Portrait unveilings tend to be dramatic, brass-band ceremonies held to mark the end of great political careers. So it was a bit odd that a 5-ft.-tall oil painting of Henry Hyde was unveiled two weeks ago in a ceremony off limits to the press--and just as Hyde was facing the defining test of his 40 years in politics. More than 200 people--friends, family and constituents--applauded the presentation of the image: the hulking House Judiciary Committee chairman standing between his "Turkish" leather chair and a bust of Lincoln. The likeness hangs in the committee hearing room next to a portrait of Watergate legend Peter Rodino, the New Jersey Democrat who quieted doubters with his steady leadership during the Nixon impeachment proceedings. Now Hyde must pull off much the same feat. When he rose to speak, he seemed aware of the challenge he faces. "I came here thinking I could change the world," said the white-haired Illinois Republican. "Now my only ambition is to leave the room with dignity."
Work is under way on the only Hyde portrait that really matters. When the Judiciary Committee meets this week to launch the third inquiry into the impeachment of a President in the nation's history, partisan members will bicker and spit--but Hyde's performance will go a long way toward either reassuring people that the process is orderly and rational or convincing them that it is a witch hunt. "If I were to fail," he told TIME last week, "it would negate everything I have done before." And even those who know him best wonder which Henry Hyde it is that Americans will meet in the coming days: the man who Commerce Secretary William Daley, a Democrat, says exhibits "exemplary character and the highest personal integrity"? Or the Cook County Republican precinct captain carrying out the orders of the man behind the scenes, Newt Gingrich?
Already the 74-year-old widower has aced one test that no one expected him to face: the online magazine Salon reported three weeks ago that Hyde had an extramarital affair 30 years ago. That revelation "hurt him tremendously," says Congressman David Dreier of California, Hyde's friend and sometime movie companion. What Hyde felt was not so much personal embarrassment, say friends, as insult to his four children and his wife of 45 years, whom he still mourns since her death six years ago. Yet Hyde admitted the affair with a speed and self-effacement that set the standard for such things. The performance cemented the notion that Hyde is the best--maybe only--asset the Republicans have at the moment: a man who looks, and is, sound and fair, even as he oversees a panel whose members are not all known for those qualities.