“I believe this is yours, ma chère soeur?” he said archly, holding it out to her.
She snatched the garter from him, laughing. “Even such gallant gestures, sir,” she teased archly, “do not make you a Knight of the Garter.”
Alexander bowed grandly before her, and, laughing all the while, Angelica tapped her palm lightly on each of his shoulders in turn as if conferring an imaginary knighthood.
But Peggy always liked to have the last word, and she did so now.
“Don’t encourage him, Angelica, or he’ll only expect more,” she said. “Especially since the title he most desires is Gentleman of the Bedchamber.”
“Peggy!” I exclaimed, startled and a little shocked by her boldness, even as I laughed with the others. It was all wine-fed foolish banter and nothing more, nor did I take any real offense from it, either. But as Peggy often did, she’d pushed the jest too far, and it was left to her husband to make some bland comment about the music to ease the awkwardness of the moment.
As I said, the entire business was done in less than a moment, and I’d forgotten all about it by the time we left for home.
But to my mortification, others were not so forgetful, nor so forgiving.
Alexander had been as good as promised a post in the cabinet in relation to finance, a deep secret that everyone in New York seemed to know, but the appointment could not be made until Congress had determined exactly how the government would function in regard to financial affairs.
In the meantime, he had involved himself in the belated selection of New York’s first senators to Congress. My father was an undisputed choice for one of the seats, but Alexander had also begun promoting a good friend of his, Rufus King, over Governor Clinton’s preferred candidate, Robert Livingston. That, combined with rumors of the coming appointment, meant that once again, my husband’s name—or rather, a cryptic version of it with some letters replaced with asterisks that fooled no one—and reputation were publicly ridiculed in letters printed in the newspapers.
One morning Angelica and I were taking tea in our small back garden whilst my youngest son, James, was napping inside. I had my sewing, and my sister had one of the morning newspapers spread on the table to read. Always an avid reader, she devoured the New York papers with the same ferocity that Alexander did, and as we sat together, she’d read aloud items she judged to be of particular amusement or interest.
“These letters are every bit as loathsome as the ones in the London papers,” she mused as she skimmed over the page. “So much venom and bile! Haven’t these men anything better to do with their days than squander them composing vitriol for print above a false name?”
“I wish you’d tell that to Alexander,” I said. “It’s one thing to write useful essays for publication such as The Federalist, but too often he cannot resist wallowing into dreadful skirmishes and name-calling with Governor Clinton’s followers.”
She didn’t answer, and I glanced up from my sewing to see her focused intently on what she was reading, her fingers pressed to her lips and her brows drawn together.
“What is it?” I asked uneasily. “What are you reading?”
She sat back in her chair, her hands spread over the paper as if covering the words could make them disappear. “Some dreadful individual who signs himself only as R. S. is accusing Hamilton of being an—an adulterer.”
“Not again,” I murmured unhappily, steeling myself. “Read me the pertinent part.”
She took a deep breath, and read swiftly. “ ‘There is also a certain puffed-up Attorney of this town who would force his advices upon the State-House, even as he flaunts the Laws of good Christians & keeps a HAREM of sisters for his pleasure.’ ”
“Oh, Angelica,” I said, appalled. Although the letter did not address my husband by name, everyone who read it in New York would know it meant Alexander, Angelica, and me, and perhaps even Peggy as well. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it is I who must apologize,” Angelica said. “You know I have the greatest of affections for your Hamilton, but like a sister for a brother and no more. It is so hateful for anyone to imply otherwise.”
Her face was flushed with agitation, and she paused to compose herself before continuing.
“I shall arrange lodgings for myself at once,” she said, “and leave this house before—”
“Hush, Angelica, I beg you,” I said, as upset as she. I hated to think of how someone who’d observed the affection we shared among us had chosen to misinterpret our devotion so grossly, and twist it into something it wasn’t. “You will stay nowhere but here. These falsehoods have nothing to do with you. They’re only the inventions of evil men bent on spreading rumor and scandal to injure Alexander’s good name.”
“But surely Hamilton will see it,” she protested. “This is entirely mortifying.”
I sighed, dreading his reaction. “He is in court today, and may not see it,” I said. “I’ll speak to him when he arrives home. I’m sure he will agree that the last thing we should do is lend credence to these lies by having you move to other lodgings.”
He came home promptly that evening and in a cheerful mood because his case had been ruled in his plaintiff’s favor. After he’d greeted the children, I followed him into his library, and closed the door after me.
“We must talk,” I said softly, not wishing to be overheard. “There is a letter in today’s—”
“About the ‘harem of sisters’?” he asked, shrugging out of his coat. “I saw it. I’d hoped that you wouldn’t.”
He seemed surprisingly even-tempered, which made me wary. “Angelica saw it first.”
He winced. “I am doubly sorry for her sake as well as yours.”
“I told her that we must ignore it,” I said swiftly, praying that this time he’d listen. “I told her that to dignify such outrageous lies with a reply would only give them fresh life. You agree, don’t you, Alexander?”
He sighed, and dropped heavily into his armchair.
“You know I don’t like to let affronts like this go unnoticed,” he said. “To permit a liar go free only encourages him to lie again. But when I showed it to Troup—”
“You showed this to Mr. Troup?” I asked, aghast. Robert Troup was another attorney, but more importantly, he was Alexander’s oldest friend in New York. The two had shared rooms as students at King’s College and had fought in the New York militia together in the earliest days of the war.
“I did,” he said. “He pointed out several things that in the heat of the moment I had overlooked. The blaggard who wrote this stopped short of naming me, or even using a discernable cipher in his slander, so no offense was directly offered. Further, Troup said—and wisely, too—that since you and Angelica are included by innuendo, I would do better to take no notice, or risk having you made targets of future attacks. For the sake of you two ladies, I must agree.”
I sighed with relief so audible that he smiled. “Mr. Troup is a wise man.”
“Wiser than I?” He patted his knee, and I perched upon his thigh with his arm around my waist, as if we were again courting sweethearts.
“Not at all,” I said, circling my arms around his shoulders as I kissed him fondly. “But I agree that we will hold our heads high and ignore this. The next item I wish to read of you in the newspapers should be an announcement of your appointment to the cabinet.”
* * *
The summer passed swiftly. Angelica was still with us, and together we found much that was entertaining in the new capital. Lady Washington had arrived to take her place as the president’s wife, and Angelica and I became regular attendees of her weekly receptions at the presidential residence on Cherry Street. Although Lady Washington confided to me that she found the receptions tedious and tiring, no one who attended saw anything but the first lady of our land, as gracious as her husband was noble.
Visitors from every state crowded into these receptions, and the ladies vied with one another to be the richest in their dress. The fashion was for t
all plumes worn in the hair—a fashion that Angelica whispered was required at Queen Charlotte’s receptions in the royal palace in London—but that unpatriotic fact did not deter the younger ladies from striving to outdo one another with the nodding height of their plumage, every bit as silly as the birds who’d worn the same feathers first. One of these vain young ladies had the misfortune to step too closely to the candles in the chandelier overhead, unwittingly setting her headdress aflame. Only the quick action of a young gentleman preserved the lady, if not her plumes, and his fire-fighting skills made him the toast of the evening.
There were also the usual plays, dinners, and entertainments, and because my father was one of the newly elected senators, he brought my mother down from Albany to New York, and we saw them often as well. The greatest single event of the summer, however, was a splendid and moving celebration of the Fourth of July that featured many of the officers who had once served in the army under President Washington, now united as members of the Society of the Cincinnati. My husband was one of the youngest of the company, but so many others of these brave men whom I’d recalled from the war were already becoming bowed and faded with age; the sight of them gathered together touched me deeply, and made me think melancholy thoughts of the too-swift passage of time.
In our house, Angelica made herself a favorite aunt with my children, and she was never too occupied, nor too well dressed, to take one into her lap. I suspect she lavished upon them the attention that would have gone to her own children, had they been with her; mother’s love is boundless that way. She and Philip, now eight, became especially close, and I only regretted that Angelica’s own son Philip could not have been here as well.
Alas, that first scandalous gossip which had arisen in the spring regarding Angelica and Alexander still simmered through the city, a whisper here, a snigger there, a snide remark from ladies in a shop that I was meant to overhear. The talk distressed me, for it not only belittled my husband and my sister, but also insulted our marriage, and my constant fear was that some malicious boy at school would repeat the tales to Philip. Through it I prayed for strength and held my head high, and tried to employ the genteel serenity of Lady Washington, who had endured her share of wicked gossip in her time, as my model.
Finally, in early September, President Washington signed the bill that created the country’s first Treasury Department, and a week after that Alexander was confirmed as its first secretary. It was a momentous job, the most important and difficult of all the cabinet positions, and the one with the most responsibility. Yet as young as my husband was for the post—he was only thirty-four—there was clearly no other gentleman in the entire country more perfectly suited for it. Angelica had wished us to give a celebration in his honor, but he’d no time for it, and the day after his appointment he was already at work at his desk in his new offices. I could not have been more proud of him, or of having such a husband.
But like every summer before and since, this one finally came to an end, too. The leaves fell from the trees and the winds that whipped up Wall Street from the harbor were cold with the approaching winter. It was then that Angelica came to me with a new-arrived letter from her husband in one hand, and her handkerchief in another.
“John wishes me to return at once,” she said, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. “He says I have been away too long, and that our children are unwell from missing me. Oh, my poor babies!”
I’d known this day would come, that she couldn’t remain with us forever, but still the impending separation devastated both Angelica and me, and Alexander as well. She arranged her passage for five days later, days that passed far too swiftly. The morning she left I was too distraught to accompany her to the dock, and our farewells at the house were awash with tears.
It fell to my husband and our oldest son to see her to the London packet. Alexander confessed that he and Philip had wept, too, as they’d stood on the Battery and watched Angelica sail from our lives, and why shouldn’t they? Only God in His grace knew when we would all be reunited, or even if we were destined to meet again in this life.
While my family felt Angelica’s departure sorely, to me it became a kind of grief that I could not overcome. It didn’t help that Alexander’s new responsibilities claimed nearly every second of his time. He often left the house without taking breakfast and did not return until late into the night, after the children were asleep. When he did arrive at home, his mind was so exhausted by numbers and decisions that he would undress and retire directly to bed, and at once fall into a deep sleep beside me. He’d nothing left for our usual conversations, nor for the affections of husband and wife.
This was to be expected, of course, given the magnitude and the importance of what he was doing for the country. I would have been the most selfish of wives to have complained.
Yet the depth of my own sorrow frightened me. I felt lost and adrift in a way I couldn’t explain, not even to Alexander, or perhaps especially not to him. When I’d first fallen in love with him, I’d been in awe of his many dreams, and I’d been every bit as sure as he himself that he’d been born to achieve great things. But now that he was doing exactly that, I felt as if I’d somehow been left behind. Ever since Angelica had left, I’d felt unable to keep step with the frantic pace my husband had set for us, and worse, I began to doubt myself, and wonder if I truly possessed the strength and spirit to be his wife. Was it any wonder that I was unhappy? I’d always considered myself to be a cheerful soul, able to find joy in the most ordinary things, but this misery gripped me in its talons and would not let me go.
My parents took notice, and with growing concern Papa spoke directly to Alexander. When he gently suggested that I might wish to return to The Pastures with my mother for a few weeks, I burst into tears. I didn’t want to leave him. But he insisted and finally I went, taking the younger boys and my daughter with me.
As much as I’d loved the excitement of New York City during the first year of the new government, once I was away from it I realized how the smoke and racketing of city life, the hectic pace and frantic gaiety, had all worn at me. Instead of drawing strength from Angelica, this year I’d struggled to keep pace with her, and over-looked how she’d always enjoyed society far more than I. That, too, had taken its toll upon me.
In Albany, I bundled myself in a heavy cloak and walked alone by the hour, sometimes praying aloud like some ancient pilgrim as I trudged across the snowy fields. I let the cold, clear air heal me, and I found my solace and my strength in the familiar hills and rivers of my girlhood. Most of all, I remembered who I was, and only then did the darkness and the doubts begin to slip away from my soul. I thought of how much Alexander loved me, and I him. I laughed with my children, and I played songs on my old fortepiano so they could dance around me.
I was restored. It was time to return to the city, and most of all, to my beloved Alexander.
CHAPTER 17
New York City, New York
March 1790
Even if I were to fill every one of these pages with nothing but my husband’s accomplishments as secretary of treasury, I would still fall far short of listing them all. So many were launched in that first year of the new government, too.
As soon as his position was confirmed, Alexander hired a staff of nearly forty men, and instilled in them a scrupulous devotion to their combined task. He set up the department’s systems of bookkeeping, accounting, and auditing. He created a customs service to bring immediate income to the government’s coffers, and when it became apparent that many of the collectors of these taxes were not entirely honest in regard to reporting smugglers—long a tolerated practice—he suggested a system of guard boats to patrol the country’s coastline. He advised the president on everything from finances to protocol. Because there was as yet no secretary of state, he unofficially met with a British diplomat to begin establishing an economic rapport between his country and ours.
But most of all in those first months, Alexander labored on Congres
s’s first request, his Report on Public Credit. In brief, its purpose was to outline exactly how bad the country’s situation was as to debt, and what steps were best taken to relieve it, and make America trusted, even by the great countries of Europe.
By the time I returned from Albany, Alexander was already deep into writing this, and unlike his other work at the Treasury Department, it was being written at home, alone in his library.
Now I understood why he’d written to me so plaintively of how much he’d missed me when I’d been away. He wasn’t accustomed to being a solitary writer. From the beginning of our marriage, I had been his sounding board, the definitive test of his writing. Pacing back and forth, he could formulate his ideas aloud to me before he wrote them down. Unlike most men, he did much of his composition beforehand, in his head or whilst speaking, and by the time his words were committed to ink and paper, his ideas were fully formed and reasoned.
From the first day I returned, I joined him in his small study in the back of the house, curled in the armchair near the fire with my sewing. After nearly ten years of listening to my husband’s financial opinions and theories, I was likely as knowledgeable as the gentlemen who sat in Congress, and perhaps more so than some of the more obstinate ones. These conversations between Alexander and me had become a vitally important part of our marriage, another kind of partnership, and I realized their absence had contributed to my unhappiness last autumn.
By the time the report was done and printed into a pamphlet, it was fifty-one pages and tens of thousands of words in length. The night before it was to be read aloud to the House of Representatives, Alexander could not sleep, tossing so restlessly beside me that I could not sleep, either, which was perhaps his intention all along.
“They will find a thousand things to fault, Betsey,” he said with gloomy resignation once he realized I was awake. “I know it. Half of them won’t have the patience to comprehend my arguments, and the others have already made up their minds before they’ve heard a word.”
I, Eliza Hamilton Page 35