Yet despite the grandeur of their reception, these relics did not really have a proper shrine to call their own. Instead, they were exhibited alongside other miscellaneous historical and scientific artifacts in the new Patent Office building. The grand halls of the Patent Office, designed to display patent models submitted by inventors, also served as a museum for the U.S. government’s collection, known as the National Cabinet of Curiosities, (The National Institute, established in 1840 as the National Institution for the Promotion of Science, was the official caretaker of the government’s collections at the Patent Office before they were transferred to the Smithsonian.) An 1855 catalogue of the museum listed relics of George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, and other statesmen; industrial artifacts; military relics; assorted portraits and statuary; and natural history and ethnological specimens gathered from around the world by military exploring expeditions. This collection of curiosities definitely lived up to its name; just one of the sixty-three cases described in the 1855 catalogue contained the following: a fossilized turtle from Ohio; a Turkish newspaper: “the famous edible bird nests from China”; specimens of India rubber sent by Goodyear and Company to the 1853 Mechanics’ Fair in Philadelphia; a mitten made from buffalo wool; a sash stained with the blood of Captain James Cook; a piece of Connecticut’s famous Charter Oak; a hairbrush made by a student at the Illinois Institution for the Education of the Blind; a piece of the cornerstone of the Washington Monument, laid in 1848; and a “Silk hat worn by a traveling monkey.”5
Given this bizarre and colorful hodgepodge, perhaps it is understandable that, when confronted with the prospect of acquiring the National Cabinet of Curiosities, the first secretary of the Smithsonian Institution was less than enthusiastic. Joseph Henry had been appointed to lead the Smithsonian in 1846, the year the U.S. Congress used James Smithson’s bequest to establish an institution dedicated to “the increase and diffusion of knowledge among men.” One of the most renowned American scientists, Henry envisioned the Smithsonian as a center for scholarly research, not a popular museum. He strongly opposed the government’s plans to use the Institution as a showcase for its eclectic collections, fearing that the result would be reminiscent of a P. T. Barnum sideshow and that the budget would go to taking care of artifacts, not advancing science.6 But in 1858, over Henry’s objections, Congress transferred a large number of objects from the Patent Office to the Smithsonian’s new National Museum (originally located in the Castle), along with funds for their care and exhibition. The Smithsonian thus became the official curator of the nation’s collections.
Benjamin Franklin portrait medallion, about 1776. In 1774 the English potter Josiah Wedgwood introduced a series of small portrait medallions depicting famous figures of the day. One of the best-selling likenesses was that of Benjamin Franklin, whose energetic pursuits as a journalist, inventor, entrepreneur, statesman, and diplomat defined him, in the eyes of many people of that generation, as the quintessential American. This Franklin medallion came to the Smithsonian in 1981 as part of the Henry Rau Collection of Wedgwood pottery. (photo credit 10.1)
Significantly, however, this initial transfer did not include the contents of the case that, among the Patent Office’s many wonders, visitors reportedly admired most of all: the case featuring Washington’s sword and Franklin’s cane as well as other Washington relics such as furniture and housewares from Mount Vernon, his uniform, camp chest, and writing case used during the Revolutionary War, and his commission as general of the Continental Army.7 Why were these treasures not added to the National Museum? In its early days the Smithsonian was conceived mainly as a scientific institution; its collections were assembled and curated by men of science. It showcased the products of scientific research and the exploring expeditions that travelled to new territories and foreign lands. It was a place not for looking back at the past but for studying the present and envisioning the future.
Musket presented to Thomas Jefferson in 1805. President Jefferson received this musket, inlaid with coral and silver, from the Bey of Tunis’s ambassador at the end of the Tripolitan War. It was exhibited at the Patent Office along with other presidential artifacts until 1883, when the U.S. government’s historical collections were transferred to the Smithsonian. (photo credit 10.2)
The fact that the National Museum initially focused on natural history, not national history, may have also reflected ambiguous attitudes toward American history and the government’s role in preserving it. In the first half of the nineteenth century, history posed a dilemma for the young nation. The Revolution had liberated Americans not only from British rule but also, in creating a new society that aspired to democratic ideals, from the burden of Old World traditions and values. In that sense the past seemed largely irrelevant to the business of government, which was focused on the present and future, on shaping a more perfect union. Moreover, public history often took the form of hero worship, a practice that struck some as antithetical to democracy. As one American wrote to the Philadelphia Public Ledger in 1837 on the question of whether state money should help fund the proposed Washington Monument: “We are opposed to the least expenditure of public money for the mere purpose of honoring individuals, however distinguished.… We venerate as highly the character, and feel as grateful for the services of Washington, as any republican, or as is consistent with that self respect, without which no one can be a republican.”8
On the other hand, as the nation struggled to forge an identity in its early decades, few could deny the power of heroes and history to unite and inspire a fragmented populace. As early as the 1770s the British artisan Josiah Wedgwood started capitalizing on the American appetite for heroes by issuing ceramic portrait medallions of Washington, Franklin, and other Revolutionary War leaders; by 1779 such medallions were outselling Wedgwood’s tea services.9 Charles Willson Peale did his part to enshrine national heroes in his museum in Philadelphia, displaying portraits of famous Americans along with natural wonders.10
Chair from George Washington’s bedroom at Mount Vernon, 1760s–90s. According to tradition, Washington sat in this armchair shortly before he died in 1799. Much of the furniture and other items from Washington’s estate were inherited by Martha Washington’s granddaughter, Eleanor Parke Custis Lewis, after Mrs. Washington’s death in 1802. In 1878 Congress appropriated funds to purchase the Lewis family’s collection of Washington relics. The objects were first displayed at the Patent Office and then transferred to the Smithsonian in 1883. (photo credit 10.3)
Despite his own statements to the contrary—“Democracy has no monuments. It strikes no medals. It bears the head of no man on a coin”—John Quincy Adams clearly understood that the glorification of Washington, Franklin, and other heroes could promote patriotism and national unity.11 In fact, Adams claimed a place for himself in the pantheon in 1844, when he donated to the national collections an ivory cane that had been awarded to him by abolitionist supporters. Adams often visited the Patent Office to admire his gift, and, seeing his cane displayed alongside the artifacts he had exalted as “venerable relics of the wise, the valiant, and the good,” he felt a pride that sometimes vexed his republican conscience. He confessed to his diary: “I crave pardon for the vanity of this memorial.”12
Ivory cane given to John Quincy Adams in 1844. After serving as the sixth U.S. president, from 1825 to 1829, Adams won a seat in the U.S. House of Representatives, where he challenged a rule forbidding antislavery groups from presenting petitions to Congress. In gratitude, abolitionists presented Adams with this cane, the top of which is inscribed “Right of Petition Triumphant.” The cane was exhibited at the Patent Office until 1883, when it came to the Smithsonian. (photo credit 10.4)
The creation and perpetuation of national heroes through visual media, monuments, and museum relics helped shape and strengthen American culture in the early nineteenth century.13 As the Wedgwood example implies, much of this early history making was conducted on commercial and popular levels rather than imposed from above. Indeed, the status of the National Cabinet of Curiosities reflected the government’s relatively minor role in preserving and promoting a collective national memory. In contrast to the expeditions it dispatched to document the continent’s natural resources and indigenous peoples, the government acquired historical relics by random acts of generosity rather than a conscious collecting plan. At the Smithsonian’s new National Museum, scientists labored to classify natural and ethnological specimens and create systematic, coherent displays. Meanwhile, although the old Patent Office relics did represent fragments of a historical narrative, little effort was expended to strengthen it. Politicians, it seemed, made poor curators. For the Smithsonian, American history remained a curiosity, beyond the pale of its scientific mission.
Things began to change, slowly but surely, after the Civil War. Confronting a nation that had torn itself apart, many political and cultural leaders appealed to history as a means to reunite it. In 1864, as the war still raged, Congress created the National Statuary Hall in the U.S. Capitol. Modeled on the Roman Pantheon, the hall housed statues of famous Americans, “illustrious in their historic renown, or distinguished for their civic or military service, such as each state shall determine are worthy of national remembrance.”14 Through these marble and bronze representatives, Congress symbolically brought America’s heroes together under one roof, as part of a shared national past. Fittingly, Statuary Hall occupied the former Hall of Representatives, where in 1843 John Quincy Adams had welcomed the relics of Washington and Franklin and offered a prayer of thanks that the Union these men helped create had been preserved “through all the vicissitudes and revolutions of this turbulent world.” Adams was long since gone—a plaque on the floor marked the spot where he collapsed from a stroke in 1848—but his prayer still echoed amid the figures along the colonnade, watched over by the sculpture History above the Rotunda door.