Philip and I both gasped at the same time. “Jefferson?”
Alexander scarcely looked up from his writing table. Perhaps he dared not look at us for fear he’d lose his nerve or his lunch. Rubbing at his kidney, which had troubled him recently with spasms, he said, “There is no fair reason to suppose Jefferson capable of being corrupted, whereas Burr is bankrupt beyond redemption. His private character is not defended even by his most partial friends.”
That Burr was corruptible, I had no doubt. Everyone knew he was in debt. “That only means he can be bought,” I said. “And a man who can be bought can be bargained with.”
Now my husband did look at me, his eyes widening, as if I’d sprouted two heads. I suppose he’d looked to me for moral direction only to find that I, too, had been compromised by this wicked world. “This is no time for saints, Alexander.”
He shook his head and gathered his papers. “Nevertheless, Burr cannot be bargained with. Because no agreement with him could ever be relied upon.”
Shamelessly, I blocked his exit. “Even so, you cannot prefer a radical theorist like Jefferson to Burr, a—a mere opportunist.”
“Is it a recommendation to have no theory?” Alexander asked. “Can a man be an able statesman who has none? I believe not. Burr is far more cunning than wise, far more dexterous than able. In my opinion, he is inferior in real ability to Jefferson.”
“As if ability matters,” I argued, in frank disbelief. “As if these were ordinary times and not ones in which you tell me you stand to lose your head!”
It was exactly the wrong thing to say, and I realized it even before my husband stiffened. I shouldn’t have appealed to his sense of self-preservation over the good of the nation. I was speaking, after all, to a man who’d been willing to fight and die for it. And I’d just questioned his willingness to do just that in the presence of our proud, patriotic son.
Fortunately, and to my surprise, Philip was on my side. “Father, the country won’t survive Mr. Jefferson.”
Alexander held up his hands to fend us both off. “I’m not an apologist for Jefferson. His politics are tinctured with fanaticism and he’s a contemptible hypocrite. But he’s vain. He isn’t zealot enough to do anything that will destroy his popularity or our union. By contrast, Burr will disturb our institutions to secure permanent power and wealth. He’s an American Cataline.”
Cataline. Another accursed old Roman who’d plotted to overthrow the republic. I remembered perfectly well a time when Burr jested that the Constitution was nothing but a miserable paper machine, but I said, “You’re allowing your resentments to get the better of your reason.”
After all, though Jefferson always seemed to loom large, he’d been gone from our daily lives a long time, whereas Alexander had more recently tangled with Burr, been embarrassed by Burr, and been bested by Burr. My husband was too proud now to let Burr win. But I was not that proud. “Give Burr what he wants and you might win him to the Federalist point of view.”
“A groundless hope,” said my husband. “No, Burr is one of the worst men in the community. Sanguine enough to hope everything, daring enough to try everything, and wicked enough to scruple nothing. From the elevation of this man, may heaven preserve us!”
Philip and I remained in mutinous disagreement. In fact, the argument in our household went on almost as long as it did in Congress, through thirty-five rounds of ballots. And while Congress debated, so did we. Upon waking and sleeping. At breakfast and dinner. Before church and after church. And never in my life did I see anyone hector Alexander more relentlessly, or effectively, than my son did that winter.
While I sliced bread for the younger boys one morning after prayers, Philip argued, “By denying Jefferson the presidency and throwing support to Burr, we could split the Republican vote in the next election. The Federalists must support Burr.”
Alexander might have made it out the door if he could have resisted an argument. But of course, he couldn’t. Another father—perhaps any other father—might’ve resented Philip’s arguments as the insolent yappings of a young pup. But Alexander was proud of our son’s political passion and afforded him the same respect he’d give any other man in a political argument.
That is to say, he went on at length, ruthlessly smashing every argument Philip made, as if they were no more than a swarm of buzzing gnats.
“There is no circumstance,” Alexander concluded, “not in the entire course of our political affairs, that has given me so much pain as the mere idea that Mr. Burr might be elevated to the presidency by the means of the Federalists. Jefferson is by far not so dangerous a man and he has, at least, pretensions to character. Let the people have their choice.”