“Thank you, Mr. Sherman.”
Sherman climbed the narrow staircase. The package Howard had delivered had held Paterson’s original of the New Jersey Plan, and Sherman had left immediately to have copies made. By the time he arrived, it was already after three in the afternoon. Williamson’s occupied the second floor of a new brick building sandwiched between other buildings under construction.
Sherman entered through a door marked with a brass plaque that read “Williamson Secretary & Copyist.” About a dozen men sat facing the two walls, each intently bent over his desk with quill in hand. Three large tables ran down the center of the room dividing the men. Obsessively neat stacks of papers lay across the tables, each held in position by a brass paperweight positioned at the exact midpoint of the top page. An intensely groomed man approached him immediately.
“May I help you?”
“I hope so. I have an emergency.”
“We’ve never had one of those before,” the man said with a self-confident grin.
“I have twelve pages, and I need ten copies by tomorrow morning.”
“The Federal Convention?”
“How did you guess?”
“Ten copies, plus the original, meet the needs of eleven states.”
“This must be handled with strict confidentiality. Our proceedings are secret.”
“As I’ve been reminded repeatedly. My firm does work for the Pennsylvania legislature and all the prominent attorneys in Philadelphia. Not a word has ever been whispered outside that door.” With a voice that brooked no haggling, the man added, “The fee is two sovereign crowns.”
“How many Pennsylvania dollars?”
“Emergencies dictate sovereign crowns.”
Sherman sighed and reached for his purse.
Chapter 18
Saturday, June 16, 1787
Madison read the note he had written in his journal.
The members from Cont., N.Y., N. J, DEL. and perhaps Mister Martin from Maryland, made common cause on different principles and had concocted the New Jersey plan. The eagerness displayed from these different motives produced serious anxiety for the result of the Convention.
The previous evening, he had been too disturbed to organize his notes. Following breakfast, he hurried back to his room to rewrite his record of the prior day’s proceedings, adding this rare personal observation. Madison lifted his pen to strike the comment and then laid it back down. He might change it later, prior to publication, but for now he’d leave it.
Why had Washington insisted on giving Paterson an opportunity to present? This only delayed matters. Madison believed their six to five margin would hold, but they’d have to endure endless hours of arguments. Old ground covered again. The New Jersey Plan made lilliputian improvements to the Articles, improvements so restrained that they didn’t merit consideration. Yet, here they were, ready to debate a plan that would throw the country into ruin.
Madison jostled the new pages and laid them neatly on top of a substantial stack of stationery. He stared for a moment at the pile of paper that comprised his diary of the proceedings. Would the journal tell the story of calamity or godsend? How high would the stack grow? Madison let his eyes wander to the ceiling. No, he smiled, surely the convention couldn’t last that long.
Madison packed his valise with a fresh supply of stationery, a blotter, his silver penknife, and two quills. He always knew that getting his plan adopted would be difficult. Republics represented the rarest form of government, and trying to combine thirteen existing republics added unimaginable complexity. He needed patience and perseverance, spiced with a healthy dose of connivance, to assemble a United States of America.
His mood improved as he trotted down the stairs. Then as he turned a corner, he nearly bumped into Pinckney.
“Mr. Madison, can we walk together?”
“It’ll be a pleasure.”
“You seem bright this morning. With the interference from all these vicious little gnats, I presumed you’d be swathed in gloom.
“Mr. Pinckney, one must learn to ignore gnats. Nothing’s to be done with them.”
“You can kill them.”
“Not all of them. Better to continue to your destination with all due haste.”
“Excuse me, but I believe we’ve been thrown back to our starting point.”
“A brief detour. We’ll be back on course in a day or two.”
“We have three plans. You really believe a few days will extricate us from this bog of schemes?”
His query pulled Madison up short. Pinckney’s plan was never reported out of committee. “The will of the delegates has been determined. The New Jersey Plan won’t require lengthy deliberations. It’s a weak patchwork.”
“And my plan?”
“It’s already been considered.”
“And dismissed without debate. You smothered it.”
“I did not. It was your obligation to draw support to your side. Has your state endorsed it?”
“You promised that if the convention deadlocked, I’d get a full hearing. We’re heading for a cul-de-sac.”
“You had a full hearing and, if memory serves, no one stood to second your proposal.”
“Perhaps converts now teeter in my direction. The days ahead will be bloody, and my plan may provide the only—”
“Mr. Pinckney, why do you persist in this penny-farthing?”
“Mr. Madison, why do you resist democracy?”
“A sound government must protect itself from the mob.”
“People turn into a mob only when aroused.”
“Then they’re easily aroused.”
Madison realized their pace had quickened with their words. He stopped and faced Pinckney. “Charles, we differ only in degree. I want safeguards; you advocate unfettered experimentation. Republics of your concoction decay faster than a ripe peach.”
“You think yourself the only expert. I demand another opportunity to present my plan.”
“Demand?”
“I am a South Carolina delegate to the Federal Convention. I have as much right as you to propose a new system.”
Resenting Pinckney’s smug expression, Madison said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
The two men resumed their walk in silence. After a few minutes, Pinckney said, “I’m sorry to be brash, but I believe in my proposal. It’s not just ego.”
“I said I’d see what I could do.”
“The people can be trusted.”
“They have shown otherwise.”
“Only on occasion and only temporarily.”
“It takes but one occasion to destroy a republic.”
Pinckney stopped at the base of the State House steps and put his hand on Madison’s shoulder. “James, I’m sincere in my faith in the people. Don’t misjudge me by my scoffing airs.”
“I don’t doubt your sincerity; I doubt the validity of your plan.”
Pinckney smiled, not his typical smirk but an expression of friendly embrace. “In that case, I’ll endeavor to argue with more persuasive fervor.” Patting Madison’s shoulder, he said, “I believe it’s time for us to enter the fray.”
With that, the two men climbed the three steps and entered the State House.
John Lansing, a New York Clinton lackey, began the session. He attacked the convention’s authority and claimed the people would never approve the Virginia Plan. Concluding his harangue, he said, “Randolph’s plan absorbs all power except for the tiniest local matters. New York cannot and will not support it!”
Governor Clinton ran the most corrupt government in the nation and shamelessly used his delegation to guard his interests. New York City was the center of government and a hotbed for western land speculation. The two were intertwined, and the governor bribed legislators with participation in his elaborate deals. Clinton was an astute politician and had the foresight to see that a new government might move the capital away from his fondling hands.
Paterson followed. “I’ve alread
y given my sentiments on Randolph’s plan and will avoid repetition.”
Madison noticed with irritation that both Lansing and Paterson referred to it as Randolph’s plan. Following the approving vote earlier in the week, Madison believed it rightfully should be called the Federal Convention Plan.
Paterson continued, “The New Jersey Plan remains faithful to our instructions and the sentiments of the people. If the confederacy is mortally flawed, let’s return to Congress and ask for larger powers, not assume them. If proportional representation is so right, then why do we vote here with one vote per state?”
Wilson, normally reserved, jumped up and nearly shouted, “The larger states conceded the point, not because it was right, but because it was the only way to gather the states into this chamber.”
“Are you now at liberty to take it back?” Paterson shouted back. “This convention doesn’t have the authority to change equal sovereignty.”
Wilson compared the two plans as if he were presenting a lesson.
“In the Virginia Plan, there are two branches in the legislature. In the New Jersey Plan, a single house.
“The people provide the base for one. State legislatures pillar the other.
“Proportional representation in one. Equal state suffrage in the other.
“A single executive heads one. A plurality in the other.
“In the one, the national legislature makes laws in all cases to which the states are incompetent. In the other, Congress has limited authority.
“In one, a veto of state laws. In the other, no veto.
“In one, the executive can be removed by impeachment and conviction. In the other, the executives are removable by a majority of the state executives.
“Revision of the laws provided for in one. No such check in the other.
“Finally, ratification by the people versus ratification by the states.”
Wilson stood a moment to let the comparison hang in the chamber.
“Gentlemen, this comparison speaks for itself. The plan of New Jersey vests executive power in a plurality, a grievous error. Three men will fight until one becomes the master. In the triumvirates of Rome, first Caesar, then Augustus, witnessed this truth. The kings of Sparta and the consuls of Rome prove the factious consequences of dividing the executive.
“I also wish to address this absurd notion that we lack authority. Gentlemen, we are authorized to conclude nothing—but are at liberty to propose anything.
“As for the sentiments of the people, how are we to know? We commonly mistake those in our circle for the general voice. Why should a national government be unpopular? Has it less dignity? Will citizens enjoy less liberty? Will becoming a citizen of the United States debase a citizen of Delaware?
“Gentlemen, place the plans on a scale. The New Jersey Plan is light as air.”
Enthusiastic applause burst from the large state tables, while the small state proponents sat with frozen expressions.
Mason challenged Paterson directly. “Explain to me, Mr. Paterson, will the militia march from state to state to collect taxes?” Mason turned to the entire assembly. “Not even despots decree death to punish tax delinquents. And make no mistake, the bayonet does not discriminate between the innocent and the guilty.”
Mason sat to the same distribution of applause, and then Madison cringed to see Pinckney gain the floor.
“The whole comes to this: give New Jersey an equal vote, and she’ll forget her scruples. Withhold an equal vote, and she’ll sacrifice our great nation.” Pinckney stared directly at Paterson. “I can’t imagine greater selfishness.”
Edmund Randolph looked nervous but evidently felt the need to defend the Randolph plan. “Some accuse us of treason, but it would be treason to not propose what is necessary to save our nation. There’re seasons when we must dispense with caution and the present moment is favorable—and the last available.”
As the meeting adjourned, Madison thought the session had gone better than expected. Except for Pinckney’s insults, debate had been mostly polite. As he gathered up his things, Robert Morris came over and whispered, “Please join us at my home, immediately.”
Before Madison looked up, Morris had passed on to greet another delegate. Madison knew immediately meant without a stop at the Indian Queen to lighten his load and freshen up. Whatever was being schemed, he was grateful to be included.
Dickinson wandered over next. “Mr. Madison, I presume you see the consequence of pushing things too far.”
“I fear the consequences of not pushing things far enough.”
“If we can’t come to a mutual understanding, we’ll be stuck in this stuffy chamber all summer.” Dickinson looked over to the sealed windows and then at Madison. “I’d rather be home.”
“As would I.”
“Mr. Madison, please understand, some small state members support a strong national government.”
“Then it should be easy for you to vote against the New Jersey Plan.”
“We’d sooner submit to a foreign power than be deprived of equal suffrage in both houses of the legislature. You must yield on at least one house.”
“Republican principles dictate proportional representation.”
“No one dictates to this convention.”
“A poor choice of words, but my meaning was clear. You have no principled justification for equal votes.”
“Our survival provides justification enough.”
“No one threatens your survival. I tire of all this talk about the big states wanting to devour you.” Madison rapped his knuckles against the table. “Mr. Dickinson, I’d appreciate it if you would arrest your suspicions”
“We’ll check our paranoia when we see our views respected. You ramrod this convention. Your deeds feed our fears.”
“Paterson was given an opportunity to present his plan. Respect doesn’t mean capitulation.”
“Your stubbornness astounds me.”
“You utter my exact words.”
The two men stared at each other, all civility discarded. Finally, Dickinson whirled and marched out of the chamber. The formal debate had lacked emotion, but Madison saw that rage simmered below the surface. Why couldn’t they see reason? Sound principles demanded proportional representation, but logic persuaded no one. Everyone stood in the exact spot in which they had arrived.
Madison knocked on the door of the Morris home. A servant led him to the parlor used by men when they retreated after a meal. Morris, Washington, and Franklin sat in the comfortable room smoking pipes and sipping port.
Following recent discoveries and excavations abroad, the room had been decorated in the Herculaneum- and Pompeii-inspired neoclassical style. The yellow wallpaper employed a Doric column pattern, and a geometric rug in indigo covered the wide-plank floor. Charles Willson Peale and John Singleton Copley portraits flanked a fireplace carved with Greek relief figures. Expensive European furniture accented the room, and a cane daybed imported from China rested against one wall.
“Come in, come in,” Morris said. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“I’m sorry for the delay. Dickinson held me up.”
“What’d he want?”
“Unconditional surrender.”
“Our boys were feeling their oats today. Never mind, we have some plans of our own.”
Madison poured a glass of port from a sideboard. As he took a wing chair, a garish new painting over the mantle startled him. The colors were bright pastels, with frothy lines, curlicues, and vivid flowers. The contrast with the room’s classical formality made it look out of place.
“You have a new painting,” Madison said.
“Do you like it?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It’s in the French rococo style. A fashion popular before neoclassical, but it appeals to my prurient spirit. This one is by François Boucher.”
“Quite interesting.”
Morris laughed uproariously. “Quite tactful, Jemmy. Te
ll me, what do you really think?”
“To tell the truth, it looks feminine.”
“Ha, right you are. The general shares your opinion.”
“Then may I ask why you display it in the parlor?”
“Because it’s scandalous, my boy. You’re supposed to read sexual innuendo into the symbolism. The garlands of flowers, baskets, and hats represent the female anatomy. The flute, of course, symbolizes something quite the opposite. No. We can’t have that out in front of the ladies.”
“The imagery escapes me.”
“Because you don’t see with a Frenchman’s eyes,” Franklin said. “That young damsel is luring those two men into an amorous fling. Perhaps together.”
“Together?”
“Indeed,” Franklin chuckled.
“I’ve never heard of such a thing. You must be mistaken.”
“No, the good doctor knows the French intimately. This dandy erotic piece cost me a large sum.”
“Money poorly spent. I believe the artist merely painted an idyllic peasant picnic.”
“You must stretch your imagination.”
“It refuses to stretch that far.”
Everyone laughed, including Washington. Madison felt uncomfortable with the conversation, so he asked a question to change the subject.
“Will Hamilton join us?”
“No. You’ll see why in a moment,” Washington said.
“Jemmy, we’re in a quandary,” Franklin said. “We must build broader support for the convention’s plan.”
Madison became wary. Was Washington ready to compromise?
“If five states repudiate the convention’s work, ratification will fail,” Washington said
“You’d sacrifice proportionality?” Madison asked.
“Nothing’s decided,” Morris answered.
“But you have a scenario you wish to discuss.” Madison felt the seed of his apprehension grow.
“More like a finesse,” Washington said. “Do you understand the need for a broad consensus?”
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