STARTING THE GOVERNMENT
Washington was deeply gratified by his reception at the hands of the
people from Alexandria to New York. He was profoundly moved by the
ceremonies of his inauguration, and when he turned from the balcony to
the senate chamber he showed in his manner and voice how much he felt
the meaning of all that had occurred. His speech to the assembled
Congress was solemn and impressive, and with simple reverence he
acknowledged the guiding hand of Providence in the fortunes of the
States. He made no recommendations to Congress, but expressed his
confidence in their wisdom and patriotism, adjured them to remember
that the success of republican government would probably be finally
settled by the success of their experiment, reminded them that
amendments to the Constitution were to be considered, and informed
them that he could not receive any pecuniary compensation for his
services, and expected only that his expenses should be paid as in the
Revolution. This was all. The first inaugural of the first President
expressed only one thought, but that thought was pressed home with
force. Washington wished the Congress to understand as he understood
the weight and meaning of the task which had been imposed upon them,
for he felt that if he could do this all would be well. How far he
succeeded it would be impossible to say, but there can be no doubt as
to the wisdom of his position. To have attempted to direct the first
movements of Congress before he had really grasped the reins of the
government would have given rise, very probably, to jealousy and
opposition at the outset. When he had developed a policy, then it
would be time to advise the senators and representatives how to carry
it out. Meanwhile it was better to arouse their patriotism, awaken
their sense of responsibility, and leave them free to begin their work
under the guidance of these impressions.
As for himself, his feelings remained unchanged. He had accepted the
great post with solemn anxiety, and when the prayers had all been
said, and the last guns fired, when the music had ceased and the
cheers had died away, and the illuminations had flickered and gone
out, he wrote that in taking office he had given up all expectation
of private happiness, but that he was encouraged by the popular
affection, as well as by the belief that his motives were appreciated,
and that, thus supported, he would do his best. In a few words,
written some months later, he tersely stated what his office meant to
him, and what grave difficulties surrounded his path.
"The establishment of our new government," he said, "seemed to be the
last great experiment for promoting human happiness by a reasonable
compact in civil society. It was to be, in the first instance, in
a considerable degree, a government of accommodation as well as
a government of laws. Much was to be done by prudence, much by
conciliation, much by firmness. Few who are not philosophical
spectators can realize the difficult and delicate part which a man in
my situation had to act. All see, and most admire, the glare which
hovers round the external happiness of elevated office. To me there
is nothing in it beyond the lustre which may be reflected from its
connection with a power of promoting human felicity. In our progress
towards political happiness my station is new, and, if I may use the
expression, I walk on untrodden ground. There is scarcely an action
the motive of which may not be subject to a double interpretation.
There is scarcely any part of my conduct which may not hereafter be
drawn into precedent. If, after all my humble but faithful endeavors
to advance the felicity of my country and mankind, I may indulge a
hope that my labors have not been altogether without success, it will
be the only real compensation I can receive in the closing scenes of
life."
There is nothing very stimulating to the imagination in this soberness
of mind and calmness of utterance. The military conquerors and the
saviors of society, with epigrammatic sayings, dramatic effects and
rhythmic proclamations, are much more exciting and dazzle the fancy
much better. But it is this seriousness of mind, coupled with
intensity of purpose and grim persistence, which has made the
English-speaking race spread over the world and carry successful
government in its train. The personal empire of Napoleon had crumbled
before he died an exile in St. Helena, but the work of Washington
still endures. Just what that work was, and how it was achieved, is
all that still remains to be considered.
The policies set on foot and carried through under the first federal
administration were so brilliant and so successful that we are apt
to forget that months elapsed before the first of them was even
announced. When Washington, on May 1, 1789, began his duties, there
was absolutely nothing of the government of the United States in
existence but a President and a Congress. The imperfect and broken
machinery of the confederation still moved feebly, and performed some
of the absolutely necessary functions of government. But the new
organization had nothing to work with except these outworn remnants of
a discarded system. There were no departments, and no arrangements for
the collection of revenue or the management of the postal service. A
few scattered soldiers formed the army, and no navy existed. There
were no funds and no financial resources. There were not even
traditions and forms of government, and, slight as these things may
seem, settled methods of doing public business are essential to its
prompt and proper transaction. These forms had to be devised and
adopted first, and although they seem matters of course now, after
a century of use, they were the subject of much thought and of some
sharp controversy in 1789. The manner in which the President was to be
addressed caused some heated discussion even before the inauguration.
America had but just emerged from the colonial condition, and the
colonial habits were still unbroken. In private letters we find
Washington referred to as "His Highness," and in some newspapers as
"His Highness the President-General," while the Senate committee
reported in favor of addressing him as "His Highness the President of
the United States and Protector of their Liberties." In the House,
however, the democratic spirit was strong, there was a fierce attack
upon the proposed titles, and that body ended by addressing Washington
simply as the "President of the United States," which, as it happened,
settled the question finally. Washington personally cared little for
titles, although, as John Adams wrote to Mrs. Warren, he thought them
appropriate to high office. But in this case he saw that there was a
real danger lurking in the empty name, and so he was pleased by the
decision of the House. Another matter was the relation between the
President and the Senate. Should he communicate with them in writing
or orally, being present during their deliberations as if they formed
an executive council? It was promptly decided that nominations should
be made in writing; but as to treaties, it was at first thought best
that the President should deliver them to the Senate in person, and
it was arranged with minute care where he should sit, beside
the Vice-President, while the matter was under discussion. This
arrangement, however, was abandoned after a single trial, and it was
agreed that treaties, like nominations, should come with written
messages.
Last and most important of all was the question of the mode of conduct
and the etiquette to be established with regard to the President
himself. In this, as in the matter of titles, Washington saw a real
importance in what many persons might esteem only empty forms, and he
proceeded with his customary thoroughness in dealing with the subject.
What he did would be a precedent for the future as well as a target
for present criticism, and he determined to devise a scheme which
would resist attack, and be worthy to stand as an example for his
successors. He therefore wrote to Madison: "The true medium, I
conceive, must lie in pursuing such a course as will allow him (the
President) time for all the official duties of his station. This
should be the primary object. The next, to avoid as much as may be the
charge of superciliousness, and seclusion from information, by too
much reserve and too great a withdrawal of himself from company on
the one hand, and the inconveniences, as well as a diminution of
respectability, from too free an intercourse and too much familiarity
on the other." This letter, with a set of queries, was also sent to
the Vice-President, to Jay, and to Hamilton. They all agreed in the
general views outlined by Washington. Adams, fresh from Europe, was
inclined to surround the office, of which he justly had a lofty
conception, with a good deal of ceremony, because he felt that these
things were necessary in our relations with foreign nations. In the
main, however, the advice of all who were consulted was in favor
of keeping the nice line between too much reserve and too much
familiarity, and this line, after all the advising, Washington of
course drew for himself. He did it in this way. He decided that he
would return no calls, and that he would receive no general visits
except on specified days, and official visitors at fixed hours.
The third point was in regard to dinner parties. The presidents of
Congress hitherto had asked every one to dine, and had ended by
keeping a sort of public table, to the waste of both time and dignity.
Many persons, disgusted with this system, thought that the President
ought not to ask anybody to dinner. But Washington, never given to
extremes, decided that he would invite to dinner persons of official
rank and strangers of distinction, but no one else, and that he would
accept no invitations for himself. After a time he arranged to have a
reception every Tuesday, from three to four in the afternoon, and Mrs.
Washington held a similar levee on Fridays. These receptions, with a
public dinner every week, were all the social entertainments for which
the President had either time or health.
By these sensible and apparently unimportant arrangements, Washington
managed to give free access to every one who was entitled to it, and
yet preserved the dignity and reserve due to his office. It was one
of the real although unmarked services which he rendered to the new
government, and which contributed so much to its establishment, for it
would have been very easy to have lowered the presidential office by a
false idea of republican simplicity. It would have been equally easy
to have made it odious by a cold seclusion on the one hand, or by pomp
and ostentation on the other. With his usual good judgment and perfect
taste, Washington steered between the opposing dangers, and yet
notwithstanding the wisdom of his arrangements, and in spite of
their simplicity, he did not escape calumny on account of them. One
criticism was that at his reception every one stood, which was thought
to savor of incipient monarchy. To this Washington replied, with the
directness of which he was always capable, that it was not usual to
sit on such occasions, and, if it were, he had no room large enough
for the number of chairs that would be required, and that, as the
whole thing was perfectly unceremonious, every one could come and go
as he pleased. Fault was also found with the manner in which he bowed,
an accusation to which he answered with an irony not untinged with
bitterness and contempt: "That I have not been able to make bows to
the taste of poor Colonel B. (who, by the by, I believe never saw one
of them) is to be regretted, especially too, as, upon those occasions,
they were indiscriminately bestowed, and the best I was master of.
Would it not have been better to throw the veil of charity over
them, ascribing their stiffness to the effects of age, or to the
unskillfulness of my teacher, rather than to pride and dignity of
office, which God knows has no charms for me?"
As party hostility developed, these attacks passed from the region of
private conversation to the columns of newspapers and the declamation
of mob orators, and an especial snarl was raised over the circumstance
that at some public ball the President and Mrs. Washington were
escorted to a sofa on a raised platform, and that guests passed before
them and bowed. Much monarchy and aristocracy were perceived in this
little matter, and Jefferson carefully set it down in that collection
of withered slanders which he gave to an admiring posterity, after the
grave had safely covered both him and those whom he feared and hated
in his lifetime. This incident, however, was but an example of
the political capital which was sought for in the conduct of the
presidential office. The celebration of the birthday, the proposition
to put Washington's head upon the coins, and many other similar
trifles, were all twisted to the same purpose. The dynasty of Cleon
has been a long one, so long that even the succession of the Popes
seems temporary beside it, and it flourished in Washington's time as
rankly as it did in Athens, or as it does to-day. The object of the
assault varies, but the motives and the purpose are as old and as
lasting as human nature. Envy and malice will always find a convenient
shelter in pretended devotion to the public weal, and will seek
revenge for their own lack of success by putting on the cloak of the
tribune of the people, and perverting the noblest of offices to the
basest uses.
But time sets all things even. The demagogues and the critics who
assailed Washington's demeanor and behavior are forgotten, while the
wise and simple customs which he established and framed for the great
office that he honored, still prevail by virtue of their good sense.
We part gladly with all remembrance of those bold defenders of liberty
who saw in these slight forms forerunners of monarchy. We would even
consent to drop into oblivion the precious legacy of Jefferson. But
we will never part with the picture drawn by a loving hand of that
stately figure, clad in black velvet, with the hand on the hilt of the
sword, standing at one of Mrs. Washington's levees, and receiving with
gentle and quiet dignity, full of kindliness but untinged by cheap
familiarity, the crowd that came to pay their respects. It was well
for the republic that at the threshold of its existence it had for
President a man who, by the kindness of his heart, by his good sense,
good manners, and fine breeding, gave to the office which he held and
the government he founded the simple dignity which was part of himself
and of his own high character.
Thus the forms and shows, important in their way, were dealt with,
while behind them came the sterner realities of government, demanding
regulation and settlement. At the outset Washington knew about the
affairs of the government, especially for the last six years, only
in a general way. He felt it to be his first duty, therefore, to
familiarize himself with all these matters, and, although he was in
the midst of the stir and bustle of a new government, he nevertheless
sent for all the papers of each department of the confederation
since the signature of the treaty of peace, went through them
systematically, and made notes and summaries of their contents. This
habit he continued throughout his presidency in dealing with all
official documents. The natural result followed. He knew more at the
start about the facts in each and every department of the public
business than any other one man, and he continued to know more
throughout his administration. In this method and this capacity for
taking infinite pains is to be found a partial explanation at least
of the easy mastery of affairs which he always showed, whether on the
plantation, in the camp, or in the cabinet. It was in truth a striking
instance of that "long patience" which the great French naturalist
said was genius.
While he was thus regulating forms of business, and familiarizing
himself with public questions, it became necessary to fix the manner
of dealing with foreign powers. There were not many representatives of
foreign nations present at the birth of the republic, but there was
one who felt, and perhaps not without reason, that he was entitled
to peculiar privileges. The Count de Moustier, minister of France,
desired to have private access to the President, and even to discuss
matters of business with him. Washington's reply to this demand was,
in its way, a model. After saying that the only matter which could
come up would relate to commerce, with which he was unfamiliar, he
continued: "Every one, who has any knowledge of my manner of acting in
public life, will be persuaded that I am not accustomed to impede
the dispatch or frustrate the success of business by a ceremonious
attention to idle forms. Any person of that description will also be
satisfied that I should not readily consent to lose one of the most
important functions of my office for the sake of preserving an
imaginary dignity. But perhaps, if there are rules of proceeding which
have originated from the wisdom of statesmen, and are sanctioned by
the common consent of nations, it would not be prudent for a young
state to dispense with them altogether, at least without some
substantial cause for so doing. I have myself been induced to think,
possibly from habits of experience, that in general the best mode of
conducting negotiations, the detail and progress of which might be
liable to accidental mistakes or unintentional misrepresentations, is
by writing. This mode, if I was obliged by myself to negotiate with
any one, I should still pursue. I have, however, been taught to
believe that there is in most polished nations a system established
with regard to the foreign as well as the other great departments,
which, from the utility, the necessity, and the reason of the thing,
provides that business should be digested and prepared by the heads of
those departments."
The Count de Moustier hastened to excuse himself on the ground that
he expressed himself badly in English, which was over-modest, for he
expressed himself extremely well. He also explained and defended his
original propositions by trying to show that they were reasonable and
usual; but it was labor lost. Washington's letter was final, and the
French minister knew it. The count was aware that he was dealing with
a good soldier, but in statecraft he probably felt he had to do with a
novice. His intention was to take advantage of the position of France,
secure for her peculiar privileges, and put her in the attitude of
patronizing inoffensively but effectively the new government founded
by the people she had helped to free. He found himself turned aside
quietly, almost deferentially, and yet so firmly and decidedly that
there was no appeal. No nation, he discovered, was to have especial
privileges. France was the good friend and ally of the United States,
but she was an equal, not a superior. It was also fixed by this
correspondence that the President, representing the sovereignty of
the people, was to have the respect to which that sovereignty was
entitled. The pomp and pageant of diplomacy in the old world were
neither desired nor sought in America; yet the President was not to be
approached in person, but through the proper cabinet officer, and all
diplomatic communications after the fashion of civilized governments
were to be in writing. Thus within a month France, and in consequence
other nations, were quietly given to understand that the new republic
was to be treated like other free and independent governments, and
that there was to be nothing colonial or subservient in her attitude
to foreign nations, whether those nations had been friends or foes in
the past.
It required tact, firmness, and a sure judgment to establish proper
relations with foreign ministers. But once done, it was done for all
time. This was not the case with another and far more important
class of people, whose relation to the new administration had to be
determined at the very first hour of its existence. Indeed, before
Washington left Mount Vernon he had begun to receive letters from
persons who considered themselves peculiarly well fitted to serve the
government in return for a small but certain salary. In a letter to
Mrs. Wooster, for whom as the widow of an old soldier he felt the
tenderest sympathy, he wrote soon after his arrival in New York: "As
a public man acting only with reference to the public good, I must be
allowed to decide upon all points of my duty, without consulting my
private inclinations and wishes. I must be permitted, with the best
lights I can obtain, and upon a general view of characters and
circumstances, to nominate such persons alone to offices as in my
judgment shall be the best qualified to discharge the functions of
the departments to which they shall be appointed." This sentiment in
varying forms has been declared since 1789 by many Presidents and many
parties. Washington, however, lived up exactly to his declarations.
At the same time he did not by any means attempt to act merely as an
examining board.
Great political organizations, as we have known them since, did not
exist at the beginning of the government, but there were nevertheless
two parties, divided by the issue which had been settled by the
adoption of the Constitution. Washington took, and purposed to take,
his appointees so far as he could from those who had favored the
Constitution and were friends of the new system. It is also clear
that he made every effort to give the preference to the soldiers
and officers of the army, toward whom his affectionate thought ever
turned. Beyond this it can only be said that he was almost nervously
anxious to avoid any appearance of personal feeling in making
appointments, as was shown in the letter refusing to make his nephew
Bushrod a district attorney, and that he resented personal pressure
of any kind. He preferred always to reach his conclusions so far as
possible from a careful study of written testimony. These principles,
rigidly adhered to, his own keen perception of character, and his
knowledge of men, resulted in a series of appointments running through
eight years which were really marvelously successful. The only
rejection, outside the special case of John Rutledge, was that of
Benjamin Fishbourn for naval officer of the port of Savannah, which
was due apparently to the personal hostility of the Georgia senators.
Washington, conscious of his own painstaking, was not a little
provoked by this setting aside of an old soldier. He sent in a sharp
message on the subject, pointing out the trouble he took to make sure
of the fitness of an appointment, and intimated that the same effort
would not come amiss in the Senate when they rejected one of his
nominees. In view of the fact that it was a new government, the
absence of mistakes in the appointments is quite extraordinary,
and the value of such success can be realized by considering the
disastrous consequences which would have come from inefficient
officers or malfeasance in office when the great experiment was just
put on trial, and was surrounded by doubters and critics ready and
eager to pick flaws and find faults.
The general tone of the government and its reputation at widely
scattered points depended largely on the persons appointed to the
smaller executive offices. Important, however, as these were, the
fate of the republic under the new Constitution was infinitely more
involved in the men whom Washington called about him in his cabinet,
to decide with him as to the policies which were to be begun, and
on which the living vital government was to be founded. Congress,
troubled about many things, and struggling with questions of revenue
and taxation, managed in the course of the summer to establish and
provide for three executive departments and for an attorney-general.
To the selection of the men to fill these high offices Washington
gave, of course, the most careful thought, and succeeded in forming
a cabinet which, in its aggregate ability, never has been equaled in
this country.
Edmund Randolph was appointed attorney-general. Losing his father at
an early age, and entering the army, he had been watched over and
protected by Washington with an almost paternal care, and at the time
of his appointment he was one of the most conspicuous men in public
life, as well as a leading lawyer at the bar of Virginia. He came from
one of the oldest and strongest of the Virginian families, and had
been governor of his State, and a leader in the constitutional
convention, where he had introduced what was known as the Virginian
plan. He had refused to sign the Constitution, but had come round
finally to its support, largely through Washington's influence. There
was then, and there can be now, no question as to Randolph's really
fine talents, or as to his fitness for his post. His defect was a lack
of force of character and strength of will, which was manifested by a
certain timidity of action, and by an infirmity of purpose, such as
had appeared in his course about the Constitution. He performed the
duties of his office admirably, but in the decision of the momentous
questions which came before the cabinet he showed an uncertainty of
opinion which was felt by all his colleagues.[1]
[Footnote 1: This passage was written before the recent appearance of
Mr. Conway's _Life of Randolph_. That ample biography, in my opinion,
confirms the view of Randolph here given. If, in the light of this new
material, I have erred at all, it is, I think, on the charitable side.
Mr. Conway, in order to vindicate Randolph, has sacrificed so far as
he could nearly every conspicuous public man of that period. From
Washington, whom he charges with senility, down, there is hardly a
man who ever crossed Randolph's path whom he has not assailed. Yet he
presents no reason, so far as I can see, to alter the present opinion
of Randolph.]
Henry Knox of Massachusetts was head of the War Department under the
confederacy, and was continued in office by Washington, who appointed
him secretary of war under the new arrangement. It was a natural and
excellent selection. Knox was a distinguished soldier, he had served
well through the Revolution, and Washington was warmly attached to
him. He was not a statesman by training or habit of mind, nor was he
possessed of commanding talents. But he was an able man, sound in his
views and diligent in his office, devoted to his chief and unswerving
in his loyalty to the administration and all its measures. There was
never any doubt as to the attitude of Henry Knox, and Washington found
him as faithful and efficient in the cabinet as he had always been in
the field.
Second in rank, but first in importance, was the secretaryship of the
treasury. "Finance! Ah, my friend, all that remains of the American
Revolution grounds there." So Gouverneur Morris had written to Jay. So
might he have written again of the American Union, for the fate of the
experiment rested at the outset on the Treasury Department. Yet there
was probably less hesitation as to the proper man for this place than
for any other. Washington no doubt would have been glad to give it to
Robert Morris, whose great services in the Revolution he could never
forget. But this could not be, and acting on his own judgment,
fortified by that of Morris himself, he made Alexander Hamilton
secretary of the treasury.
It is one of the familiar marks of greatness to know how to choose the
right men to perform the tasks which no man, either in war or peace,
can complete single-handed. Napoleon's marshals were conspicuous
proofs of his genius, and Washington had a similar power of selection.
The generals whom he trusted were the best generals, the statesmen
whom he consulted stand highest in history. He was fallible, as other
mortals are fallible. He, too, had his Varus, and the time was coming
when he could echo the bitter cry of the great emperor for his lost
legions. But the mistakes were the exceptions. He chose with the
sureness of a strong and penetrating mind, and the most signal example
of this capacity was his secretary of the treasury. He knew Hamilton
well. He had known him as his staff officer, active, accomplished, and
efficient. He had seen him leave his side in a tempest of boyish rage,
and he had watched him charging with splendid gallantry the Yorktown
redoubts. He was familiar with Hamilton's extraordinary mastery of
financial and political problems, and he had found him a powerful
leader in the work of forming the Constitution. He understood
Hamilton's strength, and he knew where his dangers lay. Now he called
him to his cabinet, and gave into his hands the department on which
the immediate success of the government hinged. It was a brilliant
choice. The mark in his lifetime for all the assaults of his political
opponents, the leader and the victim of the schism which rent his own
party, Hamilton, after his death, was made the target for attack and
reprobation by his political foes, who for nearly sixty years, with
few intermissions, controlled the government. His work, however, could
not be undone, and as passions have subsided his fame has proved to
be of that highest and rarest kind which broadens and rises with the
lapse of years, until in the light of history it overtops that of any
of our statesmen, except of his own great chief and Abraham Lincoln.
The work to which he was called was that of organizing a national
government, and in the performance of this work he showed that he
belonged to the highest type of constructive statesmen, and was one of
the rare men who build, and whose building stands the test of time.
Last to be mentioned, but first in rank, was the Department of State.
For this high place Washington chose Thomas Jefferson, who was then
our minister in Paris, and who did not return to take up his official
duties until the following March. Of the four cabinet offices, this
was the only one where Washington proceeded entirely on public
grounds. He took Jefferson on account of his wide reputation, his
unquestioned ability, his standing before the country, and his
experience in our foreign relations. With the other three there was
a strong element of personal friendship and familiarity. With the
secretary of state his intercourse had been, so far as we can judge,
almost wholly of a public character, and, so far as can be inferred
from an expression of some years before, the selection was made by
Washington in deference simply to what he believed to be the public
interest. The only allusion to Jefferson in all the printed volumes of
correspondence prior to 1789 occurs in a letter to Robert Livingston,
of January 8, 1783. He there said: "What office is Mr. Jefferson
appointed to that he has, you say, lately accepted? If it is that of
commissioner of peace, I hope he will arrive too late to have any hand
in it." There is no indication that their personal relations were then
or afterwards other than pleasant. Yet this brief sentence is a
strong expression of distrust, and especially so from the fact that
Washington was not at all given to criticising other people in his
letters. What he distrusted was not Jefferson's ability, for that
no man could doubt, still less his patriotism. But Washington read
character well, and he felt that Jefferson might be lacking in the
qualities of boldness and determination, so needful in a negotiation
like that which resulted in the acknowledgment of our independence.
The truth was that the two men were radically different, and never
could have been sympathetic. Washington was strong, direct, masculine,
and at times fierce in anger. Jefferson was adroit, subtle, and
feminine in his sensitiveness. Washington was essentially a fighting
man, tamed by a stern self-control from the recklessness of his early
days, but always a fighter. Jefferson was a lover of peace, given to
quiet, hating quarrels and bloodshed, and at times timid in dealing
with public questions. Washington was deliberate and conservative,
after the fashion of his race. Jefferson was quick, impressionable,
and always fascinated by new notions, even if they were somewhat
fantastic. A thoroughly liberal and open-minded man, Washington never
turned a deaf ear to any new suggestion, whether it was a public
policy or a mechanical invention, but to all alike he gave careful
consideration before he adopted them. To Jefferson, on the other hand,
mere novelty had a peculiar charm, and he jumped at any device, either
to govern a state or improve a plough, provided that it had the
flavor of ingenuity. The two men might easily have thought the same
concerning the republic, but they started from opposite poles, and no
full communion of thought and feeling was possible between them. That
Washington chose fitly from purely public and outside considerations
can not be questioned, but he made a mistake when he put next to
himself a man for whom he did not have the personal regard and
sympathy which he felt for his other advisers. The necessary result
finally came, after many troubles in the cabinet, in dislike and
distrust, if not positive alienation.
Looking at the cabinet, however, as it stood in the beginning, we can
only admire the wisdom of the selection and the high abilities which
were thus brought together for the administration and construction of
a great national government. It has always been the fashion to speak
of this first cabinet as made up without reference to party, but the
idea is a mistaken one from any point of view. Washington himself gave
it color, for he felt very rightly that he was the choice of the whole
people and not of a party. He wished to rise above party, and in fact
to have no party, but a devotion of all to the good of the country.
The time came when he sorrowed for and censured party bitterness and
party strife, but it is to be observed that the party feeling which he
most deplored was that which grew up against his own policies and his
own administration. The fact was that Washington, who rose above party
more than any other statesman in our history, was nevertheless, like
most men of strong will and robust mind, and like all great political
leaders, a party man, as we shall have occasion to see further on.
It is true that his cabinet contained the chiefs and founders of two
great schools of political thought, which have ever since divided
the country; but when these parties were once fairly developed, the
cabinet became a scene of conflict and went to pieces, only to be
reformed on party lines. When it was first made up, the two parties of
our subsequent history, with which we are familiar, did not exist, and
it was in the administration of Washington that they were developed.
Yet the cabinet of 1789 was, so far as there were parties, a partisan
body. The only political struggle that we had had was over the
adoption of the Constitution. The parties of the first Congress were
the Federalists and the anti-Federalists, the friends and the enemies
of the Constitution. Among those who opposed the Constitution were
many able and distinguished men, but Washington did not invite Sam
Adams, or George Mason, or Patrick Henry, or George Clinton to enter
his cabinet. On the contrary, he took only friends and supporters
of the Constitution. Hamilton was its most illustrious advocate.
Randolph, after some vacillation, had done very much to turn the
wavering scale in Virginia in its favor. Knox was its devoted friend;
and Jefferson, although he had carped at it and criticised it in
his letters, was not known to have done so, and was considered, and
rightly considered, to be friendly to the new system. In other words,
the cabinet was made up exclusively of the party of the Constitution,
which was the victorious party of the moment. This was of course
wholly right, and Washington was too great and wise a leader to have
done anything else. The cabinet was formed with regard to existing
divisions, and, when those divisions changed, the cabinet which gave
birth to them changed too.
Outside the cabinet, the most weighty appointments were those of the
Supreme Court. No one then quite appreciated, probably, the vast
importance which this branch of the government was destined to assume,
or the great part it was to play in the history of the country and the
development of our institutions. At the same time no one could fail to
see that much depended on the composition of the body which was to be
the ultimate interpreter of the Constitution. The safety of the entire
scheme might easily have been imperiled by the selection of men as
judges who were lacking in ability or character. Washington chose with
his wonted sureness. At the head of the court he placed John Jay, one
of the most distinguished of the public men of the day, who gave to
the office at once the impress of his own high character and spotless
reputation. With him were associated Wilson of Pennsylvania, Cushing
of Massachusetts, Blair of Virginia, Iredell of North Carolina, and
Rutledge of South Carolina. They were all able and well-known
men, sound lawyers, and also, be it noted, warm friends of the
Constitution.
Thus the business of organizing the government in the first great and
essential points was completed. It was the work of the President, and,
anxious and arduous as it was, it is worth remembering, too, that
it was done, and thoroughly done, in the midst of severe physical
suffering. Just after the inauguration, Washington was laid up with an
anthrax or carbuncle in his thigh, which brought him at one time very
near death. For six weeks he could lie only on one side, endured the
most constant and acute pain, and was almost incapable of motion. He
referred to his illness at the time in a casual and perfectly simple
way, and mind and will so prevailed over the bodily suffering that
the great task of organizing the government was never suspended nor
interrupted.
When the work was done and Congress had adjourned, Washington, feeling
that he had earned a little rest and recreation, proceeded to carry
out a purpose, which he had formed very early in his presidency, of
visiting the Eastern States. This was the first part of a general plan
which he had conceived of visiting while in office all portions of
the Union. The personal appearance of the President, representing
the whole people, would serve to bring home to the public mind the
existence and reality of a central government, which to many if not to
most persons in the outlying States seemed shadowy and distant. But
General Washington was neither shadowy nor distant to any one. Every
man, woman, and child had heard of and loved the leader of the
Revolution. To his countrymen everywhere, his name meant political
freedom and victory in battle; and when he came among them as the
head of a new government, that government took on in some measure the
character of its chief. His journey was a well-calculated appeal, not
for himself but for his cause, to the warm human interest which a man
readily excites, but which only gathers slowly around constitutions
and forms of government. The world owes a good deal to the right kind
of hero-worship, and the United States have been no exception.
The journey itself was uneventful, and was carried out with
Washington's usual precision. It served its purpose, too, and brought
out a popular enthusiasm which spoke well for the prospects of the
federal government, and which was the first promise of the loyal
support which New England gave to the President, as she had already
given it to the general. In the succession of crowds and processions
and celebrations which marked the public rejoicing, one incident of
this journey stands out as still memorable, and possessed of real
meaning. Mr. John Hancock was governor of Massachusetts. There is
no need to dwell upon him. He was a man of slender abilities,
large wealth, and ready patriotism, with a great sense of his own
importance, and a fine taste for impressive display. Every external
thing about him, from his handsome house and his Copley portrait to
his imposing gout and his immortal signature, was showy and effective.
He was governor of Massachusetts, and very proud of that proud old
commonwealth as well as of her governor. Within her bounds he was the
representative of her sovereignty, and he felt that deference was due
to him from the President of the United States when they both stood on
the soil of Massachusetts. He did not meet Washington on his arrival,
and Washington thereupon did not dine with the governor as he had
agreed to do. It looked a little stormy. Here was evidently a man with
some new views as to the sovereignty of States and the standing of the
union of States. It might have done for Governor Hancock to allow the
President of Congress to pass out of Massachusetts without seeing its
governor, and thereby learn a valuable lesson, but it would never
do to have such a thing happen in the case of George Washington, no
matter what office he might hold. A little after noon on Sunday,
October 26, therefore, the governor wrote a note to the President,
apologizing for not calling before, and asking if he might call
in half an hour, even though it was at the hazard of his health.
Washington answered at once, expressing his pleasure at the prospect
of seeing his excellency, but begging him, with a touch of irony, not
to do anything to endanger his health. So in half an hour Hancock
appeared. Picturesque, even if defeated, he was borne up-stairs on
men's shoulders, swathed in flannels, and then and there made his
call. The old house in Boston where this happened has had since then a
series of successors, but the ground on which it stood has been duly
remembered and commemorated. It is a more important spot than we are
wont to think; for there it was settled, on that autumn Sunday, that
the idea that the States were able to own and to bully the Union they
had formed was dead, and that the President of the new United States
was henceforth to be regarded as the official superior of every
governor in the land. It was a mere question of etiquette, nothing
more. But how the general government would have sunk in popular
estimation if the President had not asserted, with perfect dignity and
yet entire firmness, its position! Men are governed very largely by
impressions, and Washington knew it. Hence his settling at once and
forever the question of precedence between the Union and the States.
Everywhere and at all times, according to his doctrine, the nation was
to be first.[1]
[Footnote 1: The most lately published contemporary account of
this affair with Hancock can be found in the _Magazine of American
History_, June, 1888, p. 508, entitled "Incidents in the Life of John
Hancock, as related by Dorothy Quincy Hancock Scott (from the Diary of
Gen. W.H. Sumner)."]
So the President traveled on to the North, and then back by another
road to New York, and that excellent bit of work in familiarizing the
people with their federal government was accomplished. Meantime the
wheels had started, the machine was in motion, and the chief officers
were at their places. The preliminary work had been done, and the next
step was to determine what policies should be adopted, and to find out
if the new system could really perform the task for which it had been
created.