While I worried for Madison’s mood, Jefferson opined on the virtues of the French people. “I’ve been fortunate to see in the course of fourteen years two revolutions as the world has never seen before.”
Jefferson had a way with words that excited within me the idea that we were living in extraordinary times. My husband, by contrast, seemed less inspired by France’s attempts to throw off their monarchy. “As a friend to mankind and liberty, I rejoice in the efforts,” Alexander said. “But I fear much for the fate of those caught up in it.”
Specifically, we worried that harm would come to our friend Lafayette, who was championing the revolution in France. We knew the righteousness of his cause, but the stories of violence in Paris frightened me. I did not believe the French nobles would give up their privileges so easily. And it seemed to me as if the French revolutionaries themselves were beginning to fracture into dangerous rivalries.
But Jefferson sipped appreciatively at the Madeira and asked, “Why should you fear it, Secretary Hamilton?”
To my great vexation, my husband’s eyes traveled the length of the table and settled on Madison. “Because we should all dread destructive and petty disagreements amongst those who once stood united . . .”
My wine lodged itself in my throat, and only with a cough, and some difficulty, did I manage to swallow. If I’d learned anything about Virginians it was that a thing must be approached with them from the side. So why did my husband insist upon a frontal assault? Hadn’t my work in hosting this party been aimed at Alexander’s reconciliation with Madison—if not out of regard for their friendship, then at least in consideration of the fact that he was the one man who could thwart my husband’s plans?
Mr. Jefferson smiled indulgently, appearing to take no notice of the undercurrents. But there was a shrewdness in his eyes that made me think he missed nothing. “I think the present disquiet in France will end well. The nation has been awakened by our revolution, they feel their strength, they are enlightened, their lights are spreading, and they will not retrograde.”
His words caused a swell of patriotism within my breast. “I have always believed our revolution would be a force of good in the world. That all our suffering and privations would mean more than a new nation for us, but also a new age for mankind.” And I thought that Jefferson—a man with such vision—should be a natural ally for my husband; surely he would understand the magnitude of what Alexander was trying to do, and help in it.
“Well said, Mrs. Hamilton.” Jefferson gave an extraordinarily sunny smile that filled me with pride.
I was, in fact, so swept up in Jefferson’s idealism and charm, that I understood how Madison could be enthralled by the force of that man’s character and charisma. Though I didn’t know it then, that force, which made Jefferson so effective as the voice of our revolution, and so rousing as a politician and the father of a political party, was something, like love, quite beyond reason.
Like the earth’s own poles, Jefferson and my husband had the power to both repel and attract, and I realize now that Madison was trapped between them, pulled to Jefferson as much, or maybe even more, by that force of charisma as by any alignment of their ideals.
But at the time, I only knew that I wanted these men to remember all they had in common, and I lifted my glass in abandonment of all etiquette. “To the revolution, to independence, and the Constitution. And to the men at this table, all of whom made them possible.”
At that, Madison seemed to soften, giving me a private little nod as he joined in the toast. Alexander seemed more cordial, too. “And to the women as well,” he said, generously. The good feelings that finally surrounded us persuaded me to henceforth adopt a policy for the dinners that took place at my table: no man’s politics should be held against him, and all were welcome.
Conversation flowed with more ease after that, and when Hamilton saw Madison and Jefferson out, he made an invitation of his own. “Gentlemen, let’s do this again. Just the three of us. I have some thoughts on the matter of a national capital. Perhaps we can reach a compromise . . .”
Chapter Twenty-One
November 1790
Philadelphia
OVER A SECOND, private dinner of just the three of them, they’d struck a bargain.
A grand compromise.
Madison yielded, agreeing to get my husband the votes he needed for his financial plan. And on the heels of his victory, Alexander brimmed with excitement, swooping little James into his arms to spin him around. But I was too much the daughter of a Dutchman to think such a victory would come without a price. “And what do the Virginians want in exchange?”