The American Chronicle 1 - Burr (42 page)

“But I was simply there as a guest, as the eminently neutral presiding officer of the Senate.”

“Neutral!” Hamilton had finished one glass of wine. He poured himself a second, and drank it down quickly. I noticed how unhealthy he looked. The usual rosy brightness looked curiously glazed while the small body was so unwholesomely bloated that the brass buttons of his waistcoat looked ready to burst free; in fact, one had broken its mooring and swung like a pendulum on the frayed thread. He, too, had been going through a bad time personally as well as politically.

I said what I had to say. “I was most sorry to hear of your son Philip’s death.”

Hamilton rubbed a hand across his features, as though to re-arrange them. But into what? For he looked no more sad, no more misty-eyed than before.

“Political faction ...” He began; did not go on. Philip Hamilton had challenged a friend of mine at a theatre in New York. In the subsequent duel my friend shot and killed young Hamilton whose sister, Angelica, had gone mad. The girl had been a good friend of my Theodosia: at so many points did our lives touch one another in that small society.

“Do you not wish at times that you were free of political faction?” I could not resist the question.

“I am!” The answer was swift, and disingenuous. “I have got myself a farm some eight miles from the Bowling Green. For a disappointed politician, there is nothing like growing cabbages. Why, I would not give up my cabbages for an empire. I am like Domitian.”

“Diocletian.” I fear that Hamilton had only glanced at Gibbon while I had made the mistake of reading the master’s every word.

“What a scholar you are!” Hamilton looked to see if the novel he had set down on the table was still discreetly wrapped in the
Anti Jacobin Review
.
Aware that my eye had followed his, he provided a distraction. He pointed to a print of General Washington and his mother, a popular engraving of the day. “That look of pain on the General’s face is most accurate.” “I think the artist meant it to be one of filial devotion.”

“Then his error was on the side of accuracy. Poor General! How that woman made him suffer.” Hamilton regaled me with several anecdotes about the stormy relations between George Washington and his mother who attempted, on several occasions, to extort money from her glorious son. Then, quite carried away by indiscretion, he told me the “true” story of Jefferson’s resignation as secretary of state.

“You will recall that summer at Philadelphia, when the yellow fever struck and I nearly died?”

“I recall it most vividly.” Saw again Dr. Hutchinson’s bright red lips, bloodshot eyes, shambling gait, the noise of his retching beside my carriage.

“Shortly before I took ill, the President and I were discussing how best to eliminate Jefferson from the Cabinet ...”

“Washington wanted him gone?” I had not known this.

“Most fervently. But most privately. It was our strategy that Washington must always appear above the battle, trying to mitigate the excesses of his two ministers. Actually Washington was a most bitter partisan. Particularly that summer. The Genêt business infuriated him ...”

“And he thought that Jefferson was conspiring with Genêt?”

“How could he not? For months we had only one dream, the two of us, how best to restore Jefferson to the tranquil beauties of Monticello.”

“I should not have thought that hard to do. Jefferson wanted to go.”

“He had no intention of ever going home if I remained in Philadelphia. So it was then that the President and I devised our intrigue—oh, yes, Colonel, in a good cause even I will intrigue.”

“Do you mean to astonish me, General?”

Hamilton was amused. “Note how I said ‘good’ cause.”

“Duly noted.”

“After a Cabinet meeting where I had managed to distress Jefferson by attacking his democratic societies, the President took Jefferson aside and said, most sadly, in that grave tone with which he used to memorialize fallen comrades of the Revolution, ‘You know that we are to lose Mr. Hamilton at the end of the year. And you must help me to persuade him to remain. Otherwise I shall resign my office, and let Mr. Adams succeed to this dreadful place.’ Jefferson was horrified at the thought of Adams succeeding but delighted that I was going. He then ‘persuaded’ the President to remain in office, and promised to appeal to me. But of course he did not. He simply told me that he, too, was leaving.” Hamilton drank more wine. “The General was thrilled, if such a word can be used to describe so phlegmatic a man. ‘Naturally,’ he said to me, ‘I must now do my very best to persuade Mr. Jefferson to stay.’ To which I replied ‘Naturally’ and so the President drove out to Gray’s Landing and gave a splendid performance of a man deserted by his two principal supports. This, in turn, delighted Jefferson for whom any sort of betrayal is always a kind of ecstasy.” A swift look at me to judge response; none was visible. “So it was that Jefferson resigned as secretary of state and I remained in the Cabinet for one more year.”

“During which time Mr. Jefferson and I were able to create a republican party and win the late election.”

“During which time I was able to set this nation on sound financial principles. Now rapidly being undone.” I was treated to a discourse on Jefferson’s folly in abandoning the ‘sinking fund.’ When I pointed out that any leader who reduces taxes as Jefferson had done is apt
never
to be replaced in a republic, Hamilton’s response was, “Demagoguery! And as for that ridiculous speech of his ...”

I am afraid that I, too, had laughed at Jefferson’s address to Congress (read by a clerk because Jefferson thought it “monarchical” to speak from the throne, as it were; actually, he simply dreaded speaking in public). Displaying a more than usual infelicity of style, Jefferson had written of “a conscientious desire to direct the energies of our nation to the multiplication of the human race, and not to its destruction.” This produced (for the wicked Vice-President at least) a vision of constant Dionysian revelry, interrupted only by much-applauded pregnancies.

Then Hamilton complimented me for my part in the debate on the Judiciary Bill. The Republicans had wanted to repeal the National Judiciary Act, thus eliminating those Federalist judges John Adams had created his last day in office. Although I disagreed with the Federalists who took the absurd line that Congress could not undo what it had done in the creating of judges, I did find it immoral, to say the least, to eliminate a score of judges simply because a new and hostile majority existed in Congress.

On a move to submit the bill to a vote, the Senate tied: fifteen Republicans to fifteen Federalists. As vice-president, I broke the tie in what appeared to be the favour of the Republicans. I wanted the bill to come to a vote because, with my friend Jonathan Dayton (the Federalist senator from New Jersey), I thought the whole matter should be referred to a select committee whose task it would be to review the
entire
judiciary system. I was aiming at reconciliation. When Dayton’s proposal came to a vote, the Senate again tied, and this time I broke the tie in a way that many thought favoured the Federalists. I sent the bill to committee for further review.

“I cannot imagine Jefferson forgiving you easily.” Hamilton’s voice was somewhat blurred. He was never a heavy drinker yet at times drink seemed to go more rapidly to his head than to that of other men. Perhaps he was constitutionally frailer than any of us knew. I have often found that those who “recover” from the yellow fever are seldom again whole.

I was relieved when I heard the familiar clatter of Senator Gouverneur Morris’s wooden leg behind us. That exquisite gentleman was always most civil to me, although he hated the French Revolution and its American supporters. As our minister to France he had actually conspired to free Louis XVI. When this adventure failed, he consoled himself by buying up at bargain prices furniture from the royal palaces. Reverently, he would show his visitors the Queen’s fauteuil, the King’s chamber-pot.

“Dear God, the two of you in one room! I smell sulphur, brimstone.
Excellence
!”
He gave me a mock court bow; gave his hand to Hamilton.
“Mon General.”

“We were reliving old times.” Hamilton had quite recovered himself.

Morris looked at the two of us most shrewdly. “You could do a lot worse, General. And you probably will.”

Hamilton was genuinely puzzled. I was not. I knew what Morris meant. “I don’t think,” I said, “that I am ever apt to be the
Federalist
candidate for president.” I was mild, realizing that every word I said would soon be repeated from one end of the country to the other.

“Is
that
what you intended, Mr. Morris?” Hamilton stared at the senator as if he had at that moment recognised in him the first sign of plague.

Morris sank into a chair beside the fire and I thought for a moment how like to one of the burning logs was his wooden leg. “Yes, General, that is just what I meant. We have no one. No one at all. And I will say this.” He looked at me. “If Colonel Burr had cast his
first
vote, breaking the tie vote in our favour, he would have been the unanimous choice for president of all the Federalists in Congress. As it is, thanks to the second vote, you have support, Sir. You have important support from our side.”

Hamilton’s face was—well, not a mask. One saw everything. The possibility that I might now become the leader of
his
party was a nightmare he could not wake up from fast enough. “Surely Colonel Burr has not changed so rapidly his Republican principles.”

“No, he has not.” I made light of the matter. “But it is my fault to see both sides to every matter.” This was demure if not entirely true.

“Yes. He is a gentleman, you see.” I don’t know what Morris intended for Hamilton to make of that perhaps pointed remark.

“ ‘We are all republicans, all federalists,’ ” I quoted.

“But,” said Morris, “we are not all of us Virginians, are we?” Since no response from me was safe, I excused myself, realizing that Hamilton must now redouble his efforts to remove me from the scene.

Fortunately for Hamilton he had the aid of DeWitt Clinton, as well as of the journalist James Cheetham who was inspired by Jefferson to attack me at regular intervals in the New York
Citizen
,
and from a Republican standpoint. As Jefferson used Callender to bring down Hamilton, he now used Cheetham to destroy me. According to Cheetham I had tried to take the presidency away from Jefferson.

My friends rallied round. John Swartwout fought a duel with DeWitt Clinton, and was wounded. As “Aristides,” William Van Ness wrote a splendid polemic in my favour. I even allowed friends to bring a suit for libel against Cheetham. New York state was in a turmoil. Yet I did not think my cause hopeless. I was reasonably certain that I could be elected governor at the next election, despite Jefferson and the Clintons on the one hand, despite Hamilton on the other.

Meanwhile, I presided over the Senate. I also dined quite frequently with the President who continued to delight and fascinate me with his conversation, not to mention his wonderful malice which was positively Shakespearean in its variety.

LEGGETT CAME TO SEE ME and Helen in our rooms just opposite the market. In the evening light the torn wall-paper looked almost new and the dusty furniture (Helen refuses to clean anything except herself) made a good impression.

“Such opulence, Charlie!” Leggett bowed over Helen’s hand. “Such romance!” She rewarded him with her deepest scowl. I do not think he has been with her. She says not. It is curious that the more I see of her, the more she interests me. Yet the reverse ought to be the case.

We sat in the small parlour and looked out over the river: a view of ship masts in the foreground and Paulus Hook in the distance. Despite the summer heat, we ate a good deal of roast beef (Helen cannot—will not—cook and so buys her roasts already prepared). For half the dinner she talked most agreeably; then fell silent as a strawberry pie was passed about.

Leggett got down to business. He has now read all my notes on the Burr-Van Buren connection. “We have more than enough.” He was delighted.

In the shadowy room I could not make out his face (for reasons of economy we never light more than a single lamp). Flies finished our dinner for us despite Helen’s languorous banishing waves of the hand.

Leggett made a few notes in the dark: the play reviewer’s knack.

“You are certain I have enough to go on?”

“What you don’t have, you must invent. You have studied the manner?”

“Yes. By the way, did your Senator Johnson really kill Tecumseh?”

“We always say he did. I advise you to see the new five-act drama
Tecumseh
in which Senator Johnson is impersonated by an actor who wears the very same uniform Johnson wore when he struck down the turbulent Indian chief. Who is that?” Leggett gave a sudden start as he noticed a tall bosomy figure in the dark corner.

“Mrs. Cotswold,” said Helen. “It’s her dummy. I’m making her a dress.”

“Very slowly.” I was incautious. Helen is touchy about her slowness with the needle. She cannot sustain effort for any length of time. But when she does at last finish the work, the result is admirable according to her few but patient customers.

I gave Leggett a draught of the pamphlet which I have been at work on for several days. “I’ll take it with me. I’ll give it the Leggett touch.”

“Should we give Van Buren a black mistress to match your friend Johnson’s two black girls?”

“That would be obvious.” Leggett was amused. “Give him an Indian paramour.”

“A sister of Tecumseh?”

“No. Mrs. Tecumseh. The raddled squaw herself.”

“I knew an Indian girl once.” Helen was dreamy. “She had two scalps she kept under her pillow. One was blond and one sort of brown-colored. She said her father took them off two soldiers. She thought the world of those two scalps. It certainly gave some of her visitors a turn.” Helen chuckled in the darkness.

I do not allow myself to think of what will happen when the Colonel reads what I have written. Perhaps I should vanish first. Leave Helen. Sail for Europe. Leave Helen? No. Sail for Europe together? Why not?