Jefferson and his Colleagues, A Chronicle of the Virginia | Page 4

which was a
wild tangle of verdure in summer, debouched into a wide plain
extending to the Potomac. Through this lowland wandered a little
stream, once known as Goose Creek but now dignified by the name of
Tiber. The banks of the stream as well as of the Potomac were fringed
with native flowering shrubs and graceful trees, in which Mr. Jefferson
took great delight. The prospect from his drawing-room windows,
indeed, quite as much as anything else, attached him to Conrad's.
As was his wont, Mr. Jefferson withdrew to his study after breakfast
and doubtless ran over the pages of a manuscript which he had been
preparing with some care for this Fourth of March. It may be guessed,
too, that here, as at Monticello, he made his usual observations-noting
in his diary the temperature, jotting down in the garden-book which he
kept for thirty years an item or two about the planting of vegetables,
and recording, as he continued to do for eight years, the earliest and
latest appearance of each comestible in the Washington market.
Perhaps he made a few notes about the "seeds of the cymbling
(cucurbita vermeosa) and squash (cucurbita melopipo)" which he
purposed to send to his friend Philip Mazzei, with directions for
planting; or even wrote a letter full of reflections upon bigotry in
politics and religion to Dr. Joseph Priestley, whom he hoped soon to
have as his guest in the President's House.
Toward noon Mr. Jefferson stepped out of the house and walked over
to the Capitol--a tall, rather loose-jointed figure, with swinging stride,
symbolizing, one is tempted to think, the angularity of the American
character. "A tall, large-boned farmer," an unfriendly English observer

called him. His complexion was that of a man constantly exposed to the
sun--sandy or freckled, contemporaries called it--but his features were
clean-cut and strong and his expression was always kindly and
benignant.
Aside from salvos of artillery at the hour of twelve, the inauguration of
Mr. Jefferson as President of the United States was marked by extreme
simplicity. In the Senate chamber of the unfinished Capitol, he was met
by Aaron Burr, who had already been installed as presiding officer, and
conducted to the Vice-President's chair, while that debonair man of the
world took a seat on his right with easy grace. On Mr. Jefferson's left
sat Chief Justice John Marshall, a "tall, lax, lounging Virginian," with
black eyes peering out from his swarthy countenance. There is a
dramatic quality in this scene of the President-to-be seated between two
men who are to cause him more vexation of spirit than any others in
public life. Burr, brilliant, gifted, ambitious, and profligate; Marshall,
temperamentally and by conviction opposed to the principles which
seemed to have triumphed in the election of this radical Virginian, to
whom indeed he had a deep-seated aversion. After a short pause, Mr.
Jefferson rose and read his Inaugural Address in a tone so low that it
could be heard by only a few in the crowded chamber.
Those who expected to hear revolutionary doctrines must have been
surprised by the studied moderation of this address. There was not a
Federalist within hearing of Jefferson's voice who could not have
subscribed to all the articles in this profession of political faith. "Equal
and exact justice to all men"--"a jealous care of the right of election by
the people"--"absolute acquiescence in the decisions of the
majority"--"the supremacy of the civil over the military authority"--"the
honest payments of our debts"--"freedom of religion"--"freedom of the
press"-"freedom of person under the protection of the habeas
corpus"--what were these principles but the bright constellation, as
Jefferson said, "which has guided our steps through an age of
revolution and reformation?" John Adams himself might have
enunciated all these principles, though he would have distributed the
emphasis somewhat differently.
But what did Jefferson mean when he said, "We have called by
different names brethren of the same principle. We are all
Republicans--we are all Federalists." If this was true, what, pray,

became of the revolution of 1800, which Jefferson had declared "as real
a revolution in the principles of our government as that of 1776 was in
its form?" Even Jefferson's own followers shook their heads dubiously
over this passage as they read and reread it in the news-sheets. It
sounded a false note while the echoes of the campaign of 1800 were
still reverberating. If Hamilton and his followers were monarchists at
heart in 1800, bent upon overthrowing the Government, how could they
and the triumphant Republicans be brethren of the same principle in
1801? The truth of the matter is that Jefferson was holding out an olive
branch to his political opponents. He believed, as he remarked in a
private letter, that many Federalists were sound Republicans at heart
who had