In fairness to Eliza, it is worth taking the time to deconstruct the origin of these legends. They started with the account that the French heirs had picked up about Stephen falling from a load of hay. By 1876, when they were building their case, there could have been few neighbors who remembered the details of the accident. Because Stephen was known to have been thrown from a wagon—the fact had been stated in Parton’s 1858 biography of Aaron Burr—an agricultural use of the vehicle may have been assumed.29 But in the early nineteenth century, it was common for country dwellers to use one-horse wagons for transportation as well as farm work.30 Stephen followed this practice unless he was traveling into the city. He “had a stool, being the lower part of a chair, a common Windsor chair with the back off,” that he used when riding in his one-horse wagon.31
The improvised seat bore part of the blame for his death. As Nelson described the accident in a deposition, Stephen was being driven up the Kingsbridge Road to the ninety-six-acre lot by “rather a poor driver, a Frenchman who did not know how to drive, and through some mismanagement this stool was pitched out, and he fell out and struck [sic] on his breast and injured himself very much.”32 A physician who lived in Harlem, which was then “quite a rural place and little settled,” came to bleed him—a standard treatment for serious injuries at the time.33 The procedure was mismanaged. The doctor “touched an artery and the arm filled from the wrist to the shoulder.”34 Here, no doubt, is the seed of the tale that Stephen bled to death—a charge that was not made by the French heirs. Much later it was grafted onto the muddled story of the wagon they had filled mistakenly with hay and from there grew the extravagant fiction that Stephen had fallen on a pitchfork.
In actual fact, after the bloodletting was botched, he was treated by two highly competent doctors for “some ten or twelve days,” before “he succumbed to this injury.”35 Could Eliza have interfered with her husband’s care after the doctors had gone home? Perhaps, but why would she? She and Stephen were living comfortably in the United States, the location she preferred. Her husband was supervising the farms, improving the property, maximizing their income, and making it possible for her to travel. She had no motivation to wish him dead, nor is there any indication that she was suspected of harming him at the time. The doctor who provided the bulk of Stephen’s care was Francis Berger, at once his family physician and the son of his old friend Eloi Berger—a man unlikely to have remained silent if he had suspected foul play.36 Berger did not request an inquest—or at least none was performed—an indicator that he did not consider the death suspicious.37
According to the death certificate, Stephen’s demise was caused by “inflammation of the lungs,” or pneumonia, as we would call it today.38 The diagnosis is believable. Even now pneumonia remains a threat to people immobilized from injuries. The risk is especially high when breathing is impaired, as Stephen’s might have been from the fall “on his breast.”
During the years that Eliza’s reputation was blighted, first by George Washington Bowen and then by the French heirs, her family fought back by romanticizing her life as vividly as she had done herself. By the early 1870s, Nelson and his daughter, Eliza Pery, were disseminating the tale that Stephen had offered Napoleon I a ship on which to escape to America.39 They endowed the old Jumel mansion with distinguished guests as well. Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand, the marquis de Lafayette, and King Louis-Philippe (before ascending the throne) were among the notables who, in their telling, had stepped within its gates.40 The legend that Eliza and Stephen had socialized with French émigrés during the early years of their marriage originated with Nelson and his daughter too.41
Eliza’s furnishings were given distinguished, if imaginary, histories. “A silver tea service, which once graced the table of Marie Antoinette, and a bit of tapestry wrought by the fingers of the Empress Josephine” were displayed in the Octagon Parlor of the mansion near vases, tables, and a chandelier allegedly owned by General Moreau.42 Other treasures of the mansion included Eliza’s bed, said to have belonged to Napoleon I when he was First Consul, and a sofa purportedly from the palace of Charles X.43 In the hallway was a chess table “at which Louis Napoleon [Napoleon III] liked to play with Madame Jumel.”44
In anticipation of the moment when the Jumel lands could be sold, Nelson bolstered the value of the estate by leaking information to the newspapers about ostensibly interested purchasers. Supposedly Napoleon III had been negotiating for the Jumel estate during the Franco-Prussian War “to use for a residence in case of his being dethroned.”45 He was forced into exile in 1870, after the Battle of Sedan, but “the loss of much of his wealth by the war forced him to look for a retreat of more moderate dimensions.”46 Subsequently ex– Queen Christina of Spain began bargaining for the property, or so the story went.47 None of these reports had a basis in fact, any more than the stories told about Eliza’s home furnishings.
The settlements with the French heirs ended much of the drama. The Jumel estate was sold off in well-attended auctions in 1882, 1886, and 1888.48 Nelson and his daughter bought the mansion and the homestead lot. They and their spouses and young Raymond Chase went on sharing the premises until 1887.49 Hattie’s sister, Lizzie Dunning, lived with them until her marriage in 1886.50 Although the French heirs continued to fight with their lawyers, the Chases and Caryls, free from the shadow of the courthouse, settled into quiet retirement.
EPILOGUE
“For it is a peculiarity of these long-winded cases that they are as nearly immortal as anything mortal can be.”
—“The Jumel jumble,” New-York Tribune, April 4, 1877
In 1887 the Chases and the Caryls sold the Jumel mansion and the remaining acreage surrounding it.1 Eliza and Julius moved to Yonkers. They spent their summers in Saratoga Springs, occupying Madame Jumel’s former home.2
Nelson, Hattie, and Raymond relocated to Ridgewood, New Jersey, where Nelson died in 1890.3 Raymond fell into bad company. One of his friends was James Tynan, whose father claimed to have been complicit in the politically motivated assassinations of Lord Frederick Cavendish and Thomas Henry Burke, the British secretary and undersecretary for Ireland.4 At seventeen, Raymond accused his widowed mother, Hattie, of adultery with his uncle, Lizzie’s husband, and claimed that his uncle had withheld Raymond’s share of the Jumel fortune.5 Two years later, Raymond died of Pott’s disease, a complication of tuberculosis.6
Eliza Caryl lived to be eighty years old, guarding her great-aunt’s relics and reputation until her own death in 1915.7 Her husband predeceased her, dying in 1911. He left all of his property to her—although one of his nephews challenged the will.8
Two years before Eliza Caryl’s death, her granddaughter Agnes Gourreau, one of four children born to Mathilde, came from Bordeaux to tend her.9 Eleven months after her grandmother’s decease, Agnes married Dr. J. Wade Hampton, the scion of a wealthy southern family.10
Jane McManus, Aaron Burr’s alleged lover in the Jumel divorce case, found her reputation permanently stained. In 1837 she was named the respondent in yet another divorce action.11 Her ill repute made her an easy target, but she was probably blameless in that particular case. Subsequently she became a journalist and author. In an 1845 article advocating the annexation of Texas to the United States, she coined the now-famous phrase “manifest destiny.” The fact that she was the first to use the term was only rediscovered at the end of the twentieth century.12
George Washington Bowen died in 1885 at the age of ninety.13 He assigned his claim to the Jumel fortune to John R. Vandervoort, a relative of the Anne Vandervoort who had borne witness for him.14 This newest aspirant to the fabled millions donated land from the estate to several philanthropic institutions in order to promote his supposed acquisition. But the coordinates of the plots proved difficult to pinpoint. Although they were located “in a part of the city where land is worth almost as much as good gold ore,” whether they were “below the ground, or … raised some two feet in the air,” the donor failed to say.15
&
nbsp; Shortly before Vandervoort died in 1903, he sold his claim to James Wallace Tygard of Netherwood, New Jersey.16 Politely Tygard notified the mayor of New York City of his “title” to the Jumel property—including as-yet-unearthed Napoleonic relics that he claimed Eliza had buried on her lands.17 Six months later he and a friend were arrested in a sting operation, after contracting to sell a lot that was once part of the Jumel estate. It was already owned by someone else.18
Eliza’s old home became a museum in 1907.19 Today it is known as the Morris-Jumel Mansion, commemorating Roger and Mary Morris, the couple who built it, and Eliza Jumel, its most famous occupant. Eliza Caryl preserved the furnishings that her great-aunt and Stephen had purchased for the house. After she died in 1915, the most important pieces were acquired for the museum.20 They can be admired at the Morris-Jumel Mansion to this day.
Eliza’s reputation is not as well preserved as her furniture. The lies told by those who sought her fortune turned her into a prostitute, the mother of an illegitimate son, a cruel wife, even the murderer of her husband. She deserves better. Although Eliza was in some ways a difficult woman, her determination, intelligence, and strength of character were what allowed her to survive and thrive in spite of the disadvantages of her youth. The affection of her niece and great-niece testify to her ability to form loving bonds.
Her contemporaries would have been less disturbed by her ascent into the upper middle class had she been a more conventional “womanly” woman—a lady who hid her emotions and ambitions beneath a veneer of delicacy, gentleness, and charm. That was not a façade Eliza could maintain for long. But on her own terms, she achieved much: financial security, a certain social status, a landed estate, an elegant home staffed with servants. She rose far above the social class to which she was born, attaining the upward mobility thought to exemplify the American experience, but in reality so hard to achieve. The stories told about her are less dramatic in the end than the life she composed and acted for herself.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am deeply grateful to the staff of the many archives, libraries, and museums where I conducted my research for accommodating my endless requests for manuscripts and books. I would like to single out for special mention the New-York Historical Society, the New York Public Library, and the Division of Old Records of the New York County Clerk’s Office. I spent many months delving into the collections of each of these institutions.
Without the following people, who offered special assistance in many and various ways, I could not have completed this project: Bruce Abrams, Archivist (retired), Division of Old Records, New York County Clerk’s Office; Cherry Fletcher Bamberg, FASG; Jessica Becker, Public Services, Manuscripts and Archives, Yale University Library; Teri Blasko, Local History Librarian, Saratoga Springs Public Library; Paul Campbell, City Archivist, Providence City Hall; Ken Carlson, Reference Archivist, Rhode Island State Archives; Sofie Church, Junior Cataloguer, Sotheby’s Old Master Paintings, London; Tracy L. Croce, Local Government Records Analyst, Rhode Island State Archives; Robert Delap, Assistant, Department of Rights and Reproductions, New-York Historical Society; Lindsey Felice, Special Collections and Preservation Assistant, Oberlin College Library; Christine Filippelli, Head of Adult Services, Troy Public Library; Peter Flass; Françoise Hack, Assistant Director Collections, John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art; Agnes Hamberger, Saratoga Springs History Museum; Tammy Kiter, Manuscript Reference Librarian, New-York Historical Society Museum and Library; Colette Lamothe; Thomas Lannon, Assistant Curator, Manuscripts and Archives Division, New York Public Library; Joseph Lapinski, Assistant Archivist, Trinity Wall Street Archives; Daniel Legatino, Trinity Cemetery and Mausoleum; Laura K. O’Keefe, Head of Cataloging and Special Collections, New York Society Library; Brigitte Pallas, Médiatrice culturelle et agent de traitement des fonds, Archives départementales, Conseil général des Landes; Anne Petrimoulx, Archivist, Trinity Wall Street Archives; Erin Schreiner, Special Collections Librarian, New York Society Library; Barbara Sicko, Registrar, Bob Jones University Museum & Gallery; Andrew Smith, Administrative Assistant, Rhode Island Supreme Court Judicial Records Center; Matthew Spady; Gabriel Swift, Reference Librarian, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library; Joseph Van Nostrand, Archivist in Charge, Division of Old Records, New York County Clerk’s Office; Suzanne Wray; Liz Zanis, Collections Management Assistant, Department of Drawings and Prints, Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Databases rarely receive special credit in acknowledgments, but I must tip a hat to Readex’s America’s Historical Newspapers database. Without the full-text access that it provides to eighteenth- and nineteenth-century American newspapers, the research for this book would have been vastly more time-consuming. I also made good use of ProQuest Historical Newspapers.
I owe a considerable debt to two prior biographers of Eliza Jumel. William H. Shelton, Civil War veteran and original curator of the Morris-Jumel Mansion, offered the first extended biographical treatment of Eliza within a book devoted to the mansion’s history.1 He knew a good story when he heard one, and the narrative he fashioned of Eliza’s life—legends and all—remains the dominant version today. Constance M. Greiff produced the first modern, scholarly analysis of Eliza, as part of a report she prepared for the Morris-Jumel Mansion.2 Her study provided my first introduction to the real Eliza and the cornerstone for my research.
I sincerely appreciate the support of the Morris-Jumel Mansion staff, including director Carol S. Ward, curator Jasmine Helm, archivist Emilie Lauren Gruchow, and former director Ken Moss. They permitted me to spend many happy hours rooting about in the mansion’s archives; provided access to objects in the collection; and supplied a rich selection of images for this book. In addition, Emilie supplied a crucial need by photographing Eliza’s hands from the Jumel family portrait—the handsome detail that appears on the book’s cover. Trish Mayo, also at the Morris-Jumel Mansion, not only shared her own photographs of the family portrait, but also braved unseasonably cold weather to shoot a beautiful selection of images of the Jumel crypt.
Barbara Breen has my eternal gratitude for being kind enough to read the entire manuscript as I was racing to finish it. She gave me excellent feedback and welcome encouragement during those last, agonizing stages of the project. Michelle Williams, Developmental Editor at Chicago Review Press, kept the production process running smoothly, despite the challenges posed by a manuscript heavily freighted with sixty-plus pages of endnotes.
My special thanks to agent Malaga Baldi for finding the book a home, and to Lisa Reardon, Senior Editor at Chicago Review Press, for seeing the promise in a working manuscript that was in far from finished form.
A NOTE ON THE SOURCES
This book makes heavy use of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century newspapers and manuscript material. I have slightly modernized the original punctuation for easier reading. Dashes used to terminate sentences (an accepted practice well into the nineteenth century) are replaced by periods, and the placement of commas and semicolons has been adjusted to follow modern American usage. Translations from French are mine unless otherwise indicated.
I made silent corrections of typographical errors in newspaper articles and of misspelled words in handwritten depositions. If necessary punctuation was missing, I added it. In quoting from legal testimony reported in the newspapers, if a witness’s words were run together with sentences separated by semicolons, I used periods to divide them instead. Throughout the book, estimates of what a given sum of money would be worth today were generated using the simple purchasing power calculator available at MeasuringWorth.com (www.measuringworth.com/ppowerus).
When translating excerpts from Eliza’s and Stephen’s original letters in French, I did not attempt to reproduce their mistakes in spelling or grammar. Eliza made frequent errors when writing in French, but most were minor: “rich” instead of “riche” for “wealthy”; “mouttons” rather than “moutons” for “sheep”; “collons” instead of “colonnes” fo
r “columns.” Occasionally a misspelling hints at a mispronunciation: “beaucoup” becomes “beaucoupe,” suggesting that she may have pronounced the final, silent p. Other mistakes are evident only because she was writing rather than speaking. For instance, Eliza wrote “je ferais” (I was doing) when she meant “je ferai” (I will do), but the two verb forms are pronounced identically (the final s of “ferais” is silent). Often she omitted accent marks—but native speakers, including Stephen, were not meticulous about including them either. Every so often a common construction was scrambled. “I have been in Cherry Valley for three weeks” became “Me voici il y a trois semaines à Cherry Vally [sic]” (I have been three weeks ago in Cherry Valley). “Il même” replaces “lui-même” for “himself.” On occasion, a specialized French term escaped her, and she adapted an American one—for example, “une morgage” rather than “une hypothèque” for “a mortgage.”1 The end results, easy to interpret for a native English speaker with a working knowledge of French, would be more confusing for a Francophone reader. Yet it is impressive that she turned out three- and four-page letters in a language that she did not acquire until adulthood.
Stephen had his own quirks as a writer. Generally he completed the infinitive forms of regular verbs ending in er with the letters és instead: for example, “loués” rather than “louer” (to rent); “depansés” rather than “dépenser” (to spend); “menagés” rather than “ménager” (to economize on or use sparingly). He made other minor spelling errors—“j’ai” (I have) became “je” (which he must have pronounced “jé”); “quartier” (quarter) became “cartier.” In these and similar cases, he was writing phonetically. The sound of the words would have remained the same, in spite of the altered spelling. The biggest challenge in reading Stephen’s letters is his handwriting, sometimes nearly illegible. He could write neatly, but often didn’t take the time to do so.2
The Remarkable Rise of Eliza Jumel Page 26
