Читать книгу The Golden Bees - Daniel Henderson - Страница 11

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William Patterson, methodically noting upon the envelope of the anonymous letter: "Received this letter by Penny Post, on Saturday, 5th November, 1803, at one o'clock, P.M.," stowed it away in his desk. The sting of it, however, could not be so easily disposed of.

Early that evening he spoke of the letter to Commodore Barney.

"Now, William," the Commodore advised, summoning to meet the situation all the diplomacy he had learned in French circles, "you mustn't be overwrought by an unsigned letter. It is true that while he was in the West Indies Jerome was quite a beau, but you can't judge a Bonaparte by the standards you apply to a young American business man. You and I have both been abroad. We know that the social code of Europe is quite different from ours. With the example before him of the open infidelity of the Continent, you can't expect Jerome to be a Joseph!

"Betsy is too sensible a girl to let such rumors shatter her romance. French girls, when they take a husband, accept such things along with him. However, when you come to draw up the marriage settlement, it would be well to safeguard her against any possible fickleness on the part of our guest."

"She's marrying him mainly through ambition. He's marrying her through infatuation," cried William Patterson. "It's too much like one of the marriages of royalty and aristocracy abroad to suit my notions. That young man must understand that he is to conform to American social conventions if he weds my girl. Rewbell's a sober, sensible fellow. I'm going to question him about young Bonaparte's morals."

He had his chance when the General accompanied Jerome later in the evening to the Patterson home. While the lovers were absorbed in their own intimate affairs, William Patterson beckoned him into the library.

The General found himself in a most difficult position. When the matter was bluntly put to him, he shrugged his shoulders, spread his palms, and gazed at the ceiling.

"Monsieur Patterson," he said, "it seems to be a question of two standards of morality. Permit me to assure you that Jerome Bonaparte is a most estimable young man according to his light.

"As for his friendships with women, that, sir, is no one's concern—so long as Jerome is discreet, what does it matter? Young Bonaparte can hardly be expected not to have amours. Has not his illustrious brother set him an example? The young man was forbidden to marry—would you have him forbidden to love—especially when his charm and rank make him a target for seductive young women? All that is asked of a Bonaparte by my countrymen is that he conduct his amours decently—that is, that he keep them secret and avoid having the Government accused of licentiousness. Jerome has been very discreet. These things are but whispers—they will never become public to scandalize your daughter!"

Their voices had grown loud. William Patterson was bursting into an explosion that would have hurled to the winds Maryland traditions of hospitality when the brocaded tapestries at the end of the room parted. Betsy, all the roses fled from her cheeks, came forward. Jerome, bravely endeavoring to appear at ease, sauntered after her.

"Father," she asked, "what accusations have been made against Jerome?"

Steeling himself against pity for his headstrong daughter, William Patterson opened the table drawer and drew out the scandalous letter.

"It is well that you should be forewarned of what folks say of the man you desire to marry. This is what came to me by today's post."

As rigidly as if chiseled from marble, the girl read.

As she turned then to the uneasy Jerome, her slender fingers, like steel grips, clutched and creased the damning paper.

"Are these things true, Jerome?"

He burst into a torrent of French exclamations.

Betsy stood listening for the ring of truth in them. When she did not hear it she burst into sobs. Romance had temporarily submerged ambition. She had not counted upon accepting gallantry as part of the price she must pay for a royal position.

Suddenly she ran to her father and hid her face against his coat.

"Tell him I will not marry him!" she said.

General Rewbell stared at her as if she had uttered treason. Jerome drew himself up in his finest military style. It was unthinkable that a brother of the Emperor should suffer this humiliation, yet if it must be, the girl would not see his wound.

Pale but regal, Betsy, without looking at Jerome, left the room on her father's arm.

*****

The dazed girl spent a sleepless night brooding over the disaster. Now that Jerome was gone, she was panic-stricken at her rashness in sending him away, and a little ashamed that she had permitted the primitive emotion of jealousy and an unsuspected tendency to adhere to a strait-laced code, to have brought her careful planning to ruin.

"What a fool! What a fool!" she accused herself, dabbing at her lovely wet eyes with her handkerchief. "It is as the Rewbells say: a question of two standards of morality. Baltimore rules of conduct can't apply to Paris. Here I have been railing at American Puritanism, yet have allowed myself to be swayed by it. If I want a brilliant career, I'll have to shut my eyes to some things. A prude never made a success at court. What's past is past—why should I let it make me miserable—wreck my future? If this be forgiven, I think he loves me enough to be faithful!"

The next morning found the girl, pale and distraught, prepared to announce that she had reconstructed her ideas of morality.

"Tell my father," she said to her black attendant, "that I must see him before he goes to the wharves."

Fearfully, William Patterson went to her bedroom.

"I've changed my mind since last night," she told him. "I want Jerome to come to me. It is the custom for European rulers to have mistresses. There must be Nell Gwynnes and Du Barrys. If those tales are true, it just means that Jerome has played the gallant a little earlier than the rest. It does not imply that he will not be faithful to me."

"Betsy!" cried her father. "You'll condone anything—so long as it gains you a place near a throne! Your dreams have blighted your sense of decency!"

"I can't give him up," sobbed the proud girl. "I don't care if French standards are different from ours. I'm going to live there anyhow, and if it's the custom, I'll have to bear it! See how great a man Napoleon is—has the tattle about his private life harmed him? You may cling to American ways of thinking—I must take a broader view. I was too hasty last night—I played the part of a village scold. I'll not break my engagement!"

*****

A few minutes later, Isham, greatly perturbed, went forth in a frenzied search of Jerome.

"Lawd A'mighty," he said to Uncle Lige, as he passed that puckered, inquisitive darkey, "this noble young Bonaparte sho' is causing a lot of foot-work fo' Isham. De skin'll be worn off mah feet, if dere ain't a settled understandin' soon 'twixt Miss 'Lizabeth and her dandified French beau!"

Jerome, distressed in his way as much as Betsy had been, came rushing forward as he recognized the Patterson slave.

"Ah, it is from Mademoiselle Patterson!" he exclaimed, as the negro's coarse fingers held out a delicate cream envelope.

"Yas, suh, and I suspects it's good news," Isham said, with the boldness of a favored servant.

"Come back to me," Jerome read. "If there is anything to forgive, my love is deep enough to wipe it out. It is foolish of me to try to view France through a Baltimore peephole!"

Bonaparte kissed fervently the note.

"Love conquers, Le Camus," he called to his secretary. "She is not as provincial as you thought. Quick—a quill that I may answer my adored!"

"I come, dear heart," he scrawled. "You must give me many kisses to compensate for this agony!"

Le Camus chuckled to himself. "May she never rue the day," he thought, "when she slighted a Bonaparte!"

*****

William Patterson made a final attempt.

"Your Captain Bonaparte," he stormed the same evening, when the reconciled lover had gone home from his long tryst, "desires only to enjoy the pleasures of a home while he is in America; when he returns to France he will be the first to turn you off and laugh at your credulity!"

"Now, see here, Father," Betsy retorted, "we've thrashed this all out. No matter what other letters come, no matter how you and others try to shake my confidence in my lover, I am going through with the marriage. I think he has more honor than you give him credit for.

"And if he does prove false to me I'll not burden you with regrets. I would rather be the wife of Jerome Bonaparte for one hour than of any other man for life!"

News of Jerome's intended marriage had by this time reached Napoleon. Astounded and furious, the First Consul gave orders that Jerome should be at once recalled and that a vessel should be dispatched from France to bring him home.

Jerome, with characteristic prodigality, had imported a superb trousseau for his bride. Opening an immense rose-colored portmanteau, the delighted girl displayed to her astounded relatives innumerable small packets tied with pink and blue favors; chemises with embroidered sleeves; handkerchiefs; petticoats; morning gowns and dressing-gowns; nightcaps; morning caps of many colors and shapes—all embroidered and trimmed with Mechlin lace or English point.

In still another portmanteau, covered with green embroidered silk, there were exquisite gowns; ball dresses for a bride; India muslin dresses embroidered in silver lama; Cashmere shawls; veils of English point; gown trimmings of blond and Brussels point; ribbons of all sizes and colors; gloves; fans; slippers; stockings; and scented bags and essences.

"These," Betsy told her mother and aunt, "are but a small part of a court lady's wardrobe. You begin to see now why I wanted to share in the splendor of Napoleon's reign—a girl should go as far as her looks and talents permit!"

Bitter as had been his opposition to the marriage, both pride and caution prompted William Patterson to spare no expense to make the wedding of unparalleled magnificence in Baltimore society. To make the ceremony secure for Betsy, he invited as many dignitaries as he could number.

The ceremony was performed by the Most Reverend John Carroll, Archbishop of Baltimore. The marriage contract was drawn up by Alexander Dallas, who afterwards became Secretary of the United States Treasury. M. Sotin, the Vice-Consul of France, veiling his skepticism, attended the ceremony, as did also the Mayor of Baltimore. Assisting Jerome was his dapper secretary, Alexandre Le Camus, who, when his master's heart later turned in another direction and earned a kingdom thereby, was to serve his lord as Minister of Foreign Affairs of the newly created Kingdom of Westphalia.

A picturesque figure at the wedding was General Turreau, the French Minister at Washington, whose gold lace had offended Jefferson. The British in America declared that he had risen from the dregs under the favor of Bonaparte. He was said to have married a jailer's daughter, and had a secretary who played the violoncello, and it was whispered that the secretary was called on to perform every day while Turreau horsewhipped his wife. His presence effectually hushed those who were eager to entertain doubt of the sanction of the ceremony by France.

Betsy decided to reserve her magnificent clothes for her reception at the court of Napoleon, and for her wedding wore a simple white low-cut dress of India muslin, exquisitely embroidered. Perhaps it was due to Le Camus's malicious whispers: "All the clothes worn by the bride might be put in my pocket," that the whisper ran through Baltimore boudoirs that beneath her dress the bride wore "but a single garment."

It seemed to Betsy that she was in a delicious trance. Against a background of roses, satin gowns and brilliant uniforms she saw a dark-eyed prince putting a ring on her finger. Out of the cloud of faces she saw the lovely eyes of the Caton girls, round with awe and wonderment.

However malicious the tongues were, none could report that the bride had not borne herself regally. She went to her wedding as to her coronation; she received the toasts, at the dinner that followed, as a princess receiving homage, and she went that night to her bridal room as a queen goes to the arms of her emperor.

Long after her husband had gone to sleep, one arm thrown across her white breast, she lay reflecting, planning.

Thank heavens, she had completely lost that dread she used to feel at the thought of mating with a foreigner. Jerome seemed like her own kind—all but his excessive politeness and his queer accent. She thought that she loved him quite as much as she could have loved James Randolph if he had had a title and could have taken her abroad.

How infinitely tender Jerome had been as she lay in his arms. Surely when he had given himself with such utter devotion, it were folly to fear that she was the darling of a caprice, the temporary sweetheart of a young man on his travels. By her response to his every mood, she had sought to show him how implicit was her trust in him. How cruel it was for ironical writers to say of a man in love that "the hunt is the thing," and that the fulfilment of desire means a flagging in the chase.

A moonbeam, falling across the pillows, gave the princely head an aura in keeping with her dreams concerning him. She gazed at the handsome, boyish face of her Corsican husband.

"I must keep his love at any cost," she said to herself. "To be separated, to be forced to resume life in America with my plan of a brilliant career in the courts of Europe unfulfilled, would be a calamity too hideous to contemplate. Jerome shall find me the most affectionate, the most thoughtful, of wives. I shall be a Diana at times, and the most melting of wives at other times. I shall study the methods French beauties use with their adorers—Madame Tallien, Madame Récamier. I shall be as broadminded as any of them. I shall learn how Josephine, whose youth has passed, manages to keep Napoleon's devotion. I must keep Jerome so ardent for a year that he cannot bear to return to France without me. If we get to France, his love can wander then if it must. I shall have seen Napoleon. I shall have shown him that I am not the adventuress he thinks me—that I, indeed, have graces that will not be out of place in Malmaison!"

Blissfully confident, she snuggled her pretty head against the black locks of her mate and went to sleep.

*****

"I predict," said Le Camus to General Rewbell, "that the marriage will not last longer than the honeymoon."

"I think you misjudge our friend," said the General. "You must have noted that William Patterson saw to it that so far as the American end of the marriage was concerned, there could be no loosening of the knot. You noted that John Carroll, Bishop of Baltimore, brother of Charles Carroll of Carrollton, signer of the Declaration of Independence, performed the ceremony, and that the ritual was that of the Roman Catholic Church, and you cannot have lost sight of the fact that in the marriage contract Jerome engaged 'at the request of Elizabeth Patterson or her father, to execute any deed necessary to confer on the union all the character of a valid and perfect marriage according to the respective laws of the State of Maryland and the French Republic.'"

Le Camus yawned. "Yes, I am aware of all that. Yet the fact remains that Jerome is a minor in the eyes of the law. His mother's consent is needed, and Napoleon controls the mother. Would you like to make a little wager, General? I'll bet that they separate within a year!"

"I do not consider it," said General Rewbell, "a thing to base a wager on. I hope devoutly the girl's trust is not misplaced."

Betsy's family, seeing her utter happiness and confidence, had smothered their forebodings. "I may be pleasantly disappointed in my son-in-law," William Patterson confessed to his cronies. "He tells me, in case the First Consul refuses to recognize the marriage, that he intends to live among us as an American citizen. A spirit like that is not to be scoffed at. I am glad he has had sea experience. I shall probably find a way to use his knowledge of France and the West Indies in my business."

*****

The honeymoon was past. Out of their blissful seclusion, Betsy and her husband emerged to be caught up in a whirl of entertainment. Her happiness was unbroken—except that there had come to her husband no congratulatory letters from his relatives in France. It was embarrassing, as the weeks went by, to explain to her relatives and friends why such messages had not come.

"Do not worry, my dearest," Jerome assured her. "I have a private message from my mother that all will be well. It is because they have not seen your portrait and cannot realize how queenly you are. Give me your picture to send to my mother and brother, and your conquest of them will be assured."

"Then drive me to Mr. Robert Gilmore's," said Betsy. "Gilbert Stuart, the portrait painter, has arrived today to visit Mr. Gilmore. If I am as lovely as you say, perhaps he will choose me for a subject."

The pair drove to the Gilmore home. Stuart, introduced by Gilmore, did not wait for her plea.

"I came down here attracted by the fame of Madame Bonaparte's beauty, hoping to paint your portrait. You are the loveliest creature a painter ever prayed to sit for him!"

Betsy beamed. "If Mr. Stuart thinks I am lovely," she whispered, "then my conquest of Napoleon is a certainty!"