Chapter 40 Monday, September 17, 1787
Madison sat in his customary place with folded hands
resting on the table. He didn’t intend to take notes today. In fact, he didn’t
intend to take any more notes on any day. This signing ceremony would be the final
act of the convention.
Madison noticed that his ink-stained hands looked
prayerful. He thought this fitting because a reverential spirit suffused the
assembly. The chamber remained hushed as the secretary read the engrossed Constitution
in its entirety. At the conclusion, Franklin
rose with a speech in his hand.
“Mr. President, I confess
there are several parts of this Constitution I don’t like, but I’m not sure I
won’t later approve of them. Most men believe they possess all truth and that
whoever differs from them is in error. The older I grow, the more I doubt my
own judgment and the more I pay attention to the judgment of others.
“When you assemble a group
of men to take advantage of their collective wisdom, you inevitably bring
together all their prejudices, passions, and selfish views. From such an
assembly, can one expect perfection? It astonishes me that this system
approaches so near perfection.
“Thus, I consent to this Constitution
because I’m not sure that it’s not the best. My reservations were born within
these walls and here they’ll die. I’ll never whisper a syllable about my
uncertainties. I hope we all heartily recommend this Constitution. My wish is
that any member who still harbors objections will, with me, doubt his own
infallibility and put his name to this document.”
Franklin dropped his papers to his side and spoke in a commanding
voice. “I move the Constitution be signed.”
The old man had made a fine
last attempt to pull the three dissenters along, but Madison doubted that it would work. They
would have to settle for artifice; by the
unanimous consent of the states present ignored the two missing states and
the seven delegates—counting those who had left—who dissented.
Gorham, looking nervous, asked
for the floor. “Gentlemen, I wish that the clause declaring, ‘the number of
Representatives shall not exceed one for every forty thousand,’ be changed to ‘thirty
thousand.’” Hamilton
immediately seconded the motion.
Washington rose to put the question to a vote, hesitated, and
then expressed his opinion for the first time. “Although I have hitherto
restrained myself, my wish is that the proposal be approved. Many consider the
small proportion of representatives insufficient to secure the rights and interests
of the people. Late as the present moment is, it will give me great
satisfaction to see this amendment adopted.”
Madison turned to see Sherman’s reaction.
Ellsworth tapped his forearm, but Sherman
just smiled and made a flick of his hand. Sherman
couldn’t countermand the sole wish expressed by the great hero of the
Revolution, but Madison
wished he had been rewarded with a flash of anger or at least surprise.
Without debate, the
amendment was approved—in the manner so dear to Gen.
Washington’s
heart—unanimously.
Madison expected this to be the
end, but Randolph
urgently asked for the floor. Bristling with indignation, he stared at the Pennsylvania table. “I
resent the allusions to myself by Dr. Franklin.” Randolph
turned toward Washington.
“I apologize for refusing to sign the Constitution. I don’t mean by this
refusal to oppose the Constitution beyond these doors. I only mean to keep
myself free to be governed by future judgments.”
Gerry felt obliged to
explain his refusal. “This is painful, and I won’t offer any further
observations. The outcome has been decided. While the plan was in debate, I
offered my opinions freely, but I’m now bound to treat it with the respect due
an act of the convention. I hope that I’m not violating that respect by
declaring I fear a civil war might erupt from these proceedings.”
Gerry gave a disrespectful
glance toward the Pennsylvania
table. “As for Dr. Franklin’s remarks, I cannot but view them as leveled at
myself and the other gentlemen who mean not to sign.”
Pinckney had lost his normal
composure, but none of his arrogance. “We’re not going to gain any more
converts. Let’s sign the document.”
King interrupted the
initiation of the signing ceremony. “I suggest that the journals of the
convention be destroyed or deposited in the custody of the president. If it
becomes public, those who wish to prevent the adoption of the Constitution will
put it to bad use.”
“I prefer the second expedient.” Wilson looked directly at
Gerry. “Some may make false representations of our proceedings, and we’ll need
evidence to contradict them.
The last hour confirmed Madison’s suspicion that the fight for
ratification would be divisive and mean-spirited.
The motion passed to deposit
the journals into the hands of Washington.
Finally, all other business
completed, Washington
formally called on the delegates to sign the Constitution. The secretary had
arranged the Syng inkstand that had been used to sign the Declaration of
Independence on a green baize-covered table. Washington walked around the table and
signed first. He then called the states from north to south. The delegates
remained silent and reverential as they approached the low dais to apply their
signatures.
When Virginia
was called, Madison
felt a tightening in his stomach. This Constitution would permanently bind his
beloved country. When he picked up the pen, he looked at Washington, who stood
respectfully to the side, instead of behind the table. The precedents set by
this man would seal these words. Madison
grabbed the pen, dipped it in the inkwell, and signed with confidence. When he
looked up, Washington gave him a nod that made
Madison think
he had read his mind.
Despite his illness, Franklin had remained
standing after he signed, shaking hands with delegates and whispering an occasional
aside. While the last members were signing, tears glistened in Franklin’s eyes. With an
obvious struggle to control his emotions, he began to speak in a stronger than
normal voice.
“Gentlemen, have you
observed the half sun painted on the back the president’s chair? Artists find
it difficult to distinguish a rising from a setting sun. In these many months,
I have been unable to tell which it was. Now, I’m happy to exclaim that it is a
rising, not a setting sun.”
Once the last signature was
in place, no one wanted to spend another moment in this room that had dominated
their lives for so many months. Besides, John Dickinson had left a banknote
with George Read to pay for a celebratory dinner at the City Tavern.
Because of the momentous
day, Franklin had
abandoned his rented prisoners and intended to walk out of the State House. Madison grabbed one elbow, and Wilson took the opposite side to help the old
man out of the chamber. Madison hoped he could
protect Franklin from being jostled by the
bubbling delegates, but Washington took a
point position in front of their little group, and the crowd parted like the Red Sea.
“I want to thank you
gentlemen for helping an enfeebled and diminished old man,” Franklin said.
“I witnessed your diminished
capacity these many months,” Madison
said. He became puzzled when this somehow evoked a hearty chuckle from Franklin.
The doctor glanced between Madison
and Wilson. “I’m usually assisted by the inmates of Walnut Street Prison. It occurs
to me that you men have been prisoners in this chamber.” Franklin chuckled again. “With the power
vested in me by the State of Pennsylvania,
I pardon and set you free.”
At that precise moment, with
theatrics that seemed natural to Washington,
the sentries threw open the doors to the State House, and Madison was assaulted by bright sunlight and
a deafening roar. Hundreds of people cheered, clapped, and whistled at the
sight of Gen. George Washington framed by the great double doors of the State
House.
The threesome stopped a
respectful distance behind Washington.
This crowd was not going to part so easily. In fact, the sentries had skipped
down the three steps and joined arms to hold back the surge of people.
“Our rambunctious session on
Saturday told our fair citizens that we had concluded our business,” Franklin observed.
“Are you riding with the general?”
Madison asked.
“Relax, boys. The general
will know the exact moment to step off the stoop.”
True to Franklin’s
prediction, Washington gauged the crowd’s mood
perfectly, and when he stepped down, they gave the men a narrow path to Washington’s beautiful
new carriage.
As they followed in the
general’s footsteps, the people continued to cheer and applaud. A woman leaned
her head past Madison
to yell, “Dr. Franklin, what is it to be? A republic or a monarchy?”
The doctor hesitated in his
step and looked over the throng of anxious people. His answer came in a firm,
loud voice.
“A republic—if you can keep it.”
