subject of tremendous rivalry as five or six entered for the prize. ... It ׳was Genin, the hatter, who became the purchaser of the first ticket which had been sold in America, for the price of $225. . . . Some few may possibly have thought his speculation in the theory of advertising that of a fool; ‘but it must be confessed that most of the knowing
11 1 1 ׳ s |
**R ,S, 45!» R Rs! JR•
11 * I
MEDAL STRUCK BY P. T. BARNUM in honor of Jenny Lind’s first American concert.
ones looked upon him with envy, nor indeed without reason.”
Later, we are informed that 1,429 tickets were sold at an average price of $6.38. The gross amount of money paid for them was $9,119.25. On Monday morning the sale was continued and the remainder of the tickets, 3,055, disposed of for $15,319.
“The good people of New York are anxious to part with their money for a song,” honest Philip Hone quaintly remarks in his famous diary, “and the Nightingale will make a profitable exchange of her notes for specie.” Even in that distant day the speculator was on the qui vive. In the New York Herald of September 9, 1850, we ran across the following eloquent advertisement:
JENNY LIND’S FIRST CONCERT Wednesday Evening, September 11th.
Notice.—The undersigned having two choice seats for the above entertainment, wishes to dispose of the same. They are two of the best seats in the house, situated in the parquet, and only on a third b ,nch from the stage, being directly in front with no obstructions whatever. Each being equally as good a seat as that which was purchased by Mr. Genin for $225. Price for both seats $30. Apply to Charles White, No. 53 Bowery, N. Y.
At last the momentous evening arrived; from the end of the two-hundred-foot bridge, which at that time connected Castle Garden with the shore, stretched a double row of policemen; only carriages were allowed to drive up !from the Whitehall side, turning off into Battery place. At one time the line of carriages extended to Whitehall and up State street to Broadway. Mr. Barnum had erected a strong frame-work along the bridge referred to above, and had thrown a huge awning over it. Beneath, lights shone brilliantly, creating almost the appearance of a triumphal avenue. Although the concert did not commence until eight the doors were opened at five to avoid confusion.
“On entering the Castle,” pens the enterprising N. P. Willis, “a company of ushers, distinguished by their badges, were in readiness to direct visitors to that part of the hall where their seats were located. Colored lamps and hangings suspended from the pillars indicated at a glance the different divisions and the task of seating the whole audience of more than seven thousand persons was thus accomplished without the least inconvenience. The hall was brilliantly lighted, though from the rear the stage looked somewhat dim. The wooden partition which was ,built up in place of the drop curtain, was covered with a painting repre-(Continued on Page 10).
IRVING HOUSE,
corner of Broadway and Chambers street, New York, where Jenny Lind stayed.
little short of 4,000. Mr. Leeds, to whom the task was committed of disposing of the tickets, took his stand, as he announced, on the very spot which was to be occupied by Jenny and then proceeded to sell the first. This was the
CASTLE GARDEN (NOW THE NEW YORK AQUARIUM)
in 1850, showing the 200-foot bridge which at that time connected[ it with the shore.
phrases born into popularity over-night. At Delmonico’s, we find toothsome dishes served a la Jenny Lind. The Jenny Lind pancake, of European fame, survives even today. Belles of the season brushed back their tresses in imitation of her charmingly simple style and endeavored to simulate her gliding step—“she never seemed to walk.” Smitten young sparks idled for hours near her balcony, hoping to catch “just a glimpse of Jenny.”
From St. Louis comes news of a trotting match, the entering steeds being Jenny Lind,
Barnum, Benedict and Belletti. It is surprising to note that Benedict won.
In browsing among newspaper files of the period we stumbled against this quaint advertisement :
JUST ARRIVED.
At 168 Lake Street, a beautiful lot of Jenny Lind long and square shawls, extra fine quality and neat and elegant styles, such as adorn the graceful form of the universal charmer, the Swedish Nightingale, whose inimitable warblings and acts of noble benevolence are now the admiration of the world.
Also Jenny Lind dress goods, etc., at our one-price cash store.
Francis Clark
Of course the wits of the day were busy with quill and pencil, satirizing the songstress and her impresario. The following verses are from a poem, entitled The Manager and the Nightingale, by William A. Butler, 1850.
I’m a famous Cantatrice, and my name it is Miss Jenny,
And I’ve come to the United States to turn an honest penny.
Says Barnum: “If you’ll cross to tha mighty Yankee nation,
We can make in that Republic, a royal speculation;
Just resign yourself to me, and we will raise the wind,
As sure as my name’s Barnum, and yours is Jenny Lind!
So, Jenny, come along, you’re just the card for me,
And quit these kings and queens for the country of the free.
They’ll welcome you with speeches and serenades, and rockets,
And you will touch their hearts, and I will tap their pockets.
And if between us both, the public isn’t skinned,
Why my name isn’t Barnum nor your name Jenny Lind.”
Reverting once more to the more important incidents of Mr. Barnum’s venture, since there was no up-town ball in New York fitted to hold the vast crowds expected at the Jenny Lind concerts, the resourceful impresario obtained permission to alter the interior of Castle Garden, now the New York Aquarium, in a manner to suit his purpose. It was made large enough to hold between six and seven thousand persons, the old circular form being retained. The first concert was announced for Wednesday evening, September 11; on the preceding Saturday an auction was held to dispose advantageously of tickets.
“Unfortunately the day was wet in the extreme,” writes a voluble chronicler who was present. “The sky was
JENNY LIND DRIVING FROM THE PIER
at Canal street to the Irving House, September 1, 1850.
coated with dense gray clouds, and it was what would be called in the vernacular, a regular soaker. It might have been fancied that this would have deterred many from attending the sale. Nevertheless this proved not to be the case. Castle Garden, where it had been announced to take place, was crowded in spite of the unexpected imposition of one shilling, by the proprietor, as the price of admission. Indeed, as we heard it pretty generally, stated and had it subsequently confirmed by his own avowal, the numbers who attended the auction ran to a figure which was very