Communipaw [James McCune Smith] to Frederick Douglass, 9 March 1855
For Frederick Douglass' Paper
FROM OUR NEW YORK CORRESPONDENT.
Went to hear Miss Greenfield last night,
reluctantly, it is true, for music, and spring,
and the beautiful awaken memories that
crown my soul with thorns.
There is one thing our people must learn,
and the victory is won: we must learn to
love, respect and glory in our negro nature!
Why are we clothed in black skins unless it
is to ennoble God Almighty's black man?
And how can we do this while we suffer the
atmosphere of prejudice to penetrate our
souls and shape our thoughts?
Since the world began, no nobler, fuller,
completer man has been thrown upon its
stage than tho negro? We are only begin-
ning to contribute our share to the common
progress, and see with what tropical exuber-
ance we fling it down. In the world of Art
we have Dumas, and Elizabeth Greenfield.
Dumas has not only written more that Wal-
ter Scott, but he has written in the "Trois
Monsquetaires" and "Twenty Years after,"
the most perfect fiction, fullest of original
and perfect creations which has yet been
published. He is not merely a first class
original genius, but he is a genius of new
proportions, and unheard of fecundity of
imagination: his thoughts, creations and
ideas pour out like the floods of a clear, grand
inexhaustible river; he is perfectly exuber-
ant, and as we shall show from an able criti-
cism, in a leading London Scientific jour-
nal, his grandest peculiarities, are purely
negroid; the rules of European criticism are
too small for the accurate measurement of
his proportions.
And here the bills announce that the
BLACK SWAN, "in a song written expressly
for her, by Stephen Glover of London,
reaches Thirty-one clear notes in the Scale—a greater compass of voice than any other mor-
tal has ever reached." There we have negro
exuberance again! Tropical nature vindi-
cated in this child of the sun, in her depart-
ment of Art, in like manner as in Dumas in
his department of Art. I cannot analyze,
I can only describe the Swan and her genius.
A lady of fine musical taste and accomplish-
ments, who sat near me, burst into tears
when the Swan had finished "Sweet Home."
And, on my afterward asking her how does
Miss Greenfield compare with Abby Hutch-
inson, said, "infinitely superior." "How
with Jenny Lind?" She answered, "Her
sister! and with like culture she would far
excel." Moreover, there was Saturday night,
there were, at the same hour, the highest
musical attractions at Niblos' and the Acade-
my of Music, and yet there were upwards of
two thousand persons in the Tabernacle, of
whom at least six hundred were colored ! --
Our people paid noble tribute to this their
sister Queen of Song.
True Art is a leveller, and thoroughly is-
ocratic: never was the Tabernacle so thor-
oughly speckled with mixed complexions;
blind gentlemen sat side by side with dark
ladies, and vice versa: my old friends Cos-
mopolite, Ethiop and Observer, each had the
luck to sit like thorns between blushing
roses. Observer sat perfectly still: Cosmop-
olite did ring out "bravo," at his Indian
friend; but, Ethiop was entirely carried away
by the Swan, and in the song of "Coming
thro' the Rye." at a particular note which
brought down the House, your Brooklyn
Correspondent (Ethiop, to wit:) snatched
an opera glass from the lady next him, raised
it to his lips and shouted "Hurra!"
Miss Greenfield occupies a position of
marked significance. Bending not one whit
to the requirements of American Prejudice,
never shrinking for an instant under the
cover of an Indian or a Moorish descent, she
stands forth simple and pure a black woman.
This truthfulness is proof of the nobleness
of her nature, and fitness to become a Priest-
ess in the Temple. Having selected as her
aim the divinest of Arts, that are requiring
the richest endowments of nature and the
most prolonged and arduous culture, it was
but a light thing for her to meet Prejudice
face to face and crush it. And now, when
she appears on the platform, before an American audience, and her pure and perfect
notes gush forth
— "Sweet as seraph's song,"
there trails beneath their ravishing melody
the irresistible "AM I NOT A WOMAN AND A
SISTER?"
We would urge our colored friends to go
and hear the Black Swan: apart from the
rich musical treat they will have an oppor-
tunity of looking into their own hearts, and
seeing what they did not, perhaps, suspect
before: the first few utterances in her part
will cover them with surprise, and joy and
triumph. They will hear, in spite of the
convictions they have been educated into
in this caste cursed land, they will hear what
supernal good may come out of our own
Nazareth.
We have no adequate criticism of Miss
Greenfield, even in the liberal Tribune. Mr.
Fry who grew frantic over Jenny Lind, is
dumb in relation to the Black Swan. I do
not attribute this silence to prejudice: Art
must precede criticism: and a new revela-
tion of Art must be comprehended before it
is chronicled in fitting terms.
Mr. Fry must grow up to the comprehen-
sion of Miss Greenfield and then he may
criticise. Even Wendell Phillips, after
seventeen years' service in the ranks of Gar-
risonism, could only "bless the pistol" which
took effect at Christiana: the great soul who
fired it off was beyond the reach of his intel-
lection With prayers for your restoration
to health,
I am yours, dear Mr. Editor,
COMMUNIPAW.
NEW YORK, March, 1855.