“The South. I need to break one state free.”
“Georgia? Baldwin?”
“You scare me, Oliver. You’re beginning to think ahead of me.”
“Not likely. How far along are you?”
“Preliminary stage. The problem is the other Georgia delegates. They’ll never come over.”
“Convince them to go home.”
“I’m inclined to send them north.”
“New York?”
“Precisely. Haven’t figured how, but I’m working on it.”
“They’re congressmen. You’ll need something so narrow that the other congressional members won’t feel the need to return.”
“Now you’re really scaring me.”
Ellsworth flicked another bird dropping. “How can I help?”
“First, let’s climb down from this crow’s nest. Intrigue should be garnished with ale.”
When a new day brought continued silence on Hamilton’s proposal, the debate returned to the New Jersey Plan. Sherman felt comfortable that they had successfully parried the gambit.
Madison spoke first. “Gentlemen, the New Jersey Plan calls for election of the national legislature by the state legislatures. In Connecticut, the people, not the legislature, chose their present congressmen.” Madison turned and looked directly at Sherman. “Does Connecticut wish to snatch away a right already awarded to her citizens?”
Sherman worked to keep his face impassive. Madison knew how to skewer a weakness and hoist it up for all to see. Sherman also caught an “I told you so” glance from Ellsworth.
Madison walked to the New Jersey table. “Our task is to build a new government,” He pointed at Paterson. “One to replace the confederacy that New Jersey destroyed.”
Sherman had to smile. The little man spoke with a gentle voice, but his words echoed with a resounding boom. Madison sent ill-conceived positions flying like a well-placed mortar shot scattered undisciplined soldiers.
With surprising swiftness, a resolution to postpone the New Jersey Plan had been moved and seconded. Sherman found himself in a quandary. Did this vote represent a test of his promise to support the Virginia Plan? Sherman decided that it did. The resolve to postpone passed, with only New York and New Jersey voting against it.
Rufus King then moved to report out the Virginia Plan. For all intents and purposes, this vote declared the position of the Committee of the Whole. The Virginia Plan won the vote with only New York, New Jersey, and Delaware voting nay. Although he noticed a quizzical look from Dickinson, Sherman felt a surge of relief. He had fulfilled his obligation to Washington and rid himself of the obligation to support a flawed plan. He was now free to focus all his attention on his grand compromise.
Hamilton gained the floor. He voiced agreement with the Virginia Plan and claimed he had been misunderstood the day before. Sherman felt sorry for him. He had been used in a ruse that hadn’t worked. The Virginia Plan had been approved by raw force, not finesse, and Hamilton had harmed his reputation to no purpose. Sherman didn’t doubt that Hamilton believed in the system he proposed, but as an astute politician, he would’ve kept his beliefs to himself if not prodded by someone.
The regular convention would start the following morning. The large states had won, but the small states would never accept the plan as reported out. Something had to break the stalemate. With the business of the Committee of the Whole concluded, Sherman expected adjournment. Instead, King walked to the short dais and stepped up.
“Gentlemen, I hope tomorrow we can focus on real issues. We seem to be stuck on the illusion of state sovereignty.”
King was a handsome and engaging young man, reputed to be an excellent orator. “State sovereignty is a myth, and our progress depends on facing this fiction honestly.” After a perfectly timed pause, King continued, “Do the states possess the peculiar features of sovereignty? They do not.”
King stepped from the dais and walked down between the delegates. “They’re defenseless, for they cannot raise troops or equip vessels for war. The states divested themselves of sovereignty when they joined the Confederation. I doubt the practicality of annihilating the states, but much of their remaining power must be taken from them. If a ‘union of the states’ has the right to establish a confederation, it also has the right to consolidate a nation.”
Martin leaped to his feet and shouted for the floor. Rufus King didn’t appear to be finished, but he gave Martin an eloquent bow to signal his willingness to relinquish the floor.
“Gentlemen,” Martin sputtered in controlled fury, “the separation from Great Britain placed the thirteen colonies in a state of equality. They remain in that state to this time. They entered into the Confederation on equal footing, and we meet now to amend the Confederation on equal footing. I’ll never accede to a plan that would introduce an inequality that would lay ten states at the mercy of Virginia, Massachusetts, and Pennsylvania.” Martin sat with a finality that reinforced his resolve.
The chamber grew still. Hamilton asked to speak. “I don’t believe the states were ever independent of each other. Read our Declaration of Independence. You’ll find it a joint declaration.”
Martin demanded to speak again. With exasperation, Hamilton gave him a nod. “Mr. Hamilton, I’ve read the Declaration of Independence. Have you, sir? It declares the founding of these united States, with the word united spelled lowercase. Not a mistake, I assure you.” Martin sat with a heavy plop that scraped his chair across the hardwood planks and filled the chamber with a shrill rasp.
Hamilton strove to look indifferent. “The fears of the small states are overwrought. The three largest states are separated by distance and interest.”
As Sherman listened to Hamilton, he realized that the meeting had not adjourned, because the big states were too excited to call it a day. Their victory caused them to impulsively start the debate that really should have opened the next day’s session. Sherman thought this foolish. Hamilton and his little friend Madison seemed to believe that a bit of logic sprinkled in the direction of the small states might seep into their simple minds, and all would be well on the morrow.
They were wrong. The small states would not be soothed by sham reassurances and sloppy rationalizations. This battle for political power would turn on votes—votes cast because of heartfelt conviction, cajoling, or brutal barters.
Chapter 20
Wednesday, June 20, 1787
Madison’s pen stopped. Ellsworth started the day by proposing an alteration to the first clause of the Virginia Plan. His revision read, “that the government of the United States ought to consist of a supreme legislative, executive and judiciary.”
The change seemed small, but the implications were immense; it replaced “national” with “United States.” Was this a signal? Connecticut had voted in committee for the Virginia Plan, and now they had moved to strengthen the first resolve of the Plan. Madison smiled. Connecticut had joined the large state alliance. There could be no other explanation for them endorsing a supreme “United States” government.
Midmorning sunlight beamed through the high windows to brighten the far reaches of the chamber. Madison looked around and saw a number of knowing nods and relieved faces. It looked like emotion had finally been spent, and they could get working on the great task that had beckoned them to Philadelphia.
Ellsworth went on to warn that irresolute conventions of the people might tear down their work instead of ratifying it. Madison noticed with relief that Ellsworth presented his position with logic, not peevish partisanship. Reason had once more enveloped the chamber.
Connecticut had come to accept that a constitution would emerge from this convention, and they had begun to worry about ratification. They were wrong to resist assemblies of the people, but he could maneuver this last turn in their conversion.
“You look pleased.”
“Sentiment rushes toward the Virginia Plan.”
“With alterations.”
“Minor only, minor
only. We’ll hold the basic structure intact.”
Madison and Pinckney had left the chamber and were walking back to the Indian Queen. Pinckney stopped short and looked quizzically at Madison. “Do you consider one vote per state in the Senate a minor adjustment?”
“We can overcome that.”
As they started walking again, Pinckney said softly, “James, I’d never presume to advise you, but it’s clear that the continued cooperation of Connecticut depends on this compromise.”
“They’ll continue to move in our direction. Last week, they obstinately supported an entirely different plan.”
“And this week, you appear the obstinate one.”
“A republic must be based on proportional representation.” Madison quickened his step. “They’ll yield.”
“You’re mistaken.”
Madison smiled. “Not this time. Sherman controls Connecticut, and I can control Mr. Sherman.”
“You’re worse than mistaken; you’re a fool!”
It was Madison’s turn to pull up short. “Do you presume to lecture me?”
“Lecturing a fool is a waste of words.”
“Mr. Pinckney, in our scheme, there’s no place for the states. Ours will be a government of the people, not of the states.”
“You must let go of your zealotry.”
“I am not a zealot. These are republican principles, and basic principles cannot be compromised.”
Pinckney looked glum. “Then I fear this convention shall come to naught. You risk everything for petty dogma.”
“Petty dogma? Are you completely ignorant of the great thinkers?”
“Your great thinkers wrote from cloistered quarters. We—on the other hand—reside in the barbed world of political interests. Government is power. You must agree to share that power with the states or risk going home with nothing.”
“I’ll go home to celebrate a grand republic based on proportionality in both houses of the legislature. It’s within reach.”
Pinckney’s expression turned bleak, and his voice took on a despondent tone. “James, you are a fool. Perhaps a dangerous one.”
“You throw a label that fits your shoulders.”
“Please listen. You believe in separation of power. Can’t you see that the states provide a natural defense against an unbridled national government? An extension of your own principles?”
“The states are rife with corruption.”
“The states are rife with democracy.”
“Democracy must be structured, controlled, and channeled.”
“You’re hopeless.”
“No—I’m full of hope.”
The two men again glared at each other. Finally, Pinckney said, “Please excuse me, I forgot a previous engagement.” With that, he whirled and marched off in the opposite direction.
Thursday’s session began with Connecticut again insisting on an equal vote in the Senate.
Madison maintained a blank expression as he gained the floor. “In Connecticut, townships are incorporated, with limitations imposed by the state. Has Connecticut usurped local authority? No. Nor, sirs, should you fear the central government’s usurpation of state authority.”
Madison knew he had hit the mark when he saw Sherman play the stoic, but he winced when Hamilton added that the states might dwindle into nothing, so the government design shouldn’t depend on their existence. Madison wished Hamilton could restrain himself from tweaking the noses of his opponents.
When no one cared to parry Hamilton’s taunt, Madison’s leg jiggled with excitement as he glimpsed complete victory.
The next item, term length in the lower house, shouldn’t have been controversial. The Virginia Plan called for three years, but instead of quick concurrence, they debated for hours on whether it ought to be one, two, or three. Madison pointed out that it would be expensive for members to travel back and forth for elections. Sherman immediately rejoined that representatives should return home to mix with the people, or they’d acquire the habits of the nation’s capital. The sentiment in the chamber shifted endlessly, but eventually they voted for two years as the natural compromise and called it a day.
Madison sprang from the carriage he had rented. Normally, he walked the two blocks between the Indian Queen and Robert Morris’s home, but he was dressed in his best finery, and a formal invitation dictated a formal entrance. Morris had invited Philadelphia society, as well as selected delegates, to a grand ball at his home.
The previous sessions had remained tepid. They debated pay for the lower house and whether a representative could also hold a state office. Both subjects had been concluded to Madison’s satisfaction. Everyone was in an excellent mood, so Morris couldn’t have picked a better time for a party.
Madison straightened his jacket, looked around, and took note of several groups of men who had spilled out of the corner house to sip from glasses, smoke pipes, and laugh in congenial conversation. Two very proper servants stood sentry on the stoop. As Madison entered the house, he realized why some people had gathered on the sidewalk. The house boomed with riotous gaiety, men and women clogged the central hall, and lively music competed with flirtatious bantering.
Madison squeezed through the crowd toward the music. He danced poorly, but he enjoyed watching other couples whirl with élan and grace. The large front parlor had been stripped of furniture, and a four-piece ensemble played beautifully in one corner. Madison took possession of an open space along one wall and admired the six couples that danced effortlessly in the center of the room.
The most prominent was Washington. He smoothly waltzed Eliza Powell in stately turns that made the other dancers look stiff and awkward. Everyone watched the couple, but Madison thought the vivacious and pretty Eliza Powell would command attention even if she were burdened with an awkward partner. Married to the wealthy mayor of Philadelphia, her reputation as the city’s leading socialite was tainted by whispers of alleged infidelities. Madison thought her an engaging coquette, but he suspected that jealousy triggered the gossip.
“He’s danced with her six times.”
“Good evening, Mr. Mason. I didn’t notice you standing there.”
“You couldn’t take your eyes off Mrs. Powell.”
“Nor can anyone else. She’s striking.”
“Our general will start tongues wagging if he continues to monopolize her favors.”
“He loves to dance. Hours from now, he’ll still be twirling around the floor.”
“He has the stamina of a horse, but he should take care to entertain all the ladies. Let’s get some punch.”
Madison enjoyed watching the dancers but followed Mason anyway. To the slight Madison, the room across the hall presented a sea of shoulders. People chatted amiably in clusters, blocking access to the refreshments. Madison trailed Mason’s back as he impolitely shoved his way through the guests. Reaching the steward, Mason asked, “What do you have to drink this evening?”
“What would you like?”
“Red wine.”
“Of course, sir.”
“I’ll have the same,” Madison added.
The steward turned to a sideboard arrayed with fancifully shaped bottles and decanters. On the shelves above, crystal stemware reflected sparks from the uneven chandelier light. The steward, moving with practiced ease, grabbed two glasses by the stems with the splayed figures of a single hand and set them down on the sideboard without the slightest clink. He then presented a wine bottle, holding the neck with one hand as he cradled the body in the palm of the other.
“A claret from the Bordeaux region of France. A fine red that I highly recommend.”
Mason responded with a perfunctory flipping of his fingers that said forget the theatrics and pour. After they had secured their wine, Madison again scurried behind as Mason rudely pushed his way out of the room. Madison was disappointed when, after reaching the central hall, Mason turned left, toward the back of the house. He had hoped to reenter the parlor to watch the dancing,
but he could not ignore the powerful Virginian. Mason continued out the back door and walked away from the boisterous party until he found a quiet spot toward the rear of the large corner lot. Nothing advertised Morris’s wealth more than his elaborate outbuildings. The yard included a hothouse, an icehouse, and a twelve-horse stable, all immaculately maintained.
They turned and looked back at the gaily lit house. The evening was pleasant, a bit warm and muggy, but a slight breeze felt refreshing. The ensemble’s notes wafted through the open windows to give the garden an aura of enchantment. Madison felt a rare serene moment until Mason trounced his mood.
“God, I hate Philadelphia. I grow weary of the showy etiquette and pretentious nonsense so fashionable in this city.”
The remark surprised Madison. He liked Philadelphia and intended to enjoy the evening. “Their habits are different from Virginia’s,” Madison said neutrally.
“Different and boorish. It’s not worth the effort to learn how to conform to their silly fashion and formalities. Their narcissism deserves disdain.”
Madison thought this hypocritical coming from the owner of Gunston Hall, one of the richest plantations in Virginia. Madison had always appreciated Mason’s commitment to reason, but he looked anew at the man and saw a prissy, self-satisfied aristocrat that loathed people who didn’t comport themselves as he thought proper. He also showed little patience with people too ignorant to immediately accept his learned and enlightened opinions. Despite his off-putting haughtiness, Mason held strong republican convictions. He was an especially strong proponent of the natural rights of man and personal liberty, having personally crafted the much-copied Virginia Declaration of Rights.
Madison took a sip of the excellent wine. “George, if I may be so bold, you seem out of sorts this evening.”
Mason looked directly at Madison. “We’re on the wrong path.”
“The wrong path? This has been an exceptional week. Great progress. What displeases you?”
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