Chapter 10

Happy Days with Mrs. Botta--My Busy Life in New York--President Barnard of Columbia College--A Surprise from Bierstadt--Professor Doremus, a Universal Genius--Charles H. Webb, a truly funny "Funny Man"--Mrs. Esther Hermann, a Modest Giver.

I was obliged to give up my work at Packer Institute, when diphtheria attacked me, but a wonderful joy came to me after recovery.

Mrs. Vincenzo Botta invited me to her home in West Thirty-seventh Street for the winter and spring. Anne C. Lynch, many years before her marriage to Mr. Botta, had taught at the Packer Institute herself, and at that time had a few rooms on West Ninth Street. She told me she used to take a hurried breakfast standing by the kitchen table; then saying good-bye to the mother to whom she was devoted, walked from Ninth Street to the Brooklyn ferry, then up Joralemon Street, as she was required to be present at morning prayers. Her means were limited at that time and carfare would take too much. But it was then that she started and maintained her "Saturday Evenings," which became so attractive and famous that N.P. Willis wrote of them that no one of any distinction thought a visit to New York complete without spending a Saturday evening with Miss Lynch. People went in such numbers that many were obliged to sit on the stairs, but all were happy. Her refreshments were of the simplest kind, lemonade and wafers or sandwiches. It has often been said that she established the only salon in this country, but why bring in that word so distinctively belonging to the French?

Miss Lynch was just "at home" and made all who came to her happy and at their best. Fredrika Bremer, the celebrated Norwegian writer, was her guest for several weeks at her home in Ninth Street. Catherine Sedgwick attended several of her receptions, wondering at the charm which drew so many. There Edgar Poe gave the first reading of "The Raven" before it was printed. Ole Bull, who knew her then, was a life-long friend to her. Fanny Kemble, Bryant, Halleck, Willis were all devoted friends.

After her marriage to Professor Vincenzo Botta, nephew of the historian Botta, and their taking a house in Thirty-seventh Street, she gathered around her table the most interesting and distinguished men and women of the day, and the "Saturday Evenings" were continued with increasing crowds. She had a most expressive face and beautiful blue eyes. Never one of the prodigious talkers, dressed most quietly, she was just herself, a sweet-faced, sincere woman, and was blessed with an atmosphere and charm that were felt by all.

At one of her breakfasts I recollect Emerson, who often visited there, Bryant, Bayard Taylor, and Grace Greenwood. At another, John Fiske, President Andrew D. White, and other men interested in their line of thought. I must mention a lady who in the midst of their inspiring conversation broke forth in a loud tone to Mrs. Botta: "I found a splendid receipt for macaroni; mix it, when boiled, with stewed tomatoes and sprinkle freely with parmesan cheese before baking."

One evening Whitelaw Reid brought John Hay. He beckoned to me to come to him, and presenting Mr. Hay said: "I want to make a prediction in regard to this young man. If you live long enough you will hear of him as the greatest statesman and diplomat our country has ever had." A few evenings after, at a Dramatic Club of great talent, I saw Mr. Hay figuring as Cupid in Mrs. Jarley's wax-work show. He looked and acted his part, turning gracefully on his toes to show his wings and quiver of arrows. And Mr. Reid, mounted on a step-ladder behind a draped clothes-horse, represented the distressed Lord Ullin whose daughter was seen eloping in a boat with her Highland chief, the tossing waves being sheets in full motion.

For years it seemed as if this were the one truly cosmopolitan drawing-room in the city, because it drew the best from all sources. Italy and England, France and Germany, Spain, Russia, Norway and Hungary, Siam, China, India, and Japan sent guests hither. Liberals and Conservatives, peers and revolutionists, holders of the most ancient traditions, and advocates of the most modern theories--all found their welcome, if they deserved it, and each took away a new respect for the position of his opponent.

Madame Ristori, Salvini, Fechter, Campanini, and Madame Gerster were honoured with special receptions. Special receptions were also given in honour of George P. Marsh, on the occasion of his appointment as Minister to Turin in 1861, and to the officers of the Royal Navy of Italy when they came to this country to take possession of two frigates built by an American ship-builder for the Italian Government.

Emerson appreciated Mrs. Botta as a hostess. He enjoyed being in her home, saying it "rested him." "I wish that I could believe that in your miles of palaces were many houses and house-keepers as excellent as I know at 25 West 37th Street, your house with the expanding doors." He speaks of her invitation as "one of the happiest rainbows." "Your hospitality has an Arabian memory, to keep its kind purpose through such a long time. You were born under Hatem Yayi's own star, and like him, are the genius of hospitality." (Haten Yayi was a celebrated Oriental whose house had sixteen doors.)

And Mrs. Botta was greatly cheered by Emerson. She wrote:

I always wish I had had my photograph taken when Mr. Emerson was staying in my house. Everyone felt his influence, even the servants who would hardly leave the dining-room. I looked like a different being, and was so happy I forgot to see that he had enough to eat.

Early in her time some of her friends--such as Ripley, Curtis, and Cranch--had joined a small agricultural and educational association, called the "Brook Farm," near Roxbury, Massachusetts. She visited them once or twice, and saw Mr. Curtis engaged in washing dishes which had been used by "The Community." She remarked to him that perhaps he could be better employed for the progress of his fellow-men than in wasting his energy on something more easily done by others.

At one time she invited Bronson Alcott, one of the leaders of a similar movement, to preside over some _conversazioni_ in her parlours, where he could elucidate his favourite subject. On one occasion, a lady in the audience, impressed by some sentiments uttered by the lecturer, inquired of him if his opinion was that we were gods. "No," answered Mr. Alcott, "we are not gods, but only godlings," an explanation which much amused Mrs. Botta, who was always quick in perceiving the funny side of a remark. (I timidly suggest that _s_ be substituted for _d_.)

Mrs. Botta having promised to see Mr. Greeley, and urge him to give a favourable notice in the _Tribune_ of the concert where a young singer was to make her début, went down to his office to plead for a lenient criticism. But not one word appeared. So down she went to inquire the reason. She was ushered into the Editor's Sanctum, where he was busily writing and hardly looked up. She asked why he was so silent; it was such a disappointment. No reply. She spoke once more. Then came the verdict in shrill tones: "She can't sing. She can't sing. She can't sing."

New Year's calls were then the custom, and more than three hundred men paid their respects to Mr. and Mrs. Botta on the New Year's Day I spent with them. And everyone looked, as Theodore Hook said, as if he were somebody in particular. At one of these "Saturday Evenings," a stranger walked through her rooms, with hands crossed under his coat and humming execrably as he wandered along. The gentle hostess went to him with her winning smile and inquired, "Do you play also?" That proves her capacity for sarcasm and criticism which she seldom employed. She conversed remarkably well, but after all it was what she did not say that proved her greatness and self-control.

Mrs. Botta had talent in various directions. She made portrait busts in plaster that really were like the subjects, with occasionally an inspired success, and that without any teaching. She showed genius in this work. When a bust of her modelling was sent to Rome to be put into marble, the foremost of Italian sculptors, not knowing the maker, declared that nothing would be beyond the reach of the artist if _he_ would come to Rome and study technique for a year. Mrs. Botta asked me to let her try to get my face. That was delightful. To be with her in her own studio and watch her interest! Later some discouragement, and then enthusiasm as at last the likeness came. She said she took the humorous side of my face. The other side she found sad. My friends not only recognized my face, but they saw my mother's face inwrought.

Mrs. Botta had talent in various directions. She published a large book, _The Hand Book of Universal Literature_, once used at Harvard and other colleges, and hoped to prepare one of similar style on _Universal History_. She also wrote a small volume of poems, but her days were given to the needs of others. Only a few mornings were we able to work on her _Universal History_. There were too many calls for advice, sympathy, or aid; the door-bell rang too often. I heard a young girl once say of her: "She is great enough to have been an inspired prophetess of olden times, and tender enough to have been the mother of our Dear Saviour." Such were the words of impassioned praise that fell from the lips of a young, motherless, Roman Catholic girl, one of the many whom Mrs. Botta had taught and befriended. Once, when reading to Mrs. Botta in connection with her "History," a man called to see her about getting material for her biography. To my surprise, she waved her hand to me saying, "This young lady is to be my biographer." As I felt entirely unable to attempt such a work I told her it should be made up of letters from a host of friends who had known her so well and so long. This pleased her, and after her death her husband wrote me urging me to edit such a composite picture, but knowing his superior fitness for the work, I thanked him for the compliment, but declined. What a delightful result was accomplished by his good judgment, literary skill, and the biographical notes gladly given by her intimate friends. I will give a few quotations from the tributes:

To me--as to others--her conversation was singularly inspiring; it suggested to a man his best trains of thought; it developed in him the best he had; it made him think better of himself and of mankind; it sent him away stronger for all good work.

She seemed to me capable of worshipping in equal fervour with Roman Catholics or with Unitarians--in a cathedral or in a hovel; and this religious spirit of hers shone out in her life and in her countenance. Very pleasant was her optimism; she looked about her in this world without distrust, and beyond her into the next world without fear.

She had a delightful sense of humour--so sweet, so delicate, so