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Welcome! I'm Charlie Jett coming to you from my studio in beautiful downtown Chicago. This is the Jefferson Madison Letters, a history lesson from the Founders, one letter at a time. Fifty years of correspondence between Thomas Jefferson and James Madison, and every word you'll hear from them is verified against the original manuscripts at Founders Online, the Digital Archive of the National Archives. Well it is the first of february eighteen oh one. In ten days, the House of Representatives convenes to break the tie between Jefferson and Burr, voting by states one ballot at a time, until somebody wins, or nobody does. Washington is thick with intrigue. Federalists are courting Burr. Every Republican in America wants to know what Jefferson is thinking. Madison, the one man whose counsel matters most, is a hundred miles away at Montpelier, unwell himself and watching his father die. And between these two men runs a channel neither can trust. Jefferson has been burned before. Private letters of his have found their way into hostile newspapers. A letter to his friend Philip Mazet surfaced in the press in seventeen ninety seven and followed him for years. The post is not a postal service to him now. It is a listening device. Our last episode ended with an unsigned letter. This one goes even further. So the question, as he picks up his pen, what can the most watched man in America safely say to the friend he needs most ten days before the vote of his life? Right now, in this letter, he does not know if the House will elect him, elect Burr, or elect no one at all. What he knows is that whatever he writes may be read by his enemies before it is read by his friend. So set aside what you know about how february eighteen oh one ends. In this letter it hasn't ended. It hasn't even safely begun, because the mail itself has become enemy country. We'll read the letter in full. It is short, and its shortness is the story. He opens with housekeeping, a previous letter Madison's timing for coming to Washington, and one sentence of cabinet building compressed almost to cipher. Claremont has refused. I think to adopt your idea at Baltimore. Two names hidden in geography an estate for one man, a city for another. And then the letter announces its own silence. I dare not through the channel of the post hazard a word to you on the subject of the election. Indeed, the interception and publication of my letters exposes the Republican cause as well of myself personally, to so much obloquy that we have come to a resolution never to write another sentence of politics in a letter. Never another sentence of politics from the man whose letters built a party. Then a small accident that reads like an omen. Something arrived for Jefferson under a blank cover. The enclosed came under a blank cover to me, and I broke it open and read it through until I was folding it up to put away. I did not discover your name on the back of it, and consequently that it was destined for you. Even between friends the male misdelivers its secrets. The rest is tenderness, worry for Madison's health, with a prescription only Jefferson could write. I think nothing more possible than a change of climate, even from a better to a worse, and a change in the habits and mode of life might have a favorable effect on your system. A change of climate, even from a better to a worse. He is prescribing Washington. He is recruiting his Secretary of State in the language of a doctor's note. A hope that Madison's father is rallying, respects to misses Madison. Except affectionate assurances of friendship to yourself. Adu and again no signature. So what does the author assume? He assumes that he is being read. Interception is no longer a fear to Jefferson. It is a working condition like weather. He assumes Madison can read silence fluently, that a letter which says nothing about the election says everything about the election to the right reader. And he assumes a victory close enough to build a cabinet in code. Claremont is Robert R. Livingston declining the Navy. Baltimore is Samuel Smith, Madison's own idea. Ten days before the ballot, he is quietly staffing a government he does not yet have. Not defeat, he fears exposure. The word he chooses is obloquy, disgrace, abuse, the cause damaged by his own pen. It is a writer's fear, and Jefferson is above all a writer. The resolution never to write another sentence of politics in a letter is a man locking away his best weapon because it has been turned against him. And beneath the politics a planar fear. His friend is sick, his friend's father is dying, and the government he is about to form depends on that friend surviving the spring. So what do they take for granted that we no longer do? That there is no secure channel, none. The two most consequential political partners in America have no way to exchange a confidential sentence except to hand it to a writer and hope. We assume privacy can be engineered. They assumed it could not, and built their political method around that assumption. Codes, silences, unsigned pages, and meetings in person. Much of what this partnership decided, it decided out of reach of any archive. The letters we have are the shadow of conversations we will never hear. So what is missing? The election deliberately, totally. A vacuum with clean edges. Missing too is any instruction. Jefferson asks Madison for nothing, which is its own kind of message between men who trust each other completely. And there is one absence visible only from the balcony. The blank cover letter Jefferson accidentally read was from James Callender, the sedition law convict whose fines Jefferson's allies helped to pay. We know what neither man can. Within two years Callender, denied the office he wanted, will turn on Jefferson and publish the charge that he fathered children with Sally Hemmings, an enslaved woman at Monticello. A story the evidence has since borne out, and one this series does not look away from. In this letter it is just an envelope with no name on the front. The future travels under blank covers. Well in closing, a letter about nothing can be the loudest document in the archive. Jefferson's silence here is a map of exactly where the danger lay, not in the house, not in Burr, but the channel itself. When a republic's two chief architects cannot safely write a sentence to one another, you learn how much of free government runs on trust in the carriers of words. Well that's our episode. These letters remind us that the founders worked without guarantees we take for granted. No secure lines, no settled norms, just judgment, patience, and friends they could trust with silence. So stay informed, stay engaged, and above all, stay curious. Today's letter is verified against Founders Online, the Papers of James Madison. I'm Charlie Jett, and thank you for listening.