Alexander Hamilton had already declared that he was “not in sentiment with either plan,” possibly saving his remarks for the next meeting.  Eleven states were represented in Convention on that Monday, and Hamilton was the first to speak.  Everyone in the room knew Alexander Hamilton and his reputation.  At 32 years of age he was already famous and already thoroughly hated in certain quarters.  Impatient with the slow-witted, humble with those he loved, often capable of cold arrogance, Hamilton always carried some slight air of his foreign origins – something never truly American.

Perhaps no man in American history has been so variously characterized – anything from a foreign adventurer to a patriotic genius, and every shade in between.  Brilliant, daring, politically ruthless, he had a vision of the United States as a single, unified nation, powerful enough on land and on sea to rival Britain and France.

Actually, it was surprising that Hamilton had gotten to the Convention at all.  The New York legislature never would have named him had it not been for the political prestige of his father-in-law, Philip Schuyler, of the great patroon family.  New York State was divided sharply into two political parties.  George Clinton, now serving his sixth term as governor, was on the rural agrarian side, also very powerful among the mechanics and artisans of the towns.  Clinton had beaten Schuyler for governor in ’77, but Schuyler had a faction of his own, backed by the wealthy old landowning families – the Van Rensselaers, Morrises, Van Cortlandts, Livingstons, and Bayards – together with the urban financial interests of the state – the bankers, lawyers and merchants.  Supporters of a strong national government, these men had seen to it that at least one nationalist went to Philadelphia.

There were so many controversial facts and issues surrounding the man that Hamilton stood little chance this day.  He was to speak for nearly six hours – the entire day, in fact – but whatever he said was bound to be met with doubt, uneasy praise.  In the minds of the Convention members a Virginia Plan had been debated, a New Jersey Plan had been introduced and awaited the vote.  What then had this impeccably dressed son-in-law of Philip Schuyler to offer?

The convention also knew that Hamilton was a nationalist, that he desired a strong central government.  Many of the members had already sat in Congress with him and were well familiar with his views.  But what Hamilton proposed that day outdid in audacity any previous statements he had made.  He would read to the Committee, he said, a sketch of a plan which he preferred to the two plans under consideration.  He “almost despaired” that a republican government could be established over so great an extent of country.  Yet what he suggested was republican in form.  His plan was offered not as a proposition to the Committee, but merely as a correct view of his own ideas – amendments that might be later offered to Mr. Randolph’s Plan.

He would like to see in America, said Hamilton, a single executive, chosen for life by electors and given the power of absolute veto.  Senators also were to be chosen for life.  A lower house or assembly would be elected by the people for a term of three years.  State governors were to be appointed by the national government.  Thus the senate and the executive – Hamilton called him the Governor – would balance against a democratic assembly.  Such a government would derive from the people, but the rage for liberty would be checked.  “Men love power; give all power to the many, they will oppress the few.  Give all power to the few, they will oppress the many.”

Without hesitation, Hamilton pointed to Great Britain, whose House of Lords he called a most noble institution.  “I believe the British government forms the best model the world ever produced . . . This government has for its object public strength and individual security – said with us to be unattainable.  All communities divide themselves into the few and the many.  The first are the rich and well born, the other the mass of the people.  The voice of the people has been said to be the voice of God . . . it is not true in fact . . . ”

Popular passions, Hamilton went on, “spread like wildfire and become irresistible.”  The New England states could certainly testify to that fact.  And why should we fear an elective monarch for life more than one for seven years?  Were not the governors of the states elective monarchs?  But Hamilton went even further.  “The monarch must have proportional strength.  He ought to be hereditary and to have so much power that it will not be in his interest to risk much to acquire more.  The advantage of a monarch is this – he is above corruption.”

Twelve judges, serving during good behavior, were to act as the supreme federal judiciary.  They would have original jurisdiction in all cases involving captures, and appellate authority from state courts in cases concerning foreign citizens and general revenue.  Congress could establish state tribunals to deal with matters concerning the federal government.

Impeachment of the Governor, Senators and other federal officials would be made possible.  Trial of such a defendant would be held in a court comprising the supreme court justices and the chief judge of each state supreme court.  If convicted, the official would be removed from office and further disqualified.

Finally, all state laws contrary to the Constitution were void.  The various state governors would be the determining factor.  In addition, no state was to have land or naval forces of its own, and state militias were to be under the jurisdiction and control of the United States government.

That Hamilton was not interrupted seems extraordinary, considering his remarks, their boldness, the growing unpopularity of this British example.  A single executive, elected for life?  It came close to monarchy.  It was enough to make James Madison’s hair turn gray.  Hamilton was going to antagonize every small-state man in the Convention.  The day was fearfully hot.  Hamilton could not have finished speaking much before three in the afternoon, and even the presiding officer, Nathaniel Gorman, confessed that he was nearly overcome with the heat.  At long last, Hamilton finished with the statement that he knew very well that his proposal and the Virginia Plan were both “very remote from the idea of the people.  But the people are gradually ripening in their opinions of government.  They begin to be tired of an excess of democracy . . . “

“Then adjourned to tomorrow,” Judge Yates, fellow-delegate from New York, scribbled hastily in his notes.