Chapter III: Part 3

Schurz had come to the United States a poor man and an exile, but he was fortunate in possessing a number of friends who lived in the larger Eastern cities, and through them he obtained many valuable introductions and rapidly widened his acquaintanceship, particularly in political and literary circles.

Since the founding of the Republic slavery had existed in the United States. Particularly in the Southern states thousands of negro slaves furnished practically the only labor on the vast plantations and in the homes of the owners. Against the slowly widening influence of slavery a small band of anti-slavery men were opposing by every means at their command the growth of this condition so utterly opposed to the laws of freedom and civilization. “I saw the decisive contest rapidly approaching,” wrote Schurz, “and I felt an irresistible impulse to prepare myself for usefulness, however modest, in the impending crisis: and to that end I pursued with increased assiduity my studies of the political history and the social workings of the Republic, and of the theory and practical workings of its institutions.”

Schurz had German friends and relatives living in Illinois, Wisconsin, and Missouri. It seemed to him that, by visiting them, he would be enabled to see more of the country and study at first-hand the actual “real America,” which he must thoroughly understand if he was to take a helpful part in the impending struggle.

During the year 1854, Schurz visited all of the large cities of the Middle West, and particularly the states of Wisconsin and Missouri, which were largely settled by Germans. The West attracted him, and after carefully considering many places, he determined to settle in the pleasant little village of Watertown, Wisconsin.

In the years of his residence in Watertown, Schurz took up the law as his profession, and at the same time began actively to participate in local politics. The large German population in the Western states was a voting power that was of great importance, and Schurz’s high standing and reputation made it only natural that he should soon be chosen as their spokesman and leader.

These were stirring days. The great question of slavery was uppermost. With the entrance of new territory into the Union, the question flamed forth with greater violence: would the new states be free states or slave states? Would the slave-holders or the anti-slavery men rule the land? Would slavery or freedom dominate?

Schurz flung himself into politics and the anti-slavery party of the North. With clear vision he realized that slavery must be destroyed, but that the United States must be preserved; a separation of the slave states from the Union could not be tolerated; all must be united in freedom.

Rapidly the reputation of Carl Schurz as a political speaker spread beyond Wisconsin. He was called to address meetings in neighboring states, and finally he was summoned even to Boston, to address a great meeting in the historic Faneuil Hall. In Illinois he met Abraham Lincoln, soon to hold the office of President of the United States; everywhere he encountered the leaders in the great Republic, men of every party and every type of character; the men who were guiding the steps of the nation.

Throughout the campaign for the election of Abraham Lincoln to the presidency, Carl Schurz gave his entire energy as a speaker and organizer, and as a result soon became recognized as a person of influence in the victorious party. During these months the friendship of Schurz and Lincoln was strengthened, and other ties with other men were made, which were to have a strong influence, not only on Schurz’s own life, but on the history of his adopted country.

On April 12, 1861, the storm which had so long been brewing between the Northern and Southern states broke with the capture of Fort Sumter, in Charleston Harbor, by the Confederate forces. For some time the government of the so-called Confederate States had attempted to open negotiations with the Federal authorities for a peaceful separation. But the North had stood firm in the position that at all costs the Union must be preserved. With the fall of Sumter came the opening of the Civil War, which for four long years plunged the land in blood.

Three days later President Lincoln issued a proclamation calling for 75,000 volunteers; and on June 10 the Northern troops were repulsed at Big Bethel, and July 21, were routed at Bull Run. The long war had begun. During these first months of the war Schurz threw himself into the work of organizing in New York a regiment of German cavalry; but his services were considered of even greater value in another kind of activity, and a few weeks later he was on his way to Madrid, as United States Minister to Spain.

There is probably no other country in the world where such a rapid and spectacular progress would be possible. Ten years before, Carl Schurz was an exile from his native land, a poor newcomer to a strange country. Now, after this brief period, he was to return to Europe, the powerful representative of a great republic.

Early in 1862 Schurz returned to the United States. During the months which he had spent in Spain he had rendered valuable service in keeping the Spanish government informed of the exact condition of affairs in the United States, and impressing upon the Spanish authorities the desirability of maintaining friendly relations with the North, and an interest in the cause of freedom.

But Schurz was restless in a position of security, no matter how great its importance, while others were risking their lives for their country’s cause. “I became convinced,” he said, “that, in such times, the true place for a young and able-bodied man was in the field, and not in an easy-chair.” Schurz laid his case before Mr. Lincoln, and the President agreed to accept his resignation and gave him a commission in the army.

At the outbreak of the war the Regular Army was very small, its officers few. Of these officers many had gone over to the army of the Confederate States. There was great need of officers for the vast volunteer armies which were being formed, and it became necessary to select men from civil life, on account of their general intelligence, and give them appointments as officers. Few of these had any military experience or particular knowledge of military science. Because of these conditions, and also because of his brief military experience in the revolutionary army of 1849, Schurz was appointed a brigadier-general for immediate service.

His experience during the Civil War included many of the famous campaigns and battles, and in all of them he played an active and important part. During the year 1862, Fort Henry and Fort Donelson were captured by the Union forces, and on March 9, the Monitor, designed by John Ericsson, defeated the Confederate ironclad Merrimac. Early in April General Grant won the victory of Shiloh, and on the 24th of the same month Admiral David G. Farragut ran the forts below New Orleans with his ships, and captured the city. In the East during this same period, the Confederate army, under General Robert E. Lee, pressed forward toward the city of Washington, but was finally thrown back across the Potomac River after the battle of Antietam.

In the following year, 1863, the Confederate army under General Lee again marched North, but was defeated, July 1-3, at the great battle of Gettysburg. In this battle Schurz took part, and from the crest of Cemetery Hill watched the Confederate infantry of General Pickett make their brave charge against the Union forces. Fifteen thousand strong, in a long close line, with bayonets gleaming in the sunshine and flags waving in the breeze, the gray-clad soldiers of the Confederacy appeared from the dark shadows of the woods and came steadily across a mile of open fields. Under a tremendous fire from the Union artillery the gray line slowly melted as it advanced, leaving the soft green of the meadow flecked with gray-clad bodies of dead and wounded. Closing the gaps, they came steadily on, now lost behind a low rise of ground, now again in view, their flags still flying above them. Then, within rifle-range, a cloud of smoke lifted like fog from the Union guns, and as it floated off on the light wind, the Union soldiers saw the remnant of Pickett’s brave band slowly retreating from the field. Although more than a year of war was to follow, the strength of the Southern offensive was shattered.

On July 4, Vicksburg surrendered to Grant, and in November came the victories of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge. In the following year were other victories in the battles of the Wilderness and Spottsylvania. Another drive of the Confederates against Washington was attempted by General Early, but he was defeated by General Sheridan in three battles and was forced to withdraw. Then came the capture of Atlanta and General Sherman’s famous march through Georgia to the sea. On the water were achieved the victory of the Kearsarge over the Confederate steamer Alabama, and Admiral Farragut’s successful passage of the forts at Mobile Bay. In April of the year 1865 came the complete surrender of the armies of the Confederacy. The Union was preserved; slavery was destroyed.

With the ending of the war, Schurz began again to take an active part in the political life of the nation, and for a time devoted himself to a study of the perplexing difficulties which surrounded the reconstruction of the South, impoverished by years of war and economically ruined by the emancipation of the slaves.

In the autumn of 1867 he again visited Germany. The high position which he now held in the great Republic assured him of a welcome, but the attentions which were heaped upon him were a particular tribute to the man who had once fled by night. Bismarck, “The Minister” of Germany, honored him by inviting him to long conferences, in which he eagerly questioned Schurz concerning the great war in which he had taken part, and asked many questions about the political and social conditions of the Republic of which Schurz had become a citizen.

On his return to the United States, Schurz was elected to the United States Senate, representing the great state of Missouri, where he had now taken up his residence. “I remember vividly the feelings which almost oppressed me when I first sat down in my chair in the Senate Chamber. Now I had actually reached a most exalted public position, to which my boldest dreams of ambition had hardly dared to aspire. I was still a young man, just forty. Little more than sixteen years had elapsed since I had landed on these shores a homeless waif, saved from the wreck of a revolutionary movement in Europe. Then I was enfolded in the generous hospitality of the American people, opening to me, as freely as to its own children, the great opportunities of the new world. And here I was now, a member of the highest law-making body of the greatest of republics.”

But a still greater honor was to come. With the election of President Hayes in 1877, Schurz became the Secretary of the Interior of the United States. In this high position his ability found ample room for exercise, and the reforms which he in large measure effected, both in the civil-service system of appointment—by which men were placed in government positions as a result of examination on their merits, as opposed to their appointment regardless of merit but as a political reward—and in the Bureau of Indian Affairs, were of unusual value to the nation.

On leaving the Department of the Interior at the close of President Hayes’s administration, Schurz was confronted by an almost embarrassing number of positions for his future occupation. For a time he occupied an editorial position on the New York _Evening Post_; but he still continued to take an active and important part in the politics of the day. For some years after his retirement from the _Post_ he devoted himself to literature, and produced, among other books, a life of Henry Clay which won high commendation.

After a brief business episode, he again returned to the field of journalism, and for six years contributed weekly the leading editorial to _Harper’s Weekly_. Once again he visited Europe; but old age was growing heavy on his shoulders, and on his return to the United States he retired each year a little more from the active fields of politics and journalism which had so long held him, and to which he had so gladly contributed.

On May 14, 1906, surrounded by his children, the end came. “Es ist so einfach zu sterben” (it is so simple to die), was his farewell to those about him. As he lived, so did he die, simply and unafraid.

V

THEODORE THOMAS

_Born in Essen, Germany, 1835_
_Died in Chicago, 1905_

Civilization is a condition of organization; in a nation it is a name for progress and enlightenment. Literature, art, music, and science are measures of civilization; so also are agricultural, industrial, and social progress. All men contributing to the advancement of civilization are benefactors of mankind. The inventor, the artist, the physician, the scientist, the manufacturer, the writer, the explorer, and the musician, all contribute to human happiness and advancement.

No man who lives for himself alone can add to the progress of the world. Only they who unselfishly have lived for others deserve the gratitude of their fellow men. And it is encouraging that, in almost every case, those men who have accomplished most have sooner or later received their high rewards.

Probably no nation in all the world has given so much in so short a time to civilization as the United States. The reason is not far to seek, for in no other country have such opportunities to accomplish their fine desires ever been offered to men of ambition and ability; never has there been so fair a field in which each man might rise as high as his own strength would carry him.

_Courtesy of A. C. McClurg & Co._

Theodore Thomas (signature)]

Since the world began, music has been a part of the very life of every nation. As labor in the shop and field and mine have produced the material things so necessary for the health and comfort of the body, so, for the development of the mind and for the happiness of all people, have painters, sculptors, and musicians contributed their fairest conceptions, that life might be more beautiful and the world a better place to live in for all mankind.

In the older European countries music has been handed down for centuries from father to son. In conditions where music has so completely become a part of life, great musicians from time to time have lived and left their lasting contributions. In the older civilizations there was a fertile field long cultivated for the ever-increasing growth of music.

In the United States, however, another condition existed. Here was a new civilization, transplanted by early settlers from beyond the sea. Here there was no existing civilization developed through centuries. It was a land to which had come men and women from every nation in the world, seeking freedom from the rule of kings and a place where they might live in peace and equality, regardless of their birth. Each brought with him the civilization of his native land. But much was lost in the migration; there was no place, at first, for many elements of European civilization in the busy life of the new world.

For half a century, from the glorious day when the United States cast off the yoke of a European monarchy and became a republic, there was small time in the lives of Americans for music, art, and all the other finer elements of civilization. It was necessary that men should explore and open up the vast rich country in which they lived. They must build cities and plant fields with grain; they must dig deep mines and find coal and metals, and they must cut timber from the forests for the needs of the nation. Also, they found it necessary to develop the government of their new nation, and form from the wilderness, where once only the Indians dwelt, new states to increase the union of the great Republic.

But through all these years of labor there remained in the minds of men an appreciation of those other more beautiful factors of civilization; memories of an inheritance that were like dreams from which these pioneers waited to be awakened by someone who, at the right time, would come to them and, understandingly, would point out the way. The love of music was in their hearts.

Meanwhile, in the town of Essen, in Germany, by the North Sea, was born, on the eleventh of October, 1835, a boy, Theodore Thomas, who in a few short years was destined to bring to the great United States that appreciation of music of which it was now so thoroughly unconscious.

The boy’s father was the Stadtpfeifer, or town musician, of Essen. It was a position of honor, for the Stadtpfeifer played on all important occasions, and many great musicians have held this title.

From infancy the boy showed an aptitude for music. At the age of five he played the violin in public, and he spent as much of his play-time as he could with his father’s orchestra, playing his violin and reading all the new music he could find.

When he was ten years old, the family emigrated to America. It was the land of promise, and a bigger and brighter future seemed to await them in the vast free United States than in the sleepy German village where for generations their ancestors had been born and lived and died.

This was before the days of fast steamships; then the passage of the Atlantic was made in sailing vessels, and often the voyage lasted as many weeks as now it is measured by days. The Thomas family found passage on an American vessel; and it was six long weeks after their departure that they landed, on a hot July morning in the year 1845, in the city of New York.

There was little or no real music in the United States. A few people played the piano or cornet, there were a number of brass bands, and some of the theatres boasted of a few musicians, but orchestras and good music were unknown.

The Thomas family was a large one, and the father worked far into the night, playing in theatre orchestras, to provide for his wife and children. It was only natural that young Theodore, with his musical talent, should be called upon to help; and so almost from the beginning the boy labored with the father, playing his violin in various theatres, at a dancing-school, and wherever he could earn an honest dollar.

Three years later the father enlisted in a navy band, and the boy followed him, playing second horn to the father’s first. But a year later, both father and son left the navy; and as the former was now able alone to provide for the family, young Theodore found himself free to carry out his own plans and lay the foundations for his future.

With a little box of clothing, his violin, and a bundle of posters announcing a concert by “Master T-T,” Theodore set out alone to try his fortune with the world. For a year he wandered through the Southern states, giving his concerts in hotel dining-rooms, in schoolhouses, or wherever he considered it possible to gather an audience. As the people arrived, Theodore would stand at the door and take in the money; then, when he thought that all who were coming were present, he would hurry to the front of the hall and begin the concert.

A year later he was back again in New York, poor in pocket but rich in experience of the world. “I was then fifteen years old,” he later wrote, “and somehow had recognized the necessity of studying if I expected to accomplish anything in this world. But what? I did not know, of course, that a general education was needed, or even what it meant. My first idea was to become a virtuoso, so I began to practise and play in concerts.”

Shortly after his return to New York, the fifteen-year-old boy was engaged as the leading violinist in the orchestra of a German theatre. But this experience gave him more than an actual living; for here he became acquainted with the plays of the great German poets and masters of literature, and he also widened his musical horizon far beyond the rather limited boundaries which had up to that time confined it.

During the next two or three years his musical education prospered. Great singers and musicians began occasionally to visit America: Jenny Lind, Sontag, Mario, Grisi, Bosio, and Alboni. Thomas played everywhere in concerts and operas, and this gave him constant opportunity to hear these artists under the best of conditions. “The pure and musical quality of their art,” he has said, “was of great value in forming the taste of an impressionable boy at the outset of his career.” The influence of this experience did much to prepare him for his own triumphs in coming years.

There were at that time no real orchestras in America. An orchestra meant to Thomas a selected organization of skilled musicians “sufficiently subsidized to enable it to hold the rehearsals necessary for artistic performances, its object and aim to be to attain the highest artistic performance of master-works.” Of the existing orchestras of the time all were of negligible quality, and their leaders mere “time-beaters,” instead of true musicians.

But at this time such a leader appeared for a short period in the circle of Thomas’s life. Karl Eckert, the leader of the orchestra accompanying Mademoiselle Sontag, appeared in New York, and Thomas secured a position as one of the first violinists in the orchestra, a position from which he was soon promoted to leader of the second violins. Thomas gave his best effort to his new work. It was a place of responsibility, and the boy was young, but he saw his opportunity, grasped it, and held it.

The following year Thomas won promotion to _Konzert-meister_, or leader of the first violins; and here his extreme genius became the more apparent, for he was now the leader of men many of whom were old enough to be his father. This was the definite beginning of his career, for the experience of playing in a well-organized orchestra gave him a thorough schooling, not only in his duties as Konzert-meister but—and this was of particular value to him—in the practical business side of orchestral management.

In 1853 his education was further broadened by a year in the orchestra of Jullien, a famous European conductor. This was the first time that he had heard or played in a large and complete orchestra, and the result was that he was now ready to step out from the ranks and begin to develop his ability as an individual and a leader.

For about twelve years the New York Philharmonic Society had struggled, against popular indifference, to create a source of real music in the community. In 1854 Thomas was elected a member. He was nineteen years old. For thirty-six years he was destined to hold a more or less close association with it, first as violinist and later as its leader.

In the year 1855 William Mason, “a refined, sincere and highly educated musician,” organized a quartette of string players. Thomas was invited to play first violin, although he was the youngest member of the quartette. Mason played the piano, and the other members were Carl Bergmann, J. Mosenthal, and G. Matzka. It was an association of true artists, and its influence was of great consequence to Thomas in the opportunity which it afforded for the expression of his art and in the lasting friendships which it formed.

The concerts which were given by the quartette were known as “chamber concerts,” and the programmes included only the best music for the string quartette, or for a sonata or trio with piano accompaniment. Three mornings a week were given up to rehearsals, and as only six programmes were arranged for the year’s repertoire, the deep interest and enthusiasm of all the members is apparent. “It was this exhaustive study of master-works, especially those of Beethoven, continued through fourteen years, which gave Thomas his mastery of the string choir of the orchestra, and his profound insight into the classical school of music.”

The first experience of Theodore Thomas in conducting an opera is characteristic of the man and illustrates his fine self-confidence and his instant acceptance of opportunity. One evening he came home from his work and settled down in an easy chair for a few hours of rest and relaxation. A few blocks away, at the Academy of Music, an opera (Halévy’s “Jewess”) was to be sung. The house was filled and an impatient audience waited for the curtain: but the conductor was ill, and there was no one to take his place. Someone thought of Thomas, and a messenger was sent to ask him if he would conduct the opera. Thomas had never before conducted an opera; he was wholly unfamiliar with the one in question. But his answer was an immediate “I will.” And he did, with complete success.

But the limitations of the opera, the Philharmonic, and the quartette could not satisfy him, and in 1862, for the first time, he announced an orchestral concert under his own direction. This was the first “Thomas concert.” The orchestra consisted of about forty players. In the programme it is interesting to read the titles of two compositions which had never before been played in America. Here was the intimation of his life-policy of giving his American audience the best current music, often before it was completely recognized in the Old World.

“In 1862 I concluded to devote my energies to the cultivation of the public taste for instrumental music. Our chamber concerts had created a spasmodic interest, our programmes were reprinted as models of their kind, even in Europe, and our performances had reached a high standard. As concert violinist, I was at that time popular, and played much. But what this country needed most of all to make it musical, was a good orchestra, and plenty of concerts within the reach of the people.”

After several seasons of occasional concerts, Thomas determined to organize an orchestra of his own. There was no endowment, there were no backers. All the responsibility of organization and finance fell on the shoulders of the young leader. The orchestra was called the “Theodore Thomas Orchestra,” and it was truly his, in name and fact. With a firm determination to bring the highest form of music to the people and to teach them thoroughly to enjoy it, he began a regular series of evening concerts; and after a season of moderate success, he inaugurated a series of Summer-Night concerts, given in the open air in a park in the city.

The life-work of Theodore Thomas was begun; the little violin-player from an obscure foreign village was fast assuming the musical leadership of a nation—a nation to which he gave musical standards and an understanding of his art.

In the next few years a number of important events brightened the steady work which had become now necessary to his success. The leadership of the Brooklyn Philharmonic Society was awarded him, a position of high honor which enabled him to employ his own orchestra in a series of twenty additional concerts. His marriage to Miss Minna L. Rhodes, an event which brought into his life much happiness and an influence which did much to hasten the development of his rare abilities, occurred during this period. Finally, in 1867, a short trip to Europe became possible; and at London, Paris, Munich, Vienna, Dresden, and Berlin he listened to the performances of the most celebrated European orchestras and gained much by comparison of them with his own. Moreover, on his return to the United States, he was enabled to give to his audiences the most modern music played as he had heard it under the leadership of the composers themselves.

The thought has often occurred, Why did not Theodore Thomas himself become a composer? To be sure, on a few occasions compositions of his own were given to the public, but this happened only during his earlier career. The answer may be quoted in his own words: “As a young man I wished to be a composer, but circumstances forced me into the executant’s career. My creative vein was worthy of development had I had the time for it, but it fell short of genius, and I believed I could do more for my art and my country by familiarizing the people with the literature already created than by adding to it myself. The exacting nature of my work in the orchestra required all my time and strength, and made another kind of serious work impossible; and as long as I could not give the time necessary to produce compositions which would be satisfactory to myself, I preferred to let it alone altogether.”

The winter concerts and the Summer-Night concerts in the Central Park Garden were continued; but the revenue from the winter concerts fell short of the sum which the expenses of the organization required, and in 1868 Thomas decided to give them up and play in New York City in the summer only. During the winter months he planned to carry his orchestra about the country, and by playing in all the larger cities, not only assure himself of larger houses, but at the same time widen the scope of the musical education which he longed to afford the entire country.

Beginning in the year 1869, for twenty-two years Thomas toured the length and breadth of the land. The Southern states and New England heard his rare programmes; San Francisco and Montreal anticipated with eagerness his next arrival; and even to the new frontier lands of Texas the tireless conductor led his little company of musicians. For years identified with New York City, he now became a national figure, an individual who had given himself to and was claimed by the entire country.

Among the first cities to give him recognition were Boston and Cincinnati. In the former city a musical critic wrote: “The visit of this famous orchestra has given our music-lovers a new and quick sensation. Boston has not heard such performances before. We thank Mr. Thomas for setting palpably before us a higher ideal of orchestral execution.” In Cincinnati music had long been an important part of the life of the city. “We have not seen at any time audiences so wrought upon as those that attended the concerts of Theodore Thomas”; and “the finest orchestral music that has ever been given in this city,” wrote the newspapers. It was the same everywhere: wherever the orchestra played, praise unstinted was accorded.

During this period of his life Thomas devoted a considerable part of his energies to the conducting of “festivals” in the large cities of the country. These festivals were elaborately planned musical programmes, in which the orchestra and often several hundred voices took part. The festivals were in some cities annual affairs, in which the local singing societies coöperated. The festivals held in New York, Cincinnati, and Chicago were particularly popular, and their success and popularity may be truly said to have been almost entirely due to the untiring work of their great conductor.

But success and recognition in the lives of great men rarely come without compensating failures and disappointments; and in the life of Theodore Thomas were many days when failure seemed to be his chief reward. The great Chicago fire in 1871, which destroyed almost the entire city, caused him a financial loss that he was hardly able to bear. Then, in 1876, came the Philadelphia Centennial Exposition, commemorating the hundredth anniversary of the founding of the United States. A great musical programme was planned and Thomas was honored with its entire direction. But the crowds visiting the exposition did not appreciate the concerts, and to the deep disappointment of Thomas and the committee behind the plan, they were so poorly attended that it was soon necessary to abandon them. This was a hard blow to Thomas. He had lost much money on account of the Chicago disaster, and now this new calamity increased the losses which he could ill afford. Financial ruin faced him. His large and valuable musical library, his only asset, was seized by the sheriff to pay the debts of the orchestra. The library consisted of musical scores, collected throughout a lifetime, without which he could not conduct his orchestra. Only the kindness of a loyal friend, who bought up the library and gave it back to Thomas several years later, saved him from complete disaster. As it was, he might well have gone into bankruptcy and settled his debts; but his fine sense of honor prevailed, and he preferred to assume his responsibilities in full and meet them in their entirety in later years.

In 1878 he received an offer to establish and direct a college of music which a number of influential and wealthy men proposed to found in the city of Cincinnati. Thomas gladly undertook the directorship, and a splendid institution developed under his wise guidance; but the scheme which he planned was greater than the board of directors desired; and, seeing that it would be impossible for him to carry out his complete plans, he resigned from his office in 1880 and returned to his former work as an orchestra leader.

Another trip to Europe brightened the gloom which had surrounded the recent years of disappointment, and the recognition which now began to be accorded him helped to bring back his spirit of optimism for the future. The conductorship of the London Philharmonic Society was offered to him; a high honor which only his love for his adopted country forced him to refuse. In the same year the honorary degree of Doctor of Music, “by way of recognition of the substantial service which he has rendered to musical culture in the United States,” was conferred upon him by Yale University. Other universities later conferred similar degrees, and of the many honors which came to him there were none which he more highly prized.

The next few years were years of triumph, for during this period Thomas devoted himself to the management of great musical festivals in New York, Cincinnati, and Chicago, and finally, in 1885, conducted a festival tour from New York to San Francisco.

Another financial setback came now, hard on the heels of this period of success, for he was induced to accept the musical leadership of an American opera company, an enterprise which seemed to contain every necessary element for success. But after a short life the entire project proved itself a failure, and once again Thomas returned to the orchestra, which for the rest of his life he was destined never again to leave. In 1889 the death of his wife came as another blow which seemed impossible, for the time, to bear. But a new and final period in his life was already dawning, a period of recognition and accomplishment.

Theodore Thomas had once said: “Chicago is the only city on the continent, except New York, where there is sufficient musical culture to enable me to give a series of fifty successive concerts.” In 1881 a permanent orchestra was established in Boston, and Chicago became ambitious to follow the example. The leadership of the new Chicago orchestra was offered to Thomas. New York had in a large measure failed to fulfill his expectations. But what New York would not provide, Chicago offered. The opportunity could not be refused, and Thomas accepted.

Conditions for the founding of a permanent Chicago orchestra were far from favorable. There was no building suitable for orchestral purposes; the cultivated class of the population was small, and, moreover, the city did not afford musicians of a quality suited for the formation of the orchestra. But Thomas throve on adversity. From New York he imported sixty musicians, of whom half a dozen had been members of the old New York Thomas Orchestra, and with thirty selected Chicago players he completed the necessary quota of ninety men. Concerts were given in buildings unsuited for this kind of entertainment, under the most trying conditions, but the public was taught to understand the worth of the great undertaking by the most carefully arranged programmes.

Success came at last. For a period the expenses of the orchestra were carried by a number of liberal and far-sighted citizens; but finally it was decided to find out how sincerely such music was actually desired by the people. A general appeal for an endowment fund was made, the fund to be invested in a suitable home for the orchestra.

The result was far beyond the wildest hopes of the projectors of the plan. In less than a year almost $700,000 was subscribed by over eight thousand subscribers, from every corner of the vast city, from every class of society, from rich and from poor.

It was the realization of the dream of Thomas’s youth. The home of the Thomas Orchestra was dedicated in 1904. This building, contributed by the people that the music which he had brought into their lives might become a part of their existence, is his monument, which will long endure. But more lasting than those walls of stone is the recognition which history will accord to him who in his way made the world a better living-place for his countrymen.

Theodore Thomas died in the year that followed the dedication of the home of his orchestra. The fourteen final years of his life had found in Chicago the material appreciation which he deserved. A second marriage—this time to Miss Rose Fay—brought him its happiness. With no precedents, no traditions, and no experience of others to guide him, he had done the kind of work for music in the United States that the first settlers had done when they ploughed their first furrows in the wilderness. He had blazed the trail; he had opened the way that others might follow on.

“German-born, associated with German musicians all through his life, meeting them daily, and living as it were in a German atmosphere, yet he was the strongest of Americans in sentiment, disposition, feeling and patriotism. Many a time have I heard him resent foreign slurs upon American institutions, and defend the national government’s policy against its critics. His love for the United States, where he had lived from boyhood, and his respect and admiration for the broad-minded views of its people as well as their public spirit, was deep, hearty, and sincere.” Such was Theodore Thomas in the estimation of one who knew him well.

His creed was simple, but it was a creed from which he never deviated. “Throughout my life my aim has been to make good music popular, and now it appears that I have only done the public justice in believing, and acting constantly on the belief, that the people would enjoy and support the best in art when continually set before them in a clear and intelligent manner.”

VI

ANDREW CARNEGIE

_Born in Dunfermline, Scotland, 1835_
_Died in Lenox, Massachusetts, 1919_

The little town of Dunfermline in Scotland has for centuries been famous for its weaving. For generations have the sturdy inhabitants devoted their lives to the looms. And here, in this quiet and humble corner of the busy world, was born, on the twenty-fifth of November, 1835, a small baby whom his parents named Andrew, who was destined to become one of the richest men that the world has seen, a citizen of the United States, a world philanthropist, and a true captain of industry. So simply was Andrew Carnegie born into the tremendous nineteenth century.

Andrew’s father was a weaver of damasks, as had been his father and grandfathers for generations back in the Carnegie history; and the boy was doubtless expected by his parents to carry on the established vocation of the family. But, as so often happens, circumstances unforeseen and impossible to anticipate abruptly changed the whole life-work of a community, and in the change the small boy’s life was directed into a new channel which was destined to bring him the greatest material rewards. The Carnegies wove with hand-looms. Suddenly, invention gave the power-loom to the world. Gone immediately was the demand for the now more costly product of skilled and patient fingers. The swift machines destroyed a trade to build an industry, and in the destruction the Carnegie family was swept into new work and a new environment.

With his only means of earning a living destroyed, necessity compelled the elder Carnegie to seek occupation somewhere beyond the limits of the quiet Scotch town. Across the Atlantic a great new republic was just reaching its young manhood. Its fast-sailing clippers had made the Stars and Stripes of its flag known on every sea, and tales of the daring Yankee skippers had brought to complacent England a rude awakening from her peaceful sense of maritime supremacy. Within its boundaries even greater developments were taking form under the firm hands of the Americans. A rich inland empire was disclosing wealth beyond dreams of men: mines of iron and coal and various metals, forests unexplored and seemingly limitless, millions of rich acres unturned by the ploughshare and destined in time to come to feed the world. Already minds of vision were organizing railroads to bring together these riches and to make them accessible to the nation as a whole. All over the world people were turning from war-scarred and time-worn nations oppressed by the rule of kings to this free land of promise. Men and women and little children crossed the broad Atlantic to live happily in a country where men ruled themselves by self-imposed laws, and where education gave to all an equal opportunity. And with these went also the Carnegie family, to add their sturdy strength to the great Republic.

There were four in the little family—the father, mother, and two boys, Andrew and Thomas. Andrew was thirteen years old and his brother four when this great life-changing event occurred—too young to realize its significance or to find in it much else but the romance and adventure of a sea-voyage and the excitement of seeing new places and strange faces. There was a considerable cotton manufacture in Allegheny City, Pennsylvania, and there the Carnegie family settled, in a neighborhood known as Barefoot Square in a part of the city called Slabtown. Andrew was old enough to work, and money was needed to meet the higher costs of living in this new land; so both father and son found work in the same cotton mill, Andrew as a bobbin-boy at a wage of $1.20 a week.

This was the first step in Andrew’s career, and other steps came with what seemed a marked rapidity. But it was not that unusual opportunities confronted the lad; on the contrary, nothing could have seemed to offer a more slender promise than the arduous and elementary work which he gladly accepted. The promise lay rather in the boy; and, as is ever the case, Andrew was in those early years proving the old truism that the right kind of a boy rises above adversity and grows strong by battling with discouragement.

Andrew was soon promoted, at a slight increase in pay, to be engineer’s assistant in the factory. For twelve long hours each day he shoveled coal under the boilers and ran the engine. His pay was now $1.80 a week, and all of it went into the family purse; for not only was all the money earned by father and son required for the household expenses, but Mrs. Carnegie added her mite by taking in washing from the neighbors. And it is interesting to recollect that of these neighbors one named Phipps, a shoemaker, had a son Harry, a chum of Andrew’s, who also, in later years, became a man of wealth and importance in the nation’s business affairs.

A year later Andrew again made an advance; for, leaving his work in the cellar of the factory, he took a job as district messenger boy for the telegraph company, at $3.00 a week. Now came an opportunity which his conscientious study enabled him to grasp. Ever since he had obtained his job with the telegraph company he had studied telegraphy and spent all his spare time in practice. “My entrance into the telegraph office,” he once said, “was a transition from darkness to light—from firing a small engine in a dirty cellar into a clean office with bright windows and a literary atmosphere; with books, newspapers, pens, and pencils all around me, I was the happiest boy alive.” One morning, before the telegraph operator reached the office, a message was signaled from Philadelphia. Andrew was always early at work, and although the boys were not supposed to know anything about the instruments or allowed to touch them, he jumped to the receiver and took down the message with accuracy. His resourcefulness and willingness to assume responsibility were immediately recognized, and he was promoted to operator, at a salary of $300 a year.

In addition to his study of telegraphy Andrew, during this period, became a constant reader of good books. A gentleman living in the neighborhood had opened his private library to Andrew and a few other boys every week-end, and gave them permission to take certain books home with them. Andrew made full use of the opportunity. “Only he who has longed as I did for Saturdays to come,” he said in after years, “can understand what Colonel Anderson did for me and the boys of Allegheny. Is it any wonder that I resolved, if ever surplus wealth came to me, I would use it imitating my benefactor?”

The boy’s earnest attention to his work was not long unnoticed, and the divisional superintendent of the Pennsylvania Railroad, hearing of his quickness and enthusiasm, appointed him railway operator in his own office, increasing his salary to $35 a month. A second opportunity to assume responsibility occurred. During the superintendent’s absence from the office early one morning, an accident was reported on one of the lines, which tied up the road and threatened a costly blockade. Andrew at once took charge of the situation, and knowing exactly what the superintendent would do in such a situation, wrote out the necessary orders, to which he signed the superintendent’s name, to set the trains again in motion, and straightened out the whole difficulty. When his chief arrived, Andrew reported what he had done. The superintendent said nothing to him, but to the president of the railroad he wrote that he “had a little Scotchman in his office who would run the whole road if they would only give him a chance.”

When Andrew was sixteen his father died, and the boy became the head of the family; and it was at this time that he made his first investment, although it was necessary, with his mother’s help, to borrow the required money.

“One day Mr. Scott [the superintendent of his division], who was the kindest of men and had taken a great fancy to me, asked if I had or could find five hundred dollars to invest.... I answered promptly:

“‘Yes, sir, I think I can.’

“‘Very well,’ he said, ‘get it. A man has just died who owns ten shares in the Adams Express Company, that I want you to buy. It will cost you sixty dollars a share. I will advance the remaining hundred dollars.’

“The matter was laid before the council of three that night and the oracle spoke. ‘Must be done. Mortgage our house. I will take the steamer in the morning for Ohio and see uncle and ask him to arrange it. I am sure he can.’ Of course her visit was successful—where did she ever fail?

“The money was procured; paid over; ten shares of Adams Express Company stock was mine, but no one knew our little home had been mortgaged ‘to give our boy a start.’

“Adams Express then paid monthly dividends of one per cent, and the first check arrived....

“The next day being Sunday, we boys—myself and my ever-constant companions—took our usual Sunday afternoon stroll in the country, and sitting down in the woods I showed them this check, saying, ‘Eureka! I have found it.’

“Here was something new to all of us, for none of us had ever received anything but from toil. A return from capital was something strange and new.”

Concentrating his entire efforts on his work, Andrew learned all that there was to know about train-dispatching and began to improve on the existing methods. Time passed, and Colonel Scott becoming vice-president of the railroad, Andrew promptly stepped into the position of division superintendent which Colonel Scott vacated. Carnegie was now twenty-eight years old and by careful saving and investment he had acquired a tidy capital. A chance to invest in one of the first sleeping-car companies had been accepted by him, and a large profit was ultimately made out of the investment, although at the time Carnegie had to borrow the money for the stock of a banker in Altoona and repay the loan at the rate of $15 a month. A fortunate speculation in oil, which his savings permitted him to make, gave him his first real profit, and put him immediately in a position to play with larger affairs in a larger way.

In the year 1865 Carnegie was thirty years old. As division superintendent of the Pennsylvania he had won for himself a place from which he could view a wider horizon; a large field of opportunities was visible. Also, he had saved his money; he was in a position to seize an opportunity when it appeared.

During the great Civil War Carnegie had been put in charge of the government telegraph and had done well the important work which fell to him. But with the close of the war and the beginning of the period of reconstruction, he saw a greater field for the exercise of his business abilities. Iron was in great demand. Carnegie had already been active in the foundation of a mill for the production of structural iron; for three years the company had stood on the brink of failure; but Carnegie was not a “quitter,” and he hung on to his faith. Now, with his brother and several other partners, he formed the Union Iron Mills. The profits were enormous. Vast railroad development throughout the country required rails and structural iron. Steel rails were worth from $90 to $100 a ton. The manufacture of steel seemed to offer even greater prospects than iron.

In 1868 Carnegie visited England. In the early days of the nineteenth century England controlled the iron business of the world; and when Carnegie made his first trip abroad, there were fifty-nine Bessemer Steel plants in Europe and only three in the United States. To-day, the United States produces over two fifths of all the steel and iron in the world, and the beginning of this great American industry can be found in the enterprise of the son of the poor Scotch weaver.

Carnegie had faith in steel. By the Bessemer process steel of high quality was economically produced by decarbonizing cast iron by forcing a blast of air through the mass of metal when it is in a molten condition. Carnegie saw the merits of this process, brought the idea home with him, and adopted it in his mills. The vindication of his faith was immediate. In an incredibly short time he had obtained control of seven great plants in the vicinity of Pittsburgh: the Homestead, the Edgar Thomson, the Duquesne Steel Works and Furnaces, the Lucy Furnaces, the Keystone Bridge Works, the Upper and Lower Union Rolling Mills. In the town to which he had come a poor lad from a foreign land, Carnegie was now assuming the proportions of a giant of industry.

Nothing was too good or too costly for the perfecting of the industry. “Carnegie was the first steelmaker in any country who flung good machinery on the scrap heap because something better had been invented. He was the first to employ a salaried chemist, and to appreciate science in its relation to manufacturing. In his early days he was the biggest borrower in Pennsylvania; and when the profits grew large they were poured back, to fertilize the soil from whence they grew.... So it is clear that, primarily, the aim of Andrew Carnegie was not to make large dividends or to sell stock, but to establish a solid and enduring industrial structure. First of all, he was a business builder; and the present unequaled prosperity in our iron and steel trade is largely due to the fact that American steel-makers have adopted the Carnegie policy of ranking improvements above dividends.”