1865

Britannia Sympathises with Columbia. Punch, Volume 48, May 6, 1865, p. 183

The assassination of President Lincoln a few days after Lee's surrender at Appomattox shocked and appalled not only America, but the entire world as well. One can almost sense the palpable hush as an abashed Britannia, her left arm raised to her face in a classical gesture of remorse and mourning, places a martyr's wreath on the shrouded form lying upon its catafalque. At Lincoln's head, a barefoot Columbia, her hair unbound, buries her face in the Stars and Stripes of a newly-restored Union. At the foot of the bier, a former slave crouches in a pose of abject sorrow; at his side lie the empty chains and manacles of his former servitude.

In this, his last cartoon dealing with the American Civil War, Tenniel appears to set aside his typical witty condescension to express a sincere depth of feeling. It closely follows a related poetic tribute by Punch staff writer Tom Taylor, which includes both a laudatory summary of Lincoln's life and a sincere apology for having misjudged the dead man's true greatness. So fervent an encomium seems a rather abrupt reversal of Punch's attitude towards a man who for more than four years had been a chief target of the publication's sometimes mean-spirited satire.

Taylor was not only a regular contributor to Punch, but also a dramatist of considerable note. In one of history's ironies, it was his play Our American Cousin (1858) that was being performed at Ford's Theater in Washington, D.C., on the evening that John Wilkes Booth fired his fatal shot. The assassin's familiarity with the script allowed him to time his attack to coincide with a key punchline, at a moment when audience laughter would mask his actions. One can only speculate about Taylor's dismay that his comedy had played a role in precipitating the tragic event.

Evidently this "wrap" of Lincoln and the American Civil War was the occasion of an acrimonious debate among Punch's editorial staff, with Taylor's earnest desire to end on a high note carrying the day over the reservations of his colleagues. Still, one cannot but feel that in this final reflection on the tumultuous events across the sea, Tenniel, despite his continued misgivings about Lincoln, wanted to rise to the level of magnanimity expressed by the slain President in his Second Inaugural address, and, in his own way, to help "bind up the wounds" of the American nation -- including those the artist had himself inflicted through his critical, caustic images.