This rebel band of Federalists assumed that the exiled vice president would jump at a chance to join them. Several had approached Burr in Washington earlier in the year, and again on April 4, 1804, in New York. But just as before, when Federalists thought that he might become “their” president, Burr refused to give them the answer they were looking for. Granted, as a New Yorker, he shared their concern that the “Northern states must be governed by Virginia or govern Virginia, and that there was no middle course,” but he insisted that he “must go on democratically” to obtain a more equitable distribution of regional power within the federal system. For Hamilton, this Federalist overture to Burr was ominous and more extreme than it had been in 1800. Burr was not simply running for governor; he could become the presumptive president of a new, independent country, encompassing all of the land north of the Susquehanna River.79
Scandalmongering aside, Burr’s gubernatorial campaign was staked on real issues. The Burrites had made a concerted effort to reform the New York City charter, even before Burr announced his run for office. At a Republican meeting in January 1804, they introduced reforms that would democratize city government by reducing property requirements for voters; they wanted the mayor’s seat to be an elective office; and they pressed to eliminate the rule that gave greater weight to the votes of the wealthy—a privilege that had kept the city council in the hands of elite Federalists.80
Some of these reforms were direct attacks on DeWitt Clinton, who maintained a stranglehold over the city’s political machine. But it was not just about Clinton. Burr hoped to revive his role as a democratic reformer, the role he had cultivated during his time in the state assembly, when he sought to place in ordinary voters’ hands the power to choose presidential electors. Once again, victory for the lame duck vice president would rest squarely on his ability to win a large majority of New York City’s votes.
The situation was delicate for Burr and his supporters. Jefferson had made it clear that he would not interfere in the election, unless one of the candidates blatantly attacked him. While Peter Irving’s Morning Chronicle did, in fact, point to the Clinton faction’s obedience to the ruling Virginians, the Burrite paper avoided any more antagonistic language in alluding to the administration. A number of Burr’s supporters expressed their unease. Oliver Phelps, who had been selected as lieutenant governor on Burr’s ticket, betrayed his anxiety when he wrote to President Jefferson that “the friends of Mr. Burr” were “much misrepresented.” He assured the president that “a great number of influential and active republicans, warm and decided friends to the administration support Col. Burr.” Even John Van Ness, who was very close to Burr, voiced frustration, writing his brother William that if Burr “must fall,” his friends should not be “dragged along with him.” Some of Burr’s former allies abandoned him, even his two stepsons: Frederick and John Bartow remained silent during the 1804 election season.81
The Burrites repeated the rhetoric of the 1800 campaign, focusing on Burr’s superior qualities as a soldier and statesman. He was a man with a “superior soul,” far above the “little minded men” who jealously tried to tarnish his reputation with their petty accusations. Irving praised Burr’s boldness of character, and his irresistible essence, calling attention to his “open and manly conduct,” “his masterly displays of eloquence,” and the “commanding dignity of his eye.” By celebrating his originality, his unique talents, and the fact that he rose on the basis of merit rather than patronage, Burr’s supporters transformed their candidate into a genuine democrat. Morgan Lewis was easy to portray as the “candidate of the associated families” and a man of merely “moderate talents,” whose presence on the ticket was explained by his ties to the powerful aristocratic ruling families of New York. Surrounded by the family-based factions of Clintons and Livingstons, Burrites distinguished their candidate as the one “self-made man.” His rise was due to his remarkable presence, not a servile, effeminate dependency that came from family or political patronage.82
Whereas Burr’s defenders portrayed him as a paragon of masculine accomplishment and public virtue, Cheetham’s attacks only became more pornographic. He called the Burrites “strolling players,” a euphemism for male prostitutes. Burr’s home was likened to a bordello, adorned with mirrors on the bedroom walls; there, the American Citizen charged, the voyeuristic Burr and his minions indulged in the decadent pleasures of fornication and adultery. If he could be portrayed as heir to Cataline, why not take the next step: and so now, Cheetham called Burr a modern-day Sardanapalus and Heliogabalus, two classical figures with notorious reputations: the first had dressed and behaved as a woman, while the second had a taste for young men with large penises. In one pornographic poem, punning on Burr’s name, the versifier made crude allusions to male penetration and sodomy. To make matters worse, the Federalists’ 1801 attack handbill (featuring the story of Burr populating the city with prostitutes) was once again circulated—this time by anti-Burr Republicans.83
Cheetham could not contain himself. He accused Burr of prostituting himself to a group of black voters by inviting them to his home and supposedly offering them “elegant amusements,” that is, exchanging their votes for sexual favors. Amid the sexual tumult, Burr did his best not to care, mustering a droll spirit when he wrote to Theodosia that he planned to send her “some new and amusing libels against the vice president.”84
But Cheetham’s three-year barrage of assaults eventually took its toll. Burr lost the governor’s election by 8,700 votes—an embarrassing defeat, because no candidate before him had lost by such a large margin. On May 1, he wrote his daughter, with particular candor, that the “election is lost by a great majority: tant mieux.” Burr’s reputation (both political and personal) was seriously damaged.
The Federalist editor William Coleman, of the New York Evening Post, offered the most balanced explanation for Burr’s trouncing. The American Citizen, he acknowledged, deserved the credit; the attacks on Burr’s “personal character” had been unparalleled, “circulated with an industry and at an expense hitherto unexampled.” The Clintons had at the same time succeeded in persuading New York voters that Burr’s political career was dead, and that their votes would be thrown away on him. In a way, they were right: Burr would have had little power as governor—his enemies controlled the Council of Appointment and could have overridden any of his patronage decisions. Beyond this, the Federalists, who might have come out in substantial numbers to support Burr against Lewis, in the end did not; and bad weather contributed. As Coleman noted, “Federalists are very much your fair-weather sort of people.”85
Storm clouds had indeed gathered over his political horizon. It was not that Aaron Burr had done something deceptive or conniving, at this point, to bring on his troubles. His precarious position was the result of several factors that were, essentially, beyond his control. First and foremost, despite what all of our standard history texts assume, there was no national Republican Party in 1800 or 1804; there was a Virginia Republican Party and a New York Republican Party, each of which sought, with jealous determination, to broaden its power. The New Yorkers did not trust the Virginians, and vice versa; their alliance was a tentative one. Burr’s success was owing to his role as mediator, uniting the squabbling factions in New York to support the Manhattan Bank, and then again bringing together the Clintons and Livingstons (on his slate of candidates for the assembly) to secure the election of Jefferson. But this role was temporary, and as sectional divisions and factional feuds resurfaced, Burr’s unifying role was no longer needed.
Thomas Jefferson was thinking about preparing his most trusted political lieutenant, fellow Virginian and Secretary of State James Madison, to succeed him in the presidency, and for that reason alone he was intent on removing Burr as a contender. In New York, the ambition of DeWitt Clinton knew no bounds, and so he too had to get Burr out of the way. In Clinton’s case, the facts speak for themselves: four years later, in 1808, he broke wit
h Jefferson and set up his uncle to run against Madison for the presidency. This maneuver failed. As it turned out, George Clinton, old, incompetent, and no threat to Virginia supremacy, served as a figurehead vice president under Jefferson and then Madison.
Burr had been essential to Jefferson’s plans in 1800. His success as a tactician had secured New York and won the election for the Virginian. But when Jefferson handily defeated Rufus King in the 1804 presidential contest, it was clear to all that the Federalists no longer posed a significant electoral challenge to Republican rule. Burr had become expendable. His rival, DeWitt Clinton, lacked the political finesse to unite New York Republicans, let alone build a winning northern coalition. Clinton lacked Burr’s qualities—the qualities that the Virginians saw as a hazard, a threat to their sectional dynasty. If the New Yorkers fought among themselves, the Virginians could continue to control the party and the presidency, as they indeed did for the next twenty years. Burr never betrayed his party. In the eyes of his Virginia rivals, who feared his ability to unify northern Republicans, his talents alone betrayed him.
“SYNTAX”
The nastiness of the 1804 governor’s race drew Burr and Hamilton into a personal battle. On April 23, Federalist Dr. Charles D. Cooper had published a letter in the Albany newspaper, which included a series of insults that Hamilton had openly declared before a group of prominent men. Why did his insults make it into print? Pure politics. Cooper’s letter is best understood as the early republic’s version of an attack ad. During the election, Federalists had been divided in their opinions of Burr; those who supported him in the contest with Lewis did everything possible to diminish Hamilton’s influence over the voters. For this reason, a rumor began to circulate that Hamilton was indifferent to the outcome of the election. He had supported Lansing, as all knew. When Lansing dropped out and Lewis became a candidate, it was expected that he would not interfere in the race. But Hamilton was not one to beg off. Cooper’s letter was published in order to quash the rumor that Hamilton was ambivalent about the election outcome.86
Burr did not learn of Dr. Cooper’s letter until after the election. On June 18, 1804, he sent Hamilton a brief note. In it, he observed that Cooper had quoted Hamilton as having called Burr a “dangerous man,” not to be trusted with “the reins of government.” That was not what offended Burr, however. It was another of Cooper’s statements: “I could detail to you a still more despicable opinion which General HAMILTON has expressed of Mr. Burr.” It was the word “despicable” that drew Burr’s attention, a word used at this time to describe socially degraded or “sordid” behavior, which could be considered slander. Cooper’s letter provided firsthand testimony that he had heard Hamilton insult Burr’s private character. Burr’s note to Hamilton began the formal affair of honor that would place the principals paces apart with pistols—the affair that would make Burr, in due course, a notorious figure in American history.87
When he sent his aide William P. Van Ness to Hamilton, bearing his note, Burr was not reacting hastily. Rather, as Van Ness explained after the duel, Burr first discussed the Cooper letter with several of his friends, and it was they who advised him to take some action. Burr knew that Hamilton had attacked his private character before; yet he moved slowly while the authenticity of the new reports remained questionable.
With past as prologue, the offended party had certain expectations from his political adversary. Days after the duel, in fact, he explained his mind-set to his loyal Philadelphia friend Charles Biddle: “It is too well known that Genl. H. had long indulged himself in illiberal freedom with my character—He has a peculiar talent of saying things improper and offensive.” On two prior occasions, Burr reminded Biddle, out of “delicacy” and a “sincere desire for peace,” he had forgiven Hamilton. Why? Because on those occasions Hamilton had understood that he was putting Burr in a position where a challenge was likely to follow, and had seized the opportunity to apologize directly. As Burr put it to Biddle, he had once again expected Hamilton to soften his tone of criticism—to restrain his language—in response to the “generosity of my Conduct.” But this time, Burr bemoaned, Hamilton did not meet his expectations: “I have been constantly deceived, and it became impossible that I could consistently with self-respect again forbear.”88
When Hamilton received Burr’s first note, he told Van Ness that the matter required further careful consideration. It took two days for Hamilton to reply, and when he did so, his answer was evasive and disingenuous, and painfully convoluted. He could not “make the avowal or disavowal” that Burr requested, he said, adopting a lawyerly pose by parsing the various meanings of the word “despicable”: “’Tis evident, that the phrase ‘still more despicable’ admits of infinite shades, from very light to very dark.” With amazing hubris, he asked: “How am I to judge of the degree intended? Or how shall I annex any precise idea to language so indefinite?” Instead of addressing the question of honor, Hamilton had decided to argue that the offensive statement was too vague to contain any certain meaning; and thus, he was not bound by the “inferences” others might draw from his statements.
Then, Hamilton made a remarkable connection. Cooper’s testimonial was part of a larger pattern, and he could not be held accountable for remarks he might or might not have made about a political opponent over “fifteen years of competition.” Rather than addressing Burr as an intimate, he was saying, self-protectively, that fifteen years in the national spotlight had opened Hamilton to charges by anyone—any stranger—who might have felt offended by him. The closing line of his response was as provocative as it was brusque: “I trust, on more reflection, you will see the matter in the same light as me. If not, I can only regret the circumstance, and must abide the consequence.” It is hard to believe that Hamilton thought he was reducing tensions by composing such a response; in any event, its effect was only to deepen his original insult.89
Burr’s answer cut through the fog created by Hamilton’s indirection. Indeed, his answer provides us with one of the best examples of Burr’s incisive intellectualism—his staunchness when it came to dismantling a legal contrivance or exposing an ostentatious political display. He could act, in such instances, with surgical precision. He examined Hamilton’s letter carefully, and regretted that he found “nothing of that sincerity and delicacy which you profess to Value.” Meeting indirection with direct language, he revealed Hamilton’s first mistake, his failure to speak in the tone of a gentleman who championed the code of honor. Hamilton misunderstood honor—honorable men did not hide behind a veil of words, nor pretend that malicious remarks were acceptable to use against a political rival. As Burr neatly stated: “Political opposition can never absolve Gentlemen from the necessity of a rigid adherence to the laws of honor and the rules of decorum.” With a bow to republicanism, he added, “I neither claim such a privilege nor indulge it in others.” Any true gentleman would have immediately understood the meaning of Cooper’s letter and its relationship to Hamilton: “The Common sense of Mankind affixes to the epithet adopted by Dr. Cooper the idea of dishonor; it has been publicly applied to me under the Sanction of your name.” Hamilton should have felt an obligation to clear the air, one way or the other, and not to obfuscate. The issue before them had nothing at all to do with “Syntax” or “grammatical accuracy,” as Hamilton wished to construe, “but whether you have authorized this application either directly or by uttering expressions or opinions derogatory to my honor.” Hamilton could try to dance around what he was responsible for making public, but Burr would not let him off so easily: What mattered was the “effect” of the “calumny,” which was both “present and palpable.”90
On reading Burr’s reply, Hamilton fatefully indicated that he had nothing to add or amend to his statement. Van Ness assumed that the next step in the code duello was to be taken: Burr would issue his challenge. Nevertheless, as Burr’s second, and hoping for an accommodation, Van Ness tried to present Hamilton with a loophole: He asked wh
ether Hamilton could recollect his conversation with Dr. Cooper, thus allowing him to disavow the insults. Many interpreters of the duel have concluded that Hamilton might well have ended the affair here, had he taken Van Ness’s advice. But he refused to budge.91
Later the same day, however, Hamilton thought about another avenue of approach. He began by asking Nathaniel Pendleton, a friend, to serve as his second. He entrusted Pendleton with a fresh letter for Van Ness, one that suggested that Hamilton wished to delay, if not avert, the duel both principals had now come to see as probable. So Van Ness put the challenge on hold and met with Pendleton, who provided a summary of the mysterious conversation that Dr. Cooper had overheard. This was as close as Hamilton was willing to go in disavowing the insult; he claimed to recall only a conversation that “turned wholly on political topics and did not attribute to Col. Burr, any instance of dishonorable conduct, nor relate to his private character.”92
But Hamilton’s hopeful comment was then undercut as Van Ness delivered Hamilton’s second letter to Burr. There was nothing ameliorating in it. What Burr saw in it, in fact, was Hamilton’s complaining that the demands on him were excessive. Describing Burr’s last communication as in some way “indecorous” (he wrote “rude” in an unsent draft), Hamilton asked for “greater latitude” in the sort of disavowal he issued. Burr did not wish to give Hamilton greater latitude; he desired at this point nothing less than a “general disavowal” of the personal affronts to his character that Hamilton had habitually leveled against him. Pendleton somehow thought that Hamilton would oblige Burr. But when Pendleton and Van Ness met again, the former acknowledged that he was wrong, and that Hamilton would not issue a general disavowal.93
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