“I wasn’t much use today.” This morning John Dickinson, of Delaware, had proposed an unsuccessful motion to give the states the power to impeach the executive.
Sherman had arranged to meet Dickinson at the famed botanist John Bartram’s garden that had been opened to the public. Dickinson was fifty-five, wealthy, and distinguished looking. Sherman had felt relief when his longtime close friend and colleague had finally arrived a few days previously.
“We’ll have another chance.”
The elaborate gardens sat west of the city, on the far side of the Schuylkill River. The expanses of arbors, greenhouses, and flowered paths, plus a matchless spring day, had attracted scores of finely turned-out Philadelphians. Children played, couples courted, and families splayed across the lawns. Despite the multitudes, the gardens had a hushed atmosphere, especially after the cacophony of the city. Everyone spoke in private whispers meant only for their companions. Watching the young families, Sherman felt a pang of nostalgia for his own youth. Was this Jefferson’s “pursuit of happiness”? It seemed a simple yet powerful idea—people unabashedly enjoying newly bloomed flowers and meticulous pathways without any concern that an oppressive government might intrude into their day.
Sherman and Dickinson strolled in complete privacy. No one noticed the two gentlemen engaged in a quiet dialogue that might shape their future. Sherman reminded himself not to disappoint these people.
“How are Rebecca and the family?”
“She wants me home to put our finances in order.”
“Problems?”
“She thinks I’m running out of time.”
“Roger, you’ve done your duty. When this is over, you should turn your attention to more personal matters.”
“When this is over.”
They both stepped to the side of the gravel path to allow a young arm-in-arm couple to pass. Sherman guessed from their locked gaze that they were betrothed.
“I resent the arrogance of Madison and the other nationalists,” Dickinson said as they resumed walking.
“Resentment is a dangerous emotion. We must remain unruffled.”
“Surely you feel some anger. We wrote the Articles. Granted, they’re flawed, but who gave these interlopers the power to discard our work?”
“Congress sanctioned this convention.”
“Sanctioned, yes, but with instructions to amend the Articles,” Dickinson said. “They exceed their authority.”
“Lately, I’ve come to believe the Articles’ usefulness may be exhausted.”
“Why?”
“What type of government do you think best?” Sherman asked.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Gazing about this garden filled with happy and prosperous people, I can almost believe that we’ve created paradise. But when I look beyond the horizon, the view disturbs me. The Articles may be incapable of saving us from a looming catastrophe.”
“Even amended?”
“I desperately want Connecticut’s independence secured, but I also want the United States to survive, thrive.”
“Which has a higher priority?”
“What type of government do you think best?”
Dickinson gave his old friend a smile. “All right, Roger, I’ll let you dodge that one for now.”
Dickinson wordlessly pointed in the direction of a massive greenhouse. Both men steered toward the broad entrance. Upon stepping into the greenhouse, Sherman was assaulted by the heavy, damp fragrance of fresh flowers, turned soil, and new spring growth.
Walking down a path walled by head-high exotic plants, Dickinson said, “A limited monarchy is the best government.”
“You’ve never advocated such a system before.”
“A limited monarchy was—is—out of the question. Our deplorable heritage under the English crown forbids it. I presumed your question was philosophical, not practical.”
“You still surprise me.”
“An occasional surprise adds spice to a friendship.”
Sherman laughed. “John, don’t over season. I’ve enough to deal with right now.”
“Then I’ll spare you an elucidation.”
“No, you have my interest. Tell me.”
“My thoughts are unorthodox.” Dickinson, briefly fascinated by a plant, continued. “Ancient republics flourished for a short time and then vanished. Principalities and then monarchies became the order of the world.”
Dickinson stopped walking and faced Sherman. “The English happened upon the limited monarchy, a monarch constrained by a parliament with real power. No one laid out a grand scheme as Madison proposes. The limited monarchy functions to the benefit of its citizens. Look at the British Empire. Has there ever been such a prosperous and just nation? Their empire spans the globe. A republic has never delivered such benefits.”
The pair turned to continue around the narrow greenhouse path, oblivious of the people who squeezed by in the opposite direction.
“Roger, I think a limited monarchy superior, but I believe we can find a remedy for the republican disease. This is one point in which I find myself in agreement with our little intellectual friend.”
“You first startle and now confuse. How do you differ from Madison?”
“In one momentous way. Madison believes he’s smart enough to design the perfect system. I have no such conceit. Nor do I believe it plausible that his little highness can accomplish this herculean feat. Madison’s self-delusion makes him dangerous.”
“But you said you believe we can find a remedy for the republican disease?”
“If we cannot have the English system, then at least we should be clever enough to follow their charted course, a course of gradual evolution. We must allow our system to develop on its own to a more perfect state.”
“Then what are we doing here?”
“Amending the worst flaws in the Articles. Grandiose plans bring tragedy. Only fools leap blindly into an abyss,” Dickinson asserted.
“Prudence’s price is time. I’m not sure we have much to spare.”
“That’s why I bless the heavens for our luck. The accidental division of this country into thirteen states gives it thirteen chances to happen upon the perfect system. Copying each other’s successes speeds our progress.”
“Perhaps thirteen chances for chaos.”
“No, we’re unique! No one in all of history has owned thirteen republican laboratories. And those fools want to throw it away.”
“An interesting concept, but I fear we’ve already exhausted our time for a careful approach,” Sherman said.
“I can’t accept that. We must strengthen the national government, but we can still preserve powerful state influence, without demolishing every structure already in place.” Dickinson shook his head. “The Virginia Plan will wreak havoc. Madison’s arrogance is astounding. He’s not God. He cannot create a perfect system.”
“Perhaps we don’t need perfection.”
“We need something that works on a practical level, not some philosophically pure form. We must avoid the corrupting influence of too much central power. Only distributing authority to the states can protect liberty and provide laboratories for the evolution of our republics.”
“John, I’m stunned. When did you develop this line of reasoning?”
Dickinson smiled. “On the coach trip here.”
“Perhaps we should send you to Georgia. Longer ride.”
Dickinson laughed. “No, thank you. I hate sharing beds in bug-ridden taverns.”
Now it was Sherman’s turn to laugh. Small roadside taverns were notorious for doubling up men in a single bed with used linens. Travelers had no voice in where a coach stopped, and the taverns didn’t cater to repeat business. Privies tended to be horrid, food barely edible, and cleanliness foreign.
Dickinson turned to Sherman with a broad smile. “As I pondered how to combat the scholarly Virginians, these ideas came to me like a bolt of lightning. Do you like them?”
&nbs
p; “Yes. I knew we must protect the sovereignty of our states, but I had no foundation for my conviction. Now we have our own philosophical underpinning.”
“The battle lines are drawn: evolution versus revolution.”
The men walked in silence. Sherman felt more at peace than at any time since his arrival, but the irony of Ellsworth’s lecture on democracy and Dickinson’s advocacy for a limited monarchy didn’t escape him. Sherman knew Dickinson’s cautious bent. His popular newspaper series, Letters from a Farmer in Pennsylvania, had excited revolutionary passion, but Dickinson had argued for a nonviolent solution. His Whig loyalties and refusal to sign the Declaration of Independence had cost him his Pennsylvania congressional seat and forced him to relocate to Delaware. After the war started, no one disputed his patriotism. As an enlistee at the Battle of Brandywine, he had personally witnessed the horrors he had warned against.
“How far must we go?” Sherman asked
“Easier to explain how far we must not go. For the national government to be the repository of our collective wisdom, it cannot be placed in a position in which it can dismiss the states. The states must hold some sway over the national government.”
“Impeach the executive, elect the legislature, equal sovereignty?”
“Precisely. As I said, the battle lines are drawn.”
“Drawn yes, but in battle, lines can shatter with the first shot. We need discipline.”
“Roger, you always focus on the tangible, what can be achieved, the obstacles. We’ve always made a good team. I prepare the battle plan; you command the field.”
As they exited the greenhouse, Sherman smiled and put a hand on his old friend’s shoulder. Madison and Hamilton walked directly toward them, heads bent in a conspiratorial discussion of their own.
Sherman withdrew his hand and said, “Mr. Madison, Mr. Hamilton, how are you this fine afternoon?”
Checked in midsentence, Madison looked startled. “Mr. Sherman, Mr. Dickinson, what a pleasant surprise.”
“It seems everyone needs respite from the chamber’s stifling atmosphere.” Sherman said.
Hamilton cocked his head arrogantly and said, “The atmosphere could be freshened with a little magnanimity by some of the members.”
“Alex, of course, means delegates like Gerry,” Madison said.
“I’ll exclude present company for the moment,” Hamilton said. "These beautiful surroundings shouldn’t be desecrated by candor ladled too liberally."
“Of course not,” Dickinson interjected. “Only treasonous plotting fits these grand gardens.”
“Gentlemen, please,” Sherman pleaded. “Let’s remain civil. Our intentions are honorable and our positions heartfelt. Let’s debate in our commissioned forum.”
“Mr. Sherman,” Hamilton said, “for you that would be a delightful new habit.”
Dickinson bristled. “Then I presume you were regaling Mr. Madison with your latest female conquest.”
“How boorish.” Hamilton grasped the lapel of his exquisitely tailored coat. “If you must know, I was extolling the virtues of a monarchy. Mr. Madison disagrees, of course, but I still retain the hope that one day I can dissuade him from his absurd faith in commoners.”
Madison said lightly, “Alex, you must behave in public. We should use chance encounters to soothe the hard feelings that come naturally from our work, not solidify ill will.”
“I agree,” Sherman said to Madison, as their two companions glared at each other. “Let’s not spoil this gorgeous afternoon with a meaningless quarrel.” Giving Dickinson a sly smile, Sherman added, “After a few ales, you and Mr. Hamilton might find yourselves more in tune than in disharmony.”
“I apologize,” Dickinson said with a slight bow. “Although I doubt Mr. Sherman’s last words, it’s no reason for rudeness on my part.”
Returning the bow in precisely equal measure, Hamilton said, “Apology accepted.”
Sherman said quickly, “Mr. Hamilton, I thought it gracious of you to second Dr. Franklin’s motion not to pay the executive.”
“It was a ridiculous motion, but I wanted to save the doctor embarrassment.”
“Very kind of you.” Sherman turned to Madison. “And Mr. Madison, I believe we agree that the executive should be a single individual.”
“Yes, but as you saw, Randolph opposes it with great earnestness. He believes it must be a council to avoid the appearance of a monarch.”
“This hostility toward monarchy raises artificial limits,” Hamilton said peevishly.
“Alex, please,” Madison said with uncharacteristic sharpness. “We’re a republic. We’ll remain a republic. No one shares your admiration for a monarchy.”
The men faced each other, the acrimony contagious. Hamilton’s nickname during the war had been Little Mars. Obviously, his temperament hadn’t mellowed in peacetime.
Sherman started to laugh. “Gentlemen, please. Cease.” Sherman gave a broad wink to Madison. “I’m encouraged to see your camp as irascible as our own, but the country needs us all.”
Madison looked relieved. “Thank you, Roger. It appears I owe Mr. Hamilton an apology as well. I think it best that we move our respective ways.”
“Agreed. Gentlemen, please enjoy the remaining afternoon.”
The pairs of men started to walk in opposite directions, and then Sherman heard a voice behind him.
“Roger, may I have a moment?”
“Of course, James.”
After the two men had separated from their partners, Madison said, “I gather we both suffer trying to keep our respective allies in a corral.”
Sherman noticed that Hamilton and Dickinson eyed them suspiciously. “No more than usual in these circumstances.”
“Passions run high. This entire enterprise is far too crucial to let emotions overrule reason.”
“What do you suggest?”
“We are both reasonable men. Responsible men. We must work together to dampen any undue zeal.”
Sherman waited a respectful moment. “Agreed.”
“Excellent. Working together, I’m sure we can keep the convention on a sensible course.”
“I’m sure we can.”
“Good. I feel much more optimistic.”
“And I feel less pessimistic.”
Madison gave Sherman an odd look and then said, “I was heartened to hear that you promised Washington to keep the small states in assembly.”
“James, you have put your best efforts into an innovative system. I disagree with many aspects, but I admire the logic.”
“Thank you, Roger. Enjoy the rest of your stroll.”
Sherman surprised Madison by extending his hand. Before grasping it, Madison stole a glance behind him. After a hasty waggle, he rejoined Hamilton.
“What was that about?” Dickinson asked after Sherman had rejoined him.
“Mr. James Madison, Esquire, has launched a courtship. He wishes to sway me to the other side.”
“The nerve!”
“The brilliance.”
Chapter 14
Monday, June 4, 1787
“We’re going too far in this business!”
Keeping his head bent over his notes, Madison peeked up at his friend and fellow Virginian, George Mason. The Virginia delegation seemed to be unraveling. Mason and Randolph feared a powerful executive and supported a council of three men. Arriving late that day, Mason’s ire had been raised when he discovered that the convention had approved a single executive in his absence.
The professorial Wilson had solidly argued the case for a single executive by pointing out that all thirteen states had one executive, and that if there were three equal members, they would fight relentlessly for control, and two might never agree. The logic convinced the assembly to approve a single executive.
Mason had started his tirade after Hamilton proposed an absolute veto for the single executive. “Do the gentlemen mean monarchy? Do you believe the people will consent to such an outrage? They’ll never consent.
Never!”
Due to his gout, Dr. Franklin spoke while seated. “I have experience with an absolute veto in Pennsylvania. The governor constantly used his veto to extort money. When the Indians scalped people in the West, the governor withheld defensive measures until the legislature exempted his estate from taxation. People fought for their lives while he smugly bore no share of the tax to field a militia.”
Franklin turned around in his seat to look at the delegates behind him. “We must not vest too much power in the executive. The first man we put at the helm will be a good one, but nobody knows what sort of fellow might follow.”
Everyone looked at Washington, who continued to sit impassively after Franklin’s allusion to the first man at the helm.
After Sherman said he was against any one man stopping the will of the entire legislature, Madison reluctantly rose to offer a compromise.
“A proper proportion of each branch being allowed to overrule the executive would serve the same purpose as an absolute veto.”
The convention gratefully approved an executive veto, with an override by two-thirds of each branch of the legislature. Another emotional issue barely circumvented. Could nothing proceed without bitter debate?
Most of the delegates had already left the chamber when Madison approached a brooding Mason. “George, perhaps you could take a moment and look at my notes from this morning’s session.”
“To what purpose?”
Madison extended a couple pages toward Mason. “Wilson presented a reasoned case for a single executive. I thought you might like to see his arguments.”
Mason made no attempt to accept the notes. “Wilson had his say; I did not.”
“I would’ve talked until you arrived, but I thought you were going to be absent the entire day.”
Mason ripped the pages from Madison’s hand and quickly scanned the notes. When angry, Mason took on the demeanor of a pouty aristocrat. Although they were longtime allies, Madison often cringed at his friend’s overt hostility toward people with different opinions. Mason’s arrogant nature repelled men who would otherwise be on his side.
“The points are valid but not convincing.”
“If you had been present, the motion would still have passed.”
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