Scandalmonger: A Novel

by William Safire

  Hamilton nodded again. “But by challenging that, too, I may embolden the jury to emulate the Zenger jurors of the last century.”

  Harison could only blink and shake his head in wonderment at their daring. Here was Hamilton planning to argue against centuries of English precedent that defined libel, true or false, to be any publication that breached the peace. And on top of that, he had in mind to empower the jury at the expense of the judge.

  Harison was about to point out the audacity, if not the foolishness, of such a courtroom course. But then he asked himself: why not? With Madison and Jay, Hamilton was the man who wrote The Federalist Papers, making the definitive case for the Constitution. This aide to Washington, Revolutionary hero, first Treasury Secretary—by dint of his genius for articulation did more to persuade the States to ratify the Federal Constitution than any man alive. Even political enemies acknowledged him to be, along with John Marshall, among the most brilliant legal minds in the nation. Who was to say this man could not stretch the boundaries of the received wisdom about the common law, or give the musty traditions a new construction? Certainly not his law partner.

  If they did not win at trial, perhaps on appeal; if not then, perhaps Hamilton’s argument would be taken up by the State legislature and the law would be changed. If New York’s constitution precluded that, it could be amended, and State constitutions across the land would follow, thereby thwarting Jefferson’s plan to use State libel laws to silence sedition throughout the nation. It was a heady thought, mixing politics and law on a grand scale.

  “I take it, General,” said Harison carefully, “that you are inviting these fundamental controversies as a way of dramatizing—not just to the jury, but to the general public—the import of what the witness Callender has to say about Jefferson’s betrayal of Washington. What you call ‘the foul act.’ ”

  “Surely it is not an immaterial thing,” Hamilton acknowledged, looking pointedly at a portrait of Washington on his office wall, “that a high official character should be capable of saying anything against the father of this country. It is important to our country, to us all, whether the charges made by Callender, and reprinted by Croswell, be true or false. It is important to the reputation of Mr. Jefferson, against whom Callender’s charges are made, that they should be examined.” They sat in silence for a moment, until Hamilton concluded, almost in a whisper, “It will be a glorious triumph for truth.”

  Harison was pleased to see Hamilton almost his old vigorous self again. Ever since his son Philip was killed in a duel and his daughter Angelica went mad, the fire had gone out of him. The energetic executive who roused his countrymen to great enterprises had seemed enervated, as if at sea for too long; this case strengthened his spirit and stimulated his mind.

  The partners both assumed the Jeffersonians would anticipate that Callender would be called the moment they learned the Hamilton firm had taken the case. Not many other law firms would have the daring, or the wherewithal, to bring a witness nearly five hundred miles up the coast. Croswell’s original attorney, William Van Ness—known to be a friend of Aaron Burr’s, but a sound lawyer—had expressed the worry that republicans might try to intimidate or suborn Callender to prevent his appearance. Perhaps they thought a postmastership would buy his silence.

  Hamilton directed his partner to go to Richmond the following week, to bring Callender to New York and put him up in a secret location here at whatever the expense. He said to advise him that as a witness in a court action, the editor ran no risk of libel in reporting all the proceedings daily, especially including his own testimony so damning to the high-placed slanderers of Washington.

  Harison knew that Hamilton could make much of the piquant irony in all this. President Jefferson had ostentatiously pardoned everyone convicted under the hated Federal Sedition Act, to great public applause, but now—in power—Jefferson was encouraging States to circumvent the spirit of the Constitution’s First Amendment, drafted hardly a decade ago by Madison, now his Secretary of State. But General Hamilton, long denied the attention of the nation, was now allied with Callender, his former tormenter, in the newsworthy defense of an appealing young journalist. Hamilton would have an unparalleled forum to expose his lifelong rival as a thoroughgoing hypocrite.

  “I’ll see what ship is scheduled for Baltimore or Washington, and from there on to Richmond,” Harison promised. As he rose to go, he could see fresh dirt dug up in a patch just outside the window. “You’re planting?”

  “Charles Pinckney was good enough to send me some melon seeds,” said the new country squire. “A garden, you know, is a very useful refuge for a disappointed politician.” He indicated a large birdcage in the corner of the room. “And he sent those Carolina paroquets for Angelica. She is very fond of birds.”

  Harison swallowed at the sad reference to the troubled young woman and hurried out to his carriage. It was important to get to Callender before any of Jefferson’s allies tried to bully him or buy his silence. His witness would make all the difference.

  Chapter 49

  July 10, 1803

  NEW YORK CITY

  Richmond Hill was widely reputed to be the moft elegant home in the State of New York. Its private library numbered 6,000 volumes; not as extensive as Thomas Jefferson’s famed collection of books at Monticello, but impressive to most visitors of intellect. English and French furniture graced the spacious rooms; the stables housed blooded Arabian horses. Its upkeep was driving Aaron Burr toward bankruptcy.

  The cost of living at his second lodging, in Washington City, took up the $5,000 a year he received in salary as Vice President. Knowing he was, in a word, strapped, Burr put Richmond Hill on the market for $150,000. When that drew no takers, he was forced to turn to his daughter Theodosia’s husband for a substantial loan.

  More distressing to him than his financial predicament was his political position. He was aware that Jefferson and the republicans distrusted him profoundly, as a result of the awkwardness surrounding the tie vote in the 1800 campaign. All he had done was to refuse to close the door to a possible Presidency; what politician in his right mind would have done differently? At the same time, Hamilton and many of the fragmented Federalists despised him cordially, a sentiment he returned with cool ferocity.

  Both political roads to the presidency in 1805 thus appeared closed to him. His informants told him that Jefferson, seeking a Vice President who would pose no challenge to his Virginia dynasty, was inclined to pick George Clinton, the intermittent Governor of New York, who was all too pleased at the prospect of stepping into that semi-retirement in the eddies of the stream of power currently occupied restlessly by Burr.

  However, that would leave open the Governorship of New York. With republicans set to make the City’s current Mayor their candidate, and Hamilton certain to block Burr’s chances for the Federalist nomination, that meant Burr would have to stand as an independent, unaffiliated with any organized faction. If he won—and Burr still controlled the Tammany Society, which would place him in contention—then he would be in a position to listen to the rumblings from discontented Federalists and resentful republicans throughout New England.

  Some leaders there had confided in him a daring plan: Massachusetts, Connecticut, Pennsylvania and New York, which controlled most of the nation’s manufacturing and commerce, had little in common with the Virginia and Carolina farming aristocracies. The issue of slavery also separated the sections of the agglomeration of Colonies. These States were far from “United”; why not separate into nations of the like-minded?

  He looked at Hamilton’s Evening Post on the table in his library. Even as Burr had been mulling this idea of secession of the Northern States to form a New England nation, the stunning news of Monroe’s coup in Europe broke in the newspapers.

  Jefferson, Madison and Monroe had been secretly negotiating to buy the City of New Orleans from Napoleon. But the French leader astounded them, and the world, by offering to sell out his complete position in the New
World. The sheer size of the offer was staggering. What drove him to it? Some said the would-be Emperor needed to finance his European conquests; others held that the yellow fever had so weakened France’s force in the Indies that invasion of the North American continent was impossible. Burr suspected that the dictator of France thought that he could create a new commercial competition between Britain and its radically expanded colonies so fierce that France would benefit. If that was his strategy, the much-feared Frenchman was a dunce who had just given up for a pittance the most valuable mass of property in the world.

  The deal was struck for 80 million francs, or $16 million. Monroe insisted it included Florida, although Spain disputed that claim. Burr knew that the Spaniards had hoped that France, in the great western expanses of the Louisiana Territory, would block American expansion toward their Mexican colony and the rich realm to the south. Napoleon betrayed the Spaniards’ trust. Whatever the boundaries were, the size of the United States was at least doubled overnight, and total control of the Mississippi River fell unexpectedly into the nation’s hands.

  Even Hamilton’s Evening Post was agog at the development just brought back from Europe. Vice President Burr saw the irony that so many would surely miss: financing from the United States Bank, which Hamilton had formed over Jefferson’s repeated objections, made it possible for the United States to make a purchase that meant Jefferson would be harder than ever to beat in the coming election.

  Who could best administer this vast new territory, incorporating into the United States? Burr had persuaded himself that he was the best man for that post; he had only to persuade President Jefferson of his ability to fasten the new land tightly to the nation. At the same time, Burr could make private plans to ultimately make it an independent nation.

  Alternative vistas opened for the isolated Vice President. As New York Governor, he could become the leader of a secession of New England to form a new and more cohesive Union. The other way was as master of the Louisiana Territory, leader of another new nation that would soon conquer the Spaniards and strike down through Mexico to open another continent. That Western alternative, combining secession with conquest, piqued his sense of adventure. Burr doubted that Jefferson could be persuaded of his loyalty, but before challenging Jefferson in New York by running for Governor, he would see him to make the effort to win the post with headquarters at New Orleans.

  “A Mrs. Clement to see you, Colonel. The lady says you are expecting her.”

  Maria was as statuesque and striking as he remembered her, the level blue eyes still challenging, but her face was pale. She held herself stiffly; he presumed her back was painful again, which often happened when she was deeply worried or harried. “The voyage must have been exhausting,” he said, taking her hand when she did not offer her cheek.

  “The James River packet to Norfolk was delayed,” she reported, “and I missed the connecting ship to Baltimore and New York. But I got here last week in time to receive Susan from Boston.”

  “How is your daughter?”

  “Susan is upset,” she said. “We’re so grateful to you for making it possible for us to meet privately. This week has been hard, but I think we helped each other.”

  He was aware that the girl was in difficulty. His friend at the seminary had informed him that Susan Lewis was morose at times, defiant and insubordinate at others. Burr presumed that the years of secret shame with her mother—and the continuing need to lie about her identity—combined with the natural turmoil of a girl at her stage of life to produce considerable mental strain.

  Burr had his own worries about his motherless daughter, Theodosia. After the two friends shared their trials of single parenthood, Maria expressed a desire to return to Richmond quickly.

  “I had hoped we could spend some evenings together while you were here,” he said. She was as attractive at thirty-two as she had been to him at nineteen, when he secretly shared her favors with the voluptuary Hamilton. His feeling for her had deepened and mellowed over the years. Maria and he had been through different but equally hot crucibles of political fire, remaining constant friends and occasional lovers.

  “I would like that, of course,” she said, “but I must get back. I’ve written you about the man I’ve been seeing. He’s alone and in danger, I fear, of slipping back into a bad habit.”

  Burr had read of Callender’s reputation for heavy drinking; Porcupine had often branded him a drunk. But Maria did not know that the danger he faced was greater than that from a bottle. He thought it odd that she wanted to be faithful to him; Maria had many attributes, emotional and surely physical, but conjugal fidelity had never been one of them. They were both getting older.

  “A close associate of mine needs your help,” Burr told her. “His name is William Van Ness and he’s upstairs right now. He and your old friend Hamilton are working together on a legal matter that could embarrass the President. It could involve Callender, and we need your advice. I have no public involvement in this at all, you understand.”

  She could keep a secret. He sent for Van Ness.

  She extended her gloved hand. Van Ness was a young man who struck her as a bit too well dressed and self-assured. Burr introduced him to “my longtime client, Mrs. Clement, who is now resident in Richmond. She counts among her friends there James Callender, a man you are interested in.”

  “We’re thinking of calling Callender as a witness for the defense in a libel suit,” said Van Ness. “What sort of witness do you think he’d be?”

  “If he is called as a witness, James will tell the truth. Perhaps more than you want. He often says he regards the truth as a kind of hammer.”

  “That’s an interesting figure of speech, Mrs. Clement. What does he mean by it?”

  “He says he uses the truth to smash barriers of lies,” she replied. “There is no stopping him. I don’t think he can stop himself when he gets that hammer in his hand.”

  “Would you say he would appear to the average person—a juror, in this case—as a man filled with hatred?”

  “There is some of that in him,” she said, “but not so much directed at this man or that man. What angers him most is the way men are corrupted by the lust for power.” She looked at Burr. “That frightens and disappoints him, and I think he hates to find himself frightened and disappointed.”

  “Someone who has seen him recently tells our friends that Mr. Callender claims to have a half-dozen more scandals ready to publish,” said Van Ness, in what Maria thought was an unctuous tone; nobody ever called the notorious scandalmonger Mr. Callender. “Have you heard your friend say that to people?”

  “I have. Most of them are just suspicions on his part. He acts as if he just needs a little more information to finish his article and publish, but that is only to encourage people to tell him more. It’s his way.”

  “Do you know if he has documents in his possession—not copies, but in Mr. Jefferson’s handwriting—of the transmission of money to him from Jefferson, as he has claimed in his newspaper?”

  She looked at Burr, who nodded at her to encourage an answer. “Yes. He has shown them to me. They are not signed, however, and I have no way of knowing if the handwriting is the President’s.” Burr kept nodding; she knew that he knew she had previous experience with forged notes that Hamilton attributed to her.

  “And where does he keep these letters and documents?” Van Ness probed.

  Maria shrugged; James used to keep them under his mattress, but the month before gave them to her for safekeeping in Dr. Mathew’s house. The documents were now under her mattress in an envelope sealed with wax. That was not this lawyer’s business; she would not even tell her trusted friend, Burr.

  “The reason he asks,” Burr put in, “goes to one reason that I wanted you here rather than in Richmond. His life, and anyone close to him, may be in danger.”

  She felt a constriction in her chest in addition to her back pain. “He knows that all too well.”

  “There are those in New
York and Washington City,” Van Ness continued, “who for political reasons do not want him to be a witness at this trial. There are others locally in Richmond, more hotheaded and prone to violence, who do not want him further exposing the practices of plantation life involving the mixture of the races.”

  “I know. He gets threats all the time. I’ve seen some of the letters that contain threats to horsewhip him.”

  “Has he been drinking a lot?”

  She started; that seemed slightly off the subject. “No more than usual, a half-bottle or so a day. It makes him quiet, but it does not interfere with his work.”

  “Does he talk of suicide?”

  “Never.”

  “The reason my friend asks,” Burr interjected, “is that we hear rumors here and in Washington—and I suppose you here them in Richmond, too—that he’s been getting drunk all the time, and talks about suicide. The deliberate spreading of that rumor could mean that he is at risk of being beaten or even killed, and his office and house ransacked, possibly burned to destroy evidence. That is why it would be better for you to remain in New York a few weeks.”

  Maria could not stop tears from starting to her eyes. She looked through them to Burr: “You are Vice President of the United States. Can’t you protect him?”

  Van Ness was the one to answer. “My co-counsel in the defense of the editor of a small newspaper called the Wasp,” said the attorney, “who is a law partner of Alexander Hamilton, has already left for Richmond to bring Callender to the courthouse in Claverack, up in Columbia County.”

  “Is he likely to come?” Burr asked her.

  “To testify against Jefferson? You can’t be serious. He’ll be eager to come.” She blinked away her tears, genuinely frightened now. She wished James knew of the urgency of the need for him to get out of Richmond.

  “You’ll remain here in New York, then,” said Burr with finality.