to play the straight man to his protégé.
Comedians like James Hackett and George Hill used many characters, not just the Yankee, and Charles did the same. However, all were associated most strongly with this imitation, which represented Americans to Europeans. But not everyone in England thought the “Yankee dwarf” spectacular at first. The London News complained that this “little monster” was “proof of the low state” of theater in the country, though they still faithfully reported his events.3 The paper would change its tune further following his visit to Queen Victoria. After that, nothing could stop the British public in its hunger for the little marvel, and they rushed to London’s Egyptian Hall to see him for a full shilling a head. In 1844 the Egyptian Hall could be found in the tangled mesh of brown streets north of St. James’s Park on Piccadilly. At various times it was also called London Museum and Bullock’s Museum, and housed an average of 15,000 items. The trapezoidal face featured pillars, statues, and elaborate carved cornices, giving it the appearance of an Egyptian temple, and the interior contained a number of rooms for displays and appearances.
Painters who practiced their techniques by copying the intricate art and architecture were frequent visitors to the museum, and they sketched Charles several times while at the hall. The images of him at this age show a cheerful child, with the appearance of confidence, if not its full reality. There is a hint of mockery in his eyes, and a hint of uneasiness in his poses. Barnum created souvenir medals based on one of the sketches, featuring Charles standing on a table leaning against a stack of books. Around the medal image read, “Charles S. Stratton Known as Genl Tom Thumb 25in High” and on the back it stated imperiously, “Under the Patronage of the Queen and Court of England” with “Pub by P.T. Barnum American Museum New York 1844” around the edges. In the middle the text included: “Genl Tom Thumb Born Jan 11, 1832 at Bridgeport, Connecticut U.S.A. At his birth he weighed 9lbs 2oz And was a handsome, hearty, and promising boy. He Increased in size and weight Til 7 months old and then weighed 15lbs and measured 25in since which time he has not increased in size and weight is perfect and elegant in his proportions and has always been in good health.”4 In America, Charles had been “English,” but here he was proudly a “Yankee,” since Bridgeport was now the exotic locale. What is more interesting is that Barnum included Charles’s real name.
Along with souvenir medals, Charles carried small glazed calling cards emblazoned with “General Tom Thumb” in Gothic lettering.5 Also for sale were game counters with his image on one side and “Liberty” on the other, glass paperweights with his visage embedded in it, and more. During the performance he wore special clothes made for him by Gillham Brothers, such as a tiny brown velvet jacket with brass buttons. He hopped on tables and chatted with people until enough new visitors arrived, when he would sing and dance, or tell his “history.”6 James Morgan of Liverpool wrote “General Tom Thumb’s Visit to the Queen of England at Buckingham Palace, 1844” to the tune of Yankee Doodle, of course, and he sang this new version to the delight of the English public.7
The room where Charles “exhibited” in the afternoons was jammed with over a thousand people almost every day. Season tickets were available for three shillings, and some ladies apparently took advantage and came back day after day, gathering his “stamped receipts,” or kisses that he gave out when you bought a souvenir. Students at a military school in Chelsea talked about the Yankee celebrity so much that finally the schoolmasters marched the three hundred boys through the cobbled streets of London to see him at the Hall.8 The boys formed a “hollow square” around the four sides of the room, and sang “God Save the Queen,” a recital which Charles pronounced “first rate.” Then Charles sang his own songs, and this fascinating exchange thrilled everyone. Rumors and tales about him flew around the city. The newspapers even reported his elopement with a “lady.”9 However, some visitors were beginning to suspect his true age, and so advertisements of the time made sure to declare things like “The General shed his first set of teeth several years since; and his enormous strength, his firm and manly gait, establish his age beyond all dispute.”10
In June, Barnum left the day-to-day management of Charles’s exhibitions to H. G. Sherman, and visited Paris to sightsee. When he returned, the “Tom Thumb Troupe” toured England as their contract with Egyptian Hall had expired. They took the miniature carriage along with them, and used it to great effect, setting it up outside each community and riding in to the amusement of surprised townspeople. But it was the full-sized carriage that almost led to Charles’s death. In August, while Charles and H. G. Sherman were sitting on the driver’s box, the horse ran down a steep hill, breaking its neck and smashing the carriage on a stone wall. A shaken Barnum emerged from inside the coach, expecting to see them dead. But Sherman had heroically grabbed Charles and leapt over the wall as the carriage crashed, landing in a soft green field without injury to either.11
In October Barnum suddenly left Europe, while H. G. Sherman continued to manage the troupe. He had already sent “Tom Thumb’s Court dress” back to New York to be put on display at the American Museum, along with one of Queen Victoria’s dresses.12 It did not quite have the same effect as being able to see “The General” in person, but it reminded everyone of last year’s triumph, and gave them hope that the little fellow would return. Still, the museum languished without its owner, and Fordyce Hitchcock was no doubt glad to have his boss back, however briefly. Barnum returned to England with his family after only three weeks and rejoined Charles in Scotland. The Scottish officials in Glasgow tried to levy a tax on Barnum and Charles, but were ignored. They followed the troupe to Dublin, Ireland, calling for £729 of income tax. Barnum wriggled out of it, despite making more money than he ever had in his life.13 On one day in Dublin 4,421 people attended his afternoon performances, and the combination of receipts and purchases totaled an equivalent of $1,343, a staggering sum at the time for one day’s work.14
The first signs of trouble between the showman and Charles’s parents had become evident by this time. Cynthia “began to be too inquisitive about the business & to say that she thought expences were too high.” Barnum told her that he was the manager, and that “unless the whole was left to my direction I would not stay a single day,” calling them “blockheads and brutes” to his friend Moses Kimball.15 This threat to quit worked, because the Strattons seemed to know they would be at sea without Barnum. Money was not the issue between them, since Charles’s salary had increased to $25 a week, and when that contract expired, it increased to $50 plus expenses.16 The Strattons were also making good money on the merchandising of souvenirs. Then, on January 1, 1845, they began to earn half the proceeds, making Sherwood and Cynthia some of the richest people in Bridgeport. One newspaper reported that, excluding Barnum’s profits, the Strattons’ takings equaled more than £150,000, at that time about a half-million dollars American.17 And though Charles was doing almost all the work, like all child stars, his parents and Barnum reaped the benefits. However, the conflict between the two controlling parties remained, and would escalate as their tour continued.
This oil painting by Ramsay Richard Reinagle from 1844 shows Charles exhibiting at London’s Egyptian Hall. Photo by Paul Mutino. Collection of The Barnum Museum, Bridgeport, Connecticut.
Barnum’s wife Charity and children Caroline and Helen joined them on the tour of Great Britain, and then followed the troupe to Paris on March 18, enjoying the metropolitan paradise it offered. They rented rooms at a hotel on the Rue de Rivoli and began performing at the three-thousand-seat Salle de Concert on the rue Vivienne. Paris of the mid-nineteenth century was just as incongruous a place as London, maybe more so, with what James Fenimore Cooper had described as “dirt and gilding … bedbugs and laces.” The aromas of coffee and baking bread wafted across the unswept streets every morning, and domes and spires of palaces and churches rose above noisy, labyrinthine streets lined with grime-walled houses. People of all classes strolled along the chestnut-lined avenues or through the Garden of the Tuileries, and sat on the terraces
