and aspiration. Under the stim¬ ulus of such a conception of its mission, Howard University, or the institution that most zealously undertakes it, will become the Mecca of ambitious Negro youth from all parts of the land and from all lands. It is the internal urge of this service, racial and national, that more than any external pressure or urgency of educational segregation gives the Negro college of the present its truest reason for being. What is the need of Howard University, one might ask, when every first-class university in the North and West is open to any candidate qualified to meet its require- 321 ?HE O^EW SCENE ments without regard to race or color? The very fact that an institution would exclude a candidate who measures up to its intellectual, moral and financial standards, merely on the basis of race, is ample proof that it is not first class. Few institutions that are zealous to maintain good repute in the eyes of the world would have the candor to acknowledge such basis of exclusion without apology. Colored youth in increasing num¬ bers are entering Northern institutions and are gaining distinc¬ tion in both the intellectual and in the athletic arenas. Some go so far as to deprecate the existence of distinctively Negro colleges and universities, claiming that capable colored youth can find accommodation in institutions, which can furnish su¬ perior advantages and facilities to those any Negro school is likely to possess. It would be absurd for Howard University or any other Negro school to claim that it can match the material and intellectual facilities of those great educational establishments with millions of wealth and centuries of tradi¬ tion. One might as well ask, or had better ask, the rationale of Jewish Seminaries or of Methodist colleges and universities. These racial and denominational schools impart to the member¬ ship of their community something which the general educa¬ tional institution is wholly unable to inculcate. But for the Negro college, Negro scholarship would decay, and Negro leadership would be wanting in effectiveness and zeal. The Negro college must furnish stimulus to hesitant Negro scholar¬ ship, garner, treasure and nourish group tradition, enlighten both races with a sense of the cultural worth and achievement of the constituency it represents, and supply the cultural guid¬ ance of the race. The insurgence of race consciousness is indeed the most noticeable feature in the trend of modern day tendencies. With it, the place of the Negro in the general scheme of things is growing more defined. The primary need of the race is a philosophy of life, whereby hope, courage and ambition can be maintained amidst an environment which seems hostile and crushing. This philosophy must be based upon the funda¬ mental principles of democracy and human brotherhood, yet it must reckon with those existing circumstances and conditions 3 22 THE J(EW C^EGRO which would frustrate these great ideals. The Negro race must live and move and have its being amidst the difficulties and vicissitudes of the tangled issues of race adjustment. Ambitious and high-minded Negro youth must preserve the spirit of optimism and hope. Pessimism enfeebles the faculties, para¬ lyzes the energies and sours the soul. The race must be re¬ deemed from the fatuity of supine self-surrender and the im- potency of despair. The national Negro University should supply this defensive philosophy. Every minor and suppressed group in the world looks to its central seat of learning for the emission of that kindly light by which they are to be led to the goal after which they strive. Howard University must keep the race spirit courageous and firm, and direct it in har¬ mony with ideals of God, country and truth. Howard University, located at the seat of government by which it is fostered and encouraged, deriving its student body from thirty-six states and eleven foreign countries, justifying its claim for patriotic and philanthropic support, appealing to all right-minded Americans for sympathy and co-operation in carrying out its great mission, is destined to become in truth and deed the National Negro University. From this unique center of advantage and opportunity its lines reach to the remotest ramification of our national domain. From this wide area it draws the picked youth of an awakening race and sends them forth to recruit the high places of racial service and leadership. Such is the function and mission of Howard University. To this end it appeals to the interest, encouragement and support of all who believe that in the scheme of human development, the mind must quicken, stimulate, uplift and sustain the masses. i HAMPTON-TUSKEGEE : MISS10NERS OF THE MASSES Robert R. Moton Hampton and Tuskegee and Points North! A call like this has been sounding in every important railroad center in the South since 1915, varying according to location whether in Alabama, Georgia, Mississippi, South Carolina or Louisiana. It has been the signal for thousands of Negroes to gather their bundles, dress-suit cases and lunch boxes, and board the trains for the great industrial centers of the North — Detroit, Chicago, Akron, Pittsburgh, Newark, New York, Springfield, Cleveland and Buffalo. Some have been content to take a shorter flight and have stopped off at Birmingham, Chattanooga, Newport News and Norfolk 5 but all of them have been impelled by a vision, sometimes vague and dim, sometimes sharp and clear, of better wages, better living conditions and better opportuni¬ ties than have been theirs on the farms and plantations of the South. Estimates of the numbers who have joined in this migration have varied all the way from 350,000 to 1,000,000 but all have agreed that there has been a steady exodus from the country to the city, from the soil to the factory. The conse¬ quences have aroused attention both in the section from which they have come and in the section to which they have moved. The movement itself has altered conditions which they left behind and is altering the very conditions which they hoped to find. For a time the agricultural program of certain sections of the South was completely upset. In some places there was an almost complete stagnation of farming operations. Negro farm laborers left at all seasons of the year, and many a crop was left ungathered because there were no hands to take it in. Had such a movement occurred a generation earlier the result might have been very different not alone for the Negro, 323 324 THE C^EW C^EGRO but for the South whose economic system is so largely depend¬ ent upon Negro labor, and the North would have been utterly unable to absorb so great an access to its population. But two conditions operated simultaneously with this movement of the Negroes. One was the expansion of industry in the North consequent on the war, coupled with the depletion of the ranks of immigrant labor by those returning home to fight. The other was the fact that for nearly fifty years strong influ¬ ences had been at work among Negroes which enabled them to adapt themselves more quickly to the change from rural to urban life and from agricultural to industrial pursuits. This vast movement of the Negro population was the result of a wartime demand for labor in the industrial centers North and South. Negroes had long felt the restraint of restricted opportunities in the South. Individuals and small groups had all along been finding release in various sections of the North, but the great masses were compelled to remain where they were, as there was at that time no disposition to exploit the labor supplies of the South. During the same period there was a mighty influence at work below Mason and Dixon’s Line enlarging the outlook of the Negro and preparing the race not only to take advantage of new opportunities but to create opportunities for themselves in the midst of surrounding con¬ ditions. This influence was the Hampton-Tuskegee movement in¬ augurated by General Samuel Chapman Armstrong at Hamp¬ ton, Virginia, in 1868 and expanded by his pupil, Booker T. Washington, at Tuskegee, in the years succeeding through the remarkable spread of his gospel of industry and self-reliance throughout the whole of the Negro race. In its early develop¬ ment it was called industrial education, but thoughtful ob¬ servers have long since come to see that the work of Hampton and Tuskegee is not the training of men and women as mere units of industry, but rather the training of the individual, indeed to be self-supporting, but at the same time to be a con¬ tributing element to community life — to be conscious factors in every community for establishing the highest ideals of American life and inspiring all whom they touch to win salva- Robert Russa Moton 325 THE SCENE tion for themselves and to create by their own efforts that new and better order of things which it had been vainly hoped would come from the hands of others. Hampton was the pioneer in this movement. Down in the Tidewater section, General Armstrong at the close of the Civil War took refugees that had gathered from the plantations of that section and began the solution of their problems by teach¬ ing them to work with their hands while they trained their minds, and developed the fundamental attributes of industry, thrift, self-reliance and self-respect. He worked, of course, with those who came to him, establishing a school to combine labor with books in the process of education 5 developing the head, the hand and the heart at the same time. But he did not stop there. He reached out to the homes and communities from which his students came and set up there for fathers and mothers the same standards and ideals of home surroundings and character development that he was creating for the young men and women who came to him as students. Home and community became the ultimate objectives of his labors. Boys and girls that came to him as students were impressed with the idea that their training was not merely for their individual success, but rather that they should be positive factors in im¬ proving life and conditions wherever they might locate. Of all who came to him, the one pupil most apt to catch this vision was Booker T. Washington. Out he went from Hampton to translate his inspiration into deeds. Called to Alabama to take charge of a projected school, he immediately set himself to work out in terms of local conditions the ideas that were instilled in him at Hampton. From the very begin¬ ning he conceived of the whole South as his schoolroom and the entire Negro race as his class. The one subject which he taught was life. Arithmetic, reading, geography, history, were all interpreted in terms of the life surroundings of his students. He talked of the life they lived. Every day he put them to work creating life for themselves, building their own buildings, making their own tools, producing their own food, making their own clothes and in a hundred other ways supplying their own needs. These were the things they talked about in their class- 326 THE JiEW JiEGRO rooms. These were the problems they figured out and then he talked of conditions as they had just left them at home. He went out to visit their parents. He went into their homes, into their churches, into their school-houses 5 having found the better way of life himself he carried his vision to his people, inspiring them to have things better for themselves and for their children and to win those things by their own industry and worth. These two institutions have thus become vastly more than the conventional schools. They have their class-room work as do others, they study books, they write essays and deliver orations, but there is a character and a quality to it all that is unique. That is to say, that was unique, for the idea has spread abroad, and though Hampton and Tuskegee are unique exem¬ plars of this larger conception and interpretation of education, yet the idea which they have developed has been appropriated by others. Not only those that style themselves industrial schools, but colleges also are grasping the importance of making their instruction touch life beyond the college walls, thus making their institutions centers of inspiration and elevation for that larger clientele which includes the households from which the students come and communities to which they go for service. The influence of this gospel of larger and better living has not been without its effect upon the Negro race as a whole. These institutions have maintained specific agencies for reach¬ ing out into the body of the Negro race — farmers5 conferences, educational tours, extension departments in all of their rami¬ fications, are an essential part of the work of Hampton and Tuskegee. While the boys and girls were being taught in the class-rooms, the fathers and mothers were being reached in the field and in the home; education was carried to them in simple direct terms made plain by demonstrations, with wit¬ nesses to testify how the plan had worked with them. The effect was as inspiring as a revival. Booker Washington made a religion out of life for his people and few indeed were those who heard one of his talks who came away without getting this kind of religion. Every- THE C^EW SCENE 327 where in the South are to be found evidences of its influence. Negroes have been buying land for a generation till to-day about one-fourth of them own their homes. This is probably not true so largely of any other racial group in America. School facilities have been improved by leaps and bounds, because these institutions have inspired Negroes to undertake the solution of their own educational problems, building their own schools if necessary, supplementing directly out of their own pockets the salaries provided by the state and adding to the school term on their own initiative if the authorized school term was not long enough. This impulse was extended even to business. A generation ago Negroes were the consumers, other races were the pro¬ ducers and distributors. The idea was set afloat that Negroes could profit by catering to the needs of their own people, that such profit would operate to create larger opportunities for their own race with a corresponding benefit both to the pro¬ prietor and to his patrons. To-day Negroes are found in all lines of business with many outstanding examples of success, as well as their own share of failures. In one of the Founder’s Day addresses at Tuskegee Institute, a prominent member of his own race said that Booker Washington had “changed a crying race into a trying race.” This phrase epitomizes the idea behind Hampton and Tuskegee. General Armstrong gave to the Negro race its first lessons in this sort of self-reliance. Booker Washington inspired the whole race with his confidence which is now being felt in the rapid strides with which the race is advancing. For a time the South was hesitant as to the effect of this new gospel on the Negro. It welcomed the idea of teaching the Negro to work if that was what was meant by the “dignity of labor” — but for a time there was some apprehension lest behind this idea there should be a subtle force inspiring Negroes to rebel against unsatisfactory conditions and to resist the domi¬ nation of the Anglo-Saxon who was in control of economic as well as political life in this section. But the years have proved these suspicions unfounded. The South has seen a great change come over the Negro. Education has been found 328 THE V(EW V(EGRO to be profitable not only for the black man but for the white man too. To-day the South is more zealous for the improve¬ ment of educational conditions for both races than any other section of our country. What was heralded as good for the Negro has been accepted as equally good for white people. As “industrial education” it was accepted for the solution of Negro problems: as “vocational education” it has been adopted by state and federal governments as the solution of economic and social problems for both races. On this point Dr. Wash¬ ington very early found a platform where both races could stand side by side with respect for themselves and for each other. Almost in spite of himself he became through this means a messenger of good will to both races and to both sections. Through Hampton Institute large-minded men and women of the North expressed their interest in the Negro. Through Tuskegee Institute forward-looking men and women of the South found a way for renewing contacts with the Negro race. When Hollis Burke Frissell appeared on the scene at Hamp¬ ton, the time was ripe for these three elements to join hands in inaugurating a new program for race relations in the South. To-day we hear much talk of inter-racial co-operation, but it began years ago. What was then the faith of a few has become the conviction of many. The confidence sown then is bringing forth a harvest of good-will now, and the field is being en¬ larged continually. A great many unexpected results came out of the war. One of the earliest and most encouraging was the opening up of industrial opportunities for the Negro in the North. Then came the migration. In the wake of this movement many problems developed in both the North and the South. It be¬ came necessary to reconstruct the agricultural program of the South. The North was introduced to a new social pro¬ gram. A new bond of sympathy has been established between the two sections. What was considered a sectional problem has become a national problem. What has been considered a racial problem is coming more and more to be recognized as a purely human problem. These problems, however, are not as THE JiEW SCENE 329 acute as they might have been because of the influence of Hamp¬ ton and Tuskegee and of the other institutions like Howard, Virginia Union, Atlanta, Fisk, Morehouse, Clark and Biddle which have been exerting the same influence on the Negro race. Negroes who went North were not all raw, unskilled labor¬ ers. Out of the industrial schools had come Negroes trained for the requirements of industry — blacksmiths, carpenters, brickmasons, plumbers, steam-fitters, auto-mechanics. When the opportunity came these men were ready for the test to which they were to be subjected. Though the great bulk of those who migrated had had no specific training in these lines, there were enough trained at Tuskegee and Hampton, and other industrial schools as well as in industrial plants in the South to make it feasible for Northern manufacturers to experi¬ ment with Negro mechanics. In all the industrial centers of the North and South graduates of these schools can be found, and it is a source of satisfaction that they have so far justified the experiment as to remove practically all doubt as to their avail¬ ability for skilled work in whatever lines are open to them. These laborers did not go alone, however, so broad was the current of migration that it carried along with it professional men and leaders in business and other lines of activity, trained in the schools of the South. Lawyers, doctors, dentists found it desirable to change their location to the new centers to which their clients had migrated. Even ministers, finding their con¬ gregations depleted by the movement, found it possible in not a few instances to establish churches in the North whose mem¬ berships were in a large measure composed of their former parishioners in the South. The initial effect of this on the North was to create a hous- ing problem. Residential sections inhabited formerly by whites were invaded by Negroes under the pressure of expanding population. One reaction to this was the riots in Washington, Chicago and Omaha. Not every city, however, witnessed such violent eruption 5 Springfield, Cleveland, Akron, Detroit, pro¬ ceeded to absorb the influx of Negro population without ap¬ parent friction. This was nowhere better done than in New York City. Already densely populated, the metropolitan cen- 33o THE CEW E^EGRO ter proceeded to readjustments that have given it the largest Negro population of any city in the country and probably the world. The coming of this excess population presented to the real estate dealers an opportunity for increased profits of which they proceeded immediately to take advantage. Whole blocks of tenements and apartment houses were bought by speculators and turned over to Negro tenants, the former white occupants moving farther uptown. By accommodating themselves to limited quarters, many Negro families found comfortable residence in well-appointed modern livings, and that, too, without the annoyance or embarrassment of legal residence restrictions. t Harlem is recognized as the Negro section of New York without any requirement of law. Here Negroes have their own theaters, their own newspaper establishments, restaurants, stores, barber shops, offices, and all the other accessories and necessities of community life. White merchants still accom¬ modate the bulk of the trade, and it is interesting to observe that groceries and meat markets have made it a point to cater to the tastes and habits that the Negro population have brought from the South. Restaurants serve those dishes to which Negroes have become accustomed, and the markets put in large supplies of these staple products, many of them specially imported from the Southern States. In New York, as in other cities, there was no great difficulty for the newcomer to find work, but in this city a large propor¬ tion of these migrants went into personal service, whereas in other cities like Pittsburgh, Cleveland, _ Detroit, Youngstown, employment was found in the industries such as steel mil s, automobile factories, and in Chicago the packing plants. The important thing to observe in all this is that contrary to predictions and many expectations the Negro has found a real place for himself in the North, and has been able with sur¬ prising facility to adapt himself to the new conditions. In truth, it is a matter of pride to Negroes themselves to take on the manners and follow the customs that are characteristic of the North. It is surprising, also, to note the cordial an genuinely sympathetic attitude taken towards these newcomers THE O^EW SCENE 331 by the older residents, colored and white, not the welfare workers merely, but many of the leading citizens. Newcomers are not infrequently carefully admonished by those who have preceded them as to their dress, manners and habits of speech lest they be ridiculed as having recently come from some Southern plantation. Much of the easy solution of the housing problem in North¬ ern cities, notably in Harlem, is due to the enterprise of Negro real estate men who have taken the initiative in finding homes for their people. In one city, Springfield, Massachusetts, it is a church that has taken the lead in solving this problem. In many places the Urban League, with other welfare movements, has taken the lead. New lines of business have opened up with Negro proprie¬ tors where formerly no such business existed. It has very often been a surprise to Northern Negroes to witness the energy with which their brethren from the South have taken the leadership in community enterprise. In the majority of cases the migrants have been quick to take advantage of the improved educational facilities of the North, and have sometimes precipitated the question of segre¬ gated schools, itself a tribute to the Negroes eager desire for education. In time this must raise the question of an educa¬ tional program which will enable the Negro youth to pre¬ pare themselves in advance for these new places in industry that are being opened to them. So long as the trade unions exclude Negroes from the opportunities of apprenticeship, it will be necessary for Negro youth to look elsewhere for their training. Some of these are already returning South to the industrial schools there, but these schools find it impossible even now to adequately accommodate their local applicants. The factor in all this is the leadership of Negro men and women who have received their training in most cases in schools in the South, such as Hampton, Tuskegee, Howard, Fisk, Atlanta, Morehouse, Wiley 5 these will be found in the pro¬ fessions, in business, in social work, helping their people to take advantage of new opportunities and adjust themselves to new and sometimes hostile conditions. 332 THE V^EW U^EGRO ! These are but some of the indications that the leaven of Hampton and Tuskegee is working with increased force throughout the Negro race. It is a matter of common observa¬ tion within the race that men and women who have been trained in these schools enter into community life with a zeal and enthusiasm which are characteristic. They ally themselves with the churches, literary societies, welfare movements, fra¬ ternal organizations and other activities that have for their object the improvement of the Negro race. They are demon¬ strating that Negroes can succeed where others have succeeded, that Negroes are capable of the same development which other races have manifested when given the same opportunity. In the pursuit of these aims they are developing a race conscious- ness — a pride, that is really inspiring. For the good name of their people they want to prove themselves worthy of every opportunity that is open to them and have every privilege that is their due as American citizens, and in proportion as they prove themselves capable they win the confidence and respect , of the people of both races, and are counted as an asset to the i industry, the organization and community with which they are identified. After all, the strongest recommendation that Hampton and Tuskegee have is the character and service of > the men and women whom they have trained for the leadership . of their people. It not infrequently happens, that men and women have caught this same spirit and outlook in other schools _ for there are other schools doing the same thing for their students — it generally happens that there is a most happy and : effective co-operation between the men and women from all j these schools for the highest development of their communi¬ ties. DURHAM : CAPITAL OF THE BLACK ! MIDDLE CLASS E. Franklin Frazier Durham offers none of the color and creative life we find among Negroes in New York City. It is a city of fine homes, | exquisite churches, and middle class respectability. It is not the place where men write and dream ; but a place where black men calculate and work. No longer can men say that the Negro is lazy and shiftless and a consumer. He has gone to work. He is a producer. He is respectable. He has a middle class. I Many who have been interested in the Negro’s progress, and especially his critics, have bemoaned the fact that the Negro has had no middle class. Negro society has been divided chiefly into the professional and the working classes. The working class has not consisted of skilled artisans but unskilled laborers and domestic servants. While the professional class has imitated many of the traits of the white middle class, they have regarded themselves as essentially an aristocracy. The working classes have been execrated by both white and colored or their love of pleasure. So in neither of these classes have the Negroes developed a middle class economic outlook. We can discount the fanciful schemes for getting rich and the activities of the swindler. Even small retail stores operated y Negroes are conspicuously absent from Negro communities. But the Negro is at last developing a middle class, and its main center is in Durham. As we read the lives of the men in | urham who have established the enterprises there, we find stories parallelling the most amazing accounts of the building of American fortunes. We find them beginning their careers without much formal education and practising the old-fash^ lioned virtues of the old middle class. Their lives are as free from the Negro’s native love of leisure and enjoyment of life 333 334 THE 2(EW J^EGRO as Franklin’s life. Hard work was their rule. We see them assuming the role of promoter and organizer. And finally we find them in the role of the modern business man. Conse¬ quently, we have in Durham to-day the outstanding group of colored capitalists who have entered the second generation of business enterprise. This is significant, as few Negro enter¬ prises have survived the personal direction and energy of the founders. Moreover, these men have mastered the technique of modern business and acquired the spirit of modern enter¬ prise. When we trace the history of this development we must begin with the late John Merrick. He was born a slave in 1859 in Sampson County, North Carolina. His early years were spent at work in a brickyard in Chapel Hill. He learned to read and write from the Bible. As he was compelled to support his mother and younger brother, he could not attend school. Although he could not share in the educational advan¬ tages which Northern missionaries were offering Negroes dur¬ ing the Reconstruction, he helped as a brickmason to build one of their leading schools, Shaw University in Raleigh. Next we 1 find Mr. Merrick a bootblack and later a barber in the same shop. Full of energy and enterprise, he set out with his wife to work in a new barber shop in Durham, where he was to make his distinguished career. It is a significant fact that Mr. Mer¬ rick came to Durham at the time when white men were begin¬ ning to devote themselves to the exploitation of the wealth of the South. Of more fundamental influence upon them was the contact with the leading business men such as the Dukes, who were his customers. His biographer, T. McCants Andrews, remarks: “Mr. Merrick’s contact with the leading business men of Durham had as much to do with his success as his own per¬ sonal gifts.” We soon find Mr. Merrick the sole proprietor of the barber shop in which he worked and the owner of his home. The story of the organization and the development of the Royal Knights of King David shows that Mr. Merrick possessed the organizing ability and the spirit of the promoter. When an itinerant Baptist preacher from Georgia offered to sell the rit¬ ualistic rights to a group of Durham Negroes, Mr. Merrick was THE V(EW SCENE 335 chief among those to buy the entire order. Nor was he satisfied with the usual fraternal features, for he soon made it known that he would not have anything to do with it if it were not a business proposition. Merrick declared: “Well, I ain’t no society man.” By shrewd advertisement of the payment of death dues the order grew. A few years later, Mr. William i Pearson, one of the leading men in the present Durham group, became the guiding spirit in the order. When he took charge, the collections amounted to fourteen dollars a month. Under his skill and management, the order, which is essentially an insurance company, has grown until it numbers 21,000 mem¬ bers in eight states. We come now to the greatest achievement of the Durham group and no doubt the greatest monument to Negroes’ busi¬ ness enterprise in America — the. North Carolina Mutual Life Insurance Company. The first organization of this company in 1898 consisted of seven men who paid in fifty dollars each to meet immediate expenses. At first the enterprise did not flour¬ ish and some became discouraged. It was then that Mr. Mer- ; rick and Dr . Moore bought in the interests of the others and, with the present president, Mr. Spaulding, brought the com¬ pany to its present development. Space in Dr. Moore’s office was rented for the work of the company, which was then known as the North Carolina Mutual and Provident Association. Mr. Merrick took charge of the financial direction ; Dr. Moore became medical examiner j and Mr. Spaulding, promoter. The * payment of the first death claim of forty dollars caused such a crisis that the promoters had to call a meeting and pay part of the sum from their own pockets. This was heralded abroad. By 1905 it was able to pay salaries after erecting an $8,000 office building in 1 904. At this time another man, Mr. John Avery, became associated with the company. He is another example of those Americans who have begun their careers as poor farm boys and in a generation found themselves in mana¬ gerial chairs of million dollar enterprises. Mr. Avery is now the secretary of this company, having an annual income of over two million dollars. The growth of the company has been continuous and well 336 THE ViEW D^EGRO founded. It has grown from a collection of $840 in 1899 to over $5,000 a day. It is now operating in eleven states and the District of Columbia, and has over i,500 employees. In 1914 the company began issuing ordinary policies based upon the American Experience Table of Mortality. In 1919 it became mutualized. To-day it has $42,000,000 of insurance in force and assets amounting to over $2,000,000. The com¬ pany’s office building is one of the ornaments of Durham s business district. In this building there is another enterprise of this group — the Mechanics and Farmers Bank, established in 1908. It handles the bulk of the business of the insurance company and has deposits amounting to $612,700.. Its re¬ sources amount to $800,000. In 1920 this institution saved more than 500 homes and farms being bought by Negroes by lending the purchasers over $200,000. A branch has been established in Raleigh. True to the spirit and habits of modern business men, these men have undertaken other forms of enterprises wherever an opportunity to promote some form of productive enterprise appeared. We can count among their projects two drug stores and a real estate firm. A venture into industrial exploitation was the only unsuccessful enterprise of these men. The textile mill which they organized in 1914 was discontinued a year later, fortunately, without loss, because of the lack of technical assistance and the European war. One of the more recent undertakings of this group is the Bankers Fire Insurance Com¬ pany, which was organized in 1920. This company is now operating in five states and the District of Columbia. After the merger with another concern, this company had over $200,- 000 in paid in capital. Its strength was demonstrated in 1922 when it paid out $38,000 in the fire in New Bern. The assets of this company amount to $350,000. The latest project to locate in this prolific center of .Negro enterprise is the National Negro Finance Corporation with Dr. Moton as president and Mr. C. C. Spaulding as vice-president. Its purpose is to furnish working capital for individuals, firms and corporations. This corporation hopes by this means to foster the financial and commercial development of Negroes. THE ViEW SCENE 337 It is co-operating with the National Negro Business League. As this enterprise was only begun in 1924, it is too soon to estimate its contribution to the development of the middle class economic outlook among Negroes, but it promises a new era in the development of Negro business enterprise. In interpreting the advent of the new middle class in Negro life, it will be interesting to cast a glance at the educational influences responsible. The men responsible for this phenom¬ enal development in Negro business did not in the majority of instances come up from the uneducated ranks. In the case of Mr. Merrick, we have, it is true, the same story of most Ameri¬ cans who without education have built fortunes in the last century. But Mr. Spaulding was more fortunate. He had a high school education. Probably a more important part of his education for business was his experience as manager of a grocery store. Many have brought the charge against the so-called higher education that it was impractical and did not prepare Negroes for life, for practical success. Yet the pro¬ moters of these concerns were for the most part men who had received education in the schools of higher education. Avery, Pearson, and Moore were all from such schools. A factor that must not be overlooked in considering the preparation of the Negro for economic activities, is that Negroes scarcely ever ' have an opportunity for apprenticeship in business concerns, which is the most valuable form of business education. Con¬ sequently it was necessary for men with a larger education who understood the mechanism of credit to establish such businesses as we are considering. They had acquired the true spirit of the modern promoter and a knowledge of his methods. Young Negroes leaving colleges to-day who would ordinarily enter some business institution and work their way up, go to schools to acquire business technique. When a young Negro says he is going into business, he is usually one who has acquired a college education and intends after a business course to get a managerial position. He has little faith in the acquisition of wealth by thrift and the sweat of his brow. Thus we see the colored middle class growing not out of shopkeepers, < but from men who have a larger outlook. 338 THE O^EW C^EGRO With the establishment of a number of Negro enterprises, however, it will be possible for some to find education by apprenticeship. Even here most of them are men of broad education such as will give them an appreciation and under¬ standing of the business. The Durham businesses have begun their second generation. Mr. Edward Merrick, the son of the most distinguished member of the pioneer group, is the treas¬ urer of the insurance company. He came to the work with a good education and learned the business from the bottom. He entered the business just as the second generation in white businesses enter their fathers’ business. This younger genera¬ tion is building upon the firm foundation of the work of the first generation. They are not dreamers attempting to create Negro business out of nothing. It is well to mention here the recent failure in Atlanta. The attempt to establish big busi¬ ness there began in an enterprise — the Standard Life — that was sound in principle. The failure came when the promoters resorted to the practices of the magician and the schemes of speculators. Although the Atlanta group, especially the young men, did not have the business experience of the Durham group, the failure was not due to the young men with tech¬ nical training but to the older men. These younger men are truly modern business men. They have adopted the technique of modern business and are satu¬ rated with the psychology of the capitalist class. They wonc hard, not because of necessity, but to expand their businesses and invade new fields. They have the same outlook on life as the middle class everywhere. They support the same theories of government and morality. They have little sympathy with waste of time. Their pleasures are the pleasures of the tired business man who does not know how to enjoy life. They are distinguished laymen in the churches. They endow chanties and schools. IVliddle class respectability is their ideal. Above all they want progress. Like modern business men who have one economy for business and one for private consumption, they maintain fine homes and expensive cars. They spend their vacations in the same manner as the whites at Newport. In this account of the rise of the black middle class, we have the scene 339 said nothing of its relation to the white world. The founders of these enterprises grew up with the exploitation of the New South. Had it not been for the bar of color some of them would have been counted among the most conspicuous of the new industrial and commercial classes in the South. They were restricted in the field of their activities. Yet they are as typical of the New South as any white business man. Their outlook is the same. John Merrick in a letter commenting on the Wilmington riots enunciated views on government held by the middle class everywhere. Have the men of the white South recognized these brothers under the skin? Yes. They show respect for their achievements. They have been friendly to their enterprises. This is perhaps due to two causes: namely, the lack to a large extent of the savage race prejudice of the lower South and the absence of serious competition. White men have recognized these men as the supporters of property rights. They know these men would no more vote for Debs than they. Yet, there are still Jim Crow cars in North Caro¬ lina, and the Negro is denied civil and political rights. Durham is promise of a transformed Negro. The Negro has been a strange mixture of the peasant and the gentleman in his outlook on life. Because of the Negro’s love of leisure and sensuous enjoyment, men have called him lazy and immoral. Because he lacks calculation, white folk have called him shift¬ less. But two hundred and fifty years of enforced labor, with no incentive in its just rewards, more than any inherent traits, explain why the Negro has for so long been concerned chiefly with consumption rather than production. Peasant virtues are middle-class faults. And so are the gentleman’s j and the Negro has come by these in curious but inevitable ways. Some he has absorbed from the master-class of the South that he served and knew so intimately ; the rest has come from his artistic nature. The drab way of life that seeks ever to work and pile up wealth and finds its enjoyment in spasmodic intox¬ ications of pleasure has not been the way of the Negro. His desire for color and form has been the cause of mockery. His desire to work for only enough to supply his wants is only the ideal that has motivated economic activities in former ages. 34o THE C^EW U^EGRO Moreover, love of leisure and interest in consumption are aristocratic virtues. But to-day, the Negro has his middle class, and with it his middle-class psychology. More and more cer¬ tain elements of the race are absorbing the typical spirit and push of modern industrialism in America; in the composite portrait of the New Negro must be put the sharp and forceful features of the Negro man of business. Through his effort and success, the Negro is becoming an integral part of the business life of America, and is sharing particularly in the economic development of the New South, which is perhaps the out¬ standing economic consequence of the World War on America. k k GIFT OF THE BLACK TROPICS W. A. Domingo Almost unobserved, America plays her usual role in the meeting, mixing and welding of the colored peoples of the earth. A dusky tribe of destiny seekers, these brown and black and yellow folk, eyes filled with visions of an alien heritage — palm-fringed seashores, murmuring streams, luxuriant hills and vales — have made an epical march from the far corners of the earth to the Port of New York and America. They bring the gift of the black tropics to America and to their kinsmen. With them come vestiges of a quaint folk life, other social traditions, and as for the first time in their lives, colored people of Spanish, French, Dutch, Arabian, Danish, Portu¬ guese, British and native African ancestry meet and move together, there comes into Negro life the stir and leavening that is uniquely American. Despite his inconsiderable num¬ bers, the black foreigner is a considerable factor and figure. It is not merely his picturesqueness that he brings, his lean, sun-burnt features, quaint manners and speech, his tropical incongruities, these as with all folkways rub off in less than a generation — it is his spirit that counts and has counted in the interplay of his life with the native population. According to the census for 1920 there were in the United States 73,803 foreign-born Negroes ; of that number 36,613, or approximately 50 per cent, lived in New York City, 28,184 of them in the Borough of Manhattan. They formed slightly less than 20 per cent of the total Negro population of New York. Here they have their first contact with each other, with large numbers of American Negroes, and with the American brand of race prejudice. Divided by tradition, culture, historical back¬ ground and group perspective, these diverse peoples are grad¬ ually hammered into a loose unit by the impersonal force of 341 342 THE E^EW WiEGRO congested residential segregation. Unlike others of the for¬ eign-born, black immigrants find it impossible to segregate themselves into colonies 5 too dark of complexion to pose as Cubans or some other Negroid but alien-tongued foreigners, they are inevitably swallowed up in black Harlem. Their situation requires an adjustment unlike that of any other class of the immigrant population; and but for the assistance of their kinsfolk they would be capsized almost on the very shores of their haven. From 1920 to 1923 the foreign-born Negro population of the United States was increased nearly 40 per cent through the entry of 30,849 Africans (black). In 1921 the high-water mark of 9,873 was registered. This increase was not perma¬ nent, for in 1923 there was an exit of 1,525 against an entry of 7,554. If the 20 per cent that left that year is an index of the proportion leaving annually, it is safe to estimate a net increase of about 24,000 between 1920 and 1923. If the newcomers are distributed throughout the country in the same proportion as their predecessors, the present foreign-born Negro population of Harlem is about 35,000. These people are, therefore, a formidable minority whose presence cannot be ignored or discounted. It is this large body of foreign-born who contribute those qualities that make New York so unlike Pittsburgh, Washington, Chicago and other cities with large aggregations of American Negroes. The largest number come from the British West Indies and are attracted to America mainly by economic reasons: though considerable numbers of the younger generation come for the purposes of education. The next largest group consists of Spanish-speaking Negroes from Latin America. Distinct because of their language, and sufficiently numerous to main¬ tain themselves as a cultural unit, the Spanish element has but little contact with the English-speaking majority. For the most part they keep to themselves and follow in the main certain definite occupational lines. A smaller group, French- speaking, have emigrated from Haiti and the French West Indies. There are also a few Africans, a batch of voluntary pilgrims over the old track of the slave-traders. From the Tropic Isles THE O^EW SCENE 343 Among the English-speaking West Indian population of Harlem are some 8,000 natives of the American Virgin Islands. A considerable part of these people were forced to migrate to the mainland as a consequence of the operation of the Volstead Act which destroyed the lucrative rum industry and helped to reduce the number of foreign vessels that used to call at the former free port of Charlotte Amelia for various stores. Despite their long Danish connection these people are culturally and linguistically English, rather than Danish. Un¬ like the British Negroes in New York, the Virgin Islanders . take an intelligent and aggressive interest in the affairs of their former home, and are organized to co-operate with their broth¬ ers there who are valiantly struggling to substitute civil govern¬ ment for the present naval administration of the islands. To the average American Negro, all English-speaking black foreigners are West Indians, and by that is usually meant British subjects. There is a general assumption that there is everything in common among West Indians, though nothing can be further from the truth. West Indians regard them¬ selves as Antiguans or Jamaicans as the case might be, and a glance at the map will quickly reveal the physical obstacles that militate against homogeneity of population 5 separations of many sorts, geographical, political and cultural tend every¬ where to make and crystallize local characteristics. This undiscriminating attitude on the part of native Negroes, * as well as the friction generated from contact between the two groups, has created an artificial and defensive unity among the islanders which reveals itself in an instinctive closing of their i ranks when attacked by outsiders j but among themselves or- I gamzation along insular lines is the general rule. Their social ' grouping, however, does not follow insular precedents. Social gradation is determined in the islands by family connections, 3 education, wealth and position. As each island is a complete society in itself, Negroes occupy from the lowliest to the most exalted positions. The barrier separating the colored aristo- ji crat from the laboring class of the same color is as difficult to surmount as a similar barrier between Englishmen. Most of the islanders in New York are from the middle, artisan and 344 ?HE KZW O^EGRO laboring classes. Arriving in a country whose every influence is calculated to democratize their race and destroy the distinc¬ tions they had been accustomed to, even those West Indians whose stations in life have been of the lowest soon lose what¬ ever servility they brought with them. In its place they sub¬ stitute all of the self-assertiveness of the classes they formerly paid deference to. West Indians have been coming to the United States for over a century. The part they have played in Negro progress is conceded to be important. As early as 1827 a Jamaican, John Brown Russwurm, one of the founders of Liberia, was the first colored man to be graduated from an American college and to publish a newspaper in this country ; sixteen years later his fellow countryman, Peter Ogden, organized in New York City the first Odd-Fellows Lodge for Negroes. Prior to the Civil War, West Indian contribution to American Negro life was so great that Dr. W. E. B. DuBois, in his Souls of Bluck Folk , credits them with main responsibility for the manhood program presented by the race in the early decades of the last century. Indicative of their tendency to blaze new paths is the achievement of John W. A. Shaw of Antigua who, in the early ?90?s of the last century, passed the civil service tests and became deputy commissioner of taxes for the County of Queens. It is probably not realized, indeed, to what extent West Indian Negroes have contributed to the wealth, power and prestige of the United States. Major-General Goethals, chief engineer and builder of the Panama Canal, has testified in glowing language to the fact that when all other labor was tried and failed it was the black men of the Caribbean whose intelligence, skill, muscle and endurance made the union of the Pacific and the Atlantic a reality. Coming to the United States from countries in which they had experienced no legalized social or occupational disabilities, West Indians very naturally have found it difficult to adapt themselves to the tasks that are, by custom, reserved for Ne¬ groes in the North. Skilled at various trades and having a a — • contempt for body service and menial work, many of the 1m- THE ViEW SCENE 345 migrants apply for positions that the average American Negro has been schooled to regard as restricted to white men only, with the result that through their persistence and doggedness in fighting white labor, West Indians have in many cases been pioneers and shock troops to open a way for Negroes into new fields of employment. This freedom from spiritual inertia characterizes the women no less than the men, for it is largely through them that the occupational field has been broadened for colored women in New York. By their determination, sometimes reinforced by a dexterous use of their hatpins, these women have made it possible for members of their race to enter the needle trades freely. It is safe to say that West Indian representation in the skilled trades is relatively large ; this is also true of the professions, especially medicine and dentistry. Like the Jew, they are forever launching out in business, and such retail businesses as are in the hands of Negroes in Harlem are largely in the control of the foreign-born. While American Negroes pre¬ dominate in forms of business like barber shops and pool rooms in which there is no competition from white men, West In¬ dians turn their efforts almost invariably to fields like grocery stores, tailor shops, jewelry stores and fruit vending in which they meet the fiercest kind of competition. In some of these fields they are the pioneers or the only surviving competitors of white business concerns. In more ambitious business enter¬ prises like real estate and insurance they are relatively numer¬ ous. The only Casino and moving picture theatre operated by Negroes in Harlem is in the hands of a native of one of the small islands. On Seventh Avenue a West Indian woman conducts a millinery store that would be a credit to Fifth Avenue. The analogy between the West Indian and the Jew may be carried farther $ they are both ambitious, eager for education, willing to engage in business, argumentative, aggressive and possessed of great proselytizing zeal for any cause they espouse. West Indians are great contenders for their rights and because of their respect for law are inclined to be litigious. In addition, 346 THE 2(EW J(EGRO they are, as a whole, home-loving, hard-working and frugal. Like their English exemplars they are fond of sport, lack a sense of humor (yet the greatest black comedian of America, Bert Williams, was from the Bahamas) and are very serious and intense in their attitude toward life. They save their earnings and are mindful of their folk in the homeland, as the volume of business of the Money Order and Postal Savings Departments of College Station Post Office will attest. Ten years ago it was possible to distinguish the West Indian in Harlem, especially during the summer months. Accustomed to wearing cool, light-colored garments in the tropics, he would stroll along Lenox Avenue on a hot day resplendent in white shoes and flannel pants, the butt of many a jest from his American brothers who, to-day, have adopted the styles that they formerly derided. This trait of non-conformity manifested by the foreign-born has irritated American Negroes, who resent the implied self-sufficiency, and as a result there is a considerable amount of prejudice against West Indians. It is claimed that they are proud and arrogant ; that they think themselves superior to the natives. And although educated Negroes of New York are loudest in publicly decrying the hostility between the two groups, it is nevertheless true that feelings against West Indians is strongest among members of that class. This is explainable on the ground of professional jealousy and competition for leadership. As the islanders press forward and upward they meet the same kind of opposition from the native Negro that the Jew and other ambitious white aliens receive from white Americans. Naturalized West In¬ dians have found from experience that American Negroes are reluctant to concede them the right to political leadership even when qualified intellectually. Unlike their American brothers, the islanders are free from those traditions that bind them to any party and, as a consequence, are independent to the point of being radical. Indeed, it is they who largely compose the few political and economic radicals in Harlem ; without them the genuinely radical movement among New York Negroes would be unworthy of attention. There is a diametrical difference between American and THE (EW SCENE 347 West Indian Negroes in their worship. While large sections of the former are inclined to indulge in displays of emotion¬ alism that border on hysteria, the latter, in their Wesleyan Methodist and Baptist churches maintain in the face of the assumption that people from the tropics are necessarily emo¬ tional, all the punctilious emotional restraint characteristic of their English background. In religious radicalism the foreign- born are again pioneers and propagandists. The only modernist church among the thousands of Negroes in New York (and perhaps the country) is led by a West Indian, Rev. E. Ethelred Brown, an ordained Unitarian minister, and is largely sup¬ ported by his fellow islanders. In facing the problem of race prejudice, foreign-born Ne¬ groes, and West Indians in particular, are forced to undergo considerable adjustment. Forming a racial majority in their own countries and not being accustomed to discrimination ex¬ pressly felt as racial, they rebel against the “color line” as they find it in America. For while color and caste lines tend to converge in the islands, it is nevertheless true that because of the ratio of population, historical background and traditions of rebellions before and since their emancipation, West Indians of color do not have their activities, social, occupational and otherwise, determined by their race. Color plays a part but it is not the prime determinant of advancement ; hence, the deep feeling of resentment when the “color line,” legal or customary, is met and found to be a barrier to individual progress. For this reason the West Indian has thrown him¬ self whole-heartedly into the fight against lynching, discrimi¬ nation and the other disabilities from which Negroes in America suffer. It must be remembered that the foreign-born black men and women, more so even than other groups of immigrants, are the hardiest and most venturesome of their folk. They were dissatisfied at home, and it is to be expected that they would not be altogether satisfied with limitation of opportunity here when they have staked so much to gain enlargement of oppor¬ tunity. They do not suffer from the local anesthesia of custom 348 THE EiEW EiEGRO and pride which makes otherwise intolerable situations bearable for the home-staying majorities. Just as the West Indian has been a sort of leaven in the American loaf, so the American Negro is beginning to play a reciprocal role in the life of the foreign Negro communities, as for instance, the recent championing of the rights of Haiti and Liberia and the Virgin Islands, as well as the growing resentment at the treatment of natives in the African colonial dependencies. This world-wide reaction of the darker races to their common as well as local grievances is one of the most significant facts of recent development. Exchange of views and sympathy, extension and co-operation of race organizations beyond American boundaries, principally in terms of economic and educational projects, but also to a limited extent in political affairs, are bound to develop on a considerable scale in the near future. Formerly, ties have been almost solely through the medium of church missionary enterprises. It has been asserted that the movement headed by the most- advertised of all West Indians, Marcus Garvey, absentee “pres¬ ident” of the continent of Africa, represents the attempt of West Indian peasants to solve the American race problem. This is no more true than it would be to say that the editorial attitude of The Crisis during the war reflected the spirit of American Negroes respecting their grievances or that the late Booker T. Washington successfully delimited the educational aspirations of his people. The support given Garvey by a cer¬ tain type of his countrymen is partly explained by their group reaction to attacks made upon him because of his nationality. On the other hand, the earliest and most persistent exposures of Garvey’s multitudinous schemes were initiated by West In¬ dians in New York like Cyril Briggs and the writer. Prejudice against West Indians is in direct ratio to their number j hence its strength in New York where they are heavily concentrated. It is not unlike the hostility between Englishmen and Americans of the same racial stock. It is to be expected that the feeling will always be more or less present between the immigrant and the native born. However it does not extend to the children of the two groups, as they are subject to THE V^EW SCENE 349 the same environment and develop identity of speech and psychology. Then, too, there has been an appreciable amount of intermarriage, especially between foreign-born men and native women. Not to be ignored is the fact that congestion in Harlem has forced both groups to be less discriminating in accepting lodgers, thus making for reconciling contacts. The outstanding contribution of West Indians to American Negro life is the insistent assertion of their manhood in an environment that demands too much servility and unprotesting acquiescence from men of African blood. This unwillingness to conform and be standardized, to accept tamely an inferior status and abdicate their humanity, finds an open expression in the activities of the foreign-born Negro in America. Their dominant characteristic is that of blazing new paths, breaking the bonds that would fetter the feet of a virile people a spirit eloquently expressed in the defiant lines of the Jamaican poet, Claude McKay: Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack, Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back. THE NEGRO AND THE AMERICAN TRADITION THE NEGRO’S AMERICANISM Melville J. Herskovits Glimpses of the whirring cycle of life in Harlem leave the visitor bewildered at its complexity. There is constantly be¬ fore one the tempting invitation to compare and contrast the life there with that of other communities one has had the opportunity of observing. Should I not find there, if any¬ where, the anomalous cultural position of the Negro, of which I had heard so much? Should I not be able to discover there his ability, of which we are so often told, to produce unique cultural traits, which might be added to the prevailing white culture, and, as well, to note his equally well-advertised in¬ ability to grasp the complex civilization of which he constitutes a part? And so I went, and what I found was churches and schools, club houses and lodge meeting-places, the library and the newspaper offices and the Y. M. C. A. and busy One Hundred and Thirty-fifth Street and the hospitals and the social service agencies. I met persons who were lawyers and doctors and editors and writers, who were chauffeurs and peddlers and longshoremen and real estate brokers and capitalists, teachers and nurses and students and waiters and cooks. And all Ne¬ groes. Cabarets and theaters, drug stores and restaurants just like those everywhere else. And finally, after a time, it oc¬ curred to me that what I was seeing was a community just like any other American community. The same pattern, only a different shade! Where, then, is the “peculiar” community of which I had heard so much? To what extent, if any, has the Negro genius developed a culture peculiar to it in America? I did not find it in the great teeming center of Negro life in Harlem, where, if anywhere, it should be found. May it not then be true 354 THE D^EW CN^E G R O that the Negro has become acculturated to the prevailing white culture and has developed the patterns of culture typical of American life? Let us first view the matter historically. In the days after the liberation of the Negroes from slavery, what was more natural than that they should strive to maintain, as nearly &s possible, the standards set up by those whom they had been taught to look up to as arbiters— the white group? .And we see, on their part, a strong conscious effort to do just this. They went into business and tried to make money as their white fellows did. They already had adopted the white forms of religious faith and practice, and now they began to borrow other types of organization. Schools sprang up in which they might learn, not the language and technique of their African ancestors, but that of this country, where they lived. The “respected” members of the community were those who lived upright lives such as the “respected” whites lived — they paid their debts, they walked in the paths of sexual morality accord¬ ing to the general pattern of the prevailing Puritanical culture, and they went to church as was right and proper in every American town. The matter went so far that they attempted to alter their hair to conform to the general style, and the for¬ tunes made by those who sold hair-straightening devices and medicines are a matter of record. In Harlem we have to-day, essentially, a typical American community. You may look at the Negroes on the street. As to dress and deportment, do you find any vast difference be¬ tween them and the whites among whom they carry on their lives? Notice them as they go about their work— they do almost all of the things the whites do, and in much the same way. The popular newspapers in Harlem are not the Negro papers — there is even no Negro daily — but the city newspapers which everyone reads. And there is the same gossipy reason why the Harlemites read their own weeklies as that which causes the inhabitants of Chelsea, of the Bronx, of Putnam, Connecticut, or of West Liberty,. Ohio, to read theirs. When we come to the student groups in Harlem, we find that the same process occurs — the general culture-pattern has taken THE C^EGRO *AND AMERICAN TRADITION 355 them horse, foot and artillery. Do the whites organize Greek- letter fraternities and sororities in colleges, with pearl-studded pins and “houses”? You will find a number of Negro fra¬ ternities and sororities with just the same kind of insignia and “houses.” Negro community centres are attached to the more prosperous churches just as the same sort of institutions are connected with white churches. And they do the same sort of things there j you can see swimming and gymnasium classes and sewing classes and nutrition talks and open forums and all the rest of it that we all know so well. When I visit the Business Men’s Association, the difference between this gathering and that of any Rotary Club is imper¬ ceptible. And on the other end of the economic scale that equally applies to Negro and white, and which prevails all over the country, we find the Socialist and labor groups. True, once in a while an element peculiarly Negro does mani¬ fest itself ; thus I remember vividly the bitter complaints of one group of motion picture operators at the prejudices which prevent them from enjoying the benefits of the white union. And, of course, you will meet with this sort of thing whenever the stream of Negro life conflicts with the more general pat¬ tern of the “color line.” But even here I noticed that the form of the organization of these men was that assumed by their white fellow-workers, and similarly when I attended a Socialist street-meeting in Harlem, I found that the general economic motif comes in for much more attention that the problems which are of interest to the Negro per se. Perhaps the most striking example of complete acceptance of the general pattern is in the field of sex relations. I shall never forget the storm of indignation which I aroused among a group of Negro men and women with whom I chanced to be talking on one occasion, when, a propos of the question of the treatment of the Negro woman in literature, I inadver¬ tently remarked that even if the sexual looseness generally attributed to her were true, it was nothing of which to be essentially ashamed, since such a refusal to accept the Puri¬ tanical modes of procedure generally considered right and proper might contribute a welcome leaven to the convention- 356 THE EiEW R(EGRO ality of current sex mores. The reaction, prompt and violent, was such as to show with tremendous clarity the complete ac¬ culturation of these men and women to the accepted standards of sex behavior. There was not even a shade of doubt but that sexual rigidity is the ultimate ideal of relations between men and women, and certainly there was no more indication of a leaning toward the customs to be found in ancestral Africa than would be found among a group of whites. Or, let us consider the position of the Negro intellectuals, the writers and artists. The proudest boast of the modern young Negro writer is that he writes of humans, not of Negroes. His literary ideals are not the African folk-tale and conundrum, but the vivid expressionistic style of the day he seeks to be a writer, not a Negro writer. It was this point, indeed, which was especially stressed at a dinner recently given in New York City for a group of young Negro writers on the occasion of the publication of a novel by one of their number. Memoer after member of the group stated this position as his own — not Negro as such, but human — another striking example of the process of acculturation. The problem then may be presented with greater clarity. Does not the Negro have a mode of life that is essentially sim ilar to that of the general community of which he is a part? Or can it be maintained that he possesses a distinctive, inborn cultural genius which manifests itself even in America? To answer this, we must answer an even more basic question : what is cultural genius? For the Negro came to America endowed, as all people are endowed, with a culture, which had been developed by him through long ages in Africa. Was it innate? Or has it been sloughed off, forgotten, in the generations since he was brought into our culture? To understand the problem with which we are presented, it may be well to consider what this thing, culture, is, and the extent to which we can say that it falls into patterns. By the word culture I do not mean the refinements of our particular civilization which the word has come to connote, but simply those elements of the environment which are the handiwork of man himself. Thus, among ourselves, we might consider THE !?(EGRO zAND AMERICAN TRADITION 357 a spinning machine, or the democratic theory of society, or a fork, or the alphabet as much a cultural fact as a symphonic tone-poem, a novel, or an oil painting. We may best come to an understanding of culture through a consideration of some of the phases of primitive life, where the forces at work are not overshadowed by the great impon¬ derable fact of dense masses of population. As we look over the world, we see that there is no group of men, however simply they may live their lives, without the thing we call culture. And, what is more important, the culture thev pos¬ sess as the result of their own historical background — is an adult affair, developed through long centuries of trial and error, and something constantly changing. Man, it has been said, is a culture-building animal. And he is nowhere without the particular culture which his group have built. It is true that the kinds of culture which he builds are bewilderingly different — to compare the civilization of the Eskimo, the Aus¬ tralian, the Chinese, the African, and of ourselves leaves the student with a keener sense of their differences, both as to form and complexity, rather than with any feeling of resem¬ blances among them. But one thing they do have in common: the cultures, when viewed from the outside, are stable. In their main elements they go along much as they always have gone, unless some great historical accident (like the discovery of the steam engine in our culture or the intrusion of the West¬ ern culture on that of the Japanese or the transplanting of Negro slaves from Africa to America) occurs to upset the trend and to direct the development of the culture along new paths. To the persons within the cultures, however, they seem even more than just stable. They seem fixed, rigid, all-enduring — indeed, they are so taken for granted that, until comparatively recent times, they were never studied at all. But what is it that makes cultures different? There are those, of course, who will maintain that it is the racial factor. They will say that the bewildering differences between the cultures of the Englishman, the Chinaman, the Bantu and the Maya, for example, are the result of differences in innate racial endowment, and that every race has evolved a culture 358 THE U^EW TiEGRO peculiarly fitted to it. All this sounds very convincing until one tries to define the term “race.” Certain anthropologists are trying, even now, to discover criteria which will scientifically define the term “Negro.” One of the most distinguished of these, Professor T. Wingate Todd, has been working steadily for some years in the attempt, and the net results are certain hypotheses which he himself calls tentative. The efforts of numerous psychological testers to establish racial norms for intelligence are vitiated by the two facts that first, as many of them will admit, it is doubtful just what it is they are testing, and, in the second place, that races are mixed. This is par¬ ticularly true in the case of the Negroes 3 in New York City, less than two percent of the group from whom I obtained genealogical material claimed pure Negro ancestry, and while this percentage is undoubtedly low, the fact remains that the vast majority of Negroes in America are of mixed ancestry. If ability to successfully live in one culture were restricted to persons of one race, how could we account for the fact that we see persons of the most diverse races living together, for example, in this country, quite as though they were naturally endowed with the ability to meet the problems of living here, while again we witness an entire alien people adopting our civilization, to use the Japanese again for illustration? Our civilization is what it is because of certain historic events which occurred in the course of its development. So we can also say for the civilization of the African, of the Eskimo, of the Australian. And the people who lived in these civiliza¬ tions like ourselves, view the things they do — as a result of living in them — not as inbred, but as inborn. To the Negro in Africa, it would be incomprehensible for a man to work at a machine all day for a few bits of paper to be given him at the end of his work-day, and in the same way, the white trav¬ eller stigmatizes the African as lazy because he will not see the necessity for entering on a gruelling forced march so as to reach a certain point in a given time. And when we turn to our civilization, we find that it has many culture-patterns, as we may term these methods of behavior. They are ingrained in us through long habituation, and their violation evokes a THE J^EGRO zAND AMERICAN TRADITION 359 strong emotional response in us, no matter what our racial background. Thus for a person to eat with a knife in place of a fork, or to go about the streets hatless, or for a woman to wear short dresses when long ones are in fashion, are all violations of the patterns we have been brought up to feel right and proper, and we react violently to them. More seri¬ ous, for a young man not to “settle down” and make as much money as he can is regarded as bordering on the immoral, while, in the regime of sex the rigid patterns have been re¬ marked upon, as has been the unmitigated condemnation which the breaking of these taboos calls forth. The examples which I have given above of the reaction of the Negro to the general cultural patterns of this country might be multiplied to include almost as many social facts as are observable, and yet, wherever we might go, we would find the Negro reacting to the same situations in much the same fashion as his white brother. What, then, is the particular Negro genius for culture? Is there such a thing? Does he contribute something of his vivid, and yet at the same time softly gracious personality to the general culture in which he lives? What there is to-day in Harlem distinct from the white culture which surrounds it, is, as far as I am able to see, merely a remnant from the peas¬ ant days in the South. Of the African culture, not a trace. Even the spirituals are an expression of the emotion of the Negro playing through the typical religious patterns of white America. But from that emotional quality in the Negro, which is to be sensed rather than measured, comes the feeling that, though strongly acculturated to the prevalent pattern of behavior, the Negroes may, at the same time, influence it somewhat eventually through the appeal of that quality. That they have absorbed the culture of America is too obvious, almost, to be mentioned. They have absorbed it as all great racial and social groups in this country have absorbed it. And they face much the same problems as these groups face. The social ostracism to which they are subjected is only different in extent from that to which the Jew is subjected. The fierce reaction of race-pride is quite the same in both groups. But, whether in Negro or in Jew, the protest avails 360 THE V(EW O^EGRO nothing, apparently. All racial and social elements in our population who live here long enough become acculturated, Americanized in the truest sense of the word, eventually. They learn our culture and react according to its patterns, against which all the protestations of the possession of, or of hot de¬ sire for, a peculiar culture mean nothing. As we turn to Harlem we see its social and economic and political make-up a* part of the larger whole of the city — separate from it, it is true, but still essentially not different from any other American community in which the modes of life and of action are determined by the great dicta of “what is done.” In other words, it represents, as do all American communities which it resembles, a case of complete accultura¬ tion. And so, I return again to my reaction on first seeing this center of Negro activity, as the complete description of it: “Why, it’s the same pattern, only a different shade!” & THE PARADOX OF COLOR Walter White The hushed tenseness within the theater was broken only by the excited chattering between the scenes which served as oases of relief. One reassured himself by touching his neigh¬ bor or gripping the edge of the bench as a magnificently pro¬ portioned Negro on the tiny Provincetown Theatre stage, with a voice of marvellous power and with a finished artistry enacted Eugene O’Neill’s epic of human terror, The Emperor Jones. For years I had nourished the conceit that nothing in or of the theater could thrill me — I was sure my years of theater-going had made me immune to the tricks and the trappings which managers and actors use to get their tears and smiles and laughs. A few seasons ago my shell of conceit was cracked a little — in that third act of Karel Capek’s R. U. R. when Rossum’s automatons swarmed over the parapet to wipe out the last human being. But the chills that chased each other up and down my spine then were only pleasurable tingles compared to the sympathetic terror evoked by Paul Robeson as he fled blindly through the impenetrable forest of the “West Indian island not yet self-determined by white marines.” Nor was I alone. When, after remaining in darkness from the second through the eighth and final scene, the house was flooded with light, a concerted sigh of relief welled up from all over the theater. With real joy we heard the reassuring roar of taxicabs and muffled street noises of Greenwich Village and knew we were safe in New York. Wave after wave of applause, almost hysterical with relief, brought Paul Robeson time and time again before the curtain to receive the acclaim his art had merited. Almost shyly he bowed again and again as the storm of handclapping and bravos surged and broke upon the tiny stage. His color — his race — all, all were for¬ gotten by those he had stirred so deeply with his art. 361 362 THE D^EW V^EGRO Outside in narrow, noisy Macdougal Street the four of us stood. Mrs. Robeson, alert, intelligent, merry, an expert chemist for years in one of New York’s leading hospitals ; Paul Robeson, clad now in conventional tweeds in place of the ornate, gold-laced trappings of the Emperor Jones; my wife and I. We wanted supper and a place to talk. All about us blinked invitingly the lights of restaurants and inns of New York’s Bohemia. Place after place was suggested and dis¬ carded. Here a colored man and his companion had been made to wait interminably until, disgusted, they had left. There a party of four colored people, all university graduates, had been told flatly by the proprietress, late of North Carolina, she did not serve “niggers.” At another, other colored people had been stared at so rudely they had bolted their food and left in confusion. The Civil Rights Act of New York would have protected us — but we were too much under the spell of the theater we had just quitted to want to insist on the rights the law gave us. So we mounted a bus and rode seven miles or more to colored Harlem where we could be served with food without fear of insult or contumely. The man whose art had brought homage to his feet from sophisticated New York could not enter even the cheapest of the eating places of lower New York with the assurance that some unpleasantness might not come to him before he left. What does race prejudice do to the inner man of him who is the victim of that prejudice? What is the feeling within the breasts of the Paul Robesons, the Roland Hayes’s, the Harry Burleighs, as they listen to the applause of those whose kind receive them as artists but refuse to accept them as men? It is of this inner conflict of the black man in America — or, more specifically in New York City, I shall try to speak. I approach my task with reluctance — it is no easy matter to picture that effect which race or color prejudice has on the Negro of fineness of soul who is its victim. Of wounds to the flesh it is easy to speak. It is not difficult to tell of lynchings and injustices and race proscription. Of wounds to the spirit which are a thousand times more deadly and cruel it is im¬ possible to tell in entirety. On the one hand lies the Scylla THE C^EGRO HND * AMERICAN TRADITION 363 of bathos and on the other the Charybdis of insensivity to subtler shadings of the spirit. If I can evoke in your mind a picture of what results proscription has brought, I am content. With its population made up of peoples from every corner of the earth, New York City is, without doubt, more free from ordinary manifestations of prejudice than any other city in the United States. Its Jewish, Italian, German, French, Greek, Czecho-Slovakian, Irish, Hungarian quarters with their teeming thousands and hundreds of thousands form so great a per¬ centage of the city’s population that “white, Gentile, Protes¬ tant” Nordics have but little opportunity to develop their prejudices as they do, for example, in Mississippi or the District of Columbia. It was no idle joke when some forgotten wit remarked, “The Jews own New York, the Irish run it and the Negroes enjoy it.” New York’s polyglot population, which causes such distress to the Lothrop Stoddards and the Madison Grants, by a curi¬ ous anomaly, has created more nearly than any other section that democracy which is the proud boast but rarely practised accomplishment of these United States. The Ku Klux Klan has made but little headway in New York City for the very simple reason that the proscribed outnumber the proscribers. Thus race prejudice cannot work its will upon Jew or Catholic — or Negro, as in other more genuinely American centers. This combined with the fact that most people in New York are so busy they haven’t time to spend in hating other people, makes New York as nearly ideal a place for colored people as exists in America. Despite these alleviating causes, however, New T ork is in the United States where prejudice appears to be indigenous. Its population includes many Southern whites who have brought North with them their hatreds. There are here many whites who are not Southern but whose minds have indelibly fixed upon them the stereotype of a Negro who is either a buffoon or a degenerate beast or a subservient lackey. From these the Negro knows he is ever in danger of insult or injury. This situation creates various attitudes of mind among those who are its victims. Upon most the acquisition of education 364 THE 3\ CEW E^EGRO and culture, of wealth and sensitiveness causes a figurative and literal withdrawal, as far as is humanly possible or as necessity permits, from all contacts with the outside world where un¬ pleasant situations may arise. This naturally means the. de¬ velopment of an intensive Negro culture and a definitely bounded city within a city. Doubtless there are some advan¬ tages, but it is certain that such voluntary segregation works a greater loss upon those within and those without the circle. Upon those within, it cuts off to a large extent the world of music, of the theater, of most of those contacts which mean growth and development and which denied, mean stagnation and spiritual atrophy. It develops as well a tendency towards self-pity, towards a fatal conviction that they of all peoples are most oppressed. The harmful effects of such reactions are too obvious to need elaboration. Upon those without, the results are equally mischievous. First there is the loss of that deep spirituality, that gift of song and art, that indefinable thing which perhaps can best be termed the over-soul of the Negro, which has given America the only genuinely artistic things which the world recognizes as distinctive American contributions to the arts. More conventional notions as Thomas Dixon and Octavus Roy Cohen and Irvin Cobb have falsely painted them, of what the Negro is and does and thinks continue to persist, while those who represent more truly the real Negro avoid all contact with other races. There are, however, many other ways of avoidance of pro¬ scription and prejudice. Of these one of.no small importance is that popularly known as “passing,” that is, those whose skin is of such color that they can pass as white may do so. This is not difficult; there are so many swarthy races represented in New York’s population that even colored people who could easily be distinguished by their own race as Negroes, pass as French or Spanish or Cuban with ease. Of these there are two classes. First are those who for various reasons disappear entirely and go over the line to become white in business, social and all other relationships. The number of these is very large much larger than is commonly suspected. To my personal THE !\EGRO zAND AMERICAN TRADITION 365 knowledge one of the prominent surgeons of New York City who has an elaborately furnished suite of offices in an exclusive neighborhood, whose fees run often into four figures, who moves with his family in society of such standing that the names of its members appear frequently in the society columns of the metropolitan press, is a colored man from a Southern city. There he grew tired of the proscribed life he was forced to lead, decided to move North and forget he was a colored man. He met with success, married well and he and his wife and their children form as happy a family circle as one could hope to see. O’Neill All Godls Chillun Got Wings to the contrary, his wife loves him but the more for his courage in telling her of his race when first they met and loved. This doctor’s case is not an exception. Colored people know many of their own who have done likewise. In New York there is at least one man high in the field of journalism, a certain famous singer, several prominent figures of the stage, in fact, in almost any field that could be mentioned there are those who are colored but who have left their race for wider opportunity and for freedom from race prejudice. Just a few days before this article is being written I received a note from a woman whose name is far from being obscure in the world of the arts. The night before, she wrote me, there had been a party at her studio. Among the guests were three Southern whites who, in a confidential mood, had told her of a plan the Ku Klux Klan was devising for capitalizing in New York prejudice against the Negro. When I asked her why she had given me the information she told me her father, resident at the time of her birth in a Southern state, was a Negro. The other group is made up of the many others who “pass” only occasionally. Some of these do so for business reasons, others when they go out to dine or to the theater. If a personal reference may be forgiven, I have had the unique experience within the past seven years of investigating some thirty-seven lynchings and eight race riots by the simple method of not telling those whom I was investigating of the Negro blood within my veins. Large as is the number of those who have crossed the line. 366 THE D^EW ViEGRO they form but a small percentage of those who might follow such an example but who do not. The constant hammering of three hundred years of oppression has resulted in a race con¬ sciousness among the Negroes of the United States which is amazing to those who know how powerful it is. In America, as is well known, all persons with any discernible percentage of Negro blood are classed as Negroes, subject therefore to all of the manifestations of prejudice. They are never allowed to forget their race. By prejudice ranging from the more violent forms like lynching and other forms of physical violence down to more subtle but none the less effective methods, Negroes of the United States have been welded into a homogeneity of thought and a commonness of purpose in combating a common foe. These external and internal forces have gradually cre¬ ated a state of mind among Negroes which is rapidly becom¬ ing more pronounced where they realize that just so long as one Negro can be made the victim of prejudice because he is a Negro, no other Negro is safe from that same oppression. This applies geographically, as is seen in the support given by colored people in cities like Boston, New \ ork and Chicago to those who oppose lynching of Negroes in the South, and it applies to that large element of colored people whose skins are lighter wTho realize that their cause is common with that of all Negroes regardless of color. Unfortunately, however, color prejudice creates certain attitudes of mind on the part of some colored people which form color lines within the color line. Living in an atmos¬ phere where swarthiness of skin brings, almost automatically, denial of opportunity, it is as inevitable as it is regrettable that there should grow up among Negroes themselves distinctions based on skin color and hair texture. There are many places where this pernicious custom is more powerful than in New York — for example, there are cities where only mulattoes at¬ tend certain churches while those whose skins are dark brown or black attend others. Marriages between colored men and women whose skins differ markedly in color, and indeed, less intimate relations are frowned upon. Since those of lighter color could more often secure the better jobs an even wider THE C^EGRO zAND .AMERICAN TRADITION 367 chasm has come between them, as those with economic and cultural opportunity have progressed more rapidly than those whose skin denied them opportunity. Thus even among intelligent Negroes there has come into being the fallacious belief that black Negroes are less able to achieve success. Naturally such a condition had led to jealousy and suspicion on the part of darker Negroes, chafing at their bonds and resentful of the patronizing attitude of those of lighter color. In New York City this feeling between black and mulatto has been accentuated by the presence of some 40,000 Negroes from the West Indies, and particularly by the propaganda of Marcus Garvey and his Universal Negro Improvement Asso¬ ciation. In contrast to the division between white and colored peoples in the United States, there is in the West Indies, as has been pointed out by Josiah Royce and others, a tri-partite problem of race relations with whites, blacks and mulattoes. The latter mingle freely with whites in business and other relations and even socially. But neither white nor mulatto has any extensive contact on an equal plane with the blacks. It is this system which has enabled the English whites in the islands to rule and exploit though they as rulers are vastly inferior numerically to blacks and mulattoes. The psychology thus created is visible among many of the West Indian Negroes in New York. It was the same back¬ ground of the English brand of race prejudice which actuated Garvey in preaching that only those who were of unmixed Negro blood were Negroes. It is true beyond doubt that such a doctrine created for a time greater antagonisms among col¬ ored people, but an inevitable reaction has set in which, in time, will probably bring about a greater unity than before among Negroes in the United States. We have therefore in Harlem this strange mixture of re¬ actions not only to prejudice from without but to equally potent prejudices from within. Many are the comedies and many are the tragedies which these artificial lines of demarcation have created. Yet with all these forces and counter forces at work, there can be seen emerging some definite and hopeful 368 THE CNiEW ^ EGRO signs of racial unity. Though it hearkens back to the middle ages, this is essential in the creation of a united front against that race and color prejudice with which the Negro, educated or illiterate, rich or poor, native or foreign-born, mulatto, octoroon, quadroon, or black, must strive continuously. THE TASK OF NEGRO WOMANHOOD Elise Johnson McDougald Throughout the years of history, woman has been the weather-vane, the indicator, showing in which direction the wind of destiny blows. Her status and development have augured now calm and stability, now swift currents of prog¬ ress. What then is to be said of the Negro woman of to-day, whose problems are of such import to her race? A study of her contributions to any one community, through¬ out America, would illuminate the pathway being trod by her people. There is, however, an advantage in focusing upon the women of Harlem — modern city in the world’s metropolis. Here, more than anywhere else, the Negro woman is free from the cruder handicaps of primitive household hardships and the grosser forms of sex and race subjugation. Here, she has considerable opportunity to measure her powers in the intellectual and industrial fields of the great city. The ques¬ tions naturally arise: “What are her difficulties?” and, “How is she solving them?” To answer these questions, one must have in mind not any one Negro woman, but rather a colorful pageant of individu¬ als, each differently endowed. Like the red and yellow of the tiger-lily, the skin of one is brilliant against the star-lit dark¬ ness of a racial sister. From grace to strength, they vary in infinite degree, with traces of the race’s history left in physical and mental outline on each. With a discerning mind, one catches the multiform charm, beauty and character of Negro women, and grasps the fact that their problems cannot be thought of in mass. Because only a few have caught this vision, even in New York, the general attitude of mind causes the Negro woman serious difficulty. She is conscious that what is left of chivalry is not directed toward her. She realizes that the ideals of 369 37o THE V^EW R^EGRO beauty, built up in the fine arts, have excluded her almost entirely. Instead, the grotesque Aunt Jemimas of the street¬ car advertisements, proclaim only an ability to serve, without grace of loveliness. Nor does the drama catch her finest spirit. She is most often used to provoke the mirthless laugh of ridicule j or to portray feminine viciousness or vulgarity not peculiar to Negroes. This is the shadow over her. To a race naturally sunny comes the twilight of self-doubt and a sense of personal inferiority. It cannot be denied that these are potent and detrimental influences, though not generally recog¬ nized because they are in the realm of the mental and spir¬ itual. More apparent are the economic handicaps which follow her recent entrance into industry. It is conceded that she has special difficulties because of the poor working conditions and low wages of her men. It is not surprising that only the most determined women forge ahead to results other than mere survival. To the gifted, the zest of meeting a challenge is a compensating factor which often brings success. The few who do prove their mettle, stimulate one to a closer study of how this achievement is won under contemporary conditions. Better to visualize the Negro woman at her job, our vision of a host of individuals must once more resolve itself into groups on the basis of activity. First, comes a very small leisure group — the wives and daughters of men who are in business, in the professions and a few well-paid personal service occupations. Second, a most active and progressive group, the women in business and the professions. Third, the many women in the trades and industry. Fourth, a group weighty in numbers struggling on in domestic service, with an even less fortunate fringe of casual workers, fluctuating with the eco¬ nomic temper of the times. The first is a pleasing group to see. It is picked for outward beauty by Negro men with much the same feeling as other Americans of the same economic class. Keeping their women free to preside over the family, these women are affected by the problems of every wife and mother, but touched only faintly by their race’s hardships. They do share acutely in the prevailing difficulty of finding competent household help. \ ■ . WiNOtO Re i// El ise J. McDougald WPffl - f THE C^EGRO *AND AMERICAN TRADITION 371 Negro wives find Negro maids unwilling generally to work in their own neighborhoods, for various reasons. They do not wish to work where there is a possibility of acquaintances com¬ ing into contact with them while they serve and they still harbor the misconception that Negroes of any station are un¬ able to pay as much as persons of the other race. It is in these homes of comparative ease that we find the polite activities of social exclusiveness. The luxuries of well-appointed homes, modest motors, tennis, golf and country clubs, trips to Europe and California, make for social standing. The problem con¬ fronting the refined Negro family is to know others of the same achievement. The search for kindred spirits gradually grows less difficult j in the past it led to the custom of visiting all the large cities in order to know similar groups of cultured Negro people. In recent years, the more serious minded Negro woman’s visit to Europe has been extended from months to years for the purpose of study and travel. The European success which meets this type of ambition is instanced in the conferring of the doctorate in philosophy upon a Negro woman, Dr. Anna J. Cooper, at the last commencement of the Sor- bonne, Paris. Similarly, a score of Negro women are sojourn¬ ing abroad in various countries for the spiritual relief and cultural stimulation afforded there. A spirit of stress and struggles characterizes the second two groups. These women of business, profession and trade are the hub of the wheel of progress. Their burden is twofold. Many are wives and mothers whose husbands are insufficiently paid, or who have succumbed to social maladjustment and have abandoned their families. An appalling number are widows. They face the great problem of leaving home each day and at the same time trying to rear children in their spare time — this, too, in neighborhoods where rents are large, standards of dress and recreation high and costly, and social danger on the increase. One cannot resist the temptation to pause for a mo¬ ment and pay tribute to these Negro mothers. And to call attention to the service she is rendering to the nation, in her struggle against great odds to educate and care for one group of the country’s children. If the mothers of the race should 372 THE CNiEW U^EGRO ever be honored by state or federal legislation, the artist’s imagination will find a more inspiring subject in the modern Negro mother — self-directed but as loyal and tender as the much extolled, yet pitiable black mammy of slavery days. The great commercial life of New York City is only slightly touched by the Negro woman, of our second group. Negro business men offer her most of their work, but their number is limited. Outside of this field in Negro offices, custom is once more against her, and competition is keen for all. However, Negro girls are training and some are holding exceptional jobs. One of the professors in a New York college has had a young colored woman as secretary for the past three or four years. Another holds the head clerical position in an organization where reliable handling of detail and a sense of business ethics are essential. Quietly these women prove their worth, so that when a vacancy exists and there is a call, it is difficult to find even one competent colored secretary who is not employed. As a result of the opportunity in clerical work in the educa¬ tional system of New York City, a number have qualified for such positions, one having been recently appointed to the office of a high school. In other departments, the civil service in New York City is no longer free from discrimination. The casual personal interview, that tenacious and retrogressive prac¬ tice introduced into the federal administration during the World War, has spread and often nullifies the Negro woman’s success in written tests. The successful young woman cited above was three times “turned down” as undesirable on the basis of the personal interview. In the great mercantile houses, the many young Negro girls who might be well suited to sales positions are barred from all but menial positions. Even so, one Negro woman, beginning as a uniformed maid in the shoe department of one of the largest stores, has pulled herself up to the position of ahead of stock.” One of the most prosperous monthly magazines of national circulation has for the head of its news service a Negro woman who rose from the position of stenographer. Her duties involve attendance upon staff conferences, executive supervision of her staff of white office workers, broadcasting and journalism of the highest order. THE O^EGRO v{ND ^AMERICAN TRADITION 373 Yet in spite of the claims of justice and proved efficiency, telephone and insurance companies and other corporations which receive considerable patronage from Negroes deny them proportionate employment. Fortunately this is an era of changing customs. There is hope that a less selfish racial atti¬ tude will prevail. It is a heartening fact that there is an in¬ creasing number of Americans who will lend a hand in the game fight of the worthy. Throughout the South, where businesses for Negro patron¬ age are under the control of Negroes to a large extent, there are already many opportunities for Negro women. But, be¬ cause of the nerve strain and spiritual drain of hostile social conditions in that section, Negro women are turning away from opportunities there to find a freer and fuller life in the North. In the less crowded professional vocations, the outlook is more cheerful. In these fields, the Negro woman is dependent largely upon herself and her own race for work. In the legal, dental and medical professions, successful women practitioners have usually worked their way through college and are “man¬ aging” on the small fees that can be received from an under¬ paid public. Social conditions in America are hardest upon the Negro because he is lowest in the economic scale. The tendency to force the Negro downward, gives rise to serious social prob¬ lems and to a consequent demand for trained college women in the profession of social wcrk. The need has been met with a response from young college women, anxious to devote their education and lives toward helping the submerged classes. Much of the social work has been pioneer in nature 3 the pay has been small, with little possibility of advancement. For, even in work among Negroes, the better paying positions are reserved for whites. The Negro college woman is doing her bit at a sacrifice, along such lines as these: as probation offi¬ cers, investigators and police women in the correctional depart¬ ments of the city 3 as Big Sisters attached to the Children’s Court 3 as field workers and visitors for relief organizations, missions and churches 3 as secretaries for traveller’s aid societies; in the many organizations devoted to preventative and educa- 374 THE O^EW E^EGRO tional medicine ; in clinics and hospitals and as boys’ and girls’ welfare workers in recreation and industry. In the profession of nursing, there are over three hundred in New York City. In the dark blue linen uniform of Henry Street Visiting Nurse Service, the Negro woman can be seen hurrying earnestly from house to house on her round of free relief to the needy. Again, she is in many other branches of public health nursing, in the public schools, milk stations and diet kitchens. The Negro woman is in the wards of two of the large city hospitals and clinics. After a score of years of service in one such institution, a Negro woman became super¬ intendent of nurses in the war emergency. Deposed after the armistice, though eminently satisfactory, she retained connec¬ tion with the training school as lecturer, for the inspiration she could be to “her girls.” The growing need for the executive nurse is being successfully met as instanced by the supervisors in day nurseries and private sanitariums, financed and operated in Harlem entirely by Negroes. Throughout the South there is a clear and anxious call to nurses to carry the gospel of hygiene to the rural sections and to minister to the suffering not reached by organizations already in the communities. One social worker, in New York City, though a teacher by profes¬ sion, is head of an organization whose program is to raise money for the payment of nurses to do the work described above. In other centers, West and South, the professional Negro nurse is supplanting the untrained woman attendant of former years. In New York City, nearly three hundred women share in the good conditions obtaining there in the teaching profession. They measure up to the high pedagogical requirements of the city and state law, and are increasingly leaders in the com¬ munity. In a city where the schools are not segregated, she is meeting with success among white as well as colored children in positions ranging from clerk in the elementary school on up through the graded ranks of teachers in the lower grades, of special subjects in the higher grades, in the junior high schools and in the senior high schools. One Negro woman is assistant principal in an elementary school where the other assistant and THE A CEGRO .AND AMERICAN TRADITION 375 the principal are white men and the majority of the teachers white. Another Negro woman serves in the capacity of visit¬ ing teacher to several schools, calling upon both white and colored families and experiencing no difficulty in making social adjustments. Still another Negro woman is a vocational coun¬ sellor under the Board of Education, in a junior high school. She is advising children of both races as to future courses of study to pursue and as to the vocations in which tests prove them to be apt. This position, the result of pioneer work by another Negro woman, is unique in the school system of New York. In the teaching profession, too, the Negro woman finds evidence of the white worker’s fear of competition. The need for teachers is still so great that little friction exists. When it does seem imminent, it is smoothed away, as it recently was at a meeting of school principals. From the floor a discussion began with: “What are we going to do about this problem of the increasing number of Negro teachers coming into our schools?” It ended promptly through the suggestion of an¬ other principal: “Send all you get and don’t want over to my school. I have two now and I’ll match their work with any two of the best you name.” Outside of New York City, the Negro woman teacher faces problems almost as difficult as those besetting the pioneers in the field. Night riders are terrorizing the leading educators of the South, with the same tactics used years ago in the burning of buildings and in the threatening of personal injury. Negro teachers in some sec¬ tions show heroism matching that of such women as Maria Becroft, Mary Wormely, Margaret Thompson, Fannie Hamp¬ ton, Myrtilla Miner and others who in the early ’8o’s faced riot and violence which closed colored schools and made educational work a hazardous vocation. Throughout the North and South, urban and rural teachers form an earnest and for¬ ward-looking group of women. They are endeavoring to hold for the future the progress that has been made in the past. The Negro woman teacher finds that, figuratively speak¬ ing, she must stand on her tip toes to do it, for educational standards are no longer what they were. Surrounded by forces 37 6 THE ^ CEW EGRO which persistently work to establish the myth of his inferiority, the Negro youth must be encouraged to think vigorously and to maintain a critical attitude toward what he is taught. The Negro teacher is bending herself to the task of imparting this power to hold the spiritual and mental balance under hostile conditions. Though her salary in most places lags behind the service she is rendering (exceptions being noted where the Jeannes-Slater and Rosenwald Funds bring relief), her inspira¬ tion is the belief that the hope of the race is in the New Negro student. Of more vital import than what he is compelled to be to-day, is what he is determined to make of himself to¬ morrow. And, the Negro woman teacher, bringing to the class room sympathy and judgment, is a mighty force in this battle. Comparatively new are opportunities in the field of trained library work for the Negro woman. In New Y ork City, the Public Library system has opened its service to the employment of colored women of college grade. The vision of those in charge of their training is illuminated by fires that have some¬ what of a missionary glow. There is an ever-present hope that, once trained, the Negro woman librarian will, scatter such op¬ portunities across the country, establishing branches wherever none exist. Into such an emergency, the successful Negro woman head of the library of the Veterans5 Hospital at Tuske- gee, stepped from the New York Library on One Hundred and Thirty-fifth Street. Recently at this same Harlem Branch Library a Negro woman has been placed in charge of the large, permanent collection of books by or about Negroes and ex¬ amples of Negro art. Another is acting head of the children’s department, and several others have been assigned to branches throughout the city where there is little or no Negro patronage. They are thus rendering exceptional service, and additionally creating an impetus for the enlargement of this field for Negro women. One might go on to such interesting and more unusual pro¬ fessions as bacteriology, chemistry and pharmacy, etc., and find that though the number in any one may be small, the Negro woman is creditably represented in practically every one, and THE TiEGRO HND .AMERICAN TRADITION 377 according to ability, she is meeting with success. In the fields of literature and art, the Negro woman’s culture has once more begun to flower. After the long quiescent period, following the harvest from the pen of Phyllis Wheatley, Negro women dramatists, poets and novelists are enjoying a vogue in print. There is every prospect that the Negro woman will enrich American literature and art with stylistic portrayal of her ex¬ perience and her problems. Closing the door on the home anxieties, the women engaged in trades and in industry faces serious difficulty in competition in the open working field. Custom is against the Negro woman in all but a few trade and industrial occupations. She has, how¬ ever, been established long in the dressmaking trade as helpers and finishers, and more recently as drapers and fitters in some of the best establishments. Several Negro women are them¬ selves proprietors of shops in the country’s great fashion dis¬ trict. In millinery, power-sewing machine operating on cloth, straw and leather, there are few Negro women. The laissez- faire attitude of practically all trade unions has, in the past, made of the Negro woman an unwilling menace to the cause of labor. When one reviews the demands now being made by white women workers, for labor colleges, for political recogni¬ tion, and for representation at world conferences, one cannot help but feel how far back on the road of labor progress is the struggling group of Negro workers. Yet, they are gradually becoming more alive to the issues involved. One Negro woman has held office and been most active in the flower and feather workers’ union. Another has been a paid organizer in the garment industry for several years. Still another has co-operated as an unpaid worker, in endeavoring to prevent Negro women from breaking union strikes. Pacing with pick¬ ets, or explaining at meetings the wisdom underlying union principles, she became convinced that the problem lay as much in the short-sighted, “wait-until-a-strike-comes” policy of the labor unions themselves, as in the alienated or unintelligent attitude of the Negro worker. More sincerity and understand¬ ing was greatly needed. Within the past year, she has worked with two Negro men, a white woman and two white men, all 378 THE C^EW V^EGRO * union members, and with this committee of six has brought about a conference of accredited delegates from thirty-three unions in New York City. This is the first all-union conference held on adjusting the Negro workers’ problem. As a result, a permanent organization has been formed called the Trade Union Committee for Organizing Negro Workers. Headquar¬ ters have been established and a program is well under way which includes: — organizing special industries, manned largely by Negro men and women ; working to bring about changes in the constitutions of trade unions which make it impossible or difficult for Negroes to join; educating both black and white workers in union principles through conferences and speeches; making necessary adjustments among union members of the two races and taking part in righting any grievances of Negro union members. In trade cookery, the Negro woman’s talent and past ex¬ perience is recognized. Her problem here is to find employers who will let her work her way to managerial positions, in tea¬ rooms, candy shops and institutions. One such employer be¬ came convinced that the managing cook, a young colored graduate of Pratt Institute, could build up a business that had been failing. Pie offered her a partnership. As in the cases of a number of such women, her barrier was lack of capital. No matter how highly trained, nor how much speed and busi¬ ness acumen has been acquired, the Negro’s credit is held in doubt. An exception in this matter of capital will serve to. prove the rule. Thirty years ago, a young Negro girl began learning all branches of the fur trade. She is now in business for herself, employing three women of her race and one Jewish man. She has made fur experts of still another half-dozen colored girls. Such instances as these justify the prediction that the foothold which is being gained in the trade world will, year by year, become more secure. Because of the limited fields for this group, many of the unsuccessful drift into the fourth social grade — the domestic and casual workers. These drifters increase the difficulties of the Negro women suited to housework. New standards of household management are forming and the problem of the Mary McLeod Bethune THE C^EGRO *AND ^AMERICAN TRADITION 379 Negro woman is to meet these new businesslike ideals. The constant influx of workers unfamiliar with household conditions in New York keeps the situation one of turmoil. The Negro woman, moreover, is revolting against residential domestic ser¬ vice. It is a last stand in her fight to maintain a semblance of family life. For this reason, principally, the number of day or casual workers is on the increase. Happiness is almost impossible under the strain of these conditions. Health and morale suffer, but how else can her children, loose all after¬ noon, be gathered together at nightfall? Through it all she manages to give satisfactory service and the Negro woman is sought after for this unpopular work, largely because her hon¬ esty, loyalty .and cleanliness have stood the test of time. Through her drudgery, the women of other groups find leisure time for progress. This is one of her contributions to America. It is apparent from what has been said that even in New York City, Negro women are of a race which is free neither economically, socially nor spiritually. Like women in general, but more particularly like those of other oppressed minorities, the Negro woman has been forced to submit to overpowering conditions. Pressure has been exerted upon her, both from without and within her group. Her emotional and sex life is a reflex of her economic station. The women of the working class will react, emotionally and sexually, similarly to the working-class woman of other races. The Negro woman does not maintain any moral standard which may be assigned chiefly to qualities of race, any more than a white woman does. Yet she has been singled out and advertised as having lower sex standards. Superficial critics who have had contact only with the lower grades of Negro women, claim that they are more immoral than other groups of women. This I deny. This is the sort of criticism which predicates of one race, to its detri¬ ment, that which is common to all races. Sex irregularities are not a matter of race, but of socio-economic conditions. Re¬ search shows that most of the African tribes from which the Negro sprang have strict codes for sex relations. There is no proof of inherent weakness in the ethnic group. Gradually overcoming the habitual limits imposed upon her 38o *HE U^EW ViEGRO by slave masters, she increasingly seeks legal sanction for the consummation and dissolution of sex contracts. Contrary to popular belief, illegitimacy among Negroes is cause for shame and grief. When economic, social and biological forces com¬ bined bring about unwed motherhood, the reaction is much the same as in families in other racial groups. Secrecy is main¬ tained if possible. Generally the married aunt or even the girl’s mother claims the illegitimate child as her own. The foundling asylum is seldom sought. Schooled in this kind of suffering in the days of slavery, the Negro woman often tem¬ pers scorn with sympathy for weakness. Stigma does fall upon the unmarried mother, but perhaps in this matter the Negro s attitude is nearer the modern enlightened ideal for the social treatment of the unfortunate. May not this, too, be consid¬ ered another contribution to America? With all these forces at work, true sex equality has not been approximated. The ratio of opportunity in the sex, social, eco¬ nomic and political spheres is about that which exists between white men and women. In the large, I would say that the Negro woman is the cultural equal of her man because she is generally kept in school longer. Negro boys, like white boys, are usually put to work to subsidize the family income. The growing economic independence of Negro working women is causing her to rebel against the domineering family attitude of the cruder working-class husband. The masses of Negro men are engaged in menial occupations throughout the work¬ ing day. Their baffled and suppressed desires to determine their economic life are manifested in overbearing domination at home. Working mothers are unable to instill different ideals in the sons. Conditions change slowly. Nevertheless, educa¬ tion and opportunity are modifying the spirit of the younger Negro men. Trained in modern schools of thought, they begin to show a wholesome attitude of fellowship and freedom for their women. The challenge to young Negro womanhood is to see clearly this trend and grasp the proffered comradeship with sincerity. In this matter of sex equality, Negro women have contributed few outstanding militants, a notable instance being the historic Sojourner Truth. On the whole the Negro THE T^EGRO A'ND AMERICAN TRADITION 381 woman’s feminist efforts are directed chiefly toward the realiza¬ tion of the equality of the races, the sex struggle assuming the subordinate place. Obsessed with difficulties which might well compel individ¬ ualism, the Negro woman has engaged in a considerable amount of organized action to meet group needs. She has evolved a federation of her clubs, embracing between eight and ten thou¬ sand women in New York state alone. The state federation is a part of the National Association of Colored Women, which, calling together the women from all parts of the coun¬ try, engages itself in enterprises of general race interest. The national organization of colored women is now firmly estab¬ lished, and under the presidency of Mrs. Bethune is about to strive for conspicuous goals. In New York City, many associations exist for social better¬ ment, financed and operated by Negro women. One makes child welfare its name and special concern. Others, like the Utility Club, Utopia Neighborhood, Debutantes’ League, Sempre Fidelius, etc., raise funds for old folks’ homes, a shel¬ ter for delinquent girls and fresh-air camps for children. The Colored Women’s Branch of the Y. W. C. A. and the women’s organizations in the many churches as well as the beneficial lodges and associations, care for the needs of their members. On the other hand, the educational welfare of the coming generation has become the chief concern of the national sorori¬ ties of Negro college women. The first to be organized in the country, the Alpha Kappa Alpha , has a systematized, a contin¬ uous program of educational and vocational guidance for students of the high schools and colleges. The work of Lambda Chapter, which covers New York City and its suburbs, has been most effective in carrying out the national program. Each year, it gathers together between one and two hundred such students and gives the girls a chance to hear the life stories of Negro women, successful in various fields of endeavor. Re¬ cently a trained nurse told how, starting in the same schools as they, she had risen to the executive position in the Harlem Health Information Bureau. A commercial artist showed how real talent had overcome the color line. The graduate phy- 382 THE C\ CEW CNiEGRO sician was a living example of the modern opportunities in the newer fields of medicine open to women. The vocations, as outlets for the creative instinct, became attractive under the persuasion of the musician, the dressmaker and the decorator. A recent graduate outlined her plans for meeting the many difficulties encountered in establishing a dental office and in building up a practice. A journalist spun the fascinating tale of her years of experience. The Delta Sigma Theta Sorority (national in scope) works along similar lines. Alpha Beta Chapter of New York City, during the current year, presented a young art student with a scholarship of $1,000 for study abroad. In such ways as these are the progressive and priv¬ ileged groups of Negro women expressing their community and race consciousness. We find the Negro woman, figuratively struck in the face daily by contempt from the world about her. Within her soul, she knows little of peace and happiness. But through it all, she is courageously standing erect, developing within herself the moral strength to rise above and conquer false attitudes. She is maintaining her natural beauty and charm and improving her mind and opportunity. She is measuring up to the needs of her family, community and race, and radiating a hope throughout the land. The wind of the race’s destiny stirs more briskly because of her striving. / WORLDS OF COLOR I THE NEGRO MIND REACHES OUT 1 W. E. B. DuBois Once upon a time in my younger years and in the dawn of this century I wrote: “The problem of the twentieth century is the problem of the color line.” It was a pert and singing phrase which I then liked and which since I nave often re¬ hearsed to my soul and asked: — how far is this prophecy or speculation? To-day in the last years of the century’s first quarter, let us examine the matter again, especially in the mem¬ ory of that great event of these great years, the World War. Fruit of the bitter rivalries of economic imperialism, the roots of that catastrophe were in Africa, deeply entwined at bottom with the problems of the color line. And of the legacy left, the problems the world inherits hold the same fatal seed; world dissension and catastrophe still lurk in the unsolved prob¬ lems of race relations. What then is the world view that the consideration of this question offers? Most men would agree that our present problem of problems was not the Color Problem, but what we call Labor, the problem of allocating work and income in the tremendous and increasingly intricate world-embracing industrial machine that our civilization has built. But despite our concern and good will, is it not possible that in its consideration our research is not directed to the vital spots geographically? Our good will is too often confined to that labor which we see and feel and exercise around us, rather than directed to the periphery of the vast circle, where unseen and inarticulate, the determining factors are at work. And may not the continual baffling of our 1 Reprinted, with revisions by the author, from Foreign Affairs, an American Quarterly Review, New York, Vol. Ill, No. 3. 385 386 THE C^EW J(EGRO effort and failure of our formula be due to just such mistakes? Modern imperialism and modern industrialism are one and the same system j root and branch of the same tree. The race problem is the other side of the labor problem $ and the black man’s burden is the white man’s burden. At least it will be of absorbing interest, to step within these distant world shad¬ ows, and, looking backward, to view the European and white American labor problem from this wide perspective, remem¬ bering always that empire is the heavy hand of capital abroad. With nearly every great European empire to-day walks its dark colonial shadow, while over all Europe there stretches the yellow shadow of Asia that lies across the world. One might indeed read the riddle of Europe by making its present plight a matter of colonial shadows, speculating on what might happen if Europe became suddenly shadowless -if Asia and Africa and the islands were cut permanently away. At any rate here is a field of inquiry, of likening and contrasting each land and its far-off shadow. THE SHADOW OF PORTUGAL I was attending the Third Pan-African Congress and . I walked to the Palacio dos Cortes with Magellan. It was in December, 1923? and in Lisbon. I was rather proud. You see Magalhaes (to give him the Portuguese spelling) is a mulatto — small light-brown and his hands quick with gestures. Dr. Jose de Magalhaes is a busy man: a practising specialist 5 pro¬ fessor in the School of Tropical Medicine whose new build¬ ings are rising 5 and above all, deputy in the Portuguese Par¬ liament from Sao Thome, Africa. Thus this Angolese African, educated in Lisbon and Paris, is one of the nine colored mem¬ bers of European Parliaments. Portugal has had colored ministers and now has three colored deputies and a senator. I saw two Portuguese in succession kissing one colored member on the floor of the house. Or was he but a dark native ? There is so much ancient black blood in this peninsula. Between the Portuguese and the African and near African there is naturally no “racial” antipathy— no accumulated his- J W. E. Burghardt Du Bois WORLDS OF COLOR 387 torical hatreds, dislikes, despisings. Not that you would likely find a black man married to a Portuguese of family and wealth, but on the other hand it seemed quite natural for Portugal to make all the blacks of her African empire citizens of Portugal with the rights of the European born. Magalhaes and another represent Sao Thome. They are elected by black folk independent of party. Again and again I meet black folk from Sao Thome — young students, well- dressed, well-bred, evidently sons of well-to-do if not wealthy parents, studying in Portugal, which harbors annually a hun¬ dred such black students. Sao Thome illustrates some phases of European imperialism in Africa. This industrial rule involves cheap land and labor in Africa and large manufacturing capital in Europe, with a resultant opportunity for the exercise of pressure from home investors and the press. Once in a while — not often — a feud between the capitalists and the manufacturers at home throws sudden light on Africa. For instance, in the Boer War the “Cocoa Press” backed by the anti-war Liberals attacked the Unionists and exposed labor conditions in South Africa. In retaliation, after the war and when the Liberals were in power, the Unionists attacked labor conditions in the Portuguese cocoa colonies. When I heard that an English Lieutenant-Colonel was lec¬ turing in Lisbon, on this very island and its cocoa, I hastened to listen. As he talked, I remembered. He was soothing the Portuguese. The Colonel was an avowal reactionary, a hater of the “Aborigines Protection Society,” Nevinson, Morel and all their ilk, and his explanations were most illuminating. It would seem that “little Englanders” backed by the Cadbury “Cocoa” press of “pacifist” leanings, made a severe attack on the Union¬ ists during the Boer War and particularly attacked labor con¬ ditions on the Rand; besides opposing Chamberlain, “Empire preference” and protection. When the Liberals came into power in 1906 the Unionists in retaliation began to attack labor conditions in Portuguese Sao Thome, where Cadbury and others got their cocoa and made the profits out of which 388 THE HEW ^EGRO they supported the “Daily Mail.” The Colonel declared that labor conditions in Sao Thome were quite ideal, whereas Nevinson and others had declared that they constituted black slavery. The point that interests us, however, is that the Eng¬ lish cocoa manufacturers were forced by frantic efforts to justify themselves and deny all responsibility. They there¬ fore proceeded to say that it wasn’t true and if it was, the Portuguese were responsible. Under cover of this bitter con¬ troversy an extraordinary industrial revolution took place: a boycott was placed on Portuguese cocoa the world over, and under the mists of recrimination the center of the cocoa-raising industry was transferred from Portuguese to English soil — from Sao Thome and Principe to British Nigeria and the Gold Coast. Before 1900 less than one thousand tons of cocoa had been raised in British West Africa annually ; by 1920 this had risen to one hundred and seventy thousand tons. Of the real facts behind this rush of smoke I only know: that in the end two new groups of black folk appeared above the horizon — the black proprietors in Sao Thome who still raise the best cocoa in the world and who, freed of the over¬ lordship of English capital have achieved a certain political independence in the Portuguese empire; and the black peasant proprietors of the cocoa farms of Nigeria who have performed one of the industrial miracles of a century and become the center of a world industry. In this development note if you please the characteristic of all color-line fights — the tearing across of all rational division of opinion: here is Liberalism, anti-slavery and cocoa capitalism fighting Toryism, free Negro proprietors and economic independence. Thus with a demo¬ cratic face at home, modern imperialism turns a visage of stern and unyielding autocracy toward its darker colonies. This double-faced attitude is difficult to maintain and puts hard strain on the national soul that tries it. Thus in this part of Portuguese Africa the worst aspects of slavery melted away and colonial proprietors with smaller hold¬ ings could afford to compete with the great planters; wherefore democracy, both industrially and politically, took new life in black Portugal. Intelligent black deputies appeared in the WORLDS OF COLOR 389 Portuguese parliaments, a hundred black students studied in the Portuguese universities and a new colonial code made black men citizens of Portugal with full rights. But in Portugal, alas! no adequate democratic control has been established, nor can be with an illiteracy of seventy-five percent ; so that while the colonial code is liberally worded, and economic power has brought some freedom in Sao Thome, unrestrained Portuguese and English capital still rules in parts of Angola and in Portu¬ guese East Africa, where no resisting public opinion in England has yet been aroused. This shadow hangs heavily over Por¬ tugal. The African shadows of Spain and Italy are but drafts on some imperial future not yet realized, and touch home in¬ dustry and democracy only through the war budget. But Spain is pouring treasure into a future Spanish Morocco, and Italy has already poured out fabulous sums in the attempt to annex north and northeast Africa, especially Abyssinia. The prince who is to-day visiting Europe is the first adult successor of that black Menelik who humbled Italy to the dust at Adowa in 1896. Insurgent Morocco, independent Abyssinia and Liberia are, as it were, shadows of Europe on Africa unattached, and as such they curiously threaten the whole imperial pro¬ gram. On the one hand, they arouse democratic sympathy in homeland which makes it difficult to submerge them; and again, they are temptations to agitation for freedom and auton¬ omy on the part of other black and subject populations. What prophet can tell what world-tempest lurks in these cloud-like shadows? Then, there is Belgium. THE SHADOW OF BELGIUM There is a little black man in Belgium, whose name is Mfumu Paul Panda. He is filled with a certain resentment against me and American Negroes. He writes me now and then, but fairly spits his letters at me, — and they are always filled with some defense of Belgium in Africa, or rather with some accusation against England, France and Portugal there. I do not blame Panda, although I do not agree with his reason- 390 THE E^EW U^EGRO in g. Unwittingly summer before last I tore his soul in two. His reason knows that I am right, but his heart denies his reason. He was nephew and therefore by African custom heir of a great chief who for thirty years, back to the time of Stanley, has co-operated with white Belgium. As a child of five, young Panda was brought home from the Belgian Congo by a Belgian official and given to his maiden sister. This sister reared the little black boy as her own, nursed him, dressed him, schooled him and defended against the criticism of her friends his right to university training. She was his mother, his friend. He loved her and revered her. She guided and loved him. When the second Pan-African Congress came to Brussels it found Panda leader of the small black colony there and spokes¬ man for black Belgium. He had revisited the Congo and was full of plans for reform. And he thought of the uplift of his black compatriots in terms of reform. All this the Pan-African Congress changed. First it brought on his head a storm of unmerited abuse from the industrial press: we were enemies of Belgium ; we were pensioners of the Bolshevists; we were partisans of England. Panda hotly defended us until he heard our speeches and read our resolutions. The Pan-African Congress revealed itself to him with a new and unexplicable program. It talked of Africans as intelli¬ gent, thinking, self-directing and voting men. It envisaged an Africa for the Africans and governed by and for Africans, and it arraigned white Europe, including Belgium, for nameless and deliberate wrong in Africa. Panda was perplexed and astonished; and then his white friends and white mother rushed to the defense of Belgium and blamed him for consorting with persons with ideas so dangerous and unfair to Belgium. He turned upon us black folk in complaining wrath. He felt in a sense deceived and betrayed. He considered us foolishly radi¬ cal. Belgium was not perfect, but was far less blood guilty than other European powers. Panda continues to send me clippings and facts to prove this. In this last matter he is in a sense right. England and France and Germany deliberately laid their shadow across Africa. Belgium had Africa thrust upon her. Bismarck in- 391 WORLDS OF COLOR tended the Congo Free State for Germany and he cynically made vain and foolish Leopold temporary custodian ; and even after Bismarck’s fall, Germany dreamed of an Africa which should include Congo, half the Portuguese territory and all the French, making Germany the great and dominant African power. For this she fought the Great War. Meantime, and slowly, Belgium became dazzled by the dream of empire. Africa is but a small part of Britain ; Africa is but a half of larger France. But the Congo is eighty-two times the size of little Belgium, and at Tervuren, wily Leopold laid a magic mirror — an intriguing flash of light, a museum set in rare beauty and approached by magnificent vistas — a flash of revealing knowledge such as no other modern land possesses of its colonial possessions. The rank and file of the Belgians were impressed. They dreamed of wealth and glory. They received the Congo from Leopold as a royal gift — shyly, but with secret pride. What nation of the world had so wonderful a colony! and Belgium started to plan its development. Meantime the same power that exploited the Congo and made red rubber under Leopold — these same great merchants and bankers — still ruled and guided the vast territory. More¬ over, Belgium, impoverished by war and conquest, needed reve¬ nue as never before. The only difference then between the new Congo and the old was that a Belgian liberal public opinion had a right to ask questions and must be informed. Propa¬ ganda intimating that this criticism of Belgium was mainly international jealousy and that the exploitation of black Bel¬ gium would eventually lower taxes for the whites, — this was nearly enough to leave the old taskmasters and methods in control in spite of wide plans for eventual education and reform. I remember my interview with the socialist Minister for Colonies. He hesitated to talk with me. He knew what socialism had promised the worker and what it was unable to do for the African worker, but he told me his plans for educa¬ tion and uplift. They were fine plans, but they remain plans even to-day, and the Belgian Congo is still a land of silence and ignorance, with few schools, with forced industry, with all 392 THE D^EW O^EGRO the land and natural resources taken from the people and handed over to the State, and the State, so far as Congo is concerned, ruled well-nigh absolutely by profitable industry. Thus the African shadow of Belgium gravely and dangerously overshadows that little land. THE SHADOW OF FRANCE I know two black men in France. One is Candace, black West Indian deputy, an out-and-out defender of the nation and more French than the French. The other is Rene Maran, black Goncourt prize-man and author of Batouala. Maran’s attack on France and on the black French deputy from Senegal has gone into the courts and marks an era. Never before have Negroes criticized the work of the French in Africa. France’s attitude toward black and colored folk is peculiar. England knows Negroes chiefly as colonial “natives” or as occasional curiosities on London streets. America knows Ne¬ groes mainly as freedmen and servants. But for nearly two centuries France has known educated and well-bred persons of Negro descent ; they filtered in from the French West Indies, sons and relatives of French families and recognized as such under the Code Napoleon, while under English law similar folk were but nameless bastards. All the great French schools have had black students here and there; the professions have known many and the fine arts a few scattered over decades j but all this was enough to make it impossible to say in France as elsewhere that Negroes cannot be educated. That is an absurd statement to a Frenchman. It was not that the French loved or hated Negroes as such; they simply grew to regard them as men with the possibilities and shortcomings of men, added to an unusual natural personal appearance. Then came the war and France needed black men. She recruited them by every method, by appeal, by deceit, by half- concealed force. She threw them ruthlessly into horrible slaughter. She made them “shock” troops. They walked from the tall palms of Guinea and looked into the mouths of Krupp guns without hesitation, with scarcely a tremor. France WORLDS OF f 01 Oi? 393 watched them offer the blood sacrifice for their adopted motherland with splendid sang-froid , often with utter abandon. But for Black Africa, Germany would have overwhelmed France before American help was in sight. A tremendous wave of sentiment toward black folk welled up in the French heart. And back of this sentiment came fear for the future, not simply fear of Germany reborn but fear of changing English interests, fear of unstable America. What Africa did for France in military protection she could easily repeat on a vaster scale ; wherefore France proposes to protect herself in future from military aggression by using half a million or more of trained troops from yellow, brown and black Africa. France has 40,000,000 Frenchmen and 60,000,000 Colonials. Of these Colonials, 845,000 served in France during the war, of whom 535,000 were soldiers and 310,000 in labor contingents. Of the soldiers, 440,000 came from North and West Africa. The peace footing of the French army is now 660,000, to whom must be added 189,000 Colonial troops. With three years’ service and seven years’ reserve, France hopes in ten years’ time to have 400,000 trained Colonial troops and 450,000 more ready to be trained. These Colonial troops will serve part of their time in France. This program brings France face to face with the prob¬ lem of democratic rule in her colonies. French industry has had wide experience in the manipulation of democracy at home, but her colonial experience is negligible. Legally, of course, the colonies are part of France. Theoretically colonials are French citizens and already the blacks of the French West In¬ dies and the yellows and browns of North Africa are so recog¬ nized and represented in Parliament. Four towns of Senegal have similar representation; but beyond this matters hesitate. All this brings, however, both political and economic difficul¬ ties. Diagne, black deputy from Senegal, was expelled from the Socialist party because he had made no attempt to organize a branch of the party in his district. And the whole colonial bloc stand outside the interests of home political parties, while these parties know little of the particular local demands of the colonies. As this situation develops there will come 394 THE C^EW 3\ CEGRO the question of the practicality of ruling a world nation with one law-making body. And if devolution of power takes place what will be the relation of self-governing colonies to the mother country? But beyond this more or less nebulous theory looms the immediately practical problem of French industry. The French nation and French private industry have invested huge sums in African colonies, considering black Africa alone. Dakar is a modern city superimposed on a native market place. Its public buildings, its vast harbor, its traffic are imposing. Conakry has miles of warehouses beneath its beautiful palms. No European country is so rapidly extending its African rail¬ ways — one may ride from St. Louis over halfway to Timbuktu and from Dakar 1,500 miles to the Gulf of Guinea. The question is, then, will France be able to make her col¬ onies paying industrial investments and at the same time centers for such a new birth of Negro civilization and freedom as will attach to France the mass of black folk in unswerving loyalty and will to sacrifice. Such a double possibility is to-day by no means clear. French industry is fighting to-day a terrific battle in Europe for the hegemony of reborn Central Europe. The present probabilities are that the future spread of the in¬ dustrial imperialism of the West will be largely under French leadership. French and Latin imperialism in industry will de¬ pend on alliance with western Asia, northern and central Africa, with the Congo rather than the Mediterranean as the southern boundary. Suppose that this new Latin imperialism emerging from the Great War developed a new antithesis to English imperialism where blacks and browns and yellows, subdued, cajoled and governed by white men, form a laboring proletariat subject to a European white democracy which in- • dustry controls ; suppose that, contrary to this, Latin Europe should evolve political control with black men and the Asiatics having a real voice in Colonial government, while both at home and in the colonies democracy in industry continued to progress; what would this cost? It would mean, of course, nothing less than the giving up of the idea of an exclusive White Man’s World. It would be a revolt and a tremendous 1 he Librarian WORLDS OF COLOR 395 revolt against the solidarity of the West in opposition to the South and East. France moving along this line would perforce carry Italy, Portugal and Spain with it, and it is the fear of such a possible idea that explains the deep-seated resentment against France on the part of England and America. It is not so much the attitude of France toward Germany that frightens white Europe, as her apparent flaunting of the white fetish. The plans of those who would build a world of white men have always assumed the ultimate acquiescence of the colored world in the face of their military power and industrial effi¬ ciency, because of the darker world’s lack of unity and babel of tongues and wide cleft of religious differences. If now one part of the white world bids for dark support by gifts of at least partial manhood rights, the remainder of the white world scents treason and remains grim and unyielding in its heart. But is it certain that France is going to follow this program? I walked through the native market at St. Louis in French Senegal a busy, colorful scene. There was wonderful work in gold filigree and in leather, all kinds of beads and bracelets and fish and foods. Mohammedans salaamed at sunset, black- veiled Moorish women glided like somber ghosts with living eyesj mighty black men in pale burnooses strode by, — it was all curious, exotic, alluring. And yet I could not see quite the new thing that I was looking for. There was no color line particularly visible and yet there was all the raw material for it. Most of the white people were in command holding gov¬ ernment office and getting large incomes. Most of the col¬ ored and black folk were laborers with small incomes. In the fashionable cafes you seldom saw colored folk, but you did see them now and then and no one seemed to object. There were schools, good schools, but they fell short of anything like universal education for the natives. White and colored school children ran and played together, but the great mass of chil¬ dren were not in school. As I looked more narrowly, what seemed to be happening was this: the white Frenchmen were exploiting black Africans in practically the same way as white Englishmen, but they had not yet erected or tried to erect caste lines. Consequently, into 396 THE ^EW 0\ CEGRO the ranks of the exploiters there arose continually black men and mulattoes, but these dark men were also exploiters. They had the psychology of the exploiters. They looked upon the mass of people as means of wealth. The mass therefore had no leadership. There was no one in the colony except the unrisen and undeveloped blacks who thought of the colony as developing and being developed for its own sake and for the sake of the mass of the people there. Everyone of intelli¬ gence thought that Senegal was being developed for the sake of France and inevitably they tended to measure its develop¬ ment by the amount of profit. If this sort of thing goes on will not France find herself in the same profit-taking colonial industry as England? Indeed, unless she follows English methods in African colonies can she compete with England in the amount of profit made, and if she does not make profit out of her colonies how long will her industrial masters submit without tremendous industrial re¬ turns? Or if these industrial returns come, what will be the plight of black French Africa? Batouala voices it. In the depths of the French Congo one finds the same exploitation of black folk as in the Belgian Congo or British West Africa. The only mitigation is that here and there in the Civil Service are black Frenchmen like Rene Maran who can speak out; but they seldom do. For the most part, as I have said, in French Africa, educated Africans are Europeans. But if education goes far and de¬ velops in Africa a change in this respect must come. For this, France has a complete theoretical system of education begin¬ ning with the African village and going up to the colleges and technical schools at Goree. But at present it is, of course, only a plan and the merest skeleton of accomplishment. On the picturesque island of Goree whose ancient ramparts face mod¬ ern and commercial Dakar I saw two or three hundred fine black boys of high school rank gathered in from all Senegal by competitive tests and taught thoroughly by excellent French teachers in accordance with a curriculum which, as far as it went, was equal to that of any European school; its graduates could enter the higher schools of France. A few hundred students WORLDS OF COLOR 397 out of a black population of nineteen millions is certainly but a start. This development will call for money and trained guidance and will interfere with industry. It is not likely that the path will be followed and followed fast unless black French leaders encourage and push France, unless they see the pitfalls of American and English race leadership and bring the black apostle to devote himself to race uplift not by the compulsion of outer hate but by the lure of inner vision. As yet I see few signs of this. I have walked in Paris with Diagne who represents Senegal — all Senegal, white and black, — in the French parliament. But Diagne is a Frenchman who is accidentally black. I suspect Diagne rather despises his own black Wolofs. I have talked with Candace, black deputy of Guadaloupe. Candace is virulently French. He has no con¬ ception of Negro uplift, as apart from French development. One black deputy alone, Boisneuf of Martinique, has the vision. His voice rings in parliament. He made the American soldiers keep their hands off the Senegalese. He made the governor of Congo apologize and explain ; he made Poincare issue that extraordinary warning against American prejudice. Is Bois¬ neuf an exception or a prophecy? One looks on present France and her African shadow, then, as standing at the parting of tremendous ways; one way leads f toward democracy for black as well as white — a thorny way i made more difficult by the organized greed of the imperial profit-takers within and without the nation; the other road is | the way of the white world, and of its contradictions and dan¬ gers, English colonies may tell. THE SHADOW OF ENGLAND I landed in Sierra Leone last January. The great Mountain of the Lion crouched above us, its green sides trimmed with the pretty white villas of the whites, while black town swel¬ tered below. Despite my diplomatic status I was haled before the police and in the same room where criminals were exam¬ ined I was put through the sharpest grilling I ever met in a presumably civilized land. Why? I was a black American 398 THE TiEW TiEGRO and the English fear black folk who have even tasted freedom. Everything that America has done crudely and shamelessly to suppress the Negro, England in Sierra Leone has done legally and suavely so that the Negroes themselves sometimes doubt the evidence of their own senses: segregation, disfranchise¬ ment, trial without jury, over-taxation, “Jim Crow” cars, neg¬ lect of education, economic serfdom. Yet all this can be and is technically denied. Segregation? “Oh no,” says the colonial official, “anyone can live where he will — only that beautiful and cool side of the mountain with fine roads, golf and tennis and bungalows is assigned to government officials.” Are there black officials? “Oh yes, and they can be assigned residences there, too.” But they never have been. The Negroes vote and hold office in Freetown — I met the comely black and cul¬ tured mayor — but Freetown has almost no revenues and its powers have been gradually absorbed by the autocratic white colonial government which has five million dollars a year to spend. Any government prosecutor can abolish trial by jury in any case with the consent of the judge, and all judges are white. White officials ride in special railway carriages and I am morally certain — I cannot prove it — that more is spent by the government on tennis and golf in the colony than on popular education. These things, and powerful efforts of English industry to reap every penny of profit for England in colonial trade, leav¬ ing the black inhabitants in helpless serfdom, have aroused West Africa, and aroused it at this time because of two things — the war, and cocoa in Nigeria. The burden of war fell hard on black and British West Africa. Their troops conquered German Africa for England and France at bitter cost and helped hold back the Turk. Yet there was not a single black officer in the British army or a single real reward save citations and new and drastic taxation even on exports. But British West Africa had certain advantages. After the decline of the slave trade and before the discovery that slavery and serfdom in Africa could be made to pay more than the re¬ moval of the laboring forces to other parts of the world, there was a disposition to give over to the natives the black colonies WORLDS OF COLOR 399 on the fever coast and the British Government announced the intention of gradually preparing West Africans for self-gov¬ ernment. Missionary education and the sending of black stu¬ dents to England raised a small Negro intelligentsia which long struggled to place itself at the head of affairs. It had some success but lacked an economic foundation. When the new industrial imperialism swept Africa, with England in the lead, the presence of these educated black leaders was a thorn in the flesh of the new English industrialists. Their method was to crowd these leaders aside into narrower and narrower confines as we have seen in Sierre Leone. But the Negroes in the older colonies retained possession of their land and, sud¬ denly, when the cocoa industry was transferred from Portu¬ guese Africa, they gained in one or two colonies a new and undreamed of economic foundation. Instead of following the large plantation industry, cocoa became the product of the small individual native farm. In 1891 a native sold eighty pounds of the first cocoa raised on the Gold Coast. By 1 9 1 1 this had increased to 45,000 tons and in 1916 to 72,000 tons. In Nigeria there has also been a large increase, making these colonies to-day the greatest cocoa producing countries in the world. Moreover, this progress showed again the new democratic problems of colonization, since it began and was fostered by a certain type of white colonial official who was interested in the black man and wanted him to develop. But this official was interested in the primitive black and not in the educated black. He feared and despised the educated West African and did not believe him capable of leading his primitive brother. He sowed seeds of dissension between the two. On the other hand, the educated West African hated the white colonial leader as a supplanter and deceiver whose ultimate aims must be selfish and wrong j and as ever, between these two, the English ex¬ ploiting company worked gradually its perfect will. Determined effort was thus made by the English, both mer¬ chants and philanthropists, to cut the natives off from any union of forces or of interests with the educated West Africans. “Protectorates” under autocratic white rule were attached to 4oo THE 2(EW ZiEGRO the colonies and the natives in the protectorates were threatened loss of land, given almost no education and left to the mercy of a white colonial staff whose chief duty gradually came to be the encouragement of profitable industry for the great companies. These companies were represented in the govern¬ ing councils, they influenced appointments at home and espe¬ cially they spread in England a carefully prepared propaganda which represented the educated “nigger” as a bumptious, un¬ reasoning fool in a silk hat, while the untutored and unspoiled native under white control was nature’s original nobleman. Also they suggested that this “white” control must not admit too many visionaries and idealists. This policy has not been altogether successful, for the edu¬ cated Negro is appealing to English democracy and the native is beginning to seek educated black leadership. After many vicissitudes, in 1920 a Congress of West Africa was assembled on the Gold Coast, and from this a delegation was sent to London “to lay before His Majesty the King in. Council through the colonial ministry certain grievances.” This was an epoch-making effort and, as was natural, the Colonial Office, where imperial industry is entrenched, refused to recognize the delegation, claiming that they did not really represent black West Africa. Nevertheless, through the League of Na¬ tions Union and the public press this delegation succeeded in putting its case before the world. They described themselves as “of that particular class of peaceful citizens who, apprehen¬ sive of the culminating danger resulting from the present political unrest in West Africa — an unrest which is silently moving throughout the length and breadth of that continent and also appreciating the fact that the present system of ad¬ ministration will inevitably lead to a serious deadlock between the ‘Government and the Governed,’ decided to set them¬ selves to the task of ameliorating this pending disaster by put ting forward constitutionally a program, the carrying of which into operation will alleviate all pains and misgivings.” The final resolutions of the Congress said, “that in the opin¬ ion of this Conference the time has arrived for a change in the Constitution of several British West African colonies, so WORLDS OF COLOR 401 as to give the people an effective voice in their affairs both in the Legislative and Municipal Governments, and that the Con¬ ference pledges itself to submit proposals for such reforms.” The reasons for this demand are thus described: “In the demand for the franchise by the people of British West Africa, it is not to be supposed that they are asking to be allowed to copy a foreign institution. On the contrary, it is im¬ portant to notice that the principle of electing representatives to local councils and bodies is inherent in all the systems of British West Africa. . . . From the foregoing it is obvious that a system by which the Governor of a Crown Colony nomi¬ nates whom he thinks proper to represent the people is con¬ sidered by them as a great anomaly and constitutes a grievance and a disability which they now request should be remedied.” Never before has black Britain spoken so clearly or so cogently. For the most part the African population of the empire has been silent. Since the war not only has West Africa thus spoken but the colored West Indies have complained. They want Home Rule and they are demanding it. They asked after the war: Why was it that no black man sat in the Imperial Conference? Why is it that one of the oldest parts of the empire lingers in political serfdom to England and industrial bondage to Amer¬ ica? Why is there not a great British West Indian Federa¬ tion, stretching from Bermuda to Honduras and Guiana, and ranking with the free dominions? The answer was clear and concise — Color. In 1916a new agitation for representative government began in Granada. The fire spread to all the West Indies and in 1921 a delegation was received by the Colonial Office in Lon¬ don at the same time that the Second Pan-African Congress was in session. Here were unusual appeals to English democracy — appeals that not even commercial propaganda could wholly hush. But there was a force that curiously counteracted them. Liberal England, wanting world peace and fearing French militarism, backed by the English thrift that is interested in the restored economic equilibrium, found as one of its most prominent 402 THE 2iEW J^EGRO spokesmen Jan Smuts of South Africa, and Jan Smuts stands for the suppression of the blacks. Jan Smuts is to-day, in his world aspects, the greatest pro¬ tagonist of the white race. He is fighting to take control of Laurengo Marques from a nation that recognizes, even though it does not realize, the equality of black folk; he is fighting to keep India from political and social equality in the empire; he is fighting to insure the continued and eternal subordination of black to white in Africa; and he is fighting for peace and good will in a white Europe which can by union present a united front to the yellow, brown and black worlds. In all this he expresses bluntly, and yet not without finesse, what a powerful host of white folk believe but do not plainly say in Melbourne, New Orleans, San Francisco, Hongkong, Berlin, and London. The words of Smuts in the recent Imperial Conference were transcribed as follows: “The tendencies in South Africa, just as elsewhere, were all democratic. If there was to be equal manhood suffrage over the Union, the whites would be swamped by the blacks. A distinction could not be made be¬ tween Indians and Africans. They would be impelled by the inevitable force of logic to go the whole hog, and the result would be that not only would the whites be swamped in Natal by the Indians but the whites would be swamped all over South Africa by the blacks and the whole position for which the whites had striven for two hundred years or more now would be given up. So far as South Africa was concerned, there¬ fore, it was a question of impossibility. For white South Africa it was not a question of dignity but a question of exist¬ ence.” Back of all these attitudes is Fear. Back of the whole British Imperial Conference was fear. The worlds of color to-day are curiously and nicely balanced — a little push here, a little yielding there and the end of the vast resulting move¬ ments may be anything. The dominating thing in that Con¬ ference was the fear of the colored world. This almost naive setting of the darker races beyond the pale of democracy and of modern humanity was listened to with sympathetic attention in England. It is without doubt WORLDS OF COLOR 403 to-day the dominant policy of the British Empire. Can this policy be carried out? It involves two things — acquiescence of the darker peoples and agreement between capital and labor in white democracies. This agreement between capital and labor in regard to col¬ ored folk cannot be depended on. First of all, no sooner is colored labor duly subordinate, voiceless in government, effi¬ cient for the purpose and cheap, than the division of the re¬ sultant profit is a matter of dispute. This is the case even in South Africa and it came as a singular answer to Smuts. In South Africa white labor is highly paid, can vote, and by a sys¬ tem of black helpers occupies an easy and powerful position. It can only retain this position by vigorously excluding blacks from certain occupations and by beating their wages down to the lowest point even when as helpers they are really doing the prohibited work. It is to the manifest interest of capitalists and investors to breach if not overthrow this caste wall and thus secure higher profits by cheaper and more pliable labor. Already South African courts are slowly moving toward miti¬ gating the law of labor caste and in retaliation the white labor unions have joined Smuts’ political enemies, the Eng- lish-hating Boer party of independence, and have overthrown the great premier. But how curious are these bedfellows — English capital and African black labor against Dutch home-rulers and the trades unions. The combinations are as illogical as they are thought- producing, for after all if South Africa is really bent on inde¬ pendence she must make economic and political peace with the blacks ; and if she hates Negroes more than she hates low wages she must submit even more than now to English rule. Now what is English rule over colored folk destined to be? Here comes the second puzzling result of the Smuts philoso¬ phy. I was in London on the night of the Guild Hall banquet when the Prime Minister spoke on “Empire Policy and World Peace” and gave a sort of summing up of the work of the Imperial Conference. It was significant that in the forefront of his words, cheek by jowl with Imperial “foreign policy,” stood the “intensity of feeling in India on the question of the 404 THE EW EGRO status of British Indians in the Empire.” What indeed could be more fundamental than this in the building of world peace? Are the brown Indians to share equally in the ruling of the British Empire or are they an inferior race? And cu¬ riously enough, the battle on this point is impending not simply in the unchecked movement toward “swaraj” in India but in Africa — in the Union of South Africa and in Kenya. In South Africa, despite all Imperial explanations and at¬ tempts to smooth things out, Smuts and the Boers have taken firm ground: Indians are to be classed with Negroes in their social and political exclusion. South Africa is to be ruled by its minority of whites. But if this is blunt and unswerving, how much more startling is Kenya. Kenya is the British East Africa of pre-war days and extends from the Indian Ocean to the Victoria Nyanza and from German East Africa to Ethiopia. It is that great roof of the African world where, beneath the silver heads of the Mountains of the Moon, came down in ancient days those waters and races which founded Egypt. The descendant races still live there with fine physique and noble heads — the Masai warriors whom Schweinfurth heralded, the Dinka, the Galla, and Nile Negroes — the herds¬ men and primitive artisans of the beautiful highlands. Here was a land largely untainted by the fevers of the tropics and here England proposed to send her sick and impoverished soldiers of the war. Following the lead of South Africa, she took over five million, acres of the best lands from the 000 natives, herded them gradually toward the swamps and gave them, even there, no sure title; then by taxation she forced sixty per cent of the black adults into working for the ten thousand white owners for the lowest wage. Here was opportunity not simply for the great landholder and slave- driver but also for the small trader, and twenty-four thou¬ sand Indians came. These Indians claimed the rights of free subjects of the empire — a right to buy land, a right to exploit labor, a right to a voice in the government now confined to the handful of whites. Suddenly a great race conflict swept East Africa — orient and Occident, white, brown and black, landlord, trader and landless WORLDS OF COLOR 405 serf. When the Indians asked rights, the whites replied that this would injure the rights of the natives. Immediately the natives began to awake. Few of them were educated but they began to form societies and formulate grievances. A black political consciousness arose for the first time in Kenya. Imme¬ diately the Indians made a bid for the support of this new force and asked rights and privileges for all British subjects — white, brown and black. As the Indian pressed his case, white South Africa rose in alarm. If the Indian became a recog¬ nized man, landholder and voter in Kenya, what of Natal? The British Government speculated and procrastinated and then announced its decision: East Africa was primarily a “trusteeship” for the Africans and not for the Indians. The Indians, then, must be satisfied with limited industrial and political rights, while for the black native — the white English¬ man spoke! A conservative Indian leader, speaking in Eng¬ land after this decision, said that if the Indian problem in South Africa were allowed to fester much longer it would pass beyond the bounds of domestic issue and would become a ques¬ tion of foreign policy upon which the unity of the Empire might founder irretrievably. The Empire could never keep its colored races within it by force, he said, but only by pre¬ serving and safeguarding their sentiments. Perhaps this shrewd Kenya decision was too shrewd. It pre¬ served white control of Kenya but it said in effect: “Africa for the Africans!” What then about Uganda and the Sudan, where a black leadership exists under ancient forms ; and, above all, what about the educated black leadership in the West Indies and West Africa? Why should black West Africa with its industrial triumphs like Nigeria be content forever with a Crown Government, if Africa is for the Afri¬ cans? The result has been a yielding by England to the darker world — not a yielding of much, but yielding. India is to have a revision of the impossible “diarachy”; all West Africa is to have a small elective element in its governing councils ; and even the far West Indies have been visited by a colonial under¬ secretary and parliamentary committee, the first of its kind in 4o 6 THE 2(EW C^EGRO the long history of the islands. Their report is worth quoting in part: aSeveral reasons combine to make it likely that the common demand for a measure of representative government will in the long run prove irresistible. The wave of demo¬ cratic sentiment has been powerfully stimulated by the war. Education is rapidly spreading and tending to produce a col¬ ored and black intelligentsia of which the members are quick to absorb elements of knowledge requisite for entry into learned professions and return from travel abroad with minds emancipated and enlarged, ready to devote time and energy to propaganda among their own people.” Egypt too is Africa and the Bilad-es-Sudan, Land of the Blacks, has in its eastern reaches belonged to Egypt ever since Egypt belonged to the Sudan — ever since the Pharaohs bowed to the Lords of Meroe. Fifty times England has promised freedom and independence to Egypt and to-day she keeps her word by seizing the Sudan with a million square miles, six mil¬ lion black folk and twenty million dollars of annual revenue. But Egypt without the Sudan can never be free and independent and this England well knows, but she will hold the Sudan against Egypt as “trustee” for the blacks. That was a fateful step that the new Conservatives took after the Sirdar was mur¬ dered by hot revolutionists. Its echo will long haunt the world. If now England is literally forced to yield some measure of self-government to her darker colonies if France remains steadfast in the way in which her feet seem to be tending ; if Asia arises from the dead and can no longer be rendered im¬ potent by the opium of international finance, what will happen to imperialistic world industry as exemplified in the great ex¬ pansion of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries? LABOR IN THE SHADOWS This is the question that faces the new labor parties of the world — the new political organizations which are determined to force a larger measure of democracy in industry than now obtains. The trade union labor movement dominant in Aus¬ tralia, South Africa and the United States has been hitherto WORLDS OF COLOR 407 autocratic and at heart capitalistic, believing in profit-making industry and wishing only to secure a larger share of profits for particular guilds. But the larger labor movement following the war envisages through democratic political action real democratic power of the mass of workers in industry and com¬ merce. Two questions here arise: Will the new labor parties welcome the darker race to this industrial democracy? And, if they do, how will this affect industry? The attitude of the white laborer toward colored folk is largely a matter of long continued propaganda and gossip. The white laborers can read and write, but beyond this their education and experience are limited and they live in a world of color prejudice. The curious, most childish propaganda dominates us, by which good, earnest, even intelligent men have come by millions to believe almost religiously that white folk are a peculiar and chosen people whose one great accom¬ plishment is civilization and that civilization must be protected from the rest of the world by cheating, stealing, lying, and murder. The propaganda, the terrible, ceaseless propaganda that buttresses this belief day by day — the propaganda of poet and novelist, the uncanny welter of romance, the half knowl¬ edge of scientists, the pseudo-science of statesmen — all these, united in the myth of mass inferiority of most men, have built a wall which many centuries will not break down. Born into such a spiritual world, the average white worker is absolutely at the mercy of its beliefs and prejudices. Color hate easily assumes the form of a religion and the laborer becomes the blind executive of the decrees of the masters of the white world ; he votes armies and navies for “punitive” expedi¬ tions ; he sends his sons as soldiers and sailors ; he composes the Negro-hating mob, demands Japanese exclusion and lynches untried prisoners. What hope is there that such a mass of dimly thinking and misled men will ever demand uni¬ versal democracy for all men? The chief hope lies in the gradual but inevitable spread of the knowledge that the denial of democracy in Asia and Africa hinders its complete realization in Europe. It is this that makes the Color Problem and the Labor Problem to so 408 THE y(EW O^EGRO great an extent two sides of the same human tangle. How far does white labor see this? Not far, as yet. Its attitude toward colored labor varies from the Russian extreme to the extreme in South Africa and Australia. Russia has been seeking a ra'p'prochement with colored labor. She is making her peace with China and Japan. Her leaders have come in close touch with the leaders of India. Claude McKay, an American Negro poet travelling in Russia, declares: “Lenin himself grappled with the question of the American Negroes and spoke on the subject before the Second Congress of the Third Interna¬ tional. He consulted with John Reed, the American journal¬ ist, and dwelt on the urgent necessity of propaganda and or¬ ganization work among the Negroes of the South.” Between these extremes waver the white workers of the rest of the world. On the whole they still lean rather toward the attitude of South Africa than that of Russia. They exclude colored labor from empty Australia. They sit in armed truce against them in America where the Negroes are forcing their way into ranks of union labor by breaking strikes and under¬ bidding them in wage. It is precisely by these tactics, however, and by hindering the natural flow of labor toward the highest wage and the best conditions in the world that white labor is segregating col¬ ored labor in just those parts of the world where it can be most easily exploited by white capital and thus giving white capital the power to rule all labor, white and black, in the rest of the world. White labor is beginning dimly to see this. Colored labor knows it, and as colored labor becomes more organized and more intelligent it is going to spread this griev¬ ance through the white world. THE SHADOW OF SHADOWS How much intelligent organization is there for this purpose on the part of the colored world? So far there is very little. For while the colored people of to-day are common victims of white culture, there is a vast gulf between the red-black South and the yellow-brown East. In the East long since, centuries 409 WORLDS OF COLOR ago, there were mastered a technique and philosophy which still stand among the greatest the world has known ; and the black and African South, beginning in the dim dawn of time when beginnings were everything, have evolved a physique and an art, a will to be and to enjoy, which the world has never done without and never can. But these cultures have little in common, either to-day or yesterday, and are being pounded together artificially and not attracting each other naturally. And yet quickened India, the South and West African Congresses, the Pan- African movement, the National Association for the advancement of Colored People in Amer¬ ica, together with rising China and risen Japan — all these at no distant day may come to common consciousness of aim and be able to give to the labor parties of the world a message that they will understand. After all, the darker world realizes the industrial triumphs of white Europe — its labor-saving devices, its harnessing of vast radical forces, its conquest of time and space by goods- production, railway, telephone, telegraph and flying machine, it sees how the world might enjoy these things and how it does not, how it is enslaved by its own ingenuity, mechanized by its own machinery. It sees Western civilization spiritually bank¬ rupt and unhappy. Africa is happy. The masses of its black folk are calmly contented, save where what is called “European” civilization has touched and uprooted them. They have a philosophy of life logical and realizable. Their children are carefully edu¬ cated for the life they are to lead. There are no prostitutes, there is no poverty. In Asia too (although here I speak by hearsay, knowing Asiatics but not Asia) there is, over vast spiritual areas, peace and self-realization ; a certain complete¬ ness of individual life j a worship of beauty even among the masses ; adequate handling of matter for certain personal ends and satisfactions, and a religious spirit which is neither hypo¬ critical nor unbelieving. On the other hand x^frica and Asia have no command of technique or mastery of physical force that can compare with that of the West; they know practi¬ cally nothing of mass-time production and their knowledge 4io THE O^EW y(EGR0 of the facts of the universe is far behind modern knowledge. That comfort is necessary to complete human happiness, who can for a moment doubt? But what shall the world pay for this completeness — what is it paying now? First of all, it has in the heyday of its triumph been able or willing to supply comfort but to a minority of its own population. The majority of the whole people of Europe have poor food, inadequate clothing, bad shelter, inadequate amusement and misleading education. They are more comfortable than the African sav¬ ages only in their water supply, their foods and their oppor¬ tunity to look at brilliantly lighted streets. To save then this efficient organization of work, this syn¬ chronization of human industrial effort the like of which the world never before saw — to save this, and led by the idea that at all hazards it must be saved, white Western Europe has long been united in a determination to make the colored worlds contribute to its comfort, subordinate themselves to its interests, become part of its machine. It argues that on this path alone lies salvation for the lazy South and the sleepy East; that upon them lies the salvation of the world; and they ignore with perfect ignorance the possibility that lazy enjoyment and silent contemplation of life, without a surplus or even a sufficiency of modern comfort may for a moment be held an end and ideal of existence; or that the efficient West and North can learn of the lazy South and sleepy East. If now the world, and particularly the laboring world, should come to realize that industrial efficiency as measured by the amount of goods made and the size of the private profit de¬ rived therefrom is not the greatest thing in the world; and that by exchanging European efficiency for African leisure and Asiatic contemplation they might gain tremendously in happi¬ ness, the world might be less afraid to give up economic imper¬ ialism. Moreover, future economic imperialism can only be held together by militarism. Militarism is costly and to in¬ creasing masses of men since the Great War, hateful; more than this — the darker world is held in subjection to Europe by its own darker soldiers. Africa is owned and held almost entirely by Europe; but at the same time Africa is held and kept in The School Teachers WORLDS OF COLOR 411 subjection to Europe by black troops; black troops in the Su¬ dan, black troops in French Africa, black troops in British West Africa, black troops in Belgian Congo, black troops in Italian Africa, black troops in Kenya, in Uganda, and in for¬ mer German Africa. Mutual jealousies, widespread ignorance, tribal hatreds and red uniforms make this to-day a most effec¬ tive method of military control. But for how manv years can this be depended upon? Indian soldiers hold India in sub¬ jection to England and France. They cannot always be ex¬ pected to do this. Some day they are bound to awake. Above all this rises the shadow of two international groups — the Jews and the modern Negroes. The Jews are, in blood, Spanish, German, French, Arabian and American. Their an¬ cient unity of religious faith is crumbling, but out of it all has come a spiritual unity born of suffering, prejudice and industrial power which can be used and is being used to spread an international consciousness. Where this spirit encounters a rampant new nationalism as in Poland or bitter memories of national loss as in Germany, or racial bigotry as in America, it stirs an Anti-Semitism as cruel as it is indefinite and armed in fact not against an abused race but against any spirit that works or seems to work for the union of human kind. And toward this same great end a new group of groups is setting its face. Pan-Africanism as a living movement, a tangible accomplishment, is a little and negligible thing. But there are twenty-three millions of Negroes in British West Africa, eighteen millions in French Africa, eleven millions and more in the United States; between eight and nine millions each in the Belgian Congo and Portuguese Africa; and a dozen other lands in Africa and America have groups ranging from two to five millions. This hundred and fifty millions of peo¬ ple are gaining slowly an intelligent thoughtful leadership. The main seat of their leadership is to-day the United States. In the United States there are certain unheralded indications of development in the Negro problem. One is the fact that for the first time in America, the American Negro is to-day universally recognized as capable of speaking for himself. To realize the significance of this one has but to remember that 412 THE TiEW NiEGRO less than twenty-five years ago a conference of friends of the Negro could meet at Lake Mohonk to discuss his problems without a single Negro present. And even later than that, great magazines could publish symposiums on the “Negro” problem without thinking of inviting a single Negro to par¬ ticipate. Again, a revolution is happening under our eyes with regard to lynching. For forty years, not less than a Negro a week and sometimes as many as five a week have been lynched in order to enforce race inferiority by terrorism. Suddenly this number in 1923 was cut in half and it looks as though the record of 1924 was going to be not more than one Negro lynched each month and all this was due primarily to the tremendous onslaught of the National Association for the Ad¬ vancement of Colored People against lynching and their broad-casting of the facts. Finally and just as important is the new national policy as to immigration, born of war. This policy is seemingly a tre¬ mendous triumph of the “Nordics” and not only cuts down the foreign immigration to the United States from 1,000,000 a year to 160,000, but also seeks to exclude the Latins and Jews and openly to insult Asiatics. Now despite the inhumanity of this, American Negroes are silently elated at this policy. As long as the northern lords of industry could import cheap, white labor from Europe they could encourage the color line in industry and leave the Negroes as peons and serfs at the mercy of the white South. But to-day with the cutting down of foreign immigration the Negro becomes the best source of cheap labor for the industries of the white land. The bidding for his services gives him a tremendous sword to wield against the Bourbon South and by means of wholesale migration he is wielding it. But note again the extraordinary bed fellows involved in this paradox ; Negro laborers, white capitalists and “Nordic” fanatics against Latin Europe, Southern task masters, labor unions, the Jews and Japanese! Led by American Negroes, the Negroes of the world are reaching out hands toward each other to know, to sympathize, to inquire. There are few countries without their few Ne¬ groes, few great cities without its groups, and thus with this 4i3 WORLDS OF COLOR great human force, spread out as it is in all lands and languages, the world must one day reckon. We face, then, in the modern black American, the black West Indian, the black Frenchman, the black Portuguese, the black Spaniard and the black Afri¬ can a man gaining in knowledge and power and in the definite aim to end color slavery and give black folk a knowledge of modern culture. There are those who see in the movement only danger — only the silly agitation of would-be fomenters of trouble. They discount it, laugh at it and secretly and openly obstruct it. When the Pan-African Congress planned to meet in Brussels all the industrial exploiters of the Belgian Congo united to mis¬ represent its objects, distort its actions and punish its local supporters. When the same Congress met in France strong pressure was exerted to keep it from any interference with the investments of French capital in Africa. When the Congress met in England it was dubbed “French” in sympathy and an¬ archistic in tendency. And yet slowly but surely the move¬ ment grows and the day faintly dawns when the new force for international understanding and racial readjustment will and must be felt. To some persons — to more human beings than ever before at one time in the world’s history, there came during the Great War, during those terrible years of 1917 and 1918, a vision of the Glory of Sacrifice, a dream of a world greater, sweeter, more beautiful and more honest than ever before $ a world without war, without poverty and without hate. I am glad it came. Even though it was a mirage it was eternally true. To-day some faint shadow of it comes to me again. My ship seeks Africa. Ten days we crept across the At¬ lantic ; five days we sail to the Canaries. And then turning we sought the curve of that mighty and fateful shoulder of gigantic Africa. Slowly, slowly we creep down the coast in a little German cargo boat. Yonder behind the horizon is Cape Bojador whence in 1441 came the brown Moors and black Moors who through the slave trade built America and 4i4 THE R^EW C^EGRO modern commerce and let loose the furies of the world. An¬ other day afar we glide past Dakar, city and center of French Senegal. Thereupon we fall down, down to the burning equator past the Guinea and Gambia, to where the Lion moun¬ tain glares, toward the vast gulf whose sides are lined with Silver and Gold and Ivory. And now we stand before Liberia; Liberia that is a little thing set upon a Hill; — thirty or forty thousand square miles and two million folk; but it represents to me the world. Here political power has tried to resist the power of modern capital. It has not yet succeeded, but its partial failure is not because the republic is black, but because the world has failed in this same battle; because or¬ ganized industry owns and rules England, France, Germany, America and Heaven. And can Liberia escape the power that rules the world? I do not know; but I do know unless the world escapes, the world as well as Liberia will die; and if Liberia lives it will be because the World is reborn as in that vision splendid of 1918. And thus again in 1924 as in 1899 I seem to see the problem of the 20th century as the Problem of the Color Line. WHO’S WHO OF THE CONTRIBUTORS Locke, Alain: editor and contributor, The New Negro, Negro Youth Speaks , The Negro Spirituals, The Legacy of the Ancestral Arts; born Philadelphia, Pa., September 13, 1886; educated at Philadelphia public schools; Harvard College, A.B., 1907; graduate study, Oxford University (Rhodes Scholar from Pennsylvania), 1907-10; University of Berlin, 1910-11; Harvard University, Ph D., 1918; Assistant Professor and Professor of Philosophy, Howard Uni¬ versity, Washington, D. C., 1912-25. Author: Race Contacts and Inter¬ racial Relations, 1916, and numerous articles on social problems and belles lettres. Editor, Harlem Number, Survey Graphic, March, 1925. Barnes, Albert C.: Negro Art and America; bom Philadelphia, Pa.; educated at Central High School, Philadelphia, the University of Pennsylvania, and Uni¬ versity of Heidelberg, M.D., University of Pennsylvania, 1892, art collector and connoisseur, and founder of the Barnes Foundation, Merion, Pa. Editor of the Journal of the Barnes Foundation, co-editor of Les Arts a Paris, and author of the Art of Painting, Barnes Foundation Press, 1924. Braithwaite, William Stanley: The Negro in American Literature ; bom Bos¬ ton, 1878; educated at public schools of Boston and Newport; poet, journalist, editor, and pioneer anthologist of contemporary American poetry. Author: Lyrics of Life, The House of Falling Leaves, The Poetic Year, The Story of the Great War. Compiler of The Book of Elizabethan Verse, The Book of Georgian Verse, The Book of Restoration Verse. Contributing editor, the Boston Transcript; Spingarn Medallist, 1918. Fisher, Rudolph: The City, of Refuge and Vestiges; born Washington, D. C., 1897 ; educated at public schools of New York and Providence, R. I., Brown University, A.B. and A.M., 1920 (Phi Beta Kappa, Delta Sigma Rho, and Sigma XI) ; Howard University Medical School, M.D., 1924. Has published short stories in the Atlantic Monthly, Survey Graphic, and The Crisis. First story prize winner in the Amy Spingarn Prize Contest for 1925. Toomer, Jean: Carma-Fern, from “Cane”; born Washington, D. C., 1894; edu¬ cated at public schools and Dunbar High, Washington ; after a varied experience of travel, taught four months at Sparta, Ga. ; since then has lived in New York. Frequent contributor to The Little Review, Secession, The Double Dealer, Broom, Opportunity, and The Crisis. Author: “Cane,” a novel, 1923. Matheus, John F.: Fog; bom Keyser, W. Va.; educated at the public schools, Steubenville, O., Western Reserve University, A.B., 1910, Columbia University, A.M., 1921; teacher of languages, Florida A. & M. College, Tallahassie, 1910-22, since 1922 Professor of Romance Languages, West Virginia Collegiate Institute. Hurston, Zora Neale: Spunk; born Jacksonville, Fla.; educated at Baltimore, Md., Morgan Preparatory, and Howard University; journalism and writing in New York. Spunk was the second prize story in the 1925 Opportunity Literary Contest. Walrond, Eric D.: The Palm Porch; born British Guiana, 1898; educated at St. Stephen’s Boys’ School, Black Rock, Barbadoes, later Canal Zone public schools, and three years, 1913-16, under private tutors in Colon; employed Health Department, Cristobal, and as reporter of the Star and Herald , 415 ■BIBLIOGRAPHY 416 1916-18; came to New York in 1918; spent three years at the College of the City of New York and one year as special student at Columbia Uni¬ versity; has served variously as stenographer in the British Recruiting Mission. Associate Editor, the Brooklyn and Long Island Informer and later The Negro World, and is now Business Manager of Opportunity. Contributor of reviews, stories and articles, Vanity Fair, The New Republic, The Smart Set, the Saturday Review of Literature, Current History, The Independent, Opportunity, etc. Nugent, Bruce: Sahdji; born Washington, D. C., 1905; educated at public schools and high school, Washington; art student. Cullen, Countee P.: Selected Poems and Heritage; bom New York City, 1903; educated at New York public schools; De Witt Clinton High, New York University, A.B., 1925 (Phi Beta Kappa) A.M., Harvard, 1926; winner of numerous poetry prize contests; has contributed verse to Harpers, The Nation, The American Mercury, Scribner's, Survey Graphic, The Crisis, Opportunity, Folio, etc. Author: Color, Harper & Brothers, 1925. McKay, Claude: Selected Poems; born Jamaica, 1889, early education there; served in the Kingston Constabulary; came to United States in 1912; two years student of agriculture at Kansas State University ; since then has fol¬ lowed journalism and writing; visited Russia in 1921; and has since lived abroad in Germany and prance; formerly associate editor, The Liberator and The Masses; contributor to these, The Seven Arts, The Crisis, etc. Author: Songs of Jamaica, Spring in New Hampshire (London), Harlem Shadows, Harcourt, Brace and Co., 1922. Grimke, Angelina W.: The Black Finger; born Boston, Mass., 1880; educated in private academies and Boston Latin and Normal School, since 1916; teacher of English, Dunbar High School, Washington, D. C. Contributor of verse and essays to numerous magazines. Author of Rachel, Comhill Co., 1920. Spencer, Anne: Selected Poems; bom Bramwell, W. Va., 1882; educated at Virginia Seminary, Lynchburg, Va., where she now resides; engaged in writing and social work. Bontemps, Arna. The Day-Breakers; born Alexandria, La., 1902; educated public schools Los Angeles, Cal., the University of California and Pacific Union College, 1920-23; A.B., 1923, Pacific Union College; now teaching Harlem Academy, New York City. Contributor to Opportunity, The Crisis, Palms, and other magazines. Johnson, Georgia Douglas: Selected Poems; bom Atlanta, Ga., 1886; educated at Atlanta High School and Oberlin College; contributor to Liberator, The Worker’s Monthly, The Crisis, and Opportunity. Author: The Heart of a Woman and Other Poems, 1918, Bronze, a Book of Verse, Brimmer, 1922. Alexander, Lewis: Enchantment; born Washington, D. C., 1898; educated at public schools and Dunbar High and Howard University; acted in the Ethiopian Art Theatre Company; member Playwriters’ Circle and Ira Al¬ dridge Players. Hughes, Langston: Selected Poems and Jazzonia; born Joplin, Mo., 1902; educated at Lawrence, Kansas and Cleveland High School, Ohio; spent one year at Columbia University ; since then has travelled extensively in Africa and Europe “on his own and for the sake of experience.” Contributor, The Crisis, The Worker’s Monthly, Vanity Fair, Opportunity. Author: The Weary Blues, a volume of verse. Alfred Knopf, 1925. Gregory, Montgomery: The Drama of Negro Life; bom Washington, D. C., 1888; educated at Harvard College, A.B., 1910; Instructor, Assistant Pro¬ fessor and Professor of English, Howard University, 1911-24; Organizer and Director of the Howard Players, 1919-24, now supervisor of Negro Schools, Atlantic City, N. J. : BIBLIOGRAPHY 417 Fauset, Jessie Redmon: The Gift of Laughter; born at Philadelphia, Pa.; edu¬ cated in the Philadelphia public schools, Cornell University, A.B., 1905 (Phi Beta Kappa), University of Pennsylvania, A.M., 1921; special courses at the Sorbonne; teacher of French and Latin, Dunbar High School, Washington; Literary Editor of The Crisis, 1920-26. Author of numerous magazine articles, verse and stories; also There is Confusion, a novel, Boni & Liveright, 1924. Richardson, Willis: Compromise ; born Wilmington, N. C., 1889; educated at public schools and Dunbar High School, Washington, D. C.; now engaged in the government clerical service; since 1917 has written numerous one act and larger plays, of which the following have been produced: The Deacon’s Awakening, St. Paul, 1921; The Chip Woman’s Fortune, by the Chicago Folk Theatre, 1923; Mortgaged, by the Howard Players, 1924, and The Broken Banjo, the Amy Spingarn Prize Play in New York, 1925. Has con¬ tributed articles on Negro Drama to Opportunity and The Crisis. Rogers, James A.: Jazz at Home; journalist and correspondent, on staff of The Messenger and The Amsterdam News, New York. Author: numerous articles and From Superman to Man, Chicago, 1917. Schomburg, Arthur A.: The Negro Digs Up His Past; born San Juan, Porto Rico; educated public and private schools, and St. Thomas College; came to the United States in 1891, and has since been engaged as law clerk and in business. Author and book collector; president of the American Negro Academy; co-founder of the Negro Society for Historical Research. Author: Phyllis Wheatley, a critical edition, Fred Heartman, New York, 1916; A Check List of American Negro Poetry, New York, 1916, and numerous his¬ torical pamphlets and reprints. Fauset, Arthur Huff: American Negro Folk Lore; bom Flemington, N. J., 1899; educated at Philadelphia public schools, the Central High School and the Philadelphia School of Pedagogy, A.B., University of Pennsylvania, 1921, A.M., ibid., 1924; has taught since 1918 in the Philadelphia public schools, and has specialized in the study of folk lore, making a research of Nova Scotia folk lore under the auspices of the American Folk Lore Society, 1923, and one in the lower South, especially the Mississippi Delta Region, in the summer of 1925. Bennett, Gwendolyn B.: Song; bom Giddings, Texas; studied at Pratt Insti¬ tute and Columbia University; taught Design and Water Color at Howard University in Washington, D. C.; Delta Sigma Theta Fellowship to Paris for 1925-26. Contributor to Opportunity, The Crisis and The Messenger. PART II Kellogg, Paul Underwood: The Negro Pioneers; bom Kalamazoo, Mich., 1879; graduate Kalamazoo High School; special courses Columbia University, 1901-06; Hon. A.M. Amherst, 1911; city editor Kalamazoo Daily Telegraph, 1898-1901; on staff The Survey since 1902; since 1912 editor The Survey and the Survey Graphic; director The Pittsburgh Survey, 1907-08. Editor, Pittsburgh Survey. Joint author with Arthur Gleason, British Labor and the War, 1918. Johnson, Charles S.: The New Frontage on American Life; bom Bristol, Va., 1898; A.B. Virginia Union University, 1916; Ph.B. University of Chicago, 1917, graduate study in social science in Chicago while research investigator of the Chicago Urban League, Associate Executive Secretary of the Chicago Race Relations Commission, compiled material and wrote sections of their report, “The Negro in Chicago,” 1921, since 1921, director of Research and 'BIBLIOGRAPHY 418 Publicity, National Urban League, and editor of Opportunity ; a Journal of Negro Life. Johnson, James Weldon: The Creation — a Negro Sermon, and Harlem, the Culture Capital; bom Jacksonville, Fla., 1872; educated at public schools of Jacksonville, at Atlanta University and at Columbia University, Hon.D.Litt., Atlanta University, Howard University, 1923; taught school in Jacksonville; came to New York and was engaged with J. Rosamund Johnson and others in libretto and song writing for the musical comedy stage; seven years United States Consul in Venezuela and Nicaragua; journalist and publicist; Executive Secretary, The National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, New York City; Spingarn Medallist, 1925. Author: The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man, 1912; The English Libretto of Goyescas, 1915; Fifty Years and Other Poems, Cornhill Co., 1917. Editor, The Book of American Negro Poetry, Harcourt, Brace & Co., 1922, and The Book of American Negro Spirituals, Viking Press, 1925. Miller, Kelly: Howard; the National Negro University; born Winnsboro, S. C., 1863; educated at Howard University, A.B., 1886; post graduate study Howard and Johns Hopkins University; since 1890 Professor of Mathematics, and later Professor of Sociology, Howard University and Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, subsequently the Junior College; author, sociologist, publicist. Author: Race Adjustment, 1909; The Appeal to Conscience, 1918; The Everlasting Stain, 1924, and numerous monographs, articles and pamphlets on education and race questions. Moton, Robert Rtjssa: Hampton-Tuskegee — Missioners of the Masses; bom Amelia County, Va., 1867; educated at Hampton Institute; graduated 1890; officer and later Commandant Hampton, 1890-1915; since 1916 Principal of Tuskegee Institute; President Negro Business League since 1919; educator and publicist, member numerous inter- racial committees and foundations; Hon. LL.D., Va. Union and Wilberforce, A.M., Williams, 1923. Author: Racial Good Will, 1916; Finding a Way Out, an autobiography, 1920 and numerous public addresses and publications. Frazier, E. Franklin: Durham — Capital of the Black Middle Class; born Balti¬ more, September 24, 1894; educated at public schools, Baltimore, Howard University, A.B., 1916; taught Tuskegee, Lawrenceville and Baltimore High School, A.M., Clark University, 1920; Research Fellow, New York School of Social Work, 1920-21; American Scandinavian Foundation Fellow, 1921-22; studied the Co-operative Movement and People’s High Schools in Denmark, Professor of Social Science, Morehouse College, 1922-24; since then Director of the Atlanta School of Social Work. Contributor of articles on social problems: The Crisis, Opportunity, Southern Workman, Howard Review, and Journal of Social Forces. Domingo, W. A.: The Gift of the Black Tropics; born Kingston, Jamaica, 1889; educated at public schools and the Board School, Kingston ; came to the United States in 1910, and has since been engaged in business and journalism. Editor, The Emancipator (1920-21), contributor to The Messenger, The Crusader, The Negro World, Survey Graphic, etc. Herskovits, Melville J.: The Negro's Amencanism; bom Bellefontaine, Ohio; educated at public schools; Ph.B., 1920, the University of Chicago; A.M., 1921, and Ph.D., 1922, Columbia University; Fellow in Anthropology, Board of Fellowships in the Biological Sciences, National Research Council, working on the problem of variability under Racial Crossing with special reference to Negro-White Crossing 1923 to date; Lecturer in Anthropology at Howard University, 1925; and at Columbia University, 1925-26; scientific papers in anthropological and sociological journals and contributor to the Nation , American Mercury, Survey, etc. 'BIBLIOGRAPHY 419 White, Walter F.: The Paradox of Color; bom Atlanta, Georgia; educated at public schools and Atlanta University, A.B., 1916; has lived in New York since 1918 as Assistant Executive Secretary of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. Has travelled extensively as special investigator for this Association, making reports on numerous lynchings, race riots and other social studies. Contributor to the Nation, Century, Forum, Freeman, Survey, Liberator, The Outlook, New Republic, The Crisis, Bookman. Author: Fire in the Flint, a novel, Knopf, 1925, and Flight, Knopf, 1926. McDougald, Elsie J.: The Task of Negro Womanhood; bom and educated in New York City, varied experience as teacher, social investigator and voca¬ tional guidance expert, the New York Urban League, the Manhattan Trade School, the Henry Street Settlement, the New York branch United States Department of Labor, the New York School system, and now vice-principal of Public School 89. Supervisor of the Women’s Trade Union League and Y. W. C. A. Survey, published 1919 as A New Day for the Colored Woman Worker. Contributor of articles on welfare and social service work to edu¬ cational journals, The Crisis, Opportunity, and Survey Graphic. Du Bois, W. E. Burghardt: Worlds of Color; born at Great Barrington, Mass., 1868; educated at Fisk University, A.B., 1888, Harvard University, 1893, A.B. University of Berlin, graduate study in History and Sociology, Ph.D. (Harvard), 1895; professor of Economics and History at Atlanta University, 1896-1910. Editor, The Atlanta Studies, till 1911; since 1910 Director of Publicity, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, and Editor of The Crisis; author and publicist; founder of the Pan-African Congresses. Author: The Suppression of the Slave Trade (Harvard His¬ torical Studies, Vol. I), The Philadelphia Negro, The Souls of Black Folk, John Brown, a Biography, The Q'uest of the Silver Fleece, Star of Ethiopia, a Pageant, 1914; Darkwater, 1920; The Negro, 1915; The Gift of Black Folk, 1924. Johnson, Helene: The Road; bom and educated in Boston, English High School, Boston Normal. NOTES TO THE ILLUSTRATIONS The art lay-out of The New Negro, including cover design, decorative features and illustrations, represent the work of Winold Reiss, who has painstakingly collaborated in the project to give a graphic interpretation of Negro life, freshly conceived after its own patterns. Concretely in his portrait sketches, abstractly in his symbolic designs, he has aimed to portray the soul and spirit of a people. By the simple but rare process of not forcing an alien idiom upon nature, or a foreign convention upon a racial tradition, he has succeeded in revealing some of the rich and promising resources of Negro types, which await only upon serious artistic recognition to become both for the Negro artist and American art at large, one of the rich sources of novel material both for decorative and representative art. Winold Reiss, whose studio is now in New York, is son of Fritz Reiss, the Bavarian landscape painter, pupil of Franz von Stuck, of Munich, and has become a master delineator of folk types and folk character by wide experience and definite specialization. With ever-ripening skill, he has studied and drawn the folk types of Sweden, Holland, of the Black Forest, and his own native Tyrol, and in America, the Black Foot Indians, the Pueblo people, the Mexicans, and now, the American Negro. His art owes its peculiar success as much to the philosophy of his approach as to his technical skill. He is a folk-lorist of the ! 'BIBLIOGRAPHY 420 brush and palette, seeking always the folk character back of the individual, the psychology behind the physiognomy. In design also he looks not merely for decorative elements, but for the pattern of the culture from which it sprang. Without loss of naturalistic accuracy and individuality, he somehow subtly expresses the type, and without being any the less human, captures the racial and local. What Gauguin and his followers have done for the Far East, and the work of Ufer and Blumenschein and the Taos school for the Pueblo and Indian seems about to be done for the Negro and Africa. Douglas, Aaron: Ten Decorative Designs; born 1898 in Topeka, Kan.; edu¬ cated at public schools, graduate of the School of Fine Arts, University of Nebraska, 1923; for two years teacher of art in the colored High School of Kansas City, Mo.; now engaged in art work in New York City; has published drawings in Opportunity , Vanity Fair, and the Theatre Arts Monthly. NOTES TO THE BIBLIOGRAPHY The bibliographical section of N egro- Americana has been compiled by Arthur A. Schomburg; the section on Negro Folk Lore by Arthur H. Fauset, with acknowl¬ edgment for assistance to Professor Monroe Work of Tuskegee Institute; other sections, The Negro in Literature, Negro Music, Negro Drama, African Culture, and The Negro Question, have been compiled by the editor. A. L. A SELECT LIST OF NEGRO-AMERICANA AND AFRICANA NOTABLE EARLY BOOKS BY NEGROES Compiled by Arthur A. Schomburg A(bsolom) J(ones) and R(ichard) A(llen): A narrative of the proceedings of the Black people during the late awful calamity in Philadelphia and a Refutation of some censures. Philadel¬ phia, 1794. Allen, Richard, First Bishop of the A. M. E. Church: The life, experience and gospel labors of the Rt. Rev. Richard Allen. Writ¬ ten by himself. Philadelphia, 1793. Allen, Richard and Jacob Tapisco: The Doctrine and Discipline of the A. M. E. Church. Philadelphia, 1819. Allen, William G.: Wheatley, Banneker and Horton. Essay, with poems of Horton. Boston, 1849. The American Prejudice Against Color. London, 1853. 12mo., 107 pp. Anglo- African Magazine: William Hamilton, editor. New York, 1859-60. Anonymous: An Appeal of Forty Thousand Citizens Threatened with Disfranchisement to the People of Pennsylvania. Philadelphia, 1838. Slavery — By a Free Negro. 1789. Banneker, Benjamin: Almanacs — Goddard & Angell, Baltimore, 1792; Joseph Cruikshank, Phila¬ delphia, 1793, 1794, and 1795; James Angell, Baltimore, 1796; Samuel Pleasants, Junr., Richmond, 1797. Bell, J. Madison: A Poem Entitled The Day and the War, delivered January 1st, 1864. San Francisco, 1864. An Anniversary Poem Entitled The Progress of Liberty, delivered January 1st, 1866. San Francisco, 1866. A Poem Entitled The Triumph of Liberty. Detroit, 1870. Poems. New York, 1864. Bibb, Henry: Narrative of the Life and Character of H. B., an American Slave, written by himself. New York, 1849. Blackson, Lorenzo D.: The Rise and Progress of the Kingdom of Light and Darkness, etc. Phila¬ delphia, 1867. Blyden, Edward Wilmot: Vindication of the African Race. G. Killiam, Monrovia, 1857. Liberia’s Offering. J. A. Gray, New York, 1862. The Negro in Ancient History. New York, 1872. Aims of a Liberal Education for Africa. Cambridge, 1882. Christianity, Islam and the Negro Race. London, 1887. 421 422 'BIBLIOGRAPHY Brown, William Wells: Narrative of W. W. B., a Fugitive Slave. Boston, 1847. Three Years in Europe. London, 1852. Clotel or the President’s Daughter. London, 1853. The Black Man, His Antecedents, etc. New York, 1863. The Negro in the American Rebellion. Boston, 1867. The Rising Son. Boston, 1874. Campbell, Robert: A Pilgrimage to My Motherland. Philadelphia, 1861. Cannon, Rev. N. C.: The Rock of Wisdom, an Explanation of the Sacred Scriptures, to which are added several interesting hymns. Portrait. 1833. Capitein, Jacobus Elisa J.: Dissertatio Politico-Theologica de Servitute, Libertati Christianae Contraria, etc. Libertati Christianae non contraria. Leiden, 1742. Dutch Edition, Amsterdam, 1742. Catto, William T.: A Semi-Centennial Discourse, . . . with a History of the Presbyterian Church from its First Organization. Philadelphia, 1857. Coker, Daniel: A Dialogue Between a Virginian and an African Minister, by Rev. Daniel Coker, Benj. Edes. Baltimore, 1810. The Journal of Daniel Coker, etc. Baltimore, 1820. Cooper, Rev. Thomas: The African Pilgrim Hymns. London, 1820. Cornish, Samuel E., and Wright, T. S.: The Colonization Scheme Considered in its Rejection by the Colored Race. Newark, N. J., 1840. Crowther, Rev. Samuel: Journal of the Expedition Up the Niger and Tshaddo Rivers. London, 1855. Crummell, Rev. Alexander: The Black Woman of the South, Her Neglects and Her Needs. Cincinnati, no date. The Future of Africa, being addresses, sermons delivered in the Republic of Liberia. New York, 1862. The Negro Race. 1863. Africa and America. Springfield, 1891. Cuffe, Paul: Brief Account of Sierra Leone. New York, 1812. Delaney, Martin R.: Condition, Elevation, Emigration and Destiny of the Colored People of the United States. Philadelphia, 1852. A Treatise on the Origin and Object of Ancient Freemasonry; Its Introduction into the U. S. and Legitimacy Among Colored Men. Pittsburgh, 1853. Principia of Ethnology: The Origin of Races and Color. Philadelphia, 1879. Official Report of the Niger Valley Exploring Party. New York, 1861. Douglass, Frederick: The Heroic Slave. A thrilling narrative of the adventure of Madison Wash¬ ington in pursuit of liberty. Narative, Frederick Douglass’s, 1845. The Claims of the Negro, Ethnologically Considered. Rochester, 1854. My Bondage and My Freedom. New York, 1855. : BIBLIOGRAPHY 423 Douglass, William, the Rev. Sermons. Philadelphia, 1852. Annals of (St. Thomas’) First African Church in U. S. A. Philadelphia, 1862. Du Chaillu, Paul B.: Explorations and Adventures in Equatorial Africa. London, 1861. A Journey to Ashango-Land. New York, 1867. Dunbar, Paul Laurence: Oak and Ivy. Dayton, 1893. Majors and Minors. Toledo, 0., 1895. Easton, Rev. H.: A treatise on the intellectual character and civil and political condition of the colored people of the United States. Boston, 1837. Eliott, Robert Brown: Oration Delivered in Faneuil Hall, April 14, 1874. Boston, 1874. Flipper, Henry O.: The Colored Cadet at West Point. New York, 1878. Forten, James: Letters from a Man of Color. (Published anonymously.) Philadelphia, 1813. Proceedings of First Convention of Free Negroes at Philadelphia. 1817. Garnett, Henry Highland: An Address to the Slaves of the United States. Buffalo, 1843. The Past and Present Condition and Destiny of the Colored Race. Troy, 1848. A Memorial Discourse Delivered in the Hall of the House of Representatives, Washington, D. C., February 12, 1865. Philadelphia, 1865. Glasgow, Jesse Ewing: John Brown. Edinburgh, 1863. The Harpers Ferry Insurrection. Edinburgh, 1860. Greener, Richard T.: Charles Sumner. Columbus, S. C., 1874. Hall, Prince: A Charge Delivered to the African Lodge, June 24, 1797, at Menotomy, Mass., by the Rt. Worshipful Prince Hall, etc. Boston, 1797. Hammon, Jupiter: An Address to Miss Phyllis Wheatley. Hartford, Conn., 1778. An Address to the Negroes in the State of New York. New York, 1787. An Evening’s Improvement, Showing the Necessity of Beholding the Lamb of God, etc., privately printed, circa 1790. Harper, Frances Ellen W.: Miscellaneous Poems. Boston, 1854. Forest Leaves: Poems. Baltimore, 1855. Haynes, Rev. Lemuel: The Nature and Importance of True Republicanism, with a few suggestions favorable to Independence ... it being the twenty-fifth anniversary of American Independence, fourth of July, 1801. Rutland, Vt., c. 1801. A Sermon Delivered at Rutland, West Parish, 1805. Boston, 1807. Holly, James T.: Vindication of the Capacity of the Negro Race. New Haven, 1857. Hood, J. W. (Bishop): The Negro in the Christian Pulpit. Raleigh, 1884. 424 'BIBLIOGRAPHY Horton, George M.: The Hope of Liberty. Raleigh, N. C., 1829. Poems by a Slave. Philadelphia, 1837. Horton, James Africanus, M.D.: Physical and Medical Climate and Meteorology of the West Coast of Africa. London, 1867. Jones, Absolom: A Thanksgiving Sermon on Account of the Abolition of the African Slave Trade. Philadelphia, 1808. Latino, Juan: Austriados Libri II sive de victoria navali. Joannis Austriaci ad Echinadas Insulas, etc. Granatae, 1576. Lee, J aren a: Religious Experience and Journal of. Philadelphia, 1849. Lewis, R(obert) B(enjamin): Light and Truth, Containing the Universal History of the Colored and Indian Race. Boston, 1844. Love, E. K.: History of the First African Baptist Church. Savannah, 1888. Manzano, Juan Francisco: Poems by a Slave in the Island of Cuba, Recently Emancipated, Translated by R. R. Madden, M.B. London, 1840. Marrant, Rev. Bro. (John): A Sermon Preached on the 24 th June, 1789, African Lodge, etc. Boston, 1789. Minutes of the First Convention of People of Color. Philadelphia, 1831. Minutes of the Annual Convention of the Free People of Color at Phila¬ delphia. New York, 1833. Nell, William Cooper: The Colored Patriots of the American Revolution. Introduction by Harriet B. Stowe, Boston, 1855. Services of Colored Americans in the Wars of 1776 and 1812. Boston, 1852. Othello {pseud.): Negro Slavery, a pamphlet, 1788. Parrott, Russell: Address Delivered in St. Thomas P. E. Church. Philadelphia, 1814. Paul, Nathaniel: Abolition of Slavery. Albany, N. Y., 1827. Payne, Rt. Rev. Daniel A.: A Treatise on Domestic Education. Cincinnati, O., 1885. Recollections of Seventy Years. 1888. Pennington, J. W. C.: A Textbook of the Origin and History of the Colored People. Hartford, 1841. The Fugitive Blacksmith. Gilpin. London, 1849. Phillips, John Baptist: Address to the Right Hon. Earl Bathurst, Relative to the Claims of the Colored Population of Trinidad, etc. London, 1824. Purvis, Robert: Remarks on the Life and Character of James Forten. Philadelphia, n.d. 'BIBLIOGRAPHY 425 Raymond, M. (homme de couleur de Saint-Dominique) : Observations sur Vorigine et le progres du prejuge des colons blajics contre les kommes de couleur. Paris, 1791. Rogers, Rev. G. C.: The Repeal of the Missouri Compromise Considered. (An Argumentative Poem.) Newark, N. J., 1856. Roper, Moses: The Escape of Moses Roper. 1837. Ruggles, David: The Extinguisher “Extinguished.” New York, 1834. Rush, Christopher: A Short Manual of the Rise and Progress of the African M. E. Church in America. New York, 1843. Sancho, Ignatius: Letters of the Late I.S., an African to Which are Prefixed Memoirs of His Life, by Joseph Jekyll. London, 1782. 2v. The Theory of Music. 1789. Saunders, Prince: An Address Delivered at Bethel Church. Philadelphia, 1818. A Memoir Presented to the American Convention for Promoting the Aboli¬ tion of Slavery and Improving the Condition of the African Race. Philadelphia, 1818. Sip kins, Henry: Oration on the Abolition of the Slave Trade, Delivered in the African Church, New York, 1809. Smith, James McCune: Lecture on the Haytien Revolutions, with a Sketch of the Character of Toussaint UOuverture. New York, 1841. Still, William: The Underground Railway. Philadelphia, 1872. Straker, D. Augustus: The New South Investigated. Detroit, 1888. Tanner, Bishop Benjamin T.: An Apology for African Methodism. Baltimore, 1867. The Color of Solomon — What? Philadelphia, 1895. The Journal of Freedom: First Negro Newspaper edited by John B. Russwurm and Rev. Samuel E. Cornish. New York, 1827. The Mirror of Freedom (Periodical). Edited by David Ruggles. The North Star (Periodical): Edited by Frederick Douglass. Subsequently changed to Frederick Douglass’ Own Paper. Rochester, 1847. Thomas, J. J.: Froudacity : West Indian Fables. London, 1889. The Theory and Practice of Creole Grammar. Port of Spain, 1869. Trotter, James M.: Music and- Some Highly Musical People. Boston, 1878. Vassa, Gustavus: An Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olandah Equiano or G. V. the African, written by himself. First American edition with portrait by Tiebout, New York, 1791. Ibid., to which are added poems on various subjects by Phyllis Wheatley. J. Nicholson Co., Halifax, 1813. ! 'BIBLIOGRAPHY 42 6 Vastey, de Baron: Reflexions Politiques sur quelques ouvrages et Joumaux Franqais concernant Hayti. Imprimerie royale, Sans Souci, 1817. Walker, David: Appeal — in Four Articles, Together with a Preamble to the Colored Citizens of the World. Boston, 1829. Wallace, John: Carpet Bag Rule in Florida. Jacksonville, 1888. Ward, Samuel Ringgold: Autobiography of a Fugitive Negro. London, 18SS. Webb, Frank J.: The Garies and Their Friends, with introduction by Harriet B. Stowe. London, 1857. Whipper, William: The National Reformer. Philadelphia, 1838. Williams, George W.: History of the Negro Race in America jrom 1619 to 1880. New York, 1883. Williams, Rev. Peter, Jr.: Oration on the Abolition of the Slave Trade. New York, 1808. A Discourse Delivered on the Death of Captain Paul Cuffee. New York, 1817. Willson, Joseph T.: Sketches of the Higher Classes of Colored Society in Philadelphia. Phila¬ delphia, 1841. Wheatley, Phyllis: An Elegiac Poem on the Death of the Reverend and Learned George White- field. Boston, 1770. Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral. Port., London, 1773. Whitfield, James M.: Poems: America and Other Poems. Buffalo, 1853. Emancipation Oration. San Francisco, 1867. Whitman, Albery A.: Not a Man and Yet a Man. Springfield, O., 1877. Wright, Theodore S.: Race Prejudice Against the Colored Man. New York, 1837. THE NEGRO IN LITERATURE AMERICAN FICTION BEFORE 1910 Anonymous: The Prince of Kashna, by the author of In the Tropics, Carleton, 1866. Bacon, Eugene J.: Lyddy, a Tale of the Old South, New York, 1898. Braddon, Mary E.: The Octoroon, New York, no date. Brown, Katharine H.: Diane, New York, 1905. Brown, William Wells: Clotelle, a Tale of the Southern States, London, 1853, American edition, Boston, 1867. Miralda, or the Beautiful Quadroon, n.d. Cable, George W.: Old Creole Days, Scribner, 1879. Madame Delphine, Scrib¬ ner, 1881. Grandissimes, 1884. Gideon’s Band, 1914. Carruthers, William A.: The Cavalier of Virginia, London, 1837. Chestnutt, Charles W.: The Conjure Woman, Houghton, Mifflin, 1899. The Wife of His Youth and Other Stories, 1899. The House Behind the Cedars, 1900. The Marrow of Tradition, 1901. The Colonel’s Dream, Doubleday, Page, 1905. Corrothers, James D.: The Black Cat. Funk & Wagnalls, 1902. Crane, Stephen: The Monster and Other Stories, Harper, 1899. Dixon, Thomas: Leopard Spots, New York, 1902. Donnelly, Ignatius: Doctor Huguet, Chicago, 1891. Dunbar, Alice: The Goodness of St. Rocque and Other Stories, Dodd, Mead, 1899. Dunbar, Paul Laurence: Folks From Dixie, Dodd Mead, 1898. The Uncalled , Dodd, Mead, 1898. The Love of Landry, Dodd, Mead, 1900. The Sport of the Gods, Dodd, Mead, 1901. The Fanatics, Dodd, Mead, 1901. The Strength of Gideon and Other Stories, Dodd, Mead, 1900. Heart of Happy Hollow, Dodd, Mead, 1904. Durham, John S.: Diane, Priestess of Hayti, Lippincott, 1902. Earle, Victorl^: Aunt Lindy: a Story Founded on Real Life, J. J. Little, 1893. Gilmore, James R. (pseud. Edmund Kirk): Among the Pines, Carleton, N. Y., 1862. My Southern Friends, Carleton, N. Y., 1863. Griggs, Sutton E.; Imperium in imperio, Cincinnati, 1899. The Unfettered, Nashville, 1902. The Hindered Hand, 1905. Hall, A. Z.: Stanton White, Cleveland, 1905. Harben, W. N.: North Georgia Sketches, Chicago, 1900. Mam’ Linda, Harper, 1907. Harper, Frances E.: Iota Leroy, Boston, 1892. Harris, Joel Chandler: Uncle Remus, His Songs and Sayings, 1881. Nights With Uncle Remus, 1883. Plantation Pageants, 1898. Mingo and Other Sketches, 1898. Minervy Ann, Scribner, 1899. Uncle Remus and His Friends, Hough¬ ton, Mifflin, 1892. Howells, William Dean: The Imperative Duty, Harper, 1892. Ingraham, J. H.: The Quadroon, New York, 1839. Kennedy, John Pendleton: Swallow Bam, or a Sojourn in the Old Dominion, Phila., 1832. James, G. P. R.: The Old Dominion, Harper, 1856. 427 428 I BIBLIOGRAPHY McCants, E. C.: In the Red Hills, Doubleday, Page, 1904. Page, Thos. Nelson: In Ole Virginia, Scribner, 1887. Red Rock, Scribner, 1898. An Old Gentleman of the Black South, Scribner, 1901. Pratt, Lucy; Ezekiel, New York, 1909. Rayner, Emma: Handicapped Among the Free, New York, 1903. Sargeant, Epes: Peculiar: a Hero of the Southern Rebellion, Boston, 1862. Spears, John Randolph, The Fugitive, Scribner, 1899. Stowe, Harriet Beecher: Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Samson, Boston, 1852. Dred; a Tale of the Dismal Swamp, Samson, Boston, 1857. Nina Gordon (sequel to Dred), Samson, Boston, 1866. Stowers, William H.: (pseud.: “Sanda”) Appointed, Detroit, 1894. Stuart, Ruth McEnery: Napoleon Jackson, New York, 1902; The Second Wooing of Salina Sue, New York, 1905. The River’s Children, New York, 1904. Tourgee, Albion, A Fool’s Errand, New York, 1879. Bricks Without Straw, New York, 1880. Black Ice, New York, 1888. Webb, Frank, J.: The Garies and Their Friends, Routledge & Co., London, 1857. Wilson, Beckless: Harold; An Experiment, Globe Publishers, New York, 1891. AMERICAN FICTION SINCE 1910 Ashby, William M.: Redder Blood, Neale, 1916. Anderson, Sherwood: Black Laughter, Boni & Liveright, 1925. Bennett, John: Madame Margot, Century, 1921. Cotter, Joseph S.: Negro Tales, Cosmopolitan Press, N. Y., 1912. Cotton, Jane B.: Wall-Eyed Caesar’s Ghost and Other Sketches, Marshall Jones, 1925. Cozart, W. F.: The Chosen People, Christopher Press, 1924. Davis, James F.: Almanzar, Holt, 1918. Dubois, W. E. B.: The Quest of the Silver Fleece, McClurg, 1911. Fauset, Jessie R.: There Is Confusion, Boni & Liveright, 1924. Frank, Dr. (pseud.) : Negrolana, Christopher Publishers, Boston, 1924. Frank, Waldo: Holiday, Boni & Liveright, 1923. French, Alice: By Inheritance, Bobbs-Merrill, 1910. Glasgow, Ellen: Barren Ground, Doubleday, Page, 1924. Heywood, Du Bose: Porgy, Doran, 1925. Hough, Emerson: The Purchase Price, New York, 1910. Johnson, James Weldon: Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man, Sherman, French, 1912. Johnston, Mary: The Slave Ship, Little, Brown, 1925. Jones, Joshua H.: By Sanction of Law, Brimmer, 1924. Kennedy, R. Emmett: Black Cameos, A. and C. Boni, 1924. Kester, Paul: His Own Country, Bobbs-Merrill, 1917. Lipscomb, Harry F.: The Prince of Washington Square, New York, 1925. Majette, V. S., White Blood, Stratford Co., 1924. Martin, Mrs. George Madden: The Children in the Mist, Appleton, 1920. Mischeaux, Oscar: The Conquest, Woodruff Press, Nebraska, 1913. Ovington, Mary White: Hazel, Crisis Pub., 1913. The Shadow, Harcourt, Brace, 1920. Peterkin, Julia: Green Thursday, Knopf, 1924. Pickens, William: The Vengeance of the Gods, Phila., 1922. Pratt, Lucy: Ezekiel Expands, Houghton, Mifflin, 1914. Scarborough, Dorothy: The Land of Cotton, Macmillan, 1923. Shands, Hubert, A.: White and Black, Harcourt, Brace, 1922. Stribling, T. S.: Birthright, Century, 1922. Toomer, Jean: Cane, Boni & Liveright, 1923, 'BIBLIOGRAPHY 429 Van Vechten, Carl: Nigger Heaven, Knopf, 1926. Walrond, Eric: Tropic Death, Boni, Liveright, 1926. White, Walter F.: The Fire in the Flint, Knopf, 1924. Flight, Knopf, 1926. Wood, Clement: Nigger, 1926, Dutton, 1922. ENGLISH FICTION Allen, Grant: The Great Taboo, London, 1890. Anonymous: Bayette — a South African Novel, Cape Town, 192S. Banks, G. L.: God’s Providence House, London, 1865. Behn, Mrs. Aphra: Oronooko, London, 1688. Button, Rev. Weeden: Zimao; the African, London, 1800. Conrad, Joseph: The Nigger of the Narcissus, London, 1897. Firbank, Ronald: Prancing Nigger, Brentano, 1924. Garnett, David: The Sailor’s Return, Knopf, 1925. Haigh, Richmond: An Ethiopian Saga, Holt, 1919. Hough, Charles B.: Witch Doctor, London, 1924. Kingston, William H. G.: John Deane, London, 1883. McFall, Haldine: The Wooings of Jezebel Pettyfer, London, 1897. Mackenzie, Jean: African Clearings, Houghton, Mifflin, 1924. Merrick, Leonard: Quaint Companions, E. P. Dutton, 1924. Millln, Sarah G.: God’s Step-Children, Boni & Liveright, 1924. Phllpotts, Eden: Black, White and Brindled, Macmillan, 1923. Plomer, Wm.: Tarbott Wolfe, Harcourt, Brace, 1926. Powys, Llewellyn: Ebony and Ivory, American Library Service, 1923. Black Laughter, Harcourt, Brace, 1924. Schreiner, Olive: Trooper Peter Halkut of Mashonaland, London, 1897. Simonton, Ida Vera: Hell’s Playground, Brentano, 1925. Wylie, 1. A. R.: The Black Harvest, Doran, 1926. Young, Francis Brett: Woodsmoke, E. P. Dutton. Sea Horses, Knopf, 1925. CONTINENTAL FICTION Charbonneau, Louis: Mamba et son Amour, Ferenczi, Paris, 1924. Chaumel, Alfred: Aminata, Paris, 1923. Cousturier, Lucie: Des Inccmnus chez moi, Sirene, Paris, 1920. La Foret du H aut -Niger— Cahiers D’aujourd’hui No. 12, 1923. Mon ami Fatou, Citadine, Paris, 1925. Mon Ami Soumare, Paris, 1925. Demaison, Andre: Diato, Michel, 1923. Les Oiseaux d’ebene , Paris, 192^ Goll, Claire: Neger Jupiter raubt Europa, Basel, 1925. Guary-Cesar-Lalne, G.: Les Batards du Soleil, Paris, 1922. Hugo, Victor: Bug-Jargal, Paris, 1816. Joseph, Gaston: Koffi, Paris, 1922. Trans. Elaine Wood, Danielson, London, 1923. Leblond, Marius et Ary, Ulysses Cafre, Paris, 1924. Maran, Rene : Batouala, Michel, 1921. Trans. A. S. Seltzer, New York, 1922. Salmon, Andre: La Negresse du Sacre-Coeur, Paris, 1920. Tharaud, Jerome et Jean: La Randonee de Samba Diouf, Paris, 1922. Trans. The Long Walk of Samba Diouf, Duffield, N. Y., 1924. NEGRO POETRY The Book of American Negro Verse, compiled by James Weldon Johnson, Har¬ court, Brace & Co., 1922. Negro Poets and their Poems, R. T. Kerlin, Associated Publishers, Washington, 1923. 430 'BIBLIOGRAPHY A Bibliographical Checklist of American Negro Poetry, Arthur A. Schomburg, New York, 1916. An Anthology of American Negro Verse, compiled by N. I. White and C. A. Jackson, Trinity College Press, Durham, 1924. Poetas de Color, por Francisco Calcaquo, Havana, 1878. Bell, J. Madison: The Poetical Works of M. B., Lansing, Michigan, 1901. Braithwaite, Wm. Stanley: Lyrics of Life and Love, Turner & Co.,. Boston, 1904. The House of Falling Leaves, Luce, Boston, 1908. Campbell, James E.: Echoes from the Cabin and Elsewhere, Chicago, 1905. Carmichael, Wm. T.: In the Heart of a Folk, Comhill Co., Boston, 1918. Corrothers, J. D.: Selected Poems, 1907; The Dream and the Song, 1914. Cotter, J. S., Jr.: The Band of Gideon and Other Poems, Boston, 1918. Cotter, J. S., Sr.: A White Song and a Black One, Louisville, 1909. Cullen, Countee P.: Color, Harper & Brothers, 1925. Davis, Daniel W.: Weh Down South, Cleveland, 1897. Dunbar, Paul Laurence: Lyrics of Lowly Life, New York, 1896. Lyrics of the Hearth, New York, 1901. Collected Poems, Dodd, Mead & Co., 1920. Fortune, T. Thomas: Dreams of Life, New York, 1905. Hammon, Jupiter: Poems, reprinted, Heartmann, New York, 1916. Harper, F. E. W.: Miscellaneous Poems, Boston, 1854. Collected Poems, Phila¬ delphia, 1900. Hawkins, Walter E.: Chords and Discords, The Gorham Press, Boston, 1920. Hill, Leslie P.: The Wings of Oppression, Boston, 1921. Holloway, J. W.: From the Desert, New York, 1919. Hughes, Langston: The Weary Blues, Knopf, 1925 — Fine Clothes to the Jew, 1927. Johnson, Charles Bertram: Songs of My People, Boston, 1918. Johnson, Fenton: A Little Dreaming, Chicago, 1913. Visions of the Dusk, New York, 1915. Songs of the Soil, New York, 1916. Johnson, Georgia Douglas: The Heart of a Woman and Other Poems, Com¬ hill Co., 1918. Bronze, Brimmer Co., 1922. Johnson, James Weldon: Fifty Years and Other Poems, Comhill Co., Boston, 1917. ' Jones, Edward Smythe: The Sylvan Cabin, Boston, 1911. McKay, Claude: Songs of Jamaica, Kingston, 1912. Constab Ballads, London, 1912. Spring in New Hampshire, London, 1921. Harlem Shadows, Harcourt, Brace & Co., New York, 1922. McClellan, G. M.: The Path of Dreams, Louisville, 1916. Ray, Cordelia: Poems, New York, 1910. Shackleford, Wm. H.: Poems, Nashville, 1907. Wheatley, Phyllis: Collected Poems, reprinted, Heartmann, New York, 1916. Whitman, A. A.: The Rape of Florida, St. Louis, 1884. Twasinta’s Seminoles, St. Louis, 1890. An Idyll of the South, New York, 1901. SLAVE NARRATIVES The Missionary Pioneer, a Brief Memoir of John Stewart, New York, 1827. Ball, Charles: Slavery in the United States; a Narrative of the Life and Adven¬ tures of C. B., Lewiston, Pa., 1836. Hildreth, R.: The Slave or Memoirs of Archy Moors, 1836. Narratives of the Adventures and Escapes of Moses Roper, 1837. Narrative of Henry Watson, a Fugitive Slave, 1845. Pickard, Kate E.: The Kidnapped and the Ransomed (Peter Still), 1846. Brown, William Wells: Narrative of W. W. B., Boston, 1847. 'BIBLIOGRAPHY 43i Stearns, C.: Narrative of Henry Box Brown, 1849. Life of J. Henson Formerly a Slave, 1849. Experience of Thomas Jones, Who Was a Slave for Forty-three Years, 1850. Truth, Sojourner, Narrative of, 1850. Paine, L. W.: Six Years in a Georgia Prison, 1852. Narrative of Events in the Life of William Green, 1853. Northup, Solomon: Twelve Years a Slave, Narative of Solomon Northup, 1853. Douglass, Frederick: My Bondage and Freedom, 1855. Truth Stranger Than Fiction (Josiah Henson). Cleveland, 1858. Ward, Samuel Ringgold: Autobiography of a Fugitive Negro, 1855. Stewart, Austin: Twenty -One Years a Slave and Forty Years a Free Man Rochester, 1857. Davis, Rev. Noah: Narrative of Noah Davis, 1859. Loguen, Bishop: As a Slave and as a Free Man, 1859. Craft, William and Ellen: Running a 1,000 Miles for Freedom, or the Escape from Slavery, London, 1860. Brent, Linda: Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Boston, 1861. Still, William: The Underground Railroad, Philadelphia, 1872. Eliot, W. G.: The Story of Archer Alexander, 1885. Bradford, Sarah H.: Harriet (Tubman), The Moses of Her People , New York 1897. Smith, Amanda: An Autobiography, Chicago, 1893. BIOGRAPHIES Allen, Richard: Life and Times, Philadelphia, 1833. Andrews, R. McCants: John Merrick, Durham, 1920. Alexander, Chari.es: Life and Adventures of Allen Allensworth New York 1914. ’ Baker, Henry E.: Benjamin Banneker, Washington, 1924. Brawley, B. G.: Women of Achievement, Chicago, 1919. Brown, William Wells: The Black Man, New York, 1863. Cuffe, Paul: A Memoir of Captain Paid Cuffe, York, 1812. Douglass, Frederick: Life and Times of Frederick Douglass, Hartford, 1882. Gibbs, Mifflin W.: Shadow and Light, an Autobiography, Washington, 1902." Green, John P.: Truth Stranger Than Fiction, Cleveland, 1887. Hare, Maud Cuney: A Life of Norris Wright Cuney, New York, 1913. Holtzclaw, W. H.: The Black Man’s Burden, New York, 1915. Jones, L. C.: Piney Woods and Its Story, New York, 1922. Lane, Lunsford: Autobiography, Boston, 1845. Langston, John M.: From the Virginia Plantation to the National Capitol Hart¬ ford, 1894. Moton, R. R.: Finding a Way Out, an Autobiography, New York, 1920. Page, J.: The Black Bishop, J. S. H. Crowther, London, 1908. Pickens, William: The Heir of Slaves, New York, 1911. Bursting Bonds Boston, 1923. ' Rollin, Frank A.: Life and Public Services of Martin R. Delaney, Boston, 1868. Rowland, Mabel: Bert Williams, Son of Laughter, English Crafters, N. Y , 1923 Sayers, W. C. Berwick: Samuel Coleridge -Taylor, London, 1915. Sherwood, H. N.: Paul Cuffe, Washington, 1924. Simmons, Wm. J.: Men of Mark, Cleveland, O., 1887. Sprague, Wm. B.: Sketches of the Life and Character of Lemuel Haynes New York, 1839. * Walters, Alexander: My Life and Work, Chicago, 1917. Washington, Booker T. : Up from Slavery, New York, 1901. NEGRO DRAMA A SELECT LIST OF PLAYS OF NEGRO LIFE Anderson, Garland, “Appearances,” First performance, New York, 1925. Bishop, Nan Bagley, “Roseanne,” Greenwich Village Theatre, New York, 1923. Bolton, Guy (and Tom Carlton), “Children,” Washington Square Players, 1916. Burrill, Mamie P., “Aftermath,” “They That Sit in Darkness,” New York, 1919. Busey, DeReath Byrd, “The Yellow Tree,” Howard Players, 1922. Cotter, Joseph S. Jr., “Caleb, the Degenerate,” Louisville, Ky., 1903. Culbertson, Ernest H., “Goat Alley,” “Jackey,” 1922. Davenport, Butler, “Justice,” Bramhall Players,” 1920. Downing, Henry F., “The Racial Tangle,” 1920. DuBois, W. E. Burghardt, “The Star of Ethiopia,” The Horizon Guild, 1913. Duncan, Thelma: “The Death Dance,” Howard Players, 1923. Galsworthy, John, “The Forest,” Chicago Little Theatre, 1925. Scribner, 1924. Green, Paul, “White Dresses,” “Granny Bolling ,” The Carolina Folk Players, Henry Holt, 1923; “Two Carolina Folks Plays,” Poet Lore, Vol. 35, 1924; “The Hot Iron,” “The End of the Road,” “Prayer Meetin’ ” and “Ole Wash Lucas.” Poet Lore, 1924 ; “Sam Tucker,” Poet Lore, 1925 ; “The No ’Count Boy,” The Dallas Little Theatre, 1925; Theatre Arts Magazine, November, 1924. Collected Plays: “The Lonesome Road,” McBride, N. Y., 1926. Grimke, Angelina, “Rachel,” Nathaniel Guy Players, 1916; Comhill Co., Boston, 1920. Johnson, Fenton, “The Cabaret Girl,” The “Shadows” Theatre, Chicago, 1925. Middleton, George, “The Black Tie,” New York, 1922. Mygatt, Tracy, “The Noose,” Neighborhood Players. New York, 1922. Nelson, Alice M. Dunbar, “Mine Eyes Have Seen,” Crisis, 1918. O’Neill, Eugene, “The Dreamy Kid,” “The Emperor Jones,” Provincetown Players, 1920; “All God’s Chillun Got Wings,” Boni & Liveright, 1924. Ovington, Mary White. “Hazel,” Crisis, 1913. Pratt, Rachel Brock, “The Way of the World,” New York, 1921. Richardson, Willie, “The Deacon’s Awakening,” St. Paul, 1921; “The Chip Woman’s Fortune,” Chicago Art Players, 1923; “Mortgaged,” The Howard Players, 1924; “The Broken Banjo,” The Krigwa Guild, 1925; MSS. “The Idle Head,” “The Shell-Road Witch,” “The Victims,” “Compromise.” Rogers, Wm. R., Jr., “Judge Lynch,” The Dallas Little Theatre, 1924. Sheldon, Edward, “The Nigger” (The Governor), The New Theatre, New York, 1909; Macmillan Co., 1910. Sheldon, Edward and Charles MacArthur, “Lulu Belle,” New York, 1926. 1926. Thompson, Eloise Bibb, “Cooped Up,” Lafayette Players, New York, 1924; “Caught,” Ethiopian Folk Players, 1925. Torrence, Ridgeley, “Granny Maumee,” The New York Stage Society, 1914; “Simon the Cyrenian,” “The Rider of Dreams,” published as “Three Plays for the Negro Theatre,” Macmillan Co., 1917; The Hapgood Players, 1916; “The Danse Calinda,” Theatre Arts, 1921; The Howard Players, 1923. Toomer, Jean, “Kabnis,” published in “Cane,” Boni & Liveright, 1923. Tully, Jim, and Frank Dazey, “Black Boy,” New York, 1926. 432 : 'BIBLIOGRAPHY 433 Ware, Alice, “The Open Door, a Pageant,” The Atlanta Players, 1923. Webb, Helen, “Genefrede,” The Howard Players, 1923. White, Lucy, “The Bird Child,” 1922. Wyborg, Mary H., “Taboo,” Margaret Wycherley Players, New York, 1922; London, 1923. OLDER PLAYS Archer, Thos., “The Black Doctor,” London, 1847. Bickerstaffe, Isaac, “The Padlock,” London, 1768. Brown, William Wells, “Miralda,” Boston, 1855. Cumberland, R., “The West Indian, a Comedy,” New York, 1818. Easton, Wm. Edgar, “Dessalines,” Galveston, 1895. Grovenvelt, Sara B., “Octile, the Octoroon.” Lamartine, “Toussant L’Ouverture,” Paris, 1833. Aldridge, Ira, Repertory, 1860-66, “Karfa, the Slave,” “Obi,” “Opposum Up a Gum Tree,” “Virginian Mummy,” “Zanga, the Slave.” Southerne, Thomas, “Oroonoko” London, 1696. Stowe, Harriet B., “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” Dramatized by J. Lacy, 1853. “Dred,” dramatized by H. J. Conway, New York, 1856. i NEGRO MUSIC: A BIBLIOGRAPHY NEGRO SPIRITUALS AND FOLK SONGS— COLLECTIONS The Negro Singer’s Own Book, Turner & Fisher, Philadelphia, 1846. Christy’s Plantation Melodies, Fisher & Bro., 1851. The Songs of the Contrabands, L. C. Lockwood, New York, 1861. Slave Songs of the United States, Wm. F. Allen, A Simpson & Co., 1867. The Story of the Jubilee Singers and their Songs, T. F. Seward & Geo. L. White, Bigelow & Maine, 1872. Ibid., 2nd Edition, edited by J. B. T. Marsh, Houghton, Osgood & Co., 1880. The Jubilee Singers, G. D. Pike, 1873. Cabin and Plantation Songs as Sung by the Hampton Students, edited by T. P. Fenner & F. G. Rathbon, G. P. Putnam, 1874. 2nd Edition, G. P. Putnam, 1897. Tuskegee Normal and Industrial Institute; its Story and its Songs, H. W. Ludlow, Hampton Press, 1884. Bahama Songs and Stories, Chas. L. Edwards, Houghton, Mifflin Co., 1895. Old Plantation Hymns, Wm. E. Barton, Lamson, Wolffe & Co., 1899. Songs of the Old South, Miss Howard Weedon, Doubleday Page, 1900. Creole Songs from New Orleans, Clara G. Peterson, New Orleans, 1902. Twenty-three Ragtime Hits, Vocal Folio No. 3, Stern & Co., New York, 1903. Calhoun Plantation Songs, collected by Emily Hallowell, C. W. Thompson, Boston, 1901. Second Series, collected by Emily Hallowed, C. W. Thompson, Boston, 1905. Third Series, collected by Emily Hallowed, C. W. Thompson, Boston, 1907. Some American Negro Folk Songs, F. J. Work, Boston, 1909. Religious Folk Songs of the Negro, as Sung on the Plantations, Institute Press, Hampton, 1909. New Plantation Melodies as Sung by the Tuskegee Students, N. Clark Smith, Tuskegee, 1909. Negro Folk Songs, H. Barrett, Hampton Press, 1912. Plantation Songs, Ruth McHenry Stewart, Appleton Co., 1916. The Hampton Series — Negro Folk Songs, recorded by Natade Curtis Burdn, G. Schirmer Co., 1918-19, 4 vols. Songs and Sayings from the Dark Continent, by Natalie Curtis Burlin, G. Schirmer Co., 1920. Bayou Ballads, Twelve Folk Songs from Louisiana, Mina Monroe, Schirmer, 1921. Six Creole Folk Songs with Text, Maud Cuney Hare, New York, 1921. Ten Negro Spirituals, by W. A. Fisher, H. B. Gaul, Rosamund Johnson and C. F. Manney, Oliver Ditson Co., 1924. Eight Negro Songs from Bedford County, F. H. Abbott, Enoch and Sons, 1924. Bellair Plantation Melodies, Helen D. Benedict, New Orleans, 1924. Fifty-eight Spirituals for Choral Use, by Hollis Dann and H. W. Loomis, C. Bir¬ chard Co., Boston, 1924. Twenty-five Negro Spirituals, edited by Hugo Frey, Robbins, Engel, Inc., New York, 1924. Folk Songs of the American Negro, collected and edited by Harriet Turner, Boston Music Co., 1925. 434 'BIBLIOGRAPHY 43 5 Seventy Negro Spirituals, Ed. William Arms Fisher, Musicians Library, 1926. Mellows; Negtp Work Songs, Street Cries and Spirituals, R. Emmet Kennedy, A. & C. Boni, 1925. St. Helena Spirituals, C. J. S. Ballanta, Schirmer, 1925. The Book of American Negro Spirituals, edited by J. Weldon and Rosamund Johnson, the Viking Press, New York, 1925. Religious Folk Songs of the Negro, revised and enlarged edition by R. Nathaniel Dett, G. Schirmer, 1926. The Second Book of Negro Spirituals, edited by J. Weldon and Rosamund John¬ son, The Viking Press, New York, 1926. Blues: An Anthology of Jazz Music from the Early Negro Folk Blues to Modem Music, W. C. Handy and E. A. Niles, A. & C. Boni, 1926. NEGRO FOLK MUSIC: COMMENTARIES The African Pilgrim Hymns, Rev. Thomas Cooper, Bertrand, London, 1820. African Melodies, John C. Scherff, New York, 1844. Ethiopian Songster, E. B. Christy, compiler, New York, 1858. Negro Spirituals, Miss McKim, Dwight’s Journal of Music, November 8, 1862. Negro Spirituals, H. G. Spaulding, The Continental Monthly, 1863. Negro Spirituals, Thos. W. Higginson, Atlantic Monthly, June, 1867; also Chapter IX of Army Life in a Black Regiment, Boston, 1870. The Jubilee Singers and their Campaign, G. D. Pike, Lee & Shippen, Boston, 1873. Music and Some Musical People, James M. Trotter, Lee & Shepard, New York, 1878. A Collection of Revival Hymns, Marshall W. Taylor, Cincinnati, 1882. Plantation Melodies, Marshall W. Taylor, Cincinnati, 1883. Creole Songs and Dances, Geo. W. Cable, Century Magazine, February, 1886. Notes on Negro Music, Chas. Peabody, Journal of American Folk Lore, Vol. XVI, 1903. Negro Music, Chas. Peabody, Southern Workman, May, 1904. The Sorrow Songs , Chapter IV of Souls of Black Folk, W. E. B. DuBois, Chicago, 1903. Afro-American Folk Songs — A Study in Racial and National Music, H. E. Krehbiel, G. Schirmer, New York, 1914. Folk Song of the American Negro, J. W. Work, Fisk University Press, 1915. American Folk Music in “Music in America,” Vol. 4, pp. 281-321, C. Sonneck, 1918. The Natural Harmonic and Rhythmic Sense of the Negro, Walter Goldstein, Proceedings National Association of Music Teachers, pp. 29-39, 1917. Foundation for Negro Music of Future, May Stanley, Musical America, July 6, 1918. Negro Music at Birth, Nathalie Curtis, Musical Quarterly, January and October, 1919. American Negro Music, R. Nathaniel Dett, Musical America, August, 1918, and May 31, 1919. An American School of Music, Philip Hale, Musical Review, August, 1908. Two Views of Ragtime, Hiram K. Moderwell, Seven Arts, Vol. 2, 1917. The Negro Spiritual, Oscar Seagle, Musical Courier, Vol. 74, No. 21, 1917. Stephen Foster Collins, H. V. Milligan, New York, 1920. Negro Spirituals, Harvey Gaul, New Music Review, Vol. 17, p. 147. Famous Negro Musicians, P. Lovinggood, Brooklyn Forum Press, New York, 1921. Negro Folk Song, R. E. Kennedy, Musical America, Vol. 28, August, 1918; The Music Student, September, 1919; Musical Courier, Vol. 87, 1923, and Poetic and Melodic Gifts of the Negro, Etude 41-159, March 23, 1925. 'BIBLIOGRAPHY 436 Negro Spirituals, David Guion, Musical Courier, Vol. 87, November 29, 1923. Musical Genius of the American Negro, C. C. White, Etude 42, 305, May, 1924. Jazz Band and Negro Music, Darius Milhaud, Living Age, 323, p. 169, 1924. Spirituals in the Making, C. L. Adams, Charleston Museum Quarterly, Vol. 1, No. 2, 1925. On the Trail of Negro Folk Songs, Dorothy Scarborough, Harvard University Press, 1925. The Negro and His Songs, Howard W. Odum and G. B. Johnson, Trinity College Press, 1925. NEGRO SPIRITUALS: ARRANGEMENTS Boatner, E. H. S. Three Spirituals, O. Ditson Co., 1924; Wade in de Water, On ma Journey, I Done Done. Five Negro Songs, Ditson, 1926: You Better Mind— 0 Gimme Your Hand, Sid Down, Servant, Mount Zion, Dis Ole Hammer. Brown, Lawrence Steal Away, Winthrop Rogers, London, 1922. Five Negro Melodies for Cello, Schott, London, 1923. Five Spirituals for Voice and Piano, Schott, 1924. Two Songs for Male Quartet, Boosey, 1924. Five Spirituals for Solo Voice in The Book of American Negro Spirituals, Viking Press, New York, 1925. Burleigh, Henry Thacker Plantation Melodies, Old and New, 1901. Two Plantation Songs, Wm. Max¬ well, New York, 1905. Ethiopias Paean of Exaltation, Ricordi. From the Southland, Wm. Maxwell Co., 1910. O Southland, 1919. Edited: Negro Minstrel Melodies — a Collection of 25 Songs by Stephen C. Foster, Schirmer, New York, 1910. Negro Folk Songs, four volumes, Ricordi, New York, 1921. Spirituals arranged for solo voice and piano, Ricordi, 1917-1925: Please Don’t Let This Harvest Pass, Weepin’ Mary, I Want to Be Ready, Walk in Jeru¬ salem, I Don’t Feel Noways Tired, Go Down, Moses, Deep River, Balm in Gilead, Let Us Cheer the Weary Traveller, My Lord, What a Momin’, I Stood on de Ribber of Jordan, ’Tis Me, O Lord, Were You There?, Every Time I Feel the Spirit, Steal Away, Nobody Knows, John’s Gone Down on de Is¬ land, O Rocks, Don’t Fall on Me, Ma Way’s Cloudy, You May Bury Me in de East, Swing Low, Sweet Chariot, O Peter, Go Ring-a-Dem Bells, Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child, Don’t Weep When I’m Gone, He’s Jes de Same To-day, De Gospel Train, Heav’n, Heav’n, Didn’t My Lord De¬ liver Daniel, Little David, Play on Your Harp, I’m a-Rollin’. Three Negro Spirituals, arranged for four-part Chorus, Schirmer, 1916:— Father Abraham, So Sad, Didn’t My Lord. Two Spirituals, arranged for four-part Chorus, Schirmer, 1921:— Dig My Grave, Deep River. Were You There, mixed voices, Ricordi, 1924. Burlin, Nathalie Curtis Hymn of Freedom (from O Ride on, Jesus), Schirmer, 1923. Cook, Will Marion Mandy Lou, Schirmer, 1904. An Exhortation, Rain Song, 1914. Swing Along, 1912. In Dahomey, A musical Comedy, Keith Prowse, London, 1902. Dett, R. Nathaniel Negro Spirituals for Solo Voice, three volumes, John Church Co., 1919: Follow Me, Somebody’s Knocking, I’m So Glad, Oh, the Land I’m Bound For, Poor Me, Zion Hallelujah. Oh, Mary, Don’t You Weep, Chorus, mixed voices, C. C. Birchardt Co., 1919. The Chariot Jubilee, Tenor Solo and mixed voices, John Church, 1919. Listen to the Lambs, Anthem, Schirmer, New York, 1923. Gently, Lord, O Gently, •BIBLIOGRAPHY 437 Lord, John Church, 1924. I’m a-Goin’ to See My Friends Ag’in, John Church, 1924. There’s a Man Goin’ ’round’ Takin’ Names, John Church. 1924. I’m Troubled in Mind. Diton, Carl R. Four Spirituals, arranged for four-part Chorus, G. Schirmer, 1912: Little David, Play on Your Harp, Deep River, Every Time I Feel the Spirit, Pilgrim Song. Four Negro Spirituals, Schirmer, 1914: Poor Mourner’s Got a Home at Last, An’ He Never Spoke a Mumbelin’ Word, Roll, Jordan, Roll, At the Beautiful Gate. Swing Low, Sweet Chariot, Schirmer, 1915. Keep Me From Sinkin’ Down, Schirmer, 1916. Mss. Collection, Fifty Negro Spirituals (Frogmore Collec¬ tion), from the South Carolina Islands. Farwell, Arthur Two Negro Spirituals, Wa-Wan Press, 1905: De Rocks a’ Renderin’, Moanin’. Fisher, Wm. Arms Don’t Be Weary, Traveler, 1919: Little Wheel a-Tumin’, 1919: Somebody’s Knockin’, 1925, and collections, Oliver Ditson Co. Gaul, Harvey B. Nine Negro Spirituals, H. W. Gray, New York, 1918. South Carolina Croon Song, Ditson, 1922. Ten Negro Spirituals, Oliver Ditson, 1923. Guion, David W. Darkey Spirituals, 14 numbers, M. Witmark, New York, 1918: Some o’ These Days, Poor Sinner, Sinner, Don’ Let Dis Harvest Pass, You Jes Well Get Ready, Little David, Satan’s a Liar an’ a Conjur’ Too, My Little Soul’ Gwine a Shine, Holy Bible, Jubilee, Hark from de Tomb, John de Bap-a-list, I See Lawd Jesus a-Comin’, Nobody Knows, Swing Low. Spirituals, G. Schirmer, 1918: De Old Ark’s a ’Moverin’, Greatest. Name. Songs, Harold Flammer, Inc., 1924: L’il Black Rose, O My Lord, What Shall I do. Hayes, Roland Sit Down, Ricordi, 1923. Johnson, Hall Numerous Mss. Choral settings, four and five parts, Mss. performances (Balti¬ more Festival Chorus, New York Choral Society, etc.) : Way Up In Heaven, Jesus, Lay Your Head in de Window, I’ve Been ’Buked, Over Yonder, Way Beyond the Moon. Johnson, J. Rosamond Spirituals in the Book of American Negro Spirituals, Viking Press, Vol. I., 1925, Vol. II., 1926. Larrimore, Thos. A. Three Negro Spirituals for Men’s Voices, ^Kansas, 1924. Manney, C. Four Negro Spirituals, Oliver Ditson, 1922. Mees, Arthur Six Authentic Negro Melodies, four part Men’s Chorus, Mendelssohn Glee Club, publishers, 1899. Milligan, H. V. Three Spirituals, arranged for four parts, A. P. Schmid, 1924. Mitchell, Humphrey Negro Spiritual, Stay in the Field, Warrior, G. Schirmer, 1918. Newton, Ernest Twelve Negro Spiritual Songs, F. Pittman Hart & Co., London, 1925. Niles, John J. Impressions of a Negro Camp Meeting, Eight Traditional Songs, Carl Fischer, New York, 1925. : 'BIBLIOGRAPHY 43 8 Parhan, Percy Done Made My Vow. Pollak, Emil J. They Led My Lord Away, I’m Troubled in Mind. Robinson, Avery New Born Again, Hail the Crown, Water Boy. Schaefer, G. A. Songs from the South, A. P. Schmidt, New York, 1925. Taylor, Jean Six Negro Spirituals, H. W. Gray, New York, 1925. Thomas, Edna Negro Spirituals, Keith Prowse, London, 1924. White, Clarence C. Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen. Cabin Memories, Four Spirituals, Fischer, New York, 1921. 4 A SELECTED LIST OF MODERN MUSIC, INFLU¬ ENCED BY AMERICAN NEGRO THEMES OR IDIOMS Antheil, George Jazz Sonata. Auric, George Adieu New York, Paris, 1922. Burleigh, Cecil ^ Plantation Sketches for Violin and Piano, Op. 38, 1917. Carpenter, John Alden Krassy Kat, a Jazz Pantomime, Schirmer, 1922. Skyscrapers, A Jazz Panto¬ mime Ballet, Metropolitan Opera Season, 1926. Four Jazz Songs, 1926 Chadwick, George W. Four Symphonic Sketches, No. 1, Jubilee, 1907. Symphony, No. 2, in b-flat, Scherzo movement. Chiaffarelli, Albert Jazz Symphony based on Negro Blues, New York, 1925. Delius, Frederick Appalachia: Variations on Old Slave Songs for Orchestra and Chorus, Berlin 1906. Dett, R. Nathaniel In the Bottoms Suite, Clayton Summy Co., Chicago, 1913. Magnolia Suite I and II, Clayton Summy Co., Chicago, 1913. Juba Dance. Dett, R. Nathaniel The Chariot Jubilee for Orchestra, John Church, 1922. Ramah for Violin, Boston Music Co., 1922. Sonata in F minor on Folk Themes, Sonata in E Minor on Folk Themes, 1925. Diton, Carl R. Ballade in E major, Symphony in C minor, 1st movement. Dunn, James Philip Overture on Negro Themes for Symphonic Orchestra, J. Fischer, 1925. Dvorak, Anronen From the New World, Symphony No. 5, Simrock, 1903. Quintette for Strings, a minor, Op. 105, Simrock, 1911. Quartette for Strings, G major, Op. 106, Simrock, 1911. Gardner, Samuel Jazzetta, for Violin and Piano, Carl Fischer, 1924. From the Cane Break 1924. Gershwin, George Rhapsody in Blue for Piano and Orchestra, Harms Co., 1924. Concerto in F for Piano and Orchestra, 1925. 135th Street, a one-act Jazz Opera, 1925. Gilbert, Henry F. Dance in the Place Congo, Orchestra. Comedy Overture on Negro Themes, H. W. Gray Co., 1915. Humoresque on Negro Themes, H. W. Gray Co , 1913. Negro Dances, five pieces for Piano, H. W. Gray, 1914. Negro Episode, Op. 2, No. 2, Wa-Wan Series. Three American Dances for Piano 439 440 ‘BIBLIOGRAPHY Boston Music Co., 1915. — Uncle Remus, Delphine, Brer Rabbit, — Negro Rhapsody, 1915. Goldmark, Rubin Negro Rhapsody for full Orchestra. Gottschalk, Louis Moreau Bamboula, Danse de Negres, W. Hall & Son, New York, 1855. La Savane, The Banjo, New York, 1855. Le Bananier, Chanson negre, Schott, 1853. Grainger, Percy A. Danse Negre. Gruenberg, Louis T. Polychromatics, Op. 16, No. 7, 1924. Jazzberries, four dances for Piano, Op. 25, 1924. Daniel Jazz, for Voice and small Orchestra, 1925. Creation, a Negro Sermon, for Baritone and chamber Orchestra, 1925. Guion, David Pickaninny Dance, Schirmer, 1922. Turkey in the Straw, for small Orchestra, Schirmer, 1922. Jazz Scherzo for the Piano, T. Presser, 1924. Hadley, Henry Symphony No. 4 in D minor, “South,” third movement, 1912. Handy, W. C. Memphis Blues, Pace and Handy, New York, 1910. Saint Louis Blues, Pace and Handy, New York, 1914. Aunt Hagar’s Children’s Blues, Pace and Handy, New York, 1920. Harling, Frank (Laurence Stallings, librettist) Deep River, an opera — produced New York, 1926. Hill, E. Burlinghame Songs from Round Patch, Op. 2. Four Sketches after Stephen Crane, Op. 7, Breitkopf & Hartel, 1900. Jazz Study for two Pianos, Schirmer, 1924. Honneger, Arthur Le Negre, Paris, 1924. Jenkins, M. R. T. Charlestonia, a Negro Rhapsody for full Orchestra. Rhapsodie Spirituelle for Orchestra. Prelude Religieux for Organ. African War Dance. Johnson, Hall String Quartet in G major, four movements. Suite for String Orchestra, five movements. Norfolk Suite for full Orchestra, five movements. Violin Sonata in A minor. Festival March for full Orchestra. (“To the Black Soldiers of America.”) Kramer, A. W. Chant Negre, Op. 32, Schirmer. Kroeger, Ernest R. Suite des Vaises, Kimball, St. Louis, 1885. American Characteristic Sketches, No. 6, The Aged Negro; No. 10, Voodoo Night Scene. Humoresque Nfcgre, No. 2, Presser, 1906. Lane, Eastwood The Seven Deadly Arts, a Jazz Ballet, New York, 1925. Milhaud, Darius Caramel Mou. Shimmy pour jazz-band. Paris, 1921. Trois rags. Caprice pour deux piano, Paris, 1923. Powell, John Suite Sudiste pour Piano, Mathot, Paris, 1910. Silhouette, a Characteristic American Suite, Fischer, 1919. Sonata Virginianesque for Violin and Piano, Schirmer, 1919. Rhapsodie Negre for Orchestra, Schirmer, 1921. In old Virginia, Overture for Orchestra, 1921. Ravel, Maurice Daphnis et Chloe — ‘2’ e Suite, Paris, 1915. ! 'BIBLIOGRAPHY 441 Satie, Eric Parade, Paris, 1922 SCHOENFELD, HENRY In the Sunny South, Overture. Suite Characteristique. Summy. SCHROEDER, W. Emperor Jones, Tone poem for Chamber Orchestra, New York, 1925. Scott, Cyril Danse N£gre, Op. 50, No. 5, Ricordi, 1908. Tallahassee; melodie et danse negre pour violin et piano, Op. 73, Mainz, 1910. Sowerby, Leo Monotony: a Jazz Symphony, 1925. Synconata, 1926. Still, Wm. Grant From the Land of Dreams, for Chamber Orchestra. Levee Land, a Suite for voice and Chamber Orchestra, International League of Composers, 1926. Stravinski, Igor Piano Rag Music. Ragtime, Paris, 1918. Taylor, Deems Plantation Love Song, Op. 6, 1920. Taylor, S. Coleridge Four Characteristic Vaises, Op. 22. Four African Dances, Op. 50, Augener, 1908. Negro Love Song, Violin and Piano, Augener, 1908. Twenty-four Negro Melodies, Transcriptions, Op. 59, Ditson. Song of Deliverance, Part Song, Ditson, 1918. Two African Idylls for Piano, Augener, 1917.- Variation on an African Air for Orchestra, Novello, 1906. African Romance, Op. 17. African Suite, Op. 35. Toussant L’Ouverture, Op. 46. Four African Dances, Op. 50, Augener, 1908. Ethiopia Saluting the Colors, Op. 51. The Bamboula for Orchestra, Op. 75, Norfolk Festival, 1911. Wiener, Jean Sonatine syncopee, Eschig, Paris, 1923. Trois Blues chante, Eschig, Paris, 1924. White, Clarence Cameron Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve seen, Bandanna Sketches, Negro Lament. Whithorne, Emerson Saturday’s Child, an Episode of Color, for Soprano, Tenor and Chamber Orchestra, League of Composers, 1926. Varese, Edgar Integrates : A Study for Percussion Instruments NEGRO FOLK LORE Compiled by Arthur Huff Fauset THE UNITED STATES AND THE WEST INDIES Addy, S. O., and others. Folk Lore, 13:297. 1902. African Origin of Folk Lore. South in the Building of the Nation, Vol. VII, p. 67. Richmond, Va. African Survival in the Folk Lore of the Gullah Negro. South in the Building of the Nation, Vol. VII. Aimes, Hubert H. S., African Institutions in America. Journal of American Folk Lore, 18:15. 1905. Allen, W. F., Negro Dialect. Nation, 1:744. 1865. Allen, W. F., Negroes, Folk Lore of. Dial, 1:183. 1880. Anderson, Izett, Jamaica Proverbs. 1910. Backus, Emma M., Folk Tales from Georgia. Journal of American Folk Lore, 13:19. 1900. Beyen, F. D., Maryland and Virginia, Customs of. Journal of American Folk Lore, 2:295. 1889. Beyen, F. D., and W. W. Newell, Folk Lore, Topics for Collection of, Journal of American Folk Lore, 4:151. 1891. Black Man’s Secret Language. Literary Digest. January 19, 1924. Blackburn, Mary Johnson, Folk Lore Mammy Days. Boston, 1924. Blanton, Joshua E., Sea Island Folk Lore. Southern Workman. April, 1908. Bourne, E. G., Folk Lore Publication. Recent New England, 47:165. 1887. Bray, J. C., More Mammy Stories. New England Magazine, 45:594-606. Feb¬ ruary, 1912. Brown, W. N., Hindu Stories in American Negro Folk Lore. Asia, 21:703-7. August, 1921. Same, Reprinted in Literary Digest, 70:28. August 6, 1921. Bullock, W. R., Folk Lore of Maryland. Journal of American Folk Lore, 11:7. 1898. Byrd, M., Plantation Proverbs of Uncle Remus. Crisis. January, 1924. Cable, G. W., Creole Stories, Effect of, on the North. South in Building of the Nation, Vol. II, p. 289. 1909. Chamberlain, A. F., Negro Dialect. Science, 12:23. 1888. Christensen, A. M. H., American Folk Lore Told on the Sea Islands of South Carolina. 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Independent, 53:1979, 2039. 1901. Wiley, George E., Southern Plantation Stories and Sketches. New York, 1905. Work, Monroe N., Geechee Folk Lore. Southern Workman. November and December, 1905. Young, M., Plantation Bird Legends. New York, 1902. 446 'BIBLIOGRAPHY AFRICAN FOLK LORE Ananikian, Mardiros and Alice Werner, Armenian and African Folk Lore. Boston, 1925. Barker, W. H., and Sinclair, C., West African Folk Tales. London, 1917. Basset, Rene, Contes populates d’Afrique. Paris, 1903. Bleek, Wilhelm H. I., Reynard, the Fox in South Africa. London, 1864. Bleek, W. H., and C. C. Lloyd, Specimens of Bushman Folk Lore. London, 1911. • ™ , , Burlin, Nathalie Curtis, Songs and Tales from the Dark Continent, as loid and Sung by K. Simango and M. Cele. New York, 1921. Camphor, Alexander P., Missionary Sketches. Folk Lore from Africa. Cin¬ cinnati, 1909. Cendrars, Blaise, Anthologie Negre. Paris, 1920. Dayrell, E., Folk Lore from South Nigeria. London, 1910. Delafosse, M., L’Ame Negre. 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