Understanding that the Gallery of American portraits, now in Washington, mainly the work of M. B. Brady, the photographer, and the result of labors of love commenced nearly forty years since, and continued down to the present day, is to be disposed of, I feel anxious to suggest to members of Congress, and especially the Joint Committee on the Library, the propriety of placing this collection entire on the walls of the Library of the Capitol. It is unquestionably appropriate, and, it seems to me, of priceless value. Once gone it can never be restored. It embraces the essence of the history of the Executive, Legislative, and Judicial Departments of the Government, including the army and navy, during the last thirty-five years—years of an importance that will live and tower in time to come.
If there is any spot, or series of objects peculiarly interesting and valuable at all periods and to all classes of persons, it would seem to be a good gallery of authentic historical portraits, especially where they illustrate marked phases of political development and warlike revolution, hardly yet ended, and embody well-known names, living or dead, whose action in those fields has deeply influenced our day and the days to come. "All the interest of any age or nation," says more than one philosopher, "concentrates upon its principal persons." Accordingly, the last and crowning part of a celebré, beyond his speeches, his biography, or any or all his doings or literary remains—is his portrait. The statues in Greece or Rome, the bas-reliefs in Egypt, the European collections in the numerous palaces, castles, public institutions—the popes, kings, queens, lord, poets, statesmen, orators, generals, admirals, discoverers, revolutionaires, and the like—whatever we now can get of these, or reminiscences or copies, or fragments of them—who does not know and feel their precious value, which time steadily enhances? And if this is the case with regard to Personalities over sea, and foreign to us, how much greater the theme when we come to our own country. Comparatively new as we are we have yet a history. Already revolution, crises, common dangers and the mighty associations of war and death, have enveloped the United States with the mantle of dignity which the Muses love. Already the great deeds and the great names are silently slipping from us.
I have whiled away many an hour in this comparatively small, yet measureless, gallery of Brady's portraits, at intervals during the last seven years. Standing or seated, often entirely alone in the middle of the room, let me fancy myself again there, and inventory some of the faces that surround me, looking down from every side—faces all taken from life, and all with the subtle look of life:
All these are good pictures, and with all, or nearly all, attach peculiar and characteristic associations. There is an anecdote or narrative about every one of them.
Mr. Lincoln, for instance, came to sit in New York, en route to Washington, after his election, accompanied by three members of the Young Men's Republican Committee. They were very young men, indeed—of slight build and small in stature. Mr. Lincoln himself, so tall, clean-shaved, and with an extraordinary show of neck, was in quality, of course, comparatively unknown, but showed all his magnetism, native shrewdness, common sense, and that abundance of good humor which even the serious succeeding events hardly tempered down. The operator, Mr. Brady, had great difficulty in getting up shirt collar enough to hide the disproportionate neck of the subject, and make a passable picture.
Henry Clay was taken in New York while on a visit North. He was in the City Hall surrounded by a dense crowd, and could not get out. So the instruments were carried across to the "Tea Room," where he then was, and the portrait taken.
When Mr. Polk came to the Presidency, it was arranged to take him and all the Cabinet. This was duly accomplished, with the exception of Governor Marcy, who had bigger fish to fry, and obstinately refused to come and sit. Brady had about given up the job as a bad one, when he mentioned his discomfiture to Mrs. Polk. She offered to bring the recusant to the operator's gallery, and in a short time did so; but the Governor was not in the humor, and evidently had his mind filled with something else. A passable picture was obtained, however. But some time after, when Marcy left office, he sat in New York with willingness and leisure, and the result was the fine picture and likeness now on exhibition.
Calhoun came punctually at the appointed time, with his daughter, Mrs. Clemson. The first sitting was short; the next longer; the next longer still. In the interval Mrs. Clemson said: "Father, why do you suppose they sit you so much longer each time?" "Well, my dear," said Mr. Calhoun, "I have noticed a change in the light since we came." And then, remarking that since daguerreotypes had come up he had been too thoroughly immersed in political and other questions to examine them, he went on for a few minute to speculate upon the probabilities of the theory, on the laws of chemistry and light upon which it is founded. Mr. Brady and his assistants could hear him from behind the screen, and the young men afterward said that they gained more solid knowledge of the basic principles of their art from that impromptu talk of the old statesman, than from all their reading and experience before.
Benton sat in New York. From the operating-room, with its sky-light and shades not being at that time very substantial, an amusing accident happened. Benton was a very large man, with ponderous step, and as he advanced to take his seat, majestically stamping, the large horizontal paper shade overhead bearing much accumulated dust, gave way and fell on him, and for a moment he stood there like a circus clown with his head thrust through one of the paper "balloons." As soon as his momentary astonishment was over he was the first to enjoy the mishap, and laughed heartily at it.
A still more annoying and almost dangerous accident happened in the taking of General Grant's picture during the war. Grant came with Stanton late in the afternoon, and while hurriedly arranging him to sit, as the light was lessening, a man was sent up to the roof to remove something which was generally used during the day to partially cover the skylight. Suddenly, just as they were about to begin, a tremendous and unwonted sound, crash!—bang!—and down came great slivers of glass, sash, and wall. Brady, who was close by, professionally watching the General, noticed that not a muscle of body or countenance changed, though every one else was more or less startled.
To leave these reminiscences—what would we not give if we had a collection of all our American celebrities, beginning with the men of the days of Washington and Jefferson, the heroes throughout the war of '76-'84, and of those who followed during the ensuing thirty years!
The addition of these authentic likenesses and eloquent mementoes, not only of the common passions, struggles, and ambitions, but of the general close where all alike terminate; these typical men gathered together from opposing parties and convictions, representing in their varieties and oppositions after all a Common Country—seems to me peculiarly appropriate to the library of the Capitol.
WALT WHITMAN.