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Page 13
The Fifth Avenue Hotel, in those days the stopping-place of the
majority of the famous men and women visiting New York, represented to
the young boy who came to see these celebrities the very pinnacle of
opulence. Often while waiting to be received by some dignitary, he
wondered how one could acquire enough means to live at a place of such
luxury. The main dining-room, to the boy's mind, was an object of
special interest. He would purposely sneak up-stairs and sit on one of
the soft sofas in the foyer simply to see the well-dressed diners go in
and come out. Edward would speculate on whether the time would ever
come when he could dine in that wonderful room just once!
One evening he called, after the close of business, upon General and
Mrs. Grant, whom he had met before, and who had expressed a desire to
see his collection. It can readily be imagined what a red-letter day
it made in the boy's life to have General Grant say: "It might be
better for us all to go down to dinner first and see the collection
afterward." Edward had purposely killed time between five and seven
o'clock, thinking that the general's dinner-hour, like his own, was at
six. He had allowed an hour for the general to eat his dinner, only to
find that he was still to begin it. The boy could hardly believe his
ears, and unable to find his voice, he failed to apologize for his
modest suit or his general after-business appearance.
As in a dream he went down in the elevator with his host and hostess,
and when the party of three faced toward the dining-room entrance, so
familiar to the boy, he felt as if his legs must give way under him.
There have since been other red-letter days in Edward Bok's life, but
the moment that still stands out pre-eminent is that when two colored
head waiters at the dining-room entrance, whom he had so often watched,
bowed low and escorted the party to their table. At last he was in
that sumptuous dining-hall. The entire room took on the picture of one
great eye, and that eye centred on the party of three--as, in fact, it
naturally would. But Edward felt that the eye was on him, wondering
why he should be there.
What he ate and what he said he does not recall. General Grant, not a
voluble talker himself, gently drew the boy out, and Mrs. Grant
seconded him, until toward the close of the dinner he heard himself
talking. He remembers that he heard his voice, but what that voice
said is all dim to him. One act stamped itself on his mind. The
dinner ended with a wonderful dish of nuts and raisins, and just before
the party rose from the table Mrs. Grant asked the waiter to bring her
a paper bag. Into this she emptied the entire dish, and at the close
of the evening she gave it to Edward "to eat on the way home." It was
a wonderful evening, afterward up-stairs, General Grant smoking the
inevitable cigar, and telling stories as he read the letters of
different celebrities. Over those of Confederate generals he grew
reminiscent; and when he came to a letter from General Sherman, Edward
remembers that he chuckled audibly, reread it, and then turning to Mrs.
Grant, said:
"Julia, listen to this from Sherman. Not bad." The letter he read was
this:
DEAR MR. BOK:--
I prefer not to make scraps of sentimental writing. When I write
anything I want it to be real and connected in form, as, for instance,
in your quotation from Lord Lytton's play of "Richelieu," "The pen is
mightier than the sword." Lord Lytton would never have put his
signature to so naked a sentiment. Surely I will not.
In the text there was a prefix or qualification:
Beneath the rule of men entirely great
The pen is mightier than the sword.
Now, this world does not often present the condition of facts herein
described. Men entirely great are very rare indeed, and even
Washington, who approached greatness as near as any mortal, found good
use for the sword and the pen, each in its proper sphere.
You and I have seen the day when a great and good man ruled this
country (Lincoln) who wielded a powerful and prolific pen, and yet had
to call to his assistance a million of flaming swords.
No, I cannot subscribe to your sentiment, "The pen is mightier than the
sword," which you ask me to write, because it is not true.
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