Like all men, even the greatest among them, Alexander Hamilton, Thomas Jefferson, and Aaron Burr were not without their human foibles. Hamilton was gratingly arrogant, thin-skinned, emotionally volatile, and quick to go on the defensive. He was a statesman, not a diplomatic, and while he was brilliant and extremely persuasive in his arguments, he allowed himself to be governed too often by his passions—often to his own detriment. Jefferson, in contrast, was the model of diplomacy. Mild-mannered and plain-spoken, he won popularity with his masterful manipulation of words and ideas. Beneath that genteel exterior, however, beat the heart of a ruthless passive-aggressive who plotted against his enemies behind their backs. And then there is Burr, an unprincipled, self-serving, and power-hungry sensualist by all accounts who thumbed his nose at social and religious mores. When the presidential election of 1800 resulted in a deadlock between Jefferson and Burr, Hamilton, after considerable soul-searching, conducted a furious letter-writing campaign to urge fellow Federalists to vote for Jefferson, even though their visions for America were opposed. His reasons? While Jefferson’s principles were misguided, at least he had some. “In a choice of Evils let them take the least,” he wrote to a fellow Federalist at the time. “Jefferson is in every view less dangerous than Burr.” Yes, these great men had their flaws—negative traits that earned all three numerous enemies, including each other. Their intense dislike for one another eventually led to tragedy for all but Jefferson, whose cunning and well-planned attacks destroyed the reputations and political careers of the other two. While Hamilton and Burr enjoyed center stage, Jefferson preferred to watch from behind the scenery. He had a brilliant and calculating mind and he thrived on intrigues. He understood that his opponent’s secrets and faults were valuable political capital he could use to his advantage--and he took great care to collect and record what he heard in the diary he called Anas. “Gossip was everywhere,” wrote Joanne B. Freeman in “Slander, Poison, Whispers, and Fame: Jefferson’s Anas and Political Gossip,” which appeared in the Journal of the Early Republic in 1995. “Jefferson fumed against Hamilton’s slanders, and Hamilton raged against Jefferson’s whispers.” Jefferson would have heard or observed that Hamilton was a determined flirt with a weakness for women (especially pretty, vampy ones like Maria Reynolds). Whether true or not, rumors of the treasury secretary’s extramarital affairs abounded. Jefferson also knew his sworn enemy would defend his honor to the death, despite his claims of religious and moral opposition to the practice of dueling. Hamilton had made his views on the subject clear when he nearly challenged Jefferson’s pal James Monroe to a duel in 1797 over the leak of the Reynolds Affair. As for Burr, Jefferson knew very well what sort of man he was long before he became his vice president. Burr, being devoid of morals or principles, would do anything for money and/or increased political clout. Did Jefferson exploit this intelligence to eliminate his political enemies? If he did, it was a plan of such evil genius, no one suspects Jefferson’s involvement, despite the political stronghold he gained in the aftermath. Yes, the possibility that Jefferson bargained with Burr to assassinate Hamilton tampers with national myths passionately held, but sometimes our idols must be smashed in the quest for truth. “Most Americans as well as a majority of historians regard Jefferson as something of a saint, Hamilton as a martyr, and Burr as an outright villain,” wrote Arnold A. Rogow in Fatal Friendship: Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr (Hill & Wang, 1998). “If, however, the tampering which follows has any credence, all three characterizations are somewhat exaggerated. This is not to deny that Jefferson, in writing most of the Declaration of Independence and insisting upon the addition of a Bill of Rights to the Constitution, achievements of much greater importance for the American political tradition than any accomplishment of his presidency, insured that he would be remembered forever by those who cherish freedom. Nor can it be doubted that Hamilton, intellectually brilliant, perhaps a genius, contributed more than any other American of his era to the economic stability of the new Republic by restoring confidence at home and abroad in the nation’s credit, and by founding the banking system.” Burr, on the other hand, “achieved little and contributed nothing of lasting value to his country,” in Rogow’s estimation. Some historians in recent years have attempted to defend Burr’s honor, pointing to the enlightened way in which he raised and educated his daughter, Theodosia. He was a man ahead of his time, they insist, a pioneering feminist in an age of misogyny. Still others (most notably Gore Vidal) have insinuated that Burr’s relationship with his daughter was more incestuous than progressive. If that is true, it would not have been the first time in history a widower expected his eldest daughter to assume her mother’s duties, not excluding those of a conjugal nature. Nevertheless, it seems far more likely the outlets for Burr’s pedophilic tendencies (if indeed he had any) were the many orphans and young refugees he took under his wing. That, at least, was the rumor of the day—and quite possibly the “despicable” thing Hamilton said that led to his death. Whatever Burr’s crimes or contributions might or might not have been, gossip, rumors, and accusations followed him throughout his life. He was said to consort openly with prostitutes, seduce genteel virgins, have affairs with women of high and low birth, and exploit public office for private gain. Burr also fathered two illegitimate children by his East Indian servant Mary Emmons (a.k.a. Eugénie Bearhani) and did many favors for Maria Reynolds, including handling her divorce and finding her employment after she split from her second husband. Did they have an affair? Knowing both their reputations for licentiousness, it seems likely. Hamilton frequently described Burr as “profligate” and “a voluptuary in the extreme,” suggesting it might have been more than Burr’s frequent affairs to which he objected. Doing so, after all, would have made him a hypocrite, given his own established and rumored transgressions. These included his sister-in-law, Angelica Schuyler Church, who also maintained a bosom friendship with Jefferson, and Eliza Bowen Jumel, who later married and divorced Burr after he murdered Hamilton. Jefferson, too, had unsuitable liaisons—with Betsy Walker, the wife of a close friend, and his slave, Sally Hemings, who bore him several bastard children (DNA results confirm his fatherhood of all but one of her children). While serving as the U.S. Minister to France, he also forged intimate (and perhaps sexual) bonds with two other married women: Maria Cosway and Angelica Church, with whom he exchanged affectionate correspondence for many years thereafter. Their cross-over relationships with Mrs. Reynolds and Madame Jumel suggest that Burr and Hamilton might have had similar taste in women—one of the few things these two political and professional rivals had in common apart from their brilliant minds, shrewd cunning, and persuasive verbal skills—traits Jefferson also possessed in abundance. All three also shared a psychic wound inflicted early in life by the death or abandonment of their parents. The scar this left on their psyches manifested itself differently in each man, but can be seen in the actions and ambitions of them all. In Jefferson, the wound showed itself as a need to be loved. That is the underlying reason he pursued public office and public approval throughout most of his life—and also why he resigned his posts whenever he felt unappreciated. In Hamilton, his parental abandonment fueled an insatiable thirst for fame and glory—not because he craved approval and popularity to fill the inner void the way Jefferson did, but as a means to overcome his humble and illegitimate beginnings. At that time in colonial America (and long after the revolution) all men were not perceived as equal. Because the British class system was still very much in force, the quickest way someone born out of wedlock in the Danish West Indies could rise above his station was by distinguishing himself in the service of his country, either as a soldier or statesman. In the era of the American Revolution, “fame” had a special meaning having little to do with celebrity. For Hamilton and the other founders, fame was inextricably linked with honor and a special kind of achievement. In the Essays of Sir Francis Bacon, which the young Hamilton studied assiduously (as did Jefferson, Burr, and many other learned men of the day), the English philosopher and organizer of knowledge dismissed the praise of the common people as irrelevant to seekers after true fame. Winning fame, Bacon maintained, meant winning the praise not of the masses, but from persons of judgment and quality. In Bacon’s model, there are five rungs on the ladder of fame. On the lowest are Fathers of the Country, who “reign justly and make the times good wherein they live.” Next are Champions of Empire, leaders who enlarge their country through conquest or defend her against invaders. On the next rung up are Saviors of Empire, who deliver their country from the miseries of tyrants or the chaos of civil wars. Then come the Great Lawgivers, such as Solon, Lycurgus, and Justinian. Finally, at the summit, are Founders of Empires—men like Julius Caesar and Cyrus of Persia who were at once great generals and wise legislators. This is the kind of “fame” to which Hamilton aspired—greatness rather than celebrity. And that was undoubtedly why he was so punctilious about keeping his honor and integrity squeaky clean. Yes, he had at least one affair, but attitudes about infidelity were different back then. Men, it was widely believed, required regular ejaculation to maintain good health and, if their wives were unable to accommodate their needs, they were obliged to seek another vessel for their release. Most men went to prostitutes to fill their unmet needs—unless, like Jefferson, they owned slaves who would do as well, without the risk of the pox. And while we’re on the subject of Sally Hemings, forget Hollywood’s romanticized portrayals of the relationship between her and Jefferson. She probably meant no more to her master than the bucket of ice-water he soaked his feet in every night—also for the sake of his good health. Southern slave-owners back then impregnated their female slaves, often by force, both to purify the African race, which was considered inferior to whites, and to increase their slave holdings. Despite his inspiring passages on liberty and equality in the Declaration of Independence, Jefferson was hardly enlightened on matters of race. In Notes on the State of Virginia, he admitted his repugnance to the color, hair, physiques, and smell of Africans. Accepting the “deep-rooted prejudices” of his day and age, Jefferson also believed blacks to be slow, lazy, oversexed, less capable than whites of reasoning, and on the whole an inferior race. [Source: Notes on the State of Virginia by Thomas Jefferson]. Jefferson, therefore, probably chose Sally as his “mistress” because she was a quadroon (three-fourths white) and, therefore, nearly Caucasian in appearance. Contemporary accounts describe her as having "dusky" skin and straight black hair. Her children by her master were seven-eighths white. Some even had their father’s signature red hair. Hamilton, conversely, despised the institution of slavery, advocated for the recruitment of black soldiers in the Continental Army, and was a founding member of the New York Manumission Society, an organization devoted to the abolition of slavery. The Society, founded by John Jay in 1785, kept up a relentless pressure of economic intimidation, including hectoring newspaper editors against advertising slave sales, pressuring auction houses and ship-owners to abandon the import and sale of slaves, and providing legal aid to slaves suing their masters. Though a slave-owner himself, Burr also promoted the abolition of slavery. Working closely with the Manumission Society, he introduced an amendment into the New York Assembly calling for the immediate emancipation of slaves in New York. The amendment failed, but eventually resulted in the passage of a bill sanctioning the gradual emancipation of slaves in New York. The above is excerpted from my work-in-progress, All-Out Warfare: The Jeffersonian Conspiracy to Destroy Alexander Hamilton.
0 Comments
In 2005, while touring Monticello, I happened to notice two marble busts positioned on either side of the doorway into the entry hall. One was of Thomas Jefferson (as you’d expect) and the other of Alexander Hamilton (as you would not). Knowing how much the two despised each other in life, I found it odd that Jefferson would give his political enemy’s likeness such a prominent place in his home. After pointing this out to the tour guide, he told me that, when Jefferson’s grandson made the same observation, his grandfather gave this reply: “We will oppose in death as we opposed in life.” The young man then asked a question of the group. “Does anyone know who Hamilton considered the greatest man who ever lived?”—to which I replied, “The answer you’re looking for is Julius Cesar, but Hamilton never said that. It was an invention by Jefferson to make Hamilton appear subversive to the goals of democracy.” Though dubious, the young man let the subject drop and took us through to the library. Later, when I was exploring the grounds on my own, the guide sought me out. “I asked the curator if what you said about Hamilton’s Julius Cesar remark was true,” he told me. “He said it was…but how in the world did you know that?” “I’m an admirer of Hamilton’s,” I explained with a smile. “And have read quite a bit about America’s founding period.” I share this little story not only because it reveals that Jefferson still despised Hamilton until his dying day, but also because it confirms that the anti-Hamilton propaganda generated by Jefferson and his supporters more than two centuries ago still lives on in the American psyche. My story demonstrates something else as well: My admiration for Hamilton preceded Hamilton: An American Musical by at least a decade. So did the suspicions that inspired All-Out Warfare: The Jeffersonian Conspiracy to Destroy Alexander Hamilton. Call it a hunch or a reporter’s instincts, but the more I read, the more I began to see the shadow of conspiracy overlaying the two most controversial events in Hamilton’s life: His sordid dealings with Maria and James Reynolds in the early 1790s and his fatal duel with Aaron Burr in 1804. Certain aspects of both events still raise questions. Why did Hamilton risk his career, marriage, and reputation to become romantically involved with the wife of a known speculator? Or, as the key witness in the investigation alleged, did he invent the affair and forge the billets-doux from Mrs. Reynolds to cover up his shady dealings with her husband? In the case of the duel, it is Burr’s behavior that mystifies. Why did he issue his challenge on such flimsy grounds? Why did he refuse to negotiate a resolution in advance of the duel? Why did he shoot to kill instead of aiming away as he’d done in previous duels? And, most puzzling of all, why did Burr destroy the very honor he sought to defend by murdering Hamilton in cold blood? Scholarly speculations and analyses vary, but in the vast majority, Jacob Clingman, the key witness against Hamilton in the investigation into the Reynolds Affair, is believed to be an innocent bystander—an impressionable young man corrupted by an unsavory character. Likewise, Aaron Burr is presumed to have acted alone out of malice when he challenged Hamilton to settle their differences with pistols (the same pair, ironically, used in the duel that killed Hamilton’s eldest son a few years earlier). Never mind that these assumptions create more confusion than clarity—or that they fail to take into account witness credibility, ulterior motives, character, conflicts of interest, uncanny coincidences, cause-and-effect, or outcomes. Was it merely happenstance, for example, that Maria Reynolds knocked on Hamilton’s door shortly after his political enemies met to plot his downfall? Or that James Monroe, one of Jefferson’s top henchmen, put himself in charge of the investigation? Or that one of Jefferson’s “generals” in the conspiracy against Hamilton petitioned the governor of New Jersey to dismiss the murder charges against Burr? William Branch Giles’s argument: Despite the laws against dueling, no one had ever been prosecuted for murder after killing his opponent on the field of honor. Did he make the same argument to Burr when recruiting him to assassinate Hamilton? It would not have been difficult to persuade such an unscrupulous and self-serving man to pick a fight with Hamilton and carry it through to a fatal end. Burr was on a downward spiral at the time, thanks in part to Hamilton’s behind-the-scenes campaign to keep him out of public office. Having nowhere to go but down, Burr would have sold his soul for the promise of a choice appointment, party backing, and/or escape from prosecution, all of which were within President Jefferson’s power to provide. And yet, few if any have linked these affairs to the larger conspiracy against Hamilton, let alone connected the dots back to the sainted author of the Declaration of Independence (who was no saint, incidentally). This seems remarkable in light of the evidence. It is established historical fact, for example, that Jefferson, Madison, Burr, and Robert R. Livingston met in secret in Albany in May or June, 1791, to declare “all-out warfare” on Hamilton. Irrefutable proof also exists that for years thereafter, various attacks on Hamilton were launched with varying degrees of success by Jefferson’s army, whose ranks included Madison, Monroe, John Beckley, Giles, Burr, and among many others. It seems reasonable, therefore, to suspect that the Reynolds Affair and the duel with Burr were also components of that conspiracy. All-Out Warfare will seek to prove they were by presenting new evidence and ideas alongside existing scholarship, some of which will be challenged. A case in point is Julian P. Boyd’s assertions that Hamilton forged the letters he published to disprove allegations he was speculating with James Reynolds. While Boyd argued convincingly that the letters were fakes, he failed to consider that someone other than Hamilton might have been the forger. Someone like Clingman, for instance, whose hearsay testimony about what occurred between Hamilton and the Reynoldses has been elevated by repetition to accepted truth. And, much like Hamilton’s alleged admiration for Julius Cesar, that is far from the case. Another such misnomer is the belief that Clingman and Maria Reynolds fled to England to escape the negative publicity when her affair with Hamilton came to light. This false factoid can be traced back to the biography of Beckley, Jefferson’s chief dirt-digger in the plot against Hamilton, published in 1973 by Edmund and Dorthy Smith Berkeley. The truth, discovered in documents housed in the U.K. National Archive, is that Clingman and Maria (who married in 1795) went to Jamaica, not England, and returned within the year. In 1798, Clingman went to England alone… But I get ahead of myself. All of this and more will be discussed in the book. Did Jefferson and his cronies arrange the assassination of Hamilton? I will leave it to you, the reader, to decide after considering the case I put before you. |
Hi, I'm Nina Mason, an author, investigative journalist, history buff, and self-professed Hamilton fan (not the musical, the historical figure). Herein, I will share interesting tidbits related to my investigation into my belief that the Reynolds Affair and duel with Aaron Burr were part of a larger conspiracy against Hamilton directed by Thomas Jefferson.
ArchivesCategories |