"He was a very good man," Burr says, and his hand has snaked down to grab Hamilton's, tight. "A very good man. I want you to know that. It is important that you know it," though he cannot say why it is so important. Why he should care one way or another, what Hamilton thinks of a general long dead. Nearly a year. Nearly a year since Burr last saw him.
"All of it is--I don't care much for any of it. The money--we could use it, but we do not need it. But the insult, against both of us--" who the both of them are, which pair he is referring to--Burr and Montgomery or Burr and Hamilton, he does not know. He never cared much for reputation, except when it mattered. And it matters now.
"I was studying law, before the war," Burr says. "At Princeton--I'm sure you know. I know family law. It would not be too much to defend myself, if I had to, but--" but it would be a public spectacle. A show. Dragging out any illegitimacies, a matter of defamation, of making Burr and his child and Hamilton seem as despicable as possible. And not there was the mess of colonial law, British law, and post-colony law, if it came to it.
"Of course, this cousin is being ridiculous. His claims have no merit, to anyone who knows even some distant version of the facts, yet so often facts seem not to matter, especially in cases of public opinion. Though we have won one court case, perhaps we can win another."
Hamilton's other words--Yes, it was a deep compliment, to leave Burr what Montgomery had. A large enough compliment that Burr did not want to think of it, overlong. That perhaps the old general had bought into the old wives tale, had believed Burr to be with child, when he went through that wall, and before, even. When he left their bed to pen his letter, to confide in his colonel. He had always wanted children. Had a nephew, he had been fond of telling Burr of, nights when they could risk a fire. Stolen moments, kissing beneath snowy pines, mouths which steamed for warmth, whispered promises.
no subject
"All of it is--I don't care much for any of it. The money--we could use it, but we do not need it. But the insult, against both of us--" who the both of them are, which pair he is referring to--Burr and Montgomery or Burr and Hamilton, he does not know. He never cared much for reputation, except when it mattered. And it matters now.
"I was studying law, before the war," Burr says. "At Princeton--I'm sure you know. I know family law. It would not be too much to defend myself, if I had to, but--" but it would be a public spectacle. A show. Dragging out any illegitimacies, a matter of defamation, of making Burr and his child and Hamilton seem as despicable as possible. And not there was the mess of colonial law, British law, and post-colony law, if it came to it.
"Of course, this cousin is being ridiculous. His claims have no merit, to anyone who knows even some distant version of the facts, yet so often facts seem not to matter, especially in cases of public opinion. Though we have won one court case, perhaps we can win another."
Hamilton's other words--Yes, it was a deep compliment, to leave Burr what Montgomery had. A large enough compliment that Burr did not want to think of it, overlong. That perhaps the old general had bought into the old wives tale, had believed Burr to be with child, when he went through that wall, and before, even. When he left their bed to pen his letter, to confide in his colonel. He had always wanted children. Had a nephew, he had been fond of telling Burr of, nights when they could risk a fire. Stolen moments, kissing beneath snowy pines, mouths which steamed for warmth, whispered promises.