I let him vent his spleen and, with Mrs. Washington’s wise advice in mind, I tried another tactic. That my husband was a man of studied principles, I knew without question, but I also wished that he could occasionally muster a modicum of forbearance for the foibles of others. One that might preserve one of the most important friendships in our new nation. Just this once. “So, Madison has been corrupted?” I asked.
My husband slanted me a glance. “I wouldn’t go so far as that.”
“He’s a madman, then? One day working with you side by side, then changing his mind on a lunatic whim . . .” Alexander didn’t answer, which was, in itself, a concession. And when I noticed Jenny smirk knowingly as she refilled his coffee cup, I pressed the point. “Did Mr. Madison hit his head and damage his brilliant faculties?”
Hamilton grumbled. “You make too much of his faculties. Although Madison is a clever man, he is very little acquainted with the world.”
“That may be true. But it is still no personal opposition to you. What reason would he have, other than a difference of opinion?” I let the question hang there as Hamilton finally calmed enough to resume eating the stewed apples on his plate.
“He has no personal reason to oppose me. None that he should be aware of anyway.” He said the last quietly, in a nearly absent fashion, then winced, as if he’d not meant to speak it aloud. My raised eyebrow must have demanded an explanation, because he sighed. “Last year, when Madison introduced his foolish ideas about the Tariff Act, I whispered in a few ears and made some obstacles for him. Perhaps he found me out.”
“Oh, Alexander.” My husband was a strategist, and the legislature was his game board. He was certainly not the only one to engage in backstage dealing, and his machinations were more honorable than most. This wasn’t the first time his secret schemes created mistrust amongst friends. But there was nothing to be done for it now. “What does the president say?”
“He urges me to compromise with Madison.”
I smiled, as so often George Washington and I saw things in the same way.
“So then do that, Alexander. I’ll host a dinner,” I suggested. It would be a great deal easier if Madison had a wife—the friendship of women being a necessary lubricant to remedy social frictions—but the Virginian was too mannerly to refuse our hospitality, and I felt certain we could win him back. “I know just the occasion. A party for the new secretary of state.”
* * *
LATELY ARRIVED FROM France, Thomas Jefferson appeared worldly and elegant in a fashionable dove gray satin coat and fine French lace cravat as he presented himself at my threshold. His tall frame filled the doorway, making Madison seem even shorter by comparison.
“Secretary Jefferson, what a pleasure it is to see you again,” I said, welcoming the men in from the October chill. “And Mr. Madison, it’s been too long.”
“Your invitation was most welcome, Mrs. Hamilton,” Jefferson said with a little bow. Wisps of silver shot through the Virginian’s ginger hair, but otherwise he looked much the same as he had all those years before in Philadelphia.
Madison bowed, too, and spoke with even more formal reserve than normal, a thing that concerned me. “Mrs. Hamilton. Thank you, as always, for your hospitality.”
“Of course,” I said, showing them into the dining room, where I’d worried over every detail. Angelica had told me that Jefferson was a connoisseur of fine wine, so I had Papa come and bring his best Madeira. I knew, too, that the new secretary of state ate little meat, so I planned a menu with an abundance of peas, greens, and vegetables of every variety. I had Jenny set the table with my finest dishes, and everything was so perfect that Angelica would’ve been proud of me. “Mr. Jefferson, how is your lovely daughter Patsy?”
Jefferson’s smile revealed great fatherly pride. “Patsy has recently married. She’s Mrs. Randolph now.”
“Well, then we shall add that happy occasion to our list of things to toast this evening,” I said.
“A happy occasion indeed, madam,” said Jefferson just as Alexander entered the room and greeted our guests. Though Jefferson accepted the seat of honor at the table when my husband made a show of offering it, he said, “Please, there’s no need for formality among old friends, which I feel us all to be, given our past acquaintance and all your sister-in-law has told me of you. In fact, Mrs. Church sent as a gift to me a copy of The Federalist that your amiable wife inscribed for her.”
Perhaps it was my own vanity in remembering my part in the publication of those essays that made me ask, “Have you had the opportunity to read them?”
“Indeed,” Jefferson said with a smile. “I found it to be the best commentary on the principles of government ever written.” The praise should have made Alexander smile, but neither Madison nor my husband seemed at ease.
Fortunately, Jefferson’s good social graces smoothed things over quickly, and he and Alexander fell into such deep discussion and swift agreement about coins and the mint that they did indeed seem like old friends.
I was glad for that, but the true aim of the occasion was to mend fences with Jemmy Madison, who hung on Jefferson’s every word. When Madison’s eyes lifted to the ceiling at a particularly loud shriek from the children’s nursery, I moved in to say, “My apologies. I believe that’s my daughter. I’m told that little girls are soft and manageable creatures, but mine has a war cry that would make an Iroquois chief proud.”
Madison chuckled at that, but no more. The man had accepted my invitation, as I knew he would. Yet, again and again, I found it difficult to draw Jemmy into conversation. How had a political disagreement about economic policy so chilled our friendship? Perhaps Alexander was right, and Madison had learned about my husband’s machinations against his tariff.
While I worried for Madison’s mood, Jefferson opined on the virtues of the French people. “I’ve been fortunate to see in the course of fourteen years two revolutions as the world has never seen before.”
Jefferson had a way with words that excited within me the idea that we were living in extraordinary times. My husband, by contrast, seemed less inspired by France’s attempts to throw off their monarchy. “As a friend to mankind and liberty, I rejoice in the efforts,” Alexander said. “But I fear much for the fate of those caught up in it.”
Specifically, we worried that harm would come to our friend Lafayette, who was championing the revolution in France. We knew the righteousness of his cause, but the stories of violence in Paris frightened me. I did not believe the French nobles would give up their privileges so easily. And it seemed to me as if the French revolutionaries themselves were beginning to fracture into dangerous rivalries.
But Jefferson sipped appreciatively at the Madeira and asked, “Why should you fear it, Secretary Hamilton?”
To my great vexation, my husband’s eyes traveled the length of the table and settled on Madison. “Because we should all dread destructive and petty disagreements amongst those who once stood united . . .”
My wine lodged itself in my throat, and only with a cough, and some difficulty, did I manage to swallow. If I’d learned anything about Virginians it was that a thing must be approached with them from the side. So why did my husband insist upon a frontal assault? Hadn’t my work in hosting this party been aimed at Alexander’s reconciliation with Madison—if not out of regard for their friendship, then at least in consideration of the fact that he was the one man who could thwart my husband’s plans?
Mr. Jefferson smiled indulgently, appearing to take no notice of the undercurrents. But there was a shrewdness in his eyes that made me think he missed nothing. “I think the present disquiet in France will end well. The nation has been awakened by our revolution, they feel their strength, they are enlightened, their lights are spreading, and they will not retrograde.”
His words caused a swell of patriotism within my breast. “I have always believed our revolution would be a force of good in the world. That all our suffering and privations would mean more than a new na
tion for us, but also a new age for mankind.” And I thought that Jefferson—a man with such vision—should be a natural ally for my husband; surely he would understand the magnitude of what Alexander was trying to do, and help in it.
“Well said, Mrs. Hamilton.” Jefferson gave an extraordinarily sunny smile that filled me with pride.
I was, in fact, so swept up in Jefferson’s idealism and charm, that I understood how Madison could be enthralled by the force of that man’s character and charisma. Though I didn’t know it then, that force, which made Jefferson so effective as the voice of our revolution, and so rousing as a politician and the father of a political party, was something, like love, quite beyond reason.
Like the earth’s own poles, Jefferson and my husband had the power to both repel and attract, and I realize now that Madison was trapped between them, pulled to Jefferson as much, or maybe even more, by that force of charisma as by any alignment of their ideals.
But at the time, I only knew that I wanted these men to remember all they had in common, and I lifted my glass in abandonment of all etiquette. “To the revolution, to independence, and the Constitution. And to the men at this table, all of whom made them possible.”
At that, Madison seemed to soften, giving me a private little nod as he joined in the toast. Alexander seemed more cordial, too. “And to the women as well,” he said, generously. The good feelings that finally surrounded us persuaded me to henceforth adopt a policy for the dinners that took place at my table: no man’s politics should be held against him, and all were welcome.
Conversation flowed with more ease after that, and when Hamilton saw Madison and Jefferson out, he made an invitation of his own. “Gentlemen, let’s do this again. Just the three of us. I have some thoughts on the matter of a national capital. Perhaps we can reach a compromise . . .”
Chapter Twenty-One
November 1790
Philadelphia
OVER A SECOND, private dinner of just the three of them, they’d struck a bargain.
A grand compromise.
Madison yielded, agreeing to get my husband the votes he needed for his financial plan. And on the heels of his victory, Alexander brimmed with excitement, swooping little James into his arms to spin him around. But I was too much the daughter of a Dutchman to think such a victory would come without a price. “And what do the Virginians want in exchange?”
Alexander was suddenly, decidedly less giddy. “I agreed to use my influence to move the capital city from New York to the wilderness of the Potomac.”
Already imagining the uproar it would cause amongst our New York friends, I tried to reconcile myself to the news. “It will take time to build a new city. Surely, in the meantime, we’ll remain here?”
Hamilton shook his head, more than a little frustrated at the outcome. His enemies had whispered that the capital city was to be called Hamiltonopolis, so he’d been forced to give New York up even as a temporary home for the government, lest he appear to be self-interested. “All of us—the congressmen, the senators, the cabinet officers and their wives—are to pack up and migrate to Philadelphia.”
I didn’t relish upending our life on Wall Street, but there was nothing for it but to close up the house, pack up the children, and sell the chickens.
But that autumn, with the move entirely in my command, I was inconsolable.
Not to leave New York—but because our faithful Jenny fell prey to yellow fever.
It’d started as a fever and some aches, and though she insisted she felt better, I sent her back to the Pastures for a rest and a visit with her mother. She never made it there. She died on the sloop, it was reported to me, bleeding from the mouth, nose, and eyes, screaming in pain. And I grieved as much that she had died alone, without me to tend her, as I would have for a member of my family. Which made me deeply ashamed.
For I had not treated her with the love and respect someone ought to treat family. Instead, I’d told myself polite lies to disguise the fact that I’d “borrowed” Jenny. I’d taken her away from her mother at the Pastures and I’d taken her labor and kindness as if I had a right to them.
Jenny had been a servant, yes. Why say it politely, even if it was the custom? She was a slave. She’d been my children’s nursemaid, and they loved her. She’d also been my helpmate, and I considered her a friend. I should have told her that. No, I should have treated her like a friend. I should have treated her like a person, with the same God-given rights as any other.
I should have seen to her freedom. And now it was too late.
Papa had joined the New York Manumission Society; he wasn’t insensible to the injustice of slavery. He meant to do away with it at the Pastures as soon as he could afford to. But even if Papa wouldn’t have released Jenny from bondage, I should have paid her a wage.
In guilt and grief over her death, I wanted nothing more to do with slavery.
Now I vowed never to own, rent, or borrow another human being.
That wasn’t enough, of course. Not enough to wipe away the stain on my soul or the everyday injustices of the institution. But I kept true to my vow.
I’d been born and raised on a plantation; my happiness had been built on the subjugation of others. My past was tainted with it, no matter what excuses I made for myself. But I could change. The country could change. So I put slavery—and New York—behind me in the hopes of bringing about a government that would help guarantee that all men, and perhaps all women, would be treated as equals before the law.
Determined to make a fresh start in our new capital, we found ourselves renting a home in Philadelphia on the corner of Walnut and Third streets, not far at all from the theater. Our neighbors were thee-and-thou Quakers, including Mrs. Dolley Payne Todd, who welcomed us with a warm apple pie from her kitchen. Like my husband, I admired Quaker morals and their antislavery stance, but upon hearing of our move Peggy had complained about Quakers having humorless pretensions to gravity and ostentatious plainness. I thought she’d change her mind if she ever met the vivacious young Mrs. Todd, who, even then, had such an impeccable sense of style that her dark workaday frock gave the impression of good fashion, its somber hues lightened by a smattering of whimsical Swiss dots.
In any case, I was grateful for the pie and the knowledge of a friendly face only a block away on Walnut Street where, rising up from the red-bricked streets, our snow-dusted stylish new abode was enclosed by a wrought iron gate, leading to a yard that provided more than enough elbow room for children, chickens, or even monkeys if we should want them.
“Much more in keeping with the style to which you grew accustomed as General Schuyler’s daughter,” my husband boasted as he showed me into the drawing room, where some expensive French chairs were already invitingly arranged by the fireplace. “And best of all, only a block from the new treasury. Such as it is.”
Alexander was so very proud of himself that I couldn’t help but set down my bags, straighten my bodice, and give him a very proper kiss. “Well, then, what is to prevent you from tumbling from our bed straight into the chair at your office without so much as running a comb through your hair?”
I said it only to twit him, but it wasn’t far from the truth in the months that followed, where our lovely new house became little more than the place Alexander Hamilton slept—when he slept at all. My husband’s mind was filled with the details of establishing American commerce. At breakfast he muttered about lighthouses, beacons, and buoys. At lunch—if he came home for lunch—it was talk of coins, candlewicks, wool, and manufactures. And before bed, it was banks and paper instruments and international trade.
Yet, despite the demands of his position, the gay social life of Philadelphia seemed poised to bring us happiness, especially when we were joined in the new capital, just in time for the holiday, by James Monroe, who now served as a senator from Virginia.
I ran into Monroe, almost quite literally, at a coffeehouse, which made us both laugh.
With the rich scent of beans making
our mouths water, he gave me a flourishing bow. “Can it really be you, Miss Schuyler, still bundled up against the cold, pink-cheeked and bright-eyed as you were all those years ago when I served you swill in a military camp?”
Grinning, I nodded. “Yes, but I remind you that I’m Mrs. Hamilton now, as you well know, and as a mother of five I fear I am very much changed from those days.”
Monroe kissed my hand in courtly and proper fashion. “Well, I do declare, you are as lovely as ever. Second only to my own Elizabeth.”
A moment later, the beautiful Elizabeth Kortright Monroe emerged from a circle of ladies to join us at a table decorated with candles, holly bush, and pine. Together we watched the snow fall and shared gossip. “The fashions in Philadelphia are so daring,” Mrs. Monroe said, a little bit scandalized and a little bit delighted. “It’s all bare arms and bare bosoms—I hesitate to guess what will be bared next!”
I laughed. I liked the Monroes. I liked them very much. Together we visited Philadelphia’s famed statehouse bell in the tower over Independence Hall. We shopped for baubles at the arcaded market on High Street. We admired the architecture of the new courthouse. We took our children to the circus together, where acrobats tumbled and clowns made us laugh.
And I insisted on having them to the house for dinner, even though my husband grumbled that Monroe had fallen in with the antifederalists. That was true. He’d led them in Virginia, arguing that the Constitution ought not be ratified without a bill of rights. But now we had a Constitution and a Bill of Rights, and none of it changed the fact that Monroe was our longtime friend.
Besides, I held fast to my policy that no man’s politics should be held against him at our dinner table. Or I tried to. But circumstances in the months that followed made that increasingly difficult as the antifederalists coalesced into a political party intent on opposing my husband.
My Dear Hamilton Page 29
