But my advisers thought I was too sanguine, and they said as much. Coup even proposed to lie still a year, and start our show again in . But I replied that my “years” were too few and too precious to be wasted in that way; and although I would never put a show upon the road that did not exceed in magnitude and merit that which we had lost, I felt every confidence in accomplishing this before , if we would all work hard.
Strange enough, before we parted on that evening of , I received a cable message from my trusty agent, Robert Fillingham of London, saying he had purchased for me a pair of giraffes or camelopards and a full supply of lions, tigers and other animals. He added: “All the Governmental Zoological Gardens here and on the continent sympathize with you, and are ready to dispose of any animals you wish. The mechanicians of Paris and Geneva are at work on automatons and other attractions for your travelling museum.”
“Don’t that electricity beat the world?” exclaimed Mr. Coup with great delight.
“Just put a little of it into your blood,” I replied, “and we will beat the world.”
The spirits of my associates were thoroughly revived, and at this present writing, on the , I have already received more rare wild animals and other curiosities than I ever had before at one time, with promise of many more within a month, and Messrs. Hurd and Coup are in high feather.
“Mr. Barnum,” said Coup this morning, “this new show of ours, got up in so short a time, is the miracle of the age.”
“Well, my dear fellow,” I replied, “the public like miracles; keep performing them and you are sure of success. You can never do so much for the public, but they will do more for you in return. Give them the best show possible, at whatever cost; keep it free from objectionable features, and never fear; your efforts will surely be appreciated, and you will receive a generous support. Remember, ‘Excelsior’ is our motto.”
These are the feelings which inspire us as we energetically prepare for our third campaign, and although I see plenty of hard work ahead, I also see bright skies, smiling faces, and assured success.
Finis.
In concluding this brief resumé of the last year’s events, I would seem ungrateful did I fail to acknowledge my heartfelt thankfulness to the public and the press, for the generous and unqualified expressions of sympathy on account of the great calamity of . Editors throughout the United States and Europe have written of this conflagration, and of those which preceded it, and have attributed to me a degree of perseverance I fear beyond my deserts. If the fiery ordeal has had any visible effect, it has been to increase my desire to identify my name with a class of entertainments at once moral, amusing and instructive. Colossal as was the Great Travelling World’s Fair of , that of will surpass it.
With full confidence in that just discrimination which recognizes and rewards true merit, I remain, as ever, the public’s obedient servant.
Conclusion
In sending these last pages to the printer in , I may say that my manager, Mr. Coup, his assistants, and myself, have been busy ever since New Year’s in reorganizing our great travelling show, building new wagons and cages, and painting, gilding and repairing the others. One of the great carved, mirrored and gilded chariots, from England, used by me in , is a grand affair, made telescopic, and when extended to its full height reaches an altitude of forty feet, on the top of which, in our street processions, we place a young lady, costumed to personate the Goddess of Liberty. The re-gilding of this one vehicle preparatory to opening our spring campaign cost about five thousand dollars—enough to build a nice house in the country. The wintering of my horses and wild animals, salaries of employees and expense of fitting up properly for the next season, cost over $50,000. During the winter my agents abroad have shipped me many interesting and expensive curiosities. Indeed, ship after ship has brought me so many rare animals and works of art that I have sometimes been puzzled to find places to store them.
Two beautiful giraffes, or camelopards, were despatched to me, but one died on the Atlantic, making three of these tender and valuable animals that I have lost within a year. The only one on this continent at this present writing is mine. He is a beauty. I own another, which is now in the Royal Zoological Gardens, Regent’s Park, London, ready to be shipped at any moment should I unfortunately be obliged to send a message by the Atlantic Cable announcing the death of my present pet.
Other managers gave up trying to import giraffes several years ago, owing to the great cost and care attending them. No giraffe has ever lived two years in America. These very impediments, however, incited me to always have a living giraffe on hand, at whatever cost—for, of course, their scarcity enhances their attraction and value as curiosities. I hear that my example has stimulated the manager of a small show to try and obtain a giraffe. I am educating the public curiosity and taste to demand so much that is rare and valuable, that many managers will soon give up the show business, as several have this spring, while others must be more liberal and enterprising if they succeed.
Hitherto many small showmen who could raise cash and credit to the amount of $20,000, would get half a dozen cages of cheap animals, two or three fourth-rate circus riders, a few acrobats or tumblers, a clown,
