When they were in Oxford, a dozen or more of the students came to the conclusion that, as the General was a little fellow, the admission fee to his entertainments should be paid in the smallest kind of money. They accordingly provided themselves with farthings, and as each man entered, instead of handing in a shilling for his ticket, he laid down forty-eight farthings. The counting of these small coins was a great annoyance to Mr. Stratton, the General’s father, who was ticket-seller, and after counting two or three handfuls, vexed at the delay which was preventing a crowd of ladies and gentlemen from buying tickets, Mr. Stratton lost his temper, and cried out:
“Blast your quarter-pennies! I am not going to count them! you chaps who haven’t bigger money can chuck your copper into my hat and walk in.”
Mr. Stratton was a genuine Yankee, and thoroughly conversant with the Yankee vernacular which he used freely. In exhibiting the General, Barnum often said to visitors that Tom Thumb’s parents, and the rest of the family, were persons of the ordinary size, and that the gentleman who presided in the ticket-office was the General’s father. This made poor Stratton an object of no little curiosity, and he was pestered with all sorts of questions; on one occasion an old dowager said to him:
“Are you really the father of General Tom Thumb?”
“Wa’al,” replied Stratton, “I have to support him!”
This evasive answer is common enough in New England, but the literal dowager had her doubts, and promptly rejoined:
“I rather think he supports you!”
Although Barnum was in Europe on business, he made the most of his opportunities for sight-seeing, and in his few leisure hours managed to visit nearly every place of interest both in England and on the continent.
While in Birmingham, with his friend Albert Smith, then author and afterwards a successful showman, he visited Stratford-on-Avon, where lived and wrote the greatest of English poets–Shakespeare.
While breakfasting at the Red House Inn, at Stratford, they called for a guide-book of the town, and to Barnum’s great delight the volume proved to be Washington Irving’s “Sketch-book.” His pleasure was even more increased when he discovered, on reading the vivid and picturesque description of Stratford, that Irving had stopped at the very same hotel where they were awaiting breakfast.
After visiting the house as well as the church where is the tomb of the poet, they took a post-chaise for Warwick Castle, fourteen miles away.
The Earl of Warwick and his family being absent, the visitors were shown through the apartments. One guide took them over the Castle, another escorted them to the top of “Guy’s Tower,” another showed them the famous Warwick Vase. They were congratulating themselves on not being called upon for any more tips, when the old porter at the lodge informed them that for a consideration he could show them more interesting things connected with the Castle than any they had yet seen. They tossed him his fee, and he produced what purported to be Guy of Warwick’s sword, shield, helmet, breastplate, walking-staff, etc. The armor must have weighed two hundred pounds and the sword alone one hundred. Barnum listened, and gazed in silence at the horse-armor, large enough for an elephant, and a pot called “Guy’s porridge-pot,” which could have held seventy gallons, but when the old man produced the ribs of a mastodon which he declared had belonged to a huge dun cow, which had done much injury to many persons before being slain by the dauntless Guy, he drew a long breath, and feelingly congratulated the old porter on his ability to concentrate more lies than anyone had ever before heard in so small a compass.
“I suppose,” said Barnum, “that you have told these marvellous tales so often that you almost believe them yourself.”
“Almost,” answered the old man, with a broad grin.
“Come now, old fellow,” continued Barnum, “what will you take for the entire lot of these old traps? I want them for my Museum in America.”
“No money would buy these priceless relics of a bygone age,” replied the porter, leering.
“Never mind,” exclaimed the showman; “I’ll have them duplicated for my Museum, so that Americans can see them without coming here, and in that way I’ll burst up your old show.”
The porter was paralyzed with astonishment at this threat, and Albert Smith was convulsed with laughter. He afterwards told Barnum that he first derived his idea of becoming a showman from this day at Warwick, and Barnum’s talk about his doings and adventures in the business.
They visited that same day Kenilworth and Coventry, in which latter place Barnum discovered the exhibition known as the “Happy Family,” about two hundred birds and animals of opposite natures, dwelling in one cage in perfect harmony. He was so delighted with it that he bought it on the spot, and hired the manager to accompany the exhibition to New York, where it became a famous feature of the Museum.
Albert Smith afterwards published a chapter in Bentley’s Magazine, entitled “A Day with Barnum,” in which he said they accomplished business with such rapidity that, when he attempted to write out the accounts of the day, he found the whole thing so confused in his brain that he came near locating “Peeping Tom” in the house of Shakespeare, while Guy of Warwick WOULD stick his head above the ruins of Kenilworth, and the Warwick Vase appeared in Coventry.
With the exception of two brief trips to America, Barnum had been abroad with General Tom Thumb three years. The season had been one of unbroken pleasure and profit. They had visited nearly every city and town in France, Belgium, England, Scotland, and the cities of Belfast and Dublin in Ireland. After this truly triumphant tour, they set sail in February, 1847, for New York.
Barnum was a man who never could bear to see injustice done. On one of his business trips to America he took passage on a Cunard steamer, commanded by a Captain Judkins. Among the passengers was the celebrated preacher, Robert Baird. One Sunday after dinner Barnum asked Mr. Baird if he would be willing to preach to the passengers in the forward cabin. The captain had read the Episcopal service that morning, but it was done as a mere matter of form, without the slightest suggestion of devotion in its observance.
Mr. Baird consented to preach, and Barnum, after mentioning it to the other passengers, who were delighted at the prospect, went to the captain and said: “Captain, the passengers desire to have Dr. Baird conduct a religious service in the forward cabin. I suppose there is no objection?” The rest of the story may as well be told in Barnum’s own words. To his inquiry, the captain replied gruffly:
“Decidedly there is, and it will not be permitted.”
“Why not?”
“It is against the rules of the ship.”
“What! to have religious services on board?”
“There have been religious services once to-day, and that is enough. If the passengers do not think that is good enough, let them go without,” was the captain’s hasty and austere reply.
“Captain,” Barnum replied, “do you pretend to say you will not allow a respectable and well-known clergyman to offer a prayer and hold religious services on board your ship at the request of your passengers?”
“That, sir, is exactly what I say. So, now, let me hear no more about it.”
By this time a dozen passengers were crowding around his door, and expressing their surprise at his conduct. Barnum was indignant, and used sharp language.
“Well,” said he, “this is the most contemptible thing I ever heard of on the part of the owners of a public passenger ship. Their meanness ought to be published far and wide.”
“You had better ‘shut up,’ ” said Captain Judkins, with great sternness.
“I will not ‘shut up,’ ” he replied; “for this thing is perfectly outrageous. In that out-of-the-way forward cabin you allow, on week-days, gambling, swearing, smoking and singing till late at night; and yet on Sunday you have the impudence to deny the privilege of a prayer-meeting, conducted by a gray-haired and respected minister of the gospel. It is simply infamous!”
Captain Judkins turned red in the face; and, no doubt feeling that he was “monarch of all he surveyed,” exclaimed in a loud voice:
“If you repeat such language, I will put you in irons.”
“Do it, if you dare,” said Barnum, feeling his indignation rising rapidly. “I dare and defy you to put your finger on me. I would like to sail into New York harbor in handcuffs, on board a British ship, for the terrible crime of asking that religious worship may be permitted on board. So you may try it as soon as you please; and, when we get to New York, I’ll show you a touch of Yankee ideas of religious intolerance.”
Turning on his heel, he walked over to Mr. Baird and told him how matters stood, adding, with a laugh:
“Doctor, it may be dangerous for you to tell of this incident when you get on shore; for it would be a pretty strong draught upon the credulity of many of my countrymen if they were told that my zeal to hear an orthodox minister preach was so great that it came near getting me into solitary confinement. But I am not prejudiced, and I like fair play.”
The old doctor replied: “Well, you have not lost much; and, if the rules of this ship are so stringent I suppose we must submit.”
The captain afterwards came to Barnum and apologized for the rude manner in which he had carried out the rules of the ship. Barnum was not at the time a teetotaler, and the two men “washed down” their differences in a bottle of champagne, and were excellent friends from that moment.
CHAPTER XV. AT HOME.
PARTNERSHIP WITH TOM THUMB–VISIT TO CUBA–IRANISTAN, HIS FAMOUS PALACE AT BRIDGEPORT–AGRICULTURAL EXPERIENCES–BARNUM’S GAME-KEEPER AND THE GREAT GAME DINNER–FRANK LESLIE.
One of Barnum’s principal objects in returning to America at this time was to insure the permanence of his “American Museum.” He had a lease of the property, which had yet three years to run. But he wanted to make sure of it after that term had expired. Mr. Olmsted, the former owner, was now dead, and It was not certain that the new proprietor would renew the lease. If not, another home for the great show must be secured, and Barnum decided that in that event he would buy land on Broadway and erect a building to suit him. The new owner of the old property was persuaded, however, to renew the lease for a term of twenty-five years. The building covered an area of fifty-six by one hundred feet and was four stories high. Barnum agreed to pay for it a rental of $10,000 a year in addition to the taxes and all assessments. Then, as the place was not large enough for his purposes, he rented and connected with it the upper floors of several adjacent buildings. The Museum was at this time enormously prosperous, and was thronged with visitors from morning to late at night.
Tom Thumb’s European reputation was of course a great advertisement, and it was “worked for all it was worth.” He appeared at the Museum daily for four weeks, and drew such crowds of visitors as had never been seen there before. He afterwards spent a month in Bridgeport with his kindred. To prevent being annoyed by the curious, who would be sure to throng the houses of his relatives, he exhibited two days at Bridgeport, and the receipts, amounting to several hundred dollars, were presented to the Bridgeport Charitable Society.
Barnum’s contract with Tom Thumb had expired on January 1, 1845, while they were in England, and they had then formed a partnership, dividing equally between them the profits of their enterprise; excepting during the first four weeks of their return to New York, during which time the General waived his partnership rights and exhibited himself for a salary of $50 a week. Mr. Stratton, Tom Thumb’s father, was now a rich man, and he settled a handsome fortune upon his tiny son.
Soon a tour of America was arranged, the party consisting of Mr. Barnum and Tom Thumb and his parents. They began at Washington, in April, 1847, where they visited President and Mrs. Polk at the White House. Thence they went to Richmond, to Baltimore, and to Philadelphia, where they took in $5,594.91 in twelve days. Next they visited Boston and Lowell; Providence, where they received nearly $1,000 in a day; New Bedford, Fall River, Salem, Worcester, Springfield, Albany, Troy, Niagara Falls, Buffalo and various other places. During the whole year’s tour their receipts averaged from $400 to $500 per day, and their expenses only from $25 to $30. On their way back to New York they stopped at all large towns along the Hudson river, and then went to New Haven, Hartford, Portland and some other New England cities.
Absence did not make them forgotten in New York, however, but only increased public interest in them. When he returned to his Museum Mr. Barnum found that he himself had come to be regarded as one of its chief curiosities. “If I showed myself about the Museum, or wherever else I was known, I found eyes peering and fingers pointing at me, and could frequently overhear the remark, ‘There’s Barnum.’ On one occasion, soon after my return, I was sitting in the ticket-office, reading a newspaper. A man came and purchased a ticket of admission. ‘Is Mr. Barnum in the Museum?’ he asked. The ticket-seller, pointing to me, answered, ‘This is Mr. Barnum.’ Supposing the gentleman had business with me, I looked up from the paper. ‘Is this Mr. Barnum?’ he asked. ‘It is,’ I replied. He stared at me for a moment, and then, throwing down his ticket, exclaimed, ‘It’s all right; I have got the worth of my money;’ and away he went, without going into the Museum at all.”
In the fall of 1847 they went South, visiting and giving exhibitions at Charleston, Columbia, Augusta, Savannah, Milledgeville, Macon, Columbus, Montgomery, Mobile and New Orleans. At the last-named place they spent three weeks, including the Christmas holidays. After New Year’s they went to Cuba, and were received at Havana by the Captain-General and the aristocracy of the city. For a month they gave exhibitions in Havana and Matanzas with great success. The only serious drawback was the hotels, which they did not find good; indeed, it was difficult for them to get enough to eat. The Washington House, at Havana, where they lived for some time, was characterized by Mr. Barnum as “first-rate bad!”
From Cuba they returned to New Orleans, and thence to New York by way of the Mississippi river, St. Louis, Louisville, Cincinnati and Pittsburg. And then, in May, 1848, it was agreed that Barnum should travel no more with the little General. “I had,” says Barnum, “competent agents who could exhibit him without my personal assistance, and I preferred to relinquish a portion of the profits rather than continue to be a travelling showman. I had now been a straggler from home most of the time for thirteen years, and I cannot describe the feelings of gratitude with which I reflected that, having by the most arduous toil and deprivations succeeded in securing a satisfactory competence, I should henceforth spend my days in the bosom of my family.”
Barnum had selected the city of Bridgeport, Conn., for his home, and thither he now repaired. He wanted to be near New York, and he considered the northern shore of Long Island Sound the most beautiful country he had ever seen. Bridgeport was about the right distance from New York, and was well situated. It was also an enterprising place, with the promise of a prosperous future. Some three or four years before this time Barnum had purchased seventeen acres of land at the western side of the city, and for two years had been building a palace upon it, the famous “Iranistan,” which was now nearly ready for him to occupy.
In telling how he came to erect this gorgeous and eccentric home, Barnum once said that in visiting Brighton, England, he had been greatly pleased with the pavilion built there by George IV. It was at that time the only specimen of Oriental architecture in England, and the style had not been introduced into America. “I concluded to adopt it, and engaged a London architect to furnish me a set of drawings after the general plan of the pavilion, differing sufficiently to be adapted to the spot of ground selected for my homestead. On my second return visit to the United States, I brought these drawings with me and engaged a competent architect and builder, giving him instructions to proceed with the work, not ‘by the job’ but ‘by the day,’ and to spare neither time nor expense in erecting a comfortable, convenient, and tasteful residence. The work was thus begun and continued while I was still abroad, and during the time when I was making my tour with General Tom Thumb through the United States and Cuba. Elegant and appropriate furniture was made expressly for every room in the house. I erected expensive water-works to supply the premises. The stables, conservatories and out-buildings were perfect in their kind. There was a profusion of trees set out on the grounds. The whole was built and established literally ‘regardless of expense,’ for I had no desire even to ascertain the entire cost.”
Into this splendid place he moved on November 14, 1848, nearly a thousand fellow-citizens of Bridgeport, rich and poor alike, participating in the “housewarming” as his guests. The estate was called, in reference to its Oriental appearance, Iranistan, which being interpreted means “a Persian home.” This name was the subject of many a joke, as the place itself was of much wonderment and admiration.
The next two years were spent by Mr. Barnum chiefly at home with his family, though he paid frequent visits to his various places of business and amusement; business for him, amusement for the world. He had for several years a fine Museum in Baltimore, which was afterward the property of John E. Owens, the actor. In 1849 he also opened a Museum in Philadelphia, at the corner of Chestnut and Seventh streets. He spent some time in Philadelphia, until the Museum was profitably established, and then turned it over to a manager. Two years later he sold it for a good price. While he was running it, however, his old rival, Peale, conducted a strong opposition show in Masonic Hall, near by. The competition between them proved disastrous to Peale, who failed and was sold out by the sheriff. Barnum and his friend, Moses Kimball, purchased most of his effects and divided them between Barnum’s American Museum in New York and Kimball’s Museum in Boston.
Barnum took an active interest in the affairs of Bridgeport and of the State of Connecticut. In 1848, soon after settling in Iranistan, he was elected President of the Fairfield County Agricultural Society. He was not much of a practical farmer, although he had bought a hundred or more acres of farm land near his residence and felt a deep interest in agricultural affairs. He had imported a lot of choice livestock, which he had at Iranistan, and had gone pretty deeply into fancy poultry raising. So he was considered eligible to the office of President of the Agricultural Society.
In 1849 the Society insisted that he should deliver the annual address. “I begged to be excused on the ground of incompetency,” he said, “but my excuses were of no avail, and as I could not instruct my auditors in farming, I gave them the benefit of several mistakes which I had committed. Among other things, I told them that in the fall of 1848 my head-gardener reported that I had fifty bushels of potatoes to spare. I thereupon directed him to barrel them up and ship them to New York for sale. He did so, and received two dollars per barrel, or about sixty-seven cents per bushel. But, unfortunately, after the potatoes had been shipped, I found that my gardener had selected all the largest for market, and left my family nothing but ‘small potatoes’ to live on during the winter. But the worst was still to come. My potatoes were all gone before March, and I was obliged to buy, during the spring, over fifty bushels of potatoes, at $1.25 per bushel! I also related my first experiment in the arboricultural line, when I cut from two thrifty rows of young cherry-trees any quantity of what I supposed to be ‘suckers,’ or ‘sprouts,’ and was thereafter informed by my gardener that I had cut off all his grafts!”
A friend of Barnum’s, Mr. J. D. Johnson, had a fine place near Iranistan; and Barnum owned a couple of acres just beyond and adjoining his property. This plot Barnum presently converted into a deer park, stocking it with fine animals from the Rocky Mountains. From its location, however, everybody supposed it to be a part of Johnson’s estate, and to confirm this notion–in a waggish spirit–a member of Johnson’s family put up in the park a conspicuous sign, which every passer-by on the street could read:
“All persons are forbid trespassing on these grounds, or disturbing the deer.
–J. D. JOHNSON.”
Barnum “acknowledged the corn,” and was much pleased with the joke. Johnson was delighted, and bragged considerably of having got ahead of Barnum, and the sign remained undisturbed for several days. It happened, at length, that a party of friends came to visit him from New York, arriving in the evening. Johnson told them that he had got a capital joke on Barnum; he would not explain, but said they should see it for themselves the next morning. Bright and early he led them into the street, and, after conducting them a proper distance, wheeled them around in front of the sign. To his dismay he discovered that I had added directly under his name the words “Game-keeper to P. T. Barnum.”
Thereafter Mr. Johnson was known among his friends and acquaintances as “Barnum’s gamekeeper.”
Johnson had his revenge, however. Some time afterward Barnum became president of the Pequonnock Bank, and gave each year a grand dinner at Iranistan to the directors. In preparing for these banquets he would send to the West for some boxes of prairie chickens and other choice game. So, one day, Johnson saw a big case at the railroad station, addressed to Barnum, and marked “Game.”
“See here,” said he to the station-master, “I am Mr. Barnum’s game-keeper, and I’ll take charge of that!”
And he did so, taking it to his house, and then notifying Barnum that it could only be redeemed at cost of a new hat. He knew very well that Barnum would rather give him a dozen hats than lose the box; and he added that unless he got the hat very soon he would give a game dinner on his own account! Barnum sent an order for the hat in a hurry, and recovered his game, enjoying the whole joke as much as Johnson did.
In 1848, Mr. Frank Leslie, afterward famous as a publisher, came to America, bringing letters of introduction to Barnum from friends in England, and Barnum gave him a start in business by employing him to prepare an elaborate illustrated catalogue of the American Museum. This he did in an admirable manner, and hundreds of thousands of copies of it were distributed throughout the country.
CHAPTER XVI. JENNY LIND.
DARING VENTURE–BARNUM’S AMBASSADOR–UNPRECEDENTED TERMS OFFERED–TEXT OF THE CONTRACT–HARD WORK TO RAISE THE GUARANTEE FUND–EDUCATING THE AMERICAN MIND TO RECEIVE THE FAMOUS SINGER.
The next enterprise undertaken by Barnum was an entirely new departure. It was justly regarded by him as bold in its conception, complete in its development, and astounding in its success. To the end of his days he looked upon it with pride and satisfaction. Probably it did more than anything else in all his career to give him a permanent and supreme position in the esteem of the public.
This enterprise was the bringing of Jenny Lind to America for a concert tour.
Miss Lind, often called the “Swedish Nightingale,” was one of the most remarkable singers of the world, in that or any generation. All Europe was enraptured by her art, and her fame had encircled the globe. Barnum had never heard her, as she had not visited London until a few weeks after his return to America. But her reputation was enough to determine him to engage her, if possible, for an American tour. So he sent Mr. J. H. Wilton, an English musician, who was visiting New York, back to London to negotiate terms with her. Barnum agreed to pay Wilton his expenses if he had to return without her; but a handsome sum if he succeeded in bringing the songstress to America with him. He told Wilton to engage her on shares if possible. If not, to engage her for any sum up to a thousand dollars a night, for any number of nights up to 150, besides paying all her expenses, including servants, carriages, etc., and not more than three musical assistants. He also offered to secure her by placing the whole $150,000 in the hands of her London bankers in advance!
Wilton went to London, had some correspondence with her, and then went to Lubeck, where she was singing. She told him frankly that she had, since he first wrote to her, been busy making inquiries about Barnum’s character, trustworthiness, etc., and that she was perfectly satisfied with what she had found out. There were, however, four other men negotiating with her to the same end. One of these gentlemen was a well-known opera manager in London; another, a theatrical manager in Manchester; a third, a musical composer and conductor of the orchestra of Her Majesty’s Opera in London; and the fourth, Chevalier Wyckoff, who had conducted a successful speculation some years previously by visiting America in charge of the celebrated danseuse, Fanny Ellsler.
She also insisted that, under whatever auspices she should go to America, she should have as an accompanist Mr.–afterwards Sir–Julius Benedict, the composer, and Signor Belletti, an eminent Italian singer.
Finally, on January 9, 1850, Wilton succeeded in his mission. Miss Lind agreed to come to America under Barnum’s management, and an elaborate contract was drawn up and signed This historic document was as follows:
MEMORANDUM of an agreement entered into this ninth day of January, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and fifty, between John Hall Wilton, as agent for PHINEAS T. BARNUM, of New York, in the United States of North America, of the one part, and Mademoiselle JENNY LIND, Vocalist, of Stockholm, in Sweden, of the other part, wherein the said Jenny Lind doth agree:
First. To sing for the said Phineas T. Barnum in one hundred and fifty concerts, including oratorios within (if possible) one year or eighteen months from the date of her arrival in the city of New York–the said concerts to be given in the United States of North America and Havana. She, the said Jenny Lind, having full control as to the number of nights or concerts in each week, and the number of pieces in which she will sing in each concert, to be regulated conditionally with her health and safety of voice, but the former never less than one or two, nor the latter less than four; but in no case to appear in operas.
Second. In consideration of said services, the said John Hall Wilton, as agent for the said Phineas T. Barnum, of New York, agrees to furnish the said Jenny Lind with a servant as waiting-maid, and a male servant to and for the sole service of her and her party; to pay the travelling and hotel expenses of a friend to accompany her as a companion; to pay also a secretary to superintend her finances; to pay all her and her party’s travelling expenses from Europe, and during the tour in the United States of North America and Havana; to pay all hotel expenses for board and lodging during the same period; to place at her disposal in each city a carriage and horses with their necessary attendants, and to give her in addition the sum of two hundred pounds sterling, or one thousand dollars, for each concert or oratorio in which the said Jenny Lind shall sing.
Third. And the said John Hall Wilton, as agent for the said Phineas T. Barnum, doth further agree to give the said Jenny Lind the most satisfactory security and assurance for the full amount of her engagement, which will be placed in the hands of Messrs. Baring Brothers, of London, previous to the departure, and subject to the order of the said Jenny Lind, with its interest due on its current reduction by her services in the concerts or oratorios.
Fourth. And the said John Hall Wilton, on the part of the said Phineas T. Barnum, further agrees, that should the said Phineas T. Barnum, after seventy-five concerts, have realized so much as shall, after paying all current expenses, have returned to him all the sums disbursed, either as deposits at interest, for securities of salaries, preliminary outlay, or moneys in any way expended consequent on this engagement, and in addition, have gained a clear profit of at least fifteen thousand pounds sterling, then the said Phineas T. Barnum will give the said Jenny Lind, in addition to the former sum of one thousand dollars current money of the United States of North America, nightly, one-fifth part of the profits arising from the remaining seventy-five concerts or oratorios, after deducting every expense current and appertaining thereto; or the said Jenny Lind agrees to try, with the said Phineas T. Barnum, fifty concerts or oratorios on the aforesaid and first-named terms, and if then found to fall short of the expectations of the said Phineas T. Barnum, then the said Jenny Lind agrees to reorganize this agreement, on terms quoted in his first proposal, as set forth in the annexed copy of his letter; but should such be found necessary, then the engagement continues up to seventy-five concerts or oratorios, at the end of which, should the aforesaid profit of fifteen thousand pounds sterling have not been realized, then the engagement shall continue as at first–the sums herein, after expenses for Julius Benedict and Giovanni Belletti, to remain unaltered, except for advancement.
Fifth. And the said John Hall Wilton, agent for the said Phineas T. Barnum, at the request of the said Jenny Lind, agrees to pay to Julius Benedict, of London, to accompany the said Jenny Lind, as musical director, pianist, and superintendent of the musical department, also to assist the said Jenny Lind in one hundred and fifty concerts or oratorios, to be given in the United States of North America and Havana, the sum of five thousand pounds (L5,000) sterling, to be satisfactorily secured to him with Messrs. Baring Brothers, of London, previous to his departure from Europe, and the said John Hall Wilton agrees further, for the said Phineas T. Barnum, to pay all his travelling expenses from Europe, together with his hotel and travelling expenses during the time occupied in giving the aforesaid one hundred and fifty concerts or oratorios–he, the said Julius Benedict, to superintend the organization of oratorios if required.
Sixth. And the said John Hall Wilton, at the request, selection, and for the aid of the said Jenny Lind, agrees to pay to Giovanni Belletti, barytone vocalist, to accompany the said Jenny Lind during her tour and in one hundred and fifty concerts or oratorios in the United States of North America and Havana, and in conjunction with the aforesaid Julius Benedict, the sum of two thousand five hundred pounds (L2,500) sterling, to be satisfactorily secured to him previous to his departure from Europe, in addition to all his hotel and travelling expenses.
Seventh. And it is further agreed that the said Jenny Lind shall be at full liberty to sing at any time she may think fit for charitable institutions, or purposes independent of the engagement with the said Phineas T. Barnum, with a view to mutually agreeing as to the time and its propriety, it being understood that in no case shall the first or second concert in any city selected for the tour be for such purpose, or wherever it shall appear against the interests of the said Phineas T. Barnum.
Eighth. It is further agreed that should the said Jenny Lind, by any act of God, be incapacitated to fulfil the entire engagement before mentioned, that an equal proportion of the terms agreed upon shall be given to the said Jenny Lind, Julius Benedict, and Giovanni Belletti, for services rendered to that time.
Ninth. It is further agreed and understood, that the said Phineas T. Barnum shall pay every expense appertaining to the concerts or oratorios before mentioned, excepting those for charitable purposes, and that all accounts shall be settled and rendered by all parties weekly.
Tenth. And the said Jenny Lind further agrees that she will not engage to sing for any other person during the progress of this said engagement with the said Phineas T. Barnum, of New York, for one hundred and fifty concerts or oratorios, excepting for charitable purposes as before mentioned; and all travelling to be first and best class.
In witness hereof to the within written memorandum of agreement we set hereunto our hand and seal.
[L. S.] JOHN HALL WILTON, Agent for Phineas
T. Barnum, of New York, U. S.
[L. S.] JENNY LIND.
[T. S.] JULIUS BENEDICT.
[L. S.] GIOVANNI BELLETTI.
In the presence of C. ACHILLING, Consul of His Majesty the King of Sweden and Norway.
Extract from a letter addressed to John H. Wilton by Phineas T. Barnum, and referred to in paragraph No. 4 of the annexed agreement:
NEW YORK, November 6, 1849.
MR. J. HALL WILTON:
Sir. In reply to your proposal to attempt a negotiation with Mlle. Jenny Lind to visit the United States professionally, I propose to enter into an arrangement with her to the following effect: I will engage to pay all her expenses from Europe, provide for and pay for one principal tenor, and one pianist, their salaries not exceeding together one hundred and fifty dollars per night; to support for her a carriage, two servants, and a friend to accompany her and superintend her finances. I will furthermore pay all and every expense appertaining to her appearance before the public, and give her half of the gross receipts arising from concerts or operas. I will engage to travel with her personally, and attend to the arrangements, provided she will undertake to give not less than eighty, nor more than one hundred and fifty concerts, or nights’ performances. PHINEAS T. BARNUM.
I certify the above to be a true extract from the letter. J. H. WILTON.
There was no Atlantic cable in those days, and Barnum did not know the result of Wilton’s embassy until the latter returned to America. Barnum was in Philadelphia when Wilton landed in New York, on February 19. Wilton at once telegraphed to him that he had secured the singer, who was to come over and begin her concerts in September. The great showman was startled, and felt pretty nervous; and as so long a time was to elapse before she came over, he thought it best to keep the whole matter a secret for a time.
When we reflect how thoroughly Jenny Lind, her musical powers, her character, and wonderful successes, were subsequently known by all classes in this country as well as throughout the civilized world, it is difficult to realize that, at the time this engagement was made, she was comparatively unknown on this side the water. We can hardly credit the fact that millions of persons in America had never heard of her, that other millions had merely read her name, but had no distinct idea of who or what she was. Only a small portion of the public were really aware of her great musical triumphs in the Old World, and this portion was confined almost entirely to musical people, travellers who had visited the Old World, and the conductors of the press.
Barnum telegraphed to Wilton to keep the matter secret, and next morning set out for New York. But it was too late. When he got to New York, he found the news of the engagement in full in all the papers. Everybody was talking about it, and wondering who Jenny Lind was, and Barnum soon perceived that he must improve the time, from then to September, in educating the public up to an approximate appreciation of her worth.
His first act was to send, as per agreement, the sum of $187,000 to Miss Lind’s bankers in London. It was not altogether easy for him to do this. After he had scraped together all his available cash he was still short a large sum. He had plenty of securities in the form of second mortgages that were perfectly good, but no one in Wall street would lend him a dollar on them.
In his extremity, he at last went to the president of the bank where he had transacted his business for the past eight years. “I offered him,” said Barnum afterward, “as security for a loan, my second mortgages, and, as additional security, I offered to make over to him my contract with Jenny Lind, with a written guaranty that he should appoint a receiver, who, at my expense, should take charge of all the receipts over and above $3,000 per night, and appropriate them toward the payment of my loan He laughed in my face, and said: ‘Mr. Barnum, it is generally believed in Wall street that your engagement with Jenny Lind will ruin you. I do not think you will ever receive so much as $3,000 at a single concert.’ I was indignant at his want of appreciation, and answered him that I would not at that moment take $150,000 for my contract; nor would I. I found, upon further inquiry, that it was useless in Wall street to offer the ‘Nightingale’ in exchange for ‘Goldfinches.’ I finally was introduced to Mr. John L. Aspinwall, of the firm of Messrs. Howland & Aspinwall, and he gave me a letter of credit from his firm on Baring Brothers, for a large sum on collateral securities, which a spirit of genuine respect for my enterprise induced him to accept.
“After disposing of several pieces of property for cash, I footed up the various amounts, and still discovered myself $5,000 short. I felt that it was indeed the last feather that breaks the camel’s back.’ Happening casually to state my desperate case to the Rev. Abel C. Thomas, of Philadelphia, for many years a friend of mine, he promptly placed the requisite amount at my disposal. I gladly accepted his proffered friendship, and felt that he had removed a mountain-weight from my shoulders.”
And now nothing remained to do but to arouse public curiosity and interest. Barnum was a master-hand at that work, and never did he show himself more of a master than on this occasion. He kept the press literally teeming with notices in one form or another. Here is a sample of the strain in which he wrote:
“Perhaps I may not make any money by this enterprise; but I assure you that if I knew I should not make a farthing profit, I would ratify the engagement, so anxious am I that the United States should be visited by a lady whose vocal powers have never been approached by any other human being, and whose character is charity, simplicity, and goodness personified.
“Miss Lind has great anxiety to visit America. She speaks of this country and its institutions in the highest terms of praise. In her engagement with me (which includes Havana), she expressly reserves the right to give charitable concerts whenever she thinks proper.
Since her debut in England, she has given to the poor from her own private purse more than the whole amount which I have engaged to pay her, and the proceeds of concerts for charitable purposes in Great Britain, where she has sung gratuitously, have realized more than ten times that amount.”
And so it came to pass that, before September rolled around, curiosity, interest and enthusiasm over the great singer were at fever heat, and New York thought and dreamed only of her coming.
Never, in the history of music or in the history of entertainments in America, has the advent of a foreign artist been hailed with so much enthusiasm.
A large share of this public interest was natural and genuine, and would, in any event, have been accorded to Miss Lind. But a considerable portion of it was due to the shrewd and energetic advertising of Mr. Barnum. Under any auspices the great singer’s tour in America would have been successful; but under no other management would it have approximated to what it was under Barnum.
CHAPTER XVII. ARRIVAL OF JENNY LIND.
FIRST MEETING WITH BARNUM–RECEPTION IN NEW YORK–POEMS IN HER HONOR–A FURORE OF PUBLIC INTEREST–SALE OF TICKETS FOR THE FIRST CONCERT–BARNUM’S CHANGE IN TERMS–TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS FOR CHARITY–ENORMOUS SUCCESS OF THE FIRST CONCERT.
Jenny Lind sailed for America on Wednesday morning, August 21, 1850. She was accompanied by Messrs. Benedict and Belletti, Mr. Wilton, her two cousins, and three or four servants. She also brought with her a piano for her use. Mr. Barnum had engaged the necessary accommodations for the company on the steamship Atlantic, and their departure from England was an event of great public interest. In America their coming was looked upon much as the visit of a royal personage would have been. It was expected that the steamer would reach New York on Sunday, September 1st. Mr. Barnum, however, determined to be on hand to meet his distinguished guest at no matter what time she reached the port. He, therefore, went on Saturday to Staten Island, and spent the night at the house of his friend, Dr. Doane, the health officer of the port.
The steamship was sighted just before noon on Sunday, and soon afterward Mr. Barnum, who went out with the health officer, was standing on the deck where, for the first time, he met the famous singer. After they had shaken hands and uttered a few commonplace words of greeting Miss Lind asked him when and where he had heard her sing.
“I never had the pleasure of seeing you before in my life,” he replied.
“How is it possible that you dared risk so much money on a person whom you never heard sing?” she asked in great surprise.
“I risked it,” answered Barnum, “on your reputation, which in musical matters I would much rather trust than my own judgment.”
The fact was that, although Barnum did rely largely upon Miss Lind’s reputation as an artist, he also took into account her equally great reputation for benevolence, generosity and general loveliness of disposition. He knew that these traits of character would appeal with a special force to the warm-hearted and enthusiastic American public. Indeed, he afterward confessed that had it not been for this peculiarity of her disposition, he never would have ventured to make the engagement with her; and he always believed that as many people came to see and hear her on this account as on account of her skill as a singer.
Seldom has any visitor to New York received a more remarkable greeting than did the “Swedish Nightingale.” Mr. Barnum’s efforts to arouse public interest in her had not been in vain. The whole city was anxious to get the first possible glimpse of her. But beside this bona fide interest in her, Mr. Barnum had seen to it that her landing was made all possible use of as an advertisement. On the wharf at which she landed a bower of green trees, decorated with flags, had been prepared. There were also two handsome triumphal arches, on one of which was inscribed, “Welcome, Jenny Lind!” and on the other, “Welcome to America!”
Probably the singer thought, and possibly some of the general public also imagined, that these decorations had been erected by the city government, or at least by some committee of public-spirited citizens. Mr. Barnum, however, never found fault with any one for suspecting that he was chiefly responsible for them, and there is every reason to believe that the cost of them was to be found entered in his books, charged to the account of advertising.
Thousands of people were thronged along the water front, on the piers and on the shipping, to greet the Atlantic as it reached its dock. So great was the rush to see the illustrious guest that one man was crowded overboard, an incident which Miss Lind herself witnessed, and at which she was much alarmed. He was rescued with no other harm than a thorough wetting. Barnum’s carriage was in waiting for Miss Lind, and the great showman himself, after placing her within it, mounted the box at the driver’s side. He took that seat as a legitimate advertisement, and his presence there aided those who filled the windows and sidewalks along the entire way to the Irving House, and there were many thousands of them, in coming to the conclusion that Jenny Lind had really arrived.
Five minutes after Miss Lind had entered the hotel, Barnum invited her to look out of a window opening on Broadway. When she did so she saw a throng of not less than twenty thousand persons gathered to do her honor. And there that throng remained all the rest of the afternoon and until late in the evening. At her request Barnum took dinner with her that afternoon. According to the European custom she offered to pledge his health in a glass of wine, and was doubtless much surprised at his response. He said to her: “Miss Lind, I do not think you can ask any other favor on earth which I would not gladly grant. But I am a teetotaler, and must beg to be permitted to drink to your health and happiness in a glass of cold water.”
Late that night Miss Lind was serenaded by the New York Musical Fund Society, which numbered, on that occasion, two hundred musicians. They were escorted to the hotel by about three hundred firemen, clad in their picturesque uniform and bearing flaming torches. Fully thirty thousand spectators were at this hour gathered about the hotel, and in response to their vociferous calls Miss Lind stepped upon the balcony and bowed to them.
Such was the great singer’s first day in America, and for several weeks thereafter the public interest in her was scarcely less demonstrative. Her rooms were thronged by visitors, among whom were the most notable people in society, in the learned professions and in public life. The street before the hotel was almost blocked day after day by the carriages of fashionable people, and Barnum’s only anxiety was lest the aristocratic part of the community should monopolize her altogether, and thus mar his interest by cutting her off from the sympathy she had excited among the common people. The shop-keepers of the city showered their attentions upon her, sending her cart-loads of specimens of their most valuable wares, for which they asked no other return than her acceptance and her autograph acknowledgment. Gloves, bonnets, shawls, gowns, chairs, carriages, pianos, and almost every imaginable article of use or ornament was named for her. Songs and musical compositions were dedicated to her, and poems were published in her honor. Day after day and week after week her doings formed the most conspicuous news in the daily journals.
Some weeks before Miss Lind’s arrival in America Barnum had offered a prize of two hundred dollars for the best ode, to be set to music and sung by her at her first concert. Its topic was to be, “Greeting to America.” In response several hundred poems were sent in, mostly pretty poor stuff; though several of them were very good. After a great deal of hard work in reading and considering them, the Prize Committee selected as the best the one offered by Bayard Taylor. It was set to music by Julius Benedict, and was as follows:
GREETING TO AMERICA
WORDS BY BAYARD TAYLOR–MUSIC BY JULIUS BENEDICT.
I greet with a full heart the Land of the West, Whose Banner of Stars o’er a world is unrolled; Whose empire o’ershadows Atlantic’s wide breast, And opens to sunset its gateway of gold! The land of the mountain, the land of the lake, And rivers that roll in magnificent tide– Where the souls of the mighty from slumber awake, And hallow the soil for whose freedom they died!
Thou Cradle of empire! though wide be the foam That severs the land of my fathers and thee, I hear, from thy bosom, the welcome of home, For song has a home in the hearts of the Free! And long as thy waters shall gleam in the sun, And long as thy heroes remember their scars, Be the hands of thy children united as one, And Peace shed her light on thy Banner of Stars!
This award gave general satisfaction, although a few disappointed competitors complained. This remarkable competition and the other features of Miss Lind’s reception in America, attracted so much attention in England that the London Times in one day devoted several columns of space to the subject.
Of course the American press literally teemed with matter about Miss Lind and Barnum. The poetical competition demanded much attention, and presently a witty pamphlet was published, entitled “Barnum’s Parnassus; being Confidential Disclosures of the Prize Committee on the Jenny Lind Song.” It pretended to give all or most of the poems that had been offered in the competition, though of course none of them were genuine. Many of them, however, contained fine satirical hits on the whole business; such, for example, as the following:
BARNUMOPSIS.
A RECITATIVE.
When to the common rest that crowns his days, Dusty and worn the tired pedestrian goes, What light is that whose wide o’erlooking blaze A sudden glory on his pathway throws?
‘Tis not the setting sun, whose drooping lid Closed on the weary world at half-past six; ‘Tis not the rising moon, whose rays are hid Behind the city’s sombre piles of bricks.
It is the Drummond Light, that from the top Of Barnum’s massive pile, sky-mingling there, Dart’s its quick gleam o’er every shadowed shop, And gilds Broadway with unaccustomed glare.
There o’er the sordid gloom, whose deep’ning tracks Furrow the city’s brow, the front of ages, Thy loftier light descends on cabs and hacks, And on two dozen different lines of stages!
O twilight Sun, with thy far darting ray, Thou art a type of him whose tireless hands Hung thee on high to guide the stranger’s way, Where, in its pride, his vast Museum stands.
Him, who in search of wonders new and strange, Grasps the wide skirts of Nature’s mystic robe Explores the circles of eternal change, And the dark chambers of the central globe.
He, from the reedy shores of fabled Nile, Has brought, thick-ribbed and ancient as old iron, That venerable beast, the crocodile,
And many a skin of many a famous lion.
Go lose thyself in those continuous halls, Where strays the fond papa with son and daughter; And all that charms or startles or appals, Thou shalt behold, and for a single quarter.
Far from the Barcan deserts now withdrawn, There, huge constrictors coil their scaly backs; There, cased in glass, malignant and unshorn, Old murderers glare in sullenness and wax.
There many a varied form the sight beguiles, In rusty broadcloth decked and shocking hat, And there the unwieldy Lambert sits and smiles, In the majestic plenitude of fat.
Or for thy gayer hours, the orang-outang Or ape salutes thee with his strange grimace, And in their shapes, stuffed as on earth they sprang, Thine individual being thou canst trace!
And joys the youth in life’s green spring, who goes With the sweet babe and the gray headed nurse, To see those Cosmoramic orbs disclose
The varied beauties of the universe.
And last, not least, the marvellous Ethiope, Changing his skin by preternatural skill, Whom every setting sun’s diurnal slope
Leaves whiter than the last, and whitening still.
All that of monstrous, scaly, strange and queer, Has come from out the womb of earliest time, Thou hast, O Barnum, in thy keeping here, Nor is this all–for triumphs more sublime
Await thee yet! I, Jenny Lind, who reigned Sublimely throned, the imperial queen of song, Wooed by thy golden harmonies, have deigned Captive to join the heterogeneous throng.
Sustained by an unfaltering trust in coin, Dealt from thy hand, O thou illustrious man, Gladly I heard the summons come to join Myself the immeasurable caravan.
A number of complimentary greetings in verse were also sent in to Miss Lind by various writers of more or less eminence, among them being the following from Mrs. Lydia H. Sigourney:
THE SWEDISH SONGSTRESS AND HER CHARITIES.
BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.
Blest must their vocation be
Who, with tones of melody,
Charm the discord and the strife
And the railroad rush of life,
And with Orphean magic move
Souls inert to life and love.
But there’s one who doth inherit
Angel gift and angel spirit,
Bidding tides of gladness flow
Through the realms of want and woe; ‘Mid lone age and misery’s lot,
Kindling pleasures long forgot,
Seeking minds oppressed with night, And on darkness shedding light,
She the seraph’s speech doth know, She hath done their deeds below;
So, when o’er this misty strand
She shall clasp their waiting hand, They will fold her to their breast,
More a sister than a guest.
The first concert was announced for the evening of September 11th, and it was to take place in the great hall of Castle Garden, afterward famous as the landing-place for emigrants at New York. The tickets for this occasion were sold at auction, and the first one was bid up to the extraordinary figure of $225. This was bid and the ticket was secured by John N. Genin, a hatter; and the public notice which was thereby attracted to him was such a great advertisement for his business that within a few years thereafter he amassed a fortune. It was afterward stated that Mr. Genin was Barnum’s brother-in-law, and that his high bid for this ticket was a pre-arranged job; but there was no truth in this whatever. The auction itself was regarded as an occasion of such public interest that the proprietors of the Garden, where it was held, charged a shilling admission fee to it. No less than 3,000 persons paid this fee and attended the auction, and the first day’s sale aggregated 1,000 tickets, which brought a total sum of $10,141.
A few days after her arrival Barnum told Miss Lind that it would be desirable to make a change in the terms of their contract, if she would consent. She was startled at this, and asked him what the change was to be. “I am convinced,” replied Barnum, “that this enterprise will be far more successful than either of us anticipated. So I wish to stipulate that you shall receive not only $1,000 for each concert, beside all expenses, but also that, after taking out $5,500 per night for expenses and for my services, the balance shall be equally divided between you and me.”
She looked at him in utter bewilderment, unable to understand his proposition. He repeated it, and at last made her realize what it was that he proposed to do. Then she grasped him by the hand and exclaimed: “Mr. Barnum, you are a gentleman of honor; you are generous; it is just as I was told. I will sing for you as long as you please. I will sing for you in America–in Europe–anywhere!”
The day before the first concert Mr. Barnum told Miss Lind that, judging by appearances, her portion of the proceeds of the first concert, over and above her fee of $1,000, would amount to at least $10,000. She immediately resolved to devote every dollar of it to charity, and forthwith sent for the Mayor of the city, under whose advice she acted in selecting the various institutions among which it was to be distributed.
The amount of money actually received for tickets for the first concert was $17,864.05. So it appeared that Barnum’s estimate had been a little too high, and Miss Lind’s portion was too small to realize the $10,000 which she was to give to charity. Barnum therefore proposed to make a similar arrangement for the second concert, and to count neither of these first two in the regular engagement. To this she agreed. The second concert was given on September 13th, and the receipts, which amounted to $14,203.03, were disposed of as before, and she was thus enabled to give the $10,000 to charity. The third concert, which was the first of the regular series, was given on September 17th.
Barnum’s arrangements of the concert-room for the singer’s appearance were very complete. One hundred ushers, adorned with rosettes and carrying wands tipped with ribbons, looked after the seating of the audience. In order to prevent confusion the doors were opened at five o’clock, although the concert was not to commence until eight. The result was that the five thousand persons who attended made their entry without crowding and without confusion.
The reception of Jenny Lind, on her first appearance, in point of enthusiasm, was probably never before equalled. As Mr. Benedict led her towards the footlights, the entire audience rose to their feet and welcomed her with three cheers, accompanied by the waving of thousands of hats and handkerchiefs. This was perhaps the largest audience to which Jenny Lind had ever sung. She was evidently much agitated, but the orchestra commenced, and before she had sung a dozen notes of “Casta Diva,” she began to recover her self-possession, and long before the scena was concluded she was as calm as if she was in her own drawing-room. Towards the last portion of the cavatina, the audience were so completely carried away by their feelings, that the remainder of the air was drowned in a perfect tempest of acclamation. Enthusiasm had been wrought to its highest pitch, but the musical powers of Jenny Lind exceeded all the brilliant anticipations which had been formed, and her triumph was complete. At the conclusion of the concert Jenny Lind was loudly called for, and was obliged to appear three times before the audience could be satisfied. Then they called vociferously for “Barnum,” and he “reluctantly” responded to their demand.
On this first night Julius Benedict firmly established with the American people his European reputation as a most accomplished conductor and musical composer; while Signor Belletti inspired an admiration which grew warmer and deeper in the minds of the public, to the end of his career in this country.
“The Rubicon was passed,” says Barnum. “The successful issue of the Jenny Lind enterprise was established. I think there were a hundred men in New York, the day after her first concert, who would have willingly paid me $200,000 for my contract. I received repeated offers for an eighth, a tenth, or a sixteenth, equivalent to that price. But mine had been the risk, and I was determined mine should be the triumph.”
The triumph of Jenny Lind is a legitimate part of Barnum’s history, and it will be of interest to the present generation to read what the musical critics of that day thought of that wonderful singer. Here is the New York Tribune’s account of her opening concerts in America:
“Jenny Lind’s first concert is over, and all doubts are at an end. She is the greatest singer we have ever heard and her success is all that was anticipated from her genius and her fame. As this is something of an era in our history of art, we give a detailed account of all that took place on the occasion.
“All the preparatory arrangements for the concert were made with great care, and from the admirable system observed, none of the usual disagreeable features of such an event were experienced. Outside of the gate there was a double row of policemen extending up the main avenue of the Battery grounds. Carriages only were permitted to drive up to the gate from the Whitehall side, and pass off into Battery-place. At one time the line of carriages extended to Whitehall and up State street into Broadway. Everything was accomplished in a quiet and orderly manner. The chief of police, with about sixty men, came on the ground at 5 o’clock, and maintained the most complete order to the end.
“Mr. Barnum, according to promise, had put up a substantial frame-work, and thrown an immense awning over the bridge, which is some 200 feet in length. This was brilliantly lighted, and had almost the appearance of a triumphal avenue on entering the gate.
“There was an immense crowd on the Battery, clustering around the gates during the whole evening, but no acts of disorder occurred. When Jenny Lind’s carriage came, but very few persons knew it, and no great excitement followed. The principal annoyance was occasioned by a noisy crowd of boys in boats, who gathered around the outer wall of the castle, and being by their position secure from the police, tried to disturb those within by a hideous clamor of shouts and yells, accompanied by a discordant din of drums and fifes. There must have been more than 200 boats and a thousand persons on the water. They caused some annoyance to that portion of the audience in the back seats of the balcony, but the nuisance was felt by none in the parquet. By 10 o’clock they had either become tired or ashamed of the contemptible outrage they were attempting, and dispersed. We may here remark that if the river police asked for by Chief Matsell had been in existence this attempt could not have been made.
“On entering the castle, a company of ushers, distinguished by their badges, were in readiness to direct the visitors to that part of the hall where their seats were located. Colored lamps and hangings suspended to the pillars indicated at a glance the different divisions, and the task of seating the whole audience of near seven thousand persons was thus accomplished without the least inconvenience. The hall was brilliantly lighted, though from its vast extent the stage looked somewhat dim. The wooden partition which was built up in place of the drop-curtain, is covered with a painting representing the combined standards of America and Sweden, below which are arabesque ornaments in white and gold. Considering the short time allowed for these improvements, the change was remarkable. The only instance of bad taste which we noticed was a large motto, worked in flowers, suspended over the pillars of the balcony directly in front of the stage. ‘Welcome, Sweet Warbler’ (so ran the words), was not only tame and commonplace, but decidedly out of place.
“The sight of the grand hall, with its gay decoration, its glittering lamps, and its vast throng of expectant auditors, was in itself almost worth a $5 ticket. We were surprised to notice that not more than one-eighth of the audience were ladies. They must stay at home, it seems, when the tickets are high, but the gentlemen go, nevertheless. For its size, the audience was one of the most quiet, refined and appreciative we ever saw assembled in this city. Not more than one-third were seated before 7 o’clock, and when the eventful hour arrived they were still coming in. A few of the seats were not taken when the orchestra had assembled, and Mr. Benedict, who was greeted with loud cheers on his appearance, gave the first flourish of his baton.
“The musical performance commenced with Jules Benedict’s overture to his opera, The Crusaders, himself conducting the orchestra of 60 instruments. It was an admirably balanced and effective orchestra, and notwithstanding that we had to listen as it were round a corner, we felt the unity and full force of its strong chords, and traced the precise and delicate outline of its melodies with a distinctness which proved that a clear musical idea was there, too clearly embodied to be lost even in that vast space. We liked the first half of the composition best; it had the dark shading and wild vigor and pathos of Von Weber; the allegro which set in upon it was more in the light popular manner of Auber and the French. Yet Mr. Benedict has proved his mastery in this work, which the vast audience acknowledged with very hearty plaudits.
“Signor Belletti was the next mark of expectation. In one of Rossini’s most ornate and florid bravura songs (from Maometto Secondo) he produced a barytone of such warm, rich, solid, resonant and feeling quality as we perhaps have never heard in this country (though without closer observation from the less remote position in which a barytone naturally requires to be heard, we hardly dare to place it above Badiali’s); while in refinement of conception and of execution he left little to be desired.
“Now came a moment of breathless expectation. A moment more, and Jenny Lind, clad in a white dress, which well became the frank sincerity of her face, came forward through the orchestra. It is impossible to describe the spontaneous burst of welcome which greeted her. The vast assembly rose as one man, and for some minutes nothing could be seen but the waving of hands and handkerchiefs, nothing heard but a storm of tumultuous cheers. The enthusiasm of the moment, for a time beyond all bounds, was at last subdued after prolonging itself by its own fruitless efforts to subdue itself, and the divine songstress, with that perfect bearing, that air of all dignity and sweetness, blending a child-like simplicity and half-trembling womanly modesty with the beautiful confidence of genius and serene wisdom of art, addressed herself to song, as the orchestral symphony prepared the way for the voice in Casta Diva. A better test-piece could not have been selected for her debut. Every soprano lady has sung it to us; but nearly every one has seemed only trying to make something of it, while Jenny Lind WAS the very music of it for the time being. We would say no less than that; for the wisest and honestest part of criticism on such a first hearing of a thing so perfect, was to give itself purely up to it, without question, and attempt no analysis of what too truly fills one to have yet begun to be an object of thought.
“If it were possible, we would describe the quality of that voice, so pure, so sweet, so fine, so whole and all-pervading, in its lowest breathings and minutest fioriture as well as in its strongest volume. We never heard tones which in their sweetness went so far. They brought the most distant and ill-seated auditor close to her. They WERE tones, every one of them, and the whole air had to take the law of their vibrations. The voice and the delivery had in them all the good qualities of all the good singers. Song in her has that integral beauty which at once proclaims it as a type for all, and is most naturally worshipped as such by the multitude.
“Of those who have been before her we were most frequently reminded of Madame Bishop’s quality (not quantity) of voice. Their voices are of metal somewhat akin. Jenny Lind’s had incomparably more power and more at all times in reserve; but it had a shade of that same veiled quality in its lowest tones, consistently with the same (but much more) ripeness and sweetness, and perfect freedom from the crudeness often called clearness, as they rise. There is the same kind of versatile and subtile talent, too, in Jenny Lind, as appeared later in the equal inspiration and perfection of her various characters and styles of song. Her’s is a genuine soprano, reaching the extra high notes with that ease and certainty which make each highest one a triumph of expression purely, and not a physical marvel. The gradual growth and sostenuto of her tones; the light and shade, the rhythmic undulation and balance of her passages; the bird-like ecstacy of her trill; the faultless precision and fluency of her chromatic scales; above all, the sure reservation of such volume of voice as to crown each protracted climax with glory, not needing a new effort to raise force for the final blow; and indeed all the points one looks for in a mistress of the vocal art were eminently her’s in Casta Diva. But the charm lay not in any POINT, but rather in the inspired vitality, the hearty, genuine outpouring of the whole–the real and yet truly ideal humanity of all her singing. That is what has won the world to Jenny Lind; it is that her whole soul and being goes out in her song, and that her voice becomes the impersonation of that song’s soul if it have any, that is, if it BE a song. There is plainly no vanity in her, no mere aim to effect; it is all frank and real and harmoniously earnest.
“She next bewitched all by the delicate naivete and sparkling espieglerie, interchanged with true love pathos, of her duet with Belletti, from Rossini’s I Turchi in Italia, the music being in the same voice with that of his ‘Barber of Seville.’ The distinct rapidity, without hurry, of many passages, was remarkable in both performers. But perhaps the most wonderful exhibition of her vocal skill and pliancy and of her active intimacy with nature was in the Trio Concertante, with two flutes, from Meyerbeer’s ‘Camp of Silesia.’ Exquisitely her voice played in echo between the tasteful flute-warblings of Messrs. Kyle and Siede.
“But do not talk of her flute-like voice; the flute-tone is not one a real voice need cultivate; except where it silvers the edges of a dark mass of orchestral harmony, the flute’s unmitigated sweetness must and should contrast with the more clarionet and reed-like quality of a voice as rich and human as that of Jenny Lind.
“Naturally the favorites of the evening were the two national songs. Her Swedish ‘Herdsman’s Song’ was singularly quaint, wild and innocent. The odd musical interval (a sharp seventh) of the the echo, as if her singing had brought the very mountains there, were extremely characteristic. This was loudly encored and repeated; and when again encored was of course answered with her ‘Greeting to America,’ the National Prize Song, written by Bayard Taylor, and set to a vigorous and familiar style of music, well harmonizing with the words, by Benedict. The greeting had a soul in it coming from those lips.
“We have but now to acknowledge the fine style of Belletti’s Largo al Factotum (though the gay barber’s song always requires the stage) and the admirable orchestra performance of Weber’s Overture to Oberon.
“We are now sure of Jenny Lind, the singer and the artist. Last night she was herself, and well accompanied, and gloriously responded to. But we have yet to hear her in the kind of music which seems to us most to need and to deserve such a singer–in the Agatha of Der Freyschutz, and in Mozart and the deep music of the great modern German operas.
“At the close the audience (who made no movement to leave till the last note had been uttered) broke out in a tempest of cheers, only less vehement than those which welcomed her in Casta Diva. She came forward again, bowed with a bright, grateful face, and retired. The cheers were now mingled with shouts of ‘Barnum!’ who at last came forward, and with some difficulty obtained sufficient order to speak. ‘My friends,’ said he, ‘you have often heard it asked, ‘Where’s Barnum?” Amid the cheers and laughter which followed, we only caught the words: ‘Henceforth, you may say, ‘Barnum’s nowhere!’ ‘
“Mr. Barnum, after expressing his gratification at the splendid welcome which had been given Mdlle. Lind, stated that he would disclose a piece of news which he could no longer keep secret, and which would show how well that welcome was deserved. Mdlle. Lind on Monday morning informed him that it was her intention to give her share of the net proceeds of the present concert, amounting to considerable more than $10,000, to the various charities in the city.
“The announcement was a signal for another storm. We did not count the number of cheers given, but we never witnessed such a pitch of enthusiasm. Mr. Barnum then proceeded to read the list of her donations, interrupted at every name by a fresh burst of applause:
To the Fire Department Fund . . . . . . . . . $3,000
Musical Fund Society. . . . . . . . . . . .2,000
Home for the Friendless . . . . . . . . . . .500
Society for the Relief of Indigent Females. .500
Dramatic Fund Association . . . . . . . . . .500
Home for Colored and Aged Persons . . . . . .500
Colored and Orphan Association. . . . . . . .500
Lying-in Asylum for Destitute Females . . . .500
New York Orphan Asylum. . . . . . . . . . . .500
Protestant Half-Orphan Asylum . . . . . . . .500
Roman Catholic Half-Orphan Asylum . . . . . .500
Old Ladies’ Asylum. . . . . . . . . . . . . .500
Total . . . . . . . . . . . . .$10,000
“In case the money coming to her shall exceed this sum, she will hereafter designate the charity to which it is to be appropriated. Mr. Barnum was then about retiring, when there was a universal call for Jenny Lind. The songstress, however, had already taken her departure, and the excited crowd, after giving a few more cheers, followed her example, and slowly surged out of the castle door, and down the canopied bridge, in a glow of good-humor and admiration. A few disorderly vagrants collected on the bridges leading to the Bath Houses, hooted at the throng as it passed out, but everybody went home quietly, with a new joy at his heart, and a new thought in his brain.
“Jenny Lind’s second concert was in every respect as complete a triumph as the first. The audience numbered upward of SEVEN THOUSAND, filling the vast amphitheatre to the topmost circles of the gallery. The sight of that dense sea of heads, from either extremity of the balcony, reminded us of one of Martin’s grand, gloomy pictures, and the resemblance was further increased by the semi-oriental appearance of the hall, with its long, light pillars dropping from the centre, as well as by the dimness of its illumination, the lamps, many and bright as they were, being lost in the immense area of the building.
“The concert was a repetition of the first, with the only difference that the orchestra volunteered the “Wedding March,” from Mendelssohn’s “Midsummer Night’s Dream,” whose short, crackling blaze of harmony received full justice from the sure and well-tempered brass instruments. Weber’s overture to “Oberon” was finely rendered, and the composition is as fine a specimen of musical fairy-land as could be found before young Mendelssohn dreamed Shakspere’s dream over in his own way.
“In Jenny Lind we still feel that it is not easy to separate the singer from the person. She sings herself. She does not, like many skilful vocalists, merely recite her musical studies, and dazzle you with splendid feats unnaturally acquired; her singing, through all her versatile range of parts and styles, is her own proper and spontaneous activity–integral, and whole. Her magnificent voice, always true and firm, and as far beyond any instrument as humanity is beyond nature, seems like the audible beauty of her nature and her character. That she is an artist in the highest sense is a question long since settled, and any little incidental variation from the bold and perfect outline of success in any special effort, as the faltering of her voice from natural embarrassment in the commencing of Casta Diva that first night, could not to a true listener at all impede the recognition of the wonderful art which could afford a little to humanity on so trying an occasion. For she was as it were beginning her career anew; literally to her was this a new world; and she felt for a moment as if in her first blushing maidenhood of song. This second time the hesitation of the voice in that commencement was not felt. The note began soft and timid and scarce audible, as the prayer of Norma might have done; but how it gradually swelled with the influx of divine strength into the soul! The grand difficulty in the opening andante movement of Casta Diva lies in its broad, sustained phrasing, in the long, generous undulation of its rhythm, which with most singers drags or gets broken out of symmetry. Jenny Lind conceived and did it truly. The impassioned energy of the loud-pleading syncopated cries in which the passage attains its climax; the celestial purity and penetrating sweetness of that highest note afterward; the exquisite cadenza to the andante; and the inspiring eloquence of the allegro: Ah! bello a me ritorna, were far beyond anything WE have had the fortune hitherto to hear.
“They that sat, or even stood, in Castle Garden, may mark down a white day in their calendar. In point of audience, programme, execution and inspiration, it was the greatest concert, so far. If anything more had been needed to confirm the impression which Jenny Lind had previously made on an American public, and to place her continued success beyond the possibility of doubt, last night’s experience certainly supplied it.
“It was foreseen in the morning that the attendance would be greater even than on Friday night. The American Museum and Hall’s Music Store were besieged through the whole day and up to the very hour of commencement. At the former place the crowding for tickets was tremendous, the very sidewalk in front being blockaded most of the time. At seven o’clock, when we took up the line of march for Castle Garden, both sides of Broadway were thronged, and the main avenue of the Battery was filled with a steady stream of persons pressing into the Castle gate. As on the first night, a double line of policemen had been formed, which effectually prevented all disorder. A few more lamps were introduced into the hall, rendering its aspect much more light and cheerful. By eight o’clock the vast hall was crowded to overflowing. Scarcely a foot of space was unoccupied; from the very edge of the ceiling to the orchestral platform in the centre, around the immense span of the building, there was but one dense mass of heads. We should, at a rough guess, estimate the number in the auditory at SEVEN THOUSAND. A much larger proportion than on former nights were ladies, and for the first time we caught glimpses of the fashionable society from above Bleecker. It is worthy of note, that the first and second concerts, immense as they were, were composed almost entirely of the intelligent and appreciative middle class.
“Some disturbance was created by a rush to obtain seats, made by those who had promenade tickets for the balcony, the moment the orchestra began to collect. This proceeding, in violation of the specified arrangements, was most disgraceful. The ushers did all they could to prevent it, but in spite of all their efforts many persons who arrived before the hour of commencement were deprived of their seats. It would be a good plan to have a few policemen in the balcony on future occasions.
“The orchestra commenced with Rossini’s Overture to “William Tell”–perhaps the finest piece of instrumental picture music since Haydn’s Creation and the Pastoral Symphony of Beethoven. Its fresh and vivid coloring, its atmospheric changes, its smart Alpine vigor and heroic ensemble, were made as present and as real as any sixty instruments could make them. Exquisitely did those three violoncellos sketch the first scene of soft, cool sunset on the unruffled lake; the mellow Corno Anglaise, male partner to the oboe, sweetly woke the flute-like mountain echoes; the low moan and whistle of the storm rose life like in the crescendo of the violins, and as it died away the startling quick-step of liberty leaped strong and simultaneous from such a tutti as we have hardly heard from any orchestra. We can believe that Mr. Benedict was quite sincere in telling them he had not conducted a better orchestra in Europe. The other Overture to Masaniello was also splendidly played, but the composition is, to our taste, too hackneyed to fill out the programme of a Jenny Lind before the largest audience in the world. The accompaniments to the singing were usually given with sympathetic precision, and subdued shading or vigorous seconding, as the case required. We cannot speak too well of M. Benedict’s control of his forces.
“The second piece was the Viravviso (“As I View Now”) from La Somnambula, delivered in the richest and most vibrating barytone that WE Americans have heard, by Sig. Belletti. Now that we have heard him from a nearer position, we have not a doubt left of his superiority in voice, style, execution to all our Italian favorites of the same register hitherto. He absolutely glorified the cavatina which rapidly grew commonplace with Brough, and had but half recovered even in the hands of the worthy Italian artists who have since sung it on the stage for us. His crowning achievement last night, however, was the actual singing of a Tarentella by Rossini–a kind of movement which we have hitherto heard only from instruments–a whirling, spinning, delirious, top-like movement in which the singer seems galvanized and tyrannized by one too happy and all-mastering idea in spite of himself. The audience too, in spite of themselves, were sucked into its whirling ecstacy, and it was imperatively encored. In Mozart’s Non piu Andrai the chaster prototype of Rossini’s Largo al factotum, his vocalization was elastic, spirited and elegant, but the effect of such a piece was necessarily lost upon the outer circles of so vast an auditory.
“For other variety there was a brilliant show duett on themes from La Somnambula for piano and violin by Messrs. Benedict and Noll, and a solo on the pianoforte by that most promising young artist, Hoffman. For this he chose De Meyer’s fantasy on Semiramide, decidedly of the modern monster school of pianoforte composition, though quite a vigorous, graceful and redeeming specimen thereof.
“And now for the ‘Queen of Song’–or, if so qualifying it will better suit the Italians, the NORTHERN Queen of Song.
“She commenced with one of the most tender and graceful, and hereabouts least hackneyed airs of Bellini–the Qui la Voce from I Puritani. Her liquid purity of voice and graceful gliding through its flowery labyrinthine passages was to us not more remarkable than the true but quiet fervor which animated it. Jenny Lind shows no feeling! and excites none! draws no tears! True Art supplies the place of tears by touching the emotions which are deeper and serener, and not a whit less human. But of this more fully when we have room.
“The splendid song from Mozart’s ‘Magic Flute,’ Non Paventar, brought into play the salient diamonds of her highest voice, which arches like the tall shaft of a fountain sparkling in the sun. The introduction, a bold, exhorting strain, in grandiose style, full of large intervals, was given with a glorious fervor, and no lark ever carolled more blithely or more at ease than her voice as it soared to F in alt! Benedict’s English ballad, ‘Take this Lute,’ she sang with a simplicity and pathos that won the audience completely; and no part seemed more genuine or more expressive than the difficult cadenza at its close.
“The romanza from Robert le Diable was perhaps the most fascinating of her more studied performances. This, like all her brilliant things, if not impassioned in the cheaper superficial sense, was at all events vital, and from the soul. She is never mechanical, whatever you may say about want of passion. Is any tragic pathos, such as is ready on the smallest occasion, or on none, more admirable and more inspiring, more from the inmost soul, than is that gushing up of a full, glad, true heart which is her native mood of song, and which was so glorious last night in the Ah! non Giunge from Somnambula? The rapturous encore to this was answered by the Swedish ‘Herdsman’s Song.’
“It was in the song from Mozart’s ‘Magic Flute’ that we first fully KNEW the voice and art and soul of Jenny Lind. She warmed to that music. It is narrow criticism which imprisons such a singer within the partial scope, albeit classical, of the Italian School; ignores that vital part of her which may exceed the conventional requirements of such a School, and condemns whatever in her is most characteristic, and in contrast with its models. It has been well said by those who make the most intelligent reference to those models and that school, that the style of the Swedish Nightingale is sui generis, as marked as her own personality. True, you would not say of her, in the conventional Italian sense of the word, what is often said in first acknowledgment of a good singer: ‘She has STYLE’–meaning the one style which is assumed as the standard. If we are to limit style to that sense, Mdlle. Lind has more than style; she has genius–Northern genius, to be sure, which is precisely what she should have to make her greatness genuine. Song is original in her; and from her singing we drink in new life, after long satiety of such passion-sweets as have become habits rather than fresh inspirations in the delightful–we may almost say perfected–but yet confined music of the Italians.
“It is, perhaps, too late to await the advent of a Queen of Song from the warm South. The South has had its turn; it has fulfilled its mission; the other end of the balance now comes up. The Northern Muse must sing her lesson to the world. Her fresher, chaster, more intellectual, and (as they only SEEM to some) her colder strains come in due season to recover our souls from the delicious languor of a Music which has been so wholly of the Feelings, that, for the want of some intellectual tonic and some spiritual temper, Feeling has degenerated into mere Sensibility and a very cheap kind of superficial, skin-deep excitability that usurps the name of Passion.
“We admire and feel and love the Melody of Italy. We reverence her native gift of song, her popular sensibility to it. We have been again and again transported by her best vocal artists who have visited these shores, and they are not THE best–the world-wide celebrities, we have to confess, are only traditions to us–traditions, however, to which we yield ourselves in full faith. From what we HAVE heard and experienced of Italian singing, we know, as well as if we had heard Grisi, Pasta and Rubini, that it is not IN the genius of the Italian School to produce or hardly to appreciate such a new revelation of song as this human nightingale or canary of Sweden.
“Is this underrating the Italian music? By no means. That is an established fact, and has its characteristic worth. Equally so, but in a contrasted way has the music of the North, which, till this Nightingale appeared, had found its utterance mainly through instruments and orchestras. Now it finds worthy utterance in song. But of its peculiar characteristic we must take another time to speak.”
CHAPTER XVIII. CONTINUED TRIUMPH.
SUCCESSFUL ADVERTISING–THE RESPONSIBILITIES OF RICHES–VISIT TO IRANISTAN–OVATIONS AT BOSTON, PHILADELPHIA, BALTIMORE AND WASHINGTON–VISIT TO MT. VERNON–CHARLESTON–HAVANA–FREDERICKA BREMER.
All of Barnum’s inventive powers were called into play effectually to advertise his song-bird. Biographies of Jenny Lind were circulated. “Foreign correspondence” raved over her talents, narratives of her benevolence filled the papers; her pictures and her name were seen everywhere. So when she made her first appearance, it was before an audience already wrought up to a high pitch of enthusiasm in her behalf. Never before, or after for that matter, was any singer so lauded by the press. The following editorial from the New York Herald of September 10th, 1850, is a fair sample:
“What ancient monarch was he, either in history or in fable, who offered half his kingdom (the price of box-tickets and choice seats in those days) for the invention of an original sensation, or the discovery of a fresh pleasure? That sensation–that pleasure which royal power in the Old World failed to discover–has been called into existence at a less price, by Mr. Barnum, a plain republican, and is now about to be enjoyed by the sovereigns of the New World.
“Jenny Lind, the most remarkable phenomenon in the musical art which has for the last century flashed across the horizon of the Old World, is now among us, and will make her debut to-morrow night to a house of nearly ten thousand listeners, yielding in proceeds by auction, a sum of forty or fifty thousand dollars. For the last ten days our musical reporters have furnished our readers with every matter connected with her arrival in this metropolis, and the steps adopted by Mr. Barnum in preparation for her first appearance. The proceedings of yesterday, consisting of the sale of the remainder of the tickets, and the astonishing, the wonderful sensation produced at her first rehearsal on the few persons, critics in musical art, who were admitted on the occasion, will be found elsewhere in our columns.
“We concur in everything that has been said by our musical reporter, describing her extraordinary genius–her unrivalled combination of power and art. Nothing has been exaggerated, not an iota. Three years ago, more or less, we heard Jenny Lind on many occasions, when she made the first great sensation in Europe, by her debut at the London Opera House. Then she was great in power–in art–in genius; now she is greater in all. We speak from experience and conviction. Then she astonished, and pleased, and fascinated the thousands of the British aristocracy; now she will fascinate, and please, and delight, and almost make mad with musical excitement, the millions of the American democracy. To-morrow night, this new sensation–this fresh movement–this excitement excelling all former excitements–will be called into existence, when she pours out the notes of Casta Diva, and exhibits her astonishing powers–her wonderful peculiarities, that seem more of heaven than of earth–more of a voice from eternity, than from the lips of a human being.
“We speak soberly–seriously–calmly. The public expectation has run very high for the last week–higher than at any former period of our past musical annals. But high as it has risen, the reality–the fact–the concert–the voice of Jenny Lind–will far surpass all past expectations. Jenny Lind is a wonder, and a prodigy in song–and no mistake.”
Barnum had not hoped to manage such an enormous enterprise as this one, without some trouble and anxiety, but he soon discovered that in this case, realization far exceeded anticipation. He often declared that from the first concert, September 11th, 1850, until the ninety-third concert, June 9th, 1851, he did not experience a single waking moment that was free from care.
Miss Lind was utterly unprepared for the enthusiasm of her American audience, and it is scarcely to be wondered at that she should appear to listen at first to the dishonorable counsels of some of her friends, who constantly besought her to break her contract with Barnum, who, they urged, was “coining money out of her genius,” and to take the enterprise into her own hands. But whether Miss Lind realized that Mr. Barnum’s management was largely responsible for her triumph, or whether she was simply too high-minded to consider such a breach of honor, certain it is that she continued to stand by her contract. John Jay, her lawyer, took every occasion to interfere, and Barnum suffered much from his unreasonable intrusions. The following letter, written to Mr. Joshua Bates of Baring Bros. & Co., London, will show the difficulties which beset the perplexed manager:
“NEW YORK, October 23, 1850.
“JOSHUA BATES, Esq.:
“Dear Sir: I take the liberty to write you a few lines, merely to say that we are getting along as well as could reasonably be expected. In this country you are aware that the rapid accumulation of wealth always creates much envy, and envy soon augments to malice. Such are the elements at work to a limited degree against myself, and although Miss Lind, Benedict and myself have never, as yet, had the slightest feelings between us, to my knowledge, except those of friendship, yet I cannot well see how this can long continue in the face of the fact that, nearly every day they allow persons (some moving in the first classes of society) to approach them, and spend hours in traducing me; even her attorney, Mr. John Jay, has been so blind to her interests, as to aid in poisoning her mind against me, by pouring into her ears the most silly twaddle, all of which amounts to nothing and less than nothing–such as the regret that I was a showman, exhibiter of Tom Thumb, etc., etc.
“Without the elements which I possess for business, as well as my knowledge of human nature, acquired in catering for the public, the result of her concerts here would not have been pecuniarily one-half as much as the present–and such men as the Hon. Edward Everett, G. G. Howland, and others, will tell you that there is no charlatanism or lack of dignity in my management of these concerts. I know as well as any person, that the merits of Jenny Lind are the best capital to depend upon to secure public favor, and I have thus far acted on this knowledge. Everything which money and attention can procure for their comfort, they have, and I am glad to know that they are satisfied on this score. All I fear is, that these continued backbitings, if listened to by her, will, by and by, produce a feeling of distrust or regret, which will lead to unpleasant results.
“The fact is, her mind ought to be as free as air, and she herself as free as a bird, and being satisfied of my probity and ability, she should turn a deaf ear to all envious and malevolent attacks on me. I have hoped that by thus briefly stating to you the facts in the case, you might be induced for her interests as well as mine to drop a line of advice to Mr. Benedict and another to Mr. Jay on this subject. If I am asking or expecting too much, I pray you to not give it a thought, for I feel myself fully able to carry through my rights alone, although I should deplore nothing so much as to be obliged to do so in a feeling of unfriendliness. I have risked much money on the issue of this speculation–it has proved successful. I am full of perplexity and anxiety, and labor continually for success, and I cannot allow ignorance or envy to rob me of the fruits of my enterprise. “Sincerely and gratefully yours, “P. T. BARNUM.”
Miss Lind’s benevolence had been so largely extolled that it was not surprising that she should have been continually beset by applicants for charity.
In almost all cases she gave liberally in sums varying from $20 to $1,000, and to one Swedish friend, it is said, she actually gave $5,000.
On her return from Boston to New York the whole party stopped at Iranistan, Mr. Barnum’s Bridgeport place. The next morning Miss Lind was escorted over the grounds, the beauty of which delighted her. “Do you know, Mr. Barnum,” she said, “that if you had not built Iranistan, I should never have come to America for you?” Mr. Barnum, much surprised, asked her to explain.
“I had received several applications to visit the United States,” she continued, “but I did not much like the appearance of the applicants, nor did I relish the idea of crossing 3,000 miles of ocean; so I declined them all. But the first letter which Mr. Wilton, your agent, addressed me, was written upon a sheet headed with a beautiful engraving of Iranistan. It attracted my attention. I said to myself, a gentleman who has been so successful in his business as to be able to build and reside in such a palace cannot be a mere ‘adventurer.’ So I wrote to your agent, and consented to an interview, which I should have declined, if I had not seen the picture of Iranistan.”
“That, then, fully pays me for building it,” replied Barnum.
The night after Miss Lind’s arrival in Boston, there was a display of fireworks, in her honor, in front of the Revere House, which was followed by a torchlight procession by the Germans of the city. At Philadelphia, they were met by such a dense throng of people that it was with the greatest difficulty that they pressed through the crowds to their hotel. Jenny was suffering from a very severe headache and retired at once to her rooms. Outside, the streets were packed with the thousands that had followed them to the door, and were now clamoring for Jenny Lind.
Knowing that the noise would seriously disturb the sensitive songstress, Barnum tried to induce the crowd to disperse; but they declared they would not until Miss Lind appeared on the balcony. In despair he finally put Jenny’s bonnet and shawl on her companion, Miss Ahmansen, who went out on the balcony and bowed gracefully to the multitude, who gave three hearty cheers and dispersed.
Miss Lind hated crowds, and always wished her arrival in any city kept secret, so as to avoid the excitement of a public reception, but Barnum knew that the success of the enterprise depended in a large measure on this very excitement.
One day Miss Lind remarked to Mr. Barnum, “I have just heard that you and I are to be married. Now how do you suppose such a report ever originated?”
“Probably from the fact that we are ‘engaged,’ suggested Barnum, the inveterate punster.
Miss Lind always went to church when she could do so without attracting too much attention, always inquiring for the Swedish church wherever it could be found.
One Sunday in Baltimore, Miss Caroline Barnum, now Mrs. David W. Thompson, of New York, went with a friend of hers who resided in the city, into the choir, where she joined in the singing.
A number of people in the audience had seen her with her father the day previous and supposed her to be Jenny Lind. Like lightning the news that Jenny Lind was in the choir, flew through the church, and when Miss Barnum, whose voice was not at all extraordinary, rose with the rest to sing, the congregation listened breathlessly. “Heavenly!” “Exquisite!” “Angelic!” sighed the excited audience. The two young ladies, all unconscious of the furore they had inspired were utterly astonished when, after church, the crowd pressed round them so closely that they had the greatest difficulty in reaching their carriage.
The day after their appearance in Washington, President Fillmore called, and left his card, Miss Lind being out. Jenny was very much flurried when she returned, and was prepared to call at the White House immediately, as would have been proper had Mr. Fillmore been the head of any European country. Barnum assured her, however, that etiquette was not so strict in America, and she postponed her visit until the next day, when with Benedict, Belletti and Mr. Barnum she spent several delightful hours in the President’s family.
The President, the Cabinet and nearly every member of Congress attended both concerts. The great Statesman Webster was so pleased with one of her songs that he drew himself up to his full height and bowed profoundly, to Miss Lind’s great gratification. Of all the distinguished men who called upon her in Washington, none impressed her like Webster. She walked up and down in great excitement after he had gone, exclaiming: “Ah! Mr. Barnum, what a man! I have never before seen such a man!”
Miss Lind was escorted through both Houses of Congress and through the Capitol and grounds, by Hon. C. F. Cleveland, Representative from Connecticut. She was very much pleased with everything and asked innumerable questions about the American Government.
During their stay in Washington, they were invited by Colonel Washington, then owner of Mt. Vernon, to visit the home and the tomb of the first President.
The party first visited the tomb and then proceeded to the house where they were introduced to Mrs. Washington and several other ladies.
Much interest was shown by Miss Lind in examining the various mementos of the great man, and when before leaving, Mrs. Washington presented her with a book from the library with Washington’s autograph on the title page, she was overwhelmed with emotion.
Miss Lind had been through so much excitement in the North that she determined to see no callers during her stay in the South. One young lady, the daughter of a wealthy planter, was so determined to see her, that she bribed a maid to lend her her cap and apron, and let her carry in Miss Lind’s tea. This incident amused Barnum immensely, but Miss Lind was much vexed, declaring the young lady’s motive to be curiosity rather than admiration. The voyage from Wilmington to Charleston had been very rough, the trip requiring over thirty-six hours. When they arrived at last, the vessel had been given up for lost and the wreck had been telegraphed all over the country. The voyage to Havana was very much pleasanter, however.
Arriving there, they found the house which Mr. Barnum had sent a man on to provide for them, anything but comfortable. Miss Lind, especially, was much displeased, and, hiring a carriage, she drove off, accompanied by an interpreter. She was gone four hours, to the great alarm of the rest of the party. Returning, she announced that she had hired a charming house in the suburbs, and invited the whole company to be her guests during their stay in Havana. It is needless to say they accepted her invitation.
There, freed from all care and annoyance and away from the too zealous counsellors, she spent a delightful month, seeing no callers, coming and going as she pleased, and romping like a schoolgirl in the great court-yard back of the house. She used to force Mr. Barnum to play ball with her until he was exhausted and fain to beg off. Then she would laugh and say: “Oh, Mr. Barnum! you are too fat and lazy; you cannot stand it to play ball with me.”
The celebrated Swedish authoress, Fredericka Bremer, spent a few days with them in their Havana retreat.
CHAPTER XIX. HAVANA.
CONQUEST OF THE HABANEROS–THE ITALIAN AND HIS DOG–MAD BENNETT–A SUCCESSFUL RUSE–RETURN TO NEW ORLEANS–A LUDICROUS