FINAL CONCERTS IN LIVERPOOL—DEPARTURE FOR AMERICA—ARRIVAL OFF STATEN ISLAND—MY FIRST INTERVIEW WITH JENNY LIND—THE TREMENDOUS THRONG AT THE WHARF—TRIUMPHAL ARCHES—“WELCOME TO AMERICA”—EXCITEMENT IN THE CITY—SERENADE AT THE IRVING HOUSE—THE PRIZE ODE—BAYARD TAYLOR THE PRIZEMAN—“BARNUM’S PARNASSUS”—“BARNUMOPSIS”—FIRST CONCERT IN CASTLE GARDEN—A NEW AGREEMENT—RECEPTION OF JENNY LIND—UNBOUNDED ENTHUSIASM—BARNUM CALLED OUT—JULIUS BENEDICT—THE SUCCESS OF THE ENTERPRISE ESTABLISHED—TWO GRAND CHARITY CONCERTS IN NEW YORK—DATE OF THE FIRST REGULAR CONCERT.
FINAL CONCERTS IN LIVERPOOL—DEPARTURE FOR AMERICA—ARRIVAL OFF STATEN ISLAND—MY FIRST INTERVIEW WITH JENNY LIND—THE TREMENDOUS THRONG AT THE WHARF—TRIUMPHAL ARCHES—“WELCOME TO AMERICA”—EXCITEMENT IN THE CITY—SERENADE AT THE IRVING HOUSE—THE PRIZE ODE—BAYARD TAYLOR THE PRIZEMAN—“BARNUM’S PARNASSUS”—“BARNUMOPSIS”—FIRST CONCERT IN CASTLE GARDEN—A NEW AGREEMENT—RECEPTION OF JENNY LIND—UNBOUNDED ENTHUSIASM—BARNUM CALLED OUT—JULIUS BENEDICT—THE SUCCESS OF THE ENTERPRISE ESTABLISHED—TWO GRAND CHARITY CONCERTS IN NEW YORK—DATE OF THE FIRST REGULAR CONCERT.
AFTERthe engagement with Miss Lind was consummated, she declined several liberal offers to sing in London, but, at my solicitation, gave two concerts in Liverpool, on the eve of her departure for America. My object in making this request was, to add theéclatof that side to the excitement on this side of the Atlantic, which was already nearly up to fever heat.
The first of the two Liverpool concerts was given the night previous to the departure of the Saturday steamer for America. My agent had procured the services of a musical critic from London, who finished his account of this concert at half past one o’clock the following morning, and at two o’clock my agent was overseeing its insertion in a Liverpool morning paper, numbers of which he forwarded to me by the steamer of the same day. The republication of the criticism in the American papers, including an account of the enthusiasm which attended and followed this concert,—her trans-Atlantic,—had the desired effect.
On Wednesday morning, August 21, 1850, Jenny Lind and Messrs. Benedict and Belletti, set sail from Liverpool in the steamship Atlantic, in which I had long before engaged the necessary accommodations, and on board of which I had shipped a piano for their use. They were accompanied by my agent, Mr. Wilton, and also by Miss Ahmansen and Mr. Max Hjortzberg, cousins of Miss Lind, the latter being her Secretary; also by her two servants, and the valet of Messrs. Benedict and Belletti.
It was expected that the steamer would arrive on Sunday, September 1, but, determined to meet the songstress on her arrival whenever it might be, I went to Staten Island on Saturday, and slept at the hospitable residence of my friend, Dr. A. Sidney Doane, who was at that time the Health Officer of the Port of New York. A few minutes before twelve o’clock, on Sunday morning, the Atlantic hove in sight, and immediately afterwards, through the kindness of my friend Doane, I was on board the ship, and had taken Jenny Lind by the hand.
After a few moments’ conversation, she asked me when and where I had heard her sing.
“I never had the pleasure of seeing you before in my life,” I replied.
“How is it possible that you dared risk so much money on a person whom you never heard sing?” she asked in surprise.
“I risked it on your reputation, which in musical matters I would much rather trust than my own judgment,” I replied.
I may as well state, that although I relied prominently upon Jenny Lind’s reputation as a great musicalartiste, I also took largely into my estimate of her success with all classes of the American public, her character for extraordinary benevolence and generosity. Without this peculiarity in her disposition, I never would have dared make the engagement which I did, as I felt sure that there were multitudes of individuals in America who would be prompted to attend her concerts by this feeling alone.
Thousands of persons covered the shipping and piers, and other thousands had congregated on the wharf at Canal Street, to see her. The wildest enthusiasm prevailed as the steamer approached the dock. So great was the rush on a sloop near the steamer’s berth, that one man, in his zeal to obtain a good view, accidentally tumbled overboard, amid the shouts of those near him. Miss Lind witnessed this incident, and was much alarmed. He was, however, soon rescued, after taking to himself a cold duck instead of securing a view of the Nightingale. A bower of green trees, decorated with beautiful flags, was discovered on the wharf, together with two triumphal arches, on one of which was inscribed, “Welcome, Jenny Lind!” The second was surmounted by the American eagle, and bore the inscription, “Welcome to America!” These decorations were not produced by magic, and I do not know that I can reasonably find fault with those who suspected I had a hand in their erection. My private carriage was in waiting, and Jenny Lind was escorted to it by Captain West. The rest of the musical party entered the carriage, and mounting the box at the driver’s side, I directed him to the Irving House. I took that seat as a legitimate advertisement, and my presence on the outside of the carriage aided those who filled the windows and
JENNY LIND.JENNY LIND.
sidewalks along the whole route, in coming to the conclusion that Jenny Lind had arrived.
A reference to the journals of that day will show, that never before had there been such enthusiasm in the City of New York, or indeed in America. Within ten minutes after our arrival at the Irving House, not less than twenty thousand persons had congregated around the entrance in Broadway, nor was the number diminished before nine o’clock in the evening. At her request, I dined with her that afternoon, and when, according to European custom, she prepared to pledge me in a glass of wine, she was somewhat surprised at my saying, “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 your health and happiness in a glass of cold water.”
At twelve o’clock that night, she was serenaded by the New York Musical Fund Society, numbering, on that occasion, two hundred musicians. They were escorted to the Irving House by about three hundred firemen, in their red shirts, bearing torches. There was a far greater throng in the streets than there was even during the day. The calls for Jenny Lind were so vehement that I led her through a window to the balcony. The loud cheers from the crowds lasted for several minutes, before the serenade was permitted to proceed again.
I have given the merest sketch of but a portion of the incidents of Jenny Lind’s first day in America. For weeks afterwards the excitement was unabated. Her rooms were thronged by visitors, including the magnates of the land in both Church and State. The carriages of the wealthiest citizens could be seen in front of herhotel at nearly all hours of the day, and it was with some difficulty that I prevented the “fashionables” from monopolizing her altogether, and thus, as I believed, sadly marring my interests by cutting her off from the warm sympathies she had awakened among the masses. Presents of all sorts were showered upon her. Milliners, mantua-makers, and shopkeepers vied with each other in calling her attention to their wares, of which they sent her many valuable specimens, delighted if, in return, they could receive her autograph acknowledgment. Songs, quadrilles and polkas were dedicated to her, and poets sung in her praise. We had Jenny Lind gloves, Jenny Lind bonnets, Jenny Lind riding hats, Jenny Lind shawls, mantillas, robes, chairs, sofas, pianos—in fact, every thing was Jenny Lind. Her movements were constantly watched, and the moment her carriage appeared at the door, it was surrounded by multitudes, eager to catch a glimpse of the Swedish Nightingale.
In looking over my “scrap-books” of extracts from the New York papers of that day, in which all accessible details concerning her were duly chronicled, it seems almost incredible that such a degree of enthusiasm should have existed. An abstract of the “sayings and doings” in regard to the Jenny Lind mania for the first ten days after her arrival, appeared in the LondonTimesof Sept. 23, 1850, and although it was an ironical “showing up” of the American enthusiasm, filling several columns, it was nevertheless a faithful condensation of facts which at this late day seem even to myself more like a dream than reality.
Before her arrival I had offered $200 for a prize ode, “Greeting to America,” to be sung by Jenny Lind ather first concert. Several hundred “poems” were sent in from all parts of the United States and the Canadas. The duties of the Prize Committee, in reading these effusions and making choice of the one most worthy the prize, were truly arduous. The “offerings,” with perhaps a dozen exceptions, were the merest doggerel trash. The prize was awarded to Bayard Taylor for the following ode:
GREETING TO AMERICA.
WORDS BY BAYARD TAYLOR—MUSIC BY JULIUS BENEDICT.
IGREETwith 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 foamThat 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!
IGREETwith 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 foamThat 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!
IGREETwith 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 foamThat 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, although it gave general satisfaction, yet was met with disfavor by several disappointed poets, who, notwithstanding the decision of the committee, persisted in believing and declaring their own productions to be the best. This state of feeling was doubtless, in part, the cause which led to the publication, about this time, of a witty pamphlet entitled “Barnum’s Parnassus; being Confidential Disclosures of the Prize Committee on the Jenny Lind song.”
It gave some capital hits in which the committee, the enthusiastic public, the Nightingale, and myself, wereroundly ridiculed. The following is a fair specimen from the work in question:
BARNUMOPSIS.
A RECITATIVE.
WHENto the common rest that crowns his days,Dusty and worn the tired pedestrian goes,What light is that whose wide o’erlooking blazeA sudden glory on his pathway throws?’Tis not the setting sun, whose drooping lidClosed on the weary world at half-past six;’Tis not the rising moon, whose rays are hidBehind the city’s sombre piles of bricks.It is the Drummond Light, that from the topOf Barnum’s massive pile, sky-mingling there,Darts its quick gleam o’er every shadowed shop,And gilds Broadway with unaccustomed glare.There o’er the sordid gloom, whose deep’ning tracksFurrow 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 handsHung 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 robeExplores 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 daughterAnd 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-outangOr 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 goesWith the sweet babe and the gray-headed nurse,To see those Cosmoramic orbs discloseThe varied beauties of the universe.And last, not least, the marvellous Ethiope,Changing his skin by preternatural skill,Whom every setting sun’s diurnal slopeLeaves 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 sublimeAwait thee yet! I, Jenny Lind, who reignedSublimely throned, the imperial queen of song,Wooed by thy golden harmonies, have deignedCaptive 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 joinMyself the innumerable caravan.
WHENto the common rest that crowns his days,Dusty and worn the tired pedestrian goes,What light is that whose wide o’erlooking blazeA sudden glory on his pathway throws?’Tis not the setting sun, whose drooping lidClosed on the weary world at half-past six;’Tis not the rising moon, whose rays are hidBehind the city’s sombre piles of bricks.It is the Drummond Light, that from the topOf Barnum’s massive pile, sky-mingling there,Darts its quick gleam o’er every shadowed shop,And gilds Broadway with unaccustomed glare.There o’er the sordid gloom, whose deep’ning tracksFurrow 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 handsHung 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 robeExplores 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 daughterAnd 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-outangOr 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 goesWith the sweet babe and the gray-headed nurse,To see those Cosmoramic orbs discloseThe varied beauties of the universe.And last, not least, the marvellous Ethiope,Changing his skin by preternatural skill,Whom every setting sun’s diurnal slopeLeaves 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 sublimeAwait thee yet! I, Jenny Lind, who reignedSublimely throned, the imperial queen of song,Wooed by thy golden harmonies, have deignedCaptive 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 joinMyself the innumerable caravan.
WHENto the common rest that crowns his days,Dusty and worn the tired pedestrian goes,What light is that whose wide o’erlooking blazeA sudden glory on his pathway throws?
’Tis not the setting sun, whose drooping lidClosed on the weary world at half-past six;’Tis not the rising moon, whose rays are hidBehind the city’s sombre piles of bricks.
It is the Drummond Light, that from the topOf Barnum’s massive pile, sky-mingling there,Darts its quick gleam o’er every shadowed shop,And gilds Broadway with unaccustomed glare.
There o’er the sordid gloom, whose deep’ning tracksFurrow 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 handsHung 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 robeExplores 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 daughterAnd 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-outangOr 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 goesWith the sweet babe and the gray-headed nurse,To see those Cosmoramic orbs discloseThe varied beauties of the universe.
And last, not least, the marvellous Ethiope,Changing his skin by preternatural skill,Whom every setting sun’s diurnal slopeLeaves 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 reignedSublimely throned, the imperial queen of song,Wooed by thy golden harmonies, have deignedCaptive 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 joinMyself the innumerable caravan.
Besides the foregoing, this pamphlet contained eleven poems, most of which abounded in wit. I have room for but a single stanza. The poet speaks of the various curiosities in the Museum, and representing me as still searching for further novelties, makes me address the Swedish Nightingale as follows:
“So Jenny, come along! you’re just the card for me,And quit these kings and queens, for the country of the free;They’ll welcome you with speeches, and serenades, and rockets,And you will touch their hearts, and I will tap their pockets;And if between us both the public isn’t skinned,Why, my name isn’t Barnum, nor your name Jenny Lind!”
“So Jenny, come along! you’re just the card for me,And quit these kings and queens, for the country of the free;They’ll welcome you with speeches, and serenades, and rockets,And you will touch their hearts, and I will tap their pockets;And if between us both the public isn’t skinned,Why, my name isn’t Barnum, nor your name Jenny Lind!”
“So Jenny, come along! you’re just the card for me,And quit these kings and queens, for the country of the free;They’ll welcome you with speeches, and serenades, and rockets,And you will touch their hearts, and I will tap their pockets;And if between us both the public isn’t skinned,Why, my name isn’t Barnum, nor your name Jenny Lind!”
Various extracts from this brochure were copied in the papers daily, and my agents scattered the work as widely as possible, thus efficiently aiding and advertising my enterprise and serving to keep up the public excitement.
Among the many complimentary poems sent in, was the following, by Mrs.L. H. Sigourney, which that distinguished writer enclosed in a letter to me, with the request that I should hand it to Miss Lind:
THE SWEDISH SONGSTRESS AND HER CHARITIES.
BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.
BLESTmust their vocation beWho, with tones of melody,Charm the discord and the strifeAnd the railroad rush of life,And with Orphean magic moveSouls inert to life and love.But there’s one who doth inheritAngel gift and angel spirit,Bidding tides of gladness flowThrough 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 strandShe shall clasp their waiting hand,They will fold her to their breast,More a sister than a guest.
BLESTmust their vocation beWho, with tones of melody,Charm the discord and the strifeAnd the railroad rush of life,And with Orphean magic moveSouls inert to life and love.But there’s one who doth inheritAngel gift and angel spirit,Bidding tides of gladness flowThrough 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 strandShe shall clasp their waiting hand,They will fold her to their breast,More a sister than a guest.
BLESTmust their vocation beWho, with tones of melody,Charm the discord and the strifeAnd the railroad rush of life,And with Orphean magic moveSouls inert to life and love.But there’s one who doth inheritAngel gift and angel spirit,Bidding tides of gladness flowThrough 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 strandShe shall clasp their waiting hand,They will fold her to their breast,More a sister than a guest.
Jenny Lind’s first concert was fixed to come off at Castle Garden, on Wednesday evening, September 11th, and most of the tickets were sold at auction on the Saturday and Monday previous to the concert. John N. Genin, the hatter, laid the foundation of his fortune by purchasing the first ticket at $225. It has been extensively reported that Mr. Genin and I are brothers-in-law,but our only relations are those of business and friendship. The proprietors of the Garden saw fit to make the usual charge of one shilling to all persons who entered the premises, yet three thousand people were present at the auction. One thousand tickets were sold on the first day for an aggregate sum of $10,141.
On the Tuesday after her arrival I informed Miss Lind that I wished to make a slight alteration in our agreement. “What is it?” she asked in surprise.
“I am convinced,” I replied, “that our enterprise will be much more successful than either of us anticipated. I wish, therefore, to stipulate that you shall receive not only $1,000 for each concert, besides all the expenses, as heretofore agreed on, but after taking $5,500 per night for expenses and my services, the balance shall be equally divided between us.”
Jenny looked at me with astonishment. She could not comprehend my proposition. After I had repeated it, and she fully understood its import, she cordially grasped me by the hand, and exclaimed, “Mr. Barnum, you are a gentleman of honor: you are generous; it is just as Mr. Bates told me; I will sing for you as long as you please; I will sing for you in America—in Europe—anywhere!”
Upon drawing the new contract which was to include this entirely voluntary and liberal advance on my part, beyond the terms of the original agreement, Miss Lind’s lawyer, Mr. John Jay, who was present solely to put in writing the new arrangement between Miss Lind and myself, insisted upon intruding the suggestion that she should have the right to terminate the engagement at the end of the sixtieth concert, if she should choose to do so. This proposition was so persistently and annoyinglypressed that Miss Lind was finally induced to entertain it, at the same time offering, if she did so, to refund to me all moneys paid her up to that time, excepting the $1,000 per concert according to the original agreement. This was agreed to, and it was also arranged that she might terminate the engagement at the one-hundredth concert, if she desired, upon paying me $25,000 for the loss of the additional fifty nights.
After this new arrangement was completed, I said: “Now, Miss Lind, as you are directly interested, you must have an agent to assist in taking and counting the tickets”; to which she replied, “Oh, no! Mr. Barnum; I have every confidence in you and I must decline to act upon your suggestion”; but I continued:
“I never allow myself, if it can be avoided, when I have associates in the same interests, to be placed in a position where I must assume the sole responsibility. I never even permitted an actor to take a benefit at my Museum, unless he placed a ticket-taker of his own at the door.”
Thus urged, Miss Lind engaged Mr. Seton to act as her ticket-taker, and after we had satisfactorily arranged the matter, Jay, knowing the whole affair, had the impudence to come to me with a package of blank printed affidavits, which he demanded that I should fill out, from day to day, with the receipts of each concert, and swear to their correctness before a magistrate!
I told him that I would see him on the subject at Miss Lind’s hotel that afternoon, and going there a few moments before the appointed hour, I narrated the circumstances to Mr. Benedict and showed him an affidavit which I had made that morning to the effect that I would never directly or indirectly take any advantagewhatever of Miss Lind. This I had made oath to, for I thought if there was any swearing of that kind to be done I would do it “in a lump” rather than in detail. Mr. Benedict was very much opposed to it, and arriving during the interview, Jay was made to see the matter in such a light that he was thoroughly ashamed of his proposition, and, requesting that the affair might not be mentioned to Miss Lind, he begged me to destroy the affidavit. I heard no more about swearing to our receipts.
On Tuesday, September 10th, I informed Miss Lind that, judging by present appearances, her portion of the proceeds of the first concert would amount to $10,000. She immediately resolved to devote every dollar of it to charity; and, sending for Mayor Woodhull, she acted under his and my advice in selecting the various institutions among which she wished the amount to be distributed.
My arrangements of the concert room were very complete. The greatparterreand gallery of Castle Garden were divided by imaginary lines into four compartments, each of which was designated by a lamp of a different color. The tickets were printed in colors corresponding with the location which the holders were to occupy, and one hundred ushers, with rosettes and bearing wands tipped with ribbons of the several hues, enabled every individual to find his or her seat without the slightest difficulty. Every seat was of course numbered in color to correspond with the check, which each person retained after giving up an entrance ticket at the door. Thus, tickets, checks, lamps, rosettes, wands, and even the seat numbers were all in the appropriate colors to designate the different departments. These arrangementswere duly advertised, and every particular was also printed upon each ticket. In order to prevent confusion, the doors were opened at five o’clock, while the concert did not commence until eight. The consequence was, that although about five thousand persons were present at the first concert, their entrance was marked with as much order and quiet as was ever witnessed in the assembling of a congregation at church. These precautions were observed at all the concerts given throughout the country under my administration, and the good order which always prevailed was the subject of numberless encomiums from the public and the press.
The reception of Jenny Lind on her first appearance, in point of enthusiasm, was probably never before equalled in the world. As Mr. Benedict led her towards the foot-lights, 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 by far 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 thescenawas concluded, she was as calm as if she was in her own drawing-room. Towards the last portion of thecavatina, 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 loudlycalled for, and was obliged to appear three times before the audience could be satisfied. They then called vociferously for “Barnum,” and I reluctantly responded to their demand.
On this first night, Mr. 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 American people, to the end of his career in this country.
It would seem as if the Jenny Lind mania had reached its culminating point before she appeared, and I confess that I feared the anticipations of the public were too high to be realized, and hence that there would be a reaction after the first concert; but I was happily disappointed. The transcendent musical genius of the Swedish Nightingale was superior to all that fancy could paint, and the furor did not attain its highest point until she had been heard. The people were in ecstasies; the powers of editorial acumen, types and ink, were inadequate to sound her praises. The Rubicon was passed. 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. So elated was I with my success, in spite of all obstacles and false prophets, that I do not think half a million of dollars would have tempted me to relinquish the enterprise.
Upon settling the receipts of the first concert, they were found to be somewhat less than I anticipated. The sums bid at the auction sales, together with the tickets purchased at private sale, amounted to more than $20,000. It proved, however, that several of the tickets bid off at from $12 to $25 each, were not called for. In some instances, probably the zeal of the bidders cooled down when they came out from the scene of excitement, and once more breathed the fresh sea-breeze which came sweeping up from “the Narrows,” while perhaps, in other instances, bids were made by parties who never intended to take the tickets. I can only say, once for all, that I was never privy to a false bid, and was so particular upon that point, that I would not permit one of my employees to bid on, or purchase a ticket at auction, though requested to do so for especial friends.
The amount of money received for tickets to the first concert was $17,864.05. As this made Miss Lind’s portion too small to realize the $10,000 which had been announced as devoted to charity, I proposed to divide equally with her the proceeds of the first two concerts, and not count them at all in our regular engagement. Accordingly, the second concert was given September 13th, and the receipts, amounting to $14,203.03, were, like those of the first concert, equally divided. Our third concert, but which, as between ourselves, we called the “first regular concert,” was given Tuesday September 17, 1850.
HEAD-WORK AND HAND-WORK—MANAGING PUBLIC OPINION—CREATING A FUROR—THE NEW YORK HERALD—JENNY LIND’S EVIL ADVISERS—JOHN JAY—MISS LIND’S CHARITIES—A POOR GIRL IN BOSTON—THE NIGHTINGALE AT IRANISTAN—RUMOR OF HER MARRIAGE TO P. T. BARNUM—THE STORY BASED ON OUR “ENGAGEMENT”—WHAT IRANISTAN DID FOR ME—AVOIDING CROWDS—IN PHILADELPHIA AND BALTIMORE—A SUBSTITUTE FOR MISS LIND—OUR ORCHESTRA—PRESIDENT FILLMORE, CLAY, FOOTE, BENTON, SCOTT, CASS, AND WEBSTER—VISIT TO MT. VERNON—CHRISTMAS PRESENTS—NEW YEAR’S EVE—WE GO TO HAVANA—PLAYING BALL—FREDERIKA BREMER—A HAPPY MONTH IN CUBA.
HEAD-WORK AND HAND-WORK—MANAGING PUBLIC OPINION—CREATING A FUROR—THE NEW YORK HERALD—JENNY LIND’S EVIL ADVISERS—JOHN JAY—MISS LIND’S CHARITIES—A POOR GIRL IN BOSTON—THE NIGHTINGALE AT IRANISTAN—RUMOR OF HER MARRIAGE TO P. T. BARNUM—THE STORY BASED ON OUR “ENGAGEMENT”—WHAT IRANISTAN DID FOR ME—AVOIDING CROWDS—IN PHILADELPHIA AND BALTIMORE—A SUBSTITUTE FOR MISS LIND—OUR ORCHESTRA—PRESIDENT FILLMORE, CLAY, FOOTE, BENTON, SCOTT, CASS, AND WEBSTER—VISIT TO MT. VERNON—CHRISTMAS PRESENTS—NEW YEAR’S EVE—WE GO TO HAVANA—PLAYING BALL—FREDERIKA BREMER—A HAPPY MONTH IN CUBA.
NOone can imagine the amount of head-work and hand-work which I performed during the first four weeks after Jenny Lind’s arrival. Anticipating much of this, I had spent some time in August at the White Mountains to recruit my energies. Of course I had not been idle during the summer. I had put innumerable means and appliances into operation for the furtherance of my object, and little did the public see of the hand that indirectly pulled at their heart-strings, preparatory to a relaxation of their purse-strings; and these means and appliances were continued and enlarged throughout the whole of that triumphal musical campaign.
The first great assembly at Castle Garden was not gathered by Jenny Lind’s musical genius and powers alone. She was effectually introduced to the public before they had seen or heard her. She appeared in the presence of a jury already excited to enthusiasmin her behalf. She more than met their expectations, and all the means I had adopted to prepare the way were thus abundantly justified.
As a manager, I worked by setting others to work. Biographies of the Swedish Nightingale were largely circulated; “Foreign Correspondence” glorified her talents and triumphs by narratives of her benevolence; and “printer’s ink” was invoked in every possible form, to put and keep Jenny Lind before the people. I am happy to say that the press generally echoed the voice of her praise from first to last. I could fill many volumes with printed extracts which are nearly all of a similar tenor to the following unbought, unsolicited editorial article, which appeared in theNew York Heraldof Sept. 10, 1850 (the day before the first concert given by Miss Lind in the United States):
“Jenny Lind and the American People.—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 musical art which has for the last century flashed across the horizon of the old world, is now among us, and will make herdébutto-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 herdébutat the London Opera House. Then she was great in power—in art—in genius; now she is greater in all. We speak from experience andconviction. 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 ofCasta 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 and power of Jenny Lind—will far surpass all past expectation. Jenny Lind is a wonder, and a prodigy in song—and no mistake.”
“Jenny Lind and the American People.—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 musical art which has for the last century flashed across the horizon of the old world, is now among us, and will make herdébutto-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 herdébutat the London Opera House. Then she was great in power—in art—in genius; now she is greater in all. We speak from experience andconviction. 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 ofCasta 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 and power of Jenny Lind—will far surpass all past expectation. Jenny Lind is a wonder, and a prodigy in song—and no mistake.”
As usual, however, theHeraldvery soon “took it all back” and roundly abused Miss Lind and persistently attacked her manager. As usual, too, the public paid no attention to theHeraldand doubled their patronage of the Jenny Lind concerts.
After the first month the business became thoroughly systematized, and by the help of such agents as my faithful treasurer, L. C. Stewart, and the indefatigable Le Grand Smith, my personal labors were materially relieved; but from the first concert on the 11th of September, 1850, until the ninety-third concert on the 9th of June, 1851, a space of nine months, I did not know a waking moment that was entirely free from anxiety.
I could not hope to be exempted from trouble and perplexity in managing an enterprise which depended altogether on popular favor, and which involved great consequences to myself; but I did not expect the numerous petty annoyances which beset me, especially in the early period of the concerts. Miss Lind did not dream, nor did any one else, of the unparalleled enthusiasm that would greet her; and the first immense assembly at Castle Garden somewhat prepared her, I suspect, to listen to evil advisers. It would seem that the terms of our revised contract were sufficiently liberalto her and sufficiently hazardous to myself, to justify the expectation of perfectly honorable treatment; but certain envious intermeddlers appeared to think differently. “Do you not see, Miss Lind, that Mr. Barnum is coining money out of your genius?” said they; of course she saw it, but the high-minded Swede despised and spurned the advisers who recommended her to repudiate her contract with me at all hazards, and take the enterprise into her own hands—possibly to put it into theirs. I, however, suffered much from the unreasonable interference of her lawyer, Mr. John Jay. Benedict and Belletti behaved like men, and Jenny afterwards expressed to me her regret that she had for a moment listened to the vexatious exactions of her legal counsellor.
To show the difficulties with which I had to contend thus early in my enterprise, I copy a letter which I wrote, a little more than one month after Miss Lind commenced her engagement with me, to my friend Mr. Joshua Bates, of Messrs. Baring, Brothers & Co., London:
New York, Oct. 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 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,’ exhibitor 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 at 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 capitalto 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 continual 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.
New York, Oct. 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 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,’ exhibitor 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 at 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 capitalto 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 continual 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.
It is not my purpose to enter into full details of all of the Lind concerts, though I have given elsewhere a transcript from the account books of my treasurer, presenting a table of the place and exact receipts of each concert. This will gratify curiosity, and at the same time indicate our route of travel. Meanwhile, I devote a few pages to interesting incidents connected with Miss Lind’s visit to America.
Jenny Lind’s character for benevolence became so generally known, that her door was beset by persons asking charity, and she was in the receipt, while in the principal cities, of numerous letters, all on the same subject. Her secretary examined and responded favorably to some of them. He undertook at first to answer them all, but finally abandoned that course in despair. I knew of many instances in which she gave sums of money to applicants, varying in amount from $20, $50, $500, to $1,000, and in one instance she gave $5,000 to a Swedish friend.
One night, while giving a concert in Boston, a girlapproached the ticket-office, and laying down $3 for a ticket, remarked, “There goes half a month’s earnings, but I am determined to hear Jenny Lind.” Miss Lind’s secretary heard the remark, and a few minutes afterwards coming into her room, he laughingly related the circumstance. “Would you know the girl again?” asked Jenny, with an earnest look. Upon receiving an affirmative reply, she instantly placed a $20 gold-piece in his hand, and said, “Poor girl! give her that with my best compliments.” He at once found the girl, who cried with joy when she received the gold-piece, and heard the kind words with which the gift was accompanied.
The night after Jenny’s arrival in Boston, a display of fireworks was given in her honor, in front of the Revere House, after which followed a beautiful torchlight procession by the Germans of that city.
On her return from Boston to New York, Jenny, her companion, and Messrs. Benedict and Belletti, stopped at Iranistan, my residence in Bridgeport, where they remained until the following day. The morning after her arrival, she took my arm and proposed a promenade through the grounds. She seemed much pleased, and said, “I am astonished that you should have left such a beautiful place for the sake of travelling through the country with me.”
The same day she told me in a playful mood, that she had heard a most extraordinary report. “I have heard that you and I are about to be married,” said she; “now how could such an absurd report ever have originated?”
“Probably from the fact that we are ‘engaged,’ ” I replied. She enjoyed a joke, and laughed heartily.
“Do you know, Mr. Barnum,” said she, “that if you had not built Iranistan, I should never have come to America for you?”
I expressed my surprise, and 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,” I replied; “for I intend and expect to make more by this musical enterprise than Iranistan cost me.”
“I really hope so,” she replied; “but you must not be too sanguine, you know, ‘man proposes but God disposes.’ ”
Jenny Lind always desired to reach a place in which she was to sing, without having the time of her arrival known, thus avoiding the excitement of promiscuous crowds. As a manager, however, I knew that the interests of the enterprise depended in a great degree upon these excitements. Although it frequently seemed inconceivable to her how so many thousands should have discovered her secret and consequently gathered together to receive her, I was not so much astonished, inasmuch as my agent always had early telegraphicintelligence of the time of her anticipated arrival, and was not slow in communicating the information to the public.
On reaching Philadelphia, a large concourse of persons awaited the approach of the steamer which conveyed her. With difficulty we pressed through the crowd, and were followed by many thousands to Jones’s Hotel. The street in front of the building was densely packed by the populace, and poor Jenny, who was suffering from a severe headache, retired to her apartments. I tried to induce the crowd to disperse, but they declared they would not do so until Jenny Lind should appear on the balcony. I would not disturb her, and knowing that the tumult might prove an annoyance to her, I placed her bonnet and shawl upon her companion, Miss Ahmansen, and led her out on the balcony. She bowed gracefully to the multitude, who gave her three hearty cheers and quietly dispersed. Miss Lind was so utterly averse to any thing like deception, that we never ventured to tell her the part which her bonnet and shawl had played in the absence of their owner.
Jenny was in the habit of attending church whenever she could do so without attracting notice. She always preserved her nationality, also, by inquiring out and attending Swedish churches wherever they could be found. She gave $1,000 to a Swedish church in Chicago.
While in Boston, a poor Swedish girl, a domestic in a family at Roxbury, called on Jenny. She detained her visitor several hours, talking about home, and other matters, and in the evening took her in her carriage to the concert, gave her a seat, and sent her back to Roxbury in a carriage, at the close of the performances. Ihave no doubt the poor girl carried with her substantial evidences of her countrywoman’s bounty.
My eldest daughter, Caroline, and her friend, Mrs. Lyman, of Bridgeport, accompanied me on the tour from New York to Havana, and thence home,viaNew Orleans and the Mississippi.
We were at Baltimore on the Sabbath, and my daughter, accompanying a friend, who resided in the city, to church, took a seat with her in the choir, and joined in the singing. A number of the congregation, who had seen Caroline with me the day previous, and supposed her to be Jenny Lind, were yet laboring under the same mistake, and it was soon whispered through the church that Jenny Lind was in the choir! The excitement was worked to its highest pitch when my daughter rose as one of the musical group. Every ear was on the alert to catch the first notes of her voice, and when she sang, glances of satisfaction passed through the assembly. Caroline, quite unconscious of the attention she attracted, continued to sing to the end of the hymn. Not a note was lost upon the ears of the attentive congregation. “What an exquisite singer!” “Heavenly sounds!” “I never heard the like!” and similar expressions were whispered through the church.
At the conclusion of the services, my daughter and her friend found the passage way to their carriage blocked by a crowd who were anxious to obtain a nearer view of the “Swedish Nightingale,” and many persons that afternoon boasted, in good faith, that they had listened to the extraordinary singing of the great songstress. The pith of the joke is that we have never discovered that my daughter has any extraordinary claims as a vocalist.
Our orchestra in New York consisted of sixty. When we started on our southern tour, we took with us permanently as the orchestra, twelve of the best musicians we could select, and in New Orleans augmented the force to sixteen. We increased the number to thirty-five, forty or fifty, as the case might be, by choice of musicians residing where the concerts were given. On our return to New York from Havana, we enlarged the orchestra to one hundred performers.
The morning after our arrival in Washington, President Fillmore called, and left his card, Jenny being out. When she returned and found the token of his attention, she was in something of a flurry. “Come,” said she, “we must call on the President immediately.”
“Why so?” I inquired.
“Because he has called on me, and of course that is equivalent to a command for me to go to his house.”
I assured her that she might make her mind at ease, for whatever might be the custom with crowned heads, our Presidents were not wont to “command” the movements of strangers, and that she would be quite in time if she returned his call the next day. She did so, and was charmed with the unaffected bearing of the President, and the warm kindnesses expressed by his amiable wife and daughter, and consented to spend the evening with them in conformity with their request. She was accompanied to the “White House” by Messrs Benedict, Belletti and myself, and several happy hours were spent in the private circle of the President’s family.
Mr. Benedict, who engaged in a long quiet conversation with Mr. Fillmore, was highly pleased with the interview. A foreigner, accustomed to court etiquette, is generally surprised at the simplicity which characterizesthe Chief Magistrate of this Union. In 1852 I called on the President with my friend the late Mr. Brettell, of London, who resided in St. James Palace, and was quite a worshipper of the Queen, and an ardent admirer of all the dignities and ceremonies of royalty. He expected something of the kind in visiting the President of the United States, and was highly pleased with his disappointment.
Both concerts in Washington were attended by the President and his family, and every member of the Cabinet. I noticed, also, among the audience, Henry Clay, Benton, Foote, Cass and General Scott, and nearly every member of Congress. On the following morning, Miss Lind was called upon by Mr. Webster, Mr. Clay, General Cass, and Colonel Benton, and all parties were evidently gratified. I had introduced Mr. Webster to her in Boston. Upon hearing one of her wild mountain songs in New York, and also in Washington, Mr. Webster signified his approval by rising, drawing himself up to his full height, and making a profound bow. Jenny was delighted by this expression of praise from the great statesman. When I first introduced Miss Lind to Mr. Webster, at the Revere House, in Boston, she was greatly impressed with his manners and conversation, and after his departure, walked up and down the room in great excitement, exclaiming: “Ah! Mr. Barnum, that is a man; I have never before seen such a man!”
We visited the Capitol while both Houses were in session. Miss Lind took the arm of Hon. C. F. Cleveland, representative from Connecticut, and was by him escorted into various parts of the Capitol and the grounds, with all of which she was much pleased.
While I was in Washington an odd reminiscence of my old show-days in the South came back to me in a curious way. Some years before, in 1836, my travelling show company had stopped at a hotel in Jackson, Mississippi, and, as the house was crowded, soon after I went to bed five or six men came into the room with cards and a candle and asked permission, as there was no other place, to sit down and play a quiet game of “brag.” I consented on condition that I might get up and participate, which was permitted and in a very little while, as I knew nothing whatever of the game, I lost fifty dollars. Good “hands” and good fortune soon enabled me to win back my money, at which point one of the players who had been introduced to me as “Lawyer Foote” said:
“Now the best thing you can do is to go back to bed; you don’t know anything about the game, and these fellows do, and they’ll skin you.”
I acted upon his advice. And now, years afterwards, when Senator Foote called upon Miss Lind the story came back to me, and while I was talking with him I remarked:
“Fifteen years ago, when I was in the South, I became acquainted with a lawyer named Foote, at Jackson, Mississippi.”
“It must have been me,” said the Senator, “I am the only ‘lawyer Foote, of Jackson, Mississippi.’ ”
“Oh! no, it could not have been you,” and I told him the story.
“It was me,” he whispered in my ear, and added, “I used to gamble like h—l in those days.”
During the week I was invited with Miss Lind and her immediate friends, to visit Mount Vernon, with ColonelWashington, the then proprietor, and Mr. Seaton, ex-Mayor of Washington, and Editor of theIntelligencer. Colonel Washington chartered a steamboat for the purpose. We were landed a short distance from the tomb, which we first visited. Proceeding to the house, we were introduced to Mrs. Washington, and several other ladies. Much interest was manifested by Miss Lind in examining the mementoes of the great man whose home it had been. A beautiful collation was spread out and arranged in fine taste. Before leaving, Mrs. Washington presented Jenny with a book from the library, with the name of Washington written by his own hand. She was much overcome at receiving this present, called me aside, and expressed her desire to give something in return. “I have nothing with me,” she said, “excepting this watch and chain, and I will give that if you think it will be acceptable.” I knew the watch was very valuable, and told her that so costly a present would not be expected, nor would it be proper. “The expense is nothing, compared to the value of that book,” she replied, with deep emotion; “but as the watch was a present from a dear friend, perhaps I should not give it away.” Jenny Lind, I am sure, never forgot the pleasurable emotions of that day.
At Richmond, half an hour previous to her departure, hundreds of young ladies and gentlemen had crowded into the halls of the house to secure a glimpse of her at parting. I informed her that she would find difficulty in passing out. “How long is it before we must start?” she asked. “Half an hour,” I replied. “Oh, I will clear the passages before that time,” said she, with a smile; whereupon she went into the upper hall, and informed the people that she wished to take the handsof every one of them, upon one condition, viz: they should pass by her in rotation, and as fast as they had shaken hands, proceed down stairs, and not block up the passages. They joyfully consented to the arrangement, and in fifteen minutes the course was clear. Poor Jenny had shaken hands with every person in the crowd, and I presume she had a feeling remembrance of the incident for an hour or two at least. She was waited on by many members of the Legislature while in Richmond, that body being in session while we were there.
The voyage from Wilmington to Charleston was an exceedingly rough and perilous one. We were about thirty-six hours in making the passage, the usual time being seventeen. There was really great danger of our steamer being swamped, and we were all apprehensive that we should never reach the Port of Charleston alive. Some of the passengers were in great terror. Jenny Lind exhibited more calmness upon this occasion than any other person, the crew excepted. We arrived safely at last, and I was grieved to learn that for twelve hours the loss of the steamer had been considered certain, and had even been announced by telegraph in the Northern cities.
We remained at Charleston about ten days, to take the steamer “Isabella” on her regular trip to Havana. Jenny had been through so much excitement at the North, that she determined to have quiet here, and therefore declined receiving any calls. This disappointed many ladies and gentlemen. One young lady, the daughter of a wealthy planter near Augusta, was so determined upon seeing her in private, that she paid one of the servants to allow her to put on a cap and white apron, and carry in the tray for Jenny’s tea. Iafterwards told Miss Lind of the joke, and suggested that after such an evidence of admiration, she should receive a call from the young lady.
“It is not admiration—it is only curiosity,” replied Jenny, “and I will not encourage such folly.”
Christmas was at hand, and Jenny Lind determined to honor it in the way she had often done in Sweden. She had a beautiful Christmas tree privately prepared, and from its boughs depended a variety of presents for members of the company. These gifts were encased in paper, with the names of the recipients written on each.
After spending a pleasant evening in her drawing-room, she invited us into the parlor, where the “surprise” awaited us. Each person commenced opening the packages bearing his or her address, and although every individual had one or more pretty presents, she had prepared a joke for each. Mr. Benedict, for instance, took off wrapper after wrapper from one of his packages, which at first was as large as his head, but after having removed some forty coverings of paper, it was reduced to a size smaller than his hand, and the removal of the last envelope exposed to view a piece of cavendish tobacco. One of my presents, choicely wrapped in a dozen coverings, was a jolly young Bacchus in Parian marble, intended as a pleasant hit at my temperance principles!
The night before New Year’s day was spent in her apartment with great hilarity. Enlivened by music, singing, dancing and story-telling, the hours glided swiftly away. Miss Lind asked me if I would dance with her. I told her my education had been neglected in that line, and that I had never danced in my life, “That is all the better,” said she; “now dance withme in a cotillion. I am sure you can do it.” She was a beautiful dancer, and I never saw her laugh more heartily than she did at my awkwardness. She said she would give me the credit of being the poorest dancer she ever saw!
About a quarter before twelve, Jenny suddenly checked Mr. Burke,—formerly celebrated as the musical prodigy, “Master Burke,”—who was playing on the piano, by saying, “Pray let us have quiet; do you see, in fifteen minutes more, this year will be gone forever!”
She immediately took a seat, and rested her head upon her hand in silence. We all sat down, and for a quarter of an hour the most profound quiet reigned in the apartment. The remainder of the scene I transcribe from a description written the next day by Mrs. Lyman, who was present on the occasion:
“The clock of a neighboring church struck the knell of the dying year. All were silent—each heart was left to its own communings, and the bowed head and tearful eye told that memory was busy with the Past. It was a brief moment, but thoughts and feelings were crowded into it, which render it one never to be forgotten. A moment more—the last stroke of the clock had fallen upon the ear—the last faint vibration ceased; another period of time had passed forever away—a new one had dawned, in which each felt that they were to live and act. This thought recalled them to a full consciousness of the present, and all arose and quietly, but cordially, presented to each other the kind wishes of the season. As the lovely hostess pressed the hands of her guests, it was evident that she, too, had wept,—she, the gifted, the admired, the almost idolized one.Had she, too, cause for tears? Whence were they?—from the overflowings of a grateful heart, from tender associations, or from sad remembrances? None knew, none could ask, though they awakened deep and peculiar sympathy. And from one heart, at least, arose the prayer, that when the dial of time should mark the last hour of her earthly existence, she should greet its approach with joy and not with grief—that to her soul spirit-voices might whisper, ‘Come, sweet sister! come to the realms of unfading light and love—come, join your seraphic tones with ours, in singing the praises of Him who loved us, and gave himself for us’—while she, with meekly-folded hands and faith-uplifted eye, should answer, ‘Yes, gladly and without fear I come, for I know that my Redeemer liveth.’ ”
I had arranged with a man in New York to transport furniture to Havana, provide a house, and board Jenny Lind and our immediate party during our stay. When we arrived, we found the building converted into a semi-hotel, and the apartments were any thing but comfortable. Jenny was vexed. Soon after dinner, she took a volante and an interpreter, and drove into the suburbs. She was absent four hours. Whither or why she had gone, none of us knew. At length she returned and informed us that she had hired a commodious furnished house in a delightful location outside the walls of the city, and invited us all to go and live with her during our stay in Havana, and we accepted the invitation. She was now freed from all annoyances; her time was her own, she received no calls, went and came when she pleased, had no meddlesome advisers about her, legal or otherwise, and was as merry as a cricket. We had a large court-yard in the rear of the house, and here shewould come and romp and run, sing and laugh, like a young school-girl. “Now, Mr. Barnum, for another game of ball,” she would say half a dozen times a day; whereupon, she would take an india-rubber ball, (of which she had two or three,) and commence a game of throwing and catching, which would be kept up until, being completely tired out, I would say, “I give it up.” Then her rich, musical laugh would be heard ringing through the house, as she exclaimed, “Oh, Mr. Barnum, you are too fat and too lazy; you cannot stand it to play ball with me!”
Her celebrated countrywoman, Miss Frederika Bremer, spent a few days with us very pleasantly, and it is difficult to conceive of a more delightful month than was passed by the entire party at Jenny Lind’s house in the outskirts of Havana.