A book of good size might be made of the notable expressions called forth by Mr. Barnum"s death from leading journals and men known to fame. It is impossible to give any fair sample of them here, but the London Times" leader of April 8th may serve, perhaps, as a good specimen:
"Barnum is gone. That fine flower of Western civilization, that arbiter elegantiarum to Demos, has lived. At the age of eighty, after a life of restless energy and incessant publicity, the great showman has lain down to rest. He gave, in the eyes of the seekers after amus.e.m.e.nt, a l.u.s.tre to America. * * * He created the metier of showman on a grandiose scale worthy to be professed by a man of genius. He early realized that essential feature of a modern democracy, its readiness to be led to what will amuse and instruct it. He knew that "the people" means crowds, paying crowds; that crowds love the fashion and will follow it; and that the business of the great man is to make and control the fashion.
To live on, by, and before the public was his ideal. For their sake and his own, he loved to bring the public to see, to applaud, and to pay. His immense activity, covering all those years, marked him out as one of the most typical and conspicuous of Yankees. From Jenny Lind to Jumbo, no occasion of a public "sensation" came amiss to him.
"Phineas Taylor Barnum, born in 1810, at Bethel, Connecticut--how serious and puritanical it sounds! --would have died with a merely local reputation unless chance had favored him by putting in his way something to make a hit with. He stumbled across Charles H. Stratton, the famous, the immortal "General Tom Thumb"
of our childhood. Together they came to Europe and held "receptions" everywhere. It was the moment when the Queen"s eldest children were in the nursery, and Barnum saw that a fortune depended on his bringing them into friendly relations with Tom Thumb. He succeeded; and the British public flocked to see the amusing little person who had shown off his mature yet miniature dimensions by the side of the baby Heir Apparent. Then came the Jenny Lind furore. Then came a publicity of a different sort. Mr. Barnum became a legislator for his State, and even, in 1875, Mayor of Bridgeport. Why not? The man who can organize the amus.e.m.e.nts of the people may very well be trusted to organize a few of their laws for them.
"When, in 1889, the veteran brought over his shipload of giants and dwarfs, chariots and waxworks, spangles and circus-riders, to entertain the people of London, one wanted a Carlyle to come forward with a discourse upon "the Hero as Showman." It was the ne plus ultra of publicity. * * * There was a three-fold show--the things in the stalls and cages, the showman, and the world itself. And of the three perhaps Barnum himself was the most interesting. The chariot races and the monstrosities we can get elsewhere, but the octogenarian showman was unique. His name is a proverb already, and a proverb it will continue."