IN FRANCE.
GOING OVER TO ARRANGE PRELIMINARIES--PREVIOUS VISIT TO
PARIS--ROBERT HOUDIN--WONDERFUL MECHANICAL TOYS--THE AUTOMATON
LETTER-WRITER--DION BOUCICAULT--TALK ON NATURAL CURIOSITIES--HOW I
COMPROMISED--THE GENERAL AND PARTY IN PARIS--FIRST VISIT TO KING
LOUIS PHILIPPE--A SPLENDID PRESENT--DIPLOMACY--I ASK A FAVOR AND
GET IT--LONG CHAMPS--THE GENERAL’S EQUIPAGE--THE FINEST
ADVERTISEMENT EVER KNOWN--ALL PARIS IN A FUROR--OPENING OF THE
LEVEES--“TOM POUCE” EVERYWHERE--THE GENERAL AS AN ACTOR--“PETIT
POUCET”--SECOND AND THIRD VISITS AT THE TUILERIES--INVITATION TO
ST. CLOUD--THE GENERAL PERSONATING NAPOLEON BONAPARTE--ST.
DENIS--THE INVALIDES--REGNIER--ANECDOTE OF FRANKLIN--LEAVING
PARIS--TOUR THROUGH FRANCE--DEPARTURE FOR BRUSSELS.
Before taking the little General and party to Paris, I went over alone
to arrange the preliminaries for our campaign in that city. Paris was
not altogether a strange place to me. Months before, when I had
successfully established my exhibition in London, I ran over to Paris to
see what I could pick up in the way of curiosities for my Museum in New
York, for during my whole sojourn abroad, and amid all the excitements
of my new career, I never forgot the interests of my many and generous
patrons at home. The occasion which first called me to France was the
“quinquennial exposition” in Paris. At that time, there was an
assemblage, every five years, of inventors and manufacturers who
exhibited specimens of their skill, especially in articles of curious
and ingenious mechanism, and I went from London mainly to attend this
exposition.
There I met and became well acquainted with Robert Houdin, the
celebrated conjurer. He was a watchmaker by trade, but very soon
displayed a wonderful ability and ingenuity which he devoted with so
much assiduity to the construction of a complicated machine, that he
lost all mental power for a considerable period. When he recovered, he
employed himself with great success in the manufacture of mechanical
toys and automata which attracted much attention, and afterwards he
visited Great Britain and other countries, giving a series of juggling
exhibitions which were famous throughout Europe.
At this quinquennial exposition which I attended, he received a gold
medal for his automata, and the best figure which he had on exhibition I
purchased at a good round price. It was an automaton writer and artist,
a most ingenious little figure, which sat at a table, and readily
answered with the pencil certain questions. For instance: if asked for
an emblem of fidelity, the figure instantly drew a correct picture of a
handsome dog; the emblem of love was shown in an exquisite drawing of a
little Cupid; the automaton would also answer many questions in writing.
I carried this curious figure to London and exhibited it for some time
in the Royal Adelaide Gallery, and then sent it across the Atlantic to
the American Museum.
During my very brief visit to Paris, Houdin was giving evening
performances in the Palais Royale, in legerdemain, and I was frequently
present by invitation. Houdin also took pains to introduce me to other
inventors of moving figures which I purchased freely, and made a
prominent feature in my Museum attractions. I managed, too, during my
short stay, to see something of the surface of the finest city in the
world.
And now, going to Paris the second time, I was very fortunate in making
the acquaintance of Mr. Dion Boucicault, who was then temporarily
sojourning in that city, and who at once kindly volunteered to advise
and assist me in regard to numerous matters of importance relating to
the approaching visit of the General. He spent a day with me in the
search for suitable accommodations for my company, and by giving me the
benefit of his experience, he saved me much trouble and expense. I have
never forgotten the courtesy extended to me by this gentleman.
I stopped at the Hotel Bedford, and securing an interpreter, began to
make my arrangements. The first difficulty in the way was the government
tax for exhibiting natural curiosities, which was no less than
one-fourth of the gross receipts, while theatres paid only eleven per
cent. This tax was appropriated to the benefit of the city hospitals.
Now, I knew from my experience in London, that my receipts would be so
large as to make twenty-five per cent of them a far more serious tax
than I thought I ought to pay to the French government, even for the
benefit of the admirable hospitals of Paris. Accordingly, I went to the
license bureau and had an interview with the chief. I told him I was
anxious to bring a “dwarf” to Paris, but that the percentage to be paid
for a license was so large as to deter me from bringing him; but letting
the usual rule go, what should I give him in advance for a two months’
license?
“My dear sir,” he answered, “you had better not come at all; these
things never draw, and you will do nothing, or so little that the
percentage need not trouble you.”
I expressed my willingness to try the experiment and offered one
thousand francs in advance for a license. The chief would not consent
and I then offered two thousand francs. This opened his eyes to a chance
for a speculation and he jumped at my offer; he would do it on his own
account, he said, and pay the amount of one-quarter of my receipts to
the hospitals; he was perfectly safe in making such a contract, he
thought, for he had 15,000 francs in bank.
But I declined to arrange this with him individually, so he called his
associates together and presented the matter in such a way that the
board took my offer on behalf of the government. I paid down the 2,000
francs and received a good, strong contract and license. The chief was
quite elated and handed me the license with the remark:
“Now we have made an agreement, and if you do not exhibit, or if your
dwarf dies during the two months you shall not get back your money.”
“All right,” thought I; “if you are satisfied I am sure I have every
reason to be so.” I then hired at a large rent, the Salle Musard, Rue
Vivienne, in a central and fashionable quarter close by the boulevards,
and engaged an interpreter, ticket-seller, and a small but excellent
orchestra. In fact, I made the most complete arrangements, even to
starting the preliminary paragraphs in the Paris papers; and after
calling on the Honorable William Rufus King, the United States Minister
at the Court of France--who assured me that after my success in London
there would be no difficulty whatever in my presentation to King Louis
Philippe and family--I returned to England.
I went back to Paris with General Tom Thumb and party some time before I
intended to begin my exhibitions, and on the very day after my arrival I
received a special command to appear at the Tuileries on the following
Sunday evening. It will be remembered that Louis Philippe’s daughter,
the wife of King Leopold, of Belgium, had seen the General at Buckingham
Palace--a fact that had been duly chronicled in the French as well as
English papers, and I have no doubt that she had privately expressed her
gratification at seeing him. With this advantage, and with the prestige
of our receptions by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, we went to the
Tuileries with full confidence that our visit and reception would be
entirely satisfactory.
At the appointed hour the General and I, arrayed in the conventional
court costume, were ushered into a grand saloon of the palace where we
were introduced to the King, the Queen, Princess Adelaide, the Duchess
d’Orleans and her son the Count de Paris, Prince de Joinville, Duke and
Duchess de Nemours, the Duchess d’Aumale, and a dozen or more
distinguished persons, among whom was the editor of the official
_Journal des Debats_. The court circle entered into conversation with us
without restraint, and were greatly delighted with the little General.
King Louis Philippe was minute in his inquiries about my country and
talked freely about his experiences when he wandered as an exile in
America. He playfully alluded to the time when he earned his living as a
tutor, and said he had roughed it generally and had even slept in Indian
wigwams. General Tom Thumb then went through with his various
performances to the manifest pleasure of all who were present, and at
the close the King presented to him a large emerald brooch set with
diamonds. The General expressed his gratitude, and the King, turning to
me, said: “you may put it on the General, if you please,” which I did,
to the evident gratification of the King as well as the General.
King Louis Philippe was so condescending and courteous that I felt quite
at home in the royal presence, and ventured upon a bit of diplomacy. The
Longchamps celebration was coming--a day once devoted to religious
ceremony, but now conspicuous for the display of court and fashionable
equipages in the Champs Élysées and the Bois de Boulogne, and as the
King was familiarly conversing with me, I ventured to say that I had
hurried over to Paris to take part in the Longchamps display and I asked
him if the General’s carriage could not be permitted to appear in the
avenue reserved for the court and the diplomatic corps, representing
that the General’s small but elegant establishment, with its ponies and
little coachman and footman, would be in danger of damage in the general
throng unless the special privilege I asked was accorded.
The King smilingly turned to one of the officers of his household and
after conversing with him for a few moments he said to me:
“Call on the Prefect of Police to-morrow afternoon and you will find a
permit ready for you.”
Our visit occupied two hours, and when we went away the General was
loaded with fine presents. The next morning all the newspapers noticed
the visit, and the _Journal des Debats_ gave a minute account of the
interview and of the General’s performances, taking occasion to say, in
speaking of the character parts, that “there was one costume which the
General wisely kept at the bottom of his box.” That costume,
however,--the uniform of Bonaparte--was once exhibited, by particular
request, as will be seen anon.
Longchamps day arrived, and among the many splendid equipages on the
grand avenue, none attracted more attention than the superb little
carriage with four ponies and liveried and powdered coachman and
footman, belonging to the General, and conspicuous in the line of
carriages containing the Ambassadors to the Court of France. Thousands
upon thousands rent the air with cheers for “General Tom Pouce.” There
never was such an advertisement; the journals next day made elaborate
notices of the “turnout,” and thereafter whenever the General’s carriage
appeared on the boulevards, as it did daily, the people flocked to the
doors of the cafés and shops to see it pass.
Thus, before I opened the exhibition all Paris knew that General Tom
Thumb was in the city. The French are exceedingly impressible; and what
in London is only excitement, in Paris becomes furor. Under this
pressure, with the prestige of my first visit to the Tuileries and the
numberless paragraphs in the papers, I opened my doors to an eager
throng. The élite of the city came to the exhibition; the first day’s
receipts were 5,500 francs, which would have been doubled if I could
have made room for more patrons. There were afternoon and evening
performances and from that day secured seats at an extra price were
engaged in advance for the entire two months. The season was more than a
success, it was a triumph.
It seemed, too, as if the whole city was advertising me. The papers were
profuse in their praises of the General and his performances. _Figaro_,
the _Punch_ of
[Illustration: _ROYAL HONORS TO THE GENERAL_.]
Paris, gave a picture of an immense mastiff running away with the
General’s carriage and horses in his mouth. Statuettes of “Tom Pouce”
appeared in all the windows, in plaster, Parian, sugar and chocolate;
songs were written about him and his lithograph was seen everywhere. A
fine café on one of the boulevards took the name of “Tom Pouce” and
displayed over the door a life-size statue of the General. In Paris, as
in London, several eminent painters expressed their desire to paint his
portrait, but the General’s engagements were so pressing that he found
little time to sit to artists. All the leading actors and actresses came
to the General’s levees and petted him and made him many presents.
Meanwhile, the daily receipts continued to swell, and I was compelled to
take a cab to carry my bag of silver home at night.
The official, who had compromised with me for a two months’ license at
2,000 francs, was amazed as well as annoyed at the success of my
“dwarf.” He came, or sent a man, to the levees to take account of the
receipts and every additional thousand francs gave him an additional
twinge. He seriously appealed to me to give him more money; but when I
reminded him of the excellent bargain he supposed he was making,
especially when he added the conditional clause that I should forfeit
the 2,000 francs if I did not exhibit or if the General died, he smiled
faintly and said something about a “Yankee trick.” I asked him if he
would renew our agreement for two months more on the same terms; and he
shrugged his shoulders and said:
“No, Monsieur Barnum; you will pay me twenty-five per cent of your
receipts when the two months of our contract expires.”
But I did not; for I appealed to the authorities, claiming that I should
pay only the ordinary theatrical tax, since the General’s exhibition
consisted chiefly of character imitations in various costumes, and he
was more attractive as an actor than as a natural curiosity. My view of
the case was decided to be correct, and thereafter, in Paris and
throughout France, with few exceptions, I paid only the eleven per cent
theatrical tax.
Indeed, in Paris, the General made a great hit as an actor and was
elected a member of the French Dramatic Society. Besides holding his
levees, he appeared every night at the Vaudeville Theatre in a French
play, entitled “Petit Poucet,” and written expressly for him, and he
afterwards repeated the part with great success in other cities. The
demands upon our time were incessant. We were invited everywhere to
dinners and entertainments, and as many of these were understood to be
private performances of the General, we were most liberally remunerated
therefor. M. Galignani invited us to a soiree and introduced us to some
of the most prominent personages, including artists, actors and editors,
in Paris. The General was frequently engaged at a large price to show
himself for a quarter of an hour at some fancy or charitable fair, and
much money was made in this way. On Sundays, he was employed at one or
another of the great gardens in the outskirts, and thus was seen by
thousands of working people who could not attend his levees. All classes
became acquainted with “Tom Pouce.”
We were commanded to appear twice more at the Tuileries, and we were
also invited to the palace on the King’s birthday to witness the display
of fireworks in honor of the anniversary. Our fourth and last visit to
the royal family was by special invitation at St. Cloud. On each
occasion we met nearly the same persons, but the visit to St. Cloud was
by far the most interesting of our interviews. On this one occasion, and
by the special request of the King, the General personated Napoleon
Bonaparte in full costume. Louis Philippe had heard of the General in
this character, and particularly desired to see him; but the affair was
quite “on the sly,” and no mention was made of it in the papers,
particularly in the _Journal des Debats_, which thought, no doubt, that
costume was still “at the bottom of the General’s box.” We remained an
hour, and at parting, each of the royal company gave the General a
splendid present, almost smothered him with kisses, wished him a safe
journey through France, and a long and happy life. After bidding them
adieu, we retired to another portion of the palace to make a change of
the General’s costume, and to partake of some refreshments which were
prepared for us. Half an hour afterwards, as we were about leaving the
palace, we went through a hall leading to the front door, and in doing
so passed the sitting-room in which the royal family were spending the
evening. The door was open, and some of them happening to espy the
General, called out for him to come in and shake hands with them once
more. We entered the apartment, and there found the ladies sitting
around a square table, each provided with two candles, and every one of
them, including the Queen, was engaged in working at embroidery, while a
young lady was reading aloud for their edification. I am sorry to say, I
believe this is a sight seldom seen in families of the aristocracy on
either side of the water. At the church fairs in Paris, I had frequently
seen pieces of embroidery for sale, which were labelled as having been
presented and worked by the Duchess d’Orleans, Princess Adelaide,
Duchess de Nemours, and other titled ladies.
We also visited, by invitation, the Napoleon School for young ladies,
established by the First Napoleon, at St. Denis, five miles north of
Paris, and the General greatly delighted the old pensioners at the
Invalides by calling upon them, and shaking many of them by the hand. If
the General could have been permitted to present to these survivors of
Waterloo his representation of their chief and Emperor, he would have
aroused their enthusiasm as well as admiration.
On the Fourth of July, 1844, I was in Grenelle, outside the barriers of
Paris, when I remembered that I had the address of Monsieur Regnier, an
eminent mechanician, who lived in the vicinity. Wishing to purchase a
variety of instruments such as he manufactured, I called at his
residence. He received me very politely, and I soon was deeply
interested in this intelligent and learned man. He was a member of many
scientific institutions, was “Chevalier of the Legion of Honor,” etc.
While he was busy in making out my bill, I was taking a cursory view of
the various plates, drawings, etc., which adorned his walls, when my
eyes fell on a portrait which was familiar to me. I was certain that I
could not be mistaken, and on approaching nearer it proved to be, as I
expected, the engraved portrait of Benjamin Franklin. It was placed in a
glazed frame, and on the outside of the glass were arranged thirteen
stars made of metal, forming a half circle round his head.
“Ah!” I exclaimed, “I see you have here a portrait of my
fellow-countryman, Dr. Franklin.”
“Yes,” replied M. Regnier, “and he was a great and an excellent man.
When he was in Paris in ’98, he was honored and respected by all who
knew him, and by none more so than by the scientific portion of the
community. At that time, Dr. Franklin was invited by the President of
the Society of Emulation to decide upon the merits of various works of
art submitted for inspection, and he awarded my father, for a
complicated lock, the prize of a gold medal.
“While my father was with him at his hotel, a young Quaker called upon
the Doctor. He was a total stranger to Franklin, but at once proceeded
to inform him that he had come to Paris on business, had unfortunately
lost all his money, and wished to borrow six hundred francs to enable
him to return to his family in Philadelphia. Franklin inquired his
family name, and upon hearing it immediately counted out the money, gave
the young stranger some excellent advice, and bade him adieu. My father
was struck by the generosity of Dr. Franklin, and as soon as the young
man had departed, he told the Doctor that he was astonished to see him
so free with his money to a stranger; that people did not do business in
that way in Paris; and what he considered very careless was, that
Franklin took no receipt, not even a scratch of a pen from the young
man. Franklin replied that he always felt a duty and pleasure in
relieving his fellow-men, and especially in this case, as he knew the
family; and they were honest and worthy persons. My father, himself a
generous man,” continued M. Regnier, “was affected nearly to tears, and
begged the Doctor to present him with his portrait. He did so, and this
is it. My father has been dead some years. He bequeathed the portrait
to me, and there is not money enough in Paris to buy it.”
I need not say that I was delighted with this recital. I remarked to M.
Regnier that he should double the number of stars, as we now (in 1844)
had twenty-six States instead of thirteen, the original number.
“I am aware of that,” he replied; “but I do not like to touch the work
which was left by my father. I hold it sacred; and,” added he, “I
suppose you are not aware of the uses we make of these stars?” Assuring
him in the negative--“Those stars,” said he, “are made of steel, and on
the night of every anniversary of American Independence (which is this
night), it was always the practice of my father, and will always be
mine, to collect our family and children together, darken the room, and
by means of electricity, these stars, which are connected, are lighted
up, and the portrait illuminated by electricity, Franklin’s favorite
science--thus forming a halo of glory about his head, and doing honor to
the name of a man whose fame should be perpetuated to eternity.”
In continuing the conversation, I found that this good old gentleman was
perfectly acquainted with the history of America, and he spoke feelingly
of what he believed to be the high and proud destiny of our republic. He
insisted on my remaining to supper, and witnessing his electrical
illumination. Need I say that I accepted the invitation? Could an
American refuse?
We partook of a substantial supper, upon which the good old gentleman
invoked the blessing of our Father in Heaven, and at the conclusion he
returned hearty thanks. At nine o’clock the children and family of M.
Regnier and his son-in-law were called in, the room was darkened, the
electrical battery was charged, and the wire touched to one of the outer
stars. The whole thirteen became instantly bright as fire, and a
beautiful effect was produced. What more simple and yet beautiful and
appropriate manner could be chosen to honor the memory of Franklin? And
what an extraordinary coincidence it was that I, a total stranger in
Paris, should meet such a singular man as M. Regnier at all, and more
especially on that day of days, the anniversary of our Independence! At
ten o’clock I took my leave of this worthy family, but not till we had
all joined in the following toast proposed by M. Regnier:
“Washington, Franklin, and Lafayette--heroes, philosophers, patriots,
and honest men: May their names stand brightest on the list of earthly
glory, when, in after ages, this whole world shall be one universal
republic, and every individual under Heaven shall acknowledge the truth
that man is capable of self-government.”
It will not be considered surprising that I should feel at home with
Monsieur Regnier. Both the day and the man conspired to excite and
gratify my patriotism; and the presence of Franklin, my love of my
native land.
During my stay in Paris, a Russian Prince, who had been living in great
splendor in that city, suddenly died, and his household and personal
effects were sold at auction. I attended the sale for several days in
succession, buying many articles of vertu, and, among others, a
magnificent gold tea-set, and a silver dining-service, and many rare
specimens of Sevres china. These articles bore the initials of the
family name of the Prince, and his own, “P. T.,” thus damaging the
articles, so that the silver and gold were sold for their weight value
only. I bought them, and adding “B.” to the “P. T.,” had a very fine
table service, still in my possession, and bearing my own initials, “P.
T. B.”
While dining one day with my friend, Dr. Brewster, in Paris, all the
company present were in raptures over some very fine “Lafitte” wine on
the table, and the usual exclamations, “delicious!” and “fruity!” were
heard on all sides. When I went to the south of France, the Doctor gave
me a letter of introduction to Lafitte’s agent, Mr. Good, at Bordeaux,
and I was shown through the extensive cellar of the establishment. The
agent talked learnedly, almost affectionately, about the choice and
exclusive vineyards of the establishment, and how the stones in the
ground retailed the warmth derived from the sun during the day
throughout the night, thus mellowing and maturing the grapes, and
resulting in the production of a peculiar wine which was possible to no
other plot of ground in the entire grape country.
I afterwards learned, however, that this exclusive establishment bought
up the entire wine product of all the vineyards in the region round
about--it was like the celebrated “Cabana” cigars in Havana. One day a
friend was dining with me in Bordeaux and I called for a bottle of
“Lafitte,” which, purchased on the very ground of its manufacture, was
of course genuine and deliciously “fruity.” It was very old wine of some
famous year, and the bottle as brought up from the bin was covered with
cobwebs and dust. But while we were sipping the wine and exclaiming
“fruity” at proper intervals, I happened to take out my knife and quite
inadvertently cut off a bit of the label. The next day when my friend
was again dining with me I called for another bottle of the peculiar
Lafitte which had so delighted us yesterday. It came cobwebbed and
dust-covered and was duly discussed and pronounced deliciously “fruity.”
But horrors! all at once, something caught my attention and I exclaimed:
“Do you see that cut label? That is the very bottle which held the rare
old wine of yesterday; there is the ‘ear-mark’ which I left with my
knife on the bottle”--and I summoned the landlord and thus addressed
him:
“What do you mean, you scoundrel, by putting your infernal _vin
ordinaire_ into old bottles, and passing it off upon us as genuine
‘Lafitte?’”
He protested that such a thing was impossible; we were at the very
fountain head of the wine, and no one would dare to attempt such a
fraud, especially upon experienced wine-tasters like ourselves. But I
showed him my careless but remembered mark on the bottle, and proved by
my friend that we had the same bottle for our wine of the day before.
This was shown so conclusively and emphatically that the landlord
finally confessed his fraud, and said that though he had sold thousands
of bottles of so-called “Lafitte” to his guests, he never had two dozen
bottles of the genuine article in his possession in his life!
Every one who has been in the wine district knows that the wine is
trodden from the grapes by the bare feet of the peasants, and while I
was there, desiring a new experience, I myself trod out a half barrel or
so with my own naked feet, dancing vigorously the while to the sound of
a fiddle.
In spite of the extraordinary attention and unbounded petting the little
General received at the hands of all classes, he was in no sense a
“spoiled child,” but retained throughout that natural simplicity of
character and demeanor which added so much to the charm of his
exhibitions. He was literally the pet of Paris, and after a protracted
and most profitable season we started on a tour through France. The
little General’s small Shetland ponies and miniature carriage would be
sure to arouse the enthusiasm of the “Provincials,” so I determined to
take them along with us. We went first to Rouen, and from thence to
Toulon, visiting all the intermediate towns, including Orleans, Nantes,
Brest, Bordeaux,--where I witnessed a review by the Dukes de Nemours and
d’Aumale, of 20,000 soldiers who were encamped near the city. From
Bordeaux we went to Toulouse, Montpellier, Nismes, Marseilles, and many
other less important places, holding levees for a longer or shorter
time. While at Nantes, Bordeaux and Marseilles the General also appeared
in the theatres in his French part of “Petit Poucet.”
Very soon after leaving Paris for our tour through France, I found that
there were many places where it would be impossible to proceed otherwise
than by post. General Tom Thumb’s party numbered twelve persons, and
these, with all their luggage, four little ponies, and a small carriage,
must be transported in posting vehicles of some description. I therefore
resolved that as posting in France was as cheap, and more independent
than any other method of travel, a purchase of posting vehicles should
be made for the sole use of the renowned General Tom Thumb and suite.
One vehicle, however large, would have been insufficient for the whole
company and “effects,” and, moreover, would have been against the
regulations. These regulations required that each person should pay for
the use of one horse, whether using it or not, and I therefore made the
following arrangements: I purchased a post-chaise to carry six persons,
to be drawn by six horses; a vehicle on springs, with seats for four
persons, and room for the General’s four ponies and carriage, to be
drawn by four horses; and lastly, a third vehicle for conveying the
baggage of the company, including the elegant little house and furniture
set on the stage in the General’s performances of “Petit Poucet” at the
theatres, the whole drawn by two horses.
With such a retinue the General “cut quite a swell” in journeying
through the country, travelling, indeed, in grander style than a Field
Marshal would have thought of doing in posting through France. All this
folly and expense, the uninitiated would say, of employing twelve horses
and twelve persons, to say nothing of the General’s four ponies, in
exhibiting a person weighing only fifteen pounds! But when this retinue
passed along the roads, and especially when it came into a town, people
naturally and eagerly inquired what great personage was on his travels,
and when told that it was “the celebrated General Tom Thumb and suite,”
everybody desired to go and see him. It was thus the best advertising we
could have had, and was really, in many places, our cheapest and in some
places, our only mode of getting from point to point where our
exhibitions were to be given.
During most of the tour I was a week or two ahead of the company, making
arrangements for the forthcoming exhibitions, and doing my entire
business without the aid of an interpreter, for I soon “picked up”
French enough to get along very well indeed. I did not forget that
Franklin learned to speak French when he was seventy years of age, and I
did not consider myself too old to learn, what, indeed, I was obliged
to learn in the interests of my business. As for the little General, who
was accompanied by a preceptor and translator, he very soon began to
give his entire speaking performances in French, and his piece “Petit
Poucet” was spoken as if he were a native.
In fact, I soon became the General’s _avant courier_, though not doing
the duties of an _avant courier_ to an ordinary exhibition, since these
duties generally consist in largely puffing the “coming man” and
expected show, thus endeavoring to create a public appetite and to
excite curiosity. My duties were quite different; after engaging the
largest theatre or saloon to be found in the town, I put out a simple
placard, announcing that the General would appear on such a day.
Thereafter, my whole energies were directed, apparently, to keeping the
people quiet; I begged them not to get excited; I assured them through
the public journals, that every opportunity should be afforded to permit
every person to see “the distinguished little General, who had delighted
the principal monarchs of Europe, and more than a million of their
subjects,” and that if one exhibition in the largest audience room in
the town would not suffice, two or even three would be given.
This was done quietly, and yet, as an advertisement, effectively, for,
strange as it may seem, people who were told to keep quiet, would get
terribly excited, and when the General arrived and opened his
exhibitions, excitement would be at fever heat, the levees would be
thronged, and the treasury filled!
Numerous were the word battles I had with mayors, managers
of theatres, directors of hospitals, and others, relative to what I
considered--justly, I think--the outrageous imposition which the laws
permitted in the way of taxes upon “exhibitions.” Thus the laws
required, for the sake of charity, twenty-five per cent of my gross
receipts for the hospitals; while to encourage a local theatre, or
theatres, which might suffer from an outside show, twenty per cent more
must be given to the local managers.
Of course this law was nearly a dead letter; for, to have taken
forty-five per cent of my gross receipts at every exhibition would soon
have driven me from the provinces, so the hospitals were generally
content with ten per cent, and five or ten francs a day satisfied the
manager of a provincial theatre. But at Bordeaux the manager of the
theatre wished to engage the General to appear in his establishment, and
as I declined his offer, he threatened to debar me from exhibiting
anywhere in town, by demanding for himself the full twenty per cent the
law allowed, besides inducing the directors of the hospitals to compel
me to pay them twenty-five per cent more.
Here was a dilemma! I must yield and take half I thought myself entitled
to and permit the General to play for the manager, or submit to legal
extortion, or forego my exhibitions. I offered the manager six per cent
of my receipts and he laughed at me. I talked with the hospital
directors and they told me that as the manager favored them, they felt
bound to stand by him. I announced in the public journals that the
General could not appear in Bordeaux on account of the cupidity and
extortionate demands of the theatre manager and the hospital directors.
The people talked and the papers denounced; but manager and directors
remained as firm as rocks in their positions. Tom Thumb was to arrive
in two days and I was in a decided scrape. The mayor interceded for me,
but to no avail; the manager had determined to enforce an almost
obsolete law unless I would permit the General to play in his theatre
every night. My Yankee “dander” was up and I declared that I would
exhibit the General gratis rather than submit to the demand. Whereupon,
the manager only laughed at me the more to think how snugly he had got
me.
Now it happened that, once upon a time, Bordeaux, like most cities, was
a little village, and the little village of Vincennes lay one mile east
of it. Bordeaux had grown and stretched itself and thickly settled far
beyond Vincennes, bringing the latter nearly in the centre of Bordeaux;
yet, strange to say, Vincennes maintained its own identity, and had its
own Mayor and municipal rights quite independent of Bordeaux. I could
scarcely believe my informant who told me this, but I speedily sought
out the Mayor of Vincennes, found such a personage, and cautiously
inquired if there was a theatre or a hospital within his limits? He
assured me there was not. I told him my story, and asked:
“If I open an exhibition within your limits will there be any
percentages to pay from my receipts?”
“Not a sou,” replied the Mayor.
“Will you give me a writing to that effect?”
“With the greatest pleasure,” replied the Mayor, and he did so at once.
I put this precious paper in my pocket, and in a few moments I hired the
largest dancing saloon in the place, a room capable of holding over
2,000 people. I then announced, especially to the delighted citizens of
Bordeaux, that the General would open his exhibitions in Vincennes,
which he soon did to an overflowing house. For thirteen days we
exhibited to houses averaging more than 3,000 francs per day, and for
ten days more at largely increased receipts, not one sou of which went
for taxes or percentages. The manager and directors, theatre and
hospital, got nothing, instead of the fair allowance I would willingly
have given them. Oh, yes! they got something,--that is, a lesson,--not
to attempt to offset French Shylockism against Yankee shrewdness.
We were in the South of France in the vintage season. Nothing can
surpass the richness of the country at that time of the year. We
travelled for many miles where the eye could see nothing but vineyards
loaded with luscious grapes and groves of olive trees in full bearing.
It is literally a country of wine and oil. Our remunerative and
gratifying round of mingled pleasure and profit, brought us at last to
Lille, capital of the department of Nord, and fifteen miles from the
Belgian frontier, and from there we proceeded to Brussels.