INCIDENT–UP THE MISSISSIPPI–LEGERDEMAIN.
Soon after arriving at Havana, Barnum made a discovery. The Habaneros, not accustomed to the high prices which opera tickets command in the States, had determined that they would force Barnum to lower the admission fee. This the manager refused to do, and it soon became evident that although they attended the concerts, they were not disposed to show the singer the least favor. It was, therefore, with much inward trepidation that Barnum watched the curtain rise on the first concert. The following account of that concert is taken from the New York Tribune:
“Jenny Lind soon appeared, led on by Signor Belletti. Some three or four hundred persons clapped their hands at her appearance, but this token of approbation was instantly silenced by at least two thousand five hundred decided hisses. Thus having settled the matter that there should be no forestalling of public opinion, and that it applause was given to Jenny Lind in that house it should first be incontestably earned, the most solemn silence prevailed. I have heard the Swedish Nightingale often in Europe as well as in America, and have ever noticed a distinct tremulousness attending her first appearance in any city. Indeed this feeling was plainly manifested in her countenance as she neared the foot-lights; but when she witnessed the kind of reception in store for her–so different from anything she had reason to expect–her countenance changed in an instant to a haughty self-possession, her eyes flashed defiance, and, becoming immovable as a statue, she stood there perfectly calm and beautiful. She was satisfied that she now had an ordeal to pass and a victory to gain worthy of her powers. In a moment her eye scanned the immense audience, the music began and then followed–how can I describe it?–such heavenly strains as I verily believe mortal never breathed except Jenny Lind, and mortal never heard except from her lips. Some of the oldest Castilians kept a frown upon their brow and a curling sneer upon their lips; their ladies, however, and most of the audience began to look surprised. The gushing melody flowed on, increasing in beauty and glory. The caballeros, the senoras and senoritas began to look at each other; nearly all, however, kept their teeth clenched and their lips closed, evidently determined to resist to the last. The torrent flowed deeper and faster, the lark flew higher and higher, the melody grew richer and grander; still every lip was compressed. By and by, as the rich notes came dashing in rivers upon our enraptured ears, one poor critic involuntarily whispered a ‘brava.’ This outbursting of the soul was instantly hissed down. The stream of harmony rolled on till, at the close, it made a clean sweep of every obstacle, and carried all before it. Not a vestige of opposition remained, but such a tremendous shout of applause as went up I never before heard.
“The triumph was most complete. And how was Jenny Lind affected? She who stood a few moments previous like adamant, now trembled like a reed in the wind before the storm of enthusiasm which her own simple notes had produced. Tremblingly, slowly, and almost bowing her face to the ground, she withdrew. The roar and applause of victory increased. ‘Encore! encore! encore!’ came from every lip. She again appeared, and courtesying low, again withdrew; but again, again and again did they call her out and at every appearance the thunders of applause rang louder and louder. Thus five times was Jenny Lind called out to receive their unanimous and deafening plaudits.”
With tears of joy rolling down his cheeks, Barnum rushed behind the scenes, and met her as she was withdrawing after the fifth encore.
“God bless you, Jenny,” he cried, “you’ve settled them!”
“Are you satisfied?” said the singer, throwing her arms around his neck and weeping for joy. This was the first she had known of the opposition, all hint of it having been kept from her by Mr. Barnum, but she fully sympathized with him in his determination not to lower the prices.
The papers continued to cry out for a reduction, and this caused many people to stay away from the concerts, expecting Barnum to yield. But when, after three concerts, it was announced that the next one, devoted to charity, was also to be Miss Lind’s farewell, they became very much excited. Committees waited on them to request more concerts, which resulted only in refusals: some of the leading Dons offered to guarantee them $25,000, for three concerts, but Barnum assured them that there was not money enough in the Island of Cuba to induce him to consent.
The proceeds of the fourth concert were distributed between two hospitals and a convent, besides giving $500 to Barnum’s old protege Vivalla, the little Italian plate-dancer, whom they had met in Havana. The poor fellow’s fortunes were at a very low ebb, having lost the use of his left side from paralysis. He supported himself by exhibiting a performing dog, which turned a spinning wheel and did several other tricks. Miss Lind had heard of his case and was very anxious that part of the benefit money should be given him.
The morning after the concert the bell rang and Barnum found, on going to the door, a procession of children from the convent which had received a large sum of money from Miss Lind. The children were attended by ten or twelve priests in rich vestments. They had come to see the songstress and to thank her in person. But Jenny shrank from appearing before such a stately deputation: “Tell them I cannot see them,” she exclaimed. “They have nothing to thank me for. If I have done good it was no more than my duty.” And the grand procession with its wreaths and banners, were obliged to depart.
The same day, Vivalla called and brought her a basket of fruit. With tears of joy, he called down every blessing on the head of the benevolent lady. “I shall go back to Italy! I shall see my brothers and sisters again!” he cried. Miss Lind had gone for a drive, but Barnum promised to give her the fruit and the message. As he was passing out the door he hesitated end said: “Mr. Barnum, I should like so much to have the good lady see my dog turn a wheel. It is very nice; he can spin very good; shall I bring the dog and the wheel for her? She is such a good lady, I wish to please her very much.” Mr. Barnum told the grateful fellow that Miss Lind had refused to see the priests from the convent that morning, because she never received thanks for favors, and that he was quite welcome to the money.
When Miss Lind returned and heard the story, she exclaimed: “Poor man, poor man, do let him come; its all the good creature can do for me;” then with tears rolling down her face–“I like that, I like that; do let him come and bring his dog. It will make him so happy.”
“God bless you, it WILL make him happy,” said Barnum. “He shall come to-morrow.” And he went himself to tell Vivalla that Jenny Lind would see his dog perform, the next day at four precisely.
“I will be punctual,” said Vivalla, quite overcome with emotion, “but I was SURE she would like to see my dog perform.”
For full half an hour before the time appointed did Jenny Lind sit in her window on the second floor and watch for Vivalla and his dog. A few minutes before the appointed hour, she saw him coming. “Ah, here he comes! here he comes!” she exclaimed in delight, as she ran down stairs and opened the door to admit him. A negro boy was bringing the small spinning-wheel, while Vivalla led the dog. Handing the boy a silver coin, she motioned him away, and taking the wheel in her arms, she said, “This is very kind of you to come with your dog. Follow me. I will carry the wheel up stairs.” Her servant offered to take the wheel, but no, she would let no one carry it but herself. She called the whole party to her parlor, and for one full hour did she devote herself to the happy Italian. She went down on her knees to pet the dog and to ask Vivalla all sorts of questions about his performances, his former course of life, his friends in Italy, and his present hopes and determinations. Then she sang and played for him, gave him some refreshments, finally insisted on carrying his wheel to the door, and her servant accompanied Vivalla to his boarding-house.
Poor Vivalla! He was probably never so happy before, but his enjoyment did not exceed that of Miss Lind. A few months later, however, the Havana correspondent of the New York Herald announced the death of Vivalla, and stated that the poor Italian’s last words were about Jenny Lind and Mr. Barnum.
In the party which accompanied Barnum to Havana was a man who had formerly kept the Peale Museum in New York, afterwards managing the establishment for Mr. Barnum. At present he was acting as ticket-taker.
He was a curious fellow, at times full of fun and gayety and at other times melancholy to the verge of insanity. Madness ran in his family, and one of his brothers, in a moment of frenzy had blown his brains out. Barnum knew of Bennett’s tendency to melancholy and watched him constantly. When they were on board the steamer “Falcon” on their way back to New Orleans, a thrilling incident occurred which Barnum afterwards related in this way:
Mr. James Gordon Bennett, editor of the New York Herald, and his wife, were also passengers. After permitting one favorable notice in his paper, Bennett had turned around, as usual, and had abused Jenny Lind and bitterly attacked me. I was always glad to get such notices, for they served as inexpensive advertisements to my museum.
“Ticket-taker Bennett, however, took much to heart the attacks of Editor Bennett upon Jenny Lind. When Editor Bennett came on board the ‘Falcon,’ his violent name-sake said to a by-stander:
” ‘I would willingly be drowned if I could see that old scoundrel go to the bottom of the sea.’
“Several of our party overheard the remark and I turned laughingly to Bennett and said: Nonsense; he can’t harm any one, and there is an old proverb about the impossibility of drowning those who are born for another fate.’
“That very night, however, as I stood near the cabin door, conversing with my treasurer and other members of my company, Henry Bennett came up to me with a wild air, and hoarsely whispered:
” ‘Old Bennett has gone forward alone in the dark–and I am going to throw him overboard!’
“We were all startled, for we knew the man, and he seemed terribly in earnest. Knowing how most effectively to address him at such times, I exclaimed:
” ‘Ridiculous! you would not do such a thing.’
” ‘I swear I will,’ was his savage reply. I expostulated with him, and several of our party joined me.
” ‘Nobody will know it,’ muttered the maniac, ‘and I shall be doing the world a favor.’
“I endeavored to awaken him to a sense of the crime he contemplated, assuring him that it could not possibly benefit any one, and that from the fact of the relations existing between the editor and myself, I should be the first to be accused of his murder. I implored him to go to his stateroom, and he finally did so, accompanied by some of the gentlemen of our party. I took pains to see that he was carefully watched that night, and, indeed, for several days, till he became calm again. He was a large, athletic man, quite able to pick up his name-sake and drop him overboard. The matter was too serious for a joke, and we made little mention of it; but more than one of our party said then, and has said since, what I really believe to be true, that ‘James Gordon Bennett would have been drowned that night had it not been for P. T. Barnum.’ “
Bennett’s end was tragic, as might be expected. Sometime after the Havana journey Barnum sent him to London. He conducted the business successfully, wrote up the accounts to a penny, then handing the papers to a mutual friend with directions to give them to Barnum when he should arrive, he went to his lodgings and committed suicide.
“In New Orleans the wharf was crowded by a great concourse of persons, as the steamer “Falcon” approached. Jenny Lind had enjoyed a month of quiet, and dreaded the excitement which she must now again encounter.
“Mr Barnum, I am sure I can never get through that crowd,” she said in despair.
“Leave that to me. Remain quiet for ten minutes, and there shall be no crowd here,” replied Barnum.
Taking his daughter on his arm, she drew her vail over her face and they descended the gangway.
“That’s Barnum, I know him,” called out several persons at the top of their voices.
“Open the way, if you please for Mr. Barnum and Miss Lind!” cried Le Grand Smith over the railing of the ship, the deck of which he had just reached from the wharf.
“Don’t crowd her, if you please, gentlemen,” said Barnum, and so pushing and squeezing they reached the carriage and drove to Miss Lind’s apartments. A few minutes later Jenny and her companion came quietly in a carriage and were in the house before the ruse was discovered. In answer to the calls of the crowd she appeared on the balcony, and bowed to the throng, which gave her three cheers and dispersed.
A very funny incident occurred in New Orleans. Next to the theatre where the concerts were given, was an exhibition in the large open lots of mammoth hogs, grizzly bears and other animals.
A gentleman had a son about twelve years old, who had a wonderful ear for music. He could whistle or sing any tune after hearing it once. His father did not know nor care for a single note, but so anxious was he to please his son, that he paid thirty dollars for two tickets to the concert.
“I liked the music better than I expected,” said he the next day, “but my son was in raptures. He was so perfectly enchanted that he scarcely spoke the whole evening, and I would on no account disturb his delightful reveries. When the concert was finished we came out of the theatre. Not a word was spoken. I knew that my musical prodigy was happy among the clouds, and I said nothing. I could not help envying him his love of music, and considered my thirty dollars as nothing, compared to the bliss which it secured to him. Indeed, I was seriously thinking of taking him to the next concert, when he spoke. We were just passing the numerous shows upon the vacant lots. One of the signs attracted him, and he said, ‘Father, let us go in and see the big hog!’ The little scamp! I could have horse-whipped him!’ said the father, who loving a joke, could not help laughing at the ludicrous incident.
The party took passage to Cairo, Illinois, in the beautiful river steamer “Magnolia.” They had made arrangements with the captain to delay in Natchez and in Memphis where concerts were given.
The time on board the steamer was pleasantly spent in reading and watching the scenery. One day they had a musicale in the ladies’ cabin for the gratification of the passengers, at which Miss Lind volunteered to sing. Barnum amused the passengers with his inexhaustible fund of anecdotes and stories, and the tricks of legerdemain, which he had learned and used in the South under rather different circumstances. Among other tricks, he made a silver piece disappear so mysteriously that the negro barber who witnessed the feat, came to the conclusion that the great man must be in league with the devil. “The next morning,” says Mr. Barnum, “I seated myself in the barber’s chair and the darkey began to talk:
” ‘Beg pardon, Mr. Barnum, but I have heard a great deal about you, and I saw more than I wanted to see last night. Is it true that you have sold yourself to the devil, so that you can do what you’ve a mind to?’
” ‘Oh, yes,” was my reply, ‘that is the bargain between us.’
” ‘How long did you agree for?’ was the question next in order.
” ‘Only nine years,’ said I. ‘I have had three of them already. Before the other six are out, I shall find a way to nonplus the old gentleman, and I have told him so to his face.’
“At this avowal, a larger space of white than usual was seen in the darkey’s eyes, and he inquired, ‘Is it by this bargain that you get so much money?’
” ‘Certainly. No matter who has money, nor where he keeps it, in his box or till, or anywhere about him, I have only to speak the words and it comes.’
“The shaving was completed in silence, but thought had been busy in the barber’s mind, and he embraced the speediest opportunity to transfer his bag of coin to the iron safe in charge of the clerk.
The movement did not escape me, and immediately a joke was afoot. I had barely time to make two or three details of arrangement with the clerk, and resume my seat in the cabin, ere the barber sought a second interview, bent on testing the alleged powers of Beelzebub’s colleague.
” ‘Beg pardon, Mr. Barnum, but where is my money? Can you get it?’
” ‘I do not want your money,’ was the quiet answer. ‘It is safe.’
” ‘Yes, I know it is safe–ha! ha!–it is in the iron safe in the clerk’s office–safe enough from you?’
” ‘It is not in the iron safe!’ said I. This was said so quietly, yet positively, that the colored gentleman ran to the office, and inquired if all was safe. ‘All right,’ said the clerk. ‘Open, and let me see,’ replied the barber. The safe was unlocked and lo! the money was gone!
“In mystified terror the loser applied to me for relief. ‘You will find the bag in your drawer,’ said I, and there it was found!
“His curiosity was still great. ‘Please do another trick,’ said he.
” ‘Very well,’ I replied, ‘stand perfectly still.’
“He did so, and I commenced muttering some mysterious words, as if performing an incantation.
” ‘What are you doing?’ said the barber.
” ‘I am changing you into a black cat,’ I replied, ‘but don’t be afraid; I will change you back again, if I don’t forget the words to do it with.’
“This was too much for the terrified darkey; with an awful screech he rushed to the side of the boat resolved to drown rather than undergo such a transformation.
“He was captured and brought back to me, when I dispelled his fright by explaining the way in which I had tricked him. Relieved and reassured, he clapped his hands and executed an impromtu jig, exclaiming, ‘Ha! ha! when I get back to New Orleans won’t I come de Barnum ober dem niggers!’ “
CHAPTER XX. THE TRIALS OF AN IMPRESSARIO.
ST. LOUIS–THE SECRETARY’S LITTLE GAME–LEGAL ADVICE–SMOOTH WATERS AGAIN–BARNUM’S EFFORTS APPRECIATED–AN EXTRAVAGANT ENCONIUM.
The concerts at Natchez and Memphis were extremely successful. The sixty-first concert was given in St. Louis, and on the morning of their arrival in the city Miss Lind’s secretary came to Mr. Barnum, commissioned, as he claimed, by the singer, and told the Manager that as sixty concerts had already been given, Miss Lind proposed to avail herself of one of the conditions of the contract and cancel the engagement next morning. Much startled by this sudden complication, but outwardly undisturbed, Barnum asked if Miss Lind had authorized the notice. “I so understand it,” was the secretary’s reply. Thinking that it might be another scheme of her advisers and that Miss Lind herself might possibly know nothing of it, Barnum told the secretary that he would see him again in an hour. He then proceeded to his old friend Sol Smith for legal advice. They went over the contract together, Barnum telling his friend of the annoyances he had suffered from Miss Lind’s advisers, and they both agreed that if she broke the contract thus suddenly, she was bound to pay back all that she had received over the stipulated $1000, for each concert. As she had been paid $137,000, for sixty concerts, this extra money amounted to something like $77,000.
Barnum then went back to the secretary and told him that he was ready to settle with Miss Lind and to close the engagement.
“But,” said he, evidently much surprised, “you have already advertised concerts in Louisville and Cincinnati, have you not?”
“Yes,” answered Barnum calmly, “but you may take the contracts for halls and printing off my hands at cost.” He further offered the assistance of his agent and his own personal services to give Miss Lind a good start on her own account.
The secretary emboldened by this liberality then made a proposition so extraordinary that Barnum at once saw that Miss Lind could have had nothing to do with the scheme.
“Now suppose,” he asked, “Miss Lind should wish to give some fifty concerts in this country, what would you charge as manager?”
“A million dollars a concert,” answered Barnum promptly; then he added, “Now see here; I don’t believe Miss Lind has authorized you to make this proposition. If she has, just bring me a line to that effect, over her own signature, and her check for the amount due me by the terms of our contract, some $77,000, and we will close our business connection at once.”
“But why not make a new arrangement,” persisted the secretary, “for fifty more concerts, by which Miss Lind will pay you liberally, say $1,000 a concert?”
“For the simple reason that I hired Miss Lind, and not she me,” replied Barnum, “and because I ought never to take a farthing less for my risk and trouble than the contract gives me. I have voluntarily given Miss Lind more than twice as much as I originally contracted to give her, or as she expected to receive when she engaged with me. Now if she is not satisfied I wish to settle instantly and finally. If you do not bring me her decision to-day, I shall ask her for it in the morning.”
The next morning Barnum asked him again for the written communication from Miss Lind; the secretary replied that it was all a “joke,” and that he merely wanted to see what the manager would say to the proposition. He begged that nothing would be said to Miss Lind concerning it. So it is altogether likely that she knew nothing of it. The four concerts at St. Louis were given and the program as arranged for the other cities was carried out, with no more troublous incidents occurring.
To show that Barnum’s efforts as manager of the Jenny Lind enterprise were appreciated, we copy the dedication of Sol Smith’s Autobiography published in 1854. Smith was one of the characters of his time, being celebrated as a comedian, an author, a manager and a lawyer:
“TO PHINEAS T. BARNUM, PROPRIETOR OF THE AMERICAN MUSEUM, ETC.
“Great Impressario. Whilst you were engaged in your grand Jenny Lind speculation, the following conundrum went the rounds of the American newspapers:
” ‘Why is it that Jenny Lind and Barnum will never fall out?’ Answer: ‘Because he is always for-getting, and she is always for-giving.’
“I have never asked you the question directly, whether you, Mr. Barnum, started that conundrum, or not; but I strongly suspect that you did. At all events, I noticed that your whole policy was concentrated into one idea–to make an angel of Jenny, and depreciate yourself in contrast.
“You may remember that in this city (St. Louis), I acted in one instance as your ‘legal adviser,’ and as such, necessarily became acquainted with all the particulars of your contract with the so-called Swedish Nightingale, as well as the various modifications claimed by that charitable lady, and submitted to by you after her arrival in this country; which modifications (I suppose it need no longer be a secret) secured to her–besides the original stipulation of one thousand dollars for every concert, attendants, carriages, assistant artists, and a pompous and extravagant retinue, fit (only) for a European princess–one-half of the profits of each performance. You may also remember the legal advice I gave you on the occasion referred to, and the salutary effect of your following it. You must remember the extravagant joy you felt afterwards, in Philadelphia, when the ‘Angel’ made up her mind to avail herself of one of the stipulations in her contract, to break off at the end of a hundred nights, and even bought out seven of that hundred–supposing that she could go on without your aid as well as with it. And you cannot but remember, how, like a rocket-stick she dropped, when your business connection with her ended, and how she ‘fizzed out’ the remainder of her concert nights in this part of the world, and soon afterwards retired to her domestic blissitude in Sweden.
“You know, Mr. Barnum, if you would only tell, which of the two it was that was ‘for-getting,’ and which ‘for-giving;’ and you also know who actually gave the larger portion of those sums which you heralded to the world as the sole gifts of the ‘divine Jenny.’
“Of all your speculations–from the negro centenarian, who didn’t nurse General Washington, down to the Bearded Woman of Genoa–there was not one which required the exercise of so much humbuggery as the Jenny Lind concerts; and I verily believe there is no man living, other than yourself, who could, or would, have risked the enormous expenditure of money necessary to carry them through successfully–travelling, with sixty artists; four thousand miles, and giving ninety-three concerts, at an actual cost of forty-five hundred dollars each, is what no other man would have undertaken –you accomplished this, and pocketed by the operation but little less than two hundred thousand dollars! Mr. Barnum, you are yourself, alone!
“I honor you, oh! Great Impressario, as the most successful manager in America or any other country. Democrat, as you are, you can give a practical lesson to the aristocrats of Europe how to live. At your beautiful and tasteful residence, ‘Iranistan’ (I don’t like the name, though), you can and do entertain your friends with a warmth of hospitality, only equalled by that of the great landed proprietors of the old country, or of our own ‘sunny South.’ Whilst riches are pouring into your coffers from your various ‘ventures’ in all parts of the world, you do not hoard your immense means, but continually ‘cast them forth upon the waters,’ rewarding labor, encouraging the arts, and lending a helping hand to industry in all its branches. Not content with doing all this, you deal telling blows, whenever opportunity offers, upon the monster Intemperance. Your labors in this great cause alone should entitle you to the thanks of all good men, women and children in the land. Mr. Barnum, you deserve all your good fortune, and I hope you may long live to enjoy your wealth and honor.
“As a small installment towards the debt, I, as one of the community, owe you, and with the hope of affording you an hour’s amusement (if you can spare that amount of time from your numerous avocations to read it), I present you with this little volume, containing a very brief account of some of my ‘journey-work’ in the South and West; and remain, very respectfully,
“Your friend, and affectionate uncle, “SOL SMITH.
“CHOUTEAU AVENUE, ST. LOUIS,
“NOV. 1, 1854.”
Although Barnum never acknowledged it, there was a vast deal of truth in Mr. Smith’s statements.
Whenever Miss Lind sang for charity she gave what she might have earned at a regular concert; Barnum always insisted upon paying for the hall, orchestra, printing and other expenses. But Miss Lind received the entire credit for liberality and benevolence.
It is but just to say, however, that she frequently remonstrated with Barnum and declared that the expenses ought to be deducted from the proceeds of the concert, but he always insisted on doing what he called his share.
CHAPTER XXI. CLOSING THE GRAND TOUR.
APRIL FOOL JOKES AT NASHVILLE–A TRICK AT CINCINNATI–RETURN TO NEW YORK–JENNY LIND PERSUADED TO LEAVE BARNUM–FINANCIAL RESULTS OF THE ENTERPRISE.
Five concerts were given at St. Louis, and then they went to Nashville, Tenn., where the sixty-sixth and sixty-seventh of the series were given. At the latter place, Jenny Lind, accompanied by Barnum and his daughter, Mrs. Lyman, visited “The Hermitage,” where Barnum himself had years before seen “Old Hickory” Jackson. While there, the prima donna heard, for the first time in her life, wild mocking birds singing in the trees, and great was her delight thereat.
They spent the first of April, 1851, at Nashville. In the forenoon of the day, the various members of the party amused themselves by playing little “April Fool” jokes on Barnum, and after dinner he took his revenge upon them. Securing a supply of telegraph blanks and envelopes, he set to work preparing messages full of the most sensational and startling intelligence, for most of the people in the party. Almost every one of them presently received what purported to be a telegraphic despatch. Barnum’s own daughter did not escape. She was informed that her mother, her cousin, and several other relatives, were waiting for her in Louisville, and various other important and extraordinary items of domestic intelligence were communicated to her. Mr. Le Grand Smith was told by a despatch from his father that his native village in Connecticut, was in ashes, including his own homestead, etc. Several of Barnum’s employees had most liberal offers of engagements from banks and other institutions at the North. Burke, and others of the musical professors, were offered princely salaries by opera managers, and many of them received most tempting inducements to proceed immediately to the World’s Fair in London.
One married gentleman received the gratifying intelligence that he had for two days been the father of a pair of bouncing boys (mother and children doing well), an event which he had been anxiously looking for during the week, though on a somewhat more limited scale. In fact, nearly every person in the party engaged by Barnum received some extraordinary telegraphic intelligence; and, as the great impressario managed to have the despatches delivered simultaneously, each recipient was for some time busily occupied with his own personal news.
By and by each began to tell his neighbor his good or bad tidings; and each was, of course, rejoiced or grieved, according to circumstances. Several gave Mr. Barnum notice of their intention to leave him, in consequence of better offers; and a number of them sent off telegraphic despatches and letters by mail, in answer to those received.
The man who had so suddenly become the father of twins, telegraphed to his wife to “be of good cheer,” and that he would “start for home to-morrow.” And so cleverly did Barnum manage the whole business that his victims did not discover how they had been fooled until next morning, when they read the whole story in a local newspaper, to which it had been given by Barnum himself.
From Nashville, Jenny Lind and a few of the party went to the Mammoth Cave, and thence to Louisville, the others going directly to the latter point by steamer. There they were joined by Signor Salvi, whom Barnum had engaged at Havana. Three concerts were given at Louisville, and they then proceeded to Cincinnati, accompanied by George D. Prentice, the famous editor of The Louisville Journal. A stop was made at Madison long enough to give one concert, and they reached Cincinnati the next morning. There was a tremendous crowd on the wharf, and Barnum was afraid that an attempt to repeat the ruse he had played with his daughter at New Orleans would not work here, as an account of it had been published in the Cincinnati papers, and everyone would be suspecting it. But he was fertile in expedients, and quickly devised another scheme.
So he took Miss Lind on his arm and boldly started to walk down the gang-plank in the face of the crowd. As he did so, Le Grand Smith, who was in the plot, called out from the deck of the boat, as if he had been one of the passengers, “That’s no go, Mr. Barnum; you can’t pass your daughter off for Jenny Lind this time.” The remark elicited a peal of merriment from the crowd, several persons calling out, “that won’t do, Barnum! You may fool the New Orleans folks, but you can’t come it over the ‘Buckeyes.’ We intend to stay here until you bring out Jenny Lind!” They readily allowed him to pass with the lady whom they supposed to be his daughter, and in five minutes afterwards the Nightingale was complimenting Mr. Coleman upon the beautiful and commodious apartments which were devoted to her in the Burnett House.
A concert was given at Wheeling, and another at Pittsburg, and then, early in May, the company returned to New York. There they gave fourteen concerts, partly at Castle Garden and partly at Metropolitan Hall, making ninety-two of the regular series.
Miss Lind now came within the influence of various legal and other advisers, who seemed intent on creating trouble between her and her manager. Barnum soon discovered this state of affairs, but was little troubled by it. Indeed he really hoped that they would persuade her to stop at the hundredth concert, for he was already worn out with the constant excitement and unremitting exertions of the tour. He thought that perhaps it would be well for Miss Lind to try giving a few concerts on her own account, or under some other manager, in order to disprove what her friends had told her, namely, that Mr. Barnum had not managed the enterprise as successfully as he might have done.
Accordingly he was much pleased when, after the eighty-fifth concert, she told him that she had decided to pay the forfeit of $25,000, and terminate the concert tour after the one hundredth performance. After the second series of concerts in New York, they went to Philadelphia, where Barnum had advertised the ninety-third and ninety-fourth concerts. As he did not care enough for the probable profits of the last seven of the hundred concerts to run the risk of disturbing the very friendly relations which had so far existed between him and Miss Lind, he now offered to relinquish the engagement, if she desired it, at the end of the ninety-third concert. The only terms he required were that she would allow him $1,000 for each of the remaining seven concerts, besides the $25,000 forfeit already agreed upon. She accepted this offer, and the engagement was forthwith ended.
After parting with Barnum, Miss Lind gave a number of concerts, with varied success. Then she went to Niagara Falls for a time, and afterward to Northampton, Massachusetts. While living at the latter place she visited Boston, and was there married to Otto Goldschmidt. He was a German composer and pianist, who had studied music with her in Germany, and to whom she had long been much attached. He had, indeed, travelled with her and Barnum during a portion of their tour, and had played at several of the concerts.
After the end of their engagement, Barnum and Miss Lind met on several occasions, always in the friendliest manner. Once, at Bridgeport, she complained rather bitterly to him of the unpleasant experiences she had had since leaving him. “People cheat me and swindle me very much,” said she, “and I find it very annoying to give concerts on my own account.”
“I was always,” said Mr. Barnum, sometime afterward, “supplied with complimentary tickets when she gave concerts in New York, and on the occasion of her last appearance in America I visited her in her room back of the stage, and bade her and her husband adieu, with my best wishes. She expressed the same feeling to me in return. She told me she should never sing much, if any more, in public; but I reminded her that a good Providence had endowed her with a voice which enabled her to contribute in an eminent degree to the enjoyment of her fellow beings, and if she no longer needed the large sums of money which they were willing to pay for this elevating and delightful entertainment, she knew by experience what a genuine pleasure she would receive by devoting the money to the alleviation of the wants and sorrows of those who needed it.”
“Ah! Mr. Barnum,” she replied, “that is very true; and it would be ungrateful in me to not continue to use, for the benefit of the poor and lowly, that gift which our kind Heavenly Father has so graciously bestowed upon me. Yes, I will continue to sing so long as my voice lasts, but it will be mostly for charitable objects, for I am thankful to say that I have all the money which I shall ever need.”
It is pleasant to add that this noble resolution was carried out. A large proportion of the concerts which she gave after her return to Europe and during the remainder of her entire public career, were devoted to objects of charity. If she consented, for example, to sing for a charitable object in London, the fact was not advertised at all, but the tickets were readily disposed of in private for from $5 to $10 each.
As for Mr. Barnum, he was glad to enjoy a season of rest and quiet after such an arduous campaign. After leaving Miss Lind, in Philadelphia, therefore, he went to Cape May for a week and then to his home Iranistan, where he spent the remainder of the summer.
It is interesting, as a matter of record, to review at this point, the financial results of this notable series of concerts. The following recapitulation is entirely accurate, being taken from Mr. Barnum’s own account books:
JENNY LIND CONCERTS.
TOTAL RECEIPTS, EXCEPTING OF CONCERTS DEVOTED TO CHARITY. —-
New York ………….. $17,864.05
” ………….. 14,203.03
———–
No. 1. “……………. 12,519.59 2. “……………. 14,266.09
3. “……………. 12,174.74
4. “……………. 16,028.39 5. Boston………… 16,479.50
6. “……………. 11,848.62
7. “……………. 8,639 92
8. “……………. 10,169.25
9. Providence…….. 6,525.54
10. Boston………… 10,524.87
11. “……………. 5,240.00
12. “……………. 7,586.00
13. Philadelphia…… 9,291.25
14. “……………. 7,547.00
15. “……………. 8,458.65
16. New York………. 6,415.90
17. “……………. 4,009.70
18. “……………. 5,982.00
19. “……………. 8,007.10
20. “……………. 6,334.20 21. “……………. 9,429.15
22. “……………. 9,912.17 23. “……………. 5,773.40
24. “……………. 4,993.50
25. “……………. 6,670.15
26. “……………. 9,840.33
27. “……………. 7,097.15 28. “……………. 8,263.30
29. “……………. 10,570.25
30. “……………. 10,646.45 31. Philadelphia…… 5,480.75
32. “……………. 5,728.65 33. “……………. 3,709.88
34. “……………. 4,815.48 35. Baltimore……… 7,117.00
36. “……………. 8,357.05 37. “……………. 8,406.50
38. “……………. 8,121.33
39. Washington City… 6,878.55 40. “……………. 8,507.05
41. Richmond………. 12,385.21 42. Charleston…….. 6,775.00
43. “……………. 3,653.75 44. Havana………… 4,666.17
45. “……………. 2,837.92
46. Havana………… 2,931.95
47. New Orleans……. 12,599.85
48. “……………. 10,210.42
49. “……………. 8,131.15
50. “……………. 6,019.85
51. “……………. 6,644.00
52. “……………. 9,720.80
53. “……………. 7,545.50
54. “……………. 6,053.50
55. “……………. 4,850.25
56. “……………. 4,495.35
57 “……………. 6,630.35
58. “……………. 4,745.10
59. Natchez……….. 5,000.00
60. Memphis……….. 4,539.56
61. St. Louis……… 7,811.85
62. “……………. 7,961.92
63. “……………. 7,708.70
64. “……………. 4,086.50
65. “……………. 3,044.70
66. Nashville……… 7,786.30
67. “……………. 4,248.00
68. Louisville…….. 7,833.90
69. “……………. 6,595.60
70. “……………. 5,000.00
71. Madison……….. 3,693.25
72. Cincinnati…….. 9,339.75
73. “……………. 11,001.50
74. “……………. 8,446.30
75. “……………. 8,954.18
76. “……………. 6,500.40
77. Wheeling………. 5,000.00
78. Pittsburg……… 7,210.58
79. New York………. 6,858.42 80. “……………. 5,453.00
81. “……………. 5,463.70
82. “……………. 7,378.35 83. “……………. 7,179.27
84. “……………. 6,641.00
85. “……………. 6,917.13
86. New York………. 6,642.04
87. “……………. 3,738.75
88. “……………. 4,335.28
89. “……………. 5,339.23
90. “……………. 4,087.03
91. “……………. 5,717.00
92. “……………. 9,525.80
93. Philadelphia…… 3,852.75
Of Miss Lind’s half receipts of the first two Concerts she devoted $10,000 to charity in New York. She afterwards gave Charity Concerts in Boston, Baltimore, Charleston, Havana, New Orleans, New York and Philadelphia, and donated large sums for the like purposes in Richmond, Cincinnati and elsewhere. There were also several Benefit Concerts, for the Orchestra, Le Grand Smith, and other persons and objects.
RECAPITULATION.
New York 35 Concerts. Receipts, $286,216.64 Average, $8,177.50
Philadelphia 8 ” ” 48,884,41 ” 6,110 55 Boston 7 ” ” 70,388.16 ” 10,055.45 Providence 1 ” ” 6,525.54 ” 6,525.54 Baltimore 4 ” ” 32,101.83 ” 8,000.47 Washington 2 ” ” 15,385 60 ” 7,692.80 Richmond 1 ” ” 12,385.21 ” 12,385.21 Charleston 2 ” ” 10,428.75 ” 5,214.37 Havana 3 ” ” 10,436.04 ” 3478.68 New Orleans l2 ” ” 87,646.12 ” 7,303.84 Natchez 1 ” ” 5,000.00 ” 5,000.00 Memphis 1 ” ” 4,539.56 ” 4,539.56 St. Louis 5 ” ” 30,613.67 ” 6,122.73 Nashville 2 ” ” 12,034 30 ” 6,017.15 Louisville 3 ” ” 19,429.50 ” 6,476.50 Madison 1 ” ” 3,693.25 ” 3,693.25 Cincinnati 5 ” ” 44,242.13 ” 8,848.43 Wheeling 1 ” ” 5,000.00 ” 5,000.00 Pittsburg 1 ” ” 7,210.58 ” 7,210.58
Total 95 Concerts. Receipts, $712,161.34 Average, $7,496.43
JENNY LIND’S RECEIPTS.
From the Total Receipts of Ninety-five Concerts…..$712,161.34 Deduct the receipts of the first two, which, as between P. T. Barnum and Jenny Lind were aside from the contract, and are not numbered in the table…..32,067.08
Total Receipts of Concerts from No. 1 to No. 93….$680,094.26 Deduct the Receipts of the 28 Concerts, each of which fell short of $5,500…..$123,311.15 Also deduct $5,500 for each of the remaining 65 Concerts…………………….357,500.00 480,811.15
Leaving the total excess, as above….$199,283.11 Being equally divided, Miss Lind’s portion was….$99,641.55 Barnum paid her $1,000 for each of the 93 Concerts…..93,000.00 Also one-half the receipts of the first two Concerts…16,033.54
Amount paid to Jenny Lind…………………$208,675.09 She refunded to Barnum as forfeiture, per contract, in case she withdrew after the 100th Concert……….$25,000 She also paid him $1,000 each for the seven concerts
relinquished……………………..7,000 $32,000.00
JENNY LIND’S net avails of 95 concerts…………….$176,675.09 P. T. BARNUM’S gross receipts, after paying Miss Lind ….535,486.25
TOTAL RECEIPTS of 95 Concerts $712,161.34
The highest prices paid for tickets were at auction, as follows: John N. Genin, in New York, $225; Ossian E. Dodge, in Boston, $625; Col. William C. Ross, in Providence, $650; M. A. Root, in Philadelphia, $625; Mr. D’Arcy, in New Orleans, $240; a keeper of a refreshment saloon in St. Louis, $150; a Daguerrotypist, in Baltimore, $100. After the sale of the first ticket the premium usually fell to $20, and so downward in the scale of figures. The fixed price of tickets ranged from $7 to $3. Promenade tickets were from $2 to $1 each.
CHAPTER XXII. A FEW SIDE ISSUES.
THE EXPEDITION TO CEYLON–HARNESSING AN ELEPHANT TO A PLOW–BARNUM AND VANDERBILT–THE TALKING MACHINE–A FIRE AT IRANISTAN–MOUNTAIN GROVE CEMETERY.
The great showman did not allow even so great an enterprise as the Jenny Lind concerts to monopolize his attention. In 1849 he planned the formation of a great travelling show, combining the features of a museum, a menagerie and a circus. In this he associated with himself Mr. Seth B. Howes, who was already a noted and successful showman, and also Mr. Stratton, the father of Tom Thumb. In order to procure a supply of novelties for this show they chartered the ship “Regatta,” and sent it from New York in May, 1850, to Ceylon. The object of this voyage, was to procure, either by purchase or by capture, a number of living elephants and other wild animals. To make sure of a sufficient supply of fodder for them, nearly a thousand tons of hay were purchased in New York and taken out aboard the ship. Five hundred tons of it were left at the Island of St. Helena, to be taken up on the return trip, and a great supply of staves and hoops were also left there for the construction of water casks.
This extraordinary mission was successful. In almost exactly a year from the day of sailing the ship returned to New York. Its novel cargo was unloaded, the ten elephants which had been secured were harnessed in pairs to a gigantic chariot, and the whole show paraded up Broadway past the Irving House. It was reviewed from the window of that hotel by Jenny Lind, who was stopping there on her second visit to New York. An elaborate outfit of horses, wagons, tents, etc., was added, the whole costing over $100,000, and then the show went on the road under the nominal leadership of Tom Thumb. It was called, “Barnum’s Great Asiatic Caravan, Museum and Menagerie;” it travelled about the country for four years, and yielded to its proprietors enormous profits.
At the end of this tour Barnum sold out the entire establishment, including animals, cages, chariots and everything else, excepting one elephant. This huge brute he took to his farm at Bridgeport, for advertising purposes. It occurred to him that if he should keep the animal there for a time and put him to some novel use, such as working on the farm, it would set people to talking and greatly add to public curiosity and interest in his American Museum.
He accordingly took the elephant to Bridgeport and put him in charge of a competent keeper, who was dressed in a striking Oriental costume. A six acre field close by the New York and New Haven railroad track was set apart for their use. Barnum gave the keeper a time-table of the road and directed him to make a point, whenever trains were passing, always to be busily engaged with the elephant at plowing or other agricultural work as close to the track as possible. Of course the passengers noticed the strange spectacle, items concerning it appeared in the newspapers, extending even to the press of foreign lands, and thousands of people came from all parts of the country to witness the strange sight. Every mail brought numerous letters inquiring about it. Many of these were from the officers of agricultural societies in all parts of the United States, making serious and earnest inquiry as to the utility of the elephant as an agricultural animal. These letters were greatly diversified in tone, but the substance of their inquires was about as follows:
1. “Is the elephant a profitable agricultural animal?”
2. “How much can an elephant plow in a day?”
3. “How much can he draw?”
4. “How much does he eat?”–this question was invariably asked, and was a very important one.
5. “Will elephants make themselves generally useful on a farm?”
6. “What is the price of an elephant?”
7. “Where can elephants be purchased?”
Then would follow a score of other inquiries, such as, whether elephants were easily managed; if they would quarrel with cattle; if it was possible to breed them; how old calf elephants must be before they would earn their own living; and so on indefinitely.
Barnum presently began to be alarmed lest some one should buy an elephant and thus share the fate of the man who drew one in a lottery and did not know what to do with him. “Accordingly,” he says, “I had a general letter printed, which I mailed to all my anxious inquirers. It was headed ‘strictly confidential,’ and I then stated, begging my correspondents ‘not to mention it,’ that to me the elephant was a valuable agricultural animal, because he was an excellent advertisement to my museum; but that to other farmers he would prove very unprofitable for many reasons. In the first place, such an animal would cost from $3,000 to $10,000; in cold weather he could not work at all; in any weather he could not earn half his living; he would eat up the value of his own head, trunk and body every year; and I begged my correspondents not to do so foolish a thing as to undertake elephant farming.”
The result of this experiment in advertising was highly successful. Newspaper correspondents sent highly colored accounts of it all over the world, and numerous pictures of the elephant harnessed to a plow appeared in the illustrated papers and magazines. After the field had been plowed over fifty or sixty times, Barnum concluded that the elephant had been “worked for all he was worth,” and sold him to Van Amburgh’s menagerie.
In 1851 Mr. Barnum became a part owner of the steamship “North America,” which he proposed to run between America and Ireland as a passenger and freight vessel. This idea was presently abandoned, and the ship was sent around Cape Horn to San Francisco and put into service on the Pacific Mail Line, Commodore Cornelius Vanderbilt having purchased a one-half interest in it and Mr. Barnum retaining one-third interest in the remaining half. After she had made several trips Barnum called upon Mr. Vanderbilt at his office and introduced himself. It was their first meeting, and this is Barnum’s own account of the interview:
” ‘Is it possible you are Barnum?’ exclaimed the Commodore, in surprise, ‘why, I expected to see a monster, part lion, part elephant, and a mixture of rhinoceros and tiger! Is it possible,’ he continued, ‘that you are the showman who has made so much noise in the world?’
“I laughingly replied that I was, and added that if I too had been governed in my anticipation of his personal appearance by the fame he had achieved in his line, I should have expected to have been saluted by a steam whistle, and to have seen him dressed in a pea jacket, blowing off steam, and crying out ‘all aboard that’s going.’
” ‘Instead of which,’ replied Mr. Vanderbilt, ‘I suppose you have come to ask me to walk up to the Captain’s office and settle.’
“After this interchange of civilities, we talked about the success of the ‘North America’ in having got safely around the Horn, and of the acceptable manner in which she was doing her duty on the Pacific side.
” ‘We have received no statement of her earnings yet,’ said the Commodore, ‘but if you want money, give your receipt to our treasurer, and take some.’
“A few months subsequent to this, I sold out my share in the steamship to Mr. Daniel Drew.”
Numerous smaller enterprises also marked this stage of Mr. Barnum’s career. Some of these were connected with his museum, while others were entirely independent of it. Thus in 1844, in Paris, besides purchasing Robt. Houdin’s ingenius automatic writer and other costly curiosities for the museum, he had made at great expense, a huge panorama of the funeral of Napoleon Bonaparte. This gigantic picture showed every event of that pageant, beginning with the embarkation of the body at St. Helena and ending with its final entombment at the Hotel des Invalides. This exhibition, after having had its day at the American Museum, was sold, and extensively and profitably exhibited elsewhere. While Barnum was in London, during the same year, he engaged a company of “Campanalogians, or Lancashire Bell Ringers,” then performing in Ireland, to make an American tour. They were really admirable performers, and by means of their numerous bells of various sizes, they produced the most delightful music. They attracted much attention in various parts of the United States, in Canada, and in Cuba.
After the loss of the bell ringers to the English public Barnum secured and sent thither a party of sixteen North American Indians, who were widely exhibited. On his return to America after his first visit to Europe he engaged an ingenious workman to construct an automatic orator. This was a life-size and remarkably life-like figure, and when worked from a key-board similar to that of a piano it actually uttered words and sentences with surprising distinctness. It was exhibited for several months in London and elsewhere in England, but though it was really a wonderful machine and attracted the earnest attention of some people, it was not a popular success. The Duke of Wellington visited it several times, and at first he thought that the “voice” proceeded from the exhibiter, whom he assumed to be a skilful ventriloquist. He was asked to touch the keys with his own fingers, and, after some instruction in the method of operating, he was able to make the machine speak, not only in English but also in German, with which language the Duke seemed familiar. Thereafter, he entered his name on the exhibiter’s autograph book, and certified that the “Automaton Speaker” was an extraordinary production of mechanical genius.
Barnum also secured duplicates of the models of machinery exhibited at the Royal Polytechnic Institution in London and a great many interesting panoramas and pictures. These were all exhibited at his museum in New York and afterwards sold to other travelling showmen who exhibited them throughout the country. In the summer of 1850 he added to the museum his famous Chinese collection, including a Chinese family of two men, two “small footed” women, and two children.
Few of his curiosities attracted more attention than the performances of the “Scotch Boys.” One of these was securely blindfolded, and then, in answer to questions put by the other, accurately described any objects presented by persons who attended the surprising exhibition. The mystery, which was merely the result of patient practice, consisted wholly in the manner in which the question was propounded; in fact, the question invariably carried its own answer; for instance:
“What is this?” meant gold; “Now what is this?” silver; “Say, what is this?” copper; “Tell me what this is?” iron; “What is the shape?” long; “Now, what shape?” round; “Say what shape?” square; “Please say what this is,” a watch; “Can you tell what is in this lady’s hand?” a purse; “Now, please say what this is?” a key; “Come now, what is this?” money; “How much?” a penny; “Now, how much?” sixpence; “Say how much,” a quarter of a dollar; “What color is this?” black; “Now, what color is this?” red; “Say what color?” green; and so on, ad infinitum. To such perfection was this brought that it was almost impossible to present any object that could not be quite closely described by the blindfolded boy.
In 1850, the celebrated Bateman children acted for several weeks at the American Museum, and in June of that year Barnum sent them to London with their father and Mr. Le Grand Smith, where they played in the St. James Theatre, and afterwards in the principal provincial theatres. The elder of these children, Miss Kate Bateman, subsequently attained the highest histrionic distinction in America and abroad, and reached the head of her profession.
Miss Catharine Hayes and Herr Begnis were engaged by Barnum in the fall of 1852 to give a series of sixty concerts in California, and the enterprise proved highly profitable, although Mr. Barnum intrusted its execution to his agents, not caring himself to travel so far. Before she set out for California Miss Hayes, with her mother and sister, spent several days at Iranistan to attend the marriage of Barnum’s eldest daughter, Caroline, to Mr. David W. Thompson.
The wedding was to take place in the evening, and on the afternoon of that day Mr. Barnum went to Bridgeport to get shaved for the occasion. While he was lying in the barber’s chair, half of his face shaved and the other half covered with lather, his prospective son-in-law, Mr. Thompson, drove up to the door of the shop and rushed in, exclaiming excitedly, “Mr. Barnum, Iranistan is in flames!” Barnum jumped up from the chair and, half shaved and with the lather still on his face, jumped into the wagon and started for home with the horse on a run. “I was greatly alarmed,” he afterward said, “for the house was full of visitors who had come from a distance to attend the wedding, and all the costly presents, dresses, refreshments, and everything prepared for a marriage celebration to which nearly a thousand guests had been invited, were already in my house. Mr. Thompson told me he had seen the flames bursting from the roof, and it seemed to me that there was little hope of saving the building.
“My mind was distressed, not so much at the great pecuniary loss which the destruction of Iranistan would involve, as at the possibility that some of my family or visitors would be killed or seriously injured in attempting to save something from the fire. Then I thought of the sore disappointment this calamity would cause to the young couple, as well as to those who were invited to the wedding. I saw that Mr. Thompson looked pale and anxious.
” ‘Never mind!’ said I; ‘we can’t help these things; the house will probably be burned; but if no one is killed or injured, you shall be married to-night, if we are obliged to perform the ceremony in the coach-house.’
“On our way, we overtook a fire company, and I implored them to ‘hurry up their machine.’ Arriving in sight of Iranistan, we saw huge volumes of smoke rolling out from the roof and many men on the top of the house were passing buckets of water to pour upon the fire. Fortunately, several men had been engaged during the day in repairing the roof, and their ladders were against the house. By these means and with the assistance of the men employed upon my grounds, water was passed very rapidly, and the flames were soon subdued without serious damage. The inmates of Iranistan were thoroughly frightened; Catherine Hayes and other visitors, packed their trunks and had them carried out on the lawn; and the house came as near destruction as it well could and escape.”
While Miss Hayes was at Bridgeport she gave, at Barnum’s request, a concert for the benefit of “Mountain Grove Cemetery,” and the large proceeds were devoted to the erection of the stone tower and gateway that now adorn the entrance to that beautiful resting place of the dead. Barnum had bought the eighty acres of land for this cemetery a few years before from several farmers. He had been in the habit of tramping over it, gunning, and while thus engaged, had observed its admirable fitness for the purposes of a cemetery. After the title deeds for the property were secured, it was offered for a cemetery, and at a meeting of citizens, several lots were subscribed for. enough. indeed, to cover the amount of the purchase money. Thus was begun the “Mountain Grove Cemetery,” which is now beautifully laid out and adorned with many tasteful and costly monuments. Among these are Barnum’s own substantial granite monument, the family monuments of Harral, Bishop, Hubbell, Lyon, Wood, Loomis, Wordin, Hyde, and others, and General Tom Thumb erected a tall marble shaft which is surmounted by a life-size statue of himself. There is no more charming burial-ground in the whole country; yet when the project was suggested, many persons preferred an intermural cemetery to this rural resting-place for their departed friends; though now all concur in considering it fortunate that this adjunct was secured to Bridgeport before the land could be permanently devoted to other purposes.
Mr. Dion Boucicault also lectured at Bridgeport for the benefit of this cemetery and Tom Thumb gave an entertainment for the same object. At Barnum’s request and under his management, Tom Thumb and his wife, and Commodore Nutt and his wife, gave several exhibitions and entertainments for the benefit of the Bridgeport Charitable Society, the Bridgeport Library, and other local institutions.
CHAPTER XXIII. SOME DOMESTIC ENTERPRISES.
PUTTING A PICKPOCKET ON EXHIBITION–TRAVELLING INCOGNITO–THE PEQUONNOCK BANK–THE NEW YORK CRYSTAL PALACE–A POEM ON AN INCIDENT AT IRANISTAN.
In the summer of 1853 Alfred Bunn, formerly manager of Drury Lane Theatre, London, arrived in Boston. He was then one of the most notable figures in the theatrical world. It was he who had made the first engagement with Jenny Lind to appear in London. She had been induced to break this engagement, however, through the solicitations of Mr. Lumley, of Her Majesty’s Theatre, with the result that Mr. Lumley had to pay to Mr. Bunn heavy damages for the breach of contract. Barnum and Bunn had never met, though they knew each other well by reputation, and indeed Bunn labored under the delusion that he had met Barnum, for soon after his arrival he hastened to New York and entered Barnum’s private office at the Museum with the exclamation, “Well, Barnum, do you remember me?”
Barnum was confident that he had never seen him before, and indeed did not really know who he was. But, quick as a flash, he thought that the ex-manager of Drury Lane must be the only living Englishman with presumption enough to accost him in this way. So he answered without hesitation, “Why, this is Mr. Bunn, isn’t it?”
“Ah, my boy,” said Bunn, slapping him familiarly on the back, “I thought you would remember me. Well, Barnum, how have you been since I last saw you?”
Barnum replied in a manner that encouraged his impression that they were old acquaintances, and during the next two hours they had much gossip about men and affairs in London. Bunn called upon Barnum several times after that, and probably never realized that Barnum really had been in London two or three years without making his acquaintance. When Barnum went to London again in 1858 he renewed his acquaintance with Bunn and they became great chums.
The years 1851, 1852 and 1853 were mostly spent at Bridgeport, with frequent visits to New York of a day or two each. In the last-named year he resigned the office of President of the Fairfield County Agricultural Society, but in accepting his resignation the society insisted that it should not go into effect until after the annual fair of 1854 His administration of the affairs of the society had been very successful, especially in relation to the fairs and cattle shows.
The manner in which Barnum turned every circumstance to account in the interest of these fairs is well shown in his dealings with a pickpocket at the fair of 1853. The man was caught in the act of taking a pocket-book from a country farmer, and on arrest was found to be a notorious English thief. He had already victimized many other visitors to the fair, and there was almost a state of panic among the visitors. The fair was to close the next day.
Early the next morning the thief was taken before a justice, legally examined, and was bound over for trial. Barnum then obtained consent from the Sheriff that the fellow should be put on the fair grounds, for the purpose of giving those who had been robbed an opportunity of identifying him. For this purpose he was handcuffed and placed in a conspicuous position, where of course he was “the observed of all observers.” Then Barnum papered the country round about with handbills, stating that, for the last day of the fair, the managers had secured an extraordinary attraction. They would, he said, exhibit, safely handcuffed, and without extra charge, a live pickpocket, who had on the day preceding been caught in the act of robbing an honest farmer. Crowds of people rushed in to see the show, parents for miles around brought their children to see the awful example of iniquity, and great was the profit to the treasury of the fair.
At the close of his presidency in 1854 Barnum was asked to deliver the opening speech at the County Fair at Stamford. He did so, delivering simply a portion of his lecture on “The Philosophy of Humbug.” The next morning, as he was being shaved in the village barber’s shop, which was at the time crowded with customers, the ticket-seller to the fair came in. Here is Barnum’s own account of what followed:
“What kind of a house did you have last night?” asked one of the gentlemen in waiting.
“Oh, first-rate, of course. Barnum always draws a crowd,” was the reply of the ticket-seller, to whom I was not known.
Most of the gentlemen present, however, knew me, and they found much difficulty in restraining their laughter.
“Did Barnum make a good speech?” I asked.
“I did not hear it. I was out in the ticket-office. I guess it was pretty good, for I never heard so much laughing as there was all through his speech. But it makes no difference whether it was good or not,” continued the ticket-seller, “the people will go to see Barnum.”
“Barnum must be a curious chap,” I remarked.
“Well, I guess he is up to all the dodges.”
“Do you know him?” I asked.
“Not personally,” he replied; “but I always get into the Museum for nothing. I know the doorkeeper, and he slips me in free.”
“Barnum would not like that, probably, if he knew it,” I remarked.
“But it happens he don’t know it,” replied the ticket-seller, in great glee.
“Barnum was on the cars the other day, on his way to Bridgeport,” said I, “and I heard one of the passengers blowing him up terribly as a humbug. He was addressing Barnum at the time, but did not know him. Barnum joined in lustily, and indorsed everything the man said. When the passenger learned whom he had been addressing, I should think he must have felt rather flat.”
“I should think so, too,” said the ticket-seller.
This was too much, and we all indulged in a burst of laughter; still the ticket-seller suspected nothing. After I had left the shop, the barber told him who I was. I called into the ticket-office on business several times during the day, but the poor ticket-seller kept his face turned from me, and appeared so chapfallen that I did not pretend to recognize him as the hero of the joke in the barber’s shop.
There were many incidents similar to the foregoing in Barnum’s career. One occurred on board a steamboat, going from New York to Bridgeport. As they entered the harbor of the latter city a stranger asked the great showman to point out “Barnum’s house” from the deck. Barnum did so, and then another bystander remarked, “I know all about that house, for I did a lot of painting there for several months while Barnum was in Europe.” He went on to say that it was the meanest and worst contrived house he ever saw, and added, “It will cost old Barnum a mint of money and not be worth two cents after it is finished.” “I suppose from that that old Barnum didn’t pay you very punctually,” observed Barnum himself. “Oh, yes; he pays promptly every Saturday night,” said the other; “there’s no trouble about that. He has made half a million by exhibiting a little boy whom he took from Bridgeport and whom we never thought any great shakes until Barnum took him and trained him.”
Presently one of the other passengers told this man who Barnum was, and nothing more was seen of him.
On another occasion, says Barnum, I went to Boston by the Fall River route. Arriving before sunrise, I found but one carriage at the depot. I immediately engaged it, and, giving the driver the check for my baggage, told him to take me directly to the Revere House, as I was in great haste, and enjoined him to take in no other passengers, and I would pay his demands. He promised compliance with my wishes, but soon afterwards appeared with a gentleman, two ladies, and several children, whom he crowded into the carriage with me, and, placing their trunks on the baggage-rack, started off. I thought there was no use in grumbling, and consoled myself with the reflection that the Revere House was not far away. He drove up one street and down another for what seemed to me a very long time, but I was wedged in so closely that I could not see what route he was taking.
After half an hour’s drive he halted, and I found we were at the Lowell Railway Depot. Here my fellow-passengers alighted, and after a long delay the driver delivered their baggage, received his fare, and was about closing the carriage door preparatory to starting again. I was so thoroughly vexed at the shameful manner in which he had treated me, that I remarked:
“Perhaps you had better wait till the Lowell train arrives; you may possibly get another load of passengers. Of course my convenience is of no consequence. I suppose if you land me at the Revere House any time this week, it will be as much as I have a right to expect.”
“I beg your pardon,” he replied, “but that was Barnum and his family. He was very anxious to get here in time for the first train, so I stuck him for $2, and now I’ll carry you to the Revere House free.”
“What Barnum is it?” I asked.
“The Museum and Jenny Lind man,” he replied.
The compliment and the shave both having been intended for me, I was of course mollified, and replied, “You are mistaken, my friend, _I_ am Barnum.”
“Coachee” was thunderstruck, and offered all sorts of apologies.
“A friend at the other depot told me that I had Mr. Barnum on board,” said he, “and I really supposed he meant the other man. When I come to notice you, I perceive my mistake, but I hope you will forgive me. I have carried you frequently before, and hope you will give me your custom while you are in Boston. I never will make such a mistake again.”
The Pequonnock Bank of Bridgeport was organized in the spring of 1851. Barnum had no interest whatever in it, not holding a single share of the stock. He was, however, unanimously elected President of it. He accepted the office, but as he knew he could not devote much time to it, requested that Mr. Hubbell, then Mayor of Bridgeport, should be made Vice-President.
Mr. Barnum also invested $20,000, as special partner, in a company for the publication of an illustrated weekly newspaper in New York. This was The Illustrated News. The first number was issued on the 1st of January, 1853, and within a month it had seventy thousand circulation. Various complications arose, which greatly annoyed Barnum, and at the end of the first year the whole concern was sold out without loss.
He was earnestly urged, in February, 1854, to accept the presidency of the Universal Exposition, which was held in New York in the famous Crystal Palace. At first he positively declined. But the matter was persistently urged upon him by many influential gentlemen, who represented to him that the success of the enterprise depended upon his acceptance of the position. The result was that at last he did accept it, and he entered upon its duties with all the vigor he could command. The concern was almost bankrupt, and to save it from utter ruin Barnum advanced large sums of money from his own purse. By this means and by various other efforts, such as the re-inauguration, the famous Jullien concerts, etc., here stored a semblance of prosperity. But it was uphill work, and after a time he resigned the presidency and abandoned the institution to its fate.
A little incident which occurred at Iranistan, in the winter of 1852, was observed by a lady from Philadelphia who was visiting there at the time. She afterward made it the subject of a poem, which Mr. Barnum prized highly. It was as follows:
WINTER BOUQUETS.
AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF AN AMERICAN CITIZEN.
The poor man’s garden lifeless lay
Beneath a fall of snow;
But Art in costly greenhouses,
Keeps Summer in full glow.
And Taste paid gold for bright bouquets, The parlor vase that drest,
That scented Fashion’s gray boudoir, Or bloomed on Beauty’s breast.
A rich man sat beside the fire,
Within his sculptured halls;
Brave heart, clear head, and busy hand Had reared those stately walls.
He to his gardener spake, and said In tone of quiet glee–
“I want a hundred fine bouquets–
Canst make them, John, for me?
John’s eyes became exceeding round,
This question when he heard;
He gazed upon his master,
And he answered not a word.
“Well, John,” the rich man laughing said, “If these too many be,
What sayest to half the number, man? Canst fifty make for me?”
Now John prized every flower, as ’twere A daughter or a son;
And thought, like Regan–“What the need Of fifty, or of one?”
But, keeping back the thought, he said, “I think, sir, that I might;
But it would leave my lady’s flowers In very ragged plight.”
“Well, John, thy vegetable pets
Must needs respected be;
We’ll halve the number once again– Make twenty-five for me.
And hark ye, John, when they are made Come up and let me know;
And I’ll give thee a list of those To whom the flowers must go,”
The twenty-five bouquets were made,
And round the village sent;
And to whom thinkest thou, my friend, These floral jewels went?
Not to the beautiful and proud–
Not to the rich and gay–
Who, Dives-like, at Luxury’s feast Are seated every day.
An aged Pastor, on his desk
Saw those fair preachers stand;
A Widow wept upon the gift,
And blessed the giver’s hand.
Where Poverty bent o’er her task,
They cheered the lonely room;
And round the bed where sickness lay, They breathed Health’s fresh perfume
Oh! kindly heart and open hand–
Those flowers in dust are trod,
But they bloom to weave a wreath for thee, In the Paradise of God.
Sweet is the Minstrel’s task, whose song Of deeds like these may tell;
And long may he have power to give, Who wields that Dower so well!
CHAPTER XXIV. THE JEROME CLOCK COMPANY.
FOUNDING EAST BRIDGEPORT–GROWTH OF THE CITY–THE JEROME CLOCK BUBBLE–A RUINED MAN–PAYING HONEST DEBTS–DOWN IN THE DEPTHS.
In the year 1851 Mr. Barnum had purchased from William H. Noble, of Bridgeport, Conn., the undivided half of his late father’s homestead–fifty acres of land on the east side of the river, opposite the city of Bridgeport. Together they bought the one hundred and seventy-four acres adjoining, and laid out the entire property in regular streets, and lined them with trees. A beautiful grove of eight acres was reserved for a park. This they intended for a nucleus of a new city, to be known as East Bridgeport.
They then commenced selling alternate lots, at the same price as the land had cost them by the acre, always on condition that a suitable dwelling-house, store or manufactory should be erected on the ground within a year; that every building should be placed at a certain distance from the street; that the style of architecture should be approved by the sellers; that the grounds be inclosed with suitable fences, and that in all respects the locality should be kept desirable for respectable residents.
A new foot-bridge was built across the river, connecting the new town with the city of Bridgeport, and a public toll-bridge, which belonged to Barnum and Noble, was thrown open to the public free. They also erected a covered drawbridge at a cost of $16,000, which was made free to the public for several years.
They built and leased to a union company of young coach-makers a large manufactory, which was one of the first buildings erected in the town, and which went into operation on the first day of the year 1852.
In addition to the inducements of low prices for the lots, the owners advanced one-half, two-thirds, and sometimes all the funds to erect buildings, permitting the purchasers to repay them in small sums at their own convenience. The town, under such favorable auspices, began to develop and to grow with great rapidity.
No one of Barnum’s schemes had ever interested him as this one did. He was willing to listen to any one who thought they had a project favorable to the advancement of the new city. It was the man’s weak spot, and it was this weak spot which was destined to be touched once too often.
There was a small clock factory in the town of Litchfield, in which Barnum was a stockholder. Thinking always of his beloved enterprise, it occurred to him at length that if the Litchfield clock company could be transferred to East Bridgeport, it would necessarily bring with it numerous families to swell the population. A new stock company was formed, under the name of the “Terry and Barnum Manufacturing Company,” and in 1852 a factory was built in East Bridgeport.
It will be seen how recklessly the owners of the site were spending money. They looked for their profits wholly from the sale of the reserved lots, which they felt sure would bring high values.
In 1855 Mr. Barnum was visited by the President of the Jerome Clock Company, Mr. Chauncey Jerome, with a proposition that the concern, which was reputed to be very wealthy, should be removed to East Bridgeport. Negotiations were opened, and at last Barnum was offered a transfer of the great manufactory with its seven hundred to one thousand employees, if he would lend his name as security for $110,000 in aid of the company.
He was shown an official report of the directors of the company, exhibiting a capital of $400,000 with a surplus of $187,000. They were in need of money to tide over a dull season and a market glutted with goods. The company also was represented as being extremely loth to dismiss any of their employees, who would suffer greatly if their means of livelihood were taken from them. The company was reputed to be rich; the President, Mr. Chauncey Jerome, had built a church in New Haven, at a cost of $40,000, and proposed to present it to a congregation; he had given a clock to a church in Bridgeport, and these things showed that he, at least, thought he was wealthy. The Jerome clocks were for sale all over the world, even in China, where the Celestials were said to take out the “movements,” and use the cases for little temples for their idols, “Thus proving that faith was possible without ‘works,’ ” as Mr. Barnum said.
Further testimony came in the form of a letter from the cashier of one of the New Haven banks, expressing the highest confidence in the financial strength of the company. Barnum afterwards learned that his correspondent represented a bank which was one of the largest creditors of the concern.
Barnum finally agreed to lend the clock company his notes for a sum not to exceed $50,000, and to accept drafts to an amount not to exceed $60,000. He also received the written guarantee of the President, Chauncey Jerome, that in no event should he lose by the loan, as he would be personally responsible for the repayment. Mr. Barnum was willing that his notes should be taken up and renewed an indefinite number of times just so the maximum of $110,000 was not exceeded. Upon the representation that it was impossible to say exactly when it would be necessary to use the notes, Barnum was induced to put his name to several notes for $3,000, $5,000 and $10,000, leaving the date of payment blank, it being stipulated that the blanks should be filled to make the notes payable in five, ten, or even sixty days from date. On the other hand, it was agreed that the Jerome Company should exchange its stock with the Terry and Barnum stockholders, thus absorbing that concern, and unite the whole business in East Bridgeport.
Three months later Barnum’s memoranda showed that the entire $110,000 had been used. He was then solicited by the New York agent of the company for five additional notes for $5,000 each. The request was refused unless they would return an equal amount of his own cancelled notes, since the agent assured him that they were cancelling these notes “every week.” The cancelled notes were brought him next day and he renewed them. This he did afterwards very frequently, until at last his confidence in their integrity became so firmly established that he ceased to ask to see the notes that had been taken up, but furnished new paper as often as it was desired.
But gradually the rumor that the banks were hesitating about discounting his paper came to Barnum’s ears. Wondering at this, he made a few inquiries, which resulted in the startling discovery that his notes had never been taken up, as represented by the Jerome Company, and that some of the blank-date notes had been made payable in twelve, eighteen and twenty-four months. Further investigation revealed the fact that he had indorsed for the company to the amount of over half a million dollars, and that most of the notes had been exchanged for old Jerome Company notes due to the banks and other creditors.
Barnum simply went to work, paid every debt he owed in the world, and–failed!
The Jerome Company also failed, and in addition to absorbing Barnum’s fortune, was able to pay only about fifteen per cent. of its own obligations. Of course it never removed to East Bridgeport at all.
The failure was a nine-days’ wonder all over the country. Never had Barnum achieved such notoriety. As he expressed it, he was taken to pieces, analyzed, put together again, kicked, “pitched into,” tumbled about, preached to, preached about, and made to serve every purpose to which a sensation loving world could put him.
Barnum declared that he could stand the abuse, the cooling of false friends and even the loss of fortune, but it made him furious to read and hear the moralizings over the “instability of ill-gotten gains.” His fortune, if made quickly, had been honestly worked for and honorably acquired, though envious people pretended not to believe it.
CHAPTER XXV. THE WHEAT AND THE CHAFF.
FALSE AND TRUE FRIENDS–MEETING OF BRIDGEPORT CITIZENS–BARNUM’S LETTER–TOM THUMB’S OFFER–SHILLABER’S POEM–BARNUM’S MESSAGE TO THE CREDITORS OF THE JEROME CLOCK COMPANY–REMOVAL TO NEW YORK–BEGINNING LIFE ANEW AT FORTY-SIX.
But while misfortune reveals a man his foes, it also shows him his friends. Barnum was overwhelmed with offers of assistance, funds were declared at his disposal, both for the support of his family and to re-establish him in business. “Benefits” by the score were offered him, and there was even a proposition among leading citizens of New York to give a series of benefits.
Every one of these offers Barnum declined on his unvarying principle of never accepting a money favor. The following correspondence is taken from the New York papers of the time, and will show the stand he took in the matter:
NEW YORK, June 2d, 1856.
MR. P. T. BARNUM:
Dear Sir. The financial ruin of a man of acknowledged energy and enterprise is a public calamity. The sudden blow, therefore, that has swept away, from a man like yourself, the accumulated wealth of years, justifies, we think, the public sympathy. The better to manifest our sincere respect for your liberal example in prosperity, as well as exhibit our honest admiration of your fortitude under overwhelming reverses, we propose to give that sympathy a tangible expression by soliciting your acceptance of a series of benefits for your family, the result of which may possibly secure for your wife and children a future home, or at least rescue them from the more immediate consequences of your misfortune.
Freeman Hunt, E. K. Collins, Isaac V. Fowler, James Phalen, Cornelius Vanderbilt, F. B. Cutting, James W. Gerard, Simeon Draper, Thomas McElrath, Park Godwin, R. F. Carman, Gen. C. W. Sanford, Philo Hurd, President H. R. R.; Wm. Ellsworth, President Brooklyn Ins. Co.; George S. Doughty, President Excelsior Ins. Co.; Chas. T. Cromwell, Robert Stuyvesant, E. L. Livingston, R. Busteed, Wm. P. Fettridge, E. N. Haughwout, Geo. F. Nesbitt, Osborne Boardman & Townsend, Charles H. Delavan, I. & C. Berrien, Fisher & Bird, Solomon & Hart, B. Young, M. D., Treadwell, Acker & Co., St. Nicholas Hotel; John Wheeler, Union Square Hotel; S. Leland & Co., Metropolitan Hotel; Albert Clark, Brevoort House; H. D. Clapp, Everett House; John Taylor, International Hotel; Sydney Hopman, Smithsonian Hotel; Messrs. Delmonico, Delmonico’s; Geo. W. Sherman, Florence’s Hotel; Kingsley & Ainslee, Howard Hotel; Libby & Whitney, Lovejoy’s Hotel; Howard & Brown, Tammany Hall; Jonas Bartlett, Washington Hotel; Patten & Lynde, Pacific Hotel; J. Johnson, Johnson’s Hotel, and over 1,000 others.
To this gratifying communication he replied as follows:
LONG ISLAND, Tuesday, June 3d, 1856.
GENTLEMEN: I can hardly find words to express my gratitude for your very kind proposition. The popular sympathy is to me far more precious than gold, and that sympathy seems in my case to extend from my immediate neighbors, in Bridgeport, to all parts of our Union.
Proffers of pecuniary assistance have reached me from every quarter, not only from friends, but from entire strangers. Mr. Wm. E. Burton, Miss Laura Keene, and Mr. Wm. Niblo have in the kindest manner tendered me the receipts of their theatres for one evening, Mr. Gough volunteered he proceeds of one of his attractive lectures; Mr. James Phalon generously offered me the free use of the Academy of Music; many professional ladies and gentlemen have urged me to accept their gratuitous services. I have, on principle, respectfully declined them all, as I beg, with the most grateful acknowledgments (at least for the present), to decline yours–not because a benefit, in itself, is an objectionable thing, but because I have ever made it a point to ask nothing of the public on personal grounds, and should prefer, while I can possibly avoid that contingency, to accept nothing from it without the honest conviction that I had individually given it in return a full equivalent.
While favored with health, I feel competent to earn an honest livelihood for myself and family. More than this I shall certainly never attempt with such a load of debt suspended in terrorem over me. While I earnestly thank you, therefore, for your generous consideration, gentlemen, I trust you will appreciate my desire to live unhumiliated by a sense of dependence, and believe me, sincerely yours, P. T. BARNUM.
To Messrs. FREEMAN HUNT, E. K. COLLINS, and others.
And with other offers of assistance from far and near, came the following from a little gentleman who did not forget his old friend and benefactor in the time of trial:
JONES HOTEL, PHILADELPHIA, May 12th, 1856.
MY DEAR MR. BARNUM: I understand your friends, and that means “all creation,” intend to get up some benefits for your family. Now, my dear sir, just be good enough to remember that I belong to that mighty crowd, and I must have a finger (or at least a “thumb”) in that pie. I am bound to appear on all such occasions in some shape, from “Jack the Giant killer,” Up-stairs, to the door-keeper down, whichever may serve you best; and there are some feats that I can perform as well as any other man of my inches. I have just started out on my Western tour, and have my carriage, ponies, and assistants all here, but I am ready to go on to New York, bag and baggage, and remain at Mrs. Barnum’s service as long as I, in a small way, can be useful. Put me into any “heavy” work, if you like. Perhaps I can not lift as much as some other folks, but just take your pencil in hand and you will see I can draw a tremendous load. I drew two hundred tons at a single pull to-day, embracing two thousand persons, whom I hauled up safely and satisfactorily to all parties, at one exhibition. Hoping that you will be able to fix up a lot of magnets that will attract all New York, and volunteering to sit on any part of the loadstone, I am, as ever, your little but sympathizing friend, GEN. TOM THUMB.
All the prominent papers published editorials and paragraphs full of sympathy for the great man’s misfortune, the Saturday Evening Gazette of Boston breaking out in the following poem.
BARNUM REDIVIVUS.
A WORD FOR BARNUM.
BARNUM, your hand! Though you are “down,” And see full many a frigid shoulder,
Be brave, my brick, and though they frown, Prove that misfortune makes you bolder. There’s many a man that sneers, my hero, And former praise converts to scorning, Would worship–when he fears–a Nero,
And bend “where thrift may follow fawning.”
You humbugged us–that we have seen, WE GOT OUR MONEY’S WORTH, old fellow, And though you thought our MINDS were GREEN, We never thought your HEART was YELLOW. We knew you liberal, generous, warm,
Quick to assist a falling brother, And, with such virtues, what’s the harm All memories of your faults to smother?
We had not heard the peerless Lind,
But for your spirit enterprising, You were the man to raise the wind,
And make a coup confessed surprising. You’re reckoned in your native town
A friend in need, a friend in danger, You ever keep the latch-string down,
And greet with open hand the stranger.
Stiffen your upper lip. You know
Who are your friends and who your foes now; We pay for knowledge as we go;
And though you get some sturdy blows now, You’ve a fair field–no favors crave–
The storm once passed will find you braver– In virtue’s cause long may you wave,
And on the right side, never waver.
The editor of the paper was Mr. B. P. Shillaber, better known as “Mrs. Partington,” and to him Barnum years later wrote to find out the author of this effusion. Mr. Shillaber replied as follows:
CHELSEA, April 25th, 1868.
MY DEAR MR. BARNUM: The poem in question was written by A. Wallace Thaxter, associate editor with Mr. Clapp and myself, on the Gazette–since deceased, a glorious fellow–who wrote th poem from a sincere feeling of admiration for yourself. Mr. Clapp (Hon. W. W. Clapp) published it with his full approbation. I heard of your new trouble, in my sick chamber, where I have been all winter, with regret, and wish you as ready a release from attending difficulty as your genius has hitherto achieved under like circumstances.
Yours, very truly
B. F. SHILLABER.
The manifestations of sympathy from his fellow-citizens in Bridgeport gratified Barnum more than all the rest. The Mayor headed and more than 300 leading citizens signed a call for a mass meeting of sympathy.
At the hour appointed for the meeting a large assemblage crowded Washington Hall, the principal hall of the city. Many people thronged the door, unable to gain entrance.
Mr. Charles B. Hubbell, President of the Pequonnock Bank, was appointed President; Messrs. Charles Foote, Cashier of the Connecticut Bank; Stephen Tomlinson, President of the Farmers’ Bank; Samuel F. Hurd, President of the Bridgeport City Bank, Hanford Lyon, Dwight Morris, E. Ferris Bishop, A. P. Houston, and Wm. H. Noble, Vice-Presidents, and Messrs. Samuel M. Chesney and Julius L. Hanover, Secretaries.
Mr. Dwight Morris said that they had met for the purpose of expressing their sympathy with their former fellow-citizen, P. T. Barnum, in his pecuniary reverses. It was well known how much Mr. Barnum had done for Bridgeport. He had expended large sums to build up their city, had accommodated many of them with the means of securing themselves homes, and it was principally to him that they owed their present beautiful resting-place for the dead. [Applause.] The citizens of Bridgeport hoped that his misfortunes would soon pass away, and that he would ere long resume his position in Bridgeport, and among the citizens of Fairfield County. [Prolonged applause.]
Mr. Wm. H. Noble read the following resolutions.
WHEREAS, Our late neighbor and friend, P. T. Barnum, has become involved in financial misfortune which seems likely to be irretrievable, and to prevent his again residing in our vicinity–Resolved, That we as citizens of Bridgeport deem it an act of justice no less than a slight return for the many acts of liberality, philanthropy, and public spirit in our midst, which have marked his prosperity, to offer him our tribute of respect and sympathy in this the hour of his trouble.
Resolved, That in his intercourse with us in the private and social relations of life, Mr. Barnum is remembered as a man of upright dealings and honorable sentiments–a kind and genial neighbor, and exemplary character, a beneficent philanthropist, and a most generous friend.
Resolved, That in his more extended capacity as a citizen he has enduringly associated his name with numerous objects, which remain as monuments among us, connected with the institutions of religion, education, and commercial prosperity–with the advancement of the mechanical, agricultural, and other useful arts and sciences–with the spirit of public improvement and public morals; and that so long as these remain to us matters of interest, we shall never forget that he has been of them all among the foremost, most liberal, and most efficient promoters.
Resolved, That we hereby express to him our heartfelt sympathy in his misfortunes, our unshaken confidence in his integrity, and our admiration of the dignified fortitude and composure with which he has met the reverses into which he has been dragged, through no fault of his own, except a too generous confidence in pretended friends, and our earnest hope that he may yet return to that wealth which he has so nobly employed and to the community he has so signally benefited.
Resolved, That copies of these resolutions, signed by the President and other officers of this meeting, be transmitted to Mr. Barnum, and also to the press of this city.
Mr. E. B. Goodsell said that Mr. Barnum had been the friend of the poor, and his hospitalities had been extended to men of every State in the Union. The citizens of Bridgeport should be proud to claim as one of their citizens P. T. Barnum. His name was written upon every charity in their city, and the temples of God bore its impress. By a few fell strokes of an ugly pen, he has been drawn into that whirlpool of destruction to himself and almost destruction to many in the city. In the midst of his prosperity, while he was building up a city on the east side of their little harbor, he had fallen by the hand of traitors. He hoped that he might survive his misfortunes and come back to live in their midst. He did not expect that he could ever return with that “pocketful of rocks” which he used to talk so much about; but, if he would come, he for one was ready to pledge himself that he should never starve in the city of Bridgeport. [Loud and prolonged applause.]
Mr. Oakley was loudly called for. He said that he had deep regard for Mr. Barnum in his distress. He was one of the very few people in Bridgeport who had never received any aid from Mr. Barnum, but he was ready to join in any expression of sympathy, and saw no reason why it should not assume a material form [loud applause]. He would only allude to Mr. Barnum’s unostentatious benevolence. To one of the churches of the city Mr. Barnum gave $500–to one of their churches in which he felt no interest beyond his interest for Bridgeport, and this was but a specimen of his munificence. Nobody could say that Mr. Barnum had not made the best and most benevolent use of his money [Applause]. He had been the means of adding a large number to the population of Bridgeport. He never yet had found a man who was more eminently the friend of the poor man than P. T. Barnum [Cheers]. He had alleviated the sufferings of many a broken heart, and he had aided many a young man to start in business. If Mr. Barnum had erred, it was only an error of judgment [Cheers]. He sympathized with Mr. Barnum. He had talents which would cope with those of most of the human race. He did not believe that there was a man in the city who had so little soul as to begrudge a tear to him in his misfortune [loud applause]. They should at least send him assurance that there were thousands of hearts in his own city which appreciated his noble benevolence, and loved and honored his character.