This time, though, his decision began a long, complicated train of circumstances that resulted in his fatal duel at Weehawken, N.J., with Aaron Burr only five months later.
Faithful reader, if you thought the Spitzer and Paterson follies of the past year contained enough twists to cause permanent whiplash, you need to go back more than 200 years, when the skullduggery involving the gubernatorial race was really something to behold. The consequences of the election were completely out of proportion to the pettiness displayed.
Historians, novelists, and even playwright (Sidney Kingsley, in The Patriots) have long weighed in on the Hamilton-Burr feud. But I’m afraid that it would take a psychiatrist to make sense of the two New Yorkers. The truly amazing thing about the whole affair, after all, lies not in the two men’s differences but their similarities:
* Both men were born within a year of each other;
* Both suffered devastating personal losses in childhood—Hamilton had to live down being, in John Adams’ immortal if nasty phrase, “the bastard son of a Scotch pedlar,” while Burr, before the age of three, had lost both parents, a grandmother, a grandfather (Jonathan Edwards), and a great-grandfather;
* Both enjoyed classical education at Ivy League schools: Burr at Princeton, Hamilton at King’s College (later Columbia University);
* Both rose to become colonels in the American Revolution, serving with great distinction and displaying conspicuous bravery;
* Both became lawyers at the same time, and were considered among the ablest men of the bar;
* Both lived for a time in the 1780s on Wall Street, and even visited each other’s houses from time to time;
* Both were strongly anti-slavery;
* Both were short dandies with a roving eye, with Hamilton becoming ensnared in the American republic’s first sex scandal, the Maria Reynolds affair, while Burr’s second wife, Madame Jumel, successfully sued her septuagenarian husband for divorce on grounds of adultery.
But ever since the early 1790s, when Burr had defeated Hamilton’s father-in-law, Philip Schuyler, in a race for the U.S. Senate, the friendly rivalry between Hamilton and Burr had, bit by bit, become less cordial.
During the election of 1800, Hamilton had become so disturbed by what he regarded as Burr’s demagogic tendencies that he even persuaded Federalists in the House of Representatives to back his onetime enemy in Washington’s Cabinet, Thomas Jefferson, when the House was called on to break the Electoral College tie between Jefferson and Burr.
If you want a shorthand description of Burr, you can’t do better than the phrase “too clever by half.” That tendency led him to play footsie with possible Federalist voters in the House, neither requesting nor disdaining their vote. The Virginia leaders of the Democratic-Republican Party—Jefferson, James Madison, and James Monroe—did not soon forget his political opportunism.
By the end of Burr’s first year as Vice-Presidency, Jefferson had made sure he had lost out on patronage in New York State to a faction led by Governor George Clinton. As 1804 dawned, it became increasingly clear that Burr had no future in the White House as an heir apparent to Jefferson.
Now something extraordinary happened. Clinton notified Jefferson that he was going to step down as governor because of age (64) and ill health (chronic rheumatism). Amazingly, however, instead of seeing in Clinton an ex-governor, Jefferson saw him as a future Vice-President serving under himself. Having Clinton as his running mate for his second term, Jefferson decided, would accomplish three aims:
* it would shove Burr out of the way;
* it would put in the Vice Presidency someone who posed no threat to the person that Jefferson really wanted to succeed him, Madison; and
* it would preserve the Southern-New York alliance that had helped the Democratic-Republicans gain the Presidency in the first place.
Just as amazingly, Burr saw an opportunity in the suddenly open gubernatorial seat, too: the chance to become a political player again.
So Burr tossed his hat into the ring. In the free-floating New York state politics of the time, the Federalists had become so emasculated that they could not run a candidate of their own for governor—all they could do was help decide which of the Democratic-Republicans would win.
Enter Hamilton, in Albany to appear in one of the landmark cases in state history. The Federalist, bruised from his Cabinet fights with Jefferson as well as from the bitter clash with President John Adams that split the Federalists in 1800, was now concentrating his efforts on the law.
Faithful reader, if you thought the Spitzer and Paterson follies of the past year contained enough twists to cause permanent whiplash, you need to go back more than 200 years, when the skullduggery involving the gubernatorial race was really something to behold. The consequences of the election were completely out of proportion to the pettiness displayed.
Historians, novelists, and even playwright (Sidney Kingsley, in The Patriots) have long weighed in on the Hamilton-Burr feud. But I’m afraid that it would take a psychiatrist to make sense of the two New Yorkers. The truly amazing thing about the whole affair, after all, lies not in the two men’s differences but their similarities:
* Both men were born within a year of each other;
* Both suffered devastating personal losses in childhood—Hamilton had to live down being, in John Adams’ immortal if nasty phrase, “the bastard son of a Scotch pedlar,” while Burr, before the age of three, had lost both parents, a grandmother, a grandfather (Jonathan Edwards), and a great-grandfather;
* Both enjoyed classical education at Ivy League schools: Burr at Princeton, Hamilton at King’s College (later Columbia University);
* Both rose to become colonels in the American Revolution, serving with great distinction and displaying conspicuous bravery;
* Both became lawyers at the same time, and were considered among the ablest men of the bar;
* Both lived for a time in the 1780s on Wall Street, and even visited each other’s houses from time to time;
* Both were strongly anti-slavery;
* Both were short dandies with a roving eye, with Hamilton becoming ensnared in the American republic’s first sex scandal, the Maria Reynolds affair, while Burr’s second wife, Madame Jumel, successfully sued her septuagenarian husband for divorce on grounds of adultery.
But ever since the early 1790s, when Burr had defeated Hamilton’s father-in-law, Philip Schuyler, in a race for the U.S. Senate, the friendly rivalry between Hamilton and Burr had, bit by bit, become less cordial.
During the election of 1800, Hamilton had become so disturbed by what he regarded as Burr’s demagogic tendencies that he even persuaded Federalists in the House of Representatives to back his onetime enemy in Washington’s Cabinet, Thomas Jefferson, when the House was called on to break the Electoral College tie between Jefferson and Burr.
If you want a shorthand description of Burr, you can’t do better than the phrase “too clever by half.” That tendency led him to play footsie with possible Federalist voters in the House, neither requesting nor disdaining their vote. The Virginia leaders of the Democratic-Republican Party—Jefferson, James Madison, and James Monroe—did not soon forget his political opportunism.
By the end of Burr’s first year as Vice-Presidency, Jefferson had made sure he had lost out on patronage in New York State to a faction led by Governor George Clinton. As 1804 dawned, it became increasingly clear that Burr had no future in the White House as an heir apparent to Jefferson.
Now something extraordinary happened. Clinton notified Jefferson that he was going to step down as governor because of age (64) and ill health (chronic rheumatism). Amazingly, however, instead of seeing in Clinton an ex-governor, Jefferson saw him as a future Vice-President serving under himself. Having Clinton as his running mate for his second term, Jefferson decided, would accomplish three aims:
* it would shove Burr out of the way;
* it would put in the Vice Presidency someone who posed no threat to the person that Jefferson really wanted to succeed him, Madison; and
* it would preserve the Southern-New York alliance that had helped the Democratic-Republicans gain the Presidency in the first place.
Just as amazingly, Burr saw an opportunity in the suddenly open gubernatorial seat, too: the chance to become a political player again.
So Burr tossed his hat into the ring. In the free-floating New York state politics of the time, the Federalists had become so emasculated that they could not run a candidate of their own for governor—all they could do was help decide which of the Democratic-Republicans would win.
Enter Hamilton, in Albany to appear in one of the landmark cases in state history. The Federalist, bruised from his Cabinet fights with Jefferson as well as from the bitter clash with President John Adams that split the Federalists in 1800, was now concentrating his efforts on the law.
His advocacy would allow him to piece together his family life together again while also enabling him to begin making a dent in the mountain of debts he’d accumulated.
At this time, Hamilton was probably unrivaled as a constitutional lawyer. He had already demonstrated his piercing insights into the Constitution through the pamphlets he’d contributed to The Federalist Papers during the struggle over ratification.
At this time, Hamilton was probably unrivaled as a constitutional lawyer. He had already demonstrated his piercing insights into the Constitution through the pamphlets he’d contributed to The Federalist Papers during the struggle over ratification.
Service in the Cabinet had given him practical acumen in government, and two decades of arguing cases had honed his ability to sway juries through the relentless force of his arguments and passionate oratory.
With James Wilson dead and Daniel Webster just starting out in public life, there probably was no other lawyer in the land at that time with so much potential to influence constitutional theory before the Supreme Court.
In fact, he was now in Albany for just such a case. Jefferson had announced in his first inaugural address, “We are all Federalists; we are all Republicans,” but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t above driving into the political wilderness the party that had made his service as Washington’s Secretary of State a form of hell. To that end, he was now pursuing prosecutions of Federalist editors.
One of these editors, Henry Croswell, enlisted as his attorney Hamilton. Croswell’s first trial had ended with the jury finding him guilty.
Now, in Albany, Hamilton was readying a six-hour address to the courtroom pleading for a new trial. In it, he called for freedom of the press and listed criteria for libel that have become commonplace in American press law ever since: i.e., that to be libelous, writing must be false, defamatory and malicious.
In fact, he was now in Albany for just such a case. Jefferson had announced in his first inaugural address, “We are all Federalists; we are all Republicans,” but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t above driving into the political wilderness the party that had made his service as Washington’s Secretary of State a form of hell. To that end, he was now pursuing prosecutions of Federalist editors.
One of these editors, Henry Croswell, enlisted as his attorney Hamilton. Croswell’s first trial had ended with the jury finding him guilty.
Now, in Albany, Hamilton was readying a six-hour address to the courtroom pleading for a new trial. In it, he called for freedom of the press and listed criteria for libel that have become commonplace in American press law ever since: i.e., that to be libelous, writing must be false, defamatory and malicious.
That speech, Hamilton’s friend James Kent remarked, was “the greatest forensic effort that he ever made,” and even political foes were inclined to agree.
But Hamilton couldn’t stick to the bar, a practice he venerated. Ever since he’d been a student at King’s College, he couldn’t miss an opportunity to make his mark on the burning political issues of the day. This time, the issue was Burr.
The deep suspicions Hamilton already harbored toward Burr’s advocacy of “democracy” became all the more pronounced because of rumors going around about a Federalist scheme in New England to secede from the Union. Leading Federalists in Massachusetts had become so disenchanted with slaveholding Virginia leaders of the Democratic-Republican Party that they were talking about breaking up the Union. Several of these secessionists saw in the disaffected Burr a potential ally.
Like much else with Burr, it’s hard to determine the extent, if any, of his involvement with this conspiracy. His invariable advice to anyone who received correspondence from him was that they burn his letter. That makes it difficult to reconstruct what he promised or didn’t promise people.
But Hamilton, convinced of Burr’s involvement, now brought it to the attention of the Federalists. He couldn’t oppose Burr’s bid for governor on purely personal grounds, so he had to find something. The New England confederacy became part of his political brief against Burr.
So opposed was Hamilton to Burr’s bid that, in a speech to Federalists gathered in Lewis’ Tavern in Albany, he even backed a longtime foe, John Lansing, a fellow New York delegate that he had opposed at the Constitutional Convention. Lansing's character, Hamilton argued now, was not as bad as Burr’s, and his lack of strength as a leader might actually revive Federalism in the state.
In the end, Lansing decided not to run, and the anti-Burr forces among the Democratic-Republicans turned to State Chief Justice Morgan Lewis. Hamilton now threw his support to him. When the votes were counted in late April, Lewis had, against all odds, beaten Burr handily.
At this point, Burr reminds me of nobody so much as Richard Nixon. After his 1960 loss of the Presidential race to John F. Kennedy, the Vice-President had decided, like Burr, to revive his political fortunes by running for governor of his state, California.
But Hamilton couldn’t stick to the bar, a practice he venerated. Ever since he’d been a student at King’s College, he couldn’t miss an opportunity to make his mark on the burning political issues of the day. This time, the issue was Burr.
The deep suspicions Hamilton already harbored toward Burr’s advocacy of “democracy” became all the more pronounced because of rumors going around about a Federalist scheme in New England to secede from the Union. Leading Federalists in Massachusetts had become so disenchanted with slaveholding Virginia leaders of the Democratic-Republican Party that they were talking about breaking up the Union. Several of these secessionists saw in the disaffected Burr a potential ally.
Like much else with Burr, it’s hard to determine the extent, if any, of his involvement with this conspiracy. His invariable advice to anyone who received correspondence from him was that they burn his letter. That makes it difficult to reconstruct what he promised or didn’t promise people.
But Hamilton, convinced of Burr’s involvement, now brought it to the attention of the Federalists. He couldn’t oppose Burr’s bid for governor on purely personal grounds, so he had to find something. The New England confederacy became part of his political brief against Burr.
So opposed was Hamilton to Burr’s bid that, in a speech to Federalists gathered in Lewis’ Tavern in Albany, he even backed a longtime foe, John Lansing, a fellow New York delegate that he had opposed at the Constitutional Convention. Lansing's character, Hamilton argued now, was not as bad as Burr’s, and his lack of strength as a leader might actually revive Federalism in the state.
In the end, Lansing decided not to run, and the anti-Burr forces among the Democratic-Republicans turned to State Chief Justice Morgan Lewis. Hamilton now threw his support to him. When the votes were counted in late April, Lewis had, against all odds, beaten Burr handily.
At this point, Burr reminds me of nobody so much as Richard Nixon. After his 1960 loss of the Presidential race to John F. Kennedy, the Vice-President had decided, like Burr, to revive his political fortunes by running for governor of his state, California.
Nixon’s loss in this second race then led him to lash out at the press with the famously bitter comment, “You won’t have Nixon to kick around anymore.”
As he licked his wounds that spring, Burr’s characteristic sangfroid evaporated. Normally the most charming of men, his feelings turned as rancid as Nixon's would more than a century and a half later. He needed someone other than himself to blame.
As he licked his wounds that spring, Burr’s characteristic sangfroid evaporated. Normally the most charming of men, his feelings turned as rancid as Nixon's would more than a century and a half later. He needed someone other than himself to blame.
His feelings crystallized when he received in the mail an account that noting “a still more despicable opinion which General Hamilton has expressed of Mr. Burr.”
Burr’s attempt to find out directly from Hamilton what that “opinion” was led to the correspondence that produced Hamilton’s death and Burr’s permanent ostracism from American politics.
Burr’s attempt to find out directly from Hamilton what that “opinion” was led to the correspondence that produced Hamilton’s death and Burr’s permanent ostracism from American politics.
Great post Mike!
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