Being thus happily disposed, Adams in a raucous, pragmatic voice reads Aaron’s address. It is quite as hollow and pointless and vacant of purpose as was Washington’s. Its delivery, however, is loftily heavy, since the mummery is held a most important element of what tinsel-isms make up the etiquette of our American court. Save that the audience chamber is less sumptuous, the ceremony might pass for King George receiving his ministers, instead of President George receiving a delegation from the Senate.
No one is more disagreeably aroused by this paltry imitation of royalty than Aaron. Some glint of his contempt must show in his eyes; for Hamilton, eager to make the conqueror of the rusty Schuyler as offensive to Washington as he may, is swift to draw him out.
“Welcome to the Capitol, Senator Burr!” he exclaims, when Adams has finished. “This, I believe, is your earliest appearance here. I doubt not you find the opening of our Congress exceedingly impressive.”
Since Aaron came into the presence of Washington, he has arrived at divers decisions which will have effect in the country’s story, before the curtain of time descends and the play of government is played out. His first feeling is one of angry repugnance toward Washington himself. He liked him little as a general; he likes him less as a president.
“I shall be no friend to this man,” thinks he, “nor he to me.”
Aaron tries to believe that his resentment is due to Washington’s all but royal state. In his heart, however, he knows that his wrath is personal. He reconsiders that discouraging royalty, and puts his feeling upon more probable grounds.
“I distaste him,” he decides, “because he meets no man on level terms. He places himself on a plane by himself. He looks down to everybody; everybody must look up to him. He is incapable of friendship, and will either be guardian or jailer to mankind. He told Putnam I was vain, conceited. Was there ever such blind vanity as his own? No; he will be no man’s friend—this self-discovered demigod! He does not desire friends. What he hungers for is adulation, incense. He prefers none about him save knee-crooking sycophants—like this smirking parasitish Hamilton.”
Aaron, while the pompous Adams thunders forth that empty address, resolves to hold himself aloof from Washington and all who belt him round. Being in this high mood, he welcomes the opportunity which Hamilton’s remark affords him, to publicly notify those present of his position.
“It will be as well,” he ruminates, “to post, not alone these good people of Cabinet and Senate, but the royal Washington himself. I shall let them, and let him, know that I am not to be a follower of this republican king of ours.”
“Yes,” repeats Hamilton, with a side glance at Washington, who for the moment is talking in a courtly way with Adams, “yes; you doubtless find the opening ceremonies exceedingly impressive. Most newcomers do. However, it will wear down, sir; the feeling will wear down!” Hamilton throws off this last with an ineffable air of experience and elevation.