House of Rougeaux(69)



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

“What about it?” said Alma.

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

“Funny name,” said Eleanor.

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

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

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



* * *



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

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

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



* * *



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

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

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

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

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