Jefferson and Hamilton

IV

George III had joined the Coalition of the Kings, and the familiar redcoats were marching with the rest to crush the Revolution, and democracy. Here was something the masses could understand—monarchy against republicanism, autocracy and aristocracy against democracy, kings against people. The plain man of ‘no particular importance’ looked about to see the effect. Yes, the old Tories who had hobnobbed with the British officers while the ragged Continentals walked barefoot through the snows of Valley Forge were partisans of England—against France. The duty of the patriot was clear—France against England. The cry was spontaneous with the masses, and rent the heavens. Even then we owed a debt to Lafayette. Poor imbecile Louis was forgotten, the guillotine faded from the view. ‘Ça Ira!’ Even the children of Philadelphia had learned enough French to sing ‘La Marseillaise,’ and they sang it right lustily even before the windows of the Binghams. Did we not have a treaty with France that we had been glad to sign? Was not our own existence involved in the European struggle now? The Republic of France crushed by the allied monarchs to-day—our turn to-morrow.

And the partisans of England—who were they? The old American Tories, the rich merchants operating on English capital, the crooked speculators fawning on the money-lenders of Europe, the aristocrats kow-towing to the roués of a degenerate nobility in the homes of the moneyed aristocracy, the politicians who excluded the poor man from the polls.

The effect of the English declaration of war was magical. Again the old ‘rabble’ that precipitated the American Revolution poured into the streets, swarmed into the saloons, formed into processions and marched. And why not? England was still our enemy, impressing our seamen, retaining our western posts in defiance of the treaty, playing havoc with our commerce. Were the pioneers on the fringe of the western forests in daily danger of the tomahawk? England was responsible—so most of the argument ran. Now was the time to stand up and be counted—for the two republics or the Coalition of the Kings. Thus the reasoning, and it caught on and flashed and flamed like a conflagration sweeping the sun-parched grass of the plains.

To Hamilton this new burst of frenzied friendship for the French was alarming. Washington was at Mount Vernon. His immediate presence in Philadelphia was imperatively needed. He and he alone could stem the rising tide. It was setting in heavily against the English. On April 8th, Hamilton sat at his desk writing his chief a confirmation of the war between England and France with the sly comment that ‘the whole current of commercial intelligence ... indicates thus far an unexceptionable conduct on the part of the English Government toward the vessels of the United States.’ This, he added, ‘is received here with very great satisfaction as favorable to the continuance of peace ... which may be said to be both universal and ardent.’

As his pen traveled over the paper the ‘rabble’ was shouting for war in the streets, and Jefferson was expressing the hope that the English interference with our vessels would ‘not force us into war.’ If he could only have looked over his rival’s shoulder as he wrote!

Washington hastened back to Philadelphia.

V

He immediately gathered his Cabinet about him for a momentous decision. Genêt, young, dashing, audacious, had arrived in Charleston and would soon present his credentials as the Minister of the French Republic. He might even refer to the treaty in which we had pledged ourselves to guarantee the French possessions in the West Indies, and to throw open the ports of America to the prizes of the privateers of our ally while closing them to her enemies. It was a treaty we had been delighted to get, and now it rose to plague us—but there it was. Worse still, the people in the streets understood the nature of the pledge.

It was not Hamilton’s way to concede to Jefferson a primacy where foreign relations were involved, and he had not been inactive while awaiting the return of Washington. Jay and King had been consulted particularly as to the receiving of Genêt. Neither could find any pretext for refusing to receive him; both thought he should be received with qualifications. Uppermost in the minds of all three was the treaty—the necessity of evading its obligations.[769] Having decided on the policy of Jefferson’s department, Hamilton took no chances, and prepared the list of questions to be submitted to the Cabinet, which Washington copied in his own handwriting, but Jefferson was not deceived as to the authorship.[770] There were no illusions on Jefferson’s part as to his position that April day in the room in the Morris house. There was Hamilton, eager, not a little domineering, who had prepared Washington’s questions on which the Secretary of State had not been consulted; and Knox, big, pudgy, a bit flamboyant, complacent, and proud of his utter subserviency to Hamilton; and Randolph, with a legalistic mind capable of refining away any position he might take.

Should Genêt be received?

Yes, said Hamilton, with qualifications. Yes, said Jefferson, unqualifiedly. Yes, with qualifications, said Knox, dutifully echoing Hamilton, and, says Jefferson, ‘acknowledging at the same time, like the fool he is, that he knew nothing about it.’[771] Randolph agreed with Jefferson.

Let him be received, said Hamilton, with the distinct understanding that we must reserve for future consideration the binding force of the treaties. There was no proof that Louis had been guilty, and evidence that the republicans in France had actually premeditated a plan to get rid of monarchical power.[772] There was no proof that the execution was an act of national justice, and all the courts in Europe held a different view.[773] In truth, ‘almost all Europe ... seems likely to be armed ... with the intention of restoring ... the royalty in the successor of the deceased monarch.’[774] If our treaty obligations proved disadvantageous, we should have the right to renounce them.[775] Respect the right of a nation to change its form of government? Yes. Receive its ambassador? Yes. But to throw our weight into the scale for the new republic might be lacking ‘in national delicacy and decorum.’[776] As to our obligations under the treaty, there were none, for France was waging an offensive war. The coalition of the monarchs to crush the republic forced the war? Perhaps—but France made the first formal declaration of hostilities.[777]

Jefferson approached the question from a diametrically opposite point of view. ‘The reception of the Minister at all,’ he said, ‘is an acknowledgment of the legitimacy of their government; and if the qualifications meditated are to deny that legitimacy, it will be a curious compound which is to deny and admit the same thing.’ The abrogation of the treaties? ‘I consider the people who constitute a society as the source of all authority in that nation,’ he said: ‘as free to transact their common concerns by any agents they think proper; to change these agents individually, or the organization of them in form or function whenever they please; that all the acts done by these agents under the authority of the nation, are obligatory to them and inure to their use, and can in no wise be annulled or affected by any change in the form of government.... Consequently the treaties between the United States and France were not treaties between the United States and Louis Capet, but between the two nations of America and France; and the nations remaining in existence, though both of them have since changed their forms of government, the treaties are not annulled by these changes.’[778] All the Cabinet agreed to a proclamation forbidding Americans from participating in the war, to the unqualified reception of Genêt while holding the treaties in abeyance, and to the issuing of a proclamation.

With the appearance of the proclamation, the storm broke.

VI

This had seemed inevitable to Jefferson from the beginning.[779] Madison, then in Virginia, wrote that the proclamation ‘wounds the national honor by seeming to disregard the stipulated duties to France,’ and ‘wounds the popular feeling by a seeming indifference to the cause of liberty.’[780]

The party issue was made. The Hamiltonians were sympathetic toward monarchical France, hostile to revolutionary France, friendly to England; the Jeffersonians were friendly to revolutionary France, hostile to the Bourbons, and unfriendly to the policy of Pitt in England. The heart of the Hamiltonians beat in tune to the martial steps of the Coalition of the Kings marching on the French frontier; that of the Jeffersonians was with the French peasants hurrying to defend their soil and revolution. And the overwhelming sentiment of the Nation was with Jefferson.

Instantly the Democratic masses saw in the coming of Genêt the opportunity for the manifestation of their feelings. There was much in the personality, appearance, and background of this ardent diplomat of the Gironde to explain the fervent enthusiasm with which he was received. Washington had been warned in advance by Morris, the Minister to France, that he was an ‘upstart’—not a bad estimate, as it turned out, but the President had abundant proof that all the French republicans were upstarts.[781] He was not an upstart, however, in that he did not belong in the great world of high politics and society. For almost half a century his father had been in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and his celebrated sister, Madame Campan, had been one of the ladies of Marie Antoinette, of whom he had been a prime favorite. A familiar figure among the fashionable young dandies of Versailles, he had served for a while as the secretary of one of the brothers of the monarch. An extraordinarily brilliant youth, he had translated the ‘History of Eric XIV’ at the age of twelve, with historical notes of his own. Entering the diplomatic service, with the blessings of the Queen, he had served as attaché at the courts of Berlin, Vienna, London, and St. Petersburg. He spoke several languages with the fluency of a native. A romantic figure, this young man, handsome, elegant in manner, eloquent and entertaining in conversation, gracious, friendly, impulsive, with the virtues to neutralize the vices of his years.

If the reception he received in the aristocratic city of Charleston was enough to turn his head, it was nothing to the continuous ovation accorded him as he proceeded slowly on his month’s journey to Philadelphia. Farmers flocked to the rough roads to cheer him and offer him produce at a loss. In every town he was a conquering hero, and everywhere he was greeted with the strains of ‘Ça Ira’ and orators paid tribute to France and the principles of its Revolution. The ringing of bells, the shouting of the multitude wearing liberty caps and waving French flags—such the sights and sounds that greeted him everywhere. Nor was this charming young diplomat pleasing to the Democratic rabble alone. At Baltimore, Justice Iredell of the Supreme Court was impressed with his ‘fine open countenance, and pleasing unaffected manner.’[782] Federalist Iredell failed to find the ‘upstart’ who was so conspicuous to Federalist Morris.

As the reports of the continuous ovation dribbled into Philadelphia, Hamilton and the Federalists were alarmed and disgusted, Jefferson delighted. Here was proof that the people were sound in their republicanism. Better still, here were the masses making themselves felt in public affairs for the first time. Even better, they were casting aside the spirit of humility, and standing erect with their sovereignty under their hats. While Genêt was proceeding to the capital, Jefferson was writing joyously to Monroe of the ‘old spirit of ‘76 rekindling the newspapers from Boston to Charleston’ and forcing ‘the monocrat papers ... to publish the most furious philippics against England.’[783] And Madison was quite as pleased. He had hoped for a reception that would make ‘the cant of the cities’ and the ‘cold caution of the Government’ less offensive.[784]

Meanwhile, as Genêt approached, the Democrats in Philadelphia, suspecting that the Government hoped ‘to prevent a joyful reception,’ were determined to disappoint that hope. ‘An Old Soldier,’ in a stirring reminder of French services in the American Revolution, declared that ‘if after such recollections you will hesitate to welcome their ambassador, I will mourn over the departed virtue of my country.’[785]

The appeal was not made in vain. Freneau and Bache in their papers were arousing the emotions of the people. The former was publishing Grey’s speech in Parliament against going to war with France. ‘A shining character,’ thought the editor.[786] He was also informing his readers that the news of our neutrality ‘gave much satisfaction to the English nation.’[787] Meanwhile, the ‘rabble,’ embracing such characters as Rittenhouse, Dr. Hutchinson, and A. J. Dallas, was making preparations. The Minister would be met at Gray’s Ferry, and every one who possibly could should go. The cannon on L’Ambascade would roar the announcements of the hero’s approach early enough to permit all who wished to reach the Ferry in time.[788]

It was at this time that a strange rumor was floating about the streets, taverns, and beer-houses of the city. Count de Noailles had arrived in Philadelphia at nine o’clock on the night of May 3d, commissioned as Minister by the former Princes at Coblentz, and at a very late hour at night had been received by Washington at the Morris house where the two ‘were in private conversation until near morning.’ The Count had arrived—every one knew it. What sort of treachery was this? So this was the reason the Government was trying to discourage the reception to Genêt.[789] The people would see to that.

Thus, Genêt was met at Gray’s Ferry by an immense throng with thunderous cheers—cheers that accompanied him all the way to the City Tavern. The streets packed, throbbing with joy. Looking out over the excited multitude, Genêt ‘was quite overcome with the affectionate joy that appeared on every face,’ according to a lady of Philadelphia who shared it. ‘It is true,’ she said, ‘that a few disaffected persons did try to check the ardor of the people, but they had the mortification to find all their efforts blasted and were obliged themselves to join the general torrent and affect a cordiality ... contrary to the feelings of their hearts.’ A truly inspiring spectacle. ‘It would be impossible, my dear, to give you any idea of the scene.’[790] Then followed the formal welcome. Resolutions were prepared at the home of Charles Biddle, were adopted enthusiastically at an immense meeting in the State House yard—then on in a body to the City Tavern, Biddle leading the way and setting a merry pace. Ever and anon he received a frantic plea from Dr. Hutchinson, ‘fat enough to act the character of Falstaff without stuffing,’ to slow up, and with sardonic humor Biddle hurried on. The corpulent doctor reached the hotel in a state of complete exhaustion. But it was worth it. ‘Ça Ira!’ Long live the French Republic and damnation to its foes![791] Then the dinner at O’Eller’s, the finest the city had ever seen, at four dollars a plate, with Genêt thrilling the diners by singing the French fighting song, the audience roaring ‘Ça Ira,’ liberty caps passing around, toasts fervent and fiery. ‘What hugging and rugging!’ grumbled a Philadelphian a quarter of a century later. ‘What addressing and caressing! What mountebanking and chanting with liberty caps and the other wretched trumpery of sans-culotte foolery!’[792] When Genêt called on Jefferson, he was cordially received, but there was a drop in temperature when he presented his credentials to Washington, whose sober and restrained manner seemed cold to the Frenchman after the reception from the people. Worse still, he found portraits of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette in the room. Enough, quite enough, had been done to turn the head of a stronger character than he. But the Philadelphia lady was right—many who hated the Revolution simulated enthusiasm, and one day Knox, Bingham, and other leading Federalists might have been seen going aboard L’Ambascade with Genêt to partake of a fraternal dinner.[793]

VII

Thus the popular protest against neutrality between England and France rose in a crescendo to a scream. Be patient with England? scoffed a Boston writer. What, with the western posts still held, the Indian wars, the impressment of American sailors on the sea?[794] The country’s grievances against the English were mobilized and marched to the accompaniment of hisses. A resident of Pittsburgh wrote an open letter to Washington against neutrality. ‘I doubt much whether it is the disposition of the United States to preserve the condition you enjoin. It may be the disposition of those who draw from funds but from no one else.’[795] Thus encouraged, ‘Veritas’ grasped his pen. ‘I am aware, sir, that some court satellites may have deceived you’—not difficult to impose on a ruler ‘particularly if so much buoyed up by official importance as to think it beneath his dignity to mix occasionally with the people.’[796] Freneau, who began to print a series of satirical poems attacking Washington, sardonically sent two copies of each issue to his desk. The great man fumed, fretted, occasionally burst into rage. ‘Civic’ launched his thunderbolts against ‘incendiaries ... who have lately outraged decency ... by insulting Washington,’[797] and Fenno rushed to the defense with stupid denunciations of all critics as anarchists and traitors. The men in the streets jeered their disapproval.

Thus, the summer of 1793 was one of utter madness. Mechanics were reading the speeches of Mirabeau; clerks were poring over the reports of revolutionary chiefs; college students were finding Paine preferable to Virgil; and even the women were reading, with flushed cheeks, Barlow’s ‘Conspiracy of Kings.’ Others too illiterate to read were stalking the narrow streets like conquerors, jostling the important men of the community with intent, and sneering at the great. Men were equal. The people’s day had dawned. Down the streets swaggered the mob looking for lingering relics of royalty to tear or order down. A medallion enclosing a bas-relief of George III with his crown, on the eastern front of Christ’s Church, caught its eye. Down with it! The church officials did not hesitate, but tore it down. On swept the mob in search of other worlds to conquer. Occasionally the lower element, drinking itself drunk, staggered out of the beer-houses to shout imprecations on a government that would not war on England.

Not wholly without provocation, these outbursts. Fenno’s fulsome snobbery was disgusting to people of sense, and the English sailors in Philadelphia did not help. When four of these jolly tars attacked and all but murdered a lone French sailor without a rebuke from the city officials, Bache’s paper warned that the friends of the French would ‘take signal vengeance on such infamous banditti.’ When, in New York, the aristocrats of the ‘new and elegant coffee-house’ and the exclusive Belvedere Club were ‘swallowing potent draughts to the annihilation of liberty,’ notice was served that unless suppressed ‘a band of Mohawks, Oneidas, and Senecas will take upon themselves that necessary duty’—for Tammany was the very heart of the French movement in New York.[798] ‘Ça Ira!’ The people were the masters, and even in the theaters they went to dictate to managers and actors. When Hodkinson, a favorite actor, appeared, as his rôle required, in the uniform of a British officer, he was hissed. ‘Take it off!’ shouted the crowd; but when the quick-witted actor smilingly explained that he represented a bully, the jeers were turned to cheers.[799] On then with the play. The orchestras played ‘La Marseillaise,’ the galleries sang ‘Ça Ira,’ the managers shunted Shakespeare and Sheridan aside for ‘Tyranny Suppressed,’ ‘Louis XVI,’ and ‘The Demolition of the Bastile.’ In Boston, where the Federalists were firm, the Boston Theater continued to cater to their tastes, but even there the Haymarket drew the greater crowds with drama for the Democrats.

Everywhere liberty caps were worn and liberty poles were raised, and men and women became ‘Citizen’ and ‘Citizeness,’ while the Federalists roared their glee to keep up courage, making merry in their letters and through their papers at the expense of the ‘citness’:

From Hartford the witty Chauncey Goodrich wrote Wolcott that ‘our citizenesses quite execrate their new name,’ and that while ‘they will have no objection to being called biped in common with men, if it can clearly be shown that term denotes nothing above the foot or ankle, but as it comes so near they are suspicious of mischief.’[801] What a world! What a world ‘agog to be all equal to French barbers.’[802]

Then, suddenly, these Federalists ceased to grin, when Democratic Clubs, suggestive of those of Paris, appeared like magic everywhere, differing according to the community and character of their leadership. It was not riff-raff in Philadelphia where David Rittenhouse was president, but it was sinister enough with its bold assertion that free men should ‘regard with attention and discuss without fear the conduct of public servants.’[803] That at Norfolk summoned patriots to a courageous expression of their sentiments in answer to ‘the tyrants of the world’ united ‘to crush the infant spirit of freedom’ in France.[804] Strangely enough, they were nowhere so extreme as in Charleston where the ‘Saint Cecilia Society’ scorned the membership of plebeians or men in trade; and where Robert Goodloe Harper, fresh from the country and poor, rose rapidly to fame as the vice-president of the Jacobin Club, wearing a ‘red rouge with great grace and dignity.’[805] And nowhere did they mean so much to the Jeffersonians as in New England where they were giving political importance to the masses. Even the Germans of Philadelphia organized to serve liberty and equality in their native tongue.[806]

The shrieks of protest from the Federalists against these clubs is inexplicable to the twentieth century. Like innumerable clubs for public purposes to-day, they were composed of the wise and foolish, the vicious and virtuous, but their purpose was to discuss and disseminate information on public affairs. Some then, as now, passed asinine resolutions, but that which alarmed the Hamiltonians was that they created power for the masses. Had not Fenno preached and preached that the masses were to be ruled and satisfied? The merchants should have their Chambers of Commerce; the financiers and even speculators could organize to influence public action—but what right had the ‘man of no particular importance’ to interfere?

In brief, these clubs were vicious because democratic. These ‘demoniacal societies,’ as Wolcott preferred to call them, were ‘nurseries of sedition’ because ‘they are formed for the avowed purpose of a general influence and control upon measures of government.’[807] It was ‘sedition’ in those days for people of no special significance to hold views in opposition to the policies of their rulers. It was the kind of sedition that Jefferson liked. From his home on the river he watched their organizations multiply and grow with a fond, hopeful interest. They were his Citizens’ Training Camps where the army he was to lead to victory was being trained for political war.

VIII

Meanwhile, how fared neutrality on the part of England and France? On the part of Genêt, badly enough. Week by week some outrage was committed; and, worse still, the young fanatic was persuading himself of the propriety of his actions. The cheers in the streets convinced him that he could defy the President and appeal with safety to the people. He could hear the comparatively few extremists because they shouted loudest. Day by day he was becoming more intolerable. Devoted to the cause of revolutionary France, Jefferson sought to curb the impetuosity of its Minister in the interest of the cause, but toward the latter part of June he was plainly worried.[808]

The British were as arrogant and impudent. Outrages on American ships and the impressment of American seamen were almost daily occurrences, and protests to the Government in London brought no response.[809] ‘Ships stopped, insulted, searched; cargoes confiscated; seamen seized, impressed, and thrown into jails; until Thomas Pinckney, the American Minister in London, was overwhelmed with his correspondence with Newgate Jail—for the poor wretches there were begging him for succor he could not give. He was met with a courteous smile and contemptuous indifference.’[810]

In American waters British as well as French were arming and equipping, and into American ports sailed English vessels with prizes taken in direct violation of the treaty with France. Then came the Orders in Council of June 8th ordering British ships to capture and take to British ports all vessels with foodstuffs destined for France.

On the day before this Order went into effect, a goodly company of English sympathizers met at Richardet’s Tavern in Philadelphia to celebrate the birthday of George III. An elegant dinner, unmarred by the presence of any part of the ‘rabble,’ with a guest list reading like a page from a Social Register. Enthusiasm bubbled, and ‘Ça Ira’ was not sung. The orchestra played ‘God Save the King.’ That monarch was toasted, and they toasted the Queen, and Hammond the British Minister, and Phineas Bond, the British Consul. They toasted Washington once and ‘Neutrality’ twice. And they brought a perfect evening to a close with another toast: ‘The Red Coats and Wooden Walls of Old England.’[811] Fenno in the Federalist organ published a sympathetic account which was read with varying emotions from Mrs. Bingham’s library to the beer saloon on Front Street. Even the soberest began to wonder if neutrality was one-sided. Nowhere was neutrality appealing to the masses as just, wise, or fair.

One June morning, Washington drove out of Philadelphia in a phaëton and pair for a fortnight’s visit home,[812] and six days later the first of a brilliant and powerful series of articles by ‘Pacificus’ began to run in Fenno’s paper. By the light of the candles, Hamilton was rushing into the breach with a pen that was mightier than a sword.

IX

No one doubted the identity of ‘Pacificus.’ None but the man in the Pemberton house was capable of such brilliancy, audacity, and dash in controversy. His purpose was twofold—to justify the Proclamation of Neutrality, and convince the people that they had greatly exaggerated the services of France in the Revolution. In the first paper he defended the constitutional right of the President to issue the Proclamation without a consultation with Congress. In the second he released the country from all treaty obligations on the ground that France was waging an offensive war. In the third he appealed to fear with the assertion that if we sought to serve our ally we should be forced to wage war on the sea against the combined fleets of the coalition. In the fifth he treated the claims of France on American gratitude as trivial and absurd.[813] In the sixth he paid a tribute to the stupid Louis, attacking the French people for executing their king. In the last he urged the timeliness and necessity of the Proclamation. Brilliant letters, mingling truth and sophistry, but readable—and they were read with mingled emotions. Society was enchanted, the ‘mob’ roared, and even Jefferson, who never made the Hamiltonian mistake of underestimating a foe, was concerned.

When ‘Pacificus’ was appearing, Jefferson was summering under his plane trees near Philadelphia, Madison was sweltering in his Virginia home, wishing nothing better than a release from political duties. As Jefferson sat under the trees with Fenno’s paper before him, he instantly appreciated the necessity of a reply, and he ordered Madison to the task. Nothing could have been more distasteful to the mild little man suffering ‘a distressing lassitude from the excessive and continued heat of the season,’ and with avowed reluctance he undertook the task.[814] But in August, Madison’s replies were running in all the papers—forceful, spirited, rapid in reasoning, making telling points with citations from Hamilton’s articles in ‘The Federalist.’[815] He denied the power of the President to declare a treaty no longer operative. Proof? The best—Hamilton’s Number 75 of ‘The Federalist.’ Challenge the right of a nation to abolish an old government and establish a new? Why, it ‘is the only lawful tenure by which the United States hold their existence as a nation.’

But the two sets of letters merely served to keep the discussion going. The papers were doing their part. ‘This discussion must cease,’ wrote Fenno. ‘The Government has said we must be neutral and the people have no right to question its wisdom.’ Freneau sniffed and snorted forth satirical articles on the infallibility of rulers.[816] No writer presuming to castigate the democrats was spared. ‘Justice’ was pouring forth indignant eloquence against them. Ah, sneered Freneau—

The bitterness intensified with the heat of the summer. A satirical letter ascribed to a Tory in Philadelphia to one in London rejoicing over the turn American affairs had taken, went the rounds of the Democratic press. Washington was not spared. He ‘is well surrounded, well advised.’ Hamilton moved the correspondent to rapture—‘that great prop of our cause, that intrepid enemy of liberty.’ Just read the third of the ‘Pacificus’ letters ‘and judge ... if there is anything criminal which honest Pacificus has not undertaken to defend.’[819]

‘A blessed situation truly,’ exclaimed ‘Consistent Federalist,’ referring to the recent Orders in Council. ‘Camillus and Pacificus come forward and vindicate the lenity of Britain; continue to blast the French, and vent their spleen on the only nation that seems disposed to befriend us.’[820] ‘Go on, then, Pacificus,’ wrote ‘Ironicus,’ ‘traduce the French nation and the combined powers of Europe will thank you for your assiduity.’[821] Soon the Democrats were grinning over the satirical announcement of the forthcoming book ‘collected from the immortal work of Pacificus’ on how to destroy free government by ‘aristocracy and despotism.’[822]

X

But Hamilton could afford to disregard the attacks—he had Genêt working on his side. Never had conditions seemed so promising to the light-headed and hot-headed young diplomat than on July 4th, when he had licked his chops over the opportunity to decline an invitation to dine with the Cincinnati on the ground that he would not sit down at the same table with the Viscount de Noailles.[823] There were other celebrations in Philadelphia more to his taste.

It was at this moment that the brig Little Sarah, a French prize, was being rapidly converted into a privateer with the view to sending it to sea regardless of neutrality. Governor Mifflin sent his secretary, A. J. Dallas, scurrying through the midnight streets to Genêt’s residence to order him to keep the vessel in port. The young fire-eater raved and ranted, and said strange things about appealing over the head of the President to the people. Jefferson, hearing of the incident, hurried in on Sunday from the country, listened to Genêt’s cocky talk, attempted to reason with him without success, but left with the feeling that the ship would not be sent to sea before Washington’s return from Mount Vernon.

The Cabinet met on Monday at the State House. Hamilton and Knox proposed establishing a battery on Mud Island and firing on the vessel if it sought to reach the sea. Hamilton vehemently denounced the French. Jefferson, having in mind his representations to England, was not at all sure that the violations of neutrality were on one side. He stoutly protested against any measure that might lead to war without a consultation with Washington.

Three days later the Little Sarah was still in Philadelphia and Washington returned. Hamilton and Knox were instantly on his neck. Jefferson, ill with fever, had prepared all the papers in the case for the President’s use, marked them for ‘instant attention,’ left them on his desk, and retired to his home. Glancing at the papers, Washington sent a peremptory summons to Jefferson’s office. Learning then of his absence, a note was sent to the sick man’s home sizzling with indignation over Genêt’s threat, and requiring Jefferson’s opinion on procedure ‘even before to-morrow morning, for the vessel may be gone.’ Jefferson kept his temper—unless it is betrayed in the brevity and cold dignity of the reply: ‘T. J. is himself of opinion that whatever is aboard of her of arms, ammunition, or men, contrary to the rules heretofore laid down by the President, ought to be withdrawn.’

It was after this that the Little Sarah put to sea.

The lunatic caperings of Genêt had been maddening to Jefferson, who instantly sensed the inevitable reaction against his party, and the ease with which the sophisticated reasoning of the Federalists could confuse, in the public mind, the cause of the French Revolution with the insolence of its Minister. Wherever his influence could be successfully exerted, he divorced his followers from the addle-brained diplomat who had become raving mad. To Madison he complained of the continued adherence of Freneau and Greenleaf to Genêt.[824] Dr. Hutchinson had informed him that ‘Genêt has totally overturned the republican interest in Philadelphia.’ Referring to the threat to appeal to the people over Washington’s head, he added: ‘I can assure you it is a fact.’[825]

Justifications for the fears of the leader under the plane trees were soon reaching him from Madison in Virginia, who had a plan afoot for the complete divorcing of Genêt from the Jeffersonian Party and from the cause of the French Republic. He prepared resolutions and arranged for their adoption in various county meetings in Virginia. One copy was sent to Edmund Pendleton of Caroline; Monroe was sent with another copy to Staunton. Still another went to Charlottesville.[826] The first of the county meetings to adopt the Madison Resolutions was at Caroline with Pendleton in the chair, and they were hurried to the newspapers throughout the country. They declared devotion to the Constitution, to the cause of peace, and to Washington, were warmly appreciative of the debt of gratitude to France, sympathetic toward her struggle for liberty, and denunciatory of the attempt to alienate the two republics and to drive the United States in the direction of monarchy and England.[827] They were sent to Washington, whose reply must have been galling to the English party with its laudation of France and the republican principle of government.[828] The Jeffersonian press gave the reply the widest possible publicity.

Thus, through July, August, and September the two parties contended over the threat of Genêt, each playing for advantage. Comparatively few extremists offered any excuse for the ruined Minister, who was despised by Jefferson and Madison for compromising their party and the cause of France. ‘His conduct has been that of a madman,’ wrote Madison to Monroe.[829] Even the Democratic Clubs followed the line laid down in Madison’s Caroline Resolutions.

XI

Such was the inflammatory state of parties when on August 1st, Jefferson, Hamilton, Knox, and Randolph arrived at the Morris house to discuss with Washington the disposition to be made of Genêt.

Knox was not given to finesse when his passions were involved. ‘Send him out of the country,’ and without ceremony, he said. Publish all the correspondence in an appeal to the people before Genêt could carry out his threat, urged Hamilton. For forty-five minutes he spoke impassionedly, attacking Genêt, denouncing the Democratic Societies, assailing France. Jefferson, sitting in silence, thought it was an excellent ‘jury speech.’

Randolph spoke in opposition to radical measures, and the meeting adjourned until the morrow.

The next day Hamilton again took the floor and spoke again for three quarters of an hour with unrestrained bitterness. As he sat down, Jefferson rose. He was not alarmed over the Democratic Clubs. They would die if left alone and would grow on proscription and persecution. Publish the facts and decisions of the President on the whole foreign controversy? Those decisions had been reached with divisions in the Cabinet—was it desired to proclaim that condition to the country? Was it desirable to injure our friend France with a stab, in the face of her enemies, the allied kings of Europe?

It was here that Knox broke in with references to Freneau’s attacks on Washington. He had calculated the effect. The President flew into a rage, and the meeting adjourned because of the turmoil and excitement.[830] Determined to manage his own department, Jefferson thereupon sat down to the preparation of a letter to the American Minister in Paris, setting forth with scrupulous fairness and severity the antics of Genêt, and asking his recall. The sting to France was removed with an eloquent protestation of friendship. Hamilton at no time drew so damning and effective an indictment of Genêt, but all this was lost upon him because of the note of friendliness to France.[831]

Twelve days after the first meeting, the Cabinet again sat about the council table in the Morris house listening to the Jefferson draft. It was so unassailable that it was unanimously accepted—with one exception. Jefferson had referred to a possible conflict between the two republics as ‘liberty warring on itself.’ Hamilton moved to strike out these words, Knox parroting his master’s suggestion. Washington favored their retention, expressing the conviction that France, despite her blunders, was fighting for liberty; but Randolph voted with Hamilton and Knox against Washington and Jefferson, and the words were stricken out.[832]

In due time Genêt was recalled. That episode was over. Jefferson had won his fight to prevent a rupture with France—but it had cost him dearly.

XII

As early as May, Jefferson had been able to put his finger on the French and English parties in this country. With the English, the fashionable circles, the merchants trading on English capital, the supporters of the Treasury, the old Tory families; with the French, the small merchants, the tradesmen, mechanics, farmers, ‘and every other possible description of our citizens.’[833] There was no doubt in his mind as to the position of the social circles of Philadelphia—he was made to feel it. The men were courteous in his presence, and he still dined occasionally with the Binghams and Robert Morris, though the ladies were but chillingly polite. The friend of the ‘filthy democrats,’ as Mrs. Washington is said to have called them, was, to them, beyond the pale. Mr. Hammond, the English Minister, was such a charming man! A few of the French noblemen, once numbered among the dissolute loafers of Versailles, were to be found frequently drinking Bingham’s wine, paying courtly compliments to the women, and making love to the daughters of the house a bit clandestinely, as Mrs. Bingham was to find to her dismay a little later. Not a few of the social leaders had been ‘presented’ at court in both France and England, and they never recovered. Others looked forward to a possible presentation as the consummation of a life’s ambition. Kings were adorable creatures, after all, and queens were as ‘sweet queens’ as Fanny Burney found hers, and the nobility was so elegant! As for the ‘people’—were they not as the rabble who had cut off the head of the lovable Louis? And Jefferson was the enemy of kings, the idol of the rabble—and what was worse, their defender. The men thought his principles askew, but the women knew that his heart was black.

Thus it was fortunate that during the exciting summer of 1793, Jefferson could retire to the solitude of his murmuring plane trees and let society buzz. Even the Philadelphia streets were cold to him. Party feeling was running amuck. Old acquaintances pretended not to see each other as they passed. It was true everywhere. Even Noah Webster was complaining bitterly of this party narrowness in New York. ‘Examine the detached clubs at the Coffee-House,’ he wrote, ‘there you will see persons of the same family associated. Go into the private families at dinner and on evening visits, there you will find none but people of the same party.’[834]

When Jefferson remained in town after leaving his office, he spent more and more time in the library of the Philosophical Society, at the home of Dr. Rush talking books more than politics, or he went to the welcome shade of ‘Stenton,’ where he was always sure of a cordial greeting from Dr. Logan and that incomparable Quakeress who was his wife. To Madison he opened his heart in the lament that he found ‘even the rare hours of relaxation sacrificed to the society of persons ... of whose hatreds I am conscious even in those moments of conviviality when the heart wishes most to open itself to the effusions of friendship and confidence, cut off from my family and friends ... in short giving everything I love in exchange for everything I hate.’[835] The attacks on Washington, which society ascribed to the influence of Jefferson, made his position all the more unpleasant. Articles signed ‘Democrat’, or ‘Veritas’ foully assailing the President appeared in Federalists papers. The worst of these, Jefferson thought, were written by his enemies for the purpose of embittering decent men against his party. It was even whispered about that he was the author of the ‘Veritas’ letters, for Genêt, in an attempt to impress his Government with his own power, hinted that Jefferson had written them. The latter talked it over with Tobias Lear, the President’s secretary, and made an investigation of his own, concluding that the author was William Irvine, a clerk in the Comptroller’s office. ‘I have long suspected this detestible game was playing by the fiscal party to place the President on their side,’ Jefferson wrote.[836] It was manifestly absurd, but society preferred to believe it.

Unpleasant as was the attitude of the fashionable circles, it was not so offensive to Jefferson as the constant quarreling and intriguing in official circles. He complained that he and Hamilton were always against each other like cocks in a pit. He was never fond of futile disputation. His own views were fixed, as were those of his opponent. He was too much the philosopher to enjoy argumentation that accomplished nothing. Long before that summer he had wanted to retire, and, as we have seen, had only been dissuaded by the importunities of Washington, but he was now intolerably tired of it all. Acknowledging a letter from a friend in Paris, he had written, in reference to the ‘oppressive scenes of business,’ that ‘never was mortal more tired of these than I am.’[837] Three months earlier, he had promised his daughter Martha that the next year they would ‘sow [their] cabbages together.’

By July the situation was becoming unendurable. It was about this time, when he was writing his notes to Hammond, the British Minister, who was an intimate friend of Hamilton’s, that Oliver Wolcott, the mere shadow of his chief, was bitterly complaining of Jefferson’s ‘duplicity of character’ in treating Hammond harshly.[838] These were the notes to which John Marshall gave the highest praise in his ‘Life of Washington,’ but the observation of Wolcott reflected the tone of society.

On July 31st, the philosopher-politician seated under his plane trees might have read an attack upon himself in Fenno’s paper charging him with crimes against his country committed in such a way as ‘to keep him out of reach of the law.’[839] That very day he sat down at his desk to write his resignation. Six days later, Washington drove out to Jefferson’s country place, and out on the lawn sought again to dissuade his Secretary of State from his purpose. But he had had enough. With some bitterness, he told the President that ‘the laws of society oblige me always to move exactly in the circle which I know to bear me peculiar hatred ... and thus surrounded, my words are caught up, multiplied, misconstrued, and even fabricated and spread abroad to my injury.’[840] Convinced that Jefferson was unshakable, Washington discussed, with him, a possible successor. He favored Madison, but feared he would not accept, and then asked Jefferson’s opinion of Jay and Smith, both rabid Hamiltonians. Jefferson asked him if he had ever thought of Chancellor Livingston. He had—but Hamilton was from New York. What did Jefferson know about Wolcott? ‘I have heard him characterized as a very cunning man,’ was the dry reply. It was finally agreed that Jefferson should remain on until January.[841]

XIII

August was a dreadful month in Philadelphia, a dry, deadening heat making the days and nights unbearable. Any one walking near Water Street was sickened by the fetid smells from the stinking wharves. Politically conditions were as depressing. The bitter party struggle went on. Even the heat and smells could not give it pause. Bache’s paper published a letter describing Viscount de Noailles as ‘a man who was employed by the late King of France to bribe the members of the Convention ... and afterwards ran off with the money’; and the next day the nobleman, swords and pistols in his eyes, appeared to demand that the editor publish a denial and furnish the name of the author of the article. Thinking discretion the better part of valor, Bache gave ‘Mr. Pascal, the Secretary of Genêt,’ as the author and society expected a French duel—to be disappointed.[842] Genêt was hurrying off to New York to accept an ovation and the Hamiltonians began to lose faith in Washington, because he sat ‘with folded arms’ and let the Government ‘be carried on by town meetings.’ The Federalists were concluding that town meetings were a vicious influence. Meetings of Chambers of Commerce were different.[843] But it was reserved for Boston to give the Federalists their greatest shock when at the masthead of the French frigate La Concorde, appeared the names of eleven staid men of the city placarded as ‘aristocrats,’ and unfriendly to the French Republic. The charge was true, but here was something that smacked of the Terror in Paris. With the town seething with righteous wrath, a committee boarded the vessel and demanded the removal of the placard. The officers expressed surprise that it was there, apologized, removed it. But the opportunity was too good to be lost. ‘I wish to know what is to be their [the eleven citizens’] punishment, and who is to execute it,’ wrote ‘A Free American’ in the ‘Centinel.’ ‘Are they to suffer by the lamp post or by the guillotine here, or are they to be sent in irons to Paris to suffer there?’[844] Viewing the scene, as became a Cabot, from the vantage-point of aristocratic aloofness, George Cabot was alarmed. He wrote King of his ‘amazement’ at ‘the rapid growth of Jacobin feeling.’ Why had not the truth concerning France been told the people? Had she not ‘obstructed our commercial views?’[845] Had Cabot unbent to the reading of the ‘Independent Chronicle’ of his city he might have understood the cause of the ‘growth of Jacobin feeling.’ It fairly teemed with the French and their Revolution. ‘In case of distress whence is our succor to arise?’ it demanded. ‘Is there one among the combined powers contending against France on whose cordiality we could depend?’[846] Ask the soldier of our Revolution who helped win American independence. ‘Who were the men who marched in columns to the capture of Cornwallis—or whose navy thundered the music of that defeat?’[847]

Then, with September, the reaper of Death stalked through the streets of Philadelphia.

XIV

It began with the filth and sickening smells of Water Street and spread like the deadly gas of modern battle-fields over the city. The poor of the congested quarters near the water-front fell like flies in winter. Soon it spread to the best residential sections. The evident inability of the physicians to cope with the disease increased the terror. Washington was ordered out of the city and hastened to Mount Vernon, and Knox took to precipitate flight.[848] Soon all the great houses were closed, and every one who could afford it abandoned his business and fled from the stricken city. Soon half the houses were abandoned, and they who remained locked their doors, closed the windows, and lived in complete isolation as far as possible.[849]

Day and night the death-carts rumbled through the town and a covered wagon was kept busy conveying the sick to Bush Hill Hospital in the country—a dismal wagon with a bed, drawn by a weary horse.[850] With half the stores closed, the upward bound in the cost of provisions intensified the distress of the poor.[851] The streets were as those of a dead city, no one caring to brush against the black robe of the grim reaper that was taking such an appalling harvest. One observer looking down the street one day could not see a single soul.[852] Terror seized upon every one. Lifelong friends evaded one another like guilty creatures. Even the families of the stricken fled, leaving the suffering to die in barbarous neglect.[853] One man determined to remain in the city, but passing twelve corpses in the streets, he summoned a carriage and fled in horror.[854] Only the negroes seemed immune, and ‘much to their honor, they ... zealously contributed all in their power.’[855] And to accentuate the horror, the rumble of the death-cart, the cries of the dying, the groans of the abandoned, were mingled with the bold footsteps of the robbers making their way from one deserted mansion to another.’[856] Panic everywhere. A toothache, and the victim was on the verge of collapse from fright—it was the fever.[857] Timothy Pickering had a twinge, and off he hastened to the doctor to be bled, put on a starvation diet, and sent on long horseback rides into the country ‘for pure air.’ Many died literally from fear, and the horror of the scenes and sounds.[858]

When the death toll mounted from scores to hundreds, from hundreds to thousands, the neighboring villages and towns met to devise plans for keeping the Philadelphians away, and one of these threatened to receive them ‘at the point of the bayonet.’[859] The hospitals were packed—two hundred Irishmen in the Naval Hospital alone.[860] Meanwhile the physicians were fighting courageously, desperately, but blindly and futilely. Fisher Ames, who had a malicious humor, was amused at their plight and methods. ‘All vouch success—none have it,’ he wrote, ‘and like Sangrado’s patients they die for want of bleeding and warm water enough.’ One doctor treated the disease as a plague—‘his patients died’; he adopted Rush’s methods—‘they died.’ He hit upon a combination of the methods—‘all died.’[861] Bache filled his columns with cures and suggestions, but the death-rate increased frightfully. It was impossible to keep a record. On October 20th, Wolcott wrote Washington that ‘more than four thousand persons have died,’ and the next day Pickering wrote him that ‘about three thousand have died.’[862] As many as 517 were buried in the Potter’s Field between August 19th and October 1st.[863]

The streets deserted, houses closed, death-like silence but for the rattle of burial wagons and the groans of the stricken, the tread of robbers in the night—the horrors deepened. No one understood the reason why—no one but Alexander Graydon, who thought it a grim visitation of God to purge the foul hearts of the Philadelphians because of their enthusiasm for French democracy. One of the democrats had fallen early, when Dr. Hutchinson paid his profession the honor of dying in the harness. One day he met a friend in the street and urged him to take his family and leave. Was the Doctor going? No, he felt it his duty to stay and serve the sick. Was he not afraid? Well, he thought he would probably fall a victim, and bade the friend farewell. A few days later he was dead—the greatest hero of the scourge.[864]

Meanwhile, Jefferson, living in the country, thought it his duty to go to the city every day, and did. And then Graydon’s God made a blunder that must have made the angels weep—he struck Hamilton down with the blow that must have been intended for the Jacobin Jefferson.

Living two miles out in the country, Hamilton was stricken violently. Having given thought to the disease, he had conceived that cold water would be effective. He summoned Dr. Stevens and many attendants—‘the method being expensive’—and through cold water and bark he was cured.[865] ‘Colonel Hamilton is ill of the fever but is recovering,’ Jefferson wrote Robert Morris who had taken to flight.[866] By the time the country knew of Hamilton’s peril he had recovered, and, with his family, had hastened to the Schuylers at Albany.

With the approach of winter the disease receded—died out.