It was at the dinner table that he planned many of his battles. He did not care for the stormy and contentious atmosphere of a caucus. He was not an orator. In the Continental Congress he was disgusted by the ‘rage for debate.’[425] Later he was to find his lot in the Cabinet intolerable because he and Hamilton were constantly pitted against each other ‘like cocks in a pit.’ He was not afraid of a fight, but the futility of angry controversy repelled him. It was this which made him a delightful dinner host—all controversial subjects that might offend were taboo. If his position were warmly controverted, he changed the subject tactfully. It was never the opposition that interested him, but the reason for it; and with rare subtlety he would seek to obliterate the prejudice, if it were prejudice, or to remove the misunderstanding if it were ignorance of facts. Thus he won many victories through a seeming retreat.[426]

Unescapable quarrels and separations were minor tragedies to him. He long sought to get along with Hamilton. He advised his daughters to be tolerant of disagreeable people and acted on his own advice. Fiske has explained him in a sentence: ‘He was in no wise lacking in moral courage, but his sympathies were so broad and tender that he could not breathe freely in an atmosphere of strife.’[427] Thus considerate of his foes, he never hurt the sensibilities of his friends through offensive methods. He liked to gather his lieutenants about him at the table and ‘talk it out’—each man free to give his views. Here he ironed out differences, dominating by the superiority of his intellect and fascinating personality while appearing singularly free from domination.

In his power of self-control Jefferson had another advantage over his leading political opponents. There was something uncanny in his capacity to simulate ignorance of the hate that often encompassed him. To the most virulent of his foes he was the pink of courtesy. He mastered others by mastering himself. And because he was master of himself, he had another advantage—he kept his judgment clear as to the capacity and character of his opponents. One may search in vain through the letters of Hamilton for expressions other than those of contemptuous belittlement of his political foes. Jefferson never made that mistake. He conceded Hamilton’s ability and admired it. Visitors at Monticello, manifesting surprise at finding busts by Ceracchi of Hamilton and Jefferson, facing each other across the hall, elicited the smiling comment—‘opposite in death as in life.’ There never would have been a bust of Jefferson at ‘The Grange.’ Through the long years of estrangement with Adams, Jefferson kept the way clear for the restoration of their old relations. Writing Madison of Adams’s faults, he emphasized his virtues and lovable qualities. When the bitter battles of their administrations were in the past and a mutual friend wrote that the old man at Quincy had said, ‘I always loved Jefferson and always shall,’ he said, ‘That is enough for me,’ and set to work to revive the old friendship. Thus the time came when in reply to Jefferson’s congratulations on the election of John Quincy Adams in 1824, Adams wrote: ‘I call him our John because when you were at the Cul de Sac at Paris, he appeared to me to be almost as much your boy as mine.’[428] This capacity for keeping his judgment clear of the benumbing fumes of prejudice concerning the qualities of his enemies was one of the strong points of his leadership.

This does not mean that in practical politics Jefferson was a ‘Miss Nancy’ or a ‘Sister Sue.’ This first consummate practical politician of the Republic did not consider it practical to underestimate the foe, nor to dissipate his energy and cloud his judgment by mere prejudices and hates. He was not an idealist in his methods, and this has given his enemies a peg on which to hang the charge that he was dishonest. He was an opportunist, to be sure; he never refused the half loaf he could get because of the whole loaf he could not have. He trimmed his sails at times to save his craft—and this was wisdom. He compromised at the call of necessity. He was hard-headed and looked clear-eyed at the realities about him. He was cunning, for without cunning he could not have overcome a foe so powerfully entrenched. He was as elusive as a shadow, and this has been called cowardice—but it was difficult to trap him in consequence. His antipathy to the frontal attack has often been referred to with contempt, but, leading a large but unorganized army against one of tremendous power, he preferred the methods of Washington in the field—which was to avoid the frontal attack with his ragged Continentals against the trained and disciplined army. Because of these conditions he was given to mining. When apparently quiescent, he was probably sowing discord among his foes—his part concealed. This was hateful to the Federalists—just as the tactics of Frederick were hateful to the exasperated superior forces against him.

Jefferson was the most resourceful politician of his time. For every problem he had a solution. He teemed with ideas. These were his shock troops. If he seemed motionless, it was because by a nod or look he had put his forces on the march. Like the wiser of the modern bosses, he knew the virtue of silence. When in doubt, he said nothing. When certain of his course, he said nothing—to his foes. It was impossible to smoke him out when he preferred to stay in. In the midst of abuse he was serene. And he was a stickler for party regularity.[429] He appreciated the possibilities of organization and discipline. When money was needed for party purposes, his friends would receive a note: ‘I have put you down for so much.’ When the party paper languished, he circulated subscription lists among his neighbors, and instructed his friends to imitate his example. He was never too big for the small essential things, and he was a master of detail—very rarely true of men of large views. His energy was dynamic and he was tireless. He never rested on his arms or went into winter quarters. His fight was endless. The real secret of his triumph, however, is found in the reason given by one of his biographers: ‘He enjoyed a political vision penetrating deeper down into the inevitable movement of popular government, and farther forward into the future of free institutions than was possessed by any other man in public life in his day.’

VIII

No American of his time had such versatility or such diversified interests. He was asked to frame the Declaration of Independence because of his reputation as a writer. Adams has told the story: ‘He brought with him a reputation for literary science and a happy talent for composition. Writings of his were handed about[430] remarkable for their peculiar felicity of expression.’ It was the ‘Summary View’ which elicited the admiration of Edmund Burke. A more ambitious effort, his ‘Notes on Virginia’ were written during the fatal illness of his wife, and while he was confined to the house two or three weeks by a riding accident.[431] It was a valuable contribution to the natural, social, economic, and political history of the State, with a number of eloquent passages and fascinating pages.

He had an artistic temperament, loved music, and at the beginning of his career we find him busy planning his garden at Monticello, and practicing three hours a day on his loved violin, under the instructions of an Italian musician. His hospitality to the Hessian prisoners is partly explained by a mutual love of music. Returning from an absence to find ‘Shadwell,’ his early home, in ashes, he inquired anxiously about his books. ‘Oh, my young master,’ exclaimed the distressed slave, ‘they were all burnt, but we saved your fiddle.’[432]

Loving art in all its forms, he was fond of the company of artists. It was he who arranged in Paris for Houdon to go to America to make the statue of Washington.[433] He entertained Trumbull in the French capital, accompanying him to Versailles to see the King’s art collection, and urged him to remain in Paris and study.[434] He was delighted with architectural beauty and lingered about the masterpieces. From Nesmes, he wrote enthusiastically to a woman friend: ‘Here I am, Madame, gazing whole hours at the Maison Quarree, like a lover at his mistress. This is the second time I have been in love since I left Paris. The first was with a Diana at the Chateau de Laye-Epinaye in Beaujolais, a delicious morsel of sculpture, by M. A. Soldtz. This you will say was in rule, to fall in love with a female beauty; but with a house. No, Madame, it is not without a precedent in my own history. While in Paris I was violently smitten with the Hotel de Salm.’[435] When the Capitol at Richmond was in contemplation, he urged the construction of the most beautiful edifice possible as a model to be emulated in other buildings; drew some plans himself; examined those of Hallet, was captivated with those of Thornton, and urged their acceptance. ‘Simple, noble, beautiful,’ he wrote home.[436]

And yet, so many-sided was this man, that he was a utilitarian and scientist as well as artist. In Europe he was thought a philosopher, and Humboldt came to America to pass many hours under his roof. A perusal of his letters discloses the intensity and range of his interests. He was entranced with clocks, and we find him writing David Rittenhouse reminding him of ‘a kind promise of making me an accurate clock,’[437] and later to Madison of a watch he had made for himself and inquiring if his friend wished one.[438] He summoned a Swiss clock-maker to Monticello who died on the mountain and is buried in the enclosure with his patron. He put the noted Buffon to rout in Paris on points in natural history.[439] Admiring the red men, he spent years collecting their vocabularies.[440] When in Paris he heard that an Arabic translation of Livy had been found in Sicily, and importuned the chargés des affaires of Naples to make inquiries, and was much excited to hear that such a translation had been found ‘and will restore to us seventeen of the lost books.’[441] In the midst of the political diversions and social distractions of Paris he found time to write at length on the ‘latest discoveries in astrology.’[442] As early as the summer of 1785, when Pilatre de Rozière made his fatal attempt to cross the English Channel in a balloon, we find him eagerly discussing the possibilities of the aeronautical science.[443] A newly invented lamp pleased him and he sent one to a friend from Paris.[444] The use of steam in the operation of grist mills interested him and he found time to witness the test.[445] Even the absorbing drama of the French Revolution in its early stages did not lessen his interest in Paine’s iron bridge, and he attended its exhibition,[446] and finding the inventor hesitating between ‘the catenary and portions of a circle,’ he sent to Italy for a scientific work by the Abbe Mascheroni.[447] Fascinated by inventions, he was, himself, the inventor of a plough.