Wondrous Beauty: The Life and Adventures of Elizabeth Patterson Bonaparte (3 page)

Jérôme charmed many of the women who were assigned to oversee him. Indeed, Napoleon placed the blame for his younger brother’s weakness of character on the women who spoiled him.
“You brought him up well,” he remarked sarcastically to Madame Permon, a woman blind to the boy’s failings. “I find him willful, and willful in bad things.” The greatest fault lay, however, with the matriarch of the family, Letizia Bonaparte, known as Madame Mère. As Napoleon knew,
“Signora Letizia spoils him so totally that I much doubt whether he will mend.”
In a final effort to cure Jérôme of his worst habits, Napoleon arranged a commission for his young brother in the French navy. He hoped that the rigors and discipline of military life would have a positive effect on the young man, and he hoped as well that, eventually, Jérôme’s naval experience would be useful, as Napoleon determined a strategy for reducing England’s domination of the seas.

Thus in 1803 the nineteen-year-old Jérôme was a naval officer, stationed in the Caribbean. His brother’s influence ensured that he rose rapidly through the ranks. He moved in record time from midshipman to ensign to the commander of a patrol boat policing the waters around French-owned Martinique. When Jérôme’s vessel encountered a ship that would not identify itself, the novice captain ordered his men to fire a warning shot across its bow. Unfortunately, the shot hit the rigging of the ship—an accident that had potentially serious consequences, as it turned out to be a British naval vessel. Jérôme’s commanding officer, fearing the incident might disturb the fragile peace then existing between Britain and France and equally frightened that it might raise the ire of Napoleon himself, ordered Jérôme to sail home to France to explain things—at once. Jérôme, never good at taking orders he did not like, and worried that he might be captured by the British on the high sea, decided to ignore this order. Instead, he headed to the United States, traveling under the name M. d’Albert. His true identity was discovered soon after he landed on American soil.

Jérôme’s arrival in America caused a stir, not simply because of his good looks, his flamboyant attire, and the impressive entourage of friends and servants who accompanied him. The
French chargé d’affaires in America, Louis-André Pichon, had no warning that the young naval officer had decided to visit the United States. He was astonished, he informed his superior, Talleyrand, to receive word that Jérôme had landed at Portsmouth, Virginia, and was on his way to Philadelphia to arrange transport to France. Without any instructions from Napoleon, Pichon did not know what to do. Jérôme suggested that Pichon ask the Americans to “lend him a frigate” or, if that were not possible, to allow him passage on the next American ship sailing to Europe. Both, as Pichon well knew, were out of the question: the United States was no more likely to “lend” one of its ships than it was to jeopardize its neutrality in the emerging Anglo-French struggle by allowing Napoleon’s brother to sail under the American flag.

Jérôme decided to send one of his entourage, Lieutenant Meyronnet, to France with letters for the Bonaparte family. While he waited to hear their advice on his own travel home, he fell comfortably into the role of distinguished visiting dignitary. Having wrung a good deal of money out of the befuddled Pichon, he now decided to enjoy his time as a tourist.

One of the few Americans Jérôme knew was Baltimore’s Joshua Barney, a larger-than-life sailor whose daring and bravery in the American Revolution had made him a local celebrity. Barney had begun trading with the French soon after their revolution and somehow encountered Jérôme in the Caribbean. The two men found they had much in common, especially their appreciation of the opposite sex. Barney had boasted that the most beautiful American women lived in Baltimore, and remembering this, Jérôme made his way to the Maryland port
city. When the young Frenchman saw Elizabeth Patterson, he was ready to concede that Barney’s boast was true.

Exactly how and where Elizabeth and Jérôme met is uncertain, for the accounts are many and various. According to one, Jérôme first saw Betsy while attending one of the Baltimore elite’s favorite summer pastimes—a horse race. She was dressed in silk, and on her head she wore a hat decorated with ostrich plumes. But it was her face and form, not her elegant attire, that drew Jérôme’s attention. What the writer of this account described as her “pure Grecian contours, her exquisitely shaped head, her large dark eyes, a peculiarly dainty mouth and chin, the soft bloom of her complexion, beautifully rounded shoulders and tapering arms” were perfection itself.

But there are other, equally romantic stories. They met, one account said, at a ball given by Supreme Court justice Samuel Chase. They were formally introduced, and Jérôme immediately asked Betsy for a dance. While they were dancing, Betsy’s necklace became tangled in the buttons of Jérôme’s uniform, a sign, it was said, that their lives too would entwine. Still another account has the two meeting at the home of her close friend Henrietta Pascault. As Jérôme and his friend Jean-Jacques Reubell came into view outside the door, Henrietta declared she would marry Reubell, the taller of the two. Betsy replied that she would marry his companion.

These accounts, with their images of instant attraction, their delight in young love, and their conviction that destiny had brought two exceptional people together, made their way into letters, memoirs, and newspaper accounts not only in Baltimore but throughout the United States. From her first encounter
with Jérôme Bonaparte, Elizabeth Patterson became an American celebrity, and her fame would last until her death.

For Betsy, Jérôme’s appeal ran deeper than his charm, his stylish dress, and the self-confidence that detractors saw as arrogance. In him she saw the antithesis of her dour and domineering father. And like the fairy-tale hero who rescues the imprisoned maiden from the tower, Jérôme could rescue Betsy from that life of tedious domesticity she feared was her future if she remained in America. For Jérôme, the attraction was far simpler, less fraught with meaning. Elizabeth was beautiful, and he longed to possess her, as he did any beautiful thing.

The meaning of their romance thus differed, and, so too did its expected consequences.

Though young, Jérôme Bonaparte had already enjoyed many romantic encounters, and no matter what promises he had made or what understanding he and his lovers had reached, marriage was not a likely outcome. But as he was quickly learning, the rules of courtship in genteel American society left little room for brief affairs. Indeed, even a quick embrace during a carriage ride—an action, Jérôme declared, that any Parisian woman would see as harmless flirtation—was read in America as an opening step to a marriage proposal. Betsy may have felt disdain for the domesticity that followed on the heels of marriage, but at seventeen, she was less a rebel against social norms than she imagined. She never doubted that she was about to become Madame Jérôme Bonaparte. And Jérôme decided he was willing to pay the price for possession of an object far more beautiful than ivory-handled razors.

In 1803 eighteen-year-old Elizabeth Patterson knew what she wanted: to be Jérôme Bonaparte’s wife. Nothing else would do.
“I would rather be the wife of Jérôme Bonaparte for an hour,” she declared to her father, “than the wife of any other man for a lifetime.” But William Patterson was not swayed by his daughter’s dramatic declaration. In fact, he had serious doubts about such a marriage. Why would a French dandy pursue his daughter, and what were his real intentions? And if this romance did lead to marriage, what would the Bonapartes think of an alliance with an American family? William was naturally distrustful of this extravagant foreigner who spent money so freely, especially money that he had not earned. And he surely did not trust the judgment of an eighteen-year-old girl. William believed it was a father’s duty to protect his daughter from her own foolishness, and thus, despite Betsy’s pleas, he refused to give his blessing or permission for the marriage. Betsy’s stubbornness matched his, of course, and before the summer ended, father and daughter had reached an impasse.

For his part, Jérôme was undaunted by Mr. Patterson’s resistance. He mounted a campaign to win Betsy that was no less relentless than his brother’s campaign to conquer Europe.
Using money Pichon provided, Jérôme rented a house on South Street, not far from the Patterson home. He then went boldly to William and asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage. William refused. Next, Jérôme sent an emissary, the Spanish minister to the United States, to plead that the merchant reconsider his decision. Once again William refused. Jérôme persisted. He began to visit the Patterson family and brought his charming manner to bear on everyone from Dorcas to her three adult sons, William, Robert, and John; her two teenaged boys, Joseph and Edward; and even the four younger children, Margaret, George, Caroline, and Henry.

Although William grudgingly admitted that Jérôme conducted himself like a gentleman during his frequent visits, he was not prepared to relent. By September, a frustrated Jérôme decided to leave Baltimore and give William some time to think matters over once again. That month the rejected suitor headed off for a visit to Philadelphia. He remained determined to marry Betsy since this appeared the only way to possess her. Yet his behavior in the City of Brotherly Love made it abundantly clear that Jérôme Bonaparte’s personal code of ethics, like William’s, did not include fidelity. In Philadelphia, he amused himself by pursuing other women whom he found attractive. In one instance, his flirtation went too far, and he narrowly avoided a duel with an offended relative of the young woman. Fortunately for Jérôme, Betsy knew nothing of these flirtations. She knew only what he wrote in his letters—that he loved her and wanted her as his wife. She believed his every word.

Soon Jérôme was back in Baltimore. More confident than
ever that Betsy loved him, he decided to ignore William’s reluctance. He acquired a marriage license from the local county courthouse and issued invitations to his wedding. At home, Betsy continued her own campaign to wring approval from her father. She was deaf to his words of caution, blind to any of the potential dangers that her father seemed to see so clearly. Despite her patina of sophistication, Elizabeth Patterson was, after all, a sheltered young American girl, her head filled with romantic notions of palaces and princes and a life so exciting that even her closest friends would envy her. Like other young women nurtured on romantic novels, Betsy was determined to overcome all obstacles put in her way.

Family members now joined the tug of war between William Patterson and his daughter. Her mother’s family, the Spears, rallied to her cause. And Betsy’s uncle, Senator Samuel Smith, supported her as well. Smith, however, was probably motivated more by thoughts of the economic and diplomatic advantages to be gained from an intimacy with the most powerful figures in France than by a wish to accommodate the personal desires of the young couple. His enthusiasm for the marriage increased when he considered how much his niece’s marriage to a Bonaparte might improve his chances for an ambassadorship to France. William’s firmest, and perhaps only, ally in the struggle to prevent the marriage was Louis-André Pichon. The French diplomat longed to see Jérôme safely on his way to France, for wherever Jérôme went in the United States, his bills came home to roost with Pichon.

Beleaguered from many sides, William slowly realized he was
losing ground. Betsy and Jérôme, sensing victory, proceeded with their plans for a November wedding. William now focused on protective measures, hoping to anticipate—and prevent—any disastrous consequences that might follow on the heels of the marriage. He saw to it that a prenuptial agreement was drawn up. It would protect Betsy in case marital problems arose, and, of course, it would protect any money William might settle on his daughter before the wedding. The terms of that marriage settlement were explicit and covered many contingencies. First, Jérôme would do all that was necessary to defend the legitimacy of the marriage, should any challenges arise in America or in France. Second, on Jérôme’s death, one-third of his property both real and personal would be Betsy’s. Third, if for any reason a separation occurred, Betsy’s one-third share would still be valid. For his part, William guaranteed that, on his death, his daughter Elizabeth would receive a share of his very sizable estate equal to that of his other children.

But there were other dangers that a prenuptial agreement could not protect against. The marriage between the daughter of a prominent American merchant and a Bonaparte was not simply a private affair; it had, as Betsy’s father well knew, political and diplomatic significance. As Secretary of State James Madison put it to the U.S. minister in France, the matter was
“not without importance” at a moment when the struggle between France and Britain threatened the stability of the entire transatlantic world.

In fact, this proposed marriage could not have come at a more delicate juncture. The official position of the United States in
the Anglo-French conflict remained neutrality. But “avoiding entangling alliances”—as Washington had urged in his farewell address—was proving difficult. The leadership of both the Federalist and the Democratic-Republican parties had to confront the challenge, for Americans were proving unwilling to give up the opportunities for trade or territorial expansion that the European conflict provided. In the 1790s, Federalist president John Adams had narrowly avoided war with France over a diplomatic slight known as the XYZ Affair, and the current Democratic-Republican president, Thomas Jefferson, would soon take drastic measures to avoid war with England over the impressment of American sailors and the confiscation of goods destined to France. And in the very year that Jérôme and Betsy were pressing for marriage, Jefferson was secretly engaged in delicate negotiations to purchase Louisiana from Jérôme’s brother. The president hoped to succeed in this acquisition of a vast territory without any overt signs of support for France that could lead to war with England.