Wondrous Beauty: The Life and Adventures of Elizabeth Patterson Bonaparte (15 page)

But even before Bo set sail that May, Jérôme had begun to
have second thoughts about extending the invitation to his son. Perhaps he had acted too impulsively. If he welcomed Bo into his home, would it give the appearance of invalidating his marriage to Catherine? He did not wish to disturb the courts of Württemberg and Russia, whose generosity had long supported him. Fearing he had made a mistake, he sent a letter to Baltimore, warning that the meeting might, after all, be awkward for both father and son.

As usual, Jérôme was thinking largely of himself. In the letter, he took pains to assure Bo that he wanted to behave honorably.
“My dear child,” he wrote, “you are now a man, and I desire to place you in a natural position.” But the rest of the sentence revealed Jérôme’s characteristic eagerness to avoid any consequences of his actions. He wanted to acknowledge Bo “without, however, prejudicing in any way the condition of the queen and the princes, our children.” As a solution, he suggested that Bo go to Leghorn, where he would receive instructions on a safe, neutral place for father and son to meet. Without any sense of the insults he had just delivered, Jérôme signed the letter, “Your affectionate father.”

Bo knew nothing of this proposed change in plans; he had already set sail before his father’s letter reached Baltimore. Arriving at Amsterdam, he made his way to Switzerland, where he met his mother, and together the two traveled on to Florence. Although the trip south was filled with beautiful sights and the hospitality of many of Betsy’s friends, Bo’s opinion of the relative merits of America and Europe did not change. In a letter to his grandfather, he confided what he could not reveal to his
mother.
“I have seen a great many things since my departure from home,” he wrote, “but the more I see, the more firmly I am persuaded of the superiority of my own country, the more I desire to return to it and to remain in it.” He had come to Europe to meet his father, but when “it is all over I shall settle myself quietly in America.”

For William Patterson, Bo’s preference for life in America was a triumph over Betsy. It was also a vindication of his position on Betsy’s life choices.
“I perceive that he is tired of Europe,” he wrote to his daughter, “& expresses his anxiety of returning to this Country, this I do not wonder at for no one of an independent spirit could think of living in Europe after having seen & experienced the happy state of this Country compared to any other in the world.” In the long-running contest between father and daughter, Bo’s future had become a prize. “As to your idea that it might be useful for Bo to spend another year in Europe … I am quite of a contrary opinion,” William told Betsy, “& I think he has too much good sense not to think with me.” Driving his point home, he added, “This is the only Country in which he can live with any satisfaction to himself & the less he sees or knows of the follies of Europe the better.”

Betsy responded in kind, but William managed to have the last word. “
You seem somewhat angry at my observations,” he noted, “& insist on your own situation being greatly preferable to that of people in this Country who live in a quiet rational way, it is well you think as you do, but I doubt your sincerity in that respect, for I can see no rational ground for happiness in the kind of life you lead, it seems to me that a common housekeeper
here who can indulge in going to Methodist meeting & attend to religious duties has a much better chance of Happiness both here & hereafter than those who pass their time in idle disapation [
sic
] as must be the case from representation of the state of society in Florence.” Her father’s reference to a “common housekeeper” surely inflamed Betsy, for she knew his own mistresses were drawn from that profession. When she later annotated this letter, Betsy listed these women and exposed her father’s hypocrisy: “His own life moral & exempt from the pretense of Todd, Somer Wheeler immaculate not found out to be. Ah! Mr. Patterson afford example to accompany the above pious preception. He never believed in the truth of the Christian religion.”

Bo was probably unaware of the contest for his soul being waged between his grandfather and his mother. But for the moment, his immersion in “the follies of Europe” could not be avoided if he wanted to meet his father and his father’s family. Thus, while Betsy settled down in Florence for the winter, Bo continued south to Rome for a reunion with the Bonapartes living there. Then at the end of October, he traveled to the château of Lanciano, near Camerino, where his father lived with his wife; his two sons, Jérôme and Napoleon; and his daughter, Mathilde. The meeting was thus open rather than covert, for the concerns Jérôme had about his American son’s reception had proved baseless. Catherine was gracious, and none of her royal relatives issued any complaints.

After two months Jérôme’s entire family, Bo included, moved to Rome. Here Bo’s disdain for his father’s version of an aristocratic
life emerged. “
I am excessively tired of the way of living at my father’s,” he told William. “We breakfast between twelve and one o’clock, dine between six and seven, take tea between eleven and twelve at night, so that I seldom get to bed before half-past one o’clock in the morning.” But it was not simply the late hours that troubled Bo; it was the lack of any meaningful activity during the day. The family simply gathered together in the parlor, “principally for the purpose of killing time.” Bo’s criticism did not spring from any desire to achieve greatness or make a significant contribution to society; rather, its roots were practical. His father spent more money than he had; he ought to be busy finding new sources of income. He ought, that is, to do as William Patterson and his fellow Baltimore merchants did: invest, buy, and sell—make money.

But Jérôme’s extravagance, his living far beyond his means, his willingness to drain Madame Mère of her own dwindling fortune, was not simply a commentary on his character. Bo realized it had serious consequences for his own future. It meant that neither his Bonaparte grandmother nor his father would be able to provide for him even had they wanted to. The only sensible thing to do, Bo concluded, was “
think of doing something for myself.” And he added, “America is the only country where I can have an opportunity of getting forward.”

Betsy might have agreed with Bo’s conclusion but not with his solution. After two years of desultory study of the law, Bo found a less tedious route to wealth: he married it.

Bo’s courtship of Susan May Williams had begun without Betsy’s knowledge, and it had proceeded with the full support of William Patterson. Until now William had joined his daughter in advising Bo to remain a bachelor, but his motives stood at cross-purposes to his daughter’s. Betsy hoped to prevent what she considered an unsuitable marriage outside the European aristocracy; William hoped to prevent his grandson from marrying into it. The Bonapartes, he told Bo, lived in the past, clinging to their faded glory. “
Your father’s family,” he had written in 1825, “cannot get clear of the notion of what they once were.” His future, he told Bo, did not lie in being joined to a family whose fortunes were rapidly diminishing in a society based on idleness; it lay in America, where a young man with a good education but modest means “may rise to consequence.”

In offering this advice to his grandson, William left the obvious unsaid: his own daughter shared the Bonapartes’ illusions. But marriage to an American heiress—this would be an excellent step in a young man’s “rise to consequence.” The tug-of-war over Bo’s future, long waged between Betsy and her father, was about to end in triumph for William Patterson, and he intended to assist Bo’s courtship of Susan in any way he could.

The only stumbling block to the marriage was money. Susan was the heir to a huge fortune left by her father, but her mother was initially wary of a suitor with few resources of his own. To help the courtship along, William Patterson assured Mrs. Williams that he would provide Bo with a generous portion of his own wealth, including several valuable Baltimore properties and a cash settlement that, in modern currency, would equal almost half a million dollars. This promise dispelled all doubts, and in turn the widow Williams pledged that her future son-in-law would have the authority to manage the family fortune. The annual income from that fortune, some $8,000, would be his to enjoy as he saw fit. This arrangement gave Bo thousands of dollars more than Betsy’s investments provided her each year. And Bo could spend this money as he chose, without fear of hearing a lecture from his parsimonious mother.

Everyone who knew of the arrangement seemed satisfied. But Betsy was not aware that an arrangement had been made. In July 1829, William had written to her only that Bo was courting a young woman and that, as the young man’s grandfather, William had consented to the match. Bo had acted judiciously, William assured his daughter; he had always been “
determined not to marry unless he met with one with such a fortune as would make him independent through life,” and Susan May Williams could do just that. “You will no doubt be greatly surprised at this determination of your sons [
sic
], but I trust & expect that you will on mature reflection see that it is a wise & rational measure & the very best that could be hoped for or expected in his situation.” The implied criticism of Betsy—that
she could not provide her son with the wealth needed to lead an independent life—and the triumphant tone of the entire letter surely struck home.

Still Betsy was kept carefully in the dark about how far along the courtship had progressed. Thus, while William Patterson was arranging the financial settlement that would make her son a wealthy man, Betsy was busily mapping out other plans for his future. Perhaps a diplomatic career would suit him. Perhaps William and her uncle, Samuel Smith, could talk to President Andrew Jackson about naming Bo secretary to the legation at the embassy in London. She would somehow find the money to support him there in appropriate style. These plans revived her dream that Bo might marry into a titled family, perhaps by taking as a bride a Galitzin or Potemkin or Demidov princess.

All of Betsy’s “perhaps”es hinged on aborting Bo’s courtship of an American woman. She sent her father a letter in September, urging that Bo abandon his pursuit of a Baltimore bride. He must be told that she would never give her consent to a marriage to Miss Williams or to any American woman. In her desperation, she declared that she would act in a manner reminiscent of Napoleon twenty-six years before: “
If he were a Minor I would go to America & avail myself of the Laws of the country to prevent or dissolve the mean marriage.” A few weeks later she wrote again, this time softening her tone and rescinding her threat. “I am sorry,” she told William, “that in the first shock I felt when I read your & his letter I was hurried into the expression of feelings which may have appeared extraordinary to you.” Despite the conciliatory tone,
Betsy’s sense of helplessness in
the face of what she suspected was a conspiracy to destroy her dreams prompted her to add: “If this marriage should have been hurried on to prevent my interference, for I feel persuaded that everyone of them know that I have too much sense & too much pride ever to give my consent I will then declare in the face of the whole world that I utterly disclaim all participation in it.”

Betsy’s suspicions were sadly correct. Her brother Edward confessed to her that both Bo and William had taken pains to hide the progress of the courtship from her. On November 3, 1829, the very day she was told that her son was engaged, Bo and Susan were married. William’s letter carrying the news, written the day after the ceremony was performed, made it clear that her efforts to prevent it had come too late. If fortune had at last smiled on Bo, it had laughed once more at Elizabeth Patterson Bonaparte.

Betsy’s rage was palpable, but as usual, William had no sympathy for his daughter’s distress. Had Bo dashed her hopes and dreams? Had he acted in direct contradiction to her wishes? She had no right to complain, he wrote, for her own disobedience and her own rejection of her family’s expectations had been far more extreme. William urged her to “
look back on your own conduct in relinquishing your family and country for an imaginary consequence amongst strangers who care little for you.… Indeed,” he continued, “rather than being displeased with your son’s late conduct you ought to commend him for his prudence and forethought in providing so well for his future prospects.”

Betsy could not immediately reply to this barrage of blame and accusation. Finally, in a December 4 letter to William, she
wrote, “
I think that I did my duty in trying to elevate his ideas above marrying in America.” But it had all been for naught. “He has neither my pride, my ambition, nor my love of good company, therefore I no longer oppose his marriage.”

What surely ate at Betsy’s soul was that William’s values and William’s tastes had triumphed over her own. Her son, like her father, embraced American culture, from its hearty and simple cuisine to its creation of an aristocracy based on wealth rather than bloodline. And in Susan May Williams, Bo had chosen a woman far more like his grandmother Dorcas Spear Patterson than his mother, a woman who did not charm with sparkling wit or dazzle with brilliant observations on politics and literature. Like William’s wife, Susan would ensure Bo a perfect blending of two necessities in his life: wealth and unchallenged patriarchal authority.

A letter from Bo did little to cool her anger. Her son begged her to understand his motives. “
Please Understand, Maman,” he wrote, “that in my future life I can never get along without money. Yet as you know, the allowance from my father is precarious, and grandfather has not, so far, promised to do anything for me. Contrary to your wishes, I have no desire to follow a diplomatic career. Business is what I like, and for that I need something to fall back on.” Bo’s explanation was carefully crafted. William Patterson had, of course, provided amply for his grandson in the marriage negotiations; perhaps Bo hoped to exaggerate his plight, gambling that his mother did not know of the large marriage settlement. It was an artful ploy, worthy of his own father. One thing is clear: with this letter, Bo at last told Betsy bluntly who he was and what he desired in life.