The Indomitable Spirit of Edmonia Lewis

by Harry Henderson

  A marvelous repose – that rare merit in statuary, except it be the lumpish repose native to the block of stone – was diffused throughout the figure. The spectator felt that Cleopatra had sunk down out of the fever and turmoil of her life, and for one instant – as it were, between two pulse throbs – had relinquished all activity, and was resting throughout every vein and muscle. It was the repose of despair, indeed; for Octavius had seen her, and remained insensible to her enchantments. But still there was a great smouldering furnace deep down in the woman’s heart. The repose, no doubt, was as complete as if she were never to stir hand or foot again; and yet, such was the creature's latent energy and fierceness, she might spring upon you like a tigress, and stop the very breath that you were now drawing midway in your throat.

  The face was a miraculous success. The sculptor had not shunned to give the full Nubian lips, and other characteristics of the Egyptian physiognomy. His courage and integrity had been abundantly rewarded; for Cleopatra's beauty shone out richer, warmer, more triumphantly beyond comparison than if, shrinking timidly from the truth, he had chosen the tame Grecian type. The expression was of profound, gloomy, heavily revolving thought; a glance into her past life and present emergencies, while her spirit gathered itself up for some new struggle, or was getting sternly reconciled to impending doom. In one view, there was a certain softness and tenderness, – how breathed into the statue, among so many strong and passionate elements, it is impossible to say. Catching another glimpse, you beheld her as implacable as a stone and cruel as fire.

  In a word, all Cleopatra – fierce, voluptuous, passionate, tender, wicked, terrible, and full of poisonous and rapturous enchantment – was kneaded into what, only a week or two before, had been a lump of wet clay from the Tiber. Soon, apotheosized in an indestructible material, she would be one of the images that men keep forever, finding a heat in them which does not cool down, throughout the centuries?[472]

  Not done, Hawthorne persisted in a later chapter, to reach some sort of final cadence:

  Kenyon's Roman artisans, all this while, had been at work on the Cleopatra. The fierce Egyptian queen had now struggled almost out of the imprisoning stone; or, rather, the workmen had found her within the mass of marble, imprisoned there by magic, but still fervid to the touch with fiery life, the fossil woman of an age that produced statelier, stronger, and more passionate creatures than our own. You already felt her compressed heat, and were aware of a tiger-like character even in her repose. If Octavius should make his appearance, though the marble still held her within its embrace, it was evident that she would tear herself forth in a twinkling, either to spring enraged at his throat, or, sinking into his arms, to make one more proof of her rich blandishments, or, falling lowly at his feet, to try the efficacy of a woman's tears.[473]

  The literate public was held captive by wishful wonder. They allowed their confusion to elope with their desire for a bold new American talent. Putnam’s Magazine quoted a German critic who cited Cleopatra and other works to extol Story, “a son of the youngest civilized race – a son of America.”[474]

  Story must have envied Hawthorne’s prose, which far surpassed the sculptor’s skill as a carver or a writer. He made his own foray with ink on paper. Trying to emulate the literary sizzle that propelled his fame, he wrote his own poem to memorialize Cleopatra’s longing for Antony and wet dreaming of African sexuality, “When the tiger passions were in us.”[475] Yes, “tiger” – also Hawthorne’s idea, quoted above.

  Figure 35. Cleopatra, by William Wetmore Story, 1860, this copy carved 1865

  Hawthorne’s Marble Faun, published in 1858, made Story’s Cleopatra famous before it was finished – and then was quoted to describe it. Photo courtesy Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, Richmond. J. Harwood and Louise B. Cochrane Fund for American Art. Photo Katherine Wetzel © Virginia Museum of Fine Arts.

  Cleopatra VII

  The last queen of Egypt died thirty years before Jesus Christ. Tales of her fiery persona raised her to the rank of historical superstar. By the nineteenth century, she was an archetype of profane desire and an anchor of popular culture. The best of her represented intelligence, mature love, and monarchy. Her vixen charisma, however, turned on sin – vanity, adultery, fratricide, and finally suicide. Hundreds of poets, playwrights, and painters thrilled the public with melodramas garnished with their creative insights and topped by fluff – the exotic and revealing costumes of ancient Rome and Egypt. Emphasizing her lurid aura, her effigy also graced sideshows and wax museums.

  Everyone knew her as the sexiest and strongest queen of all history. She coolly used her sex as a tool, a lever to power. Infamous for invading Julius Caesar’s chambers at the age of twenty-one, she later bore him a son. She then charmed Mark Antony, becoming his lover and military ally. When sex no longer worked for her, she took the ultimate exit rather than submit to public humiliation.

  Flash

  Edmonia’s use of sculpture as a weapon of racial activism was unprecedented. The record lays out her constant challenge to status quo, making news with her African features and dark skin as she made fine art in Rome and toured it in America. Statements made ten years apart seem to confirm the constancy of her mission: in 1866, “my first thought was for my poor father’s people, how I could do them good in a very small way,” and in 1876, “to do something for the race - something that will excite the admiration of the other races of the earth.”[476] She had begun with racial themes in the 1860s. Ten years later, she moved to a strategy more subtle than symbols in stone. By her success, with the help of newsmen, she became the symbol.

  Perhaps inspiration revealed itself in the form of a question as she passed the most famous studio in Rome. How could she prove she was Story’s equal? How could she force a comparison, perhaps even compel his public bow? Any success at all would undercut those who adopted him as evidence of God-given white supremacy.

  In 1867, she had moved as close to his studio as she could, profiting from his fame like a little shoe store near Macy’s. His Cleopatra sat there, the most famous work of America’s most famous living sculptor. For Edmonia, the subject met neoclassical literary needs. The African link, female power, and the threat of jail as a motive for suicide might have swooned her old niche audience as well as the general public.

  Cleopatra’s whorish saga and cowardly suicide, however, defied Edmonia’s Victorian morality and close ties to clergy. The theme was in no way compatible with her favored symbol, the Holy Virgin. As an unchaste pagan, Cleo carried no divine message. She was no Hagar full of promise. She was no martyr full of purpose. Her suffering was trivial. Her death was selfish.

  By fully baring the queen’s breast, Edmonia left no doubt of her foray beyond the modest, pure subjects that populate the rest of her work. Adult nudity was a staple of male artists, not of hers. In 1871, a critic in Florence described Thomas R. Gould’s Cleopatra in progress as “decorously draped.”[477] In the final cut, Gould fully revealed a breast, making it a match for Story’s queen. Edmonia also crossed that line, but only with The Death of Cleopatra.

  On a more practical note, The Death of Cleopatra was the greatest risk she ever took. Unlike her Hiawatha images and other speculative idealized images (the Freed Woman, Forever Free and Hagar), it had no discernible fan base ready to buy or fund a collective donation. Who would ever buy a raffle ticket? The morbid vision of death would not be welcomed by the people who bought her Madonnas, her Longfellow-inspired marbles, her abolitionist heroes, her portraits, her copies of classic antiques, etc. As a perilous departure, it may have also tapped into the outrage she suppressed for many years. In 1973, she told the Graphic she would never live in America again. Suicide says Good-bye forever.

  There are further signals that Edmonia meant the work more for its arrival at the Centennial than as a medium for literary code. Despite its general authenticity, some details seem intentionally dense. The hieroglyphs on the throne could have sent an arcane message. They are merely decorative:
impressive to the unschooled, meaningless to the Egyptologist.[478] She took other liberties, as did other artists. Plutarch had reported Cleopatra died on a golden bed.[479] Story and Gould had their Cleos sitting up. Edmonia’s slumped but achieved greater height than the others with the aid of a throne. Edmonia’s would demand further attention at the Centennial with the aid of an unusual, large, bright textile canopy.

  Despite all that has been written about the meanings of The Death of Cleopatra, so much of which remains of value and interest, the facts of her historic track suggest that Edmonia’s interest was to rival the most famous work of America’s most famous sculptor. Notably, two years after the Centennial, she recast her vivid “stone man” tale for the press, now citing a statue by Story instead of one by Greenough![480] It was a poor fib, considering she had memorialized her Franklin sighting in How Edmonia Lewis Became an Artist, the Revolution interview, and an abundance of retellings in print. To our point, she invited comparisons with Story, whose “masterpiece … in front of the State House” she now claimed once held her gaze. Was there ever such a statue?

  In our view, she chose to do battle armed with a startling image – as Brackett had with his Shipwrecked Mother, as Hosmer had with her queen in chains and her naked dozer, as Powers had with his Greek Slave, and as, indeed, Story had with dual nods toward Africa as his homeland headed into war over the treatment of Africans in America. While the others sought fame only for their art, she sought notice as the “colored sculptor” in the press and by appearing with her work. Her bid climaxed a decade of devotion to a singular mission.

  It seems she hoped to outshine the illustrious son of Salem as a humble hard-working colored woman. Humble? Only at first glance. To challenge the reigning champion required a resolute heart, like the proverbial People of the Bear. Heroes Shaw and Brown fought to the death to make their mark. Their names lived on while their killers faded into obscurity. She was about to stand up to power and send a message at any cost. She would not give up. Self-made and robust, she was about believing in herself for the sake of her people.

  28. BUSINESS – 1872 to 1873

  Mr. Sandbach

  Henry Sandbach was one of England’s leading art collectors, a home-town friend of the late John Gibson, and a regular visitor to Rome. During Carnival 1872, he chose, from the many portraits of Longfellow on the market, a scaled-down copy of Edmonia’s large bust and offered her 500 piastres.[481] After two weeks, he returned to her studio to pay. His papers also note her Hiawatha and Minnehaha in his collection.

  Comments by the Walker Art Gallery at the Liverpool Museums, which acquired the bust from the family around 2003, reminded us of Edmonia’s adjustments to the Shaw bust rendered into marble. Comparing the Sandbach copy with the larger original, the Walker points out her truncating the chest improved the work by accenting the poet’s fine features. Did she just mean to improve the design? Or was she cutting costs as well, having bargained the price, by getting rid of inches of marble at the statue’s widest point?

  The Greeley Jinx

  Hopeful for his rise in politics, Horace Greeley’s admirers called him the “Sage of Chappaqua.” Edmonia termed him “a handsome man.”[482] Soon, she created a striking portrait bust. Hiram Powers, Vinnie Ream, and others had already carved him.

  Although he was a founder of the Republican Party and an abolitionist when she created his portrait, he suffered flawed ambitions of tragic dimension. Hoping to reunite the nation, he split the Party as he abandoned core ideas of Reconstruction. His arguments to end federal control of the former Confederate states won him the endorsement of the Democrats. It was then the party of the solid South, states’ rights, and opposed to the federal intrusion that turned the old order on its head.

  Hearing of the nomination in Rome, Edmonia must have envisioned enough income from sales of her bust to pay for her Centennial plans. She sailed at once for New York[483] where Frank Leslie had publicized the Wooing of Hiawatha in 1868.

  Hedging his bets, he ordered a copy and promised payment before she sailed. He presumably planned to feature it as the work of a colored woman as Greeley reunited north with south. Edmonia surely hoped Leslie’s publicity would sell many copies.

  Then came the round of betrayals that we would call nourish if they were not so clearly impulsive. Greeley unexpectedly denounced freedmen as “an easy, worthless race.”[484] Wendell Phillips, once an ally, turned on him. As political dominos started to fall, Leslie and his editor, E. G. Squier, dropped their promises to Edmonia.

  Writing from the New York boarding house of colored abolitionist Peter S. Porter,[485] she sent a last minute plea for her money[486] before she headed to Rome. She sailed on October 27, before the election. It was an earlier return than any other year. Obviously, she urgently needed to get back to work.

  Greeley’s luck ran out completely. His wife, who had been ill for some time, died. He then lost the election to Grant in a landslide. The double loss felled him too, and a round of eulogies followed within weeks.

  The following year, as she headed for America, Edmonia packed the marble bust – now a fitting memorial – in a sturdy box. In New York, she made a beeline for Chappaqua and the Greeley family. They were an obvious prospect and a link to the remaining potential.[487] She told them she already had two orders, one from a Lincoln Club where Greeley was still revered and one from a Chicago gentleman. A weekly newspaper in Bryan, Ohio, hailed the work as “much admired.”[488]

  The Greeley jinx goes on. We have not so far turned up a single copy or photo of Edmonia’s portrait of the “handsome man.”

  Mrs. Chace

  Following the pre-Lenten Carnival of 1873, feminist Elizabeth Chace arrived in Rome on a grand tour and bought a copy of Edmonia’s Young Octavian (Figure 36). Other sculptors also copied the Vatican Museums’ portrait of the youth who ultimately became Augustus Caesar. William Henry Rinehart made three copies. Chace wrote, “[Edmonia’s copy] seemed to all of us the best reproduction of the original then offered by any artist in Rome.”[489]

  She took Edmonia for a ride in an open carriage on main promenades and over the Pincian Hill parkland. She particularly enjoyed Edmonia’s child-like delight in the drive. Since Edmonia’s father was “a man of color,” she said Edmonia should have been a painter. However, her mother was a “Chipp-e-way,” and it was “natural for her to be a sculptor.” Chace enjoyed her joke so much she put it in her memoirs. Edmonia, she recalled, was “especially delighted.”

  Mrs. Chace, whose family had strong abolitionist roots, reported no complaints about racism from Edmonia. However, later, in Florence, she heard grumbles from Sarah Remond, a colored American from Salem whose eloquent brother she had admired.[490]

  Figure 36. Young Octavian, ca. 1873

  Edmonia’s stylish rendition above of the antique Young Octavian was one of many. Photo courtesy: Smithsonian American Art Museum, gift of Mr. and Mrs. Norman Robbins

  Boston Misers

  When customers failed to pay, Edmonia now threatened to sue – no pleas, no begging, no crude shelf of shame marked ‘DELINQUENT’ à la Powers. She had learned a valuable if somewhat harsh lesson from the late Hugh Cholmeley.

  Before Edmonia departed for Rome in 1865, Dioclesian Lewis had promised $100 extra if she should do his portrait justice.[491] When it arrived in Boston two years later, the Transcript, the Commonwealth, and the Christian Recorder had showered the marble rendering with praise. His brother had taken a plaster copy. Someone ordered a second marble (Figure 19). This, the first commission she had delivered from Rome, was even shown in New York. She later smirked to a reporter, “He refused to pay this, but my friends there made him do it.”[492]

  When another stingy patron refused final payment on a memorial commissioned for Mount Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge MA, she threatened to sue. Rather than appear in court, the family paid. Writing in Boston to her sister, Anne Whitney wondered whether the family would actually install the monument.[493]

&nb
sp; Gossip had already doomed the plan. The family marked the plot with a slab of beautiful green slate, and the incident was nearly forgotten.

  Mr. and Mrs. Thomas

  In 1879, a former slave living in the former Confederacy forced Edmonia to reach across national frontiers and the Atlantic Ocean. This time all else failed and she did go to court, setting experts against experts in full public view. Both sides endured public jeers. Sensation-seeking editors in St. Louis, MO, feasted on the celebrity event to the delight of newspapers around the nation.[494] At issue was a debt of $500 outstanding on a memorial ordered for a grave in Calvary Cemetery, the last resting place of St. Louis’s most prominent Catholics.[495]

  Edmonia’s commission meant to mark the burial site of Madame Pelagie Rutgers.[496] Madame Rutgers was a Haitian descendant and former slave who had married the colored son of a rich Dutch merchant. She was an important landlord and a member of the colored elite of St. Louis. Her wealth was estimated at $400,000. According to one legend, she gave her only daughter diamond earrings costing $10,000 and a veil costing $900 when she married. The daughter actually wed after her mother’s passing because Madame Rutgers objected to her match with a former slave. The wedding, nonetheless, was well attended and locally renowned.

  Answering the suit were daughter Antoinette and her husband, James Peck Thomas. He was a successful barber who also ran his wife’s real estate. James had toured Europe in the summer of 1873.[497] Traveling south from England, he eventually met the rector of the American College[498] in Rome and learned of the colored sculptor. Excited, he soon found he had missed her. She had sailed from Le Havre just as he embarked at New York.