Struggles amd Triumphs: or, Forty Years' Recollections of P.T. Barnum

From Maine we went across Vermont, exhibiting in the more important places, to Albany and Troy. At Albany it was impossible to secure a suitable locality for the exhibition short of a distance of two miles from the city; yet here distance seemed literally to “lend enchantment to the view,” for every exhibition was thronged, and here as everywhere, thousands were turned away who were unable to find room.

Our route from Albany was along the line of the New York Central Railroad to Buffalo, and back by the Erie Railway to the Hudson River, exhibiting nearly everywhere, and after exhibitions at Catskill, Poughkeepsie and Newburg, returning to New York. Our tour through the country was more than a carnival – it was a perfect ovation; and best of all, the public and the press, with one accord, pronounced the exhibition even better and greater than I had advertised.

At the close of the travelling season I desired to exhibit my great show to my New York patrons, and to return again to the metropolis where, in days gone by, the children, the parents, and the grandparents of the present generation have flocked in millions to my museum. Accordingly I secured the Empire Rink immediately after the close of the American Institute Fair, and opened in that building November 13, 1871. At least ten thousand people were present, and in response to an enthusiastic welcoming call, I made a few remarks, the report of which I copy from the next morning’s New York World:

“A popular Eastern poet has said the noblest art a human being can acquire is the power of giving happiness to others. I sincerely hope this is true, for my highest ambition during the last thirty years has been to make the public happy. When I introduced the Swedish nightingale, Jenny Lind, to the American public in 1851, a thrill of pleasure was felt throughout the land by our most refined and intellectual citizens, as well as by every lover of melody in the humblest walks of life. As a museum proprietor for nearly thirty years I catered successfully to the pleasures of many millions of persons. Nor have my efforts been confined to this continent. As a public exhibitor I have appeared before kings, queens and emperors in the Old World, and have given gratification to many millions of their devoted subjects. Fifty years ago some moralists taught that it was wicked to laugh, but all divines of the present day have abandoned that untenable and austere position, and now almost universally agree that laughter is not only conducive to health, but very proper and to be encouraged, for, as the bard of Avon justly says: ‘With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.’ In fact, Mr. Beecher permits laughing in his church, holding that it is as right to laugh as to cry. It has been said that I have caused more people to laugh than any other man on this continent. Ten years ago one of our first families in Fifth avenue were conversing regarding the duties, responsibilities, and trials of this life. Their little daughter of seven was present. The father remarked that it was a pretty hard world to live in – full of struggles, labors, toils and disappointments. The mother added that there was much poverty and suffering in the world, etc., but the little girl chirped in, ‘Well, I think it is a beautiful and pleasant world. I have my dear mamma and papa, and my good grandma there, besides I have Barnum’s Museum to go to, and surely I don’t want a happier world than this.’ My great object has been to elevate the standard of amusements, to render them instructive as well as amusing, to divest them of all vulgar and immoral tendencies, and to make all my exhibitions worthy the patronage of the best and most respectable families. Finally, my great desire has been to give my patrons ten times the worth of their money, and in this my last crowning effort to overshadow and totally eclipse all other exhibitions in the world.”

And the metropolitan press, people and patronage combined, only repeated with more emphasis, the universal testimony of the country as to the extent and merits of this great show. Want of space permits me to copy only two or three of the favorable articles which appeared from day to day during the entire exhibition in the columns of the New York press. The following is from the Baptist Union:

RARE CURIOSITIES

Mr. P. T. Barnum has organized at the Empire Rink a very large exhibition, combining a Museum, Menagarie, International Zoölogical Garden, Polytechnic Institute and Hippodrome. Having examined the various departments of this vast combination, we do not hesitate to recommend our friends to go with their families to visit it, and they will enjoy a treat seldom offered in a lifetime. The department of natural history is especially excellent and interesting, and embraces the largest and rarest collection of wild animals ever exhibited together in this or probably in any other country. Everything connected with the entertainments admirably harmonizes with the good taste and respectability which give to all of Mr. Barnum’s enterprises a refinement and morality which commend them to the most scrupulous. The great Hippodrome Pageant, in which appear so many elephants, camels, dromedaries, horses and ponies, with men, women and children in costumes representing the Arabs and Bedouins of the desert, Roman knights, heralds, warriors, kings, princes and bashaws of the olden time, is truly interesting and grand, and is worth going a long distance to see.

That popular religious journal, the New York Christian Leader, edited by the Rev. G. H. Emerson, speaks as follows:

A GOOD SERMON FOR SHOWMEN

The success which everywhere attends Barnum’s great show ought to be evidence to the managers who furnish amusement to the public that profanity and indecency of speech and gesture – all of which Mr. Barnum excludes by promptly and indignantly discharging the offender – are not of the nature of supply meeting a popular demand. If a man is coarse and vulgar himself, he usually has manhood enough left not to take his wife and children where coarseness and vulgarity are sure to be witnessed. Mr. Barnum’s combination is now doing for canvas what his Jenny Lind enterprise did for public halls. Its patrons are not individuals, but communities. For example, the factories of Paterson, N. J., were compelled to suspend, the operative population having left, en masse for the show. But this swimming and unsurpassed success would come to a full stop in one day if profanity and indecency, instead of being rigorously forbidden, were encouraged. The community at large respects decency. The show, bewildering, various and mammoth beyond a precedent, is now on its way through New England, in one sense, like “Sherman’s march to the sea,” and a patronage never before anticipated is organized in advance. It is big, and, better still, it is clean – clean to the eye and to the moral sense.

“Nym Crinkle,” the Dramatic Critic of the New York World, wrote a very entertaining column about the show for that journal, and “Trinculo” copied it in full in the “Amusements Gossip” of the New York Leader. The following is extracted from the article:

BARNUM’S UNIVERSAL SHOW

Barnum, who long ago beat all creation, is now exhibiting his spoils at the Rink. Animated nature and animated art make a stunning combination, especially when the combination is all in active operation, as it generally is about two o clock in the afternoon and eight o’clock in the evening. Then one can enjoy the howls of the animals, the rush and scurry of the arena, the rattlebang of the band, and the delight of ten thousand people, without stopping to discriminate. It is something for the veteran showman to say he has been able to stir the metropolis with his caravan as other and less indifferent villages are stirred by smaller shows. The combination, as shows are rated, is really an extraordinary one, and when it arrives at an average Western city it doubles the population for them, contributing of its own multitudinous teamsters, tricksters, and stirrers-up about three hundred people, with as many more ravening beasts thrown in.

The first living curiosity that one meets at the Rink is Barnum himself uncaged. He still holds to the notion that it is worth fifty cents to look at him, and one dollar to read his life; and as nearly everybody has looked at him and read his life, we presume the rest of the world agrees with him. Still it is curious to observe how the healthy and hearty world, thronging to see the monkeys and the mermaids, mingle awe with their admiration of the greatest curiosity of all. They are subdued by a sense of the showman’s power. They skirt carefully round the edges of his greatness, so as not to attract too much of his attention, for who could tell at what moment, if he so chose, he would exhibit them. We say the healthy and hearty world, for of course the unhealthy and deformed world, which we all know was made to be exhibited, throngs as of old in supplicating procession after him. Three-legged women and four-legged men, and double-headed children may be seen at all hours congregating on the Third avenue in the vicinity of the Rink, seeking audience of the great showman. Indeed, the observant traveller on this great thoroughfare will know, hours before he gets to the Rink, that he is approaching Barnum, by the strange monstrosities, woolly horses, Albino children, and living skeletons that will be observed wending their way from all parts of the world to the great show in hope of getting engagements. Of course, all this adds to the excitement and interest of the eager multitude. But the animals and curiosities inside constitute the real attraction to the public; and a very fine collection of animals it is. The eight or ten royal Abyssinian and Babylonian lions roar less like sucking doves than any that have had their jaws stretched among us since Van Amburgh’s time. As for the rhinoceros, he deserves especial attention, because, as the card on his cage informs us, he is the unicorn of Scripture. But he doesn’t look a bit like the agile fellow that fought for the crown on his hind legs, (ah, he was an artist,) for he eats too much hay, and nothing can be more absurd and contrary to the revolutionary character of the unicorn dear to heraldry than this iron-clad monster eating hay with the demureness of a cow. Still there is danger in his cage, the keeper informs us, and he ought to know, for he probably lived there at some time with him in order to find him out. And he further assures us that the reason Mr. Barnum employs him to take care of the beast is that he is an old sailor, nobody else being able to go round his horn. Time, however would not suffice to relate the wonders of the yak and guayga and the wart hog, none of which are popular pets, nor to tell of the infinite variety of the feline tribe, from felis leo himself to the tiniest cougar. This collection of animals makes what is called the Zoölogical Garden, a distinct apartment of the show. There is a collection of camels – about forty – and several elephants, eating peanuts with singularly disproportioned taste, at the east end, and here, we observe, is the menagerie. The camels, each with his hump tastefully covered with a camel’s hair shawl, wait with meek patience for the ring-master to call them, and they all slide out on their cushioned feet like dusty spectres. It would be well to visit the collection of wild animals after this, and then inspect the exhibition of animated nature, reserving the caravan till the last. But the conscientious visitor has the hippodrome, the hippotheatron, the circus, the arena and the ring to inspect, and unless he hurries up, he will not get through in time. We have found it in our experience that the best plan is to cut the arena, the hippodrome, and the hippotheatron, and stick to the circus. The circus will be found worthy of the carefulest study. It will be found to have a largeness that is new, and certainly it would be difficult to find more performers or have them do more. The Rink, thanks to Barnum, is a popular resort. We forget how many miles of promenade there are through the zoölogical department of the menagerie, but we know that thousands of people may be seen there of a pleasant afternoon, adding a biological interest to the zoölogical exhibit that is well worth noting.

The following is from the New York Daily Standard of Dec. 28, 1871:

UNBOUNDED ENTERPRISE

Mr. P. T. Barnum is the only man in the show-business who thoroughly comprehends the demands of the public, and is willing to satisfy them at any expenditure of time and means. His projects are conceived on a gigantic scale, very far in advance of the conservatism so characteristic of even liberal managers. His expensive expeditions to Labrador, some years ago, to capture white whales for the American Museum, and another expedition to South Africa, in 1859, which secured the first and only living hippopotamus ever seen on this continent, involved an outlay sufficient to organize and completely furnish a first-class show. A third even more hazardous expedition was sent to the North Pacific to capture seals, sea lions, and other marine monsters, which were transported thousands of miles in immense water tanks. These are but a few in many instances of that large and comprehensive liberality that distinguishes all of Mr. Barnum’s enterprises, and is the source of his managerial triumphs and the foundation of his financial success. Obstacles, that to others seem insurmountable, only spur him on to greater effort. No article of real novelty or merit which will enhance the attractions of his exhibitions is suffered to escape for lack of energy, or for want of liberal expenditure of money. It is this spirit that has enabled Mr. Barnum to combine in one exhibition the most complete and colossal collection of animate and inanimate curiosities ever assembled in the world.

In the spring of 1871, when the great show was about to enter upon its first campaign, complete as it seemed to the manager and to other experts, Mr. Barnum thought a most valuable feature might be added. He telegraphed to the whaling ports of New England, and sent messages to San Francisco and Alaska, to know if a group of sea lions and other specimens of the phocine tribe could be secured. Finally, through his agents in San Francisco, he organized an expedition to Alaska. By the first of July, several fine specimens of seals and sea lions, some of the latter weighing more than 1,000 pounds each, were brought in tanks over the Union Pacific Railway, were safely landed at Bridgeport, and, thereafter, were forwarded to the show, then on its travels through New England. As these delicate animals are likely to die, arrangements have been made to keep good the supply, and December 16, 1871, Mr. Barnum received a telegram from San Francisco that six more sea lions had just arrived at that port for him. Two of these will be sent, by arrangement, to the Zoölogical Gardens, in Regent’s Park, London, and the rest, with several seals captured in the same expedition, will be added to Barnum’s show next spring.

Mr. Barnum’s active and enterprising agents are in Europe, Asia, Africa, South America, and elsewhere in the world, wherever anything rare and valuable – bird, beast, reptile, or other animate or inanimate curiosity – can be secured, which will add to the interest of the exhibition. In the menagerie, and the hippodrome also, experts are constantly engaged in training elephants, camels, performing horses, and other animals, and are thus preparing new and attractive features, some of which will be as novel to the show profession as they will be new and attractive to the public.

I might fill hundreds of pages with the notices of the New York papers during the protracted exhibition at the Empire Rink. Every day, almost, the journals had something new to say about the show, from the simple fact that nearly every day the addition of some new animal or attraction, or fresh features in the ring performances compelled new notices. The exhibition continued with unabated success and patronage till after the holidays, when necessary preparations for the spring campaign, including the repainting of all the wagons, compelled me to close.

I must make mention merely of two genuine curiosities from California – the one a section of one of the big trees, and the other a bright young Digger Indian, who was my guide through the Yosemite Valley. I little thought when I saw the big trees that I should soon secure for exhibition in New York a gigantic section of one of them, with the bark, which, set up as it enclosed the tree, enclosed, on one occasion, at the Empire Rink, two hundred children from the Howard Mission. The Digger was equally a curiosity in his way. One day when the baboon escaped from his cage, and defied all the efforts of the keepers to capture him, my Digger Indian lassooed him, and brought him down with a run and a rope in less than no time. His services in, and with, this “line” on other occasions were more memorable.

I cannot close this additional narrative without warning my readers, and the public generally, that the enormous success of my great combination has stimulated unscrupulous smaller showmen to feeble imitations, which, in some instances, are, and are intended to be, downright frauds upon the public. Nearly every circus and menagerie in the country has lately added what is called a “museum,” and in some cases they have employed a man named, or supposed to be named, Barnum, intending to advertise under the title of “Barnum’s Show,” thereby deceiving and swindling the public. The trick is very transparent, and can be successful, if at all, only in very rural regions, where the newspapers fail to penetrate. The so-called “Museums” may embrace a stuffed animal or two, and a small show of wax-works. Indeed, some of these minor managers have bought cast-off curiosities from me, and cheap rubbish from old museums, with which to set up the “new features” in their circuses or menageries. The whole public knows that there is but one P. T. Barnum, and but one show in the country of sufficient importance to bear his name. I trust to my name and my long-worked-for and well-earned reputation to insure the public against imposition from the attempts of my imitators, who are as unprincipled as they will be unsuccessful in their efforts to defraud me and to delude the public.

CONCLUSION

In sending these last pages to the printer in March, 1872, I may say that my manager, Mr. Coup, his assistants, and myself, have been busy ever since New Year’s in reorganizing our great travelling show, building new wagons and cages, and painting, gilding and repairing the others. One of the great carved, mirrored and gilded chariots, from England, used by me in 1871, is a grand affair, made telescopic, and when extended to its full height reaches an altitude of forty feet, on the top of which, in our street processions, we place a young lady, costumed to personate the Goddess of Liberty. The re-gilding of this one vehicle preparatory to opening our spring campaign cost about five thousand dollars – enough to build a nice house in the country. The wintering of my horses and wild animals, salaries of employees and expense of fitting up properly for the next season, cost over $50,000. During the winter my agents abroad have shipped me many interesting and expensive curiosities. Indeed, ship after ship has brought me so many rare animals and works of art that I have sometimes been puzzled to find places to store them.

Two beautiful Giraffes, or Camelopards, were despatched to me, but one died on the Atlantic, making three of these tender and valuable animals that I have lost within a year. The only one on this continent at this present writing is mine. He is a beauty. I own another, which is now in the Royal Zoölogical Gardens, Regent’s Park, London, ready to be shipped at any moment should I unfortunately be obliged to send a message by the Atlantic Cable announcing the death of my present pet.

Other managers gave up trying to import Giraffes several years ago, owing to the great cost and care attending them. No Giraffe has ever lived two years in America. These very impediments, however, incited me to always have a living Giraffe on hand, at whatever cost – for, of course, their scarcity enhances their attraction and value as curiosities. I hear that my example has stimulated the manager of a small show to try and obtain a Giraffe. I am educating the public curiosity and taste to demand so much that is rare and valuable, that many managers will soon give up the show business, as several have this spring, while others must be more liberal and enterprising if they succeed.

Hitherto many small showmen who could raise cash and credit to the amount of $20,000, would get half a dozen cages of cheap animals, two or three fourth-rate circus riders, a few acrobats or tumblers, a clown, and three or four broken down “ring horses;” then buying some ready printed dashy show-bills mis-representing their show, they would announce a great menagerie and circus, and perhaps clear the cost of their show the first season; for there are some persons who are bound to go to “the show” whatever may be its merits. But the public are generally getting sick of this same old story, and as my Broadway American Museum years ago served to reform or extinguish “one horse shows,” so I trust that the immensity of my travelling show will serve to elevate and extend public expectations and improve public exhibitions.

Several immense Sea Lions and Barking Seals have also been captured by my agents at Alaska and are added to the “innumerable caravan.” Some of these marine monsters weigh a thousand pounds each, and each consumes from sixty to a hundred pounds of fish per day. It is very curious to see them floundering in and out of the immense water tanks in which I transport them through the country. Their tremendous roar may often be heard the distance of a mile.

Among my equestrian novelties is an Italian Goat taught in Europe to ride on horseback, leap through hoops and over banners, alighting on his feet on the back of the horse while at full speed. I named him “Alexis” in honor of the Russian Prince. He appeared at Niblo’s Garden, New York, in February, and created much enthusiasm.

Numerous artists in different parts of Europe have been engaged all winter in making for my show extraordinary Musical and other Automatons and Moving Tableaux, so marvelous in their construction as to seem enchanted or to be possessed of life.

But perhaps the most rare and curious addition to my great show, and certainly the most difficult to obtain, is a company of four wild Fiji Cannibals! I have tried in vain for years to secure specimens of these “man-eaters.” At last the opportunity came. Three of these Cannibals having fallen into the hands of their Royal enemy, who was about to execute, and perhaps to eat them, the missionaries and my agent prevailed upon the copper-colored king to accept a large sum in gold on condition of his majesty’s granting them a reprieve and leave of absence to America for three years, my agent also leaving a large sum with the American Consul to be forfeited if they were not returned within the time stipulated. Accompanying them is a half-civilized Cannibal woman, converted and educated by the Methodist missionaries. She reads fluently and very pleasantly from the Bible printed in the Fijian language, and she already exerts a powerful moral influence over these savages. They take a lively interest in hearing her read the history of our Saviour. They earnestly declare their convictions that eating human flesh is wrong, and faithfully promise never again to attempt it. They are intelligent and docile. Their characteristic war dances and rude marches, as well as their representations of Cannibal manners and customs, are peculiarly interesting and instructive. It is perhaps needless to add that the bonds for their return will be forfeited. They are already learning to speak and read our language, and I hope soon to put them in the way of being converted to Christianity, even if by so doing the title of “Missionary” be added to the many already given me by the public.

The following happy hit is from the pen of Rev. Henry Ward Beecher as it appeared in that excellent paper of which he is editor, the N. Y. Christian Union of Feb. 28th, 1872:

“Should not a paternal government set some limit to the enterprise of Brother Barnum; with reference, at least, to the considerations of public safety? Here, upon our desk, lies an indication of his last perilous venture. He invites us “and one friend” – no conditions as to “condition” specified – to a private exhibition of four living cannibals, which he has obtained from the Fiji Islands, for his travelling show. We have beaten up, in this office, among the lean and tough, and those most easily spared in an emergency, for volunteers to visit the Anthropophagi, and report; but never has the retiring and self-distrustful disposition of our employees been more signally displayed. This establishment was not represented at that exposition. If Barnum had remembered to specify the “Feeding-time,” we might have dropped in, in a friendly way, at some other period of the day.”