This hardcover anthology was published by the Pen Women Press in January of 2009. Nationwide, the members of the National League of American Pen Woman collaborated to create this anthology of writings, music and art to mark the 200th birthday of Abraham Lincoln.
Proceeds from book sales will be used to establish a Lincoln Legacy Scholarship award for students that produce literary works of merit that best exemplify one or more of Lincoln's contributions to the American ideals of freedom, equality, and opportunity. This book has been endorsed by the President and Congress as part of the Abraham Lincoln Bicentennial Commission. In September of 2009 this book was awarded The Valley Forge Freedoms Foundation George Washington Medal of Honor.
Dear Readers,
All my life Ive admired those who courageously pursue their dreams with hands, heart, and soul. Vinnie Ream was such a dreamer. Indeed, despite her tiny size, she must have possessed the courage of a giant to achieve her dream of sculpting.
When I first came across Vinnies name and a brief description of her achievements I was intrigued and yet puzzled that I hadnt heard of her earlier. For the next nine months I researched her life, the Civil War, and the art of sculpting, and then one day I forced myself to close the books and pick up my pen. As I sat at my desk I wondered how Vinnie would have told her story. The answer was obvious: through correspondence with a trusted friend.
Although few of Vinnies personal letters have been found, I invented her voice by studying her poetry and journals and by reading a few quotations in newspaper articles. For example, in speaking to a reporter about her sessions sculpting President Lincoln, she said, These visits to the White House continued for five months. Through all this time the personality of Lincoln was gradually sinking deeper and deeper into my soul. I was modeling the man in clay, but he was being engraven still more deeply upon my heart. Borrowing Vinnies words, I created other references to her heart to express emotions, such as I felt my heart lift like a kite in the wind and My heart is swollen with fear. Her description of Lincolns two faces of sorrow, her declaration of devastation upon hearing of his assassination, and her comparison of his coffins sunlit nails to starsall these are Vinnies own. All the major events of her life happened as written, but I used my imagination to add details where none are known. Her personality needed no fictionalizing. From all the evidence, she was a compassionate person, a devoted daughter, a fierce patriot, and a joyous lover of music and poetry. Above all, she was a dreamer-a courageous dreamer.
My book chronicles eight years of Vinnies life through letters to her friend, Regina. The story begins in 1861, when the Ream family arrives in Washington, D. C. Only 13, Vinnie is already recognized as an accomplished painter, musician, and poet. Upon seeing Lincoln for the first time, she writes to Regina:
Puzzled, I turned to where he looked and saw a tall man walking towards us. He looked like an ordinary man except that he was rather tall-the towering stovepipe that he wore only added to his unusual height. He was dressed in a dark suit, as seems to be the custom in the city, but about his rounded shoulders was wrapped a white shawl. Oh, Regina, that man was no ordinary man. He was our beloved President, Abraham Lincoln.
I stood up slowly, very slowly, as though sudden movement might burst the illusion like a fragile bubble. But he was no illusion. He came closer and closer until I clearly saw the coarseness of his face, the darkness of his beard, the slope of his shoulders as though he bore a burden on his back, and the measured stride of his long legs. He came even closer and closer and then my happy heart felt troubled, for I saw the lines of sadness on his face. (July 4, 1861)
Vinnie is noted for her beauty, but she refuses hundreds of suitors, desiring only to help Mr. Lincoln win his War. Noted for her mezzo-soprano voice, she sings to distract the soldiers who suffer in hospitals and gives concerts to raise funds to purchase clothes, food and medicine for Lincolns army. At the age of 16, she turns her talents toward sculpting, and within months, she makes known her hearts fondest ambition--to sculpt a likeness of Abraham Lincoln. The President questions why an artist would want a homely man for a subject, but Vinnie sees him in a different light. She explains to Regina:
I must capture his expression-an expression of Sadness so deep that it is as though God were a stonemason and had taken His chisel and carved Sadness into Mr. Lincolns face. Any sculptor could copy his eyes and his nose and his chin, but I want to capture Gods carving. (November 19, 1864)
For five months, the sixteen-year-old observes Mr. Lincoln on daily visits to his office. She writes:
Sometimes I deliberately arrive at the White House before my appointed time so as to sit outside Mr. Lincolns office and watch as military men, politicians, ambassadors, clergy, and civilians parade in and out of his door. Punctually at noon I am ushered inside, where I claim my corner, unwrap the towel-covered aperture, slip into my apron, and begin my work.
Except for that first week, when little Tad asked endless questions and poked his fingers into my tub of clay, I have worked without interruption. Even so, my work progresses slowly since some of my time is spent preparing the clay and cleaning tools. The shape of Mr. Lincolns head is beginning to satisfy me, though, and soon I will remove and add bits of clay to form his nose, eyes, chin and mouth. His hair I will add lastly, and by then the clay will take on a life of its own. Throughout my half-hour sessions I carefully study Mr. Lincolns dear face. In previous letters I have described his expression of sorrow, but of late I have discovered that he owns two separate expressions of sorrow. The first is caused, as I have written to you, by his guilt about the sufferings that War has brought upon his people. Strangely, the second sorrowful expression is caused by a rather mysterious object-a window. Whenever Mr. Lincoln looks out the window of his office, anguish-pure anguish-suddenly covers his face like a mask . . . .
Today, he was so broken by grief that he sank into the chair nearest the window and wept aloud. A strong man weeping is always a tragic thing to see, but never was there grief equal to Mr. Lincolns. Today, as he wept his giant tears, I quietly put away my things and closed the door behind me. (December 3, 1864) Later, Vinnie writes:
Oh Regina, the mystery of the window is clear to me now. When Mr. Lincoln looks out that window he sees neither Potomac waters nor blue skies and brown hills. Instead he imagines his beloved child, Willie, as he once was before his death, playing on the lawns beneath the window. (Christmas Eve, 1864)
On Thursday, April 13, 1865, Vinnie writes of her concern about Mr. Lincoln and of her joy that the war is over:
Regina, today I had to push my way through the streets of Washingtonmy every step was blocked by thousands of citizens and soldiers dancing and singing and parading about, but I was determined not to be late for my session with Mr. Lincoln. When I arrived, Mr. Lincoln was standing at his windowthe window through which he imagines his son, Willie, at play. When I saw him, Regina, I caught my breath, for he was the picture of exhaustion. He stood with his shoulders slumped, his chin lowered wearily onto his chest, his face pale with fatigue. When he heard me at the door he glanced my way. His eyes were weary, but they wore that familiar look of welcome I have come to cherish . . .
After I left Mr. Lincoln I joined an immense crowd . . . circling the White House. Constantly people cried out for President Lincoln, and he appeared several times on his portico and spoke. Not once did he belittle the South. The final time he instructed the band to play Dixie and in a strong voice he shouted, It is good to show the Rebels that with us they will be free to hear it again. Tonight Washington is ablaze with the lights of flickering bonfires, countless candles, and lanterns. Even the night sky is afire as whistling rockets streak overhead like slashes of colored lightning. The darkness of night is no more, for every window of every house and every building is aglow with golden lamplight. I must close now, for [my sister] Mary is impatient to leave for the dances along Pennsylvania Avenuewe shall dance until the morning sun rises and adds it own brilliance to the lights of celebration.
On the following day, Friday April 14, Vinnie adds:
This afternoon I . . . finally said: Mr. Lincoln, my work is finished. He glanced up from his reading with a startled expression and then, coming over to me, he looked at the bust for along moment. So that is my face, he said with a laugh in his voice. Do I look as sad as that? His question required no answerI could not have answered him anyway, Regina, for misery had stolen my voice. I wanted to smash the clay so I could start anew, but of a sudden Mrs. Lincoln was there praising my work, which brought a smile to her husbands dear face. No matter how my sculpture is regarded I have been successful, for I have, though for the briefest of moments, covered his sad face with pleasure.
That same night Mr. and Mrs. Abraham Lincoln attended the play, Our American Cousin, at Fords Theatre. The very next morning, Vinnie writes about John Wilkes Booth:
I am sitting by my attic window, looking down upon the city, a city crazed with anger and anguish. Thousands are roaming the streets looking for one man. One terrible man. Rain is falling. Nature is weeping. Our Dearest Friend is gone.
(April 15, 1865). On the Monday after Lincolns death, Vinnie writes to Regina: Today I returned to the White House and pleaded for permission to take away my sculpture. I worried that when Mr. Johnson took over as our new President he would order the office cleared of Mr. Lincolns belongings and the bust would be damaged.
As I was escorted down the halls I saw that the mirrors had been veiled and the red damask curtains at every window had been draped in black. We walked by the East room, where Mr. Lincolns catafalque was being prepared for the thousands of mourners who would soon pass by to honor him. I paused for a moment to watch as the central chandelier was removed from the ceiling to make room for the biers great height while black crepe was hung on the other two chandeliers.
Having asked leave to pay my respects to Mr. Lincoln, I stood for a while by his casket. Sunlight spilled through the windows and touched the coffinit was studded with silver nails that glittered like stars. The light on the nails hurt my eyes, and I realized that I was weeping.
My escort, a soldier of much patience, sympathetically offered me his arm, and we continued on towards Mr. Lincolns office. On Friday, the soldier told me, the casket will be placed on the funeral train for the slow journey to Springfield, Illinois, where Mr. Lincoln will be buried. He mentioned, too, that the train will carry Willies small casket, for the child will be placed at the feet of his father. When we entered Mr. Lincolns office I looked over at his desk where he had often sat reading while I sat with my clay. Memories warmed my heart. I remembered his eyes, his beautifully gentle eyes. I remembered how he watched Tad with pride whenever he darted about the room like a tiny bolt of lightening. I remembered how he gazed with love at his wifes sweet face whenever she bustled into the room with a tray of food. And I remembered how he looked up me with fatherly kindness.
The soldier helped me place my tools and clay in a box and then left to find a cart to carry out the sculpture. While he was gone I unwrapped the towelit was still dampfrom around the bust . . . .I believe, Regina, that I captured Mr. Lincolns expression of unfathomable Sadness. There was no skill involved; my hands merely obeyed my hearts recognition of his Two Faces of Sorrow. Standing by the window, the same window that had brought about one of those faces, I gazed over the lawns. This morning the sun gleamed like gold and the grasses glistened green from the recent rains.
Then, Regina, I looked with my heart instead of my eyes. And with my hearts vision I could see Mr. Lincoln crossing the lawns, his giant hand holding the small hand of his son. And I could see that Mr. Lincolns dear, dear face had finally lost its Sadness. (April 17, 1865)
At age 18, Vinnie wins a government commission to sculpt a life-size statue of the Martyr President in plaster, a sculpture the Radical Republicans threaten to destroy if she doesnt support their plot to impeach President Johnson. Vinnie stands up to the Radicals, finishes the plaster image and waits for government approval of her work:
This afternoon I received the Interior Secretary, Mr. O. H. Browning, at my studio. Mr. Browning was a close acquaintance of Mr. Lincoln for more than thirty years. He approved of my statue, Regina! He approved whole-heartedly! I noted the satisfaction on his face even before he spoke. He walked around and around the statue, looking all the while as if he were facing an old friend. Tears wetted his eyes, and when he spoke at last, he said, Your statue bears a faithful resemblance to the original. Flattered by his generous words, I took his gloved hand and curtsied low. At that very moment the anxiety that had long plagued my heart flitted away. I looked at my parents (they had accompanied me, for they shared my concern that the statue might not please Mr. Browning). Ma and Pa were smiling widely, and I realized then that I too was smiling.
Mr. Browning left soon after with a promise to recommend that Congress make the first payment of $5,000. Even as the door closed behind him, I sat my parents down by the stove and poured out cups of tea. Ma was so excited that she didnt realize she had added five lumps of sugar to her cup. Pa kept looking from me to the statue, as though he expected one or the other to vanish from his sight like a sleepers fading dream.
Regina, all at once I couldnt hide my secret from them a moment longerI told my parents of my plan to take them with me to Italy. (January 30, 1869)
A few days later, she writes:
Thank you, Regina, for sending me the reviews from your New York newspapers. I have been mailed other articles about my statue from newspapers across our Union. Happily, each review pleases me-not only because my work is judged successful (which I confess gives me much satisfaction), but also because of what the warm response reveals about the people of our Nation-that we remain devoted to our Martyr President.
Since you so kindly asked, Regina, I am only too glad to describe my statue to you. As you know, the statue is life-size and exactly proportioned to the man himself. The sculpted Mr. Lincoln stands tall but in a natural pose, just as the actual man often stood at the window in his office.
The face is modeled truthfully without softening the features that some thought uglyin my view, his actual face was beautified by his expression of gentle compassion. I took great care in sculpting the locks of his to reveal its coarseness and thickness and to give the impression that Mr. Lincoln had just pushed his fingers through his hairjust as the actual man so often did. The head is bent forwards slightly, as though Mr. Lincoln is reading the papyrus scroll held in his right hand. On the scroll I carved out words that refer to the Emancipation Proclamation (surely the abolition of slavery was one of Mr. Lincolns greatest acts).
Now I look forward to the pleasant chore of finding a block of the purest, whitest marble that Italy can offer!
(March 15, 1869)
Vinnie sails to Italy to recast the plaster into white marble and returns home two years later, beloved for her artistry and humility. Thousands celebrate the unveiling of her statue of Abraham Lincoln-to this day it stands in the entryway of the Rotunda of the Capitol. Vinnie sculpted other pieces that were received equally well, but she abandoned sculpting in 1878 to devote herself to her new husband Lieutenant Richard Hoxie, and later to their son, Richie. Eventually Vinnie returned to her art, but found time for two other passions: the harp and her work with blind children. After a long struggle with a kidney ailment, she died on November 14, 1914. Mourned throughout the world, Vinnie Ream was buried at Arlington National Cemetery, in the shadow of one of her own sculptures.
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