THIS WORLD, AND THE NEXT
I
After he had sensationally married his dwarfs, to the immense credit of
the American Museum, Barnum had time in his fifty-fifth year for rest,
reading and recreation, but he did not take it. He wrote a book, he
became a state legislator, he developed East Bridgeport real estate, he
lectured on Success and on Temperance, and he projected forerunners of
what was to be his admission card to immortality: The Circus.
The book was _The Humbugs of the World_, the most revealing book Barnum
wrote, although it is written in general terms for the information
and guidance of his contemporaries rather than for the instruction or
benefit of mankind. _The Humbugs of the World_ tells most about Barnum
because it is abstract and subjective, and in it he gives us a better
impression of his own character than in all the anecdotes of all his
autobiographies.
_The Humbugs of the World_ begins with a definition of the scope of
humbug by the man who styled himself “Prince of Humbugs”: “A little
reflection will show that humbug is an astonishingly widespread
phenomenon--in fact, almost universal.... I apprehend that there is
no sort of object which men seek to attain, whether secular, moral or
religious, in which humbug is not very often an instrumentality.” We
all use humbug in our business, said Barnum, and religious humbugs in
his opinion were a large division of the subject. In his discussion of
humbug in commercial life, Barnum seems most accurate:
“Business,” he wrote, “is the ordinary means of living for nearly
all of us. And in what business is there not humbug? ‘There’s
cheating in all trades but ours,’ is the prompt reply from the
boot-maker with his brown paper soles, the grocer with his floury
sugar and chicoried coffee, the butcher with his mysterious
sausages and queer veal, the dry-goods man with his ‘damaged goods
wet at the great fire,’ and his ‘selling at a ruinous loss,’
the stock-broker with his brazen assurance that your company is
bankrupt and your stock not worth a cent (if he wants to buy it),
the horse jockey with his black arts and spavined brutes, the
milk man with his tin aquaria, the land-agent with his nice new
maps and beautiful descriptions of distant scenery, the newspaper
man with his ‘immense circulation,’ the publisher with his ‘Great
American Novel,’ the city auctioneer with his ‘Pictures by the Old
Masters,’--all and every one protest each his own innocence, and
warn you against the deceits of the rest. My inexperienced friend,
take it for granted that they all tell the truth--about each other!
and then transact your business to the best of your ability on your
own judgment. Never fear but that you will get experience enough,
and that you will pay well for it too; and towards the time when
you shall no longer need earthly goods, you will begin to know how
to buy.”
But in Barnum’s opinion there was one more thorough humbug than all
the others: “The greatest humbug of all is the man who believes--or
pretends to believe--that everything and everybody are humbugs.” Then
follows this detailed definition of the chronic cynic:
“We sometimes meet a person who professes that there is no virtue;
that every man has his price, and every woman hers; that any
statement from anybody is just as likely to be false as true, and
that the only way to decide which, is to consider whether the truth
or a lie was likely to have paid best in that particular case.
Religion he thinks one of the smartest business dodges extant,
a first-rate investment, and by all odds the most respectable
disguise that a lying or a swindling business man can wear.
Honor he thinks is a sham. Honesty he considers a plausible word
to flourish in the eyes of the greener portion of our race, as
you would hold out a cabbage-leaf to coax a donkey. What people
want, he thinks, or says he thinks, is something good to eat,
something good to drink, fine clothes, luxury, laziness, wealth.
If you can imagine a hog’s mind in a man’s body--sensual, greedy,
selfish, cruel, cunning, sly, coarse, yet stupid, short-sighted,
unreasoning, unable to comprehend anything except what concerns
the flesh, you have your man. He thinks himself philosophic and
practical, a man of the world; he thinks to show knowledge and
wisdom, penetration, deep acquaintance with men and things. Poor
fellow! he has exposed his own nakedness. Instead of showing that
others are rotten inside, he has proved that he is. He claims
that it is not safe to believe others--it is perfectly safe to
disbelieve him. He claims that every man will get the better of you
if possible--let him alone! Selfishness, he says, is the universal
rule--leave nothing to depend on his generosity or honor; trust him
just as far as you can sling an elephant by the tail. A bad world,
he sneers, full of deceit and nastiness--it is his own foul breath
that he smells; only a thoroughly corrupt heart could suggest such
vile thoughts. He sees only what suits him, as a turkey-buzzard
spies only carrion, though amid the loveliest landscape. I
pronounce him who thus virtually slanders his father and dishonors
his mother, and defiles the sanctities of home, and the glory of
patriotism, and the merchant’s honor, and the martyr’s grave and
the saint’s crown--who does not even know that every sham shows
that there is a reality, and that hypocrisy is the homage that
vice pays to virtue--I pronounce him--no, I do not pronounce him a
humbug, the word does not apply to him. He is a fool.”
In this virulent exposé of the cynic, Barnum was right from his point
of view to call that type of mind a fool’s, for that type of mind is so
seldom successful. Barnum, as he indicates clearly in _The Humbugs of
the World_, was constantly on the look-out for deception of different
species, but his attitude was never that of the chronic cynic. His
profound belief in Christianity--particularly in Universalism--and the
ultimate perfectibility of man, whether in heaven or on earth, made it
possible for him to denounce sincerely those who doubted man and God,
and at the same time to use energetically the opportunities offered by
the present imperfect state of society. He was not his own last word
in degradation, the cynical humbug, because he had a sincere faith in
spiritual values. It is true that he capitalized man’s machinery of
Christianity for the purposes of the show business, but he himself
believed piously and with sincerity in the immediate and ultimate
efficacy of that machinery. Barnum felt enough to be no worse than
his contemporaries, and he knew enough to be no better. He had so much
sincere belief in the popular Christian ideals, and so much ability in
the practice of his profession, that he was accepted by mankind as an
honest as well as a successful man.
To be a humbug, by Barnum’s sanitary definition, was not to be
dishonest. His humbug was not a cheat, nor an impostor, and he excluded
counterfeiters, forgers, confidence men and pickpockets from his select
company of happy deceivers. However, even Barnum’s distinction between
humbug and dishonesty is vague, and one that allows latitude for
personal opinion in specific instances. Almost every one would disagree
with a few of Barnum’s examples of humbug, preferring to characterize
them as pieces of thievery, and there are those who would accept some
of his stories of imposture as merely innocent deceptions. No subject,
based as it is on varying standards of honesty, could offer more room
for difference of opinion, which is why Barnum’s consideration of it is
such an excellent index of his own moral character. The true humbug,
said Barnum, is the man who advertises his wares in an _outré_ manner,
but who gives his customers their money’s worth after he has attracted
their patronage. He wrote in _The Humbugs of the World_: “And whenever
the time shall come when men are kind and just and honest; when they
only want what is fair and right, judge only on real and true evidence,
and take nothing for granted, then there will be no place left for any
humbugs, either harmless or hurtful.” Meanwhile, he felt it was his
legitimate privilege to supply the demand.
After making it clear that the difference between a thief and a Barnum
is a great one, the author exposed various humbugs in detail. Barnum’s
book contains chapters on the spiritualists of his day, adulterations
of food and of drink, fraud in auctions, lottery deceptions, bogus
oil and coal stocks, the Dutch tulip speculations, the South Sea
Bubble, patent medicines, the Moon Hoax, ghosts and haunted houses,
witchcraft, magic, adventurers, vampires, religious impostures and
heathen humbugs. Many of these subjects, and others in the book which
are too detailed to mention, do not fall within the scope of Barnum’s
definition of a humbug; most of them are treated entertainingly, even
if they were perpetrated by swindlers and impostors, with whom Barnum
usually had no patience, and of whom he had no understanding. His sense
of honesty and propriety as expressed in this book is great enough to
lead the reader to believe that he was guilty of his own accusation
in that he condoned deception only in the show business, and believed
firmly that cheating in other trades was indefensible.
And even in his own trade practices which were distasteful to him,
but no worse than some of his own acts, come in for rigorous moral
condemnation. In discussing advertising he is very hard on the man who
dares to deface landscape with billboards: “Any man with a beautiful
wife or daughter would probably feel disagreeably, if he should find
branded indelibly across her smooth white forehead, or on her snowy
shoulder in blue and red letters, such a phrase as this: ‘Try the
Jigamaree Bitters!’... A lovely nook of forest scenery or a grand rock,
like a beautiful woman, depends for much of its attractiveness upon the
attendant sense of freedom from whatever is low; upon a sense of purity
and of romance. And it is about as nauseous to find ‘Bitters’ or ‘Worm
Syrup’ daubed upon the landscape, as it would be upon the lady’s brow.”
Barnum’s favorite example of the harmless humbug type, who retained
his integrity along with his notoriety, was Monsieur Mangin, the
French pencil maker, to whom a chapter of _The Humbugs of the World_
is devoted. Mangin used to drive through the Champs Elysées, the Place
Vendôme, the Place de la Bastille, or the Place de la Madeleine, in a
large, ornamented carriage drawn by two bay horses. When he stopped
his horses in one of the populous Parisian streets, his servant would
hand him several large portraits of himself, which he would hang on
the sides of the coach. Then gradually Monsieur Mangin would change his
clothes, substituting for his hat a burnished helmet, a velvet and gold
tunic for his modest business coat, steel gauntlets for his gloves. A
shining brass cuirass covered his breast. The servant would also change
into a medieval costume and then would play the organ which occupied
part of the carriage. A large crowd collected rapidly. Mangin would
rise, and in a calm, dignified, and solemn manner address his audience:
“Gentlemen, you look astonished! What is the name and purpose
of this curious knight-errant? Gentlemen, I will condescend to
answer your queries. I am Monsieur Mangin, the great charlatan of
France! Yes, gentlemen, I am a charlatan--a mountebank; it is my
profession, not from choice, but from necessity. You, gentlemen,
created that necessity! You would not patronize true, unpretending,
honest merit, but you are attracted by my glittering casque, my
sweeping crest, my waving plumes. You are captivated by din and
glitter, and therein lies my strength. Years ago I hired a modest
shop in the Rue Rivoli, but I could not sell pencils enough to pay
my rent, whereas, by assuming this disguise--it is nothing else--I
have succeeded in attracting general attention, and in selling
literally millions of my pencils; and I assure you there is at this
moment scarcely an artist in France or in Great Britain who doesn’t
know that I manufacture by far the best black-lead pencils ever
seen. When I was modestly dressed, like any of my hearers, I was
half starved. Punch and his bells would attract crowds, but my good
pencils attracted nobody. I imitated Punch and his bells, and now I
have two hundred depôts in Paris. I dine at the best cafés, drink
the best wine, live on the best of everything, while my defamers
get poor and lank, as they deserve to be. Who are my defamers?
Envious swindlers! Men who try to ape me, but are too stupid and
too dishonest to succeed. They endeavor to attract notice as
mountebanks, and then foist upon the public worthless trash, and
hope thus to succeed.”
In Paris Barnum met Mangin at a café and was introduced. Mangin
had read the French edition of the autobiography, and he had been
much impressed with Barnum’s methods and their success. Barnum had
seen Mangin in his working clothes and he was delighted. Mangin
outlined his policy, which coincided perfectly with Barnum’s lifelong
practice: “First, attract the public by din and tinsel, by brilliant
sky-rockets and Bengola lights, then give them as much as possible for
their money.” After congratulating each other for an hour on their
respective successes with the public, they parted, and as he got ready
to leave Mangin told Barnum that he had a humbug in his head that would
double the sale of his pencils. “Don’t ask me what it is,” he said,
“but within one year you shall see it for yourself, and you shall
acknowledge Monsieur Mangin knows something of human nature.” Barnum
was curious; but soon afterwards he read in the newspapers that Mangin
had died, leaving 200,000 francs to charity. His praises were sung
in all the newspapers of France and Great Britain. After six months
Mangin appeared again in Paris in the same cuirass and helmet, with
the same chariot and bays, and the same servant in robes of velvet
and gold. Barnum met him again, and he said that his sudden death had
quadrupled the sale of his pencils and had given him a six months’ rest
in the country. “You Yankees are clever,” he said, “but none of you has
discovered that you should live all the better if you would die for
six months.” Mangin died a few years later and left his heirs half a
million francs.
Although Barnum disliked the conceited manner in which Mangin clapped
him familiarly upon the back and assured him that Monsieur Mangin
was equal to the Yankee humbugs, he recognized in the Frenchman a
true humbug of the ideal type, whom Barnum would have been proud to
recognize as one of his disciples. Notoriety at any cost to dignity,
even if it had to be sought in the grave, was legitimate, if the
pencils were good; whatever the deception he admitted, Barnum pointed
with pride to the fact that after all the Museum show was always worth
more than twenty-five cents. In _The Humbugs of the World_ Barnum did
recognize that dignity was advisable for some professions. He regarded
advertising as a necessity for every individual who had goods or
services to sell, but he did not advise the banker or insurance broker,
who aim to be the custodians of the people’s money, to adopt his
methods of hyperbole. Clergymen, lawyers, and physicians, he admitted,
needed different tactics, and he often changed his own methods to meet
the particular demands of an occasion. His own methods were successful
because his taste was varied as well as crude; he never repeated
himself. Tom Thumb was followed by Jenny Lind, whose successor was
the white whale, for Barnum realized early in his career what many
panderers to public taste who merely copied him, failed to realize:
that a baby does not play with a rattle for twenty-one years.
II
A large, and by far the most interesting, section of _The Humbugs of
the World_ is devoted to religious humbugs: “The domain of humbug
reaches back to the Garden of Eden, where the father of lies practised
it upon our poor innocent first grandmother, Eve.” This, said Barnum,
was the first and worst humbug on the human race, and next after that
in scope and damage were the heathen humbugs. In his opinion all
heathen religions--and by a heathen religion he meant any religion
besides Christianity and Judaism, whose Bible is used in Christian
churches--“always were, and are still, audacious, colossal, yet shallow
and foolish humbugs. It is a curious fact that the heathen humbugs
were all solemn. This was because they were intended to maintain the
existing religions, which, like all false religions, could not endure
ridicule.”
Throughout this section of his book of revelations, Barnum was treading
dangerous ground too recklessly for the good of his own faith. The
glorious truths which some millions believed were revealed in other
religions besides Christianity were to Barnum humbugs similar in
nature to the great heathen god on whom some travelers had held a
_post-mortem_ examination. As Barnum told the story in his book
these Christians stole into the innermost sacred rooms of the heathen
temple, where the awful god of a savage tribe reposed. They found the
god wrapped in numerous cloths, and sacrilegiously they unwound the
coverings until they had removed more than an hundred cloths. The
god grew smaller and smaller, until at last, after all the coverings
were removed, the fierce, great heathen god proved to be nothing
but a cracked soda-water bottle. Barnum would be shocked at the
investigations that, in the manner of the inquiring travelers, some
liberal thinkers have made into the miracle of the Resurrection, but it
would have been well for him, before denouncing an onion because it was
nothing but peels, to be certain that potatoes grew in his own garden.
Barnum was sincerely pious and devoutly religious, and it is
significant of the narrow scope of his mind that he could stop
completely and bow faithfully before his own brand of worship, while he
was virulent in his attacks on any forms of religious devotion whose
adherents were not patrons of the American Museum in large numbers. He
even went further than this personally in his dogmatism: he narrowed
the truth down to Universalism, which he accepted as his own faith
early in life, and which many equally devout Christians thought one
of the most flagrant forms of Christian humbug. He did not attack in
_The Humbugs of the World_ other Christian sects or Judaism, for that
would have been too dangerous for the welfare of the Museum; he took
out his contempt upon the so-called heathen religions, with their
oracles, sibyls and auguries. But even in these he saw some comfort,
for they were a sign to him “how universally and naturally, and humbly
and helplessly too, poor human nature longs to see into the future, and
longs for help and guidance from some power higher than itself.” “Thus
considered,” Barnum believed, “these shallow humbugs teach a useful
lesson, for they constitute a strong proof of man’s inborn natural
recognition of some God, of some obligation to a higher power, of some
disembodied existence; and so they show a natural human want of exactly
what the Christian revelation supplies and constitute a powerful
evidence for Christianity.”
The history of religious controversy would be much simpler if all
adopted Barnum’s view, but his assumptions are rather large, and his
proofs are childishly vague. If he had anything but an _a priori_
faith, there was ample opportunity within the scope of his book to
announce it, and by neglecting to particularize some of the evidences
of Christian preëminence, he leaves his own dear faith wide open to
attack with his own thunder. The religious section of _The Humbugs of
the World_ suggests the conclusion that Barnum’s theological philosophy
was comparable to the conviction of the soldier who believed that every
one was out of step except himself.
The nearest Barnum allowed himself to approach criticism of his own
gods was a paragraph of condemnation of the long and “windy prayers” of
young, inexperienced clergymen, which he likened in mild and forgiving
terms to the prayer-mills of the heathens. There is no recognition,
however, of a possibility that Mohammedans, Buddhists, and followers
of Confucius may have real faiths as well as the humbugs incidental
to those faiths. Christianity’s humbugs he ignored altogether, except
in the matter of ordeals practised in faraway medieval days, and he
pointed out their absurdities only to prove “how much more preferable
is our American principle of separation in all matters of State and
Church.” Even this criticism was omitted in the English edition of
_The Humbugs of the World_. Barnum’s whole nationalist theology and
Christian philosophy can be narrowed down to a simple assertion, to the
effect that we, the Americans, are the greatest members of a Christian
world. He never said this in so many words, for he had too many friends
in England and France, but there was no necessity for regarding the
feelings of Mohammedans or Chinese, for after all were not these
peoples merely subjects for exhibition to a curious Christian world?
Personally, Barnum’s religion was an acute form of Universalism. He
wrote a pamphlet which was published by the Universalist Church called
“Why I am a Universalist,” in which he revealed his whole religious
philosophy and much of his character. In this pamphlet, which was
written one year before Barnum’s death, but which is discussed here
because it is appropriate, he showed clearly that it was impossible
for him to conceive that every one will not eventually seek and find
salvation. He said that he could not believe that in order to complete
their paradise the angels need a sight of the evil ones roasting in
hell. He craved a salvation where The Woolly Horse, The Fejee Mermaid,
and Joice Heth would not be thrown up to him as the sins of his days
upon earth. In “Why I am a Universalist” Barnum wrote; “All Christians
pray for the salvation of sinners, and yet profess to believe it will
never be. The first essential of prayer is that it be in faith. The
Universalist Church is the only one that believes in success.” And it
must have been unbearable to the pious and practical mind of Barnum
even to entertain the idea of eternal failure in the matter of the
end of all. Such a faith in the “ultimate holiness and happiness of
all mankind” was natural, almost inevitable, to Barnum’s character.
Success on earth depended for him upon natural resource of ambition and
energy, a dash of luck, stirred up in a whirlpool of notoriety. But
it all depended upon ourselves. In eternity the rules were different.
There was an absolute monarch, and the only comfort to a man who,
like Barnum, was used to a thorough dependence upon his own head and
hands, was the faith that this Great Dictator was a benevolent despot,
and that paradise was a museum, in which all the varieties of human
curiosities lived in harmony with no embarrassing attempt to delineate
good from bad, and in which there was no wilful segregation of types on
the part of the Creator, who in His everlasting mercy made them all in
His own image.
Against all the texts which urged repentance before it was too late,
Barnum placed the one psalm which twenty-six times declares, “His mercy
endureth for ever.” His Universalism allowed wide latitude for work on
earth, coupled with faith hereafter, and set no specific time limit, as
Barnum expressed it, for repentance. There was no promised punishment
for a Universalist who neglected the forms of repentance before his day
of death. It was the only possible religion for a Barnum, and he was
so grateful for its existence that besides remembering the church in
his will and endowing a natural history museum at Tufts College, the
Universalist college, he often argued strenuously and picturesquely
in the effort to aid the dissemination of its doctrines. When he was
seventy-three years old, he told a reporter for the _New York Sun_:
“I believe in the ultimate holiness and happiness of all mankind. The
idea of a sufficiency of repentance is revolting to common sense.
Suppose a case: A pirate, who has killed in cold blood a hundred men,
is caught, repents on the gallows, and says, ‘I am sorry for what I
have done, and am going to Jesus.’ A certain proportion of those he has
killed, say fifty per cent., having been cut off in their sins, without
time for repentance, are supposed to be damned. Is it conceivable, as
consistent with the justice of God, that the repentant pirate shall
look over the battlements of heaven down upon those fifty whom he sent
to hell, and complacently congratulate his redeemed soul upon his luck
in having had time to repent before he was hanged? No: I can’t believe
in that.... Now I don’t think that fear is the proper thing to incite
people to do good. Putting punishment away off in a dim and indefinite
future is not making much of a present influence. It reminds me of a
chap who was caught by a deacon in the act of stealing a piece of silk.
‘Don’t you know that you will have to pay for that silk at the day of
judgment?’ said the deacon. ‘I’d no idea you gave such a long credit,
or I’d have taken two pieces,’ replied the thief. All sects do good in
their way, but I prefer to have my children believe as I do--not as I
was taught in my youth, however--in a God of love, instead of cruelty
or vindictiveness, and that His chastisements are only parental and
disciplinary.”
Barnum often tried to convert those of other beliefs, and especially
clergymen, which would seem to indicate that the anxiety which his mind
suffered at the thought that he might not be saved was greater than he
would have cared to admit. He met on the street his old friend, the
Rev. C. A. Stoddard, editor of _The New York Observer_, a religious
publication. “Is it possible,” Barnum asked, “that the _Observer_ still
sticks to the old doctrine of endless suffering?” “The _Observer_
doesn’t budge an inch from its lifelong creed and doctrines,” answered
the Rev. Mr. Stoddard proudly. “Surely you must lose numerous
subscribers who at this day of the ‘new orthodoxy’ cannot believe that
there are childless mothers in the Paradise of God?” said Barnum. “The
places of such subscribers,” the clergyman replied, “are readily filled
by those, who, like myself, loath the thought of spending an eternity
in the company of Judas.” “But cannot Infinite Power, Wisdom, and
Goodness conquer, purify, and win even the betrayer of our Saviour,
who on the cross prayed for the forgiveness of his murderers?” asked
Barnum. The religious editor replied, with a good-natured, patronizing
smile, “Judas would require considerable fixing up before he would
be fit to come in close contact with the holy angels and saints in
heaven.” “True,” said Barnum, “but will not you and I need some ‘fixing
up’ for that state of perfect holiness without which no man can see
God?” The Rev. Mr. Stoddard admitted that both of them would need such
fixing up, “but evidently,” Barnum reflected sadly, “he cannot as yet
see a chance for Judas.” Judas worried Barnum: it may be that deep in
his consciousness, so deep that he himself felt its distressing murmurs
but vaguely, he realized that the temptation of thirty pieces of silver
would have been difficult for a practical American man of business
to resist. Many of the _Observer’s_ subscribers probably thought it
natural that Barnum should take such an interest in Judas, but many
more forgave him because his profits were considerably greater than
thirty pieces of silver, and in justice to him it must be admitted that
his crimes were not of a tremendously serious nature.
But there were days of depression and remorse, when Barnum, goaded
by his sincere piety, feared that he would roast in hell for the
Buffalo Hunt, General Tom Thumb’s age, the model of Niagara Falls,
The Fejee Mermaid, and The Woolly Horse, and maybe for sins which he
kept carefully to himself, and then he could clutch at the comfort of
Universalism, which offered him the hope of condonation for mankind,
and the assurance that he could share in the general pardon.
III
But such doubts of his future and anxiety for his past could only
occupy minutes in the busy days of such an active mind as Barnum’s
always was. The smooth operation of the Museum allowed him time
for other activities and gave him money to devote to them. His
preoccupation with the autobiography and his interest in humbugs could
not occupy all that time and required no money. East Bridgeport real
estate filled in the gap. His bankruptcy had not discouraged him from
business activity, and he was still infatuated with the development of
his ideas for a model suburb.
After the destruction of “Iranistan” by fire, Barnum built
“Lindencroft,” a modest house, as impressive as its neighbors, but
not extraordinary in its architecture. During the period of Barnum’s
recuperation from bankruptcy East Bridgeport had grown into the
consummation of his hopes. Other large factories had followed the
Wheeler & Wilson sewing machine buildings, and there were now many
neat houses for mechanics and laborers where six years before there
was nothing but farm land. It was one of Barnum’s greatest pleasures
until the end of his life, he tells us, to drive through “those busy
streets, admiring the beautiful houses and substantial factories, with
their thousands of prosperous workmen, and reflecting that I had, in so
great a measure, been the means of adding all this life, bustle, and
wealth to the City of Bridgeport.”
As soon as he had repurchased some of his former holdings in his pet
suburb, Barnum renewed his activities as a real estate operator with
a philanthropic turn of mind. He began a campaign for the sale of
houses and put notices in the Bridgeport newspapers urging “Every Man
to Own the House He Lives In.” He offered to lend money at six per
cent. to any number, not exceeding fifty “industrious, temperate, and
respectable individuals who desire to build their own houses.” The
houses were to be paid for in small weekly, monthly, or quarterly
instalments, in amounts of not less than three per cent. per quarter.
The owners could engage their own builders and build according to any
reasonable plan, subject always to Barnum’s approval, but he himself
bought materials in bulk, and he offered to build “nice dwellings,
painted and furnished with green blinds,” for $1,500 each.
Many took advantage of either of these two offers, but many more held
back. There was one slight difficulty. Mr. Barnum’s contracts of sale
included a temperance pledge and a clause promising the renunciation
of the use of tobacco. It puzzled Barnum and worried him that many men
really preferred to pay rent month after month in dirty tenements,
where they could drink, smoke, and beat their wives in freedom, to the
opportunity which he offered them of living under his management in
“nice dwellings, painted and furnished with green blinds.” Moralizing
on the subject in his autobiography, he wrote in his bewilderment:
“The money they have since expended for whisky and tobacco would have
given them a house of their own, if the money had been devoted to that
object, and their positions, socially and morally, would have been
better than they are to-day. How many infatuated men there are in all
parts of the country who could now be independent and even owners of
their own carriages but for their slavery to these miserable habits!”
There was even a clause in the contracts of sale providing that if the
door yards of the model cottages were not kept clean P. T. Barnum had
the right to arrange for their cleaning at the expense of the owners
of the houses. If these conditions were accepted, Barnum sometimes
advanced as much as seven-eighths of the purchase money, and accepted
in payment instalments as low as ten dollars. But the nice dwellings
were the pride of his heart, and it concerned him even more than the
profits of his enterprise that no tobacco juice should stain those
pretty green blinds, and that the happy, smiling New England mechanics
should not give off fumes of whisky as they came to pay him their rents.
There were enough sober, thoughtful, economical laborers to take
advantage of Barnum’s offers, and the new suburb prospered rapidly.
A horse car line, in which Barnum owned ten per cent. of the stock,
was soon in operation. The toll bridges operated by Barnum and Noble
were bought by the City of Bridgeport and opened to the public free
of charge. East Bridgeport became a recognized part of the City of
Bridgeport, and streets were named for Barnum and his daughters,
Caroline, Helen, and Pauline; but none was called Charity, in the
proper fear, no doubt, that no one would live in it.
IV
It was inevitable that before the end of his career Barnum should go
into politics. He had always been a pseudo-public character, whose
immense notoriety was a political asset, and several times he had been
asked to run for office. In the early days of his youthful editorial
career, when he was the _Herald of Freedom_, Barnum was a strict
Jacksonian Democrat. In 1852, after Jenny Lind’s tour had raised his
esteem and increased his fortune, Connecticut Democrats offered him
the nomination as governor of that state, but, though the party
was in power, and election would not therefore have been difficult,
he declined the honor. In spite of his decision, several votes were
cast for him in the state convention. Barnum continued to be a loyal
Democrat for many years, declaring upon one occasion that if he thought
there was a drop of blood in his veins that was not democratic he would
let it out if he had to cut the jugular vein, for he seemed to be under
the impression that democratic and Democratic meant the same things.
When the Democratic Party advocated secession, Barnum disagreed with
his party and became a Republican and a strong supporter of President
Lincoln. During the close and exciting presidential campaign of
Lincoln just before the Civil War, he aided the “Wide-Awake” clubs in
Bridgeport, and when the war broke out in 1861, Barnum, who was in his
fifty-first year, sent four substitutes to the front and contributed
money to the Union cause. He also aided in disturbing a Bridgeport
pacifist meeting, where he was hoisted on the shoulders of some
soldiers, and from that vantage point he made a speech which was said
to be “full of patriotism” and “spiced with humor.” He was so active as
a member of the Bridgeport Prudential Committee during the draft riots
that he was threatened with violence to himself and the destruction
of his home by fire. Sky rockets were always kept in the cellar at
“Lindencroft,” in case Barnum should need aid from the arsenal or
friends in other parts of the city.
In 1865 Barnum accepted the nomination of the Republican Party for a
seat in the Connecticut legislature. He did this, he tells us, so that
he might enjoy the privilege of voting for the Fourteenth Amendment
to the Constitution, by which slavery was to be abolished forever. It
is difficult to understand Barnum’s reluctance to enter politics: he
loved to make speeches, he was a “good mixer,” and he had a profound
interest in improving his fellow citizens by forcing his own standards
upon them. It may be that he felt that he could use his time to better
financial advantage as a private citizen, and it may be that he shrank
from the necessity for answering criticism of his character, which
would have caused him embarrassment had he accepted the nomination for
governor.
Barnum was elected to the Connecticut legislature. During his term of
office he fought the railroads in their efforts to raise commutation
rates, and in this fight he defeated the New Haven Railroad lobby. It
was while he was speaking on this railroad bill in the legislature at
Hartford on July 13, 1865, that Barnum received a telegram from his
son-in-law, S. H. Hurd, informing him that the American Museum was in
flames. Barnum makes much of the fact in his autobiography that he laid
the telegram upon his desk and continued his successful speech against
the railroads.
The fire in the Museum had started in the engine room, where a small
engine pumped sea water for the aquaria. Smoke soon rose into the
upper floors and filled the galleries of curiosities and animals.
Monkeys jabbered, cats miaoued, dogs barked, parrots screeched, bears
growled, a kangaroo made his own familiar cry of distress, and the
birds fluttered wildly against their cages. Before long 40,000 people
had been attracted by the noises and the flames. Efforts were made
to rescue some of the animals, but few of them were saved, the only
survivors of the fire being one bear, the educated seal, some birds,
and a couple of monkeys. The crowd was delighted with the opportunity
to see the curiosities free of charge, and the giantess, the fat lady,
the Albino girl, and some of the ladies of the _corps de ballet_,
who had lost all of their wardrobe except their ballet skirts, were
followed down Fulton Street by a large and enthusiastic audience. Two
white whales, who had arrived one week before the fire, were burned
to death and steaming when Barnum saw them afterwards. The newspapers
of the following day published long descriptions of the fire and
editorials on the subject; practically the entire front page of the
_Herald_ was devoted to it. Most of the newspapers attempted peculiar
humor on the subject of the burned animals.
Barnum’s insurance was worth only $40,000, and he estimated the value
of the lost Museum collection at $400,000. This disastrous fire tempted
Barnum to retire. He considered devoting the rest of his years to
East Bridgeport, possibly with the autobiography as recreation, and
when he asked his friend Horace Greeley for advice, Greeley said,
“Accept this fire as a notice to quit, and go a-fishing.” But fishing
requires solitude and quiet, repose and a fatalistic satisfaction with
whatever chance throws in the way. Fish are not caught by publicity,
and that was the only bait Barnum had ever previously used. He wrote
in his autobiography that his temptation to retire was offset by two
worthy considerations. More than one hundred and fifty men were thrown
ruthlessly out of employment by the fire, and would be kept out of
employment, he thought, if he were to retire; also, he was long since
convinced that his Museum was an institution, and that New York needed
such an one as he had provided for more than twenty years. It may also
have occurred to him, although he does not say so, that a museum was a
profitable investment for capital.
Barnum’s insurance was not his only asset after the fire. His wife
still owned the lease to the Museum property, which had increased
tremendously in value since he had renewed it fifteen years before. A
real estate agent offered the lease for sale at $225,000, and James
Gordon Bennett bought it for $200,000 with the intention of building
a new home for the _New York Herald_. Bennett also purchased the land
on which the Museum stood and the building for $500,000, and soon
afterwards he read in other newspapers that he had paid the largest
sum for a piece of property of its size that had ever been paid for
any property in any city in the world. He was more frightened than
flattered by this statement, and he arbitrarily canceled the purchase.
Then he attempted to get his $200,000 back from Barnum, but Barnum had
already invested the money in bonds, and he refused to take back the
lease.
The following day the _New York Herald_ refused the advertisement
of the Winter Garden, where Barnum was managing a temporary museum
until the Chinese Museum rooms at Broadway and Prince Street could
be remodeled. Barnum was a member of the Producing Managers’
Association, which included in its number Lester Wallack, Wheatley,
Stuart, and the other theatrical leaders of the period. A committee
of the Association visited Bennett to protest against the exclusion
of Barnum’s advertisement, but Bennett insisted that he would not
publish Barnum’s advertisements, and that he had the right to run his
business in his own way. The managers did not dispute this point, but
they claimed the same privilege, and the next day every theatrical
advertisement was withdrawn from the _Herald_. The _Herald_ had also
been employed as the job printer for most of the New York theaters,
and this business was taken elsewhere. Bennett continued to print some
of the withdrawn advertisements, hoping to bring back the managers
to his newspaper, but then the producers printed in other newspapers
above their advertisements, “This Establishment does not advertise in
the _New York Herald_.” The _Herald_ retaliated by printing editorials
almost every day for several months on the corrupt and inartistic state
of theatrical representation in New York, and Bennett praised Tony
Pastor’s Bowery show as the kind of entertainment New York needed,
for Pastor was not one of the protesting managers. Bennett’s virulent
publicity caused the managers to prosper, and it was estimated that the
_Herald_ lost $75,000 each year in advertising and printing contracts.
Finally the owner of Barnum’s Museum property sued Bennett, and he was
compelled to take over the property at the original price. The managers
continued their boycott of the _Herald_ for two years.
During one of the meetings of the Producing Managers’ Association
Barnum was urged by Lester Wallack to take a drink during the recess
provided by tradition for that purpose. “Excuse me, Mr. Wallack,”
said Barnum, “you know my record, and I am sure you will respect my
intention of keeping it up. It has been the boast of my life that no
man has ever seen a drop of anything stronger than water pass my lips
for many years. Be kind enough to turn your backs!” The managers turned
their backs, and when they turned again Barnum’s glass was empty, but
whether he had filled it was never determined; all were too considerate
to ask.
After James Gordon Bennett’s death, Barnum again advertised in the
_Herald_. James Gordon Bennett, the younger, recalling his father’s
animosity against Barnum, tried to renew the feud in the pages of
the _Herald_. Barnum was in London at the time, and he wrote the new
editor: “Young man, I knew you when you rode the hobby-horse which I
bought for Tom Thumb, and which your father and mother brought you to
see, and I have a right to give you some advice.” What that advice was
Barnum never said, but the _Herald_ soon forgot its feud and praised
the circus as much as its contemporaries.
Four months after the Museum fire Barnum reopened his Museum in a
granite building at Broadway and Prince Street, with new curiosities
gathered from all over the country.
After one term in the Connecticut legislature, Barnum intended to
return to private life, but one of the directors of the New York and
New Haven Railroad remarked that if he could help it, Barnum would not
be in the next legislature. Barnum accepted the challenge, and he was
reëlected in 1866.
He was nominated for Congress by the Republicans in 1867. His
Democratic opponent was William H. Barnum, not a relative, who was
the political boss of Fairfield County, the district for which they
were nominated. During the summer of 1867 Barnum entertained many
political guests at his Bridgeport home, among whom were the Speaker
of the House of Representatives and several United States senators.
It is likely that he foresaw for himself a career of usefulness and
notoriety as a federal law-maker and national entertainer. The campaign
was highly competitive, for both Barnums had advantages which appealed
to large numbers of their constituents. P. T. Barnum sent his opponent
a challenge to debate the issues of the day on one evening each week
until election, in order that the people might be enabled to vote
understandingly. He promised in his letter to conduct his part of
the debate with fairness, consideration, and proper respect for his
adversary. But W. H. Barnum was one of the most astute politicians in
the state of Connecticut, and he apparently realized that to appear
on the same platform with P. T. Barnum, the famous lecturer and
entertainer, would be to practise bad psychology, for he declined the
kind offer. It was rumored that votes were being bought at wholesale
by the Democratic Barnum, and a loyal Republican wrote P. T. Barnum,
asking if he did not intend “to fight fire with fire.” Barnum grasped
the opportunity of publishing the request and his reply in the
_Bridgeport Standard_ and the _New York Tribune_, two newspapers which
always remained friendly to his interests and his activities. His reply
is characteristic because of its sonority and righteous invective:
“Your kind letter of the 20th inst. has caused me painful emotions.
I now wish to say, once for all, that under no conceivable
circumstances will I permit a dollar of mine to be used to
purchase a vote or to induce a voter to act contrary to his honest
convictions.
“The idea that the intelligent reading men of New England can be
bought like sheep in the shambles, and that the sacred principles
which have so far guided them in the terrible struggle between
liberty and slavery can now, in this eventful hour of national
existence, be set up at auction and knocked down to the highest
bidder, seems to me as preposterous as it is shameful and
humiliating. But if it is possible that occasionally a degraded
voter can thus be induced to ‘sell his birthright for a mess of
pottage,’ God grant that I may be a thousand times defeated sooner
than permit one grain of gold to be accursed by using it so basely!
“I will not believe that American citizens can lend themselves to
the contemptible meanness of sapping the very life-blood of our
noble institutions by encouraging a fatal precedent, which ignores
all principle and would soon prevent any honest man, however
distinguished for his intelligence and loyalty, from representing
his district in our national councils. None could then succeed
except unprincipled vagabonds, who, by the lavish expenditure of
money, would debauch and degrade the freemen whose votes they
coveted.
“No, sir! Grateful as I am for the distinguished honor of receiving
a unanimous nomination for Congress from the loyal Union party in
my district, I have no aspiration for that high position if it is
only to be attained by bringing into disgrace the noble privilege
of the _free elective franchise_. Think for a moment what a deadly
weapon is being placed in the hands of tyrants throughout the
civilized world, with which to destroy such apostles of liberty
as John Bright and Garibaldi, if it can be said with truth that
American citizens have become so corrupt and degraded, so lost to a
just estimate of the value and true nobility of the ballot, that it
is bought and sold for money.
“My dear sir, any party that can gain a temporary ascendancy by
such atrocious means, not only poisons the body politic of a
free and impartial government, but is also sure to bring swift
destruction upon itself. And so it should be.
“I am unaccustomed to political life, and know but little of the
manner of conducting a campaign like the present. I believe,
however, it is customary for the State Central Committee to assess
candidates, in order that they shall defray a proper portion of
the expenses incurred for speakers and documents to _enlighten_
the voters upon the political issues of the day. To that extent I
am willing and anxious to be taxed; for ‘light and knowledge’ are
always desired by the friends of human rights and of public order.
“But I trust that all money used for any other purpose in the
pending election will come from the pockets of those who now (as
during the rebellion) are doing their utmost to aid traitors, and
who, still unrepenting, are vindictively striving to secure at
the ballot-box what their Southern allies failed to accomplish on
the field of battle. If any of our friends misapprehend my true
sentiments upon the subject of bribery, corruption, and fraud, I
hope you will read them this letter.
“Truly yours,
“P. T. BARNUM.”
And in a postscript he appended a copy of the Connecticut law of
bribery in elections.
But “the intelligent reading men of New England” apparently could
be bought “like sheep in the shambles,” and they poisoned “the body
politic of a free and impartial government” by electing W. H. Barnum
instead of P. T. Barnum. The forces of corruption, fraud, bribery, and
rebellion gained a victory, possibly temporary, but still a victory.
After the election some voters in Bridgeport contested the election
of William H. Barnum, charging that it had been procured by bribery,
the importation of voters from other states, and by the use of forged
naturalization papers for foreigners. But they were not successful, and
“the noble privilege of the free elective franchise” was brought into
disgrace by the presence in the national councils of the Democratic
candidate for more than eight years thereafter.
Possibly P. T. Barnum’s defeat was not due altogether to fraud, if any
fraud was practised. There was much honest opposition to the presence
of P. T. Barnum, of the American Museum, in Congress. The opposition
was national as well as local. The _New York Nation_, uninspired by
the heat of Connecticut factions, felt that Barnum’s place was in a
museum, and some Republicans in Connecticut felt that Congress was not
a museum. “A circular in opposition to the nomination of P. T. Barnum”
was distributed to Connecticut voters; it was made up of excerpts from
newspapers throughout the state, and these papers not only opposed
showmanship in Congress, but also discussed Barnum’s moral character.
The _Hartford Press_ wrote:
“The Republicans of the Fourth District have, in the nomination
of Mr. P. T. Barnum for Congress, selected a man of world-wide
reputation. Unfortunately his widest reputation _is not his best_.
Mr. Barnum is called a ‘humbug,’ and he accepts the title, under
his own definition of the term. He believes in carrying on the
‘show business’ in the humbug manner, and frankly avows his course
and justifies it. _We_ cannot regard it _as he does_. We cannot
agree that it is right to _paint a common dove_ and then exhibit it
as a _rare and singular variety of that bird_.”
The tenor of the other comments in the circular was the same.
Barnum was denounced as a candidate for Congress because he was the
self-confessed Prince of Humbugs, and no other congressman had ever
before admitted the charge.
It is unfortunate for the story of his life that Barnum was never
admitted to Congress. His speeches, which in his own small district
of Connecticut were “full of patriotism” and “spiced with humor,”
would have been uncontrolled in the national assembly. In introducing
General Oglesby, Governor of Illinois, at a political meeting in
Bridgeport a few years after his defeat for Congress, Barnum referred
to the distinguished guest as “a veritable Sucker,” an allusion to the
popular nickname for early Illinois settlers, who drew their drinking
water through long reeds to purify it. “This Sucker,” said Barnum, the
political chairman, “of fifty-five has lately gone and married a young
wife. I cannot blame him for that; if he can afford such a luxury, it
is nobody’s business.”[18]
Though he would not have added dignity to the House of Representatives,
Barnum’s speeches could not have been anything but distinctive, if it
is permissible to judge from the few political orations he delivered
during his short political career. His speeches in Congress would
have amused the nation, if they did not contribute to its political
philosophy, and on the strength of his originality and notoriety he
might have become a senator and a candidate for President of the United
States, but the sudden check to his political activities forced him to
confine his talents for oratory to the show business. He was urged at
one time to be the candidate for President of the United States on the
Prohibition ticket, but he refused that honorary position.
Barnum asserted several times in his autobiography his reluctance to
enter public life: “As I have already remarked, politics were always
distasteful to me. I possess naturally too much independence of mind,
and too strong a determination to do what I believe to be right,
regardless of party expediency, to make a lithe and oily politician.
To be called on to favor applications from office-seekers, without
regard to their merits, and to do the dirty work too often demanded
by political parties; to be ‘all things to all men,’ though not in
the apostolic sense; to shake hands with those whom I despised, and
to kiss the dirty babies of those whose votes were courted, were
political requirements which I felt I could never acceptably fulfil.”
But Barnum’s vanity and the feeling that he was deserving made it
impossible for him to resist any distinction which was offered to him.
Besides, he now had plenty of leisure which needed occupation.
During this period of his career Barnum often lectured throughout the
country. In 1866 he lectured on “Success in Life” under the auspices of
the Associated Western Literary Societies, touring Ohio, Pennsylvania,
Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, Missouri and Iowa. For this work he
received one hundred dollars and his expenses for each lecture. He
delivered five lectures each week at these terms from the summer of
1866 until New Year’s Day, 1867. Before this tour he had lectured in
Virginia, Ohio, Kentucky, and Illinois for other organizations, and as
soon as he finished the second tour he took up the work of campaigning
for Congress, so that his vocal powers must have been inexhaustible.
He apparently took great interest in the advance publicity of his
lectures, and there is a letter from him to an agent on this subject:
“DEAR SIR,
“Yours of yesterday is recd. I am glad you are advertising so
thoroughly. Much depends upon that. You will be so good as to send
the notices to the Mayor and to Mr. Ainsworth. It would be very
well to say in the advertisements that I have taken legal steps to
prevent the publication of the Lecture.
“I think I had better leave here at 3.30 and arrive at 5.10 on
Wednesday unless you think that would be too late. I shall require
a table or desk about 4 feet high and a _good light_, although I
shall have much to say without notes. But notes are necessary for
the _statistics_.
“I enclose you the General’s autograph. There should be a one sheet
bill posted early Wednesday morning--reading
GO AND HEAR
BARNUM
His Amusing and Instructive Experiences in the
‘Art of Money-Getting.’ TO-NIGHT
“I propose to have one or two thousand such bills printed in 2
colors so that they will be good for any place where I am to speak.
I will send you say 100 of these bills on Tuesday and will write
you what they cost, and you can use them or any portion of them or
not as you please. They will doubtless be cheaper & more effective
than you could get a single hundred for.
“Truly yours,
“P. T. BARNUM.
“P. S. The _Manchester Weekly Advertiser_ says: ‘The audience
_thoroughly enjoyed_ the lecture _from the beginning to the end_,
and our opinion is that it was _decidedly clever_, and just what we
should expect from Mr. Barnum.’
“You can do as you think proper about inserting the above in
Wednesday’s advertisement--or the small bills. B.”[19]
Barnum devoted to charity the proceeds of his lectures, except
those delivered on “The Art of Money-Getting” immediately after his
bankruptcy. Barnum’s lectures do not read well. They were filled with
homely sentiments, platitudes, and the jokes he had used so often
before. Although he exhibited flashes of wit, he was not a great
humorist. He would have done well to consider Josh Billings’s “Hints to
Comik Lekturers”:
“No man kan be a helthy phool unless he was nussed at the brest of
wisdom.
“Those who fail in the comik bizzness are them who hav bin put out
to nuss, or bin fetched up on a bottle.
“If a man iz a genuine humorist he iz superior tew the bulk ov hiz
aujience, and will oftentimes hav tew take hiz pay for hiz services
in thinking so.”
V
The New Museum on Broadway was not so successful as the old, and Barnum
joined with Van Amburgh, of Van Amburgh’s Menagerie, in an effort to
form a large traveling show, consisting of Barnum’s curiosities and Van
Amburgh’s animals, which would tour the country in summer and exhibit
at the Museum in winter. Van Amburgh was the most popular lion tamer in
the show business, and he was also a good showman: he literally made a
lion lie down with a lamb in one of his cages, and he also introduced a
little child to lead them.
Barnum owned forty per cent. of the stock of the new enterprise, and he
lent it his valuable name as general manager, but he did not take an
active part in its management. The new combined museum and menagerie
was more popular than any other place of amusement in New York, and
Barnum made many efforts to add to its collections. John Greenwood,
formerly manager of Barnum’s American Museum, was sent abroad in the
_Quaker City_, on the same voyage of the ship in which Mark Twain
traveled with the Innocents Abroad, and this trip resulted in many new
curiosities from the Holy Land. The following letter to a friend in
London, written about the time of the partnership with Van Amburgh,
will illustrate one of Barnum’s methods of collecting material:
“MUSEUM, NEW YORK, Dec. 20, ’67.
“MY DEAR LINDSAY--OR LINDLEY:
“It is so long since we have met, or communicated, I have forgotten
how to _spell_ your _name_!
“I had hoped to have seen you last summer on my way to the Great
Exposition, but the continued illness of my wife prevented me from
going over _at all_. I am glad, however, to hear a good account
from you by the Tom Thumb party--Kellogg Wells &c.
“I have a singular sort of commission for you to execute for me.
It is to look at some wild animals for me to add to my Zoölogical
Collection. Ordinarily I send such things to my friend Fillingham,
but lately I think a circus & menagerie Co. here have enlisted him
in their service, hence I wish you to make the inquiries for me
_without communicating_ the same to _Fillingham_ or _anybody else_.
“I want to purchase any of the following animals at a reasonable
price--Zebras, Gnu or horned horse--a small Rhinoceros--Giraffe,
Hippopotamus--Polar Bear--African Wart Hogs, Lamas--Striped &
spotted Hyenas, double humped Camels--Kangaroos & almost any other
animals not natives of this country. I have written the Secry
of the Zoölogical Gardens, Regents Park, so it is not necessary
to apply there, but I want you to apply in person or by note to
_Jamrack_ the great animals man in London, also to any other
persons in London who trade in living Wild Animals--and also write
to such parties in Liverpool or any other part of Great Britain
as keep wild animals on exhibition or for sale. ☞ Don’t let them
know or suspect _who_ you apply for. Let them think it is for some
traveling concern in Great Britain or France, & especially don’t
let _Jamrack_ suspect America, for he has an agent here and as
soon as you can get lists of animals & prices please write them
to me. Possibly it might pay to put an advertisement in the _Era_
for me once saying the advertiser wishes to buy the wild animals
of a Zoölogical Garden or Collection, or will buy at reasonable
prices wild animals of almost any description, and especially
Zebra, Gnu or horned horse (here go on & name the others which I
have mentioned). If you think it would also be advisable to put it
once in the _Times_ or _Telegraph_ you can do so, although I don’t
want to expend money on uncertainties & can hardly think it will
help much to advertise, except perhaps once in _Era_--but of that I
leave you to judge, only don’t do _more_ than one insertion in one
or all of the papers named above. Hoping to hear from you soon &
not wishing you to take steps which will incur much expense I am
“Your old friend,
“P. T. BARNUM.”
Barnum planned to form the nucleus for a public zoölogical garden in
New York from his menagerie, and he also planned to make his Museum
collection a public institution, which would eventually be taken over
by the government and opened to the public free of charge. For this
purpose he persuaded President Andrew Johnson to give him a letter of
instruction to consuls abroad to collect as much material as possible
for Barnum’s Museum. Barnum’s scheme was indorsed by leading citizens
and editors, including Horace Greeley, William Cullen Bryant, Henry
Ward Beecher and Simeon Draper. General Grant donated the hat he had
worn during his Civil War campaigns to Barnum’s Museum. But on March 3,
1868, the new Museum was burned to the ground.
[Illustration: BARNUM, THE VETERAN SHOWMAN
A caricature by Spy drawn from life in 1889 for “Vanity Fair,” London.
_Houdini Collection_]
[Illustration: BARNUM’S BRIDGEPORT HOME
“IRANISTAN--AN ORIENTAL VILLA”]
It was one of the coldest days of that year, and the elements combined
to advertise Barnum, for the streams of water that were played upon the
blazing building froze into sparkling coverings of ice, and the next
morning a gorgeous spectacle was presented free of charge to thousands
of New Yorkers, who stood in the cold all day to watch the lights and
shades the sun made on the ice-covered ruins. The sight is noted in the
annals of the time as a picture no artist could have painted.
Barnum lost much money in the fire, and Van Amburgh’s collection of
lions and tigers died painfully. This time Barnum determined he would
retire and devote himself entirely “to serious reflections on the
ends and aims of human existence,” social pleasures, and intellectual
pursuits. George Wood, proprietor of Wood’s Museum, Barnum’s most
important rival, offered him three per cent. of his receipts for the
right to say that Wood’s Museum was the successor to Barnum’s Museum.
He thus capitalized his valuable name, and he was firmly convinced that
now his public life was ended. The organization which was to make his
name most famous, the circus, was not even present in the recesses of
his mind.
He bought more Bridgeport real estate, planted trees, laid out streets,
and continued his endeavors to improve the City of Bridgeport in spite
of the strenuous opposition of those whom he characterized as “old
fogies.” He himself was sixty years old at the time. “Conservatism,”
Barnum said in this connection, “may be a good thing in the state,
or in the church, but it is fatal to the growth of cities.” In spite
of the conservatives, however, he was able to consummate his plans
for Seaside Park, a lovely tract of municipal land off Long Island
Sound, and to-day a bronze statue of P. T. Barnum, cast when he was an
aged man, looks tranquilly with sad eyes across the wide stretch of
Long Island Sound, as if he were searching tirelessly, but somewhat
wearied, for new curiosities in the distance.
The health of Mrs. Barnum had been delicate for many years, and she no
longer felt fit to manage “Lindencroft.” Barnum sold the house, and
soon afterwards he purchased land near his beloved Seaside Park. Here
he built a house, which was described by a friend and admirer as “a
pleasant mélange of Gothic, Italian, and French architecture.” The new
home was christened “Waldemere,” an Americanization of _Waldammeer_,
“Woods-by-the-Sea.”[20] Whenever the master of the house was at home, a
white silk flag with the initials “P. T. B.” in blue was hoisted on the
“Waldemere” flagpole for the information of his friends and visiting
admirers. Barnum also purchased for $80,000 a New York City mansion on
Fifth Avenue at Thirty-ninth Street.
Thus having made elaborate provision for the comfort of his leisure,
Barnum sat down to enjoy it, and soon afterwards he discovered that
he had nothing to do that was enjoyable. Reading was only a pastime,
writing without a special purpose tiresome, and friends were always
occupied with their own business. He took up lecturing again, but
he could not find in it a constant occupation. The arrival of an
English friend, John Fish, who had based his success in his Manchester
cotton mill on Barnum’s principles of success as laid down in the
autobiography, suggested travel. Barnum showed John Fish and his
young daughter, Nancy, the United States. They visited Niagara Falls,
Washington, Cuba, and New Orleans, and then went to California. On
this trip Barnum stopped off at Salt Lake City, where he lectured to
a select audience of Mormons, including many of the wives of Brigham
Young. By invitation he visited Brigham Young at the presidential
mansion, known as the Bee-Hive, and he was received cordially.
“Barnum,” said Brigham Young, “what will you give me to exhibit me
in New York and the eastern cities?” “Well, Mr. President,” said
Barnum earnestly, “I’ll give you half the receipts, which I will
guarantee shall be $200,000 per year, for I consider you the best show
in America.” “Why didn’t you secure me years ago when I was of no
consequence?” asked Brigham Young. “Because you would not have ‘drawn’
at that time,” was Barnum’s reply.
In San Francisco Barnum discovered another valuable dwarf. He was
smaller than General Tom Thumb, and handsome; his father, Gabriel Kahn,
a German, asked Barnum to exhibit his son, and Barnum could not resist
the temptation. He hesitated, for he had determined to retire, but the
dwarf was pert in both German and English, and Barnum finally engaged
him for a long term of years, christening him immediately “Admiral
Dot, the Eldorado Elf.” Admiral Dot was exhibited in San Francisco for
three weeks under Barnum’s management, and his levees were crowded.
Then the party returned to New York. Admiral Dot was joined later by a
nephew, known as Major Atom. Barnum was also financially interested in
the world tour of General Tom Thumb, Mrs. Tom Thumb, Minnie Warren, and
Commodore Nutt and his brother, Rodnia Nutt. He also arranged a tour
for The Siamese Twins in Great Britain. Interest was aroused in this
enterprise by the previous announcement that they were visiting Great
Britain to consult eminent surgeons with a view to their separation.
Of course, they had no intention of becoming by a stroke of the knife
merely two Siamese, instead of The Siamese Twins, but the publicity was
effective.
All these enterprises, however, were only silent partnerships, and
Barnum was not satisfied with such comparative inactivity. His
energies, unassuaged by travel and entertainment, insisted upon a wider
outlet, and in 1870, when he was sixty years old, he organized the
first forerunner of what was later to become the famous Barnum & Bailey
circus.