Chapter XIII: The Circus (1)

I

An immense traveling show, combining all the elements of the museum, menagerie, and variety performance, was not Barnum’s own conception, at least in 1870, when he first joined some other showmen in the organization of such a combination. It is true that forerunners of the circus were present in “Barnum’s Great Asiatic Caravan, Museum, and Menagerie,” and in Barnum’s and Van Amburgh’s Museum and Menagerie, but these were nothing in comparison with the enterprise which was now projected. W. C. Coup and Dan Costello, showmen of experience, called upon Barnum during the period of his semi-retirement and urged that he form with them a great traveling show. They asked for the power of his name and for any financial support he was willing to supply, and they arrived at the correct time, for, tired of doing comparatively nothing, Barnum approved of all their plans. In 1869 he had decided that it was time for him to devote himself “to serious reflections on the ends and aims of human existence,” and he had no thought of engaging in the circus business. In 1870 he was making preparations with his new partners for the huge exhibition which they suggested, and which was larger than anything Barnum had ever previously attempted.

In his autobiography Barnum was in the habit of giving himself credit for the origin of anything with which his name was associated, and his partners, realizing the immense asset of the name of Barnum in their enterprises, were willing to be silent, at least until their retirement. W. C. Coup published many years after the end of his association with Barnum an interesting book of circus recollections, _Sawdust and Spangles_. In his book he printed the following letter which Barnum wrote him in October, 1870:

“BRIDGEPORT, Oct. 8, 1870.

“MY DEAR COUP: Yours received. I will join you in a show for
next spring and will probably have Admiral Dot well trained this
winter and have him and Harrison in the show. Wood will sell all
his animals outright, and will furnish several tip-top museum
curiosities. You need to spend several months in New York arranging
for curiosities, cuts, cages, bills, etc. All things got from Wood
I will settle for with him and give the concern credit. We can make
a stunning museum department. If you want to call it _my_ museum
and use my name it may be used by allowing me the same very small
percentage that Wood allows for calling himself my successor (3
per cent. on receipts). You can have a Cardiff Giant that won’t
crack, also a moving figure, Sleeping Beauty, or Dying Zouave--a
big Gymnastic figure like that in Wood’s museum, and lots of other
good things, only you need time to look them up and prepare wagons,
etc., etc.

“Yours truly,
“P. T. BARNUM.

“I will spare time to look up the show in New York when you come. I
think Siamese Twins would pay.”

“A Cardiff Giant that won’t crack” referred to the then famous curiosity, a huge figure, supposed to have been dug up in the small town of Cardiff, New York, and presented on exhibition as a fine prehistoric relic. Soon after the exhibition of the original Cardiff Giant, the figure began to show seams and other signs of artificial manufacture. Barnum planned the manufacture of a prehistoric relic without blemishes.

Coup devoted time and energy to the organization of the Greatest Show on Earth, and Barnum supplied advice and some financial support. On April 10, 1871, the show opened in Brooklyn, New York, with the largest area of tent canvas that had ever been spread for a circus, and the show boasted that it employed more men, horses and animals than any previously organized in the United States or Europe. There were wax works, dioramas, the Sleeping Beauty, and the Dying Zouave--mechanical figures which breathed evenly, and gasped realistically for breath--Swiss Bell Ringers, and the Cardiff Giant, who did not crack. Admiral Dot, the Eldorado Elf, and Colonel Goshen, the Palestine Giant, exhibited together, the Admiral sometimes occupying the Colonel’s hand as a seat. Esau, the Bearded Boy, and Anna Leake, the armless woman, were other special attractions.

But the greatest attraction of the opening season was the family of Fiji Cannibals, whom Barnum was supposed to have obtained from the Fiji Islands with the aid of the United States consul. These man-eating cannibals, according to Barnum, had been captured in war by King Thokambau and rescued from death and consumption as food by Barnum’s agent at Na Vita Levu. King Thokambau accepted a bond for the safe return of his captives, and a large sum of money for their use in Barnum’s circus. “Accompanying them,” wrote Barnum, “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.”

Another great attraction of the first season was the giraffe. “Other managers,” Barnum explained, “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.” The giraffe’s long neck was always of great advertising value to the circus.

The success of Barnum’s circus was almost immediate, but it was not spontaneous. While Barnum was enjoying the fruit of his past activities at his home in Bridgeport, Coup was preparing the country for the Barnum show. The name of Barnum was a great attraction, for his thirty years of association with the public in the amusement business carried his name and reputation everywhere throughout the United States and in many of the important countries of Europe. General Tom Thumb, Jenny Lind, and the American Museum formed a background of notoriety which finally made Barnum’s name, and later the name of Barnum & Bailey, a household expression and a national institution. During the first season Barnum was present with the show in all the large cities, and he exploited his personality and reputation for the benefit of his circus. Frequently he delivered lectures on temperance at the Y. M. C. A. in a city where the circus was performing. “My managers and assistants,” Barnum wrote, “insist that my free lectures, especially in the large cities, result to my pecuniary disadvantage, as fully satisfying many who otherwise would patronize the exhibition to gratify their curiosity. However, as our immense pavilions are always crowded, I can see no real cause for complaint.” No doubt there were enough people who, after seeing Barnum, still wanted to see the giraffe and the Fiji Cannibals.

But in its first year the factor that contributed more than any other to the success of Barnum’s circus was W. C. Coup’s advance publicity and advertising and his excellent transportation arrangements. Every other circus had previously been confined to a town and its immediate vicinity for its patronage; Coup ordered his advertisers to post their bills as far as fifty and seventy-five miles from the place where the circus would exhibit, and his advance brigade of bill posters, it was said, posted more bills in one week than other circus companies posted in an entire season. Coup then arranged with the leading railroads of New England and New York to run special excursion trains at reduced fares to points where the Barnum Circus pitched its tents. Often the attendance at the circus was in this way brought up to a total of twice and three times the population of the town visited. The gross receipts of the first season were more than $400,000, and this sum did not include the profits from candy stands, incidental concerts and side-shows.

Coup noticed that in the larger towns the receipts averaged from $5,000 to $7,000 a day, and in the smaller towns they fell to $2,000 a day. This led him to consider the possibility of transporting the Barnum show by rail, thus making sufficiently long trips to eliminate all towns where the receipts were likely to fall below $5,000. Barnum tells in his autobiography how he triumphed over all other showmen because of his high-handed enterprise and his liberal outlay of money. He particularly records how he startled his partners, Coup and Costello, when he decided to transport the circus by rail. But these statements were not true. All his associates in the circus who have left any records of their opinions agree that in his last years Barnum was inclined to be niggardly and conservative, traits which would have been fatal to the success of such a gigantic enterprise as he was then conducting. It was Coup who negotiated with the railroads for the transportation of the circus, and who informed Barnum arbitrarily that during the season of 1872 the circus would be transported by rail. The innovation startled Barnum, and he protested vigorously. Even after rail transportation had been demonstrated as successful, Barnum urged that it should be abandoned in favor of the old wagons, confining the show to short trips. But Coup refused to listen to Barnum, and he so perfected the details of loading and unloading that it was made possible to make trips of one hundred miles each night, give the far-famed street parade in the morning, and an afternoon and evening performance in each city visited. His system of railroad transportation also made it possible to carry a much larger show about the country, and during the first season of rail transportation the receipts of the circus were more than one million dollars, according to Barnum’s own figures. These tremendous figures of profits and expenditure were enough to frighten a younger man than Barnum.

For the winter months, when the circus could not travel, Barnum and Coup hired the Hippotheatron, on Fourteenth Street, New York, and they used some of their curiosities and performers in this continuous museum, menagerie and circus. Part of the show was also sent during the winter on a tour of the southern states, and in 1872 Barnum accompanied the show on this trip. On December 24, 1872, the Hippotheatron was destroyed by fire, and Barnum found himself in possession of nothing but two elephants and one camel, besides the part of the show which was then exhibiting in New Orleans. He immediately, so he wrote, cabled his agents in Europe to obtain duplicate curiosities and new animals and properties, and he telegraphed his son-in-law: “Tell editors I have cabled European agents to expend half million dollars for extra attractions; will have new and more attractive show than ever early in April. P. T. Barnum.” Coup, meanwhile, had provided for the reorganization of the show, and in 1873 it was able to take the road with a larger collection of performers, curiosities and animals than during its first tour.

The Barnum show depended for its patronage upon its size, and in 1872 Coup and Barnum added another ring under their tent. This was the first two-ring circus, a development which was followed by every other large show in the country, and which eventually grew into the famous three-ring circus which has been universally adopted in this country. The three-topped tent circus, with its two separate rings, and later three separate rings, had great advertising advantages over its smaller rivals. The very fact that the spectator was offered more than he could possibly see was such a glamorous inducement for him to spend his money that he usually forgot the obvious disadvantage of not being able to see it all. This large-sized show, inaugurated by Barnum and Coup, has always been deplored by circus performers from an artistic point of view, for they have always seen in its immensity no opportunity for the display of individual merit. Clowns and acrobats have considered that their decline in individual popularity was due to the increase in the magnitude of circus presentation, for it was impossible to do stirring or excruciating things in the air, in animal cages, or on the sawdust when two other groups were occupied in distracting the attention of the audience at the same time. Circus clowns like Grimaldi are no longer popular personally, because the maximum time allowed for an individual performance under the Barnum & Bailey régime, which came a few years later than the Barnum and Coup show, was six minutes. Bailey is said to have imported a famous English clown, who could not possibly shorten his act, he insisted, to less than twenty minutes. Bailey paid the clown’s expenses back to England. But psychologically the three-ring circus proved a great success, and brought huge financial profits. The size of the circus gave body to the statement that it was the Greatest Show on Earth, and Barnum’s show when it finally combined with Bailey’s was certainly the largest: throughout Barnum’s career largest and greatest were synonymous.

In September, 1873, Barnum visited Europe for the purpose of attending the International Exhibition at Vienna. In England he met again his old friend John Fish, and he traveled throughout the country with Fish and his daughter, Nancy. While Barnum was in Europe, Coup obtained a lease on the old New Haven Railroad depot at Madison Avenue and Twenty-seventh Street, New York, and he determined to build what is now Madison Square Garden, where the Barnum & Bailey circus has performed for many years. Barnum declined absolutely to join Coup in this enterprise until Coup cabled him that he had plenty of offers of capital and did not need his aid. Then Barnum determined to join the enterprise. In his autobiography Barnum presented a different version of his reaction to the plan for Madison Square Garden. If we are to believe him, he received letters from Coup and his son-in-law that the New Haven depot was available. “I immediately telegraphed them to take the lease, and within twenty-four hours from that time I was in telegraphic communication with seventeen European cities where I knew were the proper parties to aid me in carrying out a grand and novel enterprise.” The grand and novel enterprise was the construction of Madison Square Garden on the site of the New Haven depot and the operation there of a gigantic place of amusement, combining all the features of the circus, museum and menagerie, which was to be called the Great Roman Hippodrome. Coup’s health broke down from overwork on the Madison Square Garden project. He went to Europe and later sold out his interest in Barnum’s show. Costello had already left the show. Coup was a bold adventurer. Later he invested all his capital in the New York Aquarium, where he had a valuable collection of aquaria and several giraffes and elephants. His partner was a German, who insisted that the Aquarium must be kept open on Sunday. Coup would not consent to this, and since they could not settle the difference of opinion, Coup coolly suggested that they flip a coin to determine which partner should own the giraffes and other large animals, and which should take the aquaria, which were far more valuable. Coup lost, and by the flip of that coin he lost the fortune he had spent years of a wandering circus life in gaining.

While Barnum was in Hamburg in November, 1873, he received a cablegram from his son-in-law, S. M. Hurd, informing him that his wife, Charity Hallett Barnum, had died on November 17, 1873. Barnum wrote in his autobiography that it was difficult for any one to imagine the anguish he suffered by thus being suddenly separated from a companion of forty-four years. “But when the intelligence,” he continued, “is not only unlooked for, but, as in my case, it finds the sorrowing husband four thousand miles away from the bedside of his dead wife, alone, in a strange land, where his native tongue is not spoken: when he reflects that children, grandchildren, and other kindred are mourning over the coffin where he is needed, and where his poor stricken heart is breaking to be, the utter loneliness of that mourner cannot be truly comprehended. Long accustomed as I have been to feel that God is good, and that His ways are always right, that He overcometh evil with good, and chastens us ‘for our profit,’ I confess the ‘cloud’ seemed so utterly black that it was hard to realize it _could_ have a silver ‘lining’; and my tongue ceased to move when I attempted to say, as surely we all ought unhesitatingly at all times to say, ‘Not my will, but Thine be done.’” But apparently there was a silver lining even to this black cloud, for, less than one year later, Barnum married Nancy Fish, the young daughter of his English friend and traveling companion.[21]

II

When he returned to New York, the show, which had opened as the Great Roman Hippodrome at Madison Square Garden, was larger than ever, and he was greeted with cheers by the crowd assembled in the immense building. This applause Barnum took as a gratifying tribute to his enterprise as manager of a monster exhibition. President Grant and his cabinet, governors of states, and judges visited the great show and congratulated Barnum on a stupendous achievement. When he arrived home in Bridgeport, his friends and neighbors gave him a complimentary dinner to place on record their “esteem for his liberality and energy in private enterprise and in promoting the industries and public improvement of our city.” In his speech of gratitude Barnum said that night would “ever stand out a red letter day on the calendar of my history.”[22]

In London Barnum had contracted with Sanger Brothers for duplicates of their costumes and properties belonging to the Sanger show, known as the Great Congress of Nations. In December, 1874, the show returned to New York and again filled Madison Square Garden with an enthusiastic audience. King Kalakaua, the first King of the Hawaiian Islands to visit this country, and one of the first reigning sovereigns ever entertained here, visited Barnum’s show and enjoyed himself. King Kalakaua had been received with great enthusiasm by the newspapers and the public on his tour, which began at San Francisco and ended in New York. Kalakaua’s predecessor on the Hawaiian throne, King Kamehameha V, had visited this country when he was Prince Lot, before the American Civil War. He was thrown out of a New York street car because he was considered “nothing but a dressed-up nigger.”

Barnum sent King Kalakaua an invitation to watch the Greatest Show on Earth, and when the King arrived at Madison Square Garden, P. T. Barnum was in the arena, ready to conduct his guests to the royal box, decorated tastefully with the United States and Hawaiian flags. There was a capacity audience in Madison Square Garden to greet Barnum and the King. A great display of fireworks, which formed the word “Kalakaua” in letters of blue and red, followed the entry of the King, and His Majesty was much pleased. The King was particularly impressed by the horse race between lady jockeys, and he handed the winner a white rose. He was also interested in Admiral Dot, the Eldorado Elf, who presented his portrait free of charge. During an intermission the cry went up from the audience, “King Kalakaua! King Kalakaua!” Barnum invited the King to answer the call by riding around the arena with him in an open carriage. There was much cheering and waving of hats and handkerchiefs for Barnum and His Majesty, while the band played “Hail to the Chief.” After the performance King Kalakaua visited behind the scenes, where he was introduced to the “gauzy ballet girls.” Barnum then gave him a Christmas present of a handsomely bound copy of the _Life of P. T. Barnum Written by Himself_. A New York newspaper remarked editorially on this reception: “They [Europeans] will be astonished that any man on earth would have had the presumption to propose making a show of a living monarch, albeit his kingdom may not be the most extensive in the world, and we confess that, in our opinion, the only human being on the footstool who would have the temerity to show up a King is our worthy countryman, Phineas T. Barnum.” The King seemed to realize that he was being made part of the Greatest Show on Earth, for as he and Barnum stepped into Barnum’s carriage he murmured philosophically, “We are all actors.”

In March, 1875, some of Barnum’s fellow citizens in Bridgeport recognized his preëminence and civic spirit by offering him the Republican nomination for mayor. He wrote in his autobiography that he refused the nomination until he was assured that it was intended as a compliment and would be sustained by both parties. But the Bridgeport newspapers of the period do not tell the same story. Barnum’s election was contested bitterly by his Democratic opponent, Frederick Hurd, and Barnum was elected by only 141 votes; he was the only municipal official of the Republican ticket who was elected, and his colleagues in his administration were all his political opponents. In his inaugural address Barnum said: “It is painful to the industrious and moral portions of our people to see so many loungers about the streets, and such a multitude whose highest aspirations seem to be to waste their time in idleness or at baseball, billiards, etc.” He also assured the Gentlemen of the Common Council that “Honesty is always the best policy.”

Barnum opened his administration by declaring war on whisky dealers, and one of his first measures was an attempt to enforce the Sunday closing law for saloons. His administration also advocated public ownership of the water works, although he himself was one of the largest stockholders in the private water company. One of his most unpopular measures was his advocacy of a fifteen per cent. reduction in the salaries of all civic employees, including the mayor. The reduction was designed to aid the city in its financial difficulties, but men who were dependent for their livelihood upon their municipal salaries were not so eager for the reform as was the mayor, whose circus was earning more money than ever. After one year as mayor, Barnum refused a renomination.

III

The circus season of 1876 was one of special features. That year was the centenary of the Declaration of Independence, and Barnum made the most of it. In the list of attractions were patriotic numbers that succeeded in stirring national enthusiasm, and the printed program contained this boast:

“And the Star Spangled Banner
In triumph shall wave
O’er the grandest of shows
Even Barnum e’er gave.”

There was a Goddess of Liberty, “a Gigantic Live American Eagle,” which was scheduled to “hover overhead”; groups of patriotic figures, including a man dressed as the Father of His Country and other appropriately costumed Revolutionary heroes, marched in a triumphal procession around the arena. “A stupendous chorus of several hundred thoroughly trained voices,” led by Señora Donetti and J. Russell Haynes as soloists, sang “My Country, ’Tis of Thee,” while the Goddess of Liberty “triumphantly waved the stars and stripes over the splendid and animated scene.”

Barnum’s patriotism was one of those sincere beliefs of his which he was able to enjoy personally and to profit by financially at the same time. But his patriotism was as nothing in sincerity or value to him compared with his piety. Barnum’s personal piety was one of the greatest assets of the Greatest Show on Earth. The church had been opposed to shows, and especially to the circus, since the first circus toured America, and at one time the Methodist Church in its regulations provided that any Methodist who attended the circus automatically forfeited membership in the church. But Barnum’s show was not only attended by clergymen and their most pious parishioners, but even reviewed in most of the religious publications of the country. “That the Church should ever tolerate, patronize, or even recognize as an educator the circus,” wrote Barnum, “was a possibility that probably entered into the dreams of no man but myself, and perhaps no man but myself believed it possible to organize a circus which should respect the Church and all pertaining to it.” It was true; Barnum accomplished both these things, which combined to form one of his most valuable assets, and he alone of all showmen could have done it, because his personal reputation for piety, temperance, and abstinence was universal.

Barnum forced recognition upon his clerical friends. His show was always advertised as “Barnum’s Great Moral Show.” The unobjectionable character of its performances was stressed unremittingly in its programs. And then in Barnum’s program notes each year appeared this notice: “The gentlemen having charge of my advertising department will address a letter, containing tickets, to each of the clergy of every denomination, resident in the towns where we exhibit, which will admit them and their wives, free of charge, to my entire combination of exhibitions. It sometimes happens, however, that my agents are not able to procure the names of all the resident clergy. Should any be omitted, they will receive a cordial welcome by calling either on me in person, or on my Treasurer, at the ticket wagon, any time before or during the entertainment. My exhibitions contain nothing that professed Christians do not approve.” Though he gave passes liberally to clergymen and to editors,--and for the latter he sometimes supplied transportation from their distant homes,--Barnum told others that “we never issue one to the big show except to editors, clergymen, or orphan asylums, or to persons who render us equivalent service in some way.” He had printed a card which he handed to those who bothered him for free passes, that read:

FREE PASSES

In those days there were no passes given.
Search the Scriptures.
“Thou shalt not pass.”--_Numbers_ xx. 18.
“Suffer not a man to pass.”--_Judges_ iii. 28.
“The wicked shall no more pass.”--_Nahum_ i. 15.
“None shall pass.”--_Isaiah_ xxxiv. 10.
“This generation shall not pass.”--_Mark_ xiii. 30.
“Beware that thou pass not.”--_2d Kings_ vi. 9.
“There shall no strangers pass.”--_Amos_ iii. 17.
“Neither any son of man pass.”--_Jeremiah_ li. 43.
“No man may pass through because of the beasts.”--_Ezekiel_ xiv. 15.
“Though they roar, yet they cannot pass.”--_Jeremiah_ v. 22.
“So he paid the fare thereof and went.”--_Jonah_ i. 3.

The clergymen were grateful for their passes, and sometimes mentioned the circus from the pulpit, advising their congregations to attend this strictly moral exhibition, of interest and instruction to all. The show depended for its success on winning the patronage of thousands of persons in small towns who rarely saw any newspapers except country weeklies, but who seldom missed Sunday attendance at church. By reiteration in his advance notices and his programs, and by careful supervision of the show itself, Barnum impressed upon his patrons the fact that his circus was reputable and moral. “The reverend clergy and school teachers of both sexes throughout our land are among my firmest friends,” Barnum wrote in his program notes for 1879, “and strongest supporters of my great moral exhibition. I am both a husband and a father, and I will _never_ place any entertainment before the public that a Christian mother cannot patronize in every department, with her innocent daughters, with pleasure and profit.” Not a broad joke nor a suggestive gesture was allowed a clown in Barnum’s Great Moral Show. In his program he assured his patrons: “I desire to elevate the morals and refine the tastes of my patrons. In fine, I aspire to make the world _better_ for my having lived in it.”

His success in this particular was recognized in many different ways by his contemporaries, and all were effective as advertising. An important religious paper, _The Examiner and Chronicle_, wrote a review in which the editor said: “Barnum’s Great Show is well worthy everybody’s seeing. It is not too much to say that it is the greatest exhibition of its kind in the world.” “Amusement is necessary to us all,” said _The Christian at Work_, “and when we can combine instruction and amusement, as in this case, we see no reason why we should not be gratified in this respect, and our children as well.” Henry Ward Beecher, Theodore L. Cuyler, E. H. Chapin, the most notorious ministers of their day, wrote endorsements for Barnum’s show and in public utterances expressed themselves as satisfied that he was a force for great moral good. The Rev. Robert Collyer, minister of the Church of the Messiah in New York City, saw Barnum enter the church one evening after the services had begun and quietly take a back seat. Dr. Collyer announced from the pulpit: “I see P. T. Barnum in a back pew of this church, and I invite him to come forward and take a seat in my family pew. Mr. Barnum always gives me a good seat in his circus, and I want to give him as good in my church.” Barnum said of this incident, “I thought the reverend gentleman had the courage of his convictions to a most unusual degree, and I was grateful to his congregation for the gravity with which they listened to this very remarkable ‘pulpit notice’ and made way for me as, with some embarrassment, I took the prominent seat so peremptorily indicated.” If Barnum was embarrassed then, it was for the first and last time in his life.

Barnum’s genius for astute showmanship never was displayed to greater advantage than when he harnessed his caravan to the church by the straps of his personal piety; since his piety was sincere and his show carefully moral throughout, his plea for moral support was responded to with enthusiasm by a large body of clergymen and churchgoers, who admired solemnly Barnum’s personal virtues and giggled contentedly at the antics of his clowns. This admiration for him and his enterprise, which was based psychologically on Barnum’s own continual reiterations of his own merits and those of his show, was often productive of personal results. In his advance notes for 1879 Barnum wrote: “One charming old lady in Boston, with a troop of happy grandchildren in her train, shook me cordially by the hand and, with a face beaming with smiles, said to me: ‘Oh, Mr. Barnum, I don’t know how to thank you enough for the pleasure you have afforded these darlings. I never saw them so happy before in all their lives; and they have learned so much in your delightful Museum and wonderful Menagerie. It is better than all the books in Natural History they ever read. I enjoyed it too; I shall never forget this day as long as I live; neither will they. I tell you, Mr. Barnum, you are doing a great deal of good. You deserve canonizing more than many of the saints. God bless you!’ and with another shake of the hand she left me, surrounded by her happy charge.” Even granting the possibility that this particular old lady of Boston was a mythical press agent figure, the incident recorded is one that must have occurred to him often.

Barnum was frequently approached personally by his patrons, and the thrill of such admiring contact never lost its power to satisfy him. He occupied in the sentiments of his host of patrons a position more enviable for the satisfaction of natural, human vanity than that of any other public figure in the world. His personality was removed from the stress and conflict of political controversy, which makes enemies as well as friends, and by nature of his contributions to a nation’s amusement he was accepted with a cordiality that was never bestowed even upon a President of the United States. His reception was more familiar and more general than that of any other public person: instead of a world figure, he was a world character, and the kindly manifestations of his genial success were an immense source of comfort to his old age. Whenever possible he was present at the circus in all the large cities to enjoy the triumph which he had so justly earned. And his presence invariably increased the gate receipts. Many people came to look at the famous Barnum and remained to look at the other curiosities, while of those larger numbers who were attracted by the show itself, few missed the opportunity to look at Barnum. He once heard a small boy in Toronto ask his father excitedly, “Say, Pa, which cage is Barnum in?” In Erie, Pennsylvania, he was watching the circus performance and caught the conversation of a farmer and his wife, who were sitting behind him. They had not seen a circus since their childhood and were emotionally aroused by its manifold wonders. When a young equestrian rode round the ring, standing on his head on the horse’s bare back, the farmer jumped to his feet, waved his straw hat, and shouted with enthusiastic excitement, “I’ll bet five dollars that’s Barnum! There ain’t another man in America who can do that but Barnum!” Barnum did not disillusion him.

The name and personality of Barnum became a strong American legend, and it was recognized as such by some of his more unscrupulous rivals. Barnum wrote in his autobiography: “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 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.”

Another factor in the spread of the Barnum legend was his autobiography. It was sold at the circus for one dollar, fifty cents less than the published price, and, so anxious was Barnum to increase its circulation, each purchaser was entitled by his purchase to a fifty cent ticket to the entire show, so that the book was sold at the circus for less than half its published price. The cost of the autobiography to Barnum, he told Major J. B. Pond, was nine cents a copy, because he ordered a million copies of the book. Barnum told a reporter for the _Buffalo Courier_, who found him at “Waldemere” in the act of adding another appendix to the book, that he sold 100,000 copies each year at the circus. “Nearly every family buys one or more of my book,” Barnum said. “As the multitudes pour out of my canvas tents at the close of each exhibition, every third person seems to have a book under his arm.” “That must be a funny sight,” said the reporter. “Yes,” said Barnum, “it looks as if they were coming out of a circulating library.” When the same reporter expressed his astonishment at the magnitude of Barnum’s circus, Barnum said, “My business is to astonish as well as to please.”

But in spite of his support from the church, his personal notoriety, and the extent of his advertising, Barnum’s show was not alone in the field. There were many circus troupes touring the country, and at least one other was as large as Barnum’s, that owned by Cooper & Bailey. So great was circus rivalry that circus men stopped at nothing to hinder the progress of a competitor. W. C. Coup wrote in _Sawdust and Spangles_ that a circus company once burned a railroad bridge after crossing it so that a rival show could not get to its next stand.

The rivalry manifested itself in Barnum’s advertisements. He plastered the country with large bills, reading, “Wait for Barnum. Don’t spend your money on inferior shows.” He also attacked competitors in his program notes, and when he chronicled the glory of his curiosities he frequently offered rewards for those who could honestly equal them. In 1879 he promised $10,000 “to any person who can show that the bare expenses of running my establishments during the last six years has not averaged more than _the entire gross receipts_ of any other show during the same time, which has ever traveled either in this country or Europe, and in making this offer I promise every facility for learning the facts.” Barnum was proud of his menagerie and sure of its preëminence. He printed the following offer: “While most exhibitions advertise more animals than they possess, and many which the advertisers never saw, I hereby solemnly agree to forfeit and pay $50,000.00 if the proprietors of any Menagerie now in the country can show that they have incurred the same expense, and if an equal number of rare wild animals was ever before seen in any traveling exhibition in this country or in Europe, or anywhere on the face of the whole earth. I am thoroughly in earnest in making this proposition, and pledge my honor and my money for its due fulfilment.” This magnificent menagerie included, “the only Two-Horned Rhinoceros ever exhibited in America, which cost me $16,000.00”; a Black, Double-Humped Camel, “as dark as Erebus,” and “by his side in strong contrast, another Double-Humped Camel perfectly White.” Then there was “the remarkable anomalous pachyderm from the interior of Africa, which even the savants of Europe have not been able to classify. It has the head of the hippopotamus, the tusk of the elephant, the hide of the rhinoceros, the body of the lion, and the feet of a camel. It weighs nearly two tons and has been named from its peculiar form and strange combination, the ELEPHANTUS-HIPPO-PARADOXUS; as it paradoxically combines several animals in one.” The zoölogical boast continued:

“To the perfecting of this grand Zoölogical Collection, I have made
Earth, Sea, and Air pay tribute, and my brave rangers, hunters,
and agents have traveled to the uttermost parts of the Earth to
complete it; braving the dangers of the jungle, the miasma of the
morass, the arid, burning plains, the snows of the Polar Circle,
the simooms of the desert, the ferocious cannibals of the African
forests, and ‘the pestilence that walketh by noon-day’ in the
dread lagoons and poisoned swamps of India. This superb and only
exhaustive Zoölogical Collection in the United States contains
more costly and rare specimens of natural reptiles, amphibia,
and wild denizens of every clime and country than have ever been
before presented to the public, and form a Vast Living School
of Instruction, where the student may spend hours in wondrous
contemplation, looking ‘from Nature up to Nature’s God.’”

The foregoing sounds as if Barnum had stepped out, and the circus press agent had stepped in. But he took personal interest in all the publicity of his huge show, and he undoubtedly approved all blurbs which he did not write himself. These Barnum circus advertisements have a grandiose intensity that is unsurpassed in the history of advertising. There is a Walt Whitmanlike fervor in Barnum’s exhortation to the public not to miss his free street parade:

“Come from your fields, your workshops, your offices, your stores
and homes! Gather your families--your friends--your neighbors, and
make a holiday for once! Secure an eligible position by 9 o’clock
in the morning, and see the gorgeous procession--then troop along
to the acres of snowy canvas, and devote the rest of the day
to seeing my Grand Museum, my School of Automatic Wonders, the
Tattooed Greek Nobleman, Giants and Dwarfs, my Gigantic Menagerie,
my Twenty Trained Imported Stallions, and my Magnificent Circus!
Then you can go home happy, having enjoyed yourselves innocently
and learned much that will afford you pleasure hereafter. Then for
a night’s refreshing sleep and a good day’s work to-morrow.”

But in spite of all the wonders of the Barnum show, as advertised, Cooper & Bailey continued to prosper and enjoy some of the patronage that Barnum thought was exclusively his. Barnum’s programs and advance publicity began to question the honesty of other shows. One year this verse was used:

“Others may issue paper lies,
But we show all we advertise.”

In another paragraph Barnum suggested that other showmen advertise things that are not included in their shows, and dare not advertise some of the things they have. The bitter rivalry between Barnum’s show and the show now owned by Cooper, Bailey and Hutchinson, which was called “Great London Circus, Sanger’s Royal British Menagerie, and Grand International Allied Shows,” came to a crisis when a baby elephant was born in the Bailey show, the first baby elephant ever born in captivity. Barnum, realizing the value of this feature, telegraphed Bailey an offer of $100,000 for the baby elephant. Bailey refused, and as soon as his show reached Barnum’s territory, Bailey issued bill posters and small handbills with a reproduction of Barnum’s telegram, under the spreading caption, “What Barnum Thinks of the Baby Elephant.” Barnum was anxious for peace, and he offered J. L. Hutchinson, one of Bailey’s partners, a free partnership in his show if Hutchinson would persuade Bailey to combine with Barnum. In 1880 Bailey reached an agreement with Barnum, and the combined shows were organized under the firm name of Barnum, Bailey & Hutchinson. Cooper was dead, Hutchinson soon retired, and the firm became Barnum & Bailey, the Greatest Show on Earth.

In all his enterprises Barnum used his envelopes and letter-heads to advertise his face and his business.

_Westervelt Collection_
]

James Anthony Bailey was the perfect partner for P. T. Barnum, for they were opposites in character, but never antagonists in their business relations. Bailey was born to the name McGinnis in Detroit, Michigan, on the Fourth of July, 1847. His father died of cholera during an epidemic, and his mother died soon afterwards. He could not agree with his brothers and sisters, and school teachers were always an annoyance. He ran away from home and worked with a traveling show whose advance agents were Frederick H. Bailey and Benjamin Stevens. Bailey gave young McGinnis his first job, took care of him, and the boy, wishing to forget his brothers and sisters and to avoid detection, took the name of Bailey. In later years he never admitted to the name McGinnis, and he once discharged a clown who boasted that he knew the boss well and had played marbles with him when his name was McGinnis. During the Civil War Bailey was a sutler’s clerk, and after the war he traveled with several small shows. He finally became a partner in Cooper & Bailey and traveled with his show throughout the United States, Australia and South America.

The contrast between Barnum and Bailey extended even to their physical characteristics: Barnum was more than six feet tall, robust, strong, and corpulent after middle age; Bailey was short, thin, alert, and nervous. Barnum’s disposition was placid, serene, and, after the period of his bankruptcy and recovery, he could not bring himself to worry for long about the circus or anything else; Bailey was always worried, always anxious, and his twitching, electric energy made it impossible for him to leave the circus grounds until the tents had been struck; a rain storm, which usually frightened and aroused the elephants to a state of panic, was a constant source of worry to him, and always when the skies were clouded he asked every one he met whether he thought it would rain. Barnum lived for publicity, Bailey hated it: he objected even to the use of his photograph in the advertisements. Barnum reveled in the title, “Prince of Humbugs”; Bailey hated every form of humbug and used his energy as much as possible to make it unnecessary by obtaining curiosities which people would recognize readily as unique. This was more expensive than Barnum’s cunning, but it paid larger returns eventually. Bailey was prodigal with money used for increasing the size and magnificence of his show, and Barnum was always complaining about the expense. Bailey was at the circus before nine o’clock in the morning, and he usually locked up at night; Barnum in his old age seldom visited the circus except to enjoy his notoriety in the arena whenever it played in large cities. Bailey and Mrs. Bailey traveled with the circus in a private railroad car, which was their home for more than six months every year.

Barnum realized the value of his partner, and he never lost an opportunity to praise him in the newspapers. “Bailey knows,” he told a reporter. “Would you believe it, I’ve never been behind the curtain of our present show [1890]. I don’t know a performer. That’s Bailey’s business.” And upon another occasion he said: “I want you newspaper fellows to let the public know how great a man my partner, Mr. Bailey, is. I’ve never met his equal. He’s got brains--lots of them--and he knows how to use them. He doesn’t copy any of us, old or young. He’s original in his methods, and his resources are amazing. I ought to be jealous of him, and I would be if he were not my partner. How I would hate to have him for a rival! Don’t forget when you are scattering around adjectives about this great spectacle to save a good one or two for Mr. Bailey.” Even Barnum would have admitted that if there was one asset as useful as the notoriety of P. T. Barnum in making Barnum & Bailey the Greatest Show on Earth, it was the astute energy of James Anthony Bailey.

There was one point on which Barnum and Bailey agreed in their general principles, and that was the value to the circus of temperance. Barnum advocated it on moral grounds, and Bailey believed in it for the sake of efficiency. Every contract between Barnum & Bailey and each circus performer or circus employee contained a clause prohibiting the use of either malt or spirituous liquors during the period of time covered by the contract.[23] Barnum knew that drink was a curse, and Bailey believed that the occupation of a circus performer was too hazardous without the additional risk of intoxicating influences.

Although Bailey’s achievements were great, the publicity value of Barnum’s name is not to be underestimated, and Bailey always took it into account; nor did Bailey object to the exaggeration in circus advertisements, for he was too discerning not to realize the value of imaginative words in the description of actual phenomena.

Barnum could always be depended upon, even in his old age, to create a controversy or cause a laugh. In 1880 Henry Bergh, president of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, who was one of the constant annoyances of Barnum’s life, caused a controversy that settled their antagonism forever and gave Barnum excellent publicity. The show was then exhibiting at the Empire Rink, New York, and one of the main attractions was Salamander, the Fire Horse, who walked through fire and came out unscathed. Bergh protested against this cruelty to the horse. Barnum challenged Bergh to meet him in the circus ring and to discuss the subject before the public. Bergh did not appear, but he sent his superintendent, Hartfield, with a squad of twenty policemen to prevent the cruelty. Barnum entered the circus ring and addressed the audience. He assured the public that Salamander’s performance had been witnessed by Queen Victoria, Prince Bismarck and the Emperor of Germany. Then Salamander was led into the ring by Prince Nagaard, his trainer. The fire hoops were lighted, and Barnum ran his own hand through the flaming circles. Ten clowns performed in the hoops of fire, and then Salamander passed through without fear and was not even singed. Superintendent Hartfield walked through the artificial fire himself and was satisfied that it was harmless.

Before the demonstration Barnum told the audience that many years before Bergh had insisted that the hippopotamus which Barnum was exhibiting as the Great Behemoth at his Museum must be provided with a swimming tank filled with water and was satisfied that this was impossible only when Barnum pointed out that such a pleasure would kill the beast, although it was necessary for the whales. Bergh objected again when he heard that Barnum’s snakes were being fed with live toads and lizards, although he was assured that they killed their prey before eating it. Bergh’s letter of protest read:

“I am informed that several live animals were recently thrown
into the cage with your boa constrictor to be devoured! I assert,
without fear of contradiction, that any person who can commit an
atrocity such as the one I complain of is semi-barbarian in his
instincts. It may be urged that the reptiles will not eat dead
food. In reply to this I have only to say--then let them starve;
for it is contrary to the merciful providence of God that wrong
should be committed in order to accomplish a supposed right. But I
am satisfied that this assertion is false in theory and practice,
for no living creature will allow itself to perish of hunger
with food before it--be the aliment dead or alive. On the next
occurrence of this cruel exhibition this society will take legal
measures to punish the perpetrator of it.”

Barnum took measures to punish Bergh. He sent a copy of Bergh’s letter to Professor Louis Agassiz at Harvard, who wrote in reply:

“I do not know any way to induce snakes to eat their food otherwise
than in their natural manner--that is alive. Your museum is
intended to show the public the animals as nearly as possible
in their natural state. The society of which you speak is, as I
understand, for the prevention of unnecessary cruelty to animals.
It is a most praiseworthy object, but I do not think the most
active members of the society would object to eating lobster salad
because the lobster was boiled alive, or refuse roasted oysters
because they were cooked alive, or raw oysters because they must be
swallowed alive. I am, dear sir, your obedient servant,

“L. AGASSIZ.”

Barnum sent Agassiz’ letter to Bergh and demanded an apology. Bergh answered that he was convinced more than ever of the necessity for laboring in the cause of righteousness, when such distinguished savants were fighting on the other side. He added: “I scarcely know which emotion is paramount in my mind, regret or astonishment, that so eminent a philosopher should have cast the weight of his commanding authority into the scale where cruelty points the index in its favor.” Evidently Henry Bergh did not like oysters. Barnum gave all this correspondence to the newspapers, and it created publicity for several days.

It is interesting in this connection that, in spite of his long association with animals, or perhaps because of it, there is no indication in Barnum’s life of any personal love for them. So far as we know, he did not keep dogs; he never mentions a cat, and he kept fine horses for his carriage only because they made an excellent impression on the streets. Animals were a part of his business. But he had sufficient interest in their welfare to support societies for the prevention of cruelty to animals. He was the head of such a society in Bridgeport, and he contributed liberally to a similar society patronized by Queen Victoria in England.[24] His controversy with Henry Bergh did not impair his personal respect for the man and his work, even when they interfered with Barnum’s own interests. In his will Barnum gave the City of Bridgeport $1,000 “to be used for the erection of a statue of Henry Bergh, the Distinguished Philanthropist and founder of the Society for the protection of animals from abuse and cruelty.” If the City of Bridgeport did not erect the statue, Barnum provided that the $1,000 was to be donated to any city that would do so.

IV

The greatest single acquisition of the Barnum & Bailey show during its entire history, from the point of view of the international excitement which it caused, and the probable financial returns as a result of that excitement, was Jumbo, the largest elephant in captivity. For many years Jumbo had been the favorite animal in the collection of the Royal Zoölogical Gardens in Regent’s Park, London. In his youth Jumbo was captured by the Hamran Arabs, who sold him to a Bavarian collector, Johann Schmidt, and in 1861 Schmidt sold him to the Jardin des Plantes of Paris. The Royal Zoölogical Society traded a rhinoceros for him at a time when Jumbo showed no signs of becoming a giant; he was an African elephant, and African elephants take longer to mature than their Indian brothers.