Madison and Jefferson (68 page)

Just three days after his inaugural address, Jefferson gave Virginia governor James Monroe his recapitulation of the months of turmoil preceding it. He thought he understood the psychology of the average Federalist: weak-minded, easily led, and (most important) so afraid of social anarchy that he was capable of being manipulated by whomever was in power. After months of calling Jefferson an anarchist, these people, “from timidity of [physical] constitution,” had come to fear “anarchy” and now “only wanted a decent excuse” to reembrace government; they had laid down their arms, as it were, because they “wished for a strong executive,” one way or the other. “Timidity” needed to believe in a leader.

This was hardly the way to establish a hybrid Republican-Federalist regime. To longtime confidant John Page, Jefferson significantly toned down his language, which he certainly did not have to do in light of Page’s recent harangue against the Federalists in the House. “My dear friend,” he wrote with generous intent, “I am very much in hopes we shall be able to restore union & harmony to our country.” Unlike the “desperado” leaders—the “incurables” among the High Federalists—middle-of-the-road Federalism consisted of many “real republicans” who had merely been “carried over from us by French excesses” and might now, without too much struggle, be won back.
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That bastion of Federalist journalism, Philadelphia’s
Gazette of the United States
, decided to give Jefferson a chance to make good on his promise. His accession to the presidency gave the party of “good order” a chance to demonstrate its devotion to the high principles of “religion, morality, and laws” rather than any “blind attachment to particular men.” Federalists were not Jacobins, the paper insisted, and would therefore honor the constitutionally elected chief executive as long as he proved himself worthy of the public’s trust. It was up to Jefferson to hold in check “the factious, the impious, the rapacious, the clamorous, the ambitious, and the turbulent”—those Republicans whom Chief Justice Marshall had termed “terrorists.” It was up to Jefferson to imitate George Washington.
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On the other hand, many prominent Federalists were unconvinced from the outset of the new president’s sincerity. They suspected that Jefferson was thinking deviously, if not thinking of outright revenge. They understood power, and Jefferson understood power. The real test would come when Federalist officeholders were either retained or dismissed by Jefferson’s administration.
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“We are all republicans …” was a form of idealism foreign to most Federalists’ way of thinking. If Jefferson embraced that hybrid political entity he seemed to be calling for, it would be as an opiate to ease the pain of a nervous transition. How long would Jefferson be patient with the Federalists, if he was really thinking, deep down, that their party would have to fade away for his vision to be realized? Even the most charitable interpretation of the “one flesh” metaphor as a model for Jeffersonian bipartisanship assumed a natural subordination amid unity. As partisan feuds gave way to marital felicity and public tranquillity, the reins of power would remain in the firm but gentle hands of the Republican head of family. In their prospective marriage, the dominant, or male, persona was to be the Republican; the subordinate, or female, the Federalist. Why should Federalists not be skeptical of a promise of equality that was not really equality?

What, then, to do about Federalist officeholders? Albert Gallatin, despite having been tossed from Congress by illiberal Federalists who regarded him as an untrustworthy foreigner, took a moderate position and for years to come would privilege competence over ideology in appointments.
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Governor Monroe was less magnanimous and proposed that a slow testing-of-the-waters approach made the most sense. Laying out his thoughts in a stream of consciousness, he reminded his friend the president (unnecessarily) that “the royalist party has committed infinite crimes
and enormities.” But he reckoned that if Republicans maintained their cohesion, Federalism would never rise to challenge again.

For Monroe, the administration’s first responsibility was to leave no cause for discontent among Republicans by extending the olive branch too far. But he also believed, as Gallatin did, that Federalists who had performed their offices competently and without political prejudice should be retained; and he predicted that most victory-savoring Republicans would not object to this middle way. But there were also Republicans who would not appreciate
any
concession to
any
Federalist, he said, and it was with these people that Monroe was most concerned. He concluded the letter with an assessment of Madison’s Department of State, where he was sure a complete overhaul would be needed. Owing to the intensity of anti-French feeling, which had long festered, Monroe presumed that the incoming administration would uncover “the most gross and depraved kind” of abuse in State Department files.
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Letters poured in from around the country recommending candidates for federal appointment. Some used colorful language in making their partisan points; men with Republican credentials blatantly asked for appointments to bail them out of the financial straits in which they were caught. A Philadelphian who had served as a commercial agent for Virginia during the Revolution said he was compelled by his “present unfortunate situation” to “throw” himself upon the president’s “indulgence” after his estate had been seized.

Another correspondent wanted nothing for himself but had plenty to say. He described himself as a man “who inhaled with his first breath the genuine spirit of republicanism” and thought he should write to warn Jefferson about the dangers of continuing Federalists in office. He was a Vermonter and a “warm friend” of the recently liberated Matthew Lyon, the Irish pugilist representing that state who had wielded fireplace tongs against an upraised cane on the floor of the House. He wanted the president to know that there were still those in office who had labeled Jefferson “an anarchist and an atheist.” Whether by chance or by design, the never-boring Lyon wrote to Jefferson with encouraging reports at just about the
same time. While on the road in Pennsylvania, he had heard a confirmed Federalist decrying all those who had spoken ill of Albert Gallatin. Everyone had an opinion.
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For several months Jefferson’s correspondence with political allies was filled with such discussion. To Gallatin, the president reasserted his basic principle for staffing federal positions: “We must be inflexible against appointing federalists till there be a due portion of republicans introduced into office.” He divided the various interests into categories of “Monarchical federalists,” the salvageable “Republican federalists,” the uncompromising “
Sweeping
republicans,” and the deserving “moderate & general republicans,” who invariably saw things his way.

Certain executive acts of an overtly partisan nature would not wait. Even before Madison arrived in Washington, Jefferson rewarded the electioneering energies of South Carolina’s Charles Pinckney by appointing him U.S. minister to Spain. He also pardoned several who had been convicted under the Sedition Act, including the notorious James T. Callender. Somehow, though, Callender concluded that Jefferson was standing in his way and delaying his release from prison.
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Reestablishing former connections, the president wrote to friends abroad. He humbly announced his change in status and conveyed his “constant & sincere affection” to William Short, Thomas Paine, and the Marquis de Lafayette. He promised fair decisions and “sentiments worthy of former times.” As he weighed fairness against sentiments, he continued to collect letters of recommendation and compiled careful lists of candidates for office. Who was to be hired, who was to be fired? The page was divided into columns, marking each individual’s residence, the position requested, the recommender’s name, and the date of the recommendation letter. Elaborating on his comment to Secretary Gallatin, the president explained to any who inquired what his guiding principle would be. Appointments made by John Adams after his electoral defeat in December were deemed unacceptable; and partisan imbalances within the federal judiciary were to be corrected through appointment of Republicans as state attorneys where the courts were presently dominated by Federalists.

Nevertheless Jefferson retained a majority of the justices of the peace for the District of Columbia whom the Senate had confirmed only days before he took office. One of those to whom he denied office, William Marbury, would shortly become a sizable footnote in history. Adams himself appeared not to have anticipated the hubbub surrounding his “midnight” appointments, having written to his successor, with considerable grace, on
his arrival back in Massachusetts: “I See nothing to obscure your prospect of a quiet and prosperous Administration, which I heartily wish you.”

Another Adams, the ex-president’s cousin, was decidedly Jeffersonian in his political spirit and plainly philosophical in the last years of his life. Samuel Adams had entertained the Virginian at his home in Boston on the eve of Jefferson’s departure for France in 1784. He addressed him now as “my very dear friend” and presented a maritime interpretation of the challenges before the country: “With you, I hope we shall once more see harmony restored; but after so severe and long a storm, it will take a proportionate time to still the raging of the waves.” He recognized in the nature of conflict the power of self-deception: “The World has been governed by prejudice and passion, which never can be friendly to truth.” And he closed his letter tenderly: “You have devoutly my Blessing and my Prayers.”
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Jefferson saw Madison at Montpelier one month after the inauguration, as he rode back to Albemarle for a two-week working vacation. He spent the night at the Madisons’ again when he returned north—the new Congress was still months from its first meeting. When Madison joined the administration on May 1, the oath of office was administered to him by Abigail Adams’s nephew, Judge William Cranch, whom Jefferson would later name chief justice of the Federal District Court.

Initially, James and Dolley lodged at the President’s House, moving several blocks uptown as Madison’s physical condition improved. For now, the State and War departments were housed together. Between there and Capitol Hill lay rough country, as Pierre L’Enfant’s radiating street design had not yet been carved out. Indeed, the formless look and feel of low-lying Washington obliged Madison and Jefferson to leave town for the healthier air of central Virginia during the “bilious” summer months.
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The new secretary of state was intricately involved in all appointments and dismissals, especially the choice of some fifty U.S. consuls stationed abroad. Notwithstanding Monroe’s warning about the number of State Department employees whose loyalty was to the other side, Madison by and large retained the staff. One clerk, Daniel Brent, proved such an efficient manager of communications that he would still be at State during the administration of Martin Van Buren. Another, Jacob Wagner, was an out-and-out Federalist, but Madison perceived in him a rare combination of integrity and administrative ability.

Madison was easy to work for, his manner so accommodating, in fact, that the caustic pamphleteer Callender proclaimed that the secretary of
state was the only cabinet officer he felt he could trust, the only man “whom I could without hypocrisy profess to feel an attachment for.” When Jefferson sent Meriwether Lewis to the agitated Callender, bearing fifty dollars and an explanation for the delay in relieving his pecuniary concerns, Lewis returned to the president with Callender’s demand for—as Jefferson repeated to Monroe—“hushmoney.” He could not imagine what intelligence Callender possessed that could do him damage and wrote fatefully: “He knows nothing of me which I am not willing to declare to the world.” It is curious that the pamphleteer, who was not beyond threatening the president directly, fully expected Madison to see to it that Jefferson named him postmaster of Richmond, which was at that time a quite lucrative position.
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In spite of the abuse he had earlier suffered at the hands of Federalists in Congress, the fair-minded Gallatin took Jefferson’s inaugural optimism to heart. He prepared a circular announcing that his door was open to all political opinions, and he would staff the Treasury Department with men of talent, regardless of previous partisan attachment. Madison and Jefferson were together when Gallatin sent his circular to the president for approval. Madison was probably the more reticent about releasing the document to federal employees, but it was the president who instructed Gallatin to withhold it until it was deemed safe to proceed with a truly nonpartisan policy.

The Federalist press did not take long before announcing that it had sniffed out dissension among the chief players in the administration. As early as mid-1801 the
Philadelphia Gazette
raised the specter of a dissolution of the Virginia–New York axis: “It is whispered among M
R
. J
EFFERSON’S
friends, that he will not be nominated four years hence for re-election … Those who say this also say that M
R
. M
ADISON
will be his successor.—The friends of Col. B
URR
are not pleased with this arrangement, and think he ought to succeed to the Presidency … but Virginia never will support for the Presidency any man who is not a Virginian.” In New England, similar reports circulated.
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If the story seems entirely made up, and it may be, this Federalist wish-fulfillment contained elements of truth. Madison and Jefferson were in agreement that they should not shore up Vice President Burr’s patronage power in his home state of New York. Of the other men of influence there, Robert Livingston was in France and his brother Edward was soon to come under a cloud as mayor of New York City. George Clinton had been returned to the governorship. His publicity-seeking nephew DeWitt Clinton waited in the wings, no less desirous of being a political “boss” than Hamilton ever was.