JEFFERSON AND HAMILTON
The Struggle for Democracy in America

CHAPTER I

DAYS OF COMEDY

A week after the date set for the opening of Congress but six Senators had appeared, and a circular letter was sent to the others urging their immediate attendance. Two weeks more and neither House nor Senate could muster a quorum.[1] Ames could see little improvement on the ‘languor of the old Confederation,’ but expected an organization of the House within a day or two. A Virginian, lingering in Philadelphia with a slight indisposition, was expected momentarily and the Representatives from New Jersey were on the way. But there was nothing definite on which to base such fair hopes of the Senate.[2] The next day Madison wrote Washington in a similar vein.[3] This seeming indolence or indifference was the subject of pessimistic conversations among the members in town as they meandered about the streets. Revenue was being lost—‘a thousand pounds a day’; credit was going; the spirit of the new experiment was sinking. ‘The people will forget the new government before it is born,’ wrote Ames. ‘The resurrection of the infant will come before its birth.’[4] Already petty jealousies and ambitions were manifesting themselves, with much intriguing for the honor of being messengers to notify the President and Vice-President of their election.[5] The little city was overrun with job-hunters. Even before the gavel fell on the first session, there were discussions of removing the capital elsewhere because of ‘the unreasonable expense of living,’ in New York.

It was not until April 2d, almost a month late, that a quorum was formed in the two houses. The following day George Washington was elected President, John Adams Vice-President, and messengers started for Mount Vernon and Braintree. Confronted by the most momentous governmental task in history, the men on whom fell the burden of creating a new nation had consulted their personal convenience about starting. It was not a promising beginning.

II

If the lawmakers had been derelict, the people of New York had not. They at least appreciated the possibilities of a capital. The task of designing Federal Hall in which Congress was to meet had been entrusted to L’Enfant—who was to win undying fame by planning the city of Washington—and he had done his work well—some thought too well. Ames was rather delighted over the fact that it had cost ‘20,000 pounds York money,’ but Ames was a lover of luxury, and the more democratic Wingate, while conceding that the city had ‘exerted itself mightily,’ was afraid it had done so ‘excessively.’[6] In truth there was dignity and beauty in the stately arches and the Doric columns, in the lofty vestibule paved with marble and lighted from an ornate dome, in the design and decorations of the chambers, with their graceful pilasters and their crimson draperies. There was richness enough to disturb the republican souls of members from the rural districts and the small towns.[7] Among the members who sat down amidst these surroundings were a number who were nationally known and brilliant, but the majority were comparatively obscure and mediocre. Looking over his colleagues, the enthusiastic and impressionable Ames found himself ‘less awed and terrified’ than he had expected; for while it was ‘quite a republican assembly’ because ‘it looks like one,’ he could see few ‘shining geniuses.’[8] To the more experienced Madison, the outlook was not so pleasing. ‘I see on the list of Representatives a very scanty proportion who will share in the drudgery of business,’ he wrote.[9]

III

After a triumphant journey, constantly interrupted by ovations and addresses, by the thunder of artillery, the clatter of cavalry, and the ringing of bells, John Adams reached the city, took his seat beneath the canopy of crimson velvet in the Senate and began his reign. The ceremony and adulation of his progress from Braintree had gone to his head. Almost immediately he began to mimic the manners and parrot the language of the Old World court circles, until even the aristocratic Ames was moved to regret his ‘long absence’ from the country because of which he had ‘not so clear an idea of the temper of the people as others who have not half his knowledge in other matters.’[10]

With the approach of Washington, the Senate, partly under the inspiration of Adams, began to grapple soberly with the problem of form and titles. Even before the arrival of Adams, when every one was ‘busy in collecting flowers and sweets ... to amuse and delight the President ... on his arrival,’ the prosaic Roger Sherman had ‘set his head to work to devise some style of address more novel and dignified than “Excellency.”’ There was an ominous growl from the skeptics who doubted the propriety, and some ribald laughter from the wits. A caricature had even appeared under the caption ‘The Entry,’ representing the President on an ass, and in the arms of his man Billy Humphreys, who was shouting hosannas and birthday odes, while the Devil looked on with the comment:

It was to require more heroic treatment than this, however, to cool the senatorial ardor for high-sounding names. Even before Adams had been elected, he had participated in serious discussions in Boston as to whether the President should be called ‘Majesty,’ or ‘Excellency,’ or nothing at all. Of course the Senators and Representatives should be given the honest English title of ‘Most Honorable’ for Major Russell in the ‘Centinel’ had been doing that all along. But the time for decision had come. The President was approaching. It had been decided that on his arrival at the Senate Chamber for his inauguration, he was to be met at the door by Adams, conducted to a chair, and informed that both houses were ready to attend him when he took the oath. But how should he be addressed? Should it be as ‘Mr. Washington,’ ‘Mr. President,’ ‘Sir,’ ‘May it please your Excellency,’ or what? Adams took his troubles to the Senate. Should it be as ‘Excellency,’ as in the army? Adams was free to admit that he preferred it to ‘Mr. President,’ which ‘would put him on a level with the Governor of Bermuda.’

There were Senators who instantly caught the importance of the point. One proposed the appointment of a committee to determine.[12] But these troubles came, not singly, but in battalions. What was Mr. Adams to do when Washington was in the Chamber? He did not know whether the framers of the Constitution ‘had in view the two Kings of Sparta or the two Consuls of Rome when they formed it,’ He could not tell whether the architect of the building, in making his chair wide enough for two, had the Constitution before him. He was Vice-President—but he was also President of the Senate. ‘When the President comes into the Senate, what shall I be?’ he asked plaintively. ‘I cannot be President then. I wish gentlemen to think what I shall be.’

It was a solemn moment. Adams, with an air of distress, sank into his chair. The silence was depressing. The leveler from the frontier of Pennsylvania, Maclay, found ‘the profane muscles of his face in tune for laughter,’ but controlled himself. Ellsworth, a practical man, was seen feverishly turning the pages of the fundamental law. At length he rose to announce the result of his research. It was clear enough that wherever the Senate was, ‘there, sir, you must be at the head of them.’ But—‘here he looked aghast as if some tremendous gulf yawned before him’—but ‘further, sir, I shall not pretend to say.’[13]

Thus the great day arrived to find the Senate caught unawares by a new crisis. Adams had just risen to explain that Washington would probably address the Congress, and to ask instructions as to ‘how I shall behave.’ It was a congenial subject for discussion. Lee of Virginia rose to explain the ways of the Lords and the Commons. Izard of South Carolina, who had been educated abroad and wished it understood, told how often he had been in the Houses of Parliament. Lee had observed that, while the Lords sat, the Commons stood. True, admitted Izard, but there were no seats for the Commons. Adams here interrupted to tell the Senate how often he too had been in Parliament. Old Carroll of Carrollton, who lived like a lord, but did not think like one, grumblingly suggested that it did not matter what the English did.

And just then—consternation! The Clerk of the House was at the door! How should he be received? The discussion was feverishly resumed. Lee, getting his cue from the Commons again, was sure that he should be met at the door by the Sergeant-at-Arms with his mace on his shoulder. Confusion worse confounded—the Speaker and members of the House were now at the door! Members left their seats in their embarrassment, the doors were opened, the House filed in. Some one had blundered![14]

Meanwhile, with increased animation, the debate over the title for the President was resumed. Of course there should be titles, said Lee. Venice, Genoa, Greece, Rome—all had them. Ellsworth began to find virtue in kings; Izard was impressed with the antiquity of kingly government. Old Carroll, grumbling—or laughing—as usual, did not care for kings. But the President’s title—what should it be? Ellsworth thought ‘President’ common. Adams eagerly added that there were ‘presidents of fire companies and cricket clubs.’ ‘Excellency?’—suggested by Izard. ‘Highness?’—proposed by Lee. ‘Elective Highness?’[15]

At length it was settled—‘His Highness the President of the United States and Protector of the Rights of the Same.’ Adams was disgusted. ‘What will the common people of foreign countries; what will the soldiers and sailors say to “George Washington, President of the United States”? They will despise him to all eternity.’[16]

The rabid republicans began to laugh. Speaker Muhlenberg dubbed Maclay, ‘Your Highness of the Senate.’ Maclay himself, usually sardonic, grew facetious in debate, and thought the title satisfactory if the President was really high ‘and gloriously greased with a great horn of oil’ to make him conspicuous. Even Robert Morris complained that the Congress was also ‘Protector of the Rights of the People.’[17] But alas, it was a case of love’s labor lost, for when the ponderous title reached the House, James Madison quietly announced that the Constitution had given the head of the State a title—‘President of the United States’; and so it has been from that day to this.

The more thoughtful had witnessed the tempest in a teapot with some misgivings. Madison thought the success of the Senate plan would have ‘given a deep wound to our infant Government’;[18] and Ames thought it ‘a very foolish thing to risk much to secure’ and wished ‘that Mr. Adams had been less disguised.’[19] But they who continued for twelve years to refer to ‘the court’ were not content. A correspondent of Fenno’s ‘Gazette,’ the ‘court journal,’ continued to plead for ‘titles of distinction’ and to pray piously that Congress would ‘not leave the important subject to chance, to whim, caprice, or accident.’[20]

IV

In the midst of these acrimonious discussions of the flubdubbery of ceremonials, and with Adams proposing that the Sergeant-at-Arms be called ‘Usher of the Black Rod,’[21] Washington reached New York. A black mass of humanity awaited him in the rain at the water-front, peered down upon him from roofs and windows. The roaring of cannon and the pealing of bells apprized the crowd that the ornate barge the city had provided to ‘waft His Excellency across the bay’[22] had been sighted. The thirteen pilots in white uniforms who manned the barge were conspicuous as it moved on to the accompaniment of cheers to the Wall Street wharf. As it swept alongside the landing, bands on the banks joined in the noisy welcome of the cannon and the bells. When Washington, in a plain suit of blue and buff, rose to descend ‘the stairs covered with crimson trapping, the shouts of the populace drowned the combined noises of the mechanical devices.’[23]

Declining the use of carriages, he proceeded with his party and the committee on foot down Wall Street to Pearl, then Queen, and up the full length of that then fashionable thoroughfare, which boasted a sidewalk that would accommodate three walking abreast, to the house prepared for him on Cherry Street. The crowd followed, men, women, and children, masters and men. There at the house they left him; and a few moments later he returned down Pearl Street to the home of Governor George Clinton to dine. That night the houses of the city were illuminated. The monarch had entered his capital. To the masses he was the maker of a nation; to the world of fashion he was the creator of a court.[24]

The day of inauguration found the city fluttering with flags, colorful with decorations, Wall Street fairly screaming with the spirit of festivity. Wreaths and flowers hung from windows. A reverential throng packing Wall, Broad, and Nassau Streets watched the great man enter the Hall; and a few minutes later he appeared upon the balcony of the Senate Chamber—a gallant figure in deep brown, ‘with medal buttons, an eagle on them, white stockings, a bag and sword’[25]—to take the oath.

The keen eyes of Alexander Hamilton surveyed the scene from his home across the street.

Thence back to the Senate Chamber where the inaugural address, in trembling hands, was read with difficulty because of the shaking paper. The erratic but loyal Maclay was pained to find that his hero was not ‘first in everything.’[26] Thence back to the house on Cherry Street.

Never had the little city been so picturesquely and brilliantly illuminated as on that night of general rejoicing. Transparent paintings shone all over the town—that at the bottom of Broadway ‘the finest ever seen in America.’[27] It was a beautiful evening, ‘and no accident cast the smallest cloud upon the retrospect.’[28]

A few evenings later, an inaugural ball was given by the Assembly in their rooms on Broadway above Wall Street. The President ‘was pleased to honor the company with his presence,’[29] and ‘every pleasure seemed to be heightened’ as a result.[30] There, too, was ‘His Excellency the Vice-President,’ and members of Congress with their families, officers of the army, the Ministers of France and Spain. ‘Joy, satisfaction and vivacity was expressed on every countenance.’[31] Each lady, passing the ticket-taker, was presented with a fan made in Paris, with an ivory frame containing a medallion portrait of Washington in profile. ‘A numerous and brilliant collection of ladies’ it was, according to the impressionable reporter, all dressed ‘with a consummate taste and elegance.’[32]

Society awoke that night to the fact that a nation had been created and a capital established on the Hudson, and it fairly titillated at the prospect of the gayety of a ‘court.’

V

Now let us take a turn around the city and familiarize ourselves with the setting of the drama. It will not take long, for the little city of thirty-five thousand was compactly built. Broadway, the most promising and pretentious of the thoroughfares, was paved only to Vesey Street—beyond that, mud. The houses, most of them modest, were surrounded by gardens. From the west side of Broadway to the west side of Greenwich, the town was well built up from Bowling Green to Reade. Beyond that, only the hospital and a few widely scattered houses. On the east side, building extended as far north as Broome. Were we on a shopping expedition we should seek Nassau and William, the heart of the retail district, passing on the former many attractive homes including that of Aaron Burr. Were we bent on a promenade, to meet the ladies and the dandies, we should betake ourselves to Wall, where, notwithstanding the auctioneers, the shoemakers, the grocers, the tailors, the confectioners, the peruke-makers, we should pass handsome homes. Perhaps we should jostle the statesmen emerging from the boarding-houses along the way.

These narrow, crooked streets we should find more tolerable by day than by night. The street lamps were at wide intervals and frequently unlighted. If we escaped a highwayman in the night, we should be lucky to escape the mud of the poorly paved sidewalks, and if we did not bruise our shins by collision with the town pumps, we should be fortunate not to stumble over a pig. Off somewhere in the darkness we should probably hear the curses of some unfortunate wanderer fallen over an obstruction, the grunting of hogs rooting in the gutters, the barking of innumerable dogs.[33] The long line of negroes bearing burdens toward the river might pique our curiosity did we not know that they were the sewage carriers of the city doing their nightly routine work.

Even by day we should find traveling not without its risks, for many of the streets were torn up for improvements.[34] Thus ‘the Hon. Mr. Huger,’ thrown from his sedan chair and painfully bruised, lays claim to immortality in the pages of Maclay[35] and in the yellowing sheets of Fenno’s journal.[36] Faring forth in search of the political celebrities, we should not have far to go, for most were herded in boarding-houses. Hamilton lived comfortably at Broad and Wall Streets, Burr around the corner on Nassau. Jefferson was soon realizing his dream of comfort on Broadway after living in a little house in Maiden Lane. Randolph, the Attorney-General, had found a modest place in the country for two hundred and fifty dollars with ‘an excellent pump of fresh water.’[37] Knox was living beyond his means on Broadway, and Adams was at Richmond Hill. But most of the lawgivers found boarding-houses more congenial to their purses. Thus, within a few steps on Great Dock Street we should find Robert Morris, Caleb Strong, Pierce Butler, Fisher Ames, and Theodore Sedgwick; in Maiden Lane, James Madison; on Smith Street, Charles Carroll, and on Water Street, Oliver Ellsworth.

Turning from the celebrities to the lowly and the base, we could visit the slave market which was then active, for there were more than two thousand negroes in bondage in the city. While the orators at Federal Hall were speaking reverently of liberty, the hammer of the auctioneer was knocking down negro girls to the highest bidder, and the local papers were running ‘rewards’ for the capture of runaway slaves.[38] Were we in the mood to walk to the end of the pavement on Broadway, we could regale ourselves, in the grove where the City Hall now stands, with a view of the gallows enshrined in a Chinese pagoda where the executioners competed successfully at times with the debaters in attracting the curious. There, too, stood the whipping-post.[39] In the midst of so much that was grim, little wonder that the statesmen resented the frequent ringing of funeral bells. ‘The gentlemen from the country complain exceedingly of this noisy, unmeaning and absurd custom,’ wrote ‘A Citizen’ to his favorite paper. ‘This is the moment to abolish it, and give an evidence of a disposition to please them.’[40] But it is not of record that the ‘gentlemen from the country’ were permitted to interfere with the privileges of the dead.

Were we to turn from these grim specters to amusement, we could get a conveyance at one of the city’s six livery stables to carry us into the country to the Florida tea-gardens on the North River; thence to Perry’s on the present site of Union Square, or to Williamson’s, near the present site of Greenwich and Harrison.[41] But were our mood of darker hue, we could find no dearth of entertainment at the taverns. When Congress quarreled and struggled at Federal Hall, and Washington dwelt on Cherry Street, one hundred and thirty-one taverns were licensed in the city to which flocked all manner of men. There, with liquor or ale, we could enjoy a cock-fight and pick the winner, or gather about the table and gamble at cards. Laborers, loafers, sailors, criminals infested these dives, and if we preferred cleaner company, we might get an invitation to the Black Friars, the one social club in the city.[42] Or, if more intellectual entertainment were desired, it could be found in the wooden building painted red on John Street, a stone’s-throw from Saint Paul’s Church where Washington had his pew, where the Old American Company regaled the people of the pit, the boxes, and galleries with the plays of Shakespeare, Sheridan, Goldsmith, Garrick, and some of indifferent merit.[43] Here ‘The Father,’ by William Dunlap, the historian of the American theater, had its first presentation—a notable event, since Washington, a spectator, was seen to laugh at the comedy.[44] Indeed, his health permitting, the President was frequently seen in his box which bore the arms of the United States, and the press was not amiss in keeping the public informed when the great man went to the play.[45] He had been in the house on Cherry Street but a few days, when, disregarding the frowns of the purists, he went to see the ‘School for Scandal.’ Two days before, the ‘Daily Advertiser’ had gayly hinted of the prospective visit. ‘It is whispered that “The School for Scandal” and “The Poor Soldier” will be acted on Monday night for the entertainment of the President,’ it said. And then it added, by way of gentle admonition to the players: ‘Mrs. Henry ought on this occasion to condescend to give passion and tenderness to Maria.... Mrs. Henry ought to act Norah and improve the delightful farce by the melody of her voice. Mrs. Henry ought to take no offense at the suggestion.’[46] We may be sure it was a festive occasion, for Fenno’s ‘court journal’ said that ‘there was a most crowded house and the ladies, who were numerous, made a most brilliant appearance.’[47] One sour Senator in the presidential party did not take kindly to the play. ‘I think it an indecent representation before ladies of character and virtue,’ he wrote—and there were ladies in the party![48] The President, however, was pleased to go again quite soon to see ‘The Clandestine Marriage,’ again subjecting ‘ladies of character and virtue’ to temptation, for Mrs. Morris and Mrs. Knox were with his party when ‘Mrs. Henry and Mrs. Morris played with their usual naïveté and uncommon animation’ due to ‘the countenance of such illustrious auditors.’[49]

Other forms of entertainment, all too few, were not neglected by the celebrities. ‘The President and his Lady and family and several other persons of distinction were pleased to honor Mr. Bowen’s wax-works exhibit with their company at 74 Water Street’—looms among the announcements of the ‘court journal.’[50]

VI

Nor were the entertainments dependent wholly upon the residents and governmental dignitaries. The little city was bravely simulating the airs of a real capital. The social climbers, hearing of the ‘court’ flocked to town from the four corners with their wives and daughters.[51] The cost of living mounted alarmingly, and the rental of suitable houses was prohibitive to many. Oliver Wolcott, hesitating about accepting a place paying fifteen hundred dollars a year, had been assured by Ellsworth that a house could be had for two hundred dollars, wood for four dollars a cord, hay for eight dollars a ton, but that marketing was twenty-five per cent higher than at Hartford.[52] But soon after his arrival, the discouraged official was writing his father that ‘the expense of living here will be greater than I had imagined.’[53] The leading tavern, on the west side of Broadway, near Cedar, was a modest establishment with immodest prices.[54] And to make matters worse, ‘society’ had set a giddy pace.

We are especially interested in this society because Jefferson, on his arrival, was shocked at its unrepublican tone. The inner or select circle did not number more than three hundred.[55] A French traveler was impressed with its tendency to luxury, its love of grandeur, and ostentatious display. ‘English luxury,’ ‘English fashions,’ the women in ‘the most brilliant silks, gauzes, hats, and borrowed hair,’ the men, more modest as to dress, but taking ‘their revenge in the luxury of the table’ and in smoking cigars from the Spanish islands.[56] The Loyalist families were forward in asserting their social prerogatives in the shadow of the Republican ‘Court.’ Did they not have money and the prestige of having wined and dined and danced with the officers of His Majesty in the days of the occupation? None more conspicuous than the Henry Whites with a fine house on Wall Street, with one son in His Majesty’s army, another a rear admiral in His Majesty’s navy. About the Misses White—‘so gay and fashionable, so charming in conversation, with such elegant figures’—the young blades gathered like moths about the flame. Giddy were the parties there, the men Beau Brummels in the extreme of fashion, and out of the few fugitive pictures we catch a glimpse of Mrs. Verplanck dancing a minuet ‘in hoop and petticoats,’ and a young beau catching cold from ‘riding home in a sedan chair with one of the glasses broken,’ after partaking too freely of hot port wine.[57]

Balls and teas there were aplenty, but ‘society’ preferred to dine and talk. Hamilton in his home on Wall Street gave frequent dinners insinuating when not boldly proclaiming his doubts of the people. Van Breckel, the Dutch Minister, entertained lavishly, making his dining-room the resort of the little foreign circle—and every one tried to keep up the pace.

It was the pace that killed—financially. The Henry Knoxes then began their journey toward bankruptcy, living elaborately on Broadway, maintaining horses and grooms, five servants, and giving two dinners a month. Almost a ninth of his salary went for wine alone. What with his own hair-dressing, and that of the expansive Lucy, who wore her hair, after the extreme fashion, ‘at least a foot high, much in the form of a churn bottom upward,’ the family account with Anthony Latour, hair-dresser, was no small matter,[58] and his annual deficit was a third of his salary.

Nor was the Secretary of War unique. The social life was a hectic swirl of calls, teas, entertainments. ‘When shall I get spirit to pay all the social debts I owe?’ wrote one lady of quiet tastes.[59] It was harvest-time for the dressmakers, the jewelers, the hair-dressers. The ball given in compliment to Washington by the French Minister called for special costumes, for there were ‘two sets of Cotillion Dancers in complete uniforms; one set in that of France and the other in Buff and Blue,’ while the ladies were ‘dressed in white with Ribbands, Bouquets and Garlands of Flowers answering to the uniforms of the Gentlemen.’[60] And so with other functions equally gay.

But after all, the ‘court’ had come to town, and if there was no Majesty on Cherry Street, it was not because the ‘court set’ did not pretend it so. The illusion of vanity was fostered by the snobbery of Fenno of the ‘court journal.’ When Madame Washington arrived, ‘conducted over the bay in the President’s barge rowed by thirteen eminent pilots in handsome white dress,’ the editor enumerated the ladies who had ‘paid their devoirs to the amiable consort of our beloved President.’ There were ‘the Lady of His Excellency the Governor, Lady Sterling, Lady Mary Watts, Lady Kitty Duer, La Marchioness de Brehan, the ladies of the Most Honorable Mr. Langdon, and the Most Honorable Mr. Dalton ... and a great many other respectable characters.’[61] This was too much for ‘A Republican’ who worked off his fury in a scornful letter to the opposition paper referring to the ‘tawdry phraseology,’ to the ‘titular folly of Europe’s courts,’ and suggesting that we ‘leave to the sons and daughters of corrupted Europe their levees, Drawing Rooms, Routs, Drums, and Tornedos.’[62] It was to require more than this, however, to jar the high-flying Fenno from the clouds, and his readers were soon informed that ‘His Excellency the Vice-President, His Excellency the Governor of the State, and many other personalities of the greatest distinction will be present at the theater this evening.’ It was not for nothing that the pedagogue pensman from Boston had launched his paper with the hope ‘that the wealthy part of the community will become patrons of this publication.’[63] The ‘inconveniency of being fashionable’ was impressed upon one Senator on finding a colleague, who, having ‘set up a coach,’ and, embarrassed in his plans by the irregular adjournments, was wont to sit alone in the Chamber ‘in a state of ennui’ as much as ‘two or three hours’ waiting for his carriage ‘to take him three or four hundred yards.’[64]

But while there was much of this ridiculous affectation, society was not without its charms; for Mrs. Hamilton had her days for receiving, and her drawing-room was brilliant, and all the more interesting because her vivacious sister, Mrs. Church, just back from London, bringing with her ‘a late abominable fashion of Ladies, like Washwomen with their sleeves above their elbows,’ was there to assist.[65] And all the men were not on stilts, for it is on record that the congressional delegation from Pennsylvania would occasionally break through the ‘court circle’ to dine from three to nine, and indulge in ‘a scene of beastial badness’ with Robert Morris proving himself ‘certainly the greatest blackguard in that way.’[66] There was the usual small gossip to bring the soarers to earth. The cream served at the table of Mrs. Washington was not the best. Mrs. Morris had been compelled to ‘rid herself of a morsel’ of spoiled food there, but ‘Mrs. Washington ate a whole heap of it.’[67] Mrs. Knox amused the Mother Grundys because so fat, and her blundering misuse of words caused much tittering behind fans and much whispering among her friends.

But it was on the Wall Street promenade that the gossips depended for their choicest morsels. The Wall Street of that day was just beginning to displace Pearl as the abode of fashion. True, there were a few business houses, a tavern, a fashionable caterer, a jeweler, but from Broadway to Pearl there was a row of substantial residences in which dwelt people of importance. It was there in the promenade that the political celebrities were encountered, but more appealing to the gentlemen of pleasure were the fine ladies who passed in their finery—gay silks and satins—walking or taking the air luxuriously in their sedan chairs. The cronies of Dan McCormick, the unsnared and lordly entertainer, who gazed out of the windows of his House of Gossip at Number 39, and from his front steps surveyed the parade with the eyes of connoisseurs, must have been trying to the modesty of the timid—but perhaps none such passed that way. If they laughed over the latest blunders of Mrs. Knox as she hove into sight like a huge ship in full sail, and made merry over the sister of the French Consul as she was borne luxuriously along in her sedan chair, we may be sure that they were appreciative of the pretty. And these crowded the narrow street for the promenade, quite as much bent on amusement and flirtation as the men about town on the steps of the House of Gossip.

For it was an age of gallantry, the men quite as vain as the women dared be, and there, in addition to political celebrities, paraded the local blades of society in their white buzz wigs, their three-cornered hats, and silver shoe buckles. Here the elegant Hamilton in banter with a blushing belle, there the courtly Burr bowing over the hand of a coquette unafraid of the fire, and yonder Dr. John Bard, who prescribed pills for the fashionable, pounding the pavement with his heavy cane as he walked along smiling a bit sardonically upon his patients. And, swinging along like a symphony, a dandy in a scarlet coat with mother-of-pearl buttons, a white silk waistcoat embroidered with colored flowers, black satin breeches, white silk stockings, and a cocked hat, an Irish miniature painter out for an airing and to give the ladies a treat. Here—on Wall Street—was Vanity Fair.[68]

Albeit the Vice-President had not then become the social head of the Nation, society liked nothing better than an invitation to Richmond Hill, the home of Adams, a mile and a half from the city. Even Abigail was delighted, for her home reminded her ‘of the valley of Honiton in Devonshire,’ with its avenue of forest trees, its shrubbery, its green fields, its pastures full of cattle, and the Hudson ‘white flecked with sails.’[69] Here at the dinner-table statesmen and their wives and the social leaders contrived to talk like ladies and gentlemen of the court, and Jefferson thought in a language foreign to a republic. But good talk it was, and good dinners, we may be sure, even though the French Consul did take his cook to Richmond Hill with the explanation that he had had experience with New York dinners.[70] There was enough elegance at Richmond Hill to encourage the Adams coachman to put on airs that offended the groundlings as he drove through the streets.

VII

But it was about the ‘court’ on Cherry Street that the interest of society centered. It was a plain brick mansion with five windows looking out on Cherry Street and as many on Franklin Square. The furniture was plain, and Madame Washington had sent by sea from Mount Vernon numerous articles of luxury and taste—pictures, vases, ornaments presented by European admirers. Here the first President in the first days of the Republic received visitors, gave dinners and receptions, consulted with his Cabinet. The following year he moved to a more commodious house on Broadway below Trinity Church.

The great man had entered upon his physical decline when he assumed the Presidency, and many found him changed—‘pale, almost cadaverous,’ his deportment ‘invariably grave,’ his sobriety barely stopping short of sadness. Even at Mrs. Washington’s drawing-rooms, when beautiful girls swarmed about him, his face never softened to a smile.[71] It is more than probable that he was not a little bored by the artificial restraints imposed upon him by his advisers on etiquette who had aristocratic notions of the dignity of his position. Both Hamilton and Adams were responsible for planning his isolation from the people. Did citizens seek a meeting? This was a matter for the chamberlain or gentleman-in-waiting. Should he give public entertainments? Not at all—only small dinners. Could he make calls? Very guardedly, and with ‘few attendants,’ but formal visits should be reserved for the rare occasions when ‘an Emperor of Germany or some other sovereign should travel in the country.’[72] Thus it came to pass that he found himself with a ‘court chamberlain’ in the flamboyant Colonel Humphreys, who reveled in ceremony, and on one occasion moved Parson Weems’s perfect man to profanity.[73] When the erstwhile host of Fraunces Tavern was selected as the presiding deity of the kitchen, he appeared in the papers as ‘Steward of the Household.’[74] He too tried the great man’s patience and outraged his sense of economy by serving a shad early in the season that had cost two dollars, and the royal fish was devoured by the ‘Steward of the Household’ in the kitchen.[75]

But on state occasions the highfaluting notions of his advisers prevailed, and he rode forth in regal magnificence in the finest coach ever seen in America, a marvelous thing in shape and color, decorated with cupids and festooned with flowers. Thus he lumbered through the streets drawn by four horses except when driving to Federal Hall, when six were necessary.

And so they who dreamed of royal pomp were pleased with the progress made, and at the dinner tables wagging tongues dwelt ecstatically on the advantages of monarchical government, and Fenno’s ‘court journal’ began the publication of ‘The Discourses of Davila,’ by the Vice-President. Thus, when Jefferson arrived the following spring to meet society at the dinner tables, he was filled with ‘wonder and mortification’ to find that ‘politics was the chief topic, and a preference for kingly over republican government ... evidently the favorite sentiment.’[76]

But we may be sure that no such sentiments were heard at the President’s dinners, which appear to have been dull, formal, and silent enough. No fault could be found with the food, drink, or service. Even the gout-pestered Maclay found one of these dinners ‘the best of the kind I was ever at,’[77] and the more easily pleased Iredell was immensely delighted with the wine.[78] But such silence, such solemnity! ‘The most solemn dinner ever I sat at,’ wrote Maclay. ‘Not a health drank, scarce a word said until the cloth was taken away.’ Then Washington filled his glass and solemnly drank to the health of each of his guests by name. Then ‘everybody imitated him, and such a buzz of “health, sir,” and “health, madame,” and “Thank you, sir,” and “Thank you, Madame,” never had I heard before.’ Then another prolonged silence—and the ladies retired—and the dinner was over.[79] Months later, Maclay dined at the President’s again. ‘The President seemed to bear in his countenance a settled aspect of melancholy,’ he wrote. ‘No cheering ray of convivial sunshine broke through the cloudy gloom of settled seriousness.’ The great man was evidently bored—much company forced upon him that he would gladly have shunned. Cold, serious to melancholy, silent, he sat and ‘played on the table with a knife and fork like a drum stick.’ So it was at the previous dinner when, retaining his fork as the cover was removed, he ‘played with the fork, striking on the edge of the table with it.’[80]

Here we may leave him playing on the table with his fork, and turn to the proceedings at Federal Hall.

VIII

Madison soon verified his fear that few members of Congress could be relied upon for constructive work. Then, as ever after, this fell to the industrious few, of whom Madison himself was by odds the most dependable and wise. Petty ceremonies and formalities continued to disturb the serenity of some. When a member took exception to the reference in the minutes to a Presidential message as a ‘most gracious speech,’ as imitative of the parliamentary references to addresses from the throne, Adams was all but shocked to suffocation. As for himself he preferred ‘a dignified and respectable government,’ but the point was pressed and the offensive words erased.[81] Receiving a letter addressed to him as ‘His Excellency,’ Adams took the sense of the Senate on the propriety of opening it. Robert Morris dryly remarked that their Majesty, the people, could write as they wished, and that crisis passed.[82] When a Bishop was mentioned in the minutes as ‘Right Reverend,’ and Maclay snorted his disapproval, Adams, in righteous wrath, informed him that ‘the government will never be properly administered until titles are adopted in the fullest manner.’[83]

But all the while James Madison, constructive, profound, was seeking to drag his colleagues of the divine afflatus from the clouds to the working of the untilled field. Money was needed—more even than titles—and precious time was being squandered. In an earnest appeal, he begged for the postponement of the consideration of a permanent fiscal system in the hope of persuading the suppliants for tariff aid to wait awhile. But it was of no avail. Privilege entered the halls of Congress in the very beginning. When, at length, a measure was framed, the merchants of New York, Philadelphia, and Boston made common cause to hold it back. They had ordered heavily in anticipation of such a law and were determined to prevent its enactment until their goods arrived. The whole thing smacked of scandal. The merchants had already added the amount of the duties to the price of the goods on their shelves, increasing their profits while depriving the Government of the necessities of life. With the Government starving for revenue, the mercantile interest, with the aid of members, held it off until July 4th, and then it was passed with the proviso that it should be inoperative until August 1st. Many, says a noted historian, thought this ‘the first instance of a series in which the action of government turned in favor of the moneyed class.’[84]

The creation of the executive departments next called forth acrimonious discussions. Should the finances be in the hands of a man or a commission? Where could be found a single man capable of such a task? The Republic would be endangered were one man to have command of three or four millions. Then, too, the Cabinet was liable to be looked upon by the President as of more consequence than the Senate. A system of favoritism would be established, and oligarchy confirmed, the liberties of the people destroyed.[85] And the power of removal—who should possess that? Some wanted to lodge the power in the President, others in the Senate. Madison favored the former.[86] But others could not see it that way. What! exclaimed one statesman, give the power to the President? Why, ‘ministers would obtrude upon us to govern and direct the measures of the legislature and support the influence of their master.’ A new Walpole would arise.[87] ‘Good God,’ cried another, ‘authorize in a free republic ... by your first act, the exertion of a dangerous royal prerogative in your Chief Magistrate!’[88] The result was the striking out of the authorization of the President to remove on the ground that it was implied in the Constitution. Madison took this view, and it was to rise against him in his later battles with Hamilton over the implied powers.

This jealousy between the executive and legislative departments soon found some justification in the action of Washington himself. It was late in the summer of the first year that he appeared in the Senate with General Knox to get ‘advice and consent’ to some propositions respecting a treaty with the Southern Indians. With cold dignity he took his place beside Adams, with Knox near at hand. The latter passed him a paper which he, in turn, gave to Adams, who began to read. The windows were up and the purport was all but lost in the rumble of carriages on Wall Street.

‘Do you advise and consent?’ asked Adams.

A Senator suggested that in a matter of importance new to the Senate, it was the duty of Senators first to inform themselves. Storm-clouds appeared on the presidential countenance. Some one moved postponement of action on the first article, then the second—and third. Finally, the motion was made that the whole be referred to a senatorial committee.

Up Washington ‘started in a violent fret.’ The motion defeated the purpose of his coming. He had brought along the Secretary of War who knew all that it was necessary for the Senate to know. The reference to the committee would mean delay and time was pressing. Then, making a virtue of necessity, he agreed to the postponement, and withdrew ‘with sullen dignity.’

‘I cannot be mistaken,’ wrote a Senator that evening in his boarding-house, ‘the President wishes to tread on the necks of the Senate. Commitment will bring the matter to discussion, at least in the committee, where he is not present. He wishes us to see with the eyes and hear with the ears of his Secretary only. The Secretary to advance the premises, the President to draw the conclusions, and to bear down our deliberations with his personal authority and presence.... This will not do with Americans.’[89]

This fear, accentuated by the incident referred to, was to grow into a conviction a little later, when a more domineering and masterful figure than Washington or Knox appeared upon the scene. By many his advent had been eagerly awaited. To the leaders his identity was known, for the genius of Alexander Hamilton as a financier had been established, and his ambition was surmised.[90] His aspirations were supported by the mercantile interests generally, and the political forces they controlled. Even they who were to become his political enemies were favorable to his selection—preferring him to John Jay, who was considered. There is something of irony in the letter written to Jefferson by Madison to the effect that Hamilton was ‘best qualified for that species of business, and on that account would be preferred by those who know him personally.’[91]

To most he promised to be a successful administrator of finance, and only the few among his intimates foresaw his rapid rise to the brilliant leadership of a powerful party. Certainly there could have been but few to take alarm on reading in the ‘Daily Advertiser’ on September 12, 1789, the simple announcement of one of the most momentous events in the political history of the country: