The recent death of New York’s oldest and most respected citizen, Peter Cooper, has caused the publication of a flood of reminiscences of the philanthropist, many of which I have already, at different times, presented in the course of these reminiscences. But there is one story in which Peter Cooper figures which has never yet been published–a story which shows the “sentimental side” of Peter Cooper, and will go to prove that, a happy man in his own domestic relations, he always appreciated true sentiment and affection in other people.
Many years ago there was quite a resort for artists and literary people, known as the Wellington’s, in Neilson place, a street running from Clinton place to Eighth street, where “the Church of the Strangers” is now located. The “Wellingtons” were two sisters, old maids, who were very fond of “literary” people, though not at all “literary” ‘emselves. They kept a boarding house and almost all of their borders were “literary” people, or artists, or musicians. When these “literary” people, or artists, or musicians, had money, they paid for their board and lodgin’, and lived very comfortably; and when they didn’t have money–which was very frequent–they didn’t pay for their board and lodgin’, but had it all the same, which was a very good arrangement for the “literary” people, and artists, and musicians, though not so good for the Wellington sisters.
Among the borders at the “Wellington’s” was a young and good-lookin’ artist named Melby–a smart chap, born, I believe, in Norway, but he had come to America when young; had lived in New York for years; and never had a chance to “travel,” or to do himself justice, and show what was in him, and was of a consumptive tendency.
A lady named Cuddehy also boarded at the Wellington’s. She was a very smart lady, but not at all attractive in personal appearance, big, raw-boned and awkward, but possessed of great talents and a “beautiful soul,” one of the best-hearted and clearest-headed women that ever lived–a woman whose soul was a sort of constant protest against her “body,” the former bein’ as charmin’ as the latter was ugly. This Mrs. Cuddehy, who was a widow, was quite an artist herself, and had been appointed the head of the art school, or school of design for women, at the Cooper Institute–a capacity in which she gave universal satisfaction. She loved the duties of her position and accomplished a great deal of good. Peter Cooper, who took the liveliest personal interest in everythin’ connected with his institution, took the warmest interest in this Mrs. Cuddehy, and liked her very much.
Boardin’ in the same house with Melby, seein’ him every day at meals and every evenin’, Mrs. Cuddehy got to like the young artist personally very much. She took stock in him and always believed that if he could only get his health restored, get rid of his consumptive tendency, and show what was in him, he would make a great artist. Naturally she got much attached to him, and pretty soon the two, Melby and Cuddehy, were always to be seen together. They sat next to each other at table and spent the evenings together when not otherwise engaged.
Mrs. Cuddehy had a good salary, punctually paid. Melby was not so fortunate pecuniarily, and had to depend upon chance “orders.” Consequently he was often in arrears for board, and bein’ a strictly honest man, would then deny himself little luxuries which had by habit become necessities, and the loss of which told materially on his health.
Without sayin’ a word about it, Mrs. Cuddehy so fixed matters that whenever Melby was “hard up” she furnished the funds for his comfortable maintenance, arrangin’ it with the Wellingtons that nothin’ was known about it. One excuse or other was always given, and for a long while Melby was in ignorance of the real cause of the uniform kindness with which he was treated by his landladies.
Sometimes Mrs. Cuddehy would pretend that some unknown patron of the arts–some mysterious admirer of Melby’s–would take a fancy to some of his pictures, and would purchase ‘em of him, the real purchaser bein’, of course, herself. At last, by some little accident, the secret transpired, and then Melby, like a true gentleman as he was, overcome by gratitude and admiration, offered all he had to offer–himself–to his estimable benefactress. But with the true nobility of soul that characterized all her actions, the lady refused to even consider his proposition, and insisted on leavin’ him free, a course of action on her part which made him more bound to her than ever.
Finally, the doctor, whom Mrs. Cuddehy insisted on consultin’ in regard to Melby’s health, pronounced his decided opinion that a course of foreign travel and relief from worry and work was absolutely necessary to Melby’s life. This was all very well as an opinion, but what did it amount to? Melby must work and worry or starve, or, what was worse to him than starvin’, live upon the kindness of his friends. The doctor might as well have insisted upon Melby’s bein’ a rich man as upon his gettin’ free from work and worry and travelin’ abroad. Even if Mrs. Cuddehy had been willin’ to pay his traveling expenses, which she was, she was not able to pay ‘em, and Melby was not willin’ to accept. So the foreign travel idea came near falling through. But by this time Peter Cooper had heard of the friendship of Melby and Cuddehy, and had got warmly interested in it. Peter Cooper himself had been happy in his love affairs; he had married the only woman he had ever loved; had been always happy with her; had a devoted wife and lovin’ children, and felt tenderly himself towards all tenderness in others.
Appreciating the feelin’s of Mrs Cudahy towards her protege, Peter Cooper one day, in the most delicate and considerate manner, though he didn’t care much about the fine arts, took it into his head that he wanted some artist to visit for him the picture galleries of Europe, and suggested to Mrs. Cuddehy that she should offer, in his name, a commission to her friend Melby to go abroad for six months at his expense.
Of course Mrs. Cudahy at once penetrated into Mr. Cooper’s motive, and blessed him for it. And that very night she made Cooper’s offer to Melby, who in his turn at once appreciated alike Cooper’s motive and his obligations to Mrs. Cuddehy. Melby gladly accepted the offer, but only on one conditio–that Mrs. Cuddehy should accompany him.
Mrs. C. had never been abroad herself and had always longed to travel. Melby knew this, and knew what a treat it would be for her to see foreign parts, especially in his company.
Peter Cooper had not only offered to pay Melby’s expenses abroad, but had agreed to give him a certain salary as his “agent.” Now, Melby at once suggested that he didn’t need and wouldn’t take any “salary.” It would be quite enough for him, and more than he had any right to expect, if Mr. Cooper would simply pay his travelin’ expenses. Let his salary be paid over to Mrs. Cuddehy and serve as her travelin’ expenses. If Mr. Cooper would agree to this, Melby was ready to go at once. If Mr. Cooper did not agree, he would not go at all, come what would. Melby was too much of a man to avail himself of a woman’s kindly feelin’. He would not go abroad in comparative luxury, leavin’ the woman who had been mother, and sister, and sweetheart, and nurse to him all in one, mopin’ at home.
In vain Mrs. Cuddehy warmly and generously protested against Melby’s determination. He was resolute, and Mrs. Cuddehy was obliged to communicate his decision to Peter Cooper.
Needless to say, Peter’s Cooper’s heart understood and appreciated at once the heart of Melby. Needless to say he agreed to Melby’s proposition, though he insisted upon increasin’ the allowance he had made for the travelin’ expenses, so as to include the two.
In a few weeks later the young artist, Melby, and his faithful friend, Mrs Cuddehy, sailed, at Peter Cooper’s expense, to Europe, and enjoyed ‘emselves immensely, seein’ all that was to be seen, and blessin’ Peter Cooper every day.
But the fiat had gone forth. Spite of foreign travel and temporary freedom from work and worry, Melby died abroad of consumption, and was buried at Florence, with his ever faithful friend, Mrs. Cuddehy, as chief mourner.
Mrs. Cuddehy returned alone to New York, and died shortly after her return. She lived in a room on Broadway, the walls of which were completely covered with pictures–pictures of her own, and of Melby’s composition, principally Melby’s–and she died there, with Melby’s pictures at her as her chief mourners.
And she died–as hundreds of other women have lived and died–blessin’ Peter Cooper.
[Editor’s notes: While the core of this column may be true, i.e. the friendship of Lucy A. Cuddehy and Fritz Melbye, and the generosity of Peter Cooper, some particulars are in error. Fritz Melbye, one of three artist brothers, was very well-traveled even before his years in New York; and even when based in New York, made several trips throughout the regions of the United States. He had shared a studio in Caracas, Venezuela, with painter Camille Pissarro; and toured the Caribbean with American painter Frederic Church.
Melbye is recognized now as a significant artist, with works in major art museums.
It may be that Melbye and Mrs. Cuddehy went to Europe together in 1866. Melbye never returned to the United States, but continued touring the Far East, visiting Japan and China, where he died in Shanghai in 1869. Mrs. Cuddehy did return to New York, but embarked on another journey in 1871. She died en route to Liverpool. Her obituary was brief, and her own artwork is unknown:]
