Kitabı oku: «Struggles amd Triumphs: or, Forty Years' Recollections of P.T. Barnum», sayfa 20
CHAPTER XXI.
JENNY LIND
ARRIVAL AT ST. LOUIS – SURPRISING PROPOSITION OF MISS LIND’S SECRETARY – HOW THE MANAGER MANAGED – READINESS TO CANCEL THE CONTRACT – CONSULTATION WITH “UNCLE SOL.” – BARNUM NOT TO BE HIRED – A “JOKE” – TEMPERANCE LECTURE IN THE THEATRE – SOL. SMITH – A COMEDIAN, AUTHOR, AND LAWYER – UNIQUE DEDICATION – JENNY LIND’S CHARACTER AND CHARITIES – SHARP WORDS FROM THE WEST – SELFISH ADVISERS – MISS LIND’S GENEROUS IMPULSES – HER SIMPLE AND CHILDLIKE CHARACTER – CONFESSIONS OF A MANAGER – PRIVATE REPUTATION AND PUBLIC RENOWN – CHARACTER AS A STOCK IN TRADE – LE GRAND SMITH – MR. DOLBY – THE ANGELIC SIDE KEPT OUTSIDE – MY OWN SHARE IN THE PUBLIC BENEFITS – JUSTICE TO MISS LIND AND MYSELF.
ACCORDING to agreement, the “Magnolia” waited for us at Natchez and Memphis, and we gave profitable concerts at both places. The concert at Memphis was the sixtieth in the list since Miss Lind’s arrival in America, and the first concert in St. Louis would be the sixty-first. When we reached that city, on the morning of the day when our first concert was to be given, Miss Lind’s secretary came to me, commissioned, he said, by her, and announced that as sixty concerts had already taken place, she proposed to avail herself of one of the conditions of our contract, and cancel the engagement next morning. As this was the first intimation of the kind I had received, I was somewhat startled, though I assumed an entirely placid demeanor, and asked:
“Does Miss Lind authorize you to give me this notice?”
“I so understand it,” was the reply.
I immediately reflected that if our contract was thus suddenly cancelled, Miss Lind was bound to repay to me all I had paid her over the stipulated $1,000 for each concert, and a little calculation showed that the sum thus to be paid back was $77,000, since she had already received from me $137,000 for sixty concerts. In this view, I could not but think that this was a ruse of some of her advisers, and, possibly, that she might know nothing of the matter. So I told her secretary that I would see him again in an hour, and meanwhile I went to my old friend Mr. Sol. Smith for his legal and friendly advice.
I showed him my contract and told him how much I had been annoyed by the selfish and greedy hangers-on and advisers, legal and otherwise, of Jenny Lind. I talked to him about the “wheels within wheels” which moved this great musical enterprise, and asked and gladly accepted his advice, which mainly coincided with my own views of the situation. I then went back to the secretary and quietly told him that I was ready to settle with Miss Lind and to close the engagement.
“But,” said he, manifestly “taken aback,” “you have already advertised concerts in Louisville and Cincinnati, I believe.”
“Yes,” I replied; “but you may take my contracts for halls and printing off my hands at cost.” I further said that he was welcome to the assistance of my agent who had made these arrangements, and, moreover, that I would cheerfully give my own services to help them through with these concerts, thus giving them a good start “on their own hook.”
My liberality, which he acknowledged, emboldened him to make an extraordinary proposition:
“Now suppose,” he asked, “Miss Lind should wish to give some fifty concerts in this country, what would you charge as manager, per concert?”
“A million dollars each, not one cent less,” I replied. I was now thoroughly aroused; the whole thing was as clear as daylight, and I continued:
“Now we might as well understand each other; I don’t believe Miss Lind has authorized you to propose to me to cancel our contract; but if she has, just bring me a line to that effect over her signature and her check for the amount due me by the terms of that contract, some $77,000, and we will close our business connections at once.”
“But why not make a new arrangement,” persisted the Secretary, “for fifty concerts more, by which Miss Lind shall pay you liberally, say $1,000 per concert?”
“Simply because I hired Miss Lind, and not she me,” I replied, “and because I never ought to take a farthing less for my risk and trouble than the contract gives me. I have voluntarily paid Miss Lind more than twice as much as I originally contracted to pay her, or as she expected to receive when she first engaged with me. Now, if she is not satisfied, I wish to settle instantly and finally. If you do not bring me her decision to-day, I shall go to her for it to-morrow morning.”
I met the secretary soon after breakfast next morning and asked him if he had a written communication for me from Miss Lind? He said he had not and that the whole thing was a “joke.” He merely wanted, he added, to see what I would say to the proposition. I asked him if Miss Lind was in the “joke,” as he called it? He hoped I would not inquire, but would let the matter drop. I went on, as usual, and gave four more concerts in St. Louis, and followed out my programme as arranged in other cities for many weeks following; nor at that time, nor at any time afterwards, did Miss Lind give me the slightest intimation that she had any knowledge of the proposition of her secretary to cancel our agreement or to employ me as her manager.
During our stay at St. Louis, I delivered a temperance lecture in the theatre, and at the close, among other signers, of the pledge, was my friend and adviser, Sol. Smith. “Uncle Sol,” as every one called him, was a famous character in his time. He was an excellent comedian, an author, a manager and a lawyer. For a considerable period of his life, he was largely concerned in theatricals in St. Louis, New Orleans and other cities, and acquired a handsome property. He died at a ripe old age, in 1869, respected and lamented by all who knew him. I esteem it an honor to have been one of his intimate friends.
A year or two before he died, he published a very interesting volume, giving a full account of the leading incidents in his long and varied career as an actor and manager. He had previously, in 1854, published an autobiographical work, comprising an account of the “second seven years of his professional life,” together with sketches of adventure in after years, and entitled “The Theatrical Journey-Work and Anecdotical Recollections of Sol. Smith, Comedian, Attorney at Law,” etc. This unique work was preceded by a dedication which I venture to copy. It was as follows:
“TO PHINEAS T. BARNUM, PROPRIETOR OF THE AMERICAN MUSEUM, ETC
“Great Impressario: Whilst you were engaged in your grand Jenny Lind speculation, the following conundrum went the rounds of the American newspapers:
“ ‘Why is it that Jenny Lind and Barnum will never fall out?’ Answer: ‘Because he is always for-getting, and she is always for-giving.’
“I have never asked you the question directly, whether you, Mr. Barnum, started that conundrum, or not; but I strongly suspect that you did. At all events, I noticed that your whole policy was concentrated into one idea – to make an angel of Jenny, and depreciate yourself in contrast.
“You may remember that in this city (St. Louis), I acted in one instance as your ‘legal adviser,’ and as such, necessarily became acquainted with all the particulars of your contract with the so-called Swedish Nightingale, as well as the various modifications claimed by that charitable lady, and submitted to by you after her arrival in this country; which modifications (I suppose it need no longer be a secret) secured to her – besides the original stipulation of one thousand dollars for every concert, attendants, carriages, assistant artists, and a pompous and extravagant retinue, fit (only) for a European princess – one half of the profits of each performance. You may also remember the legal advice I gave you on the occasion referred to, and the salutary effect of your following it. You must remember the extravagant joy you felt afterwards, in Philadelphia, when the ‘Angel’ made up her mind to avail herself of one of the stipulations in her contract, to break off at the end of a hundred nights, and even bought out seven of that hundred – supposing that she could go on without your aid as well as with it. And you cannot but remember, how, like a rocket-stick she dropped, when your business connection with her ended, and how she ‘fizzed out’ the remainder of her concert nights in this part of the world, and soon afterwards retired to her domestic blissitude in Sweden.
“You know, Mr. Barnum, if you would only tell, which of the two it was that was ‘for-getting,’ and which ‘for-giving’; and you also know who actually gave the larger portion of those sums which you heralded to the world as the sole gifts of the ‘divine Jenny.’
“Of all your speculations – from the negro centenarina, who didn’t nurse General Washington, down to the Bearded Woman of Genoa – there was not one which required the exercise of so much humbuggery as the Jenny Lind concerts; and I verily believe there is no man living, other than yourself, who could, or would, have risked the enormous expenditure of money necessary to carry them through successfully – travelling, with sixty artists, four thousand miles, and giving ninety-three concerts, at an actual cost of forty-five hundred dollars each, is what no other man would have undertaken – you accomplished this, and pocketed by the operation but little less than two hundred thousand dollars! Mr. Barnum, you are yourself, alone!
“I honor you, oh! Great Impressario, as the most successful manager in America or any other country. Democrat, as you are, you can give a practical lesson to the aristocrats of Europe how to live. At your beautiful and tasteful residence, ‘Iranistan’ (I don’t like the name, though,) you can and do entertain your friends with a warmth of hospitality, only equalled by that of the great landed proprietors of the old country, or of our own ‘sunny South.’ Whilst riches are pouring into your coffers from your various ‘ventures’ in all parts of the world, you do not hoard your immense means, but continually ‘cast them forth upon the waters,’ rewarding labor, encouraging the arts, and lending a helping hand to industry in all its branches. Not content with doing all this, you deal telling blows, whenever opportunity offers, upon the monster Intemperance. Your labors in this great cause alone, should entitle you to the thanks of all good men, women and children in the land. Mr. Barnum, you deserve all your good fortune, and I hope you may long live to enjoy your wealth and honor.
“As a small instalment towards the debt, I, as one of the community, owe you, and with the hope of affording you an hour’s amusement (if you can spare that amount of time from your numerous avocations to read it), I present you with this little volume, containing a very brief account of some of my ‘journey-work’ in the south and west; and remain, very respectfully,
“Your friend, and affectionate uncle,
“Sol. Smith.
“Chouteau Avenue, St. Louis,
“Nov. 1, 1854.”
“Uncle” Sol. Smith must be held solely responsible for his extravagant estimate of P. T. Barnum, and for his somewhat deprecatory view of the attributes of the “divine Jenny.” It is true that he derived many of his impressions of Miss Lind from the annoying circumstances that compelled me to seek his professional advice and assistance in St. Louis, when Jenny Lind’s secretary came to me with an assumed authorization from her to abruptly close our engagement. But when Sol. Smith’s dedication was first published, there were plenty of people and papers throughout the land that were eager to catch up and indorse this new view of Miss Lind’s character. The Athenians were sometimes sick, no doubt, of hearing Aristides always called “the Just.” Yet, some of the sharp things which Sol. Smith means to say about Miss Lind, apply rather to the selfish persons who, unfortunately, were more in her confidence than I ever aspired to be, and who assumed to advise her and thus easily perverted her better judgment.
With all her excellent and even extraordinarily good qualities, however, Jenny Lind was human, though the reputation she bore in Europe for her many charitable acts led me to believe, till I knew her, that she was nearly perfect. I think now that her natural impulses were more simple, childlike, pure and generous than those of almost any other person I ever met. But she had been petted, almost worshipped, so long, that it would have been strange indeed if her unbounded popularity had not in some degree affected her to her hurt, and it must not be thought extraordinary if she now and then exhibited some phase of human weakness.
Like most persons of uncommon talent, she had a strong will which, at times, she found ungovernable; but if she was ever betrayed into a display of ill-temper she was sure to apologize and express her regret afterwards. Le Grand Smith, who was quite intimate with her, and who was my right-hand man during the entire Lind engagement, used sometimes to say to me:
“Well, Mr. Barnum, you have managed wonderfully in always keeping Jenny’s ‘angel’ side outside with the public.”
More than one Englishman – I may instance Mr. Dolby, Mr. Dickens’s agent during his last visit to America – expressed surprise at the confirmed impression of “perfection” entertained by the general American public in regard to the Swedish Nightingale. These things are written with none but the kindest feelings towards the sweet songstress, and only to modify the too current ideas of superhuman excellence which cannot be characteristic of any mortal being.
As I have before intimated in giving details of my management of the enterprise, believing, as I did when I engaged her, in her “angelic” reputation, I am frank enough to confess that I considered her private character a valuable adjunct, even in a business point of view, to her renown as a singer. I admit that I took her charities into account as part of my “stock in trade.” Whenever she sang for a public or private charity, she gave her voice, which was worth a thousand dollars to her every evening. At such times, I always insisted upon paying for the hall, orchestra, printing, and other expenses, because I felt able and willing to contribute my full share towards the worthy objects which prompted these benefits.
This narration would be incomplete if I did not add the following:
We were in Havana when I showed to Miss Lind a paper containing the conundrum on “for-getting” and “for-giving,” at which she laughed heartily, but immediately checked herself and said:
“O! Mr. Barnum, this is not fair; you know that you really give more than I do from the proceeds of every one of these charity concerts.”
And it is but just to her to say that she frequently remonstrated with me and declared that the actual expenses should be deducted and the thus lessened sum devoted to the charity for which the concert might be given; but I always laughingly told her that I must do my part, give my share, and that if it was purely a business operation, “bread cast upon the waters,” it would return, perhaps, buttered; for the larger her reputation for liberality, the more liberal the public would surely be to us and to our enterprise.
I have no wish to conceal these facts; and I certainly have no desire to receive a larger meed of praise than my qualified generosity merits. Justice to myself and to my management, as well as to Miss Lind, seems to permit, if not to demand, this explanation.
CHAPTER XXII.
CLOSE OF THE CAMPAIGN
PENITENT TICKET PURCHASERS – VISIT TO THE “HERMITAGE” – “APRIL FOOL” FUN – THE MAMMOTH CAVE – SIGNOR SALVI – GEORGE D. PRENTICE – PERFORMANCE IN A PORK HOUSE – RUSE AT CINCINNATI – ANNOYANCES AT PITTSBURG – LE GRAND SMITH’S GRAND JOKE – RETURN TO NEW YORK – THE FINAL CONCERTS IN CASTLE GARDEN AND METROPOLITAN HALL – THE ADVISERS APPEAR – THE NINETY-THIRD CONCERT – MY OFFER TO CLOSE THE ENGAGEMENT – MISS LIND’S LETTER ACCEPTING MY PROPOSITION – STORY ABOUT AN “IMPROPER PLACE” – JENNY’S CONCERTS ON HER OWN ACCOUNT – HER MARRIAGE TO MR. OTTO GOLDSCHMIDT – CORDIAL RELATIONS BETWEEN MRS. LIND GOLDSCHMIDT AND MYSELF – AT HOME AGAIN – STATEMENT OF THE TOTAL RECEIPTS OF THE CONCERTS.
AFTER five concerts in St. Louis, we went to Nashville, Tennessee, where we gave our sixty-sixth and sixty-seventh concerts in this country. At the first ticket auction in that city, the excitement was considerable and the bidding spirited, as was generally the case. After the auction was over, one of my men, happening in at a dry-goods store in the town, heard the proprietor say, “I’ll give five dollars to any man who will take me out and give me a good horse-whipping! I deserve it, and am willing to pay for having it done. To think that I should have been such a fool as to have paid forty-eight dollars for four tickets for my wife, two daughters, and myself, to listen to music for only two hours, makes me mad with myself, and I want to pay somebody for giving me a thundering good horse-whipping!” I am not sure that others have not experienced a somewhat similar feeling, when they became cool and rational, and the excitement of novelty and competition had passed away.
While at Nashville, Jenny Lind, accompanied by my daughter, Mrs. Lyman, and myself, visited “the Hermitage,” the late residence of General Jackson. On that occasion, for the first time that season, we heard the wild mocking-birds singing in the trees. This gave Jenny Lind great delight, as she had never before heard them sing except in their wire-bound cages.
The first of April occurred while we were in Nashville. I was considerably annoyed during the forenoon by the calls of members of the company who came to me under the belief that I had sent for them. After dinner I concluded to give them all a touch of “April fool.” The following article, which appeared the next morning in the Nashville Daily American, my amanuensis having imparted the secret to the editor, will show how it was done:
“A series of laughable jokes came off yesterday at the Veranda in honor of All Fools’ Day. Mr. Barnum was at the bottom of the mischief. He managed in some mysterious manner to obtain a lot of blank telegraphic despatches and envelopes from one of the offices in this city, and then went to work and manufactured ‘astounding intelligence’ for most of the parties composing the Jenny Lind suite. Almost every person in the company received a telegraphic despatch written under the direction of Barnum. Mr. Barnum’s daughter was informed that her mother, her cousin, and several other relatives were waiting for her in Louisville, and various other important and extraordinary items of domestic intelligence were communicated to her. Mr. Le Grand Smith was told by a despatch from his father that his native village in Connecticut was in ashes, including his own homestead, etc. Several of Barnum’s employees had most liberal offers of engagements from banks and other institutions at the North. Burke, and others of the musical professors, were offered princely salaries by opera managers, and many of them received most tempting inducements to proceed immediately to the World’s Fair in London.
“One married gentleman in Mr. Barnum’s suite received the gratifying intelligence that he had for two days been the father of a pair of bouncing boys (mother and children doing well), an event which he had been anxiously looking for during the week, though on a somewhat more limited scale. In fact, nearly every person in the party engaged by Barnum received some extraordinary telegraphic intelligence, and as the great impressario managed to have the despatches delivered simultaneously, each recipient was for some time busily occupied with his own personal news.
“By and by each began to tell his neighbor his good or bad tidings; and each was, of course, rejoiced or grieved according to circumstances. Several gave Mr. Barnum notice of their intention to leave him, in consequence of better offers; and a number of them sent off telegraphic despatches and letters by mail, in answer to those received.
“The man who had so suddenly become the father of twins, telegraphed to his wife to ‘be of good cheer,’ and that he would ‘start for home to-morrow.’ At a late hour last night the secret had not got out, and we presume that many of the victims will first learn from our columns that they have been taken in by Barnum and All Fools’ Day!”
From Nashville, Jenny Lind and a few friends went by way of the Mammoth Cave to Louisville, while the rest of the party proceeded by steamboat.
While in Havana, I engaged Signor Salvi for a few months, to begin about the 10th of April. He joined us at Louisville, and sang in the three concerts there, with great satisfaction to the public. Mr. George D. Prentice, of the Louisville Journal, and his beautiful and accomplished lady, who had contributed much to the pleasure of Miss Lind and our party, accompanied us to Cincinnati.
A citizen of Madison had applied to me on our first arrival in Louisville, for a concert in that place. I replied that the town was too small to afford it, whereupon he offered to take the management of it into his own hands, and pay me $5,000 for the receipts. The last concert at Louisville, and the concerts at Natchez and Wheeling were given under a similar agreement, though with better pecuniary results than at Madison. As the steamer from Louisville to Cincinnati would arrive at Madison about sundown, and would wait long enough for us to give a concert, I agreed to his proposition.
We were not a little surprised to learn upon arriving, that the concert must be given in a “pork house” – a capacious shed which had been fitted up and decorated for the occasion. We concluded, however, that if the inhabitants were satisfied with the accommodations, we ought not to object. The person who had contracted for the concert came $1,300 short of his agreement, which I consequently lost, and at ten o’clock we were again on board the fine steamer “Ben Franklin” bound for Cincinnati.
The next morning the crowd upon the wharf was immense. I was fearful that an attempt to repeat the New Orleans ruse with my daughter would be of no avail, as the joke had been published in the Cincinnati papers; so I gave my arm to Miss Lind, and begged her to have no fears, for I had hit upon an expedient which would save her from annoyance. We then descended the plank to the shore, and as soon as we had touched it, Le Grand Smith called out from the boat, as if he had been one of the passengers, “That’s no go, Mr. Barnum; you can’t pass your daughter off for Jenny Lind this time.”
The remark elicited a peal of merriment from the crowd, several persons calling out, “That won’t do, Barnum! you may fool the New Orleans folks, but you can’t come it over the ‘Buckeyes.’ We intend to stay here until you bring out Jenny Lind!” They readily allowed me to pass with the lady whom they supposed to be my daughter, and in five minutes afterwards the Nightingale was complimenting Mr. Coleman upon the beautiful and commodious apartments which were devoted to her in the Burnett House. The crowd remained an hour on the wharf before they would be convinced that the person whom they took for my daughter was in fact the veritable Swede. When this was discovered, a general laugh followed the exclamation from one of the victims, “Well, Barnum has humbugged us after all!”
In passing up the river to Pittsburg, the boat waited four hours to enable us to give a concert in Wheeling. It was managed by a couple of gentlemen in that city, who purchased it for five thousand dollars in advance, by which they made a handsome profit for their trouble. The concert was given in a church.
At Pittsburg, the open space surrounding the concert room became crowded with thousands of persons, who, foolishly refusing to accommodate each other by listening to the music, disturbed the concert and determined us to leave the next morning for Baltimore, instead of giving a second concert that had been advertised.
Le Grand Smith here paid me off for my “April fool” joke. He induced a female of his acquaintance to call on me and reveal an arrangement which she pretended accidentally to have overheard between some scoundrels, who were resolved to stop our stage coach on the Alleghany mountains and commit highway robbery. The story seemed incredible, and yet the woman related it with so much apparent sincerity, that I swallowed the bait, and remitting to New York all the money I had, except barely enough to defray our expenses to Baltimore, I purchased several revolvers for such members of the company as were not already provided, and we left Pittsburg armed to the teeth! Fortunately, Jenny Lind and several of the company had left before I made this grand discovery, and hence she was saved any apprehensions on the subject. It is needless to say we found no use for our firearms.
We reached New York early in May, 1851, and gave fourteen concerts in Castle Garden and Metropolitan Hall. The last of these made the ninety-second regular concert under our engagement. Jenny Lind had now again reached the atmosphere of her legal and other “advisers,” and I soon discovered the effects of their influence. I, however, cared little what course they advised her to pursue. I indeed wished they would prevail upon her to close with her hundredth concert, for I had become weary with constant excitement and unremitting exertions. I was confident that if she undertook to give concerts on her own account, she would be imposed upon and harassed in a thousand ways; yet I felt it would be well for her to have a trial at it, if she saw fit to credit her advisers’ assurance that I had not managed the enterprise as successfully as it might have been done.
At about the eighty-fifth concert, therefore, I was most happy to learn from her lips that she had concluded to pay the forfeiture of twenty-five thousand dollars, and terminate the concerts with the one hundredth.
We went to Philadelphia, where I had advertised the ninety-second, ninety-third, and ninety-fourth concerts, and had engaged the large National Theatre on Chestnut Street. It had been used for equestrian and theatrical entertainments, but was now thoroughly cleansed and fitted up by Max Maretzek for Italian opera. It was a convenient place for our purpose. One of her “advisers,” a subordinate in her employ, who was already itching for the position of manager, made the selection of this building a pretext for creating dissatisfaction in the mind of Miss Lind. I saw the influences which were at work, and not caring enough for the profits of the remaining seven concerts, to continue the engagement at the risk of disturbing the friendly feelings which had hitherto uninterruptedly existed between that lady and myself, I wrote her a letter offering to relinquish the engagement, if she desired it, at the termination of the concert which was to take place that evening, upon her simply allowing me a thousand dollars per concert for the seven which would yet remain to make up the hundred, besides paying me the sum stipulated as a forfeiture for closing the engagement at the one-hundredth concert. Towards evening I received the following reply:
“To P. T. Barnum, Esq.
“My Dear Sir: – I accept your proposition to close our contract to-night, at the end of the ninety-third concert, on condition of my paying you seven thousand dollars, in addition to the sum I forfeit under the condition of finishing the engagement at the end of one hundred concerts.
“I am, dear Sir, yours truly,“Jenny Lind,
“Philadelphia, 9th of June, 1851.”
I met her at the concert in the evening, and she was polite and friendly as ever. Between the first and second parts of the concert, I introduced General Welch, the lessee of the National Theatre, who informed her that he was quite willing to release me from my engagement of the building, if she did not desire it longer. She replied, that upon trial, she found it much better than she expected, and she would therefore retain it for the remainder of the concerts.
In the mean time, her advisers had been circulating the story that I had compelled her to sing in an improper place, and when they heard she had concluded to remain there, they beset her with arguments against it, until at last she consented to remove her concerts to a smaller hall.
I had thoroughly advertised the three concerts, in the newspapers within a radius of one hundred miles from Philadelphia, and had sent admission tickets to the editors. On the day of the second concert, one of the new agents, who had indirectly aided in bringing about the dissolution of our engagement, refused to recognize these tickets. I urged upon him the injustice of such a course, but received no satisfaction. I then stated the fact to Miss Lind, and she gave immediate orders that these tickets should be received. Country editors’ tickets, which were offered after I left Philadelphia, were however refused by her agents (contrary to Miss Lind’s wish and knowledge), and the editors, having come from a distance with their wives, purchased tickets, and I subsequently remitted the money to numerous gentlemen, whose complimentary tickets were thus repudiated.
Jenny Lind gave several concerts with varied success, and then retired to Niagara Falls, and afterwards to Northampton, Massachusetts. While sojourning at the latter place, she visited Boston and was married to Mr. Otto Goldschmidt, a German composer and pianist, to whom she was much attached, and who had studied music with her in Germany. He played several times in our concerts. He was a very quiet, inoffensive gentleman, and an accomplished musician.
I met her several times after our engagement terminated. She was always affable. On one occasion, while passing through Bridgeport, she told me that she had been sadly harassed in giving her concerts. “People cheat me and swindle me very much,” said she, “and I find it very annoying to give concerts on my own account.”
