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As the Intelligencer went on to observe: "We are very glad to hear
this, for the original of that paper which ought to be immortal and
imperishable, by being so much handled by copyists and curious visitors,
might receive serious injury. The facility of multiplying copies of it
now possessed by the Department of State will render further exposure of
the original unnecessary." The language of the newspaper report, like that
of Rush's earlier comment, would seem to indicate some fear of the
deterioration of the Declaration even prior to Stone's work.
The copies made from Stone's copperplate established the clear visual
image of the Declaration for generations of Americans. The 200 official
parchment copies struck from the Stone plate carry the identification
"Engraved by W. J. Stone for the Department of State, by order" in the
upper left corner followed by "of J. Q. Adams, Sec. of State July 4th
1823." in the upper right corner. "Unofficial" copies that were struck
later do not have the identification at the top of the document. Instead
the engraver identified his work by engraving "W. J. Stone SC. Washn."
near the lower left corner and burnishing out the earlier identification.
The longest of the early sojourns of the Declaration was from 1841 to
1876. Daniel Webster was Secretary of State in 1841. On June 11 he wrote
to Commissioner of Patents Henry L. Ellsworth, who was then occupying a
new building (now the National Portrait Gallery), that "having learned
that there is in the new building appropriated to the Patent Office
suitable accommodations for the safe-keeping, as well as the exhibition of
the various articles now deposited in this Department, and usually,
exhibited to visitors . . . I have directed them to be transmitted to
you." An inventory accompanied the letter. Item 6 was the Declaration.
The "new building" was a white stone structure at Seventh and F Streets.
The Declaration and Washington's commission as commander in chief were
mounted together in a single frame and hung in a white painted hall
opposite a window offering exposure to sunlight. There they were to remain
on exhibit for 35 years, even after the Patent Office separated from the
State Department to become administratively a part of the Interior
Department. This prolonged exposure to sunlight accelerated the
deterioration of the ink and parchment of the Declaration, which was
approaching 100 years of age toward the end of this period.
During the years that the Declaration was exhibited in the Patent Office,
the combined effects of aging, sunlight, and fluctuating temperature and
relative humidity took their toll on the document. Occasionally, writers
made somewhat negative comments on the appearance of the Declaration. An
observer in the United States Magazine (October 1856) went so far
as to refer to "that old looking paper with the fading ink." John B. Ellis
remarked in The Sights and Secrets of the National Capital
(Chicago, 1869) that "it is old and yellow, and the ink is fading from the
paper." An anonymous writer in the Historical Magazine (October
1870) wrote: "The original manuscript of the Declaration of Independence
and of Washington's Commission, now in the United States Patent Office at
Washington, D.C., are said to be rapidly fading out so that in a few
years, only the naked parchment will remain. Already, nearly all the
signatures attached to the Declaration of Independence are entirely
effaced." In May 1873 the Historical Magazine published an official
statement by Mortimer Dormer Leggett, Commissioner of Patents, who
admitted that "many of the names to the Declaration are already
illegible."
The technology of a new age and the interest in historical roots
engendered by the approaching Centennial focused new interest on the
Declaration in the 1870s and brought about a brief change of home.
>The Centennial and the Debate Over Preservation, 1876-1921
In 1876 the Declaration traveled to Philadelphia, where it was on exhibit
for the Centennial National Exposition from May to October. Philadelphia's
Mayor William S. Stokley was entrusted by President Ulysses S. Grant with
temporary custody of the Declaration. The
Public Ledger for May 8,
1876, noted that it was in Independence Hall "framed and glazed for
protection, and . . . deposited in a fireproof safe especially designed
for both preservation and convenient display. [When the outer doors of the
safe were opened, the parchment was visible behind a heavy plate-glass
inner door; the doors were closed at night.] Its aspect is of course faded
and time-worn. The text is fully legible, but the major part of the
signatures are so pale as to be only dimly discernible in the strongest
light, a few remain wholly readable, and some are wholly invisible, the
spaces which contained them presenting only a blank."
Other descriptions made at Philadelphia were equally unflattering: "scarce
bears trace of the signatures the execution of which made fifty-six names
imperishable," "aged-dimmed." But on the Fourth of July, after the text
was read aloud to a throng on Independence Square by Richard Henry Lee of
Virginia (grandson of the signer Richard Henry Lee), "The faded and
crumbling manuscript, held together by a simple frame was then exhibited
to the crowd and was greeted with cheer after cheer."
By late summer the Declaration's physical condition had become a matter of
public concern. On August 3, 1876, Congress adopted a joint resolution
providing "that a commission, consisting of the Secretary of the Interior,
the Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, and the Librarian of
Congress be empowered to have resort to such means as will most
effectually restore the writing of the original manuscript of the
Declaration of Independence, with the signatures appended thereto." This
resolution had actually been introduced as early as January 5, 1876. One
candidate for the task of restoration was William J. Canby, an employee of
the Washington Gas Light Company. On April 13 Canby had written to the
Librarian of Congress: "I have had over thirty years experience in
handling the pen upon parchment and in that time, as an expert, have
engrossed hundreds of ornamental, special documents." Canby went on to
suggest that "the only feasible plan is to replenish the original with a
supply of ink, which has been destroyed by the action of light and time,
with an ink well known to be, for all practical purposes,
imperishable."
The commission did not, however, take any action at that time. After the
conclusion of the Centennial exposition, attempts were made to secure
possession of the Declaration for Philadelphia, but these failed and the
parchment was returned to the Patent Office in Washington, where it had
been since 1841, even though that office had become a part of the Interior
Department. On April 11, 1876, Robert H. Duell, Commissioner of Patents,
had written to Zachariah Chandler, Secretary of the Interior, suggesting
that "the Declaration of Independence, and the commission of General
Washington, associated with it in the same frame, belong to your
Department as heirlooms.
Chandler appears to have ignored this claim, for in an exchange of letters
with Secretary of State Hamilton Fish, it was agreed-with the approval of
President Grant-to move the Declaration into the new, fireproof building
that the State Department shared with the War and Navy Departments (now
the Old Executive Office Building).
On March 3, 1877, the Declaration was placed in a cabinet on the eastern
side of the State Department library, where it was to be exhibited for 17
years. It may be noted that not only was smoking permitted in the library,
but the room contained an open fireplace. Nevertheless this location
turned out to be safer than the premises just vacated; much of the Patent
Office was gutted in a fire that occurred a few months later.
On May 5, 1880, the commission that had been appointed almost 4 years
earlier came to life again in response to a call from the Secretary of the
Interior. It requested that William B. Rogers, president of the National
Academy of Sciences appoint a committee of experts to consider "whether
such restoration [of the Declaration] be expedient or practicable and if
so in what way the object can best be accomplished."
The duly appointed committee reported on January 7, 1881, that Stone used
the "wet transfer" method in the creation of his facsimile printing of
1823, that the process had probably removed some of the original ink, and
that chemical restoration methods were "at best imperfect and uncertain in
their results." The committee concluded, therefore, that "it is not
expedient to attempt to restore the manuscript by chemical means." The
group of experts then recommended that "it will be best either to cover
the present receptacle of the manuscript with an opaque lid or to remove
the manuscript from its frame and place it in a portfolio, where it may be
protected from the action of light." Finally, the committee recommended
that "no press copies of any part of it should in future be permitted."
Recent study of the Declaration by conservators at the National Archives
has raised doubts that a "wet transfer" took place. Proof of this
occurrence, however, cannot be verified or denied strictly by modern
examination methods. No documentation prior to the 1881 reference has been
found to support the theory; therefore we may never know if Stone actually
performed the procedure.
Little, if any, action was taken as a result of the 1881 report. It was
not until 1894 that the State Department announced: "The rapid fading of
the text of the original Declaration of Independence and the deterioration
of the parchment upon which it is engrossed, from exposure to light and
lapse of time, render it impracticable for the Department longer to
exhibit it or to handle it. For the secure preservation of its present
condition, so far as may be possible, it has been carefully wrapped and
placed flat in a steel case."
A new plate for engravings was made by the Coast and Geodetic Survey in
1895, and in 1898 a photograph was made for the Ladies' Home
Journal. On this latter occasion, the parchment was noted as "still in
good legible condition" although "some of the signatures" were
"necessarily blurred."
On April 14, 1903, Secretary of State John Hay solicited again the help of
the National Academy of Sciences in providing "such recommendations as may
seem practicable . . . touching [the Declaration's] preservation." Hay
went on to explain: "It is now kept out of the light, sealed between two
sheets of glass, presumably proof against air, and locked in a steel safe.
I am unable to say, however, that, in spite of these precautions, observed
for the past ten years, the text is not continuing to fade and the
parchment to wrinkle and perhaps to break."
On April 24 a committee of the academy reported its findings. Summarizing
the physical history of the Declaration, the report stated: "The
instrument has suffered very seriously from the very harsh treatment to
which it was exposed in the early years of the Republic. Folding and
rolling have creased the parchment. The wet press-copying operation to
which it was exposed about 1820, for the purpose of producing a facsimile
copy, removed a large portion of the ink. Subsequent exposure to the
action of light for more than thirty years, while the instrument was
placed on exhibition, has resulted in the fading of the ink, particularly
in the signatures. The present method of caring for the instrument seems
to be the best that can be suggested."
The committee added its own "opinion that the present method
of protecting the instrument should be continued; that it should
be kept in the dark and dry as possible, and never placed on
exhibition." Secretary Hay seems to have accepted the committee's
recommendation; in the following year, William H. Michael, author
of The Declaration of Independence (Washington, 1904), recorded
that the Declaration was "locked and sealed, by order of
Secretary Hay, and is no longer shown to anyone except by his
direction."
World War I came and went. Then, on April 21, 1920, Secretary of State
Bainbridge Colby issued an order creating yet another committee: "A
Committee is hereby appointed to study the proper steps that should be
taken for the permanent and effective preservation from deterioration and
from danger from fire, or other form of destruction, of those documents of
supreme value which under the law are deposited with the Secretary of
State. The inquiry will include the question of display of certain of
these documents for the benefit of the patriotic public."
On May 5, 1920, the new committee reported on the physical condition of
the safes that housed the Declaration and the Constitution. It declared:
"The safes are constructed of thin sheets of steel. They are not fireproof
nor would they offer much obstruction to an evil-disposed person who
wished to break into them." About the physical condition of the
Declaration, the committee stated: "We believe the fading can go no
further. We see no reason why the original document should not be
exhibited if the parchment be laid between two sheets of glass,
hermetically sealed at the edges and exposed only to diffused light."
The committee also made some important "supplementary recommendations." It
noted that on March 3, 1903, President Theodore Roosevelt had directed
that certain records relating to the Continental Congress be turned over
by the Department of State to the Library of Congress: "This transfer was
made under a provision of an Act of February 25, 1903, that any Executive
Department may turn over to the Library of Congress books, maps, or other
material no longer needed for the use of the Department." The committee
recommended that the remaining papers, including the Declaration and the
Constitution, be similarly given over to the custody of the Library of
Congress. For the Declaration, therefore, two important changes were in
the offing: a new home and the possibility of exhibition to "the patriotic
public."
The Library of Congress . . . and Fort Knox, 1921-52
There was no action on the recommendations of 1920 until after the Harding
administration took office. On September 28, 1921, Secretary of State
Charles Evans Hughes addressed the new President: "I enclose an executive
order for your signature, if you approve, transferring to the custody of
the Library of Congress the original Declaration of Independence and
Constitution of the United States which are now in the custody of this
Department. . . . I make this recommendation because in the Library of
Congress these muniments will be in the custody of experts skilled in
archival preservation, in a building of modern fireproof construction,
where they can safely be exhibited to the many visitors who now desire to
see them."
President Warren G. Harding agreed. On September 29, 1921, he issued the
Executive order authorizing the transfer. The following day Secretary
Hughes sent a copy of the order to Librarian of Congress Herbert Putnam,
stating that he was "prepared to turn the documents over to you when you
are ready to receive them."
Putnam was both ready and eager. He presented himself forthwith at the
State Department. The safes were opened, and the Declaration and the
Constitution were carried off to the Library of Congress on Capitol Hill
in the Library's "mail wagon," cushioned by a pile of leather U.S. mail
sacks. Upon arrival, the two national treasures were placed in a safe in
Putnam's office.
On October 3, Putnam took up the matter of a permanent location. In a
memorandum to the superintendent of the Library building and grounds,
Putnam proceeded from the premise that "in the Library" the documents
"might be treated in such a way as, while fully safe-guarding them and
giving them distinction, they should be open to inspection by the public
at large." The memorandum discussed the need for a setting "safe,
dignified, adequate, and in every way suitable . . . Material less than
bronze would be unworthy. The cost must be considerable."
The Librarian then requested the sum of $12,000 for his purpose. The need
was urgent because the new Bureau of the Budget was about to print
forthcoming fiscal year estimates. There was therefore no time to make
detailed architectural plans. Putnam told an appropriations committee on
January 16, 1922, just what he had in mind. "There is a way . . . we could
construct, say, on the second floor on the western side in that long open
gallery a railed inclosure, material of bronze, where these documents,
with one or two auxiliary documents leading up to them, could be placed,
where they need not be touched by anybody but where a mere passer-by could
see them, where they could be set in permanent bronze frames and where
they could be protected from the natural light, lighted only by soft
incandescent lamps. The result could be achieved and you would have
something every visitor to Washington would wish to tell about when he
returned and who would regard it, as the newspapermen are saying, with
keen interest as a sort of 'shrine.'" The Librarian's imaginative
presentation was successful: The sum of $12,000 was appropriated and
approved on March 20, 1922.
Before long, the "sort of 'shrine'" was being designed by Francis H.
Bacon, whose brother Henry was the architect of the Lincoln Memorial.
Materials used included different kinds of marble from New York, Vermont,
Tennessee, the Greek island of Tinos, and Italy. The marbles surrounding
the manuscripts were American; the floor and balustrade were made of
foreign marbles to correspond with the material used in the rest of the
Library. The Declaration was to be housed in a frame of gold-plated bronze
doors and covered with double panes of plate glass with specially prepared
gelatin films between the plates to exclude the harmful rays of light. A
24-hour guard would provide protection.
On February 28, 1924, the shrine was dedicated in the presence of
President and Mrs. Calvin Coolidge, Secretary Hughes, and other
distinguished guests. Not a word was spoken during a moving ceremony in
which Putnam fitted the Declaration into its frame. There were no
speeches. Two stanzas of America were sung. In Putnam's words: "The
impression on the audience proved the emotional potency of documents
animate with a great tradition."
With only one interruption, the Declaration hung on the wall of the second
floor of the Great Hall of the Library of Congress until December 1952.
During the prosperity of the 1920s and the Depression of the 1930s,
millions of people visited the shrine. But the threat of war and then war
itself caused a prolonged interruption in the steady stream of
visitors.
On April 30, 1941, worried that the war raging in Europe might engulf the
United States, the newly appointed Librarian of Congress, Archibald
MacLeish, wrote to the Secretary of the Treasury, Henry Morgenthau, Jr.
The Librarian was concerned for the most precious of the many objects in
his charge. He wrote "to enquire whether space might perhaps be found" at
the Bullion Depository in Fort Knox for his most valuable materials,
including the Declaration, "in the unlikely event that it becomes
necessary to remove them from Washington." Secretary Morgenthau replied
that space would indeed be made available as necessary for the "storage of
such of the more important papers as you might designate."
On December 7, 1941, the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. On December 23,
the Declaration and the Constitution were removed from the shrine and
placed between two sheets of acid-free manila paper. The documents were
then carefully wrapped in a container of all-rag neutral millboard and
placed in a specially designed bronze container. It was late at night when
the container was finally secured with padlocks on each side. Preparations
were resumed on the day after Christmas, when the Attorney General ruled
that the Librarian needed no "further authority from the Congress or the
President" to take such action as he deemed necessary for the "proper
protection and preservation" of the documents in his charge.
The packing process continued under constant armed guard. The container
was finally sealed with lead and packed in a heavy box; the whole weighed
some 150 pounds. It was a far cry from the simple linen bag of the summer
of 1814.
At about 5 p.m. the box, along with other boxes containing vital records,
was loaded into an armed and escorted truck, taken to Union Station, and
loaded into a compartment of the Pullman sleeper Eastlake. Armed Secret
Service agents occupied the neighboring compartments. After departing from
Washington at 6:30 p.m., the Declaration traveled to Louisville, KY,
arriving at 10:30 a.m., December 27, 1941. More Secret Service agents and
a cavalry troop of the 13th Armored Division met the train, convoyed its
precious contents to the Bullion Depository at Fort Knox, and placed the
Declaration in compartment 24 in the outer tier on the ground level.
The Declaration was periodically examined during its sojourn at Fort Knox.
One such examination in 1942 found that the Declaration had become
detached in part from its mount, including the upper right corner, which
had been stuck down with copious amounts of glue. In his journal for May
14, 1942, Verner W. Clapp, a Library of Congress official, noted: "At one
time also (about January 12, 1940) an attempt had been made to reunite the
detached upper right hand corner to the main portion by means of a strip
of 'scotch' cellulose tape which was still in place, discolored to a
molasses color. In the various mending efforts glue had been splattered in
two places on the obverse of the document."
The opportunity was taken to perform conservation treatment in order to
stabilize and rejoin the upper right corner. Under great secrecy, George
Stout and Evelyn Erlich, both of the Fogg Museum at Harvard University,
traveled to Fort Knox. Over a period of 2 days, they performed mending of
small tears, removed excess adhesive and the "scotch" tape, and rejoined
the detached upper right corner.
Finally, in 1944, the military authorities assured the Library of Congress
that all danger of enemy attack had passed. On September 19, the documents
were withdrawn from Fort Knox. On Sunday, October 1, at 11:30 a.m., the
doors of the Library were opened. The Declaration was back in its shrine.
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