Alexander Hamilton (112 page)

Now Hamilton promptly wrote and asked the three legislators to repudiate Callender’s interpretation of the December 1792 meeting. Muhlenberg sent a friendly reply, regretted publication of the Reynolds papers, and confirmed that he had trusted Hamilton’s account at the time. Venable’s response, if a bit testier, agreed that the trio had accepted Hamilton’s explanation. He also imparted the key piece of information that the Reynolds documents had been entrusted to James Monroe: “I do not know any means by which these papers could have got out unless by the person who copied them [i.e., John Beckley].”
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Monroe received Hamilton’s letter just as he was preparing to visit his New York in-laws, the Kortrights. Before replying, Monroe wanted to huddle with Muhlenberg and Venable. Miffed by what he saw as stalling, Hamilton flew into a rage when he heard that Monroe was staying near him, on Wall Street. On July 10, he sent Monroe a terse note: “Mr. Hamilton requests an interview with Mr. Monroe at any hour tomorrow forenoon which may be convenient to him. Particular reasons will induce him to bring with him a friend to be present at what may pass. Mr. Monroe, if he pleases, may have another.”
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Beyond its cold formality, the note’s reference to bringing witnesses signified the potential onset of an affair of honor. Faced with this challenge, Monroe consented to have Hamilton come to his lodgings at ten o’clock the next morning. It was to be one of the most emotional encounters of Hamilton’s tumultuous life.

James Monroe was a tall, handsome man with piercing blue eyes and a rather awkward manner. Unlike the quick-witted Hamilton, Monroe was a plodding speaker and a middling intellect. Jefferson and other companions valued his sincerity. “Turn his soul wrong side outwards and there is not a speck on it,” Jefferson once told Madison.
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Like Hamilton, Monroe, a carpenter’s son who had fought courageously in the Revolution, came from humble origins. He had crossed the Delaware with Washington, and his lung had been pierced by a bullet at the battle of Trenton. By war’s end, Monroe was a protégé of Jefferson, who urged him to study law and enter politics. The two Virginians shared a belief that emancipation should be postponed, with the freed slaves someday transplanted to Africa. As a member of the Confederation Congress in the early 1780s, Monroe drew close to Madison but voted against ratifying the Constitution at the Virginia convention.

In the Senate, Monroe had exhibited special fervor in the Republican cause, just as Madison did in the House. He dismissed Britain as a corrupt, tottering state, saw the Federalists as their spineless lackeys—he denounced Hamilton’s programs as “calculated to elevate the government above the people”—and favored an outright military alliance with France.
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For Monroe, the “enemies of the French Revolution” were likewise “partisans for monarchy” in America.
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Five days after Monroe arrived in Paris as American minister, Robespierre was executed, but all the carnage did not cool Monroe’s infatuation for the Revolution. He frequently sided with the French government, advised it to ignore Washington as an “Angloman,” and opposed the Jay Treaty. After two years of such disloyal bungling, Monroe was recalled by Washington and chastised as “a mere tool in the hands of the French government.”
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Hamilton arrived on the morning of July 11 with John B. Church, while Monroe invited along David Gelston, a New York merchant and Republican politician. Gelston left a graphic account of the showdown between the ex–treasury secretary and the future president. From the second he entered the room, Hamilton seemed beside himself with rage. In Gelston’s words, he “appeared very much agitated” and launched into an extended monologue about the December 1792 meeting. Even in Gelston’s neutral chronicle, one can feel the extreme tension throbbing in the air. The two antagonists were visibly offended by each other. Hamilton pointed out that he had written to Monroe, Muhlenberg, and Venable and had “expected an immediate answer to so important a subject in which his character, the peace and reputation of his family were so deeply interested.” Monroe replied that if Hamilton “would be temperate or quiet for a moment…he would answer him candidly.”
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Hamilton asked if Monroe had leaked the Reynolds papers or failed to guarantee their security. Monroe replied that he thought the documents had “remained sealed” with a Virginia friend, that he had not intended to publish them, and knew nothing of their appearance until his return from Europe.
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At this, Hamilton dropped any pose of civility and chastised Monroe, saying “your representation is totally false.”
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According to Gelston, the two men rose instantly. Monroe called Hamilton a “scoundrel,” whereupon Hamilton immediately adopted the ritual language of dueling, saying, “I will meet you like a gentleman.” To which Monroe retorted, “I am ready, get your pistols.”
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The two men, like a pair of squabbling schoolboys, nearly came to blows, and Gelston and Church had to pry them apart, urging moderation. Although they soon sat down, Gelston observed that Hamilton was still “extremely agitated,” while Monroe adopted an icy tone of contempt, telling Hamilton he would explain what he knew if the latter would just calm down.
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Gelston brought the hourlong meeting to a close by saying that Hamilton should wait until Monroe met with Venable and Muhlenberg in Philadelphia. Hamilton agreed reluctantly.

This began an interminable correspondence between Hamilton and Monroe that lasted the rest of the year and never gave Hamilton satisfaction. After Monroe conferred with Muhlenberg in Philadelphia (Venable having left for Virginia), the two men drafted a joint letter to Hamilton. They agreed that in December 1792 they had credited his story about Maria Reynolds and had dropped their suspicions about Treasury misconduct. This letter removed one bone of contention and took Muhlenberg out of the picture. But it left Hamilton brooding about another piece of evidence: the January 1, 1793, statement in which Monroe seemed to endorse Jacob Clingman’s wild allegation. Hamilton followed Monroe to Philadelphia and peppered him with brief, pointed letters, trying to get him to renounce that statement. “Alexander Hamilton has favored this city with a visit,” the
Aurora
reported with hearty pleasure. “He has certainly not come for the benefit of the fresh air.”
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Because Monroe had been responsible for the documents surfacing, Hamilton lectured him that it was incumbent upon him “as a man of honor and sensibility to have come forward in a manner that would have shielded me completely from the unpleasant effects brought upon me by your agency. This you have not done.” Hamilton then employed language that again presaged a duel: “The result in my mind is that you have been and are actuated by motives towards me malignant and dishonorable.”
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Monroe was enraged by Hamilton’s truculence. He told Hamilton that if he wanted to convert this dispute into a personal affair—in other words, a duel—he was fully prepared to oblige him. He took refuge behind a hairsplitting distinction. He said that while he had recorded Clingman’s statement without comment, he had not endorsed it. In a stinging rejoinder, Hamilton pointed out that for Monroe to have “recorded and preserved in secret” this accusatory statement was scarcely a friendly action. At this juncture in late July, Hamilton was weighing whether or not to publish his pamphlet. Monroe’s obstinacy apparently pushed him over the edge. “The public explanation to which I am driven must decide, as far as public opinion is concerned, between us,” Hamilton told him. “Painful as the appeal will be in one respect, I know that in the principal point it must completely answer my purpose.”
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In early August, the feud between Hamilton and Monroe took on the formality of an affair of honor. Both men denied wanting to duel but stood ready if necessary. What are we to make of all this blowing and bluster? In their endless exchange of letters that summer, Monroe could have let Hamilton off the hook by stating that the veracity of the Clingman memo rested on Clingman’s credibility alone. But Monroe was still smarting over his ignominious recall from Paris and did not wish to make life easy for Hamilton. On the other hand, it is equally noteworthy that Hamilton was intransigent and made it hard for Monroe to compromise without losing face.

On August 6, Monroe sent Aaron Burr a copy of his correspondence with Hamilton and tried to enlist his aid to avert a duel. Obviously, he thought Burr was friendly enough with Hamilton to act as a mediator. Monroe made it plain that while he would not shrink from a duel, he would gladly avoid one if done “with propriety.”
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Just as Hamilton thought Monroe was motivated by partisan purposes, so Monroe thought Hamilton goaded on by “party friends.” “In truth I have no desire to persecute this man,” Monroe told Burr, “though he justly merits it…. I had no hand in the publication, was sorry for it, and think he has acted, by drawing the public attention to it and making it an aff[ai]r of more consequence than it was in itself, very indiscreetly.”
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Monroe did not understand just how upset the illegitimate Hamilton was about anything that affected his reputation. In a letter delivered by Burr, Monroe told Hamilton that he had no intention of challenging him to a duel. At this, Hamilton temporarily backed down, saying that any further action on his own part would be improper.

The most fair-minded advice in the dispute came from Aaron Burr, who seemed devoid of the petty, vindictive spirit that actuated the chief adversaries. Unlike the Jeffersonians, he did not doubt Hamilton’s integrity. That August, he told Monroe that he hoped his correspondence with Hamilton would be burned. “If you and Muhlenberg really believe, as I do and think you must, that H[amilton] is innocent of the charge of any concern in speculation with Reynolds, it is my opinion that it will be an act of magnanimity and justice to say so in a joint certificate…. Resentment is more dignified when justice is rendered to its object.”
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Had he already hated Hamilton, Burr could have egged on Monroe and engineered a duel in which Hamilton might have died. Instead, he had the grace and decency to plead for fairness toward Hamilton. He was the one upright actor in the whole affair.

In late August, the appearance of Hamilton’s
Observations
pamphlet revived the feud with Monroe, which sputtered on for months. After poring over the pamphlet, Madison reassured Monroe that it did not threaten his honor. Monroe would not listen. In early December, he reactivated the dormant feud by sending a provocative letter to Hamilton. “In my judgment,” he told Hamilton, “you ought either to have been satisfied with the explanations I gave you or to have invited me to the field [of honor].”
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Burr was authorized to act as a second in any duel but let the matter quietly lapse. Among other things, Burr did not think that Hamilton would actually fight, a misperception that may have influenced his later decisions in his own encounter with Hamilton. In fact, Hamilton drafted a letter to Monroe in January 1798, accepting a duel if necessary. Fortunately, the confrontation petered out, and Hamilton never sent the note. As a result of this and other dealings with him, Burr came away with a lower opinion of Monroe. When Monroe’s name later surfaced as a possible presidential candidate, Burr jotted down this scathing assessment of him:

Naturally dull and stupid; extremely illiterate; indecisive to a degree that would be incredible to one who did not know him; pusillanimous and, of course, hypocritical; has no opinion on any subject and will be always under the government of the worst men; pretends, as I am told, to some knowledge of military matters, but never commanded a platoon nor was ever fit to command one…. As a lawyer, Monroe was far below mediocrity.
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The first advertisement for Hamilton’s pamphlet appeared in the
Gazette of the United States
on July 31, yet it was not actually published until August 25. Why this curious hiatus after Hamilton had rushed to complete his defense? Some time may have elapsed as Hamilton rounded up affidavits, but the paramount reason was probably simpler: Eliza was pregnant with their sixth child. Because of her earlier miscarriage, it would be their first child in five years. Hamilton must have dreaded that exposure of his actions might provoke another miscarriage, as had occurred when he rode off to the Whiskey Rebellion three years earlier. Hamilton’s delay in issuing his pamphlet gave Eliza the necessary reprieve. On August 4, 1797, she gave birth to a healthy baby, William Stephen Hamilton, who was baptized by the Reverend Benjamin Moore at Trinity Church. “Mrs. Hamilton has lately added another boy to our stock,” Hamilton told Washington in late August, after receiving the wine cooler. “She and the child are both well.”
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The name may have celebrated Hamilton’s new rapport with his Scottish uncle and paid tribute to his brother-in-law, Lieutenant Governor Stephen Van Rensselaer, then grieving over the death of his eldest daughter.

The Republican press made the Reynolds exposé as hellish as possible for Eliza. “Art thou a wife?” the
Aurora
asked her. “See him, whom thou has chosen for the partner of this life, lolling in the lap of a harlot!!”
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Eliza never commented publicly on the Reynolds scandal, but we can deduce her general reaction from several snippets of information. On July 13, while Hamilton was in Philadelphia, John Barker Church sent him a letter that described Eliza’s response to the open letter just published by Callender: “Eliza is well. She put into my hand the newspaper with James Thomson Callender’s letter to you, but it makes not the least impression on her, only that she considers the whole knot of those opposed to you to be [scoundrels].”
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This drives home several points: that Eliza was outraged at Hamilton’s critics; that she agreed that a conspiracy was afoot; and that her faith in her husband’s integrity was unshaken. Of course, at this point Hamilton had not yet published his own pamphlet, spilling out lurid details of his adultery. The
Aurora
later screamed, “He acknowledges…that he violated the sacred sanctuary of his own house, by taking an unprincipled woman during the absence of his wife and family to his bed.”
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But already Eliza showed flashes of the militant loyalty to her husband that was to distinguish her widowhood. Church also mentioned to Hamilton that Angelica was sick: “My Angelica is not very well. She complains that her throat is a little sore. I hope it will not be of long duration.”
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