One of the more poignant display in the “Schuyler Sisters and Their Circle” exhibition (now through 12/29 at the Albany Institute of History and Art) relates not to the Schuyler family or Alexander Hamilton, but to Aaron Burr.
Following the fatal duel between Hamilton and Burr, Burr fled New York to avoid facing charges of murder. In Washington, DC, he completed his term as vice president and by all reports, fulfilled all his final duties admirably. In 1805, he headed to the western frontier, and engaged in various encounters and plots involving the Spanish government. The details of what exactly Burr was doing, and what his intentions were, will probably never be entirely known; still, he was involved in raising an armed force with the intention of overthrowing the Spanish government in Mexico, and it was widely believed that he intended to establish a dictatorship in Mexico. Burr’s actions were considered sufficient for him to be arrested, brought back east, and tried for treason. Despite pressure from President Thomas Jefferson, Burr was acquitted, but his reputation and finances were in such disarray that he was forced to sail to Europe to escape, remaining abroad in exile until 1812. Returning to New York City, he quietly resumed his legal practice as best he could.
But for an entire generation of New Yorkers, Aaron Burr had become something of a bogeyman, a larger-than-life personification of wickedness, as well as a cautionary tale of a once-powerful gentleman who’d made the worst of life’s choices. Whenever Burr was observed in public, he was often described as a nearly-unrecognizable shell of his former glorious self.
In April, 1823, Burr was spotted on board the Albany packet, right, by a now-unknown fellow-passenger.
“On board the Boat is Aaron Burr who killed Hamilton; is near 60 years of age [he was in fact 67] & looks like the wreck of an active keen man – he is rather of a middling size dark eyes hair gray & looks matted together as though it had not been combed for two years his dress otherwise looks neglected – he seems to be a lonesome man although he is in the midst of company – it is said (whether true or not I don’t know) that he never lays down in sleep but sits in his chair & keeps a person by him to awake him every half hour….”
But while this makes Burr sound like a character ripe for an Edgar Allen Poe story, the old lawyer wasn’t quite done yet. In 1834, Burr, aged 78, sat for his final portrait, above, by the New York artist James Van Dyck. (Compare it to earlier portraits here.) Far from seeming a “wreck”, Burr appears sharp-witted and observant, even a little wry. He’s still wearing the long sideburns that he’d first adopted in the 1790s, and with his glasses pushed up on his forehead and his arms crossed (note the gold pinky ring!) he seems to judge the viewer rather than the other way around. This portrait became the standard image of the older Burr, and was commercially reproduced by lithographers and engravers. Burr himself endorsed the painting, calling it “the best Likeness ever Painted of me since 1809.”
Perhaps this image of Burr was the result of his marriage to wealthy widow Eliza Jumel in 1833; perhaps the confidence it shows came from once again living well in Madame Jumel’s elegant house and engaging in various investment schemes with her money. Whatever the reason, it must have been his final hurrah. His new wife soon declared the marriage to be a grievous mistake, ousted him from her home and her bank accounts, and filed for divorce. In a final touch of historical irony, her divorce lawyer was Alexander Hamilton, Jr. In late 1834, Burr suffered a debilitating, crippling stroke, and on September 14, 1836 - the day his divorce from Eliza Jumel Burr became final - he died in a boarding house on Staten Island.
I first saw this portrait several years ago when it was on exhibition loan to the American Revolution Museum at Yorktown. It’s a small painting, only around 8” x 10”, but I was struck by its vibrancy, and how it captured both Burr’s energy and intelligence in a way that most of his earlier portraits don’t. The legend connected to the portrait states that Van Dyck painted it from life in six sittings, and it’s easy to picture Burr wittily conversing the entire time.
Also of note: in the Yorktown exhibition, this portrait was hung in the same case with the famous portrait of Eliza Hamilton by Ralph Earl. I can well imagine what Eliza would have said about that.
Above: Aaron Burr by James Van Dyck, 1834, New-York Historical Society. Photograph ©2017 Susan Holloway Scott.
Left: Journal of a steamboat voyage from New York City to Albany and back, unidentified author, April 4-7, 1823, Albany Institute of History & Art. Photograph ©2019 Susan Holloway Scott.
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