After a brief rest, Jenny, Barnum, Miss Holobaugh, Hannelore, Otto, Minelli, twelve musicians, and four roustabouts and gaffers would travel by steamer to New Orleans for a dozen performances, and thence north on the Mississippi and Ohio rivers. After New York, Barnum said, New Orleans was this country’s most sophisticated city, and the schedule seemed to refleet that. In Europe she had always been told that New Orleans was a substantially French city, and even at this point in her life, she was not looking forward to another exposure to French civilization and culture—or the lack of it.
The truth was that she was not really all that pleased with the notion of leaving New York. She was more comfortable in the city now. It was a city, too, not all that different from those in Europe. Crowds still gathered outside the hotel and any place it was rumored she would visit; but the people knew her, cared for her, as Europeans did, if somewhat more boisterously. This had been Barnum’s achievement—from his hospital bed Charlie had made it clear to her at last.
Charlie had told her the story that Barnum would not have dared breathe, of the train conductor whose ignorance of her at the start of the year had shown that most people in America had no idea who Jenny Lind was, and the few who did, had it wrong.
By the Wednesday after the fight Charlie was sitting up and accepting callers—even though a bandage across his nose and two lovely shiners made him resemble a raccoon peering over a snowbank. He said he was feeling better, but the condition of his nose and the bandage over it made him sound like he was speaking from the bottom of a well full of feathers.
“You have to understand us,” came his muffled squeak when he and Jenny were alone briefly in the room crammed with floral tributes and baskets of fruit. “You have to understand Barnum and what this country was like when he came down to New York as a young man. There were only three theaters in the whole city, and women weren’t allowed at all. The theater was dirty and full of sin. Now if we’re being honest with each other, we know there’s a lot of funny business that goes on with theater people, but it’s nowhere near what the public thinks. The public is still suspicious, but at least we can work now—we’re more accepted. I’m talking about theater people, not just Barnum’s curiosities. You ought to understand what he’s done for people like me, too. He’s taken the curse off us. Literally. Barnum performed that miracle. We want to be treated like everybody else. He was right the other night. He could have stopped the fight, but I didn’t want him to.”
“But you were hurt!”
“I was already hurt,” the little man said. “That bop in the beezer just knocked some sense into me.”
“What did that fellow say to you?”
“Not much. Anyway, it don’t seem so bad now. Don’t blame Lavinia. She was right there when he said it, but she wanted to forget it. She didn’t want trouble.” He glanced at a side table. “Take some fruit when you go. I can’t eat solid food yet.”
She stood up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstay.’”
“No, I don’t want you to leave.” Trying to sit up made him feel pain, which she could see in his eyes. “Sit down, sit down. I want to tell you something. Barnum would be very upset if he knew I told you this. But the fact is, he hocked everything to get you over here. If the tour is loused up, he goes down the drain, bankrupt. He told me that you’re afraid of him—don’t say anything to him about this, please. He was in here yesterday to explain why he wasn’t here with me the night before. Hell, I understood.” He tried to smile. “I ought to understand love, don’t you think? He doesn’t want to do anything to hurt you. Barnum doesn’t want to do anything to hurt anybody; he’d like to go through his whole life without ever stepping on an ant, which tells you what kind of a guy he is. Knowing that you’re afraid of him is driving him crazy. I can tell you, Jenny, you have nothing to fear. You have nothing to fear from that man. You wait and see, P. T. Barnum is loyal!”
“Even to his wife?”
“In his way, yeah.”
“Well, you see, Charlie, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
“All I can tell you is that this situation is as new to him as it is to you. You have my word on that.”
“And everything else you’ve said?”
“Sure. He didn’t put me up to speaking to you, either. It sounds like something he’d do, but not this time, not now. He wants me to get my health back. It’s been a tough year for me. I came down with a terrible grippe in Russia, you know.”
He wanted pity and needed rest, but she had other questions. “When do you think you and Lavinia will be married, Charlie?”
He shook his head with annoyance. “Barnum told me what he said to you, and how it upset you. Lavinia and I get married next year. It’s part of the deal—Barnum made that clear with all of us at the very beginning. He was just starting out when I came along, and we had to evolve an understanding, but by the time Lavinia turned up, Barnum could put it all in writing for her.
“You see, with Lavinia and me and all the rest of the troupe, Barnum has made something out of nothing. We’re just people, just people. We’re having these wonderful lives because of the magic he’s spun around us—”
“What do the people get?”
“They’re the ones who get the magic. We trust Barnum. Sometimes he’s wrong; but as I just told you, he’s never tried to hurt anybody.” He pulled himself up higher on the pillow, wincing again. “I’m beginning to understand you better, Jenny. Your problem is that you are afraid. You’re always afraid, and you think that if you get all your questions answered, and get everything tucked in place, you’ll stop worrying. But you won’t. You never have. You never will, either. We’re all afraid, but most of us have the instincts or common sense or even the experience to forget about it, not dwell on it, and take life as it comes. You won’t learn anything from Barnum until you learn that.”
In spite of what he had just said, Jenny still had questions, including one about an illegitimate child living on the Riviera. But Charlie was tired, and she was upsetting him. That frightened her, too, and he seemed to know it. She rose, crossed to the bed, leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.
“You know, Jenny, I do love you.” When his eyes were bright, there was no doubt of it, he looked like a baby. “You’re just too big for me, that’s all.”
“How you feel about me is very important,” she said. “I wouldn’t want you ever to think badly of me.”
As Jenny descended the stairs outside the hospital, a carriage rolled up and the door opened. On the carriage floor stood Lavinia Warren, waiting for the driver to come around and lift her down to the sidewalk. The two women’s eyes were locked. Jenny stopped on the steps, not knowing what to do next.
“How is he today?” Lavinia called.
“Very well.” She waited until Lavinia was set down and could approach her. “He’s sitting up and we had a nice chat. His room is full of flowers—oh! I forgot to take the fruit he offered!”
Laboriously Lavinia climbed the steps until she was at the top, her eyes almost even with Jenny’s, but not quite. “He’s not himself yet. The fruit would have been sent down to the charity wards hours ago, if he was.”
“Yes,” Jenny said. “Now I see just how much like Barnum he is.”
Lavinia tilted her head and looked at Jenny a moment, almost smiling. “Charlie told me you’d changed since you got here—that I’d like you better now. Sometimes I don’t think so much of Barnum, but then he goes and surprises me. I thought Anna was getting the bum’s rush out of town because of the fight and everything, but all the time Barnum has been matching her up with some big kid from Maine. You have to watch out for the snake-oil salesmen, kiddo.”
“I beg your pardon?” A crowd was gathering around them, gawking, and Jenny was sure people could hear what she and Lavinia were saying.
“In this country everybody is selling something. The ones who are easy to deal with have samples and catalogues. They have order forms and give you discounts. It’s
the ones who don’t tell you what they’re selling and how much it’s going to cost you that you have to stay away from. I just learned that lesson, lady.”
Until Lavinia last comment, Jenny had been certain that she was speaking of Barnum. Lavinia saw something, for suddenly she extended her hand. Jenny took it, then leaned over and kissed Lavinia on the cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. Lavinia was wearing an expensive, subtle, and very sensual perfume. Thinking that she had a new perspective on what men and women could do for each other, Jenny could not help smiling—and blushing. If Lavinia understood, she kept it to herself.
“Oh, take my cab and send it back instead of hailing one. I’m going to be here for a while.” She squeezed Jenny’s hand with the strength of a kitten. “You’re all right.”
“Sometimes I am very stupid,” Jenny said softly.
“Actually, you’re pretty smart, for a Swede.”
Jenny laughed in spite of herself. “I’ve heard jokes like that before. I live in London, remember, where they look down their noses at everybody.”
“Another world,” Lavinia said. “It’s all crazy over there.”
“Then you can see how I feel the same about this place.”
“Sure. I wanted to tell you, you really can sing. You’re absolutely wonderful.” She looked at the crowd. “Out of the way, boys! Let the lady through, or I’ll send Charlie down to thump your heads. He’s been in training, you know—or don’t you read the papers?”
Everybody laughed, and Jenny rode away happier than she had been in days. Something incredible was true: she could feel Barnum and his pervasive influence everywhere in this city.
Everybody knew—everybody. She and Barnum were seen all over New York together, at the Astor House, Delmonico’s, on South Street, touring Trinity Church and the monstrous Post Office opened only the year before at the foot of City Hall Park. That people were talking about them made Jenny shiver with horror, and even though Barnum assured her that there was no gossip, that she was above reproach, in her heart she knew what people were thinking, and she saw that she really had no choice but to be brazen. That gave her a new, fresh pleasure, a dangerous pleasure that plagued her conscience. Even if her fears were nothing, what of all the people who looked up to her as an example of Christian virtue? Barnum knew what was in the back of her mind, but mostly he kept quiet, except when he thought he saw her in too much distress, and then he was interested only in her well-being. She tried to keep the worst moments to herself; if she had become a brazen, wanton woman in fact—Barnum’s woman—she did not want to fail. If she was going to hell, she told herself, she was going anyway, and better to go as a success in sin than a failure.
What Barnum didn’t know was that the other men in her life, each in his turn, each in his own style, had come to her privately to warn her away from her expansive and apparently always happy lover.
Otto was first. He surprised her, knocking on her door one morning as she was finishing breakfast. They were scheduled to work that evening, but she was sure they had no business to discuss.
“No, not business completely,” he said. Hannelore was serving him coffee. When she was gone, he said, “Perhaps business eventually. Needless to say, I hope not. No, I’ve come to you in the belief that, whatever else has been between us, we are friends.”
“We will always be friends, Otto.” She was still not sure that he was not going to make her uncomfortable, but he looked so forlorn, like an abandoned puppy, that she could not help feeling sorry for him.
“You’re not taking care of yourself as you should. You’re developing circles under your eyes. Nothing is showing in your voice, but you know that you don’t have all that much strength.”
“I know.”
“Barnum is right when he tells people you possess the most beautiful singing voice in the history of the world.”
“Oh, Otto, I hear quite enough of that.”
“Yes, I know, but I’m afraid that Barnum seriously and importantly doesn’t know what he’s talking about. If he did, I wouldn’t be telling you about the circles under your eyes. He’s a profoundly ignorant man—”
“Oh no.”
“The evidence indicates otherwise.”
“Otto, I really don’t have to tell you why I am tired.”
He lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry. Jenny, you have been the center of my life from the moment I first saw you.” His voice broke, and he stood up and swallowed. “I want to remain your friend. I wish—”
She had meant that she was not required to give him any explanation, not that he could assume something about her behavior. He had crucified himself with his own imagination—that his imaginings were true was not the issue, or even his business. Her suitors had come and gone, but he had remained unflappable; at least he recognized that Barnum meant more to her than the others. She chose to take that as a good sign, not a bad one. “Come, let me walk you to the door,” she said. “We are friends, and I take your caution about my voice very seriously. But let me warn you, Otto, I’m going right into the bedroom to look at myself in the mirror. If I see no circles under my eyes, I’m going to be very angry with you.”
But the circles were there. That night, on stage, with her back to the audience, she whispered to him that he was right, and stuck her tongue out at him. In the wings Barnum saw it all, and laughed aloud—or he was still laughing at the story she had told him about Signore Minelli.
“Barnum, he must have been waiting around the corner in the corridor for Otto to leave, like a character in a farce, because the next thing I knew, he burst through the door and threw himself at my feet. Miss Holobaugh wanted to go downstairs for the hotel management, she was so terrified. That’s when Minelli became frightened. He thought that he would be given over to your police, who have a notorious reputation, in England, at least, for beating prisoners. I had to convince Miss Holobaugh that I was safe before she would leave. Even so, I suspect she had her ear to the other side of the door. She certainly had plenty to hold her attention.”
“You love Barnum!” the Italian cried. “Confess it!”
“I confess nothing, you stupid man! I am not a Catholic!”
He threw his arms around Jenny’s ankles. She pulled one foot free and kicked him in the temple.
“I love you! I have always loved you! You torment me—I shall die in this Godforsaken place!”
“You won’t die! You won’t even go hungry!”
“Tell me you’ve betrayed me with Barnum! I demand to hear the truth from your own lips!”
“You will be demanding the remainder of your fee if you do not leave this room! You will be on the next ship back to Europe! Out! Out! Out!”
He scrambled up to his knees, a crazed priest supplicating his disgusted madonna. “Please, please do not do this! If you have not already lost your virtue—”
“Out!” She kicked again, and he doubled over. When she realized where she had made contact, she threw up her hands. “Oh, my God!” He staggered away, holding himself. She was remembering Andersen again, thinking of the hatred in his eyes. Snake-oil salesmen, Lavinia had called them. One after the next, they were cunning devils, the men who claimed to love her. Lost her virtue? It would seem that Signore Minelli really wanted her only on his own terms. What of Otto? He was not fooling her about what he wanted; the question now was whether his maturity and sophistication simply masked the vanity of a Minelli. At the door Minelli hobbled around to look at her, afraid that even a turn of his neck would complicate his injury.
“Jenny, my darling Jenny, if it must be this way, please grant me one last request—”
“Yes?”
“I said yes,” she told Barnum later that afternoon, “because I felt sorry for him again. I always feel sorry for them.” She nuzzled him. They were in his apartment over the museum, and she felt brazen with him again—he was the one who believed everything was funny, and he had never failed a test. She giggled. “I really have allowed men to kiss me, Barnum—”
He cast her a baleful glare. “Not this morning, I hope and Pray.”
“Oh no! Ah, now how did he say it?” She lowered her voice and did her best to imitate Signore Minelli’s accent. “‘My request, my darling Jenny, is that one more time I be permitted to see your breasts.’
“I should have kicked him harder.”
Barnum howled with laughter.
Jenny did not tell Barnum about her third visitor at all. Waldo Collins. Her lawyer, too, wanted to warn her away from Barnum, but for reasons entirely different from those of her fellow musicians. Collins said he had information that Barnum was taking new measures as a result of the renegotiation of her contract. According to Collins, Barnum was canceling his bookings of theaters and halls appropriate for a singer, and making arrangements for the largest available rooms—a maximum number of seats, without regard for the effect on the performance. Worse, Barnum was squeezing in as many benches and chairs as these larger chambers would hold. Questions of safety had been raised.
“But surely,” Jenny said, “you can see that there is nothing I can do about such a situation at this stage.”
“We, Miss Lind,” Collins said. “What we can do. Quite simply, we can put the old rascal on notice that you will not perform in halls that are unsuited—”
“Oh, that would be just stirring up trouble. And I’ll have to ask you that, when we are discussing matters of business, you refer to people in polite forms of address, rather than epithets.”
He looked dumbfounded. “I beg your pardon, Miss Lind. But to return to the subject, I really think—”
“Yes, you’ve made that clear. I understand, but do not accept, your counsel. I am happier when I am not causing difficulties for my producers. I’ve already remade the terms of my agreement with Barnum once. Remember, he acquiesced to our most important demands without a single objection, and he has been more than generous in his provision for accommodations—”
He looked away in exasperation, his face twisted in a nasty little sneer that told her that he was thinking she was stupid. “I’m sure you’ve had the opportunity to analyze the revised agreement,” he said. “Miss Lind, the simple fact of the matter is that Barnum has still kept all the best of it for himself. The first sixty-five hundred dollars of each concert is divided between you with fifty-five hundred going to Barnum and a thousand to you. New York is America’s richest, most cultured city. On the night you grossed twelve thousand dollars, Barnum walked away with four thousand dollars more than you, the difference being more than you received altogether.”
Jenny and Barnum Page 30
