we have not done all we could. In Ireland a modern school of composers
is doing work of which we know little here. The mending of this should
be a first step in the Irish musical renaissance. If we find poets to
write the books and lyrics, and musicians to compose the vibrant
measures to fit them, we must have singers to interpret them and
instrumentalists to give them the breadth and depth of the full artistic
inspiration. Let the little band of sixty or seventy (little as choral
renderings go in these days) who came together from the Catholic
Oratorio Society for the Irish Concert be the melodious forerunners of
Irish choral societies that may gather thousands at a time in one burst
of song. At the Irish Concert the chorus sang admirably. May every
member thereof be blessed for her or his participation, and their
example give heart to a new musical impulse among our people.
The great house was filled to its capacity with a representative Irish
gathering and presented a fine picture of comely women and handsome men.
The Hudson-Fulton Celebration Commission had given the concert official
place in its programme; the visiting guests of the Commission were
invited. Governor Hughes of the State of New York, who boasts of Irish
blood, and our one-time mayor and one-time president of Columbia
College, Seth Low, as chairman of the Commission’s reception committee,
occupied with the governor’s staff the central box on the grand tier. It
was a “warm house,” then, that greeted the entry of the orchestra and
the chorus on the broad stage, and listened raptly to what proved a fine
concert of Irish music, deserving all the applause it received. And this
was the programme:—
1. Overture—“Maritana,” _W. V. Wallace_
=Orchestra.=
2. Song—(a) “Ban-Chnoic Eireann, O” _Mac Conmara_
Lyric—(b) “The Penal Days” _Davis_
=Mrs. Helen O’Donnell.=
3. Chorus—(a) “The Minstrel Boy” _Moore_
(b) “Oft in the Stilly Night” _Balfe_
=Catholic Oratorio Society.=
4. Song (Irish)—“Thuit ar an m-bu-adharg” _MacHale_
Lyric (b)—“Sweet Harp of the Days That Are Gone,” _words by Samuel
Lover; music by his grandson, Victor Herbert_.
=Mr. William Ludwig.=
5. Irish Symphony—(a) “Andante Con Moto” (two movements)
(b) “Allegretto Motto Vivace” _V. Villiers
Stanford_
=Orchestra.=
6. Irish Rhapsody—“Erin, Oh, Erin” _composed by Victor Herbert and
dedicated to the Gaelic Society_
=Orchestra.=
7. Song—“An Irish Noel” _Augusta Holmes_
=Madame Selma Kronold.=
8. Chorus—(a) “Hath Sorrow Thy Young Days” _Balfe_
(b) “The Fenian War Song” _Sir. R. P.
Stewart_
=Catholic Oratorio Society.=
9. Song—(a) “Irish Reaper’s Harvest Hymn” _Keegan_
(b) “Old Ireland Shall Be Free” (_words by J. J. Rooney, old air
arranged by Victor Herbert_)
=Mr. William Ludwig.=
10. American Fantasy _Victor Herbert_
=Orchestra.=
11. Anthem—“The Star Spangled Banner”
=Orchestra and Chorus.=
Singers and players performed delightfully. Mrs. O’Donnell, Madame
Kronold and William Ludwig—that famous veteran of the German opera and
great interpreter of Irish ballads—all won new laurels. Mr. Ludwig’s
rendition of the spirited song by John J. Rooney, author of so many fine
lyrics and ballads, was particularly impressive. But it was the work of
Victor Herbert’s orchestra that lifted the occasion to its real height.
The performance of Villiers Stanford’s Irish symphony and Herbert’s own
Irish rhapsody was as true and fine as could be conceived, and in every
way worthy of the brilliant compositions themselves. The chorus gave the
Balfe lyric and “Oft in the Stilly Night” with fine shading and their
singing of “The Fenian War Song” won an encore that would not be denied.
As a whole the concert gave an impression profoundly gratifying to all
connected with it. I have said that it was conceived in the first place
by Jeremiah Lawlor. It is right to add that Major E. T. McCrystal,
chairman of the Concert committee, worked hard with Mr. Lawlor for the
result achieved. To Mr. Lawlor, Seth Low wrote after the concert that he
found it “most enjoyable,” and added:—
“The music itself was interesting, and it was rendered in a way worthy
of all admiration. I think that those who have labored so hard for so
many years to awaken interest in Gaelic culture have not only done a
service for the members of the Irish race in this country, but, as
illustrated by this really beautiful concert, they have rendered a
valuable service to the whole country.”
It is a pleasure to bear out Mr. Low, and to formulate the hope that the
Irish Concert of that Sunday evening may be parent of great effort among
our people to justify to themselves and the world their boasted love of
the art that made Ireland famous a thousand years ago.
THE HISTORICAL PARADE.
On Tuesday, September 28, the weather in the morning held little promise
of procession weather. It had rained, and in some degree dampened ardor,
but the meteoric luck of the celebration was to prevail and by noon the
skies were opening, and just the right condition overhead and underfoot
assured. The line of the three great processions, of which this was to
be the first, had been well chosen. Assembling north of Central Park the
parade was to pass down the broad avenue of Central Park West, a
straight line of two miles and a half, turning east at 59th street for a
short half mile to Fifth avenue, then down the avenue a straight line
for another two miles and a half to the point of dispersal. For three
miles the parade was to pass between a succession of stands for
spectators, with stands at every available point on Fifth avenue and the
grand stand in the Court of Honor at 42d street, as we have noted
before.
It was a fine and suggestive parade. The fifty great floats provided
with so much care did not, perhaps, come up in all things to
expectations. Cold daylight plays havoc with such expressions of
historic symbolism. It shows the gilding, the high colors, the
make-believe material too unsparingly. It betrays the utter modernity of
the costumed posturers standing for legendary and historic figures.
Perhaps this was not the view of the cheering thousands as the floats
passed by. Art-knowledge makes one hypercritical and art-smattering
makes one expect too much. Let us take it as it seemed to the
multitude—the heroism of history on wheels.
But the parade, on its really inspiring side, was its men. As phalanx
after phalanx passed by at a marching step one felt the greatness of the
land that had beckoned to the peoples of the world with such commanding
gesture that they had sent hither the flower of their manhood to share
the great heritage of democracy on a continent of unbounded opportunity.
There they were, the Irish, the Italian, the Teuton, the Magyar, the
French, the Scotch, the Dutch, the English, the Czech, the Pole, the
Slav, the Greek, the Syrian, the Dane, the Swede; and the man of the
great conglomerate, the man of the evolving type—the American.
After the line of splendid-looking mounted police, trim-built and firmly
seated with many a Celtic face among them, marched on foot Hermann
Ridder and the Mayor—two contrasting figures—Ridder, tall and erect, the
Mayor short and dapper. Together they stepped the length of the way,
both beaming with fair satisfaction, the populace cheering and the band
playing.
Then came a line of green, Irish flags with crownless harps of gold.
The Irish had the right of the line—the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick
(with whom the American-Irish Historical Society marched) were at the
head of the parade, William Temple Emmet leading. Following came the
Ancient Order of Hibernians with many Irish banners and led by Thomas
Kelly. They wore wide-brimmed felt hats of military trim, and carried
themselves admirably. Band after band and phalanx after phalanx of this
nationality or that came on, some like the Hungarians in marvels of
hussar costume, others in military coats, the breasts covered with
multitudes of medals, won maybe at schutzenfest or turnverein, but
probably not in war.
The Clan-na-Gael made a gallant showing, and the Irish Athletic
societies, headed by the redoubtable P. J. Conway, turned out in force,
marching with a free swing that caught the onlookers immensely. A
feature was the Tammany column—a thousand or more tall-hatted and
frock-coated stalwart, presentable men, with Charles F. Murphy at their
head. They paraded, be it understood, as representing the charitable and
benevolent and not the political side of the long-lived organization.
They were popular with the crowds.
Notable was the passage of the Clermont float. It was well known to all
that Martin Sheridan and John Flannagan were to be there, and where
there was any doubt among the onlookers as to which was which, were not
the policemen along the route ready to tell them? “That’s Martin
Sheridan, the man in the bell-topper,” alluding to the remarkable
headgear under which the great athlete stood for the great inventor. So
the cheers billowed for the Clermont all the way, a cheer for Robert
Fulton and “a tiger, boys, for Martin!”
THE POLICE AND THEIR TASK.
And as to those great-bodied policemen who held the swarming, sometimes
obstreperous, but generally patient crowds in check, how finely they did
it all. I would hesitate to say whether their faces or their accents
indicated sixty or seventy per cent. of live Celtic blood in them, but
it was not less than the lower figure, and may have been more than the
greater. They won golden opinions on every side and from all classes
that day, and for the many long, arduous days until the celebration was
over. It was not merely to hold the line—a task calling for firmness,
tact, strength and continuous good nature, but handling with skill the
enormous crowds that filled the avenues when the processions had gone
by, and all were rushing for their homes, filling to overflowing every
car-line, every elevated roadway, and particularly cramming to
congestion in the subway. In addition they had at all times to be
“guide, philosopher and friend” to the full million of visitors new to
metropolitan ways and pavements. And that was a task in itself.
THE MILITARY PARADE.
For Thursday, September 30, came another splendid day when the military
parade made New York tingle with marching tunes and the rhythmic tramp
of men. Here was something that always quickens the popular pulse. We
had seen many like it in this big, thrilling town, but none that
surpassed it. The primal impulse coming from the thought: “Here are our
defenders; here our men who face death for Fatherland,” has to answer,
no doubt, for the cheers that greet the men at arms as they swing
marching by. When kingcraft added pomp, glitter and jingle to it and
tamed the trumpet to sing a siren song, and patriotism fluttered flags
above it rich in color and hung on gold-tipped spears, the magic was
complete. Yet this pageant showed us more in one way and less in
another. More, in the fact that it showed us thousands of soldiers and
armed man o’ warsmen from many alien ships and lands—some time or other
our possible enemies, our possible allies—but all keeping step with our
own brave men in the name of a pictorial friendship and in the hope of
an unbroken peace; above all paying this passing tribute to our city and
our country. Less, in that it showed us the stripping off of the gauds
and finery of war, bringing more directly home to us that war today will
none of these, but must keep the human material of battle in ready
fighting trim. Glory was marching in khaki and scorned all gold galloon.
Over the same path as the civic procession of Tuesday came Military
Glory in its ranked and regimented thousands, giving something of the
thought that if called on to take to the trenches or march to the attack
by the time it reached Washington’s arch, the men would be ready. Thus
it gave two distinct sensations to the hundreds of thousands who watched
it, outside the particular thrills that came when some well-remembered
or much-admired division of the troopers came tramping grimly by.
Our Irish citizens enjoyed it immensely, for they knew when the
“regulars” were passing that it was dotted all over with Irish faces;
that it was the army that Andrew Jackson gloried in; that Phil Sheridan,
Kearney, Meagher and a hundred other brilliant men of Irish blood and
strain had led on fields of death. Was not their own 69th there swinging
along as it had swung at any time in fifty years that the country
called? It was, and gallantly held its own for drill and trim and
soldier bearing. Did they not warm to the thought that the Irish
volunteers were marching, men soldiering for the very love of it, and
cherishing an olden hope that sometime, somewhere they might be allowed
to charge a battery or storm a height for Ireland—Ireland far away, but
Ireland ever near to their hearts. And this thought gave friendliness to
their hail of the French marines and the French sailors, for the French
had been Ireland’s friend as well as America’s in the old troubled
times, and many a one lilted under his breath “Oh, the French are on the
sea, says the Shan van Vocht” when the Gallic tri-color went dancing
past. These thoughts made it seem tolerable that the English were in the
line and went so far as to let them give the Germans a cheer or two, and
extending various degrees of approval to Italians, Brazilians and
Argentines. But the West Point cadets! There, the innate love of the
fighting man by the fighting race found intimate appeal. Many the Irish
captain, great in the battlefield, had learned the grim trade in that
battalion, and now to see how fine and supple yet tense they seemed, how
superbly they marched, how arrowlike their alignment, how wonderfully
they wheeled or countermarched, and the bands playing through it all. It
was a glorious day for all who took part and all who looked on.
THE NAVAL PARADE.
Another day on the water came with Friday, October 1, and the weather
again was all that could be wished. Early the excursion steamers took on
their loads, for the route was long of the Naval Parade. Shorn of the
hundreds of tugboats and small craft that had swarmed the water on the
Saturday before, it was a powerful and select squadron that turned its
prows upstream to escort the Half Moon and the Clermont as far as
Newburg, fifty-five miles above New York. The torpedo boats and a couple
of the new sub-marines formed the governmental escorting party—the very
old and the very new thus touching sides—and then came over one hundred
powerful craft in line, decked in vari-colored bunting and with bands
playing. It was a splendid sight, as passing the war ships they swept on
beyond Manhattan island up the broad, deep stream. Commander Peary on
his stout ship, Roosevelt, freshly arrived that morning from the North
and his conquest of the Pole, received the tribute of the thousands in
the procession. The dark rocky masses of the Palisades, now glowing here
and there with autumn foliage, towered on the left, and on the right lay
the river towns set amid fields and woods.
Many a flag of Ireland fluttered from the upper works of the great swift
steamer “Asbury Park” on which had gathered some nine hundred of the
Friendly Sons of St. Patrick and the American-Irish Historical Society
with their families and friends. Every provision for their comfort had
been made, and the occasion rapidly became one of delightful enjoyment
under the stimulation of the grand and historic scenery of the noble
river, and the glow of friendly courtesy wherever the Irish race
foregathers. The pace could not be very fast, for the greatest of the
steamers was bound by the speed of the slowest, and these latter were
the Half-Moon and the Clermont. All the more could the time of
observation of the many points of interest along the river be extended.
Dobb’s Ferry, where Washington had headquarters for so long, while his
little army watched the English forces then holding New York against the
patriots. Sleepy Hollow, Washington Irving’s home and the scene of his
romance of The Headless Horseman, were pointed out. Tarrytown, where
Major André, the British spy, was arrested, and Tappan, where he was
executed, were noted as the line of steamers ploughed through the Tappan
Zee where the Hudson broadens almost to a lake, and is four miles wide
and twelve miles long, then past the great prison of Sing Sing on the
East bank. Presently, the line was passing Stony Point, the promontory
of the Hudson near the entrance to the Highlands. And the gallant story
was retold of how the Revolutionary soldiers posted in the rude fortress
there had succumbed to an attack by the British; how the loss of the
fort rankled in the patriots’ breasts, and how, at the dead of night, in
mid-July of 1779, mad Anthony Wayne with a devoted band delivered so
sudden and overwhelming an assault that the British garrison was slain
or captured, and the stars and stripes were sent aloft never since to
give way to an alien flag. On then through the Highlands of the Hudson
where the mountains slope down to the river on either side. Old river
men aboard pointed out Fishkill Mountain, Storm King, Crow’s Nest,
Donderberg, Anthony’s Nose, names written in the history of the country
and the literature of the river. At West Point was seen perched on the
cliffs the quarters of the military academy of the United States, whence
so many great soldiers had been graduated and rich in the memory of
Ireland’s celebrated sons as well. Across the river was pointed out the
road, still winding down to the stream, by which the traitor, Benedict
Arnold, fled, taking boat to the English brig of war, when he surely
knew that his treason had been discovered in the capture of Major André.
Swinging carefully then around the West Point bend in the river, that
scene of rare beauty—the straight stretch of ten miles up to Newburg
bay—broke upon the view.
[Illustration:
WILLIAM TEMPLE EMMET, ESQ.,
Member of the Society, and President of the Society of the Friendly
Sons
of St. Patrick in the City of New York.
]
MEETING OF THE AMERICAN IRISH HISTORICAL SOCIETY.
Under the inspiration of these stirring memories, the stimulus of the
celebration and the desire of all concerned, a brief but memorable
meeting of the American-Irish Historical Society was held on the forward
covered deck of the “Asbury Park.” The Vice President of the New York
Chapter discussed the events of the day and the week, and the Irish
share therein, extending welcome to the members who had come from other
states at the Chapter’s call to meet their brethren in this festal trip,
and called on President-General, Dr. Francis J. Quinlan, to address the
company. The members warmed to the President’s appeal, for he has the
happy gifts of enthusiasm and Celtic eloquence. He spoke for the spread
of the society and its usefulness in gathering for future generations
the story of the Irish race in America, and laying a foundation for a
greater communion among its men and women of today. He was followed by
Thomas Zanslaur Lee, Secretary General of the Society, who succinctly
told of the recent remarkable gains in membership, and gave practical
hints for a still greater accession to the Society’s ranks. William
Temple Emmet, President of the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick, made a
short speech of sympathy with the aims of the Society, and the
proceedings terminated in an interchange of salutations shared by all
present.
In Newburg bay the steamers of the fleet were gathering now, hovering
and slowly circling about the Half-Moon and the Clermont and their
escorts. The ancient town rising on the west bank of the river showed a
gala front of flags, while thousands crowded the heights to view the
scene upon the bay. The steamer Providence, bearing the officials of the
day, had drawn up to the landing, and while they took part in a
procession and made speeches appropriate to the occasion, those on the
rest of the fleet dined and made merry. Never before, perhaps, had the
waters thereabout furnished such a scene as that of the flag-decked
fleet going to and fro under the blue sky, framed in the red and gold of
autumn on the hills and breaking with screw and paddle the silver of the
wide and placid stream. Would that Washington, whose fearless eyes had
often gazed in the weary days of the long-drawn war, out over the river
there, had caught that vision of young and strong America afloat and
rejoicing a century after his passing away! His, however, were the eyes
that saw across the mountains, and in the darkest day beheld the sun
upon the hills beyond, and it is not for us to say what he did not see.
From Albany far up the Hudson had come the officials to take charge of
the Half-Moon and the Clermont, and the pleasant task of the fleet from
New York was done. Down the river, then, the prows were turned, and the
homeward journey was begun. Many were the visits made and returned on
board the “Asbury Park” as she headed south. The evening was deepening
as she came by the city now breaking into light, a beautiful spectacle.
So ended a day long to live in memory. As the excursionists stepped
ashore to each one was handed a souvenir copy of Mr. Tuite’s “Robert
Fulton and His Achievement,” which is reproduced in the volume farther
on.
By the indefatigable secretary of the New York Chapter, Alfred J.
Talley, I am furnished with the following list of the members of the
Society who with their families and friends were on board:—
Albeus T. Adams, M. E. Bannon, Michael Blake, John J. Boyle, Henry J.
Breen, William J. Broderick, Francis X. Butler, Edward R. Carroll, F.
J. Cavanaugh, J. I. C. Clarke, Andrew J. Connick, Patrick J. Conway,
Hugh M. Cox, E. J. Curry, Robert E. Danvers, Thomas F. Donnelly,
Richard J. Donovan, Willis B. Dowd, John F. Doyle, M. J. Drummond,
John J. Falahee, Joseph P. Fallon, Edward D. Farrell, Frank S. Gannon,
Charles V. Halley, John H. Halloran, John Hannon, David Healy, John J.
Hickey, Michael J. Jennings, Alfred J. Johnson, James G. Johnson,
Michael J. Joyce, Phillip J. Magrath, P. J. Kelly, T. P. Kelly, Daniel
Kennedy, T. Zanslaur Lee, Charles Leslie, Warren Leslie, Thomas S.
Lonergan, Richard J. Lyons, D. H. McBride, Robert E. McDonnell, D. J.
McGinnis, James J. McGuire, Edward J. McGuire, John C. McGuire, James
A. McKenna, Stephen McPartland, Stephen J. McPartland, J. D. Morton,
John Morgan, Bartholomew Moynahan, Michael J. Mulqueen, John E.
Murphy, Thomas F. Noonan, John E. O’Brien, John O’Connell, John G.
O’Keefe, D. P. O’Neil, James O’Shea, John O’Sullivan, Sylvester J.
O’Sullivan, James W. Power, Francis J. Quinlan, Clarence W. Ramsey,
James F. Reilly, James Rorke, Joseph Rowan, James T. Ryan, John J.
Ryan, William Ryan, Dennis A. Spellissy, Thomas N. Mulry, Alfred J.
Talley, Edward M. Tierney, Frank L. Tooley, William Tully, Watson
Vredenburgh, Jr., Henry Wright, A. J. MacGuire, Harry L. Joyce, Thomas
A. Emmet, William M. Byrne, William E. Hill, James A. McKenna, William
J. Farrell, James Martin, Daniel M. Brady, John Fitzgibbon, Timothy
Murray, William T. Emmet.
The guarantors of the contract were:
On behalf of the American Irish Historical Society: J. I. C. Clarke,
Edward J. McGuire, T. Vincent Butler, William Michael Byrne, P. J.
Magrath, Harry L. Joyce, John O’Sullivan, Francis J. Quinlan, M. D.,
Alfred J. Talley.
On behalf of the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick: William Temple Emmet,
Thomas T. Fitzsimons, Morgan J. O’Brien, Edward B. McCall, Warren
Leslie, John D. Crimmins, John G. O’Keefe, Edward R. Carroll.
THE CARNIVAL PARADE.
For finish to the week of celebration came on the evening of Saturday,
October 2, the Carnival Parade, over the same route as those of Tuesday
and Thursday. It was a brilliant spectacle of lighted floats and
costumed paraders that passed down the avenues with their strings of
electric lights on either side. One cannot describe it all except in
general terms. It defies words, as a flight of rockets defies them, but
the Germans, Austrians and Swiss, who mostly furnished the human side of
the spectacle, did nobly.
It was a week to remember, and, as has been indicated, Ireland’s sons
had a handsome share in it.
“MANHATTAN.”
An Ode for the Hudson-Fulton Celebration, September, 1909.
BY JOSEPH I. C. CLARKE.