The Ambitious Madame Bonaparte

by Chatlien, Ruth Hull

  After stowing their passports in her reticule, she rose. “Thank you, Monsieur le Comte, for explaining your prohibition so thoroughly. Good day.”

  Bo was silent until they were seated in their hired carriage. Turning to his mother, he said, “They are frightened of me, Mama. I did not imagine they even knew of my existence.”

  With a smug smile, Betsy patted his cheek. “Now do you believe me? You are not just an ordinary American boy. You are a Bonaparte, and in Europe, that means everything.”

  XXXIII

  IN Geneva, Betsy moved into a pension and then took her son to be enrolled in school. During their meeting with the headmaster, Bo was surprised to learn that in addition to academic subjects, he would have lessons in drawing, dancing, fencing, and horseback riding. “Are those classes important, Mama?” he whispered when the headmaster left them alone for a moment.

  “They are necessary for your success in society.”

  Betsy had long suspected that Bo applied himself to his studies only to please her and that, if left to his own devices, he could become as indolent as his father. Before leaving, she admonished him, “Never forget that the great name you bear comes with responsibility. I have no estate to leave you, so you must achieve wealth and distinction by your own efforts.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  On her own at the pension, Betsy became acquainted with another American guest—the multimillionaire John Jacob Astor, who had come to Geneva to find a school for his youngest daughter. Astor was a short man with dark blond hair, drooping brown eyes, and a large pointed nose. He spoke English with a German accent, and his manners were nearly as rough as the fur trappers who had made his fortune, but Betsy liked him because they shared the traits of ambition, determination, and practicality.

  After a few days, Betsy soured on her boarding house. The meals at the pension consisted mostly of bread, soup, and potatoes. One afternoon as she strolled with Astor down a cobblestoned street in the old section of the city, she halted before a building of timeworn stone. Beneath a broad rounded arch was a shop window that displayed trays of tempting pastries. Betsy darted inside to buy a cream bun. Returning to Astor with her purchase wrapped in white paper, she said, “These Swiss are too spiritual to suppose that their pensionnaires possess a vulgar appetite for meat, vegetables, tarts, or custards.”

  Astor laughed. “It matters little to me since I leave at the end of this week.”

  “Well, I for one cannot exist solely on a contemplation of the beautiful mountains, lake, and sunsets the Swiss rave about. I must have more substantial fare.”

  After Astor left, Betsy moved into an apartment with a sitting room and three bedrooms, one each for herself, Bo, and the maid. The rent was about $60 a month, and for an additional sum, a woman catered her meals. Betsy had selected the apartment because it was within walking distance of the places she frequented—and she could not afford a carriage.

  Geneva, long the center of Calvinist orthodoxy, was a sober community without the variety of cultural pursuits that characterized Paris. The town fathers had banned theatre until the 1760s, and even in 1819, plays and operas had to be performed outside the city limits. Dancing after midnight was forbidden. However, the residents were industrious, and Betsy hoped the city’s moral atmosphere would be a good influence on her son.

  Despite its staid character, Geneva was a popular destination for travelers because of its spectacular alpine scenery. Her first winter there, Betsy was welcomed into the circle of highborn visitors. She met the Polish Princess Caroline Galitzin, who had a country estate at Genthod, located on the lake a few miles north of Geneva. The chateau was a two-story white house with an imposing central block and two side wings, green shutters at the windows, and dormers in the mansard roof. Princess Galitzin and Betsy became such close companions that Betsy had a bedroom in the chateau, which she was allowed to decorate to her own taste.

  Betsy also became acquainted with Russian émigrés, such as the Princess Potempkin, and English aristocrats, such as the Duke of Kent’s stepson, Prince Carl. Once Betsy became established in Genevan society, she received enough invitations to balls, soirées, and dinners to stave off boredom, and men paid her as many compliments as she had received in her youth. She teased Bo that if she did not have such a big son, people would take her for a woman of twenty-five instead of thirty-five.

  Although Bo did well in all his classes, his favorite activity by far was his weekly riding lesson. As spring approached, he begged his mother to buy him a mount. “If I had a horse, I could go riding whenever I wanted and you would not have to pay for lessons.”

  Looking up from the linen shirt she was sewing for him, Betsy saw Bo standing before her with pleading eyes—and realized with a shock that he was almost the age Jerome had been when he bought the expensive shaving set.

  “I see you have inherited your father’s false views of economy. Not only would I have to pay for the beast, but I would also have the cost of stabling and feeding him.”

  Bo paced before her. “What if Grandfather bought the horse? Then you would only have to pay for the upkeep, and I am sure that would be more economical than paying for lessons.”

  “I am equally sure it would not,” she said and continued sewing with tiny, precise stitches. “You would spend your time riding around the country to the neglect of your studies, which would mean the waste of all the money I spend on tuition. No, I would sooner pay for daily lessons than buy you a horse.”

  “Oh.” He stopped short, and a blush covered his cheeks.

  Alarmed by his sheepish expression, Betsy demanded, “What have you done? If you have offered to buy someone’s horse without my permission, I will void any such deal.”

  “No, Mama.” He bit his lower lip. “I already wrote Grandfather asking for the money.”

  “Your grandfather is so loath to part with cash that I doubt your plea has a prayer of success, but nevertheless, I shall write and disabuse him of the idea.”

  Bo slumped into the chair across from her. “But Mama, would it not help me to learn responsibility to have the care of an animal?”

  Although she knew she should keep a stern demeanor, Betsy smiled at his persistence. “Maybe when you are older.”

  As her son rose to leave the room, the sight of his drooping shoulders softened Betsy’s heart. “If you truly want an animal, we might get a dog.”

  Bo whirled around to face her. “Do you mean it?”

  She nodded, and he rushed to hug her, nearly causing her to stab herself with her needle. “You are the dearest mama in the whole world!” he exclaimed.

  Betsy made inquiries and found a local landowner with a litter of Schweizer Laufhund puppies that were ready to leave their mother. The breed was a lean, muscular hunting dog with long legs, so it would be able to run with Bo when he did go riding. The puppy had an orange-red coat with white legs and snout, and Bo named it Le Loup, meaning wolf, even though, as Betsy pointed out, the dog bore little resemblance to its wild cousin.

  Because Bo stayed at school during the week, Betsy knew she would have to do the serious training herself. She pretended to be annoyed but secretly felt glad to have the companionship while her son was in classes. During weekend visits, she enjoyed watching Bo roll around the floor with his pup and try to teach the animal tricks.

  All that spring, she walked Le Loup around Geneva, past the shops in the old town, along the lakefront in fine weather, and through the streets around the Cathedral St. Pierre, a mongrel building with a neoclassical temple façade and two squat towers of contrasting styles. Le Loup proved to be a friendly animal that would sit patiently and allow children to pet him as long as they did not pull his long ears. As Betsy and the gangly pup became a familiar sight, the taciturn Genevans began to call out, “Quel beau chien!” Betsy would smile and nod, pleased with herself for having chosen a handsome dog for her handsome son.

  In March, John Jacob Astor wrote to Betsy from Rome on behalf of Jerome’s sister Pau
line, the Princess Borghese, whom he had met there. When Pauline learned that Astor had spent time with Betsy at Geneva, she asked him to write and express her desire to see Betsy and her son in Rome. The princess was childless and wanted to leave Bo a legacy since his father could do nothing for him.

  Betsy rejoiced that Jerome’s family had finally remembered her son, but she cautioned herself not to expect much. She knew from gossip that the Bonapartes lived as royalty in exile, adopting impressive titles to make up for their lost thrones. Their mother, Letizia, was a shrewd woman who had saved her money. Jerome was penniless and depended on an allowance provided by his father-in-law. Joseph lived in New Jersey on wealth he had smuggled out of Spain after his downfall—rumor claimed he had stolen the crown jewels. Pauline received an income from her husband, from whom she was separated. She was notorious for having numerous affairs and a capricious personality that easily tired of people.

  Given that reputation, Betsy decided it would be foolish to upend her son’s life to gratify Pauline’s whim. Bo was doing well in school, and Betsy feared that if she were to take him to Rome, the Bonapartes’ pleasure-loving ways might counteract all her efforts to teach him industry. The specter of his turning out to be like Jerome still haunted her. On the other hand, Betsy did not want to destroy her son’s chance to know his father’s family and perhaps inherit something.

  After a sleepless night, she wrote a letter expressing her appreciation of and gratitude for the princess’s interest.

  My object in coming to Geneva is to procure for my son the means of education suitable to his rank, which I could not find in America, and to find a simple kind of life which would accord with the destiny I have to offer him. I have taught him to know that I have very little fortune to give him, and that his rank will depend upon his own efforts. Convinced that it is one of the greatest misfortunes to have pretensions without hopes, I have tried to remove from him false ideas of ambition, and to direct him to the cultivation of intellectual pursuits. Without perhaps possessing great talents, he is capable of arriving by his own efforts at an honorable station in society. So far I have nothing to complain of as to his application. My first desire, as it is my first duty, is to give him an especially excellent education suitable to his rank. I have found means of doing so at Geneva. I came for that purpose, and shall stay here to accomplish it. This will not prevent me from making a voyage to Italy a few months hence, for the purpose of telling you, Madame, how I am touched by the interest you have taken in my son, and of expressing to you my gratitude.

  Betsy paused in her writing and decided it would be prudent to drive the point home that she would not withdraw Bo from school.

  I would at the same time present my son, if I had not decided not to interrupt his education. Personal merit is the only thing worthy of his name that I can leave him. This is the reason why a good education is the first desire of my heart….

  Accept, Madame, the respectful assurance and lively recognitions with which I have the honor to be your Highness’ most humble and most obedient servant,

  Elizabeth Patterson.

  Betsy forwarded the letter to John Jacob Astor, and a month later he replied that he had given it to the princess, who sent a friend to question him about Betsy’s situation. Astor had explained that William Patterson’s fortune was tied up in property, and Betsy received no money from him or her ex-husband. Rather, she was living frugally on what she had saved from her former pension. Not long afterward, the princess fell ill and made no more overtures, but Astor thought she might make Bo her heir in time.

  In May near the end of Bo’s first year at school, Betsy’s friend Lady Morgan came to Geneva from Rome. As Betsy hung up her friend’s bonnet and shawl on a peg in the hall, she noted that Lady Morgan’s gown was fashioned in the latest style, with a lower waistline than had been popular for some years. Betsy frowned as she wondered how she could possibly adapt her own high-wasted gowns to this change in fashion.

  Then, as they sat in Betsy’s sitting room taking tea, Lady Morgan said, “I met the Princess Borghese while I was in Rome. She often spoke of her desire to see you and your boy there, but she would not pledge herself to doing anything for Bo. She lives in state as though she were a queen, and her extravagance is boundless. If I were you, my dear, I would not count on her having any fortune to leave.”

  Betsy sighed. “She sounds very like my ex-husband.”

  Lady Morgan leaned forward with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Most of the family hate the ex-king of Westphalia and his wife. Since their dethronement, they have behaved very coldly to the other Bonapartes. I rather fear that the princess takes an interest in your son merely to put their noses out of joint.”

  Refilling her friend’s teacup, Betsy said, “So we are still pawns to be employed by the Bonapartes in their own games. Even so, I cannot refuse to let the boy know them.”

  “No, but you do right to postpone the encounter. You would be mad to take the child there now. They all call themselves Majesty and Highness and wait to be returned to power. Your son would adopt the most absurd ideas of his own greatness and be ruined to any useful occupation. The promises of that family are not to be depended on.”

  “No one in the world knows that better than I.” Grimacing, Betsy reached for another tart. “The Bonapartes are all very affectionate in words, but without the least intention of parting with a farthing. No doubt, if they ever see their nephew, they will tell him they love him, take great interest in him, and leave me to pay his expenses. I have been careful not to breathe a syllable of these proposals to him for fear of giving him false hopes.”

  Lady Morgan patted her hand sympathetically. “I am looking forward to meeting your son at last. I have heard that he is all the rage in Geneva.”

  Grateful for a fresh topic, Betsy smiled. “People say he has more conversation and better manners than other children his age. Consequently he excites more attention, and I am tormented by the fear of seeing him spoiled by compliments. He is thought very handsome, but I regret that others tell him so, as it is a kind of praise which never made anyone better or happier.”

  Lady Morgan lifted her cup in salute. “Once again, I think you speak from experience.”

  Shrugging, Betsy said, “I have had to use my wits rather than my beauty to survive the overthrow of my marriage. I wonder what my life might have been if I had been raised to depend more upon my talents.”

  “It is never too late to apply yourself.”

  Betsy shook her head. “All my energies are taken up with seeing that my son makes something of himself. Perhaps when he comes to manhood, I may pursue other endeavors.”

  THE PRINCESS BORGHESE never answered Betsy’s letter, which disappointed but did not surprise Betsy. Economic conditions in Baltimore had taken a downturn, and she feared that her income might shrink, which would make it difficult to keep Bo at school. Therefore, she wrote Jerome and asked him to share the expenses for their son.

  He replied with regrets:

  My fortune is not sufficient to provide for my present family, who must be taken care of by their mother. Elisa, you know my character too well to suppose I ever thought of laying by a fortune; the little I did save, I have been cheated out of by persons I trusted.

  Thinking of his loyalty to scoundrels like Le Camus, Betsy thought, He always was a poor judge of character.

  Despite these disappointments, fate seemed determined to throw her in the path of the Bonapartes and their kin. The Prince and Princess of Württemberg—Catharine’s uncle and aunt—spent a holiday in Geneva, where Betsy met them often. They thought it was a scandal that their niece and Jerome lived lavishly while failing to provide for Betsy’s son, and at their request, Betsy brought Bo to meet them. Shortly before they departed, the prince exclaimed to Betsy, “Jerome Bonaparte made a great mistake in deserting such a charming woman as you.”

  In the spring of Bo’s second year at school, Jerome’s brother Joseph wrote to offer Betsy the use of his c
hateau in Switzerland. While grateful, Betsy had to decline because, without a carriage, she could not reside so far from town. Yet, the generous proposal gave her renewed hope that her son might yet be accepted as a legitimate Bonaparte. Madame Tousard, who often met Joseph in society, wrote to say that he seemed disposed to form a relationship with his nephew once Bo returned to the United States. Betsy did not expect Joseph to provide for her son as he had several daughters to settle, but it would help Bo’s position to be acknowledged by his uncle.

  Among her titled friends, Betsy asked about marriage prospects for Bo. He was not yet sixteen, but she knew that such alliances were often settled in childhood, and she did not want to ruin his chances by neglecting to make inquiries. Her friends listened politely and made suggestions, but to Betsy’s frustration, no one offered to negotiate a match.

  She repeatedly warned Bo that he was not to make a mésalliance and particularly not to marry an American. “I would rather that you never married at all than marry beneath your rank.”

  “Yes, Mama,” he would answer. One day, after Betsy had lectured him at length on the evils of an imprudent marriage, he responded with rare insubordination. “Perhaps my ideas of a suitable marriage do not match yours. You said I could not know I preferred America until I had lived in Europe. Well, I have lived here two years and have dined with many princes and princesses, and I much prefer eating beefsteak with my grandfather on South Street.”

  “That is because you are young and do not appreciate that the rank into which you were born can open many doors that others may not even approach.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Mama, I am old enough to know what I like. All I want is a quiet life on a country estate where I can raise horses.”

  The fear that Bo’s decisions might render her sacrifices meaningless maddened Betsy. “And where do you propose to get the money? How many times must I tell you that I can leave you no wealth? You will need a lucrative profession to afford the life you covet, so it is only prudent to use the status that is yours by birth as a step toward success.”