Although Betsy was not surprised that she was banned, she dreaded what might result from their separation. Would Jerome be strong enough to defy his brother without her?
In spite of his orders, Jerome lingered in Lisbon with Betsy for two days, saying, “Let us take a little time together to see this romantic city.”
“All right,” Betsy said, even though she was in no mood for sightseeing. Fate had been cruel to arrange events so that, when she finally achieved her dream of arriving in Europe, the order to separate from Jerome had been waiting for her. How could she possibly enjoy a brief holiday in Lisbon when what she really wanted was a lifetime in Paris?
Seeing her glum face, Jerome kissed her forehead. “Let us enjoy this time together, ma chère petite femme. I swear to you that our time apart will be short, and then all our troubles will be over.”
“I hope so,” she said and forced herself to smile.
They left their companions at the inn, and Jerome took Betsy to the Church of San Roche, one of the few buildings to survive the 1755 earthquake and tsunami that destroyed most of Lisbon. The white outer façade was severe with neoclassical windows and two-story-high pilasters. In contrast, the interior was more ornate than any church Betsy had ever seen. The chancel altarpiece, divided into sections by gilded molding and Corinthian columns, featured a painting of Christ surrounded by four niches holding statues of saints.
The church had several side chapels, but the jewel of them all was the chapel of St. John the Baptist. It contained an altar with three superb mosaics depicting the Annunciation, the Baptism of Christ, and Pentecost, each constructed of thousands of tiny tiles, many cut from semi-precious stones such as lapis lazuli, agate, and amethyst. The stunning art filled Betsy with awe. As she gazed at the depiction of the Virgin Mary receiving the archangel Gabriel’s announcement, Betsy whispered a prayer for her unborn child. Jerome also must have prayed because she saw him make the sign of the cross before they left the chapel. The gesture surprised her and made her uneasy. Was he asking for divine aid—or forgiveness because he had already decided to abandon her?
The next day, they went to see the aqueduct, built in the mid-1700s to bring water to the perennially parched city. The water channel, supported by stone arches up to 200 feet high, was so solidly constructed that it too had survived the earthquake. Jerome droned on about the importance of water in a dry climate, but Betsy dwelt upon the strength and endurance exemplified by the structure and her uncertainty that her husband possessed enough of those qualities to withstand the tremors of his brother’s wrath.
Afterward, Jerome took her shopping in the markets of the Chiado neighborhood, where they bought embroidered tablecloths and sheets edged in lace. At Café Talão, they ate caldeirada, a traditional fish and potato stew cooked in olive oil that Jerome said was like the cooking of his native island, except that Corsican fish stew would have been flavored with fennel, not coriander. “Someday I will take you there, and you can see for yourself.”
Then they strolled along the street. Betsy loved the local buildings, each painted a pastel color and featuring balconies with delicate ironwork railings. They were so different from the solid red brick edifices of Baltimore that, for the first time, she really felt as though she had arrived on another continent. Jerome led her to a jeweler’s shop, where he purchased a topaz necklace and a set of garnet earrings, necklace, and bracelet. On the bracelet’s clasp, he asked the jeweler to engrave the French word fidelité. That tangible promise to remain faithful brought tears to Betsy’s eyes and made her feel ashamed of her nagging doubts.
Before returning to the hotel, Jerome bought a small bouquet of violets from a flower peddler. “These have a special meaning to the Bonapartes,” he said, handing Betsy the purple nosegay. “Josephine adores violets, so Napoleon often buys them for her.”
Betsy sniffed the blooms, surprised that they were more fragrant than the ones she sometimes picked at home. “I will press these and keep them forever.”
When they reached their inn, they received a message from Captain Stephenson. Two French warships had arrived in port and surrounded the Erin. Jerome sighed. “I suppose this means I cannot delay my departure any longer.”
That night in bed, Betsy felt exhausted by the wild swings of emotion she had experienced since their arrival in Lisbon. Unable to hide her anxiety from her husband any longer, she ran her fingers through his curls. “I cannot help it, Jerome. I am afraid of what may come.”
“Do you doubt my love for you?”
“No. I dread the strength of the forces arrayed against us.”
“Never fear, I have a plan. Do not be alarmed, no matter what you hear. I may have to tell Napoleon what he requires, but—”
“What are you saying?” Betsy cried, interrupting him. She pushed him away and sat up. “You mean you intend to give me up?”
Undeterred by her sharp tone, Jerome reached over to wipe away the tears that were running down her cheeks. “No, my sweet. Do you remember when your father insisted that I go away with Commander Barney? We pretended for a time to submit to his will, but in our hearts, we remained true to one another. All I am saying is that we should use the same strategy now.”
Betsy shook her head vehemently, but Jerome raised his voice to override any protest she might make. “Listen to what I have to say and not to your own fears. Surely, you know how much I love you. For a time, I will act the part of an obedient brother, but in my heart I will remain true to my dear little wife. Once I return to duty and win a great victory, then I will ask to be reconciled with you as my reward.”
Betsy sniffed and tried to stop crying. “Do you think that might work?”
“I am certain of it. What Napoleon really cares about is the safety of the empire. If I can help secure that for him, he will not care to whom I am married.”
“But does he not want you to make a marriage of alliance?”
“He cannot force me to wed against my will, Elisa.”
He eased her back to a prone position and then kissed her breasts and the mound of her stomach. “Yesterday, I asked the Holy Mother to bring me back to you before our son is born.”
She sighed. “Are you so certain that it is a boy?”
Looking up, he grinned. “Yes.”
When Betsy began to cry again, Jerome murmured, “Shhh, Elisa, all will be well.” He moved up to kiss her mouth and then slowly and tenderly made love to her.
EARLY THE NEXT morning, April 9, 1805, William joined Betsy and Jerome in the parlor of their suite. Taking Betsy’s hand, Jerome said, “If you should have any difficulty here, sail north to Amsterdam and wait for me there.” He turned to William. “You will see that she is settled somewhere safe?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Elisa, be assured that I will do everything in my power to soften Napoleon’s heart and then come find you as soon as I can. I hope to rejoin you by early June.”
Betsy bit her lip, remembering his talk about possibly having to win a battle before Napoleon would relent.
Jerome pulled her close. “Please don’t worry. It is bad for you and the child. My job is to win over Napoleon, while yours is to bear a healthy son. Promise me to take care of yourself.”
“Yes, I will.”
They kissed and he left, having forbidden her to come down and say farewell in the street. Betsy moved to the window and gazed below until she saw Jerome exit the hotel and join Le Camus, who stood holding their horses. They mounted and Jerome waved to her. Then they rode away, and Betsy turned from the window and wept.
THE NEXT DAY, Chargé Sérurier called on Betsy at her inn. She insisted on having William at her side, and she remained standing during the meeting to remind the diplomat that she was carrying Jerome’s child.
Keeping his expression neutral, Sérurier said, “The emperor has commanded me to say that you will not be permitted to enter any territory controlled by France or its allies. You must return to America immediately and never use th
e Bonaparte name.”
A hot surge of anger swept over Betsy. “Tell your master that I shall never relinquish a name he has made so famous.”
“The emperor’s brother is a minor who did not have his family’s consent to wed, so your pretended marriage is invalid. However, our emperor is disposed to be generous. If you return to your home, Miss Patterson, and never use the emperor’s name, he will give you an annual pension of 60,000 francs.”
“Miss Patterson! I do not answer to that name. Tell him that Madame Bonaparte is ambitious and demands her rights as a member of the imperial family.”
With that, she turned her back on the chargé and walked to the far side of the room. Behind her, William said, “Sir, I think there is nothing more to discuss.”
The sound of clicking heels told Betsy that Sérurier bowed to them. “Monsieur. Mademoiselle.” Then she heard the shutting of the door.
William came and put an arm around her shoulder. “I think we should leave for Amsterdam.”
XVI
CAPTAIN Stephenson decided to stay well clear of the French coast in hopes of keeping the news of their destination from reaching the emperor. On May 8, after a brutally difficult voyage through the north Atlantic, the Erin dropped anchor off the southwest coast of Texel, the largest and southernmost barrier island in a chain stretching along the northern coast of the Netherlands and Germany. Because of stormy weather, the passage from Lisbon had taken twenty-six days—five days more than the Atlantic crossing—and the ship’s provisions were dangerously low.
Betsy went on deck after William told her that land was in sight. The sky was clear, and looking through a spyglass, she saw a flat island fringed by a wide sandy beach. Further inland, white sheep dotted broad patches of green. Betsy turned the glass toward starboard and saw the channel called the Texel River running between the island and the mainland.
“What now?” she asked Captain Stephenson.
“We must wait for a pilot boat. The Texel River is filled with sandbars, and I cannot hope to negotiate it without a guide.”
William asked, “How long will it take?”
“Not long.”
The day passed without a boat approaching. They ate a meager supper of two-month-old dried biscuit and salted beef, which Betsy could hardly stomach. She persisted in the attempt only because the child in her womb needed nourishment.
That night, Betsy reread a letter that Jerome had sent back to Lisbon shortly after his departure. After begging her to have confidence in him, he said that the worst thing that could happen would be for them to have to live somewhere outside France, but they would be happy as long as they were together. He gave her instructions for taking care of herself and closed with fervent expressions of love.
After folding the letter, Betsy kissed it and pressed it against her chest. Nearly a month had passed since their separation, and the longing to see Jerome’s smile or hear his voice threatened to drive her mad. Her worst times came at night, sleeping alone in her bunk without his warmth beside her. Tucking the letter into her journal, she reminded herself of his promise to return to her between the first and fifteenth of June.
A SECOND DAY passed without a pilot boat appearing. On the third day, Captain Stephenson decided to risk taking in the ship without guidance. William, Betsy, and Eliza stood on deck, watching anxiously as seamen in the ship’s boat explored the channel and returned with their findings. Then by proceeding cautiously and taking frequent soundings, Stephenson navigated the channel and rounded the island’s southern point. As the Erin sailed into the Zuiderzee, the passengers gazed north and saw a forest of masts rising above the harbor at Oudeschild farther up the Texel coast. In addition to the ships in port, dozens of vessels of every imaginable size were anchored off shore. Departing ships waited there for favorable winds, while arriving ships waited to be guided into Amsterdam.
Almost immediately, a pilot boat set out from port and came alongside them. After tying his rowboat to the Erin, an elderly pilot with a cracked, ruddy face boarded and, taking the wheel, steered them toward the anchoring ground.
As the Erin approached, a French ship of the line fired a warning shot ahead of her bow. The boom, followed by the whistling of the ball through air and its splash into the sea, caused Betsy’s heart to pound. Captain Stephenson shouted to the pilot, “Is this customary, man?”
“No, sir, I never seen it to happen before.”
Stephenson took the wheel and gave orders to bring the ship to. After it was anchored some way from the harbor, another boat set out toward them.
Once it was close enough, its skipper called to them, “Do you come from Baltimore by way of Lisbon?”
“Yes,” Stephenson answered.
“Then you must not come to Texel. It is verboden!”
As the boat turned back, the old Dutch pilot slapped his forehead. “Verdomme! Idioot!” He snatched the salt-stained cap from his head and wrung it between his hands.
“What is wrong?” Stephenson demanded.
“Three weeks ago, a notice I read describing this ship and forbidding us from guiding her. Now, Jezus Christus, I will be hanged unless my age and bad memory they excuse.”
His terror caused Betsy such an onrush of panic that she considered ordering the captain to sail to Baltimore at once, even though they had no provisions and her delivery was so close. She turned to William. “Why would Jerome send us here knowing we could not land?”
William shook his head. “He cannot have expected this. Holland and America have treaties guaranteeing the security of each other’s vessels in port. Nothing in law justifies this aggression.”
“Is the emperor so powerful that he can force neutral nations to attack their friends?” Betsy shivered. Then a more sinister possibility caused her to clutch William’s arm. “You cannot think Jerome sent us here on purpose to rid himself of me.”
“Do not indulge such thoughts. No one who has seen you together questions Jerome’s love. This is Napoleon’s doing.”
Nodding, Betsy tried to convince herself that he was right. When Captain Stephenson approached, she asked, “Do you think they really mean to sink us if we approach?”
“I do not know and dare not risk it. We shall wait here until tomorrow and see if the authorities make contact.”
The old pilot was too terrified to return to town, so he remained aboard the Erin. About five o’clock that evening, another rowboat approached them. The skipper called in Dutch to the pilot, who told Captain Stephenson, “Your ship I am to take to a spot they will show.”
After the crew hauled up the anchor and set the sails, the pilot steered the Erin into a position between the sixty-four-gun ship of the line and a French frigate. Two rowboats began to circle the Erin to prevent anyone but the pilot from disembarking.
The next morning dawned grey and windy. Captain Stephenson shouted down to the men rowing around the Erin that they were out of supplies, but the guards gave no answer. The wind grew to gale force, and the Erin pitched about in the choppy waters. Down in her cabin, Betsy lay in her bunk with her arms cradling her abdomen.
As the gale continued over the next two days, William repeatedly asked to lower a boat and go ashore for supplies, but Stephenson was too afraid of the warships to allow it.
Finally, all that was left of their provisions was a partial cask of scummy water and a handful of weevil-riddled biscuits. When the weather calmed slightly on the third day, William told Betsy, “I have finally convinced Stephenson to let Garnier and me attempt to get away.”
An hour later, he returned to her cabin, where Eliza was coaxing Betsy to eat a sour mush she had made by using water to soften the last biscuit. William leaned against the wall. “We lowered the boat without problem, but as soon as we got into it, the gunners aboard the frigate aimed a cannon at us and lighted a taper. We had no choice but to come back.”
Betsy lay back on her bunk and curled up on her side. “Thank you for trying.”
“What a tyran
t Napoleon is!” William pounded the wall behind him in a gesture that reminded Betsy of their father. “Who would have thought that he would go to such lengths to separate you from his brother?”
“I confess I did not think he would be so vindictive.”
Later when Betsy was alone, she wondered what punishment Napoleon was inflicting on her husband. Perhaps Jerome was in prison or being tried by a naval tribunal for desertion. She wondered if a princely title was worth this torment and recalled how her father had tried to dissuade her from seeking a noble marriage; he would say her suffering was her own fault. But surely, Jerome deserved to be an equal member of the imperial family. And had he been so irresponsible to marry her? After all, Napoleon had married for love. Betsy cried herself to sleep that night, fearing that she would never see Jerome again.
The next morning the sounds of shouting outside the porthole woke her. Peering out, she saw a man in civilian clothes standing in a rowboat and yelling to someone aboard the Erin. Betsy rose, completed her morning ablutions, wrapped a shawl around her swollen figure, and awkwardly made her way up the ladder to the deck. By then, the boat was rowing away.
William rushed up and took both her hands. “That was a messenger from the port commander. When he learned that we are out of provisions and in distress, he promised to report our situation to the Dutch authorities.”
“Do you think it will do any good?” she asked, afraid to hope that anyone would be willing to assist people whom Napoleon had singled out for vengeance.
“I feel certain of it. The authorities had no idea this hullabaloo was a malicious attempt to separate a man and wife. Only the French captains knew why we were proscribed.”
With the prospect of imminent relief, Betsy felt her strength give way. She swayed, and William grasped her by both arms. “Are you all right? Should I send for the doctor?”
The Ambitious Madame Bonaparte Page 23
