Chapter XV “Not My Will, but Thine, Be Done”
In November of 1890, when he was eighty years old, Barnum suffered an attack of acute congestion of the brain, which kept him in bed for three weeks, and the physicians decided that this was his last illness. He had prepared for that possibility in detail. Before making his final will he called in a horde of physicians to testify to his sound mental condition, because the relatives of a Bridgeport friend, who had recently died, contested the will. In this lawsuit Barnum had been called as a witness of Captain Brooks’s mental condition. He replied that he thought the mind of the deceased was as sound as that of any rich man who has poor relations. He himself was determined by this example to frustrate any chance of dissension after his death, and his will provided that contestants were to be deprived of their bequests; his will also set aside a fund of $100,000 to be used in fighting contests.
Besides preparing his will, Barnum exacted from his wife the promise that she would write “The Last Chapter” of the Life of P. T. Barnum Written by Himself, giving the details of his last year to the world. From Mrs. Barnum’s account we learn that he was merry and refused to entertain the thought of death, and the mention of it was considerately kept from his eyes and ears. The newspapers, anxious to print reports of his condition, desisted when they were told that he read the papers carefully every day. He continued his business transactions, especially those involving Bridgeport real estate, and he inquired eagerly concerning the daily receipts of the circus. Until the last few weeks of his illness Barnum never gave up hope of his recovery. “Of his own death,” wrote his wife, “he would not speak. Of Death in the abstract he said, ‘It is a good thing, a beautiful thing, just as much so as life; and it is wrong to grieve about it and look upon it as an evil.’” But he looked long and wistfully at his wife and daughter, and every night his last, whispered words were, “Thy will be done....”
He lingered, but in the beginning of April, 1891, it became obvious that his death was a matter of days. He calmly made arrangements for his own funeral, but always ignoring whenever possible the word, Death. He insisted that he must not be embalmed and chose a plain deal casket with a black pall for his last resting place. In giving his directions for a simple funeral, he said that of show and parade he had had enough during his fifty years before the public. He had never forgotten the horrible impression made on his mind as he gazed on General Grant’s dead face, and knowing that he was emaciated, he wished no public exhibition of his body. He sent for the Rev. Dr. Robert Collyer and chose for his funeral two hymns, one by Whittier and the other by Oliver Wendell Holmes; he said that if there was to be an address he would like the text of it to be from Luke xxii, 42: “Not my will, but Thine, be done,” and that is the text graven on his tombstone.
Four days before Barnum’s death, the Evening Sun of New York learned that a few weeks before, when he had been dangerously ill and was thought to be dying, Barnum, on his recovery, had written to a friend: “The only thing lacking to make me happy on my return to good health is the chance to see what sort of lines would have been written about me.” The Evening Sun sent a reporter to the circus to inquire whether it would hurt Barnum’s feelings if the newspaper should print an obituary notice of him before he died. “Not at all,” answered Tody Hamilton, the press agent, knowing his boss. The next day the Evening Sun devoted four columns to the facts of Barnum’s career, and there was a noticeable improvement in Barnum’s health.
At half-past six in the evening of April 7, 1891, Barnum died, and his last words were a request to know what the circus receipts had been during the day at Madison Square Garden. It would have pleased him greatly to know that it was said after his death that more newspaper space had been allotted to his career than to that of any other American who was not a President of the United States. Another post-mortem comment that would have delighted this man who never resisted a joke was the conundrum which circulated widely: “Will Barnum get to heaven?” The answer was: “He certainly has a good show.”
In his will Barnum disposed of an estate of $4,100,000, and he made careful provision for the perpetuation of his name. Since he had no sons, he provided that his grandson, C. H. Seeley, should receive $25,000, besides his share in the estate, if he would change his name to C. Barnum Seeley, “so that the name of Barnum shall always be known as his name.” Provision had already been made for the continuation of the name of “Barnum & Bailey” as circus proprietors for fifty years from October 26, 1887.29
In a back office at the circus winter quarters in Bridgeport was a large packing box, turned on its side and nailed securely to a wall. On it was painted in large black letters, “Not to be opened until after the death of P. T. Barnum.” Some circus employees expected that this box contained their legacies. When the box was opened, it was found to contain for each of his oldest employees a copy of the Life of P. T. Barnum Written by Himself.
The End