The morning after the concert the bell rang and Barnum found, on going to the door, a procession of children from the convent which had received a large sum of money from Miss Lind. The children were attended by ten or twelve priests in rich vestments. They had come to see the songstress and to thank her in person. But Jenny shrank from appearing before such a stately deputation: "Tell them I cannot see them," she exclaimed. "They have nothing to thank me for. If I have done good it was no more than my duty." And the grand procession with its wreaths and banners, were obliged to depart.
The same day, Vivalla called and brought her a basket of fruit. With tears of joy, he called down every blessing on the head of the benevolent lady. "I shall go back to Italy! I shall see my brothers and sisters again!" he cried. Miss Lind had gone for a drive, but Barnum promised to give her the fruit and the message. As he was passing out the door he hesitated end said: "Mr. Barnum, I should like so much to have the good lady see my dog turn a wheel. It is very nice; he can spin very good; shall I bring the dog and the wheel for her? She is such a good lady, I wish to please her very much." Mr. Barnum told the grateful fellow that Miss Lind had refused to see the priests from the convent that morning, because she never received thanks for favors, and that he was quite welcome to the money.
When Miss Lind returned and heard the story, she exclaimed: "Poor man, poor man, do let him come; its all the good creature can do for me;" then with tears rolling down her face—"I like that, I like that; do let him come and bring his dog. It will make him so happy."
"God bless you, it WILL make him happy," said Barnum. "He shall come to-morrow." And he went himself to tell Vivalla that Jenny Lind would see his dog perform, the next day at four precisely.
"I will be punctual," said Vivalla, quite overcome with emotion, "but I was SURE she would like to see my dog perform."
For full half an hour before the time appointed did Jenny Lind sit in her window on the second floor and watch for Vivalla and his dog. A few minutes before the appointed hour, she saw him coming. "Ah, here he comes! here he comes!" she exclaimed in delight, as she ran down stairs and opened the door to admit him. A negro boy was bringing the small spinning-wheel, while Vivalla led the dog. Handing the boy a silver coin, she motioned him away, and taking the wheel in her arms, she said, "This is very kind of you to come with your dog. Follow me. I will carry the wheel up stairs." Her servant offered to take the wheel, but no, she would let no one carry it but herself. She called the whole party to her parlor, and for one full hour did she devote herself to the happy Italian. She went down on her knees to pet the dog and to ask Vivalla all sorts of questions about his performances, his former course of life, his friends in Italy, and his present hopes and determinations. Then she sang and played for him, gave him some refreshments, finally insisted on carrying his wheel to the door, and her servant accompanied Vivalla to his boarding-house.
Poor Vivalla! He was probably never so happy before, but his enjoyment did not exceed that of Miss Lind. A few months later, however, the Havana correspondent of the New York Herald announced the death of Vivalla, and stated that the poor Italian's last words were about Jenny Lind and Mr. Barnum.
In the party which accompanied Barnum to Havana was a man who had formerly kept the Peale Museum in New York, afterwards managing the establishment for Mr. Barnum. At present he was acting as ticket-taker.
He was a curious fellow, at times full of fun and gayety and at other times melancholy to the verge of insanity. Madness ran in his family, and one of his brothers, in a moment of frenzy had blown his brains out. Barnum knew of Bennett's tendency to melancholy and watched him constantly. When they were on board the steamer "Falcon" on their way back to New Orleans, a thrilling incident occurred which Barnum afterwards related in this way:
Mr. James Gordon Bennett, editor of the New York Herald, and his wife, were also passengers. After permitting one favorable notice in his paper, Bennett had turned around, as usual, and had abused Jenny Lind and bitterly attacked me. I was always glad to get such notices, for they served as inexpensive advertisements to my museum.