The Indomitable Spirit of Edmonia Lewis

by Harry Henderson

  Isolated and under siege, she defended her principles with head held high.

  Her long relationship with Harriet Hosmer also must have had a bearing on her sense of authority. She had given advice to Harriet on the subject of Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra. Soon she would promote Harriet’s Zenobia show in Boston.[77] In 1861, Child published a short biography[78] recounting how Harriet’s father, a physician, encouraged his daughter’s independent streak.

  “Hatty” to her friends, Harriet was allowed as a child to live outdoors, play ball with boys, swim, run races, hike, shoot, even ride horseback (forbidden at Oberlin as a gateway to sin). Overindulged, she was uncontrollable. She even published a bogus death notice of a sour neighbor. It was a practical joke.

  Mrs. Sedgwick’s School for Girls in Lenox, Massachusetts, was the only place that could contain her. There she met and befriended for life Cornelia Crow, daughter of St. Louis merchant Wayman Crow. When Hatty’s schooling ended, she declared she would be a sculptor. Painting was acceptable as a female hobby. Chipping and buffing rocks was as unthinkable for a lady as picking up a rifle and joining the army.

  The doting father cared little for convention. He made a shed into a studio and hired a tutor. He also let Hatty spend a good deal of time with the Crow family in Missouri. With the help of Wayman Crow, she pioneered as the first woman to attend anatomy classes at what became Washington University School of Medicine.

  Ever daring, Hatty carved a bare-breasted bust she called Hesper. Mrs. Child wrote a glowing but unsigned review for the New-York Tribune. After Hatty and her father went to Italy in 1852, she maintained contact with Mrs. Child. Hatty studied for some years with John Gibson, a famous English artist, sharing his Roman studio and working under his attentive eye.

  Her vision of a powerful woman subdued, Zenobia in Chains (1859),[79] excited art circles when shown at the 1862 international exhibition in London. It was the product of years of independent research. Appearing after the start of the Civil War, it made a cunning swipe at both slavery and the low status of strong women. Part of its celebrity had to do with Hatty succeeding in a men’s profession – and the uproar that followed accusations it was actually the work of men.[80]

  Going to Italy was a well-traveled path for aspiring artists, especially sculptors. Europe offered the finest instructors and assistants, the finest white marble, the richest art museums in which to study, connections to other artists and masters, and access to models who would pose nude or otherwise for little money.

  Art was also spun into the fiber of European culture, where kings, aristocrats, and most of all the Roman Catholic Church had supported the arts for centuries. Europeans accepted the culture that surrounded the arts, whether they fully appreciated it or not. More important, they embraced art and artists as necessary to civilization. A painting or statue made in Rome was worth ten times the same artifact made in the New World.

  The fresh-faced society of America, rooted in rejections of monarchies, state religions, and idolatry, viewed art with suspicion. Boston’s illustrious sculptor, William Wetmore Story, who once dwelt on the disappointing facets of his hometown, wrote, “There is no hearty love of anything, for we are afraid of making a mistake. We love unhappiness.”[81]

  Mrs. Child and Edmonia

  Not surprisingly, such deep-seated Yankee gloom periodically ran amok to overwhelm Mrs. Child’s enthusiasm for her new protégée. After adoring Edmonia’s promise, Child could suddenly lurch into despair. Ideal standards guided her approach to life and set her apart from other mortals. Seeking unattainable goals could assure feelings of superiority. Paranoia and raging conflict could provide a sense of security. Rigidity could guarantee stability – needed even by the most radical gadfly!

  Unlike Hatty, who was naturally wild but formally educated, Edmonia claimed to have been raised “wild” and taught by preachers. She knew little of literature beyond the Holy Bible. She never studied anatomy. She had no master, and she taught herself to manipulate clay. She sold her handicrafts just as she had peddled souvenirs to tourists in the Mohawk Valley.

  When they met, Mrs. Child was past sixty years old and suffering chronic loneliness. She had no sons or daughters of her own, only those she had “adopted.”[82] The age difference was one of many factors affecting the intense relationship that was to develop. She was a product of her generation, despite her opposition to many of its myths and attitudes.

  In addition to defending her own radical thinking, now she found herself defending a protégée. One moment she invested herself with Edmonia’s success as a grandparent might do. The next day she became the grumpy doubter of credentials. As top hen, she pecked away with preachy criticism. She fretted over Edmonia’s low origin, high ambition, and lack of familiar order.

  Before publishing the Tremont Temple interview, Mrs. Child wrote to Garrison asking where she could obtain a bust of Senator Sumner for Edmonia’s use in making a medallion. On the same day, she wrote to poet Eliza Scudder in Boston, asking for reassurance. “Do [Edmonia’s medallions] seem to you to promise anything more than ordinary, if she can have instruction?”[83]

  Living miles away from Boston, she had nagging fears that prompted her to contact her publisher months after her interview appeared. Again, she sought reassurances, “I want to know what sort of person Edmonia Lewis, the sculptor, is. Is she a worthy, discreet sort of person? Is she economical? In a word, is she one whom it is worthwhile to try to assist? Your answer, if you wish, will be strictly between ourselves.”[84]

  That Edmonia copied a Voltaire bust rather than create something original also sent her teetering. Missing the clichéd sneer, she saw only lack of culture. Then, she worried about creativity!

  No one examined Edmonia more thoroughly. She turned over every possibility to ensure she had not missed some defect that could reflect badly on her endorsement.

  More than mood swings, class bias damaged Mrs. Child’s hopes for latent talent in the colored races. Her letters reflect fine art as the private preserve of society’s elite. She questioned whether Edmonia could climb “a long and difficult hill … before she could reach the summit of her art.”[85] Many of her circle believed that only someone with formal training in the esoterica of literature and history could create in the symbolic style of the time. Even a casual interest required a privileged education to appreciate subjects like Hesper and Zenobia. In Hawthorne’s words, “A sculptor, indeed, to meet the demands which our pre-conceptions make upon him, should be even more indispensably a poet than those who deal in measured verse and rhyme.”[86] Moreover, sculpture required extraordinary labors in execution.

  In short, Child soared on dreams of pre-eminence. It was the same outlook that let her righteously scold the nation as an abolitionist. There was a certain logic. Neoclassical sculpture, in vogue at the time, was one of the most difficult styles ever developed. It dwelled on ideals and aspirations, putting demands on the viewer’s knowledge for a genuine appreciation. It followed ancient Greek practices meant to elevate the profound and eternal, drawing on characters from classical literature and history. Expensive and associated with the social hierarchy of the day, it also satisfied a desire of the wealthiest and best educated to exclude all others.

  That only the most sophisticated few could create fine art was a false assumption, of course, one that sank on the hopeless ballast of self-serving generalities and needy elitism. Distribution of native gifts and development of character, we now accept, are independent of social caste. Moreover, authentic, valuable innovation often thrives on youthful innocence, varied perspectives, and other fresh points of departure.

  In spite of its connection to a market ripened by wealth and sophistication, the best neoclassical sculpture could stir the masses. Hiram Powers’ astonishing marble Greek Slave – nude, white, and as perfect as any Venus – called national attention to the political issue of slavery in 1847. A publicist put together a pamphlet and took this, the first celebrated life-size nude female figure
by an American sculptor, on a four-year tour. Its commercial success made Powers, who had grown roots in Florence, Italy, rich. It made the traveling showman even richer.

  The statue’s emotive sizzle – depicting a sexually desirable Christian maiden about to be raped by heretical Turks – mixed visual pleasure with moral horror. It drew the curious as well as serious critics by tweaking consciences, insinuating that American slave traders were barbaric rapists. In a sonnet about it, Elizabeth Barrett Browning rhapsodized: “From God’s pure heights of beauty against man’s wrong!”[87] Crowds fell silent in a daze of race-reversal, frowning and later expressing dismay.

  That Hiram Powers, born to poor farmers, lacked the class credentials of Hatty Hosmer, William Story, the Greenoughs, and others escaped Mrs. Child’s square and neurotic view.

  12. EDMONIA REVEALED

  Intent on memorializing Shaw, Edmonia sought photos of him. Mrs. Child was a possible source. She spoke of a life-long friendship with Shaw’s parents, of knowing Robert since his infancy. Could she help? Some time after Child’s visit to her studio, Edmonia revealed her intent in a letter asking Mrs. Child for help.[88]

  The request precipitated a storm brewing in the dark recesses of Child’s psyche. She flatly refused. The idea was a shock, beyond the permissible, not to be considered. Her objections went beyond the raw skills demonstrated by crude medallions. She shuddered at the thought of this rough youngster trampling hallowed memories.

  Largely unspoken was her fear that others would blame her for allowing her sympathy to overrule her good sense. The Shaws were among her oldest friends. She knew they wished for a memorial far grander than this novice could provide.

  Child stewed over this for years, her inability to reconcile her feelings about Edmonia disturbing her letters like a recurring nightmare. In her recall, she at first had urged Edmonia to simply abandon any thought of memorializing the Shaw’s son. It was too ambitious, not a job for a newcomer with no experience, no qualifications, and no reputation.

  Becoming more critical as Edmonia persisted, Child told her to get a real job. Study in your spare time. Learn the basics before attempting such projects.

  Eventually, the older woman raged. Soon, they were hardly speaking.

  Edmonia paid no heed. With the single-minded passion of Juliet for her Romeo, she worked her clay and begged photos. She did not argue, did not apologize, did not pause to discuss and negotiate. The perseverance that Child had admired wedged them apart.

  As the weather warmed, Edmonia found herself caught between a clay muddle and an elusive memory.[89] She appealed to Brackett for help. He turned her away. At Anne Whitney’s suggestion, she went to Robert Ball Hughes. He had created America’s first marble statue decades earlier and his was the first bronze statue cast in the United States. She spent a hot summer day traveling to his home outside the city. While Hughes seemed agreeable, his family did not permit him to go into town because of his fondness for drink. Then, Anne recommended John Crookshanks King. His portrayals of Daniel Webster, John Quincy Adams, and Ralph Waldo Emerson had established his considerable skill. It was useless. Edmonia trembled with desperation as she reported another failure.

  In the full rut of ambition, she finally asked Anne to be her teacher. It was her last hope. Anne agreed, but not before asserting class superiority to a friend, criticizing Edmonia’s honesty and housekeeping.

  13. ANIMUS AND ANIMA

  Wigwam No. 89

  In the coolness of October, two matriarchs of reform lumbered up the stairs to Edmonia’s studio. Longtime friends and political allies, the plain Child and the stunning Chapman had invitations to see the new work. They surely chattered as they climbed, the noise giving a cheerful luster to their mission.

  Writing for the public, Child hid her discord with Edmonia. She dramatized instead her superior sensibilities: “Being aware how difficult it is to attain to excellence in sculpture, and, in addition to deficiency of early culture, [Edmonia] had the double disadvantage of being a woman and colored, I did feel somewhat sorry she had undertaken a task so formidable. But she seemed to have such strong faith in the power of perseverance to conquer all obstacles…”[90] Claiming tact to her reading public, she fibbed about her stern advice: “I had not the heart to mention my misgivings to her.”

  Edmonia must have wondered what to think when her mentor sneered at her plan and urged her to get a job. She was in Mrs. Child’s debt. Child had encouraged Edmonia at first with publicity, sending customers, and helping secure subjects. The injunctions that followed guaranteed to be millstones of futility. If Edmonia submitted, she would ever be the pupil – with real achievement endlessly out of reach.

  In light of such demands, Edmonia’s sacred pursuit of Shaw’s image took on a character of defiance. As she formed the clay, she must have pondered the practical terms of her dilemma. Opposing Mrs. Child’s advice might mean a break. She did not have the words to convince the more articulate woman how the Shaw project gave her life purpose and meaning.

  In the end, the slippery stuff was more convincing than any words, more persuasive than anything Mrs. Child could say. Complying with her touch, it encouraged her to proceed. Edmonia was as resolute as her heroes. If her portrait of Shaw came up a success, so much the better. If it failed, so be it. She would not give up without a struggle. She would not put it to a debate. Only she would pay, in the end, for her decision. Few knew how her backers helped her. Anne Whitney, probably Edward Bannister (who was memorializing Shaw in oils next door), perhaps even Maria Chapman and others also gave encouragement and loaned photos. Never publicized, they would not stand trial with Edmonia’s rise or ruin – as Child would.

  The Bust

  Envision the sixty-two year old sedentary writer and colleague only four years her junior as they climbed the stairs of the Studio Building. The dusty stairwell must have seemed warm compared to the breath-fogging morning outside. For Child, three flights up to a dreaded showdown must have been unwelcome exercise. Chapman was likely unaware of or indifferent to Child’s drama. Autumn garb weighed heavily. When they reached Edmonia’s floor, their faces would have been shiny in the glow of a skylight. They paused at the landing to collect themselves. Exchanging looks, they walked toward Edmonia’s tin sign. Chapman gave two quick raps.

  Upon hearing them on the stairs, Edmonia probably had risen. Instantly, she swung the door wide.

  They blinked, going from gloomy hall to sunlit room.

  Silence.

  Mrs. Child squinted, frozen. Mrs. Chapman raised her hand, perhaps holding a white handkerchief and half hiding her face, and glided in with graceful authority. With two noiseless steps, Edmonia swept the damp cloth from her work. She stood back to study their reactions. Her game face as stony as the Sphinx, she focused her mind on Mrs. Child.

  Would Child still oppose her work – or would the work regain her trust? The stillness of the moment hardly did justice to three elevated pulses. For an eternal moment, no one breathed. Mrs. Chapman circled the clay figure in slow motion. Who would speak first, taking responsibility for all to follow?

  Suddenly, a flood of noise drowned all worries. A stunned Edmonia barely heard the words, the sounds, the sighs, ooos, and ahs. She barely saw the happy faces in the daylight from the window. They circled and circled, nodding and crying out. Look, look! Oh my!

  The waiting was over. She finally exhaled.

  Profoundly moved, both visitors smiled through tears of joy. Both had known Robert since childhood. Both had mourned his death.

  Child captured the fleeting sentiment of this moment for the New York National Anti-Slavery Standard, but not until the praise of all Boston drowned all lingering qualms. Three months later, her readers could read, “I was very agreeably surprised. She indeed ‘wrought well with her unpractised hand.’ I thought the likeness extremely good, and the refined face had a firm yet sad expression, as one going consciously, though willingly to martyrdom, for the rescue of his country and the redemption
of a race.”[91] Implying a sacred moment, she continued,

  And the clay needed moistening, she took water from a vase near by and reverently sprinkled the head. The sight of that little brown hand thus tenderly baptizing the `fair-haired Saxon hero’ affected me deeply, and I saw that it had made a similar impression on Mrs. Chapman who was with me. We both felt that there was something inexpressibly beautiful and touching in the efforts of a long oppressed race to sanctify the memory of their martyr. Indeed, I think that the deep feeling of admiration and gratitude, which the artist felt for the young hero whose lineaments she traced was one great reason why she succeeded so well.

  Aloof insofar as organized religion, Child believed in the spirit world. She reported that Edmonia confided to her in suitable terms, “If I were a Spiritualist, I should think Colonel Shaw came to aid me ... for I thought, and thought, and thought how handsome he looked when he passed through the streets of Boston with his regiment, and I thought, and thought, and thought how he must have looked when he led them to Fort Wagner, and at last it seemed to me as if he was actually in the room.”[92]

  Deeply impressed, Child later added, “I appreciated the feeling of gratitude and admiration which led her to wish to do it, and which prompted her to keep kissing the clay while she worked upon it.” Such sentimentalisms melted Child’s heart. She confessed her full support, even if she would change tack one day. “Assuredly, this is the spirit with which an artist ought to work. I believe nothing is done truly well, in literature or art, unless it is wrought with intensity of spirit.”[93]

  Figure 4. Col. Robert Gould Shaw, 1864. Plaster

  Edmonia’s portrait of Col. Shaw was her breakthrough. She portrayed him in the neoclassical style, as bare-chested as an athlete of ancient Greece. Augustus Marshall, whose studio neighbored Edmonia’s, took this photo of the bust. She sold one hundred copies of the bust at $15 each as well as copies of the photo. Photo courtesy of the Massachusetts Historical Society.