|
|
| & etc |
FEEDBACK
(C)1998-2012
All Rights Reserved.
Site last updated
13 January, 2012
|
|
|
|
Jefferson and his Colleagues, A Chronicle of the Virginia Dynasty
Chapter I. President Jefferson's Court
by Johnson, Allen
|
The rumble of President John Adams's coach had hardly died away
in the distance on the morning of March 4,1801, when Mr. Thomas
Jefferson entered the breakfast room of Conrad's boarding house
on Capitol Hill, where he had been living in bachelor's quarters
during his Vice-Presidency. He took his usual seat at the lower
end of the table among the other boarders, declining with a smile
to accept the chair of the impulsive Mrs. Brown, who felt, in
spite of her democratic principles, that on this day of all days
Mr. Jefferson should have the place which he had obstinately
refused to occupy at the head of the table and near the
fireplace. There were others besides the wife of the Senator from
Kentucky who felt that Mr. Jefferson was carrying equality too
far. But Mr. Jefferson would not take precedence over the
Congressmen who were his fellow boarders.
Conrad's was conveniently near the Capitol, on the south side of
the hill, and commanded an extensive view. The slope of the hill,
which was a wild tangle of verdure in summer, debouched into a
wide plain extending to the Potomac. Through this lowland
wandered a little stream, once known as Goose Creek but now
dignified by the name of Tiber. The banks of the stream as well
as of the Potomac were fringed with native flowering shrubs and
graceful trees, in which Mr. Jefferson took great delight. The
prospect from his drawing-room windows, indeed, quite as much as
anything else, attached him to Conrad's.
As was his wont, Mr. Jefferson withdrew to his study after
breakfast and doubtless ran over the pages of a manuscript which
he had been preparing with some care for this Fourth of March. It
may be guessed, too, that here, as at Monticello, he made his
usual observations-noting in his diary the temperature, jotting
down in the garden-book which he kept for thirty years an item or
two about the planting of vegetables, and recording, as he
continued to do for eight years, the earliest and latest
appearance of each comestible in the Washington market. Perhaps
he made a few notes about the "seeds of the cymbling (cucurbita
vermeosa) and squash (cucurbita melopipo)" which he purposed to
send to his friend Philip Mazzei, with directions for planting;
or even wrote a letter full of reflections upon bigotry in
politics and religion to Dr. Joseph Priestley, whom he hoped soon
to have as his guest in the President's House.
Toward noon Mr. Jefferson stepped out of the house and walked
over to the Capitol--a tall, rather loose-jointed figure, with
swinging stride, symbolizing, one is tempted to think, the
angularity of the American character. "A tall, large-boned
farmer," an unfriendly English observer called him. His
complexion was that of a man constantly exposed to the sun--sandy
or freckled, contemporaries called it--but his features were
clean-cut and strong and his expression was always kindly and
benignant.
Aside from salvos of artillery at the hour of twelve, the
inauguration of Mr. Jefferson as President of the United States
was marked by extreme simplicity. In the Senate chamber of the
unfinished Capitol, he was met by Aaron Burr, who had already
been installed as presiding officer, and conducted to the
Vice-President's chair, while that debonair man of the world took
a seat on his right with easy grace. On Mr. Jefferson's left sat
Chief Justice John Marshall, a "tall, lax, lounging Virginian,"
with black eyes peering out from his swarthy countenance. There
is a dramatic quality in this scene of the President-to-be seated
between two men who are to cause him more vexation of spirit than
any others in public life. Burr, brilliant, gifted, ambitious,
and profligate; Marshall, temperamentally and by conviction
opposed to the principles which seemed to have triumphed in the
election of this radical Virginian, to whom indeed he had a
deep-seated aversion. After a short pause, Mr. Jefferson rose and
read his Inaugural Address in a tone so low that it could be
heard by only a few in the crowded chamber.
Those who expected to hear revolutionary doctrines must have been
surprised by the studied moderation of this address. There was
not a Federalist within hearing of Jefferson's voice who could
not have subscribed to all the articles in this profession of
political faith. "Equal and exact justice to all men"--"a jealous
care of the right of election by the people"--"absolute
acquiescence in the decisions of the majority"--"the supremacy of
the civil over the military authority"--"the honest payments of
our debts"--"freedom of religion"--"freedom of the
press"-"freedom of person under the protection of the habeas
corpus"--what were these principles but the bright constellation,
as Jefferson said, "which has guided our steps through an age of
revolution and reformation?" John Adams himself might have
enunciated all these principles, though he would have distributed
the emphasis somewhat differently.
But what did Jefferson mean when he said, "We have called by
different names brethren of the same principle. We are all
Republicans--we are all Federalists." If this was true, what,
pray, became of the revolution of 1800, which Jefferson had
declared "as real a revolution in the principles of our
government as that of 1776 was in its form?" Even Jefferson's own
followers shook their heads dubiously over this passage as they
read and reread it in the news-sheets. It sounded a false note
while the echoes of the campaign of 1800 were still
reverberating. If Hamilton and his followers were monarchists at
heart in 1800, bent upon overthrowing the Government, how could
they and the triumphant Republicans be brethren of the same
principle in 1801? The truth of the matter is that Jefferson was
holding out an olive branch to his political opponents. He
believed, as he remarked in a private letter, that many
Federalists were sound Republicans at heart who had been
stampeded into the ranks of his opponents during the recent
troubles with France. These lost political sheep Jefferson was
bent upon restoring to the Republican fold by avoiding utterances
and acts which would offend them. "I always exclude the leaders
from these considerations," he added confidentially. In short,
this Inaugural Address was less a great state paper, marking a
broad path for the Government to follow under stalwart
leadership, than an astute effort to consolidate the victory of
the Republican party.
Disappointing the address must have been to those who had
expected a declaration of specific policy. Yet the historian,
wiser by the march of events, may read between the lines. When
Jefferson said that he desired a wise and frugal government--a
government "which should restrain men from injuring one another
but otherwise leave them free to regulate their own pursuits--"
and when he announced his purpose "to support the state
governments in all their rights" and to cultivate "peace with all
nations--entangling alliances with none," he was in effect
formulating a policy. But all this was in the womb of the future.
It was many weeks before Jefferson took up his abode in the
President's House. In the interval he remained in his old
quarters, except for a visit to Monticello to arrange for his
removal, which indeed he was in no haste to make, for "The
Palace," as the President's House was dubbed satirically, was not
yet finished; its walls were not fully plastered, and it still
lacked the main staircase-which, it must be admitted, was a
serious defect if the new President meant to hold court. Besides,
it was inconveniently situated at the other end of the,
straggling, unkempt village. At Conrad's Jefferson could still
keep in touch with those members of Congress and those friends
upon whose advice he relied in putting "our Argosie on her
Republican tack," as he was wont to say. Here, in his
drawing-room, he could talk freely with practical politicians
such as Charles Pinckney, who had carried the ticket to success
in South Carolina and who might reasonably expect to be consulted
in organizing the new Administration.
The chief posts in the President's official household, save one,
were readily filled. There were only five heads of departments to
be appointed, and of these the Attorney-General might be
described as a head without a department, since the duties of his
office were few and required only his occasional attention. As it
fell out, however, the Attorney-General whom Jefferson appointed,
Levi Lincoln of Massachusetts, practically carried on the work of
all the Executive Departments until his colleagues were duly
appointed and commissioned. For Secretary of War Jefferson chose
another reliable New Englander, Henry Dearborn of Maine. The
naval portfolio went begging, perhaps because the navy was not an
imposing branch of the service, or because the new President had
announced his desire to lay up all seven frigates in the eastern
branch of the Potomac, where "they would be under the immediate
eye of the department and would require but one set of plunderers
to look after them." One conspicuous Republican after another
declined this dubious honor, and in the end Jefferson was obliged
to appoint as Secretary of the Navy Robert Smith, whose chief
qualification was his kinship to General Samuel Smith, an
influential politician of Maryland.
The appointment by Jefferson of James Madison as Secretary of
State occasioned no surprise, for the intimate friendship of the
two Virginians and their long and close association in politics
led everyone to expect that he would occupy an important post in
the new Administration, though in truth that friendship was based
on something deeper and finer than mere agreement in politics. "I
do believe," exclaimed a lady who often saw both men in private
life, "father never loved son more than Mr. Jefferson loves Mr.
Madison." The difference in age, however, was not great, for
Jefferson was in his fifty-eighth year and Madison in his
fiftieth. It was rather mien and character that suggested the
filial relationship. Jefferson was, or could be if he chose, an
imposing figure; his stature was six feet two and one-half
inches. Madison had the ways and habits of a little man, for he
was only five feet six. Madison was naturally timid and retiring
in the presence of other men, but he was at his best in the
company of his friend Jefferson, who valued his attainments.
Indeed, the two men supplemented each other. If Jefferson was
prone to theorize, Madison was disposed to find historical
evidence to support a political doctrine. While Jefferson
generalized boldly, even rashly, Madison hesitated, temporized,
weighed the pros and cons, and came with difficulty to a
conclusion. Unhappily neither was a good judge of men. When
pitted against a Bonaparte, a Talleyrand, or a Canning, they
appeared provincial in their ways and limited in their
sympathetic understanding of statesmen of the Old World.
Next to that of Madison, Jefferson valued the friendship of
Albert Gallatin, whom he made Secretary of the Treasury by a
recess appointment, since there was some reason to fear that the
Federalist Senate would not confirm the nomination. The
Federalists could never forget that Gallatin was a Swiss by
birth--an alien of supposedly radical tendencies. The partisan
press never exhibited its crass provincialism more shamefully
than when it made fun of Gallatin's imperfect pronunciation of
English. He had come to America, indeed, too late to acquire a
perfect control of a new tongue, but not too late to become a
loyal son of his adopted country. He brought to Jefferson's group
of advisers not only a thorough knowledge of public finance but a
sound judgment and a statesmanlike vision, which were often
needed to rectify the political vagaries of his chief.
The last of his Cabinet appointments made, Jefferson returned to
his country seat at Monticello for August and September, for he
was determined not to pass those two "bilious months" in
Washington. "I have not done it these forty years," he wrote to
Gallatin. "Grumble who will, I will never pass those two months
on tidewater." To Monticello, indeed, Jefferson turned whenever
his duties permitted and not merely in the sickly months of
summer, for when the roads were good the journey was rapidly and
easily made by stage or chaise. There, in his garden and farm, he
found relief from the distractions of public life. "No occupation
is so delightful to me," he confessed, "as the culture of the
earth, and no culture comparable to that of the garden." At
Monticello, too, he could gratify his delight in the natural
sciences, for he was a true child of the eighteenth century in
his insatiable curiosity about the physical universe and in his
desire to reduce that universe to an intelligible mechanism. He
was by instinct a rationalist and a foe to superstition in any
form, whether in science or religion. His indefatigable pen was
as ready to discuss vaccination and yellow fever with Dr.
Benjamin Rush as it was to exchange views with Dr. Priestley on
the ethics of Jesus.
The diversity of Jefferson's interests is truly remarkable.
Monticello is a monument to his almost Yankee-like ingenuity. He
writes to his friend Thomas Paine to assure him that the
semi-cylindrical form of roof after the De Lorme pattern, which
he proposes for his house, is entirely practicable, for he
himself had "used it at home for a dome, being 120 degrees of an
oblong octagon." He was characteristically American in his
receptivity to new ideas from any source. A chance item about Eli
Whitney of New Haven arrests his attention and forthwith he
writes to Madison recommending a "Mr. Whitney at Connecticut, a
mechanic of the first order of ingenuity, who invented the cotton
gin," and who has recently invented "molds and machines for
making all the pieces of his [musket] locks so exactly equal that
take one hundred locks to pieces and mingle their parts and the
hundred locks may be put together as well by taking the first
pieces which come to hand." To Robert Fulton, then laboring to
perfect his torpedoes and submarine, Jefferson wrote
encouragingly: "I have ever looked to the submarine boat as most
to be depended on for attaching them [i. e., torpedoes]....I am
in hopes it is not to be abandoned as impracticable."
It was not wholly affectation, therefore, when Jefferson wrote,
"Nature intended me for the tranquil pursuits of science, by
rendering them my supreme delight. But the enormities of the
times in which I have lived, have forced me to take a part in
resisting them, and to commit myself on the boisterous ocean of
political passions." One can readily picture this Virginia
farmer-philosopher ruefully closing his study door, taking a last
look over the gardens and fields of Monticello, in the golden
days of October, and mounting Wildair, his handsome thoroughbred,
setting out on the dusty road for that little political world at
Washington, where rumor so often got the better of reason and
where gossip was so likely to destroy philosophic serenity.
Jefferson had been a widower for many years; and so, since his
daughters were married and had households of their own, he was
forced to preside over his menage at Washington without the
feminine touch and tact so much needed at this American court.
Perhaps it was this unhappy circumstance quite as much as his
dislike for ceremonies and formalities that made Jefferson do
away with the weekly levees of his predecessors and appoint only
two days, the First of January and the Fourth of July, for public
receptions. On such occasions he begged Mrs. Dolly Madison to act
as hostess; and a charming and gracious figure she was, casting a
certain extenuating veil over the President's gaucheries.
Jefferson held, with his many political heresies, certain
theories of social intercourse which ran rudely counter to the
prevailing etiquette of foreign courts. Among the rules which he
devised for his republican court, the precedence due to rank was
conspicuously absent, because he held that "all persons when
brought together in society are perfectly equal, whether foreign
or domestic, titled or untitled, in or out of office." One of
these rules to which the Cabinet gravely subscribed read as
follows:
"To maintain the principles of equality, or of pele mele, and
prevent the growth of precedence out of courtesy, the members of
the Executive will practise at their own houses, and recommend an
adherence to the ancient usage of the country, of gentlemen in
mass giving precedence to the ladies in mass, in passing from one
apartment where they are assembled into another."
The application of this rule on one occasion gave rise to an
incident which convulsed Washington society. President Jefferson
had invited to dinner the new British Minister Merry and his
wife, the Spanish Minister Yrujo and his wife, the French
Minister Pichon and his wife, and Mr. and Mrs. Madison. When
dinner was announced, Mr. Jefferson gave his hand to Mrs. Madison
and seated her on his right, leaving the rest to straggle in as
they pleased. Merry, fresh from the Court of St. James, was
aghast and affronted; and when a few days later, at a dinner
given by the Secretary of State, he saw Mrs. Merry left without
an escort, while Mr. Madison took Mrs. Gallatin to the table, he
believed that a deliberate insult was intended. To appease this
indignant Briton the President was obliged to explain officially
his rule of "pole mele"; but Mrs. Merry was not appeased and
positively refused to appear at the President's New Year's Day
reception. "Since then," wrote the amused Pichon, "Washington
society is turned upside down; all the women are to the last
degree exasperated against Mrs. Merry; the Federalist newspapers
have taken up the matter, and increased the irritations by
sarcasms on the administration and by making a burlesque of the
facts." Then Merry refused an invitation to dine again at the
President's, saying that he awaited instructions from his
Government; and the Marquis Yrujo, who had reasons of his own for
fomenting trouble, struck an alliance with the Merrys and also
declined the President's invitation. Jefferson was incensed at
their conduct, but put the blame upon Mrs. Merry, whom he
characterized privately as a "virago who has already disturbed
our harmony extremely."
A brilliant English essayist has observed that a government to
secure obedience must first excite reverence. Some such
perception, coinciding with native taste, had moved George
Washington to assume the trappings of royalty, in order to
surround the new presidential office with impressive dignity.
Posterity has, accordingly, visualized the first President and
Father of his Country as a statuesque figure, posing at formal
levees with a long sword in a scabbard of white polished leather,
and clothed in black velvet knee-breeches, with yellow gloves and
a cocked hat. The third President of the United States harbored
no such illusions and affected no such poses. Governments were
made by rational beings--"by the consent of the governed," he had
written in a memorable document--and rested on no emotional
basis. Thomas Jefferson remained Thomas Jefferson after his
election to the chief magistracy; and so contemporaries saw him
in the President's House, an unimpressive figure clad in "a blue
coat, a thick gray-colored hairy waistcoat, with a red underwaist
lapped over it, green velveteen breeches, with pearl buttons,
yarn stockings, and slippers down at the heels." Anyone might
have found him, as Senator Maclay did, sitting "in a lounging
manner, on one hip commonly, and with one of his shoulders
elevated much above the other," a loose, shackling figure with no
pretense at dignity.
In his dislike for all artificial distinctions between man and
man, Jefferson determined from the outset to dispense a true
Southern hospitality at the President's House and to welcome any
one at any hour on any day. There was therefore some point to
John Quincy Adams's witticism that Jefferson's "whole eight years
was a levee." No one could deny that he entertained handsomely.
Even his political opponents rose from his table with a
comfortable feeling of satiety which made them more kindly in
their attitude toward their host. "We sat down at the table at
four," wrote Senator Plumer of New Hampshire, "rose at six, and
walked immediately into another room and drank coffee. We had a
very good dinner, with a profusion of fruits and sweetmeats. The
wine was the best I ever drank, particularly the champagne, which
was indeed delicious."
It was in the circle of his intimates that Jefferson appeared at
his best, and of all his intimate friends Madison knew best how
to evoke the true Jefferson. To outsiders Madison appeared rather
taciturn, but among his friends he was genial and even lively,
amusing all by his ready humor and flashes of wit. To his changes
of mood Jefferson always responded. Once started Jefferson would
talk on and on, in a loose and rambling fashion, with a great
deal of exaggeration and with many vagaries, yet always
scattering much information on a great variety of topics. Here we
may leave him for the moment, in the exhilarating hours following
his inauguration, discoursing with Pinckney, Gallatin, Madison,
Burr, Randolph, Giles, Macon, and many another good Republican,
and evolving the policies of his Administration.
|
|
| |
