“Thank you, Doctor. Coffee, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
Franklin picked up a bell, but before he could ring it, his manservant appeared as if by magic. “Service for two, sir?”
“Thank you, John, but could you brew a cup of coffee for our guest? Fresh tea for me. And could you bring some of those little cakes? I’ll feel guilty eating before dinner, but at my age, a little guilt keeps life from becoming flat and tasteless.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll bring the cranberry ones. They’re especially wicked.”
“Good man. When I die, I shall take you with me.”
“With greatest respect, sir, I have reached a hobbled age myself. I no longer travel.”
“More’s the pity,” Franklin said with a devious grin. “I don’t know what I’ll do in the hereafter without you.”
“Tell earthy stories, I suppose,” John said with his own disarming smile.
As the servant disappeared into the house, Franklin said, “John’s been with me for years. A good friend, actually.”
“Doctor, I can’t imagine anyone not becoming your friend after getting to know you.”
“You must talk to John Adams,” Franklin said with a twinkle. “Anyway, what did you think of today’s session?”
“Frustrating. The course has been set, but some still fight the wind.”
“You mean you’ve won and you’re miffed others don’t surrender.”
Sherman felt his back stiffen. “Thank you, Doctor. I mustn’t become complacent.”
“Nor presumptuous. We worked with you, but we did so under duress. We’re friends, not political allies. Even if we share the same goal, our armies are not at each other’s disposal.”
“Point accepted, Doctor. What did you think about today’s session?”
“Something came up we didn’t expect. Important delegates will fight the report unless we give them one more concession.”
“What do they want?”
“A different committee to define proportionality in the lower house. This time they chose the membership.”
“I see.” Sherman sat for a moment and for the first time envied Ellsworth’s ruse with his snuffbox. “This looks like a strategy to divide and conquer.”
“I thought that at first. Get one of the three elements of the report separated and dispatched to a committee of alligators. But after much conversation, I believe they merely want to influence the proportionality rules.”
“How?” Sherman asked.
“Some property consideration. I didn’t expect you to object since they seek to define the branch not ruled by the states.”
“It could change the balance. Destroy Madison’s well-thought-out scheme.”
“I thought you already did that.”
“Once the states are protected, I believe the rest of Madison’s plan sound.”
“How tolerant of you,” Franklin said with an edge. “Let’s return to the point. Will you support another committee assigned to work out the lower house proportionality?”
“I won’t fight it.”
“Will you vote for it?”
Sherman made a show of looking around. “Tea and coffee would be a helpful diversion.”
“John will be along in a moment.”
Sherman settled back and smiled at the wily old man. “Yes, sir, Connecticut will vote for recommitment.”
“Excellent. A small price. You get the Senate and they get the first branch. Ah, here’s John now.”
Had Sherman missed a subtle signal, or had the two worked together so long that an overt gesture was unneeded? John used both hands to hold a silver tray arrayed with service pieces. After setting the tray down, John poured coffee and held the crème aloft with a questioning glance. Sherman nodded and watched John turn the black coffee to the tempting shade of morning toast. Franklin leaned forward and lifted a porcelain dish that held a cranberry cake encrusted with brown sugar.
“Try one. They’re delicious and so light they won’t spoil your dinner.”
“With pleasure, Doctor,” Sherman said, as he lifted his cup in salute. “I always like to sweeten bitter moments.”
On Friday morning, Gouverneur Morris proposed that the first element of the committee report be recommitted. King then went into matters that made Sherman wince. “The United States owns the Northwest Territory. Congress has made a compact with the settlers that as soon as the number in any state equals that of the smallest of the original thirteen states, it may claim admission into the union. Gentlemen, Delaware contains thirty-five thousand souls. Fifteen new votes may be added to the Senate, with fewer inhabitants than are represented by a single Pennsylvania vote.”
Sherman thought this was too close to their covert negotiations with Congress. Someone had talked and triggered the delegates to consider the ramifications of a rash of new western states. Sherman understood what was going on. The western states could add population faster than wealth. If the South and their allies could get property into the equation, the new states wouldn’t pose a threat for many years. Sherman wondered what Madison thought about his side violating his precious principles.
When they voted, Sherman lived up to his promise, and Connecticut joined six other states to pass the recommitment. The new committee membership reversed the bias of the prior committee. The members included Gouverneur Morris, Edmund Randolph, Rufus King, Nathaniel Gorham, and John Rutledge. All five men were on a mission to fend off the power of new states. Sherman marveled at how resolving one aspect of the government just raised another issue. He made a mental note to write Connecticut for more money. The summer had just begun.
Once the first clause had been sent to committee, Wilson and Mason proposed that they move directly to representation in the Senate. The gambit to bypass the money clause irked Sherman. Franklin saw the threat as well. He immediately said that Senate representation could not be debated by itself. The doctor abandoned his normally congenial manner to say quite strongly, “I refuse to vote for the propositions separately. I’ll vote only on the whole report.”
Mason, with exaggerated innocence, said, “Dear sir, I agree with your point and kindly suggest that the rest of the report be sent to the recently appointed committee. That way, all three propositions can be considered together.”
Sherman bristled. They wanted to ride roughshod over his work with a committee of their own. Madison then interjected some of his maddening logic. He said that if the other two propositions were irrevocably connected to the one just sent to committee, they should all be sent to committee. If they weren’t connected, then the remaining two propositions could be debated in any sequence. Despite the parliamentary maneuvers, Sherman’s group forced the debate to the money clause.
Gouverneur Morris started. “All laws take money out of people’s pockets. I’ve waited patiently to hear the good effects of the money bill restriction, but I’ve heard none.”
Adjusting his spectacles with thumb and forefinger, Franklin spoke directly to Morris. “Public revenue bestows power to the people authorized to spend it. Money matters must be restricted to the immediate representatives of the people.” Then, with a twinkling smile and dismissive wave of the hand, he said, “As to the danger that might arise from Senate backroom shenanigans, it can be easily gotten around by declaring that there will be no Senate.”
These sharp remarks from the convention’s most senior delegate led to an immediate vote on the money clause. If Sherman lost, the carefully crafted committee report would be gutted like a luckless mackerel pulled onto a Gloucester boat. Sherman exhaled a long slow breath when the convention voted five to three to keep the clause in the report. Three divided states signaled that their report had straddled that fine line where a proposal passes, but nobody goes away happy.
Sherman stepped into the glare of the midafternoon sun and squinted until he could throw his left hand up to shade his eyes. As he descended the few steps leading to the broad sidewalk in front of the State House, Sherma
n recognized the soft, eager voice of Madison.
“May Mr. Wilson and I join you?”
“If we can find a piece of shade, I’d be delighted.”
“Let’s cross the street. We can stand under one of the trees next to the Coach and Horses.”
“Please,” Sherman said with an underhanded wave of the hand, “lead the way before this sun bakes me dark as a sailor.”
Wilson looked miserable. With droplets of perspiration leaking from beneath his powdered wig, he said, “Yes, let’s get out of this blasted sun.”
The three men navigated the perilous crossing, somehow avoiding the carriages, wagons, horsemen, and hand-pulled carts. Madison led the way around the inn’s guests who had cordoned off a piece of grass for lawn bowling. From the boisterous taunting of their opponents, it was obvious that the bowlers had drunk and wagered enough to make the game interesting. When they reached the shade of a tree, the pudgy Wilson was wheezing like he had just sprinted the State House yard. Despite his flushed face, heaving chest, and glistening brow, Wilson was still able to throw a disdainful glance back at the commoners, who bowled with more exuberance than skill. “Those ruffians have no idea of the seriousness of our work.”
Madison pointed to a rough-hewn bench sitting under a tree further behind the inn. “Let’s sit over there in the shade.”
Wilson said, “You two go, and I’ll see if I can convince some wench at this inferior inn to bring us cold lemonade.”
“James doesn’t suffer the heat well,” Madison said.
“I noticed,” Sherman said evenly.
Madison gave Sherman an appraising glance. Evidently detecting no mockery, Madison said, “We’re not making progress.”
“On the contrary, we’ve made excellent progress. You must allow other ideas to be woven into your design.” Since Madison looked unyielding, Sherman tried logic. “With an equal vote in the Senate, a majority of states, as well as a majority of the people, will support public measures.”
Madison disappointed Sherman by ignoring his comment. “Mr. Sherman, I’ve come to see you because you’ve directed this sad series of events. Can’t we come to some accommodation that stops this endless bickering over representation?”
Before Sherman could respond, Wilson waddled over in a way that suggested he had developed a heat rash between his legs. “I’m promised that we’ll soon be sipping a cool lemonade, but I’m not optimistic. The man looked brutish and in want of base intellect.”
“I’ve just broached the subject with Mr. Sherman,” Madison said.
Wilson gave a hopeful look at Sherman. “What say you? Is there no way out of this mire you’ve sucked us into?”
“We’ve already waded onto solid ground,” Sherman said. “The committee report is a firm foundation for moving forward.”
“The committee report is unjust, reprehensible, and engineered to the advantage of the small states,” Wilson fumed. “If you think—”
Madison quickly jumped in. “Mr. Sherman, please excuse Mr. Wilson’s anger. He had such high hopes for this convention. Now he sees everything at risk.”
“Mr. Madison, do not apologize for me. I don’t regret my comments.”
“Perhaps you should just explain what you find objectionable,” Sherman said.
“The domination of the most powerful arm of the government by the states,” Wilson exploded. “Damn you and damn your blind loyalty to your precious Connecticut!”
“Please, we’re not here to hurl insults,” Madison said, his soft voice commanding more attention than a shout.
“What are you here for?” Sherman asked.
Madison answered, “You must surrender part of your state’s autonomy.”
“We already have. We insist on influence in only one legislative house in a government of three branches.”
“That’s enough to destroy the Federation.”
“You believe the states need no protection?”
“From what threat?”
Sherman could not control his frustration. “I’ll assume from Mr. Wilson’s remarks that we’re to speak our mind without reservation.” Sherman shifted his gaze from Wilson to Madison. “Gentleman, you’re hypocrites. You say the small states need no protection, yet your saintly cohorts argue for permanent supremacy for your states over the future western states.” Sherman stood to leave. “Good day, gentlemen. You may see me again when you apply your precious principles to all Americans, both present and future.”
As Sherman walked away, he overheard Madison mutter, “Damn Gouverneur Morris.”
Chapter 26
Saturday, July 7, 1787
Madison knocked on the door a third time. He guessed the owner was upstairs, but the heavy brass knocker should have reverberated all the way to his sanctuary on the third floor. Finally, he heard a noise, and the door opened to reveal a middle-aged man in an immaculate white smock.
“Yes.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Peale. I’m here to see Gen. Washington.”
“See him another time.” The man started to close the door.
“He told me to come at this appointed hour.”
Peale hung his head around the partially closed door. “Then he was in error. I don’t allow visitors at a sitting.”
“Please check with the general.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry, but I must insist.”
The man gave Madison a nasty look and then said, “Wait,” before he slammed the door.
He would wait. When Washington set an appointment, he meant it to be met promptly. Charles Willson Peale’s crabby nature didn’t surprise Madison, because he had also sat for the celebrated portraitist. He turned to look down Chestnut Street toward the State House. The convention on Saturday morning had rehashed the same old arguments on both sides of the Senate suffrage issue. Madison tapped his foot. His alliance was unraveling. Only Virginia, Pennsylvania, and South Carolina remained firm. It had been a disappointing day, but Madison hoped that some states might switch back when emotion abated and reason reasserted itself.
The door reopened and Peale said, “Come.”
Madison followed Peale up a dark, narrow staircase that creaked with every step.
“I visited your museum last Tuesday, Mr. Peale. Very impressive.”
“My exhibit is public, my studio private.”
“I apologize.”
As Madison approached the stair landing, his nostrils flared from a stench of turpentine and linseed oil. A wave of nausea reminded him why, despite pleas from his father, he had avoided another sitting. The brightness of the studio always startled Madison. Whitewashed walls reflected the natural light that glared from several casement windows. In the middle of the room, a white linen cloth hung behind a shaft of light that fell from an overhead lightwell. Washington, sitting ramrod straight in a close-fitting wig, was dressed in his famed blue and buff uniform with three gold stars on each shoulder. The light beam that spilled from the glass-covered opening in the ceiling brought to mind the image of a saint awash in radiance.
Without comment, Peale moved to his work area and picked up a brush to test how much it had dried and stiffened. The canvas showed a sketched composition dominated by an oval destined to represent Washington’s face. Everything but the artist’s palette looked neat and ordered. Madison saw evidence of the meticulous nature that inspired Peale to collect and catalog an elaborate collection he exhibited at his museum near the State House. Differently sized brushes lay in orderly rows, and animal bladders filled with paint were arrayed with such precision that Peale could select one without looking. “My portraits cannot carry a chain of expressions,” Peale said. “Keep your conversation brief.”
“I’ll strive to maintain my stoic reputation,” Washington answered.
“General, sir, with all due respect, in the future, please do not schedule a meeting during one of my sittings.”
“I shan’t answer for fear my expression might change.”
Madis
on suppressed a grin as he sat in a ladder-back chair against the wall.
“Why did you ask for an appointment, Jemmy?” Washington asked without turning his head.
“Sir, I’ll get to the point,” Madison said. “The convention provides only the punctuation for issues. The maneuvering occurs outside chamber doors.”
“We’ve had this discussion. You’ll no longer be excluded from our schemes.”
“Thank you, but I have another request. I want to be assigned to committees.”
Washington swiveled to look at Madison. A frustrated “Damn,” escaped Peale’s lips. “Jemmy, you’ve been excluded from committees to protect your health.”
“I feel fit at the moment. I want to serve wherever I can be of benefit.”
“You work incessantly.”
“This opportunity will not come again.”
“Yes, but—”
“I’ve complained in the past, but I can manage a committee assignment.”
“And your journal?”
“I can manage.”
Washington returned to his pose. “This is good news. You can add reason and balance to our committee work. Thank you.”
Madison took the cue and stood to depart. “I apologize for the interruption, Mr. Peale.”
“Please excuse my rudeness,” Peale said midstroke. “I look forward to a commission to paint your portrait again. Perhaps later this summer?”
“I’ll make a point of it. Good day, gentlemen.”
On Monday, Gouverneur Morris delivered the committee’s report. Washington sat on the short dais in full military regalia. Madison wondered if some of the delegates thought Washington intended to amplify his authority to encourage decorum. Most of them probably didn’t know that after adjournment, the general planned to walk across the street for another sitting at Peale’s studio.
Morris looked nervous. “Gentlemen, we’ve concluded that the first branch should comprise fifty-six members.” He listed each state’s allocation, and Madison instantly saw that the committee had skewed the numbers to the advantage of the South: thirty-one representatives for the nonslave states and twenty-five votes for the South. Not a majority, but certainly beyond what their population warranted. They could check legislation with only minimal support from the North.
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