The Crime of Caste in Our Country

by Benjamin Rush Davenport

Sherman, of Connecticut, said at the same time and place that “the people should have as little to do directly with the government as possible.”

John Adams repeatedly advocated, in his writings “a liberal use of titles and ceremonials for those in office,” and the establishment of an upper legislative chamber to be filled by “the rich, the well-born, and the able.” The words, “well-born,” gave intense offence. Their inconsistency with the grand democracy of the Declaration of Independence was bitterly commented on. The whole Federalist party was sarcastically called “the well-born”—a fatal appellation!

The expression “well-bred,” as describing the commander of the Pennsylvania militia at Homestead, will be recalled by the mass of the people long after every vestige of the militia’s visit to Homestead has departed. To the American mind such expressions as “well-born” and “well-bred” present an absurd attempt at class distinction.

Hamilton shared the same theories. He was openly accused by Jefferson, while both men were members of Washington’s cabinet, of a desire to overthrow the republic. He was closely connected with the rising financial power of New York. The people, while they admired his able and amiable personality, never quite forgave him for the part he took in defending one Holt, a rich Tory of New York, in a suit for redress brought by a poor widow whose house he had seized during the British occupation.

George Washington himself, who was a Federalist so far as he belonged to any party, was a man of ceremony and hauteur. He never forgot that he had descended from a titled English family, and belonged to the wealthiest class of Southern landed proprietors. When he assumed the Presidency, he established an almost courtly etiquette. On Tuesdays and Fridays he gave stately receptions to visitors; on Thursdays, Congressional dinners. While New York was the Capital of the Union, he had a Presidential box at the theatre (the only theatre the city then boasted), elaborately decorated, and whenever he occupied it, the orchestra played the “Presidential March” (now known as “Hail Columbia”).

At his inauguration, the House of Representatives addressed him simply as “President.” The Senate, probably cognizant of his personal wishes, sought a more high-sounding title. “His Excellency” was rejected as too plain, and after some debate the Senators decided upon “His Highness, the President of the United States, and Protector of their Liberties.”

The Senate’s suggestion was referred to the House, where it aroused no little opposition. Congressman Tucker, of South Carolina, inquired: “Will it not alarm our fellow-citizens? Will they not say that they have been deceived by the Convention that framed the Constitution? One of its warmest advocates—nay, one of its framers—has recommended it by calling it a pure democracy. Does giving titles look like a pure democracy? Surely not. Some one has said that to give dignity to our government we must give a lofty title to our chief magistrate. If so, then to make our dignity complete, we must give first a high title, then an embroidered robe, then a princely equipage, and finally a crown and hereditary succession. This spirit of imitation, sir, this spirit of mimicry and apery, will be the ruin of our country. Instead of giving us dignity in the eyes of foreigners, it will expose us to be laughed at as apes.”

So decided was the feeling of the House against the adoption of a sonorous title for the chief executive, that the Senate’s proposal was dropped. Nevertheless, a more elaborate ceremonial was maintained at the Presidential mansion—at first in New York, then in Philadelphia, and finally at Washington—during the first twelve years of the government, than after Jefferson’s accession in 1801.

Washington’s two elections to the Presidency was the nation’s tribute to the splendid personal character and military record of the man who, above all others, gave it nationality. When he refused a third election, the honor went to John Adams, as his political heir, although the Federalists, whose candidate Adams was, had only a bare majority of the electoral college—seventy-one votes against sixty-eight for Jefferson. It was at that time the almost invariable rule for the electors to be chosen by the State Legislatures, not, as now, by a popular vote. Had the conflict between Adams and Jefferson been waged before the people at large, it is probable that the latter, the champion of advanced democracy, would have been successful.

John Adams was a man of decided aristocratic tendencies. He was the first American minister to England, and had spent ten years at the courts of Europe. He did not conceal his admiration for English institutions. While in London he wrote a “Defence of the American Constitution,” which proved to be a laudation of the British form of government rather than that of the United States. In his “Discourses on Davilla,” he advocated a powerful centralized executive and a system of titles. He was frequently charged with favoring a monarchy and a hereditary legislature like the House of Lords. His political opponents nicknamed him “the Duke of Braintree”—Braintree being the Massachusetts town where he lived.