by Alan Schom
But no one got off that lightly when abandoning Bonaparte, who now encouraged a vicious whispering campaign behind Bourrienne’s back. The charge was made that Bourrienne had been speculating recklessly on the Stock Exchange (quite true) and had stolen government funds to finance the transaction (quite false).
On April 20, 1803, Bourrienne was summoned without warning to the palace at St.-Cloud, where Duroc was given the disagreeable task of charging Bourrienne with having pilfered government funds, stealing one hundred thousand francs from a naval treasury! Bourrienne was first staggered, and then furious, sending a note to Bonaparte demanding to see him immediately. Duroc left with it and returned some time later.
Bourrienne: “Well!”
Duroc: “Calm down. He asked me to tell you that it was a mistake. Someone has just established that they deceived him about the whole thing. It’s over — not to worry about it any further.”
Bourrienne of course never had access to any large sums, or to any treasury or government accounts of any kind. Indeed the only funds available to him were “petty cash” in the coffer on the table in the office. As Bonaparte knew perfectly well, Bourrienne was an honest man. The problem was aggravated, however, because he had been speculating on margin at the stock exchange, along with Berthier, Joseph Bonaparte, and many others. He was accused of taking advantage of his position to manipulate the market. In fact Bourrienne was neither interested in nor capable of carrying out complicated transactions of this nature. The worst that could be said of him is that through lack of experience and advice he had invested most unwisely.
Napoleon — who had a very short memory when it suited him — had by now forgotten the many kindnesses Bourrienne had shown an impoverished young army officer just a few years earlier, inviting him to dine frequently over a period of several months when he was otherwise without the means to do so.
And he was not through with the bewildered Bourrienne. Napoleon now sent men over to his former secretary’s small house in Rueil (which he had given him and had furnished) to strip it of all its possessions, while a tearful Mme. de Bourrienne looked on in amazement. Nor did Napoleon keep his word about finding employment soon for his former secretary, who, harried by creditors, was forced to flee with his wife, finally settling in Germany. Without Napoleon’s support, he could not get work, for everyone feared the great man, and without work he could neither pay his debts or feed and clothe his family. Napoleon continued to turn the screw. The years passed, and finally Bourrienne, weakened by bad health and utter impoverishment, was appointed French minister to the foggy, dank north German city of Hamburg, where the French were loathed. He remained there a broken man.
It was more than ironic that Bonaparte had deliberately assigned him to that particular post, for in 1800 the first consul had extorted four million francs from the Free Imperial City of Hamburg, as damages for having permitted the English to kidnap from there two Irish agents carrying French passports. Hamburg, threatened by French military reprisals, paid up, but the money never reached the French treasury. Napoleon personally pocketed the entire sum, which he used in large part to pay off Josephine’s impressive debts and to refurbish Malmaison, including ample extensions. What was left was distributed among the clan. And this was the man who called Bourrienne a thief!
Throughout his career Napoleon sadistically pursued several other unfortunate victims and their families. The number included former Naval Minister Pierre Forfait, whom he kept demoting, and his Corsican political foe and former family house guest, Pozzo di Borgo, whom he hounded from one employ to another, until that gentleman finally secured the post of Russian ambassador (to various countries) for Czar Alexander (one employer who could not be intimidated by Napoleon). His unrelenting destruction of Holland may likewise be considered an example of this deranged streak in Napoleon’s character. His vengeful attack years later against his first valet, Constant, when the latter refused to abandon his own family in France to follow Napoleon into exile, is yet another. The emperor publicly called him “a thief” as well, and the amount involved was by coincidence the same as in the case of Bourrienne, and the accusation was a fabrication also, Napoleon having given one hundred thousand francs — before witnesses — to his faithful valet in lieu of a pension, but then changed his mind and demanded its return. The singular case of Elizabeth Patterson, however, surpassed everything thus far.
It all began when Napoleon’s nineteen-year-old brother, Jérôme, was enrolled by him in the French navy in February 1802, where he soon gained the reputation of being a hellion. While serving in the West Indies the following year, he abandoned the fleet and sailed to the United States, landing at Norfolk, Virginia. During a visit to Washington, D.C., the French chargé d’affaires, Pichon, advanced Jérôme several thousand dollars and introduced him to society. Soon he was invited to Baltimore, where Jérôme Bonaparte met the leading families of Maryland society, including the lovely and charming nineteen-year-old “Belle of Baltimore,” Elizabeth Patterson, the daughter of William Patterson, a wealthy merchant, and his Irish-born wife, Dorcas Spear.[637] Painted by Gilbert Stuart, she proved even lovelier than the portrait itself — possessed of a fine figure, exquisite features, sparkling wit, brown eyes, and jet black hair, not to mention a personality that charmed everyone.
The two got on superbly from the start, and the young man asked her father for her hand in marriage. Patterson accepted, and the initial date of November 3, 1803, was set for the signing of the marriage contract. Pichon pointed out, however, that according to the newly published Napoleonic or Civil Code (which had just appeared on March 27, 1803), the underage Jérôme had to have his mother’s consent.[638] Jérôme, a spoiled young man unused to any restraints being imposed on him, grudgingly postponed the date. As a naval lieutenant his pay was negligible at this time, and his big brother was giving him an allowance of sixty thousand francs a year. But the irresponsible Jérôme had gone through eighty thousand in just his first three months in the United States.
Meanwhile Jérôme worked stealthily to prepare his own little coup, and on December 25 Pichon received a note by special courier: “Monsieur, at the request of M. Jérôme Bonaparte, I have the honour to announce to you that his marriage to Mlle. Patterson was celebrated last night...” The note closed with a request for another cash advance of several thousand dollars.
On October 29 Jérôme and Elizabeth (with the consent of her parents) had taken out a special license to be married on December 24. In the presence of a few witnesses, including Elizabeth’s father, mother, and brother, Robert, the mayor of Baltimore, James Calhoun (who was also a justice of the peace of the state of Maryland), performed the civil ceremony, attaching the seal of office to the document after signing it himself. The French undercommissioner for commercial relations also signed the document, sealing it with the large red wax emblem of the French Consulate. Copies of the document were made in English and French. Bishop Carroll of Baltimore personally performed the religious ceremony and then appended his own certificate.[639]
Brother Robert, dispatched to Paris to notify personally the Bonaparte clan, was well received by Lucien, who had just entered his second marriage against the wishes of brother Napoleon and who was still feeling the full effect of that storm. In fact Lucien, Joseph, Louis, and Madame Mère all gave their blessings and best wishes to the couple. But not Napoleon. He had wanted to create a great new dynasty by marrying his brothers and sisters to old European aristocracy. Instead he was forced to accept “the innkeeper’s son” (as he referred to Murat) as Caroline’s husband, Lucien had married “a scarlet woman,” and now Jérôme had married not only a commoner but “a Protestant” at that. [She was a Roman Catholic.] “Tell Monsieur Patterson that our mother, myself, and the entire family unanimously and fully approve of the marriage,” Lucien wrote. “The Consul does not agree with us for the moment, but he must be considered the sole dissenting voice in the family...We are all highly pleased and proud of this union.”[640]
“I hope you approve of my choice [of a bride],” Jérôme wrote home. “You see, my dear mother, that we were carried away by our destiny, and that is something one can neither avoid nor foresee...I look forward to introducing you to a cherished wife, and one who deserves to be just that. I enclose her portrait...”
On April 20 Decrès, quoting the first consul, ordered Naval Lieutenant Jérôme Bonaparte to pack his bags immediately and report aboard one of the two French frigates being dispatched to New York for him. Napoleon refused to allow Elizabeth to accompany Jérôme. “If he brings her with him, she will not set foot on French territory. If he comes alone, I will overlook his error.”
Jérôme, who was even more hotheaded and stubborn than either Napoleon or Lucien, on June i, 1804, announced his refusal to board any French boat whatsoever. Talleyrand threw in the weight of the Foreign Ministry, informing him that his marriage would not be recognized in France. Not content with that, Napoleon personally inserted brief articles in the official French newspapers, including the Moniteur, declaring that brother Jérôme “may have taken a mistress” but was not married.
Jérôme was sure that once his brother actually met his wife, he would melt and accept her into the family fold, as he had done Lucien’s first (working-class) wife. Accordingly, the young couple hired a brig and filled the vessel’s cabins with all their wedding gifts, belongings, and several thousand dollars in gold. They set sail for France on October 25, 1804, determined to arrive in time for the imperial coronation. No sooner had they left the harbor, however, than they were beset by a fierce gale that sank the ship, with all their belongings, a drenched Jérôme and Elizabeth barely escaping with their lives. Undaunted, they hired another brig, only to be turned back this time by British warships, as they were sailing to a French (enemy) port. They missed the coronation.
Meanwhile, stepping up his campaign to eradicate this marriage, on March 2 and 11, 1805, Emperor Napoleon issued decrees addressed “to the civil officers of the Empire,” forbidding them to either register this “marriage” or to perform a new one, threatening anyone violating this command with six months in prison. It also stated that any “prince” of his family who committed a similar “illegal” marriage attempt would be cut off officially from the family and country (forbidden to hold office or to receive any income).
Back in Baltimore, on March 3, 1805, the battered couple set out for a third time, now aboard a brig purchased by William Patterson for this specific purpose. On reaching Lisbon on April 8, the pregnant Elizabeth was informed by officials that she would not be permitted to set foot on European soil — Napoleon had a long reach. She set sail for Amsterdam, while a furious Jérôme landed and set out for Milan (where brother Napoleon was having himself crowned “King of Italy”) on March 17. Jérôme assured an anxious Elizabeth that all would be well. “My good wife, have faith in your husband. The worst that could happen now would be for us to have to live quietly in some foreign country...My dearest Elisa, I will do everything that must be done.”
In Italy Emperor Napoleon issued the luxury-loving Jérôme a strong ultimatum. If his brother continued to defy him, Napoleon would refuse to pay his staggering debts, strip him of all titles and rank, and exclude him from the right of succession to the imperial crown. Jérôme would never receive another franc from France or from any member of the family. He would never be permitted to live in France or any French-controlled territory (Holland, Belgium, France, the west bank of the Rhine, Italy, Spain, and Portugal). As far as the emperor was concerned, Jérôme would cease to exist. If he gave up “this liaison,” however, he would have titles, untold riches, promotion, and eventually his own royal crown — his very own country.
On May 6 Jérôme Bonaparte agreed to abandon his wife, never to see her again, and to order her to give up the name of Bonaparte. “Mon frère,” a delighted big brother replied, “there is no fault you could commit that would not be overlooked by your repentance...Your marriage thus annulled at your own request, I should like to offer you my friendship.”
Nevertheless Elizabeth’s plight was far from over. Denied authorization to land in French-occupied Amsterdam as well, now late in her pregnancy she crossed the Channel to Dover,where she was finally permitted to touch solid land on May 18, after nearly fourteen weeks at sea. It was thus in England that the son of Elizabeth and Jérôme Bonaparte was born on July 7, 1805. The boy’s name: Jérôme-Napoléon Bonaparte. Shortly thereafter mother and infant sailed for America, returning to her father’s house.
“Rest assured, your husband will never abandon you,” Jérôme had written. “I would give my life for you alone, and for my child.” Elizabeth Bonaparte never saw her husband again.
This was still not enough for Napoleon. He wrote Pope Pius VII asking him to have the Roman Catholic church annul the marriage. The pope, who had been humiliated by Napoleon during the coronation in Paris, was hardly amenable. He replied that in the eyes of the church the marriage was, and remained ever after, valid and binding.
Undaunted, Napoleon created a new avenue, and a year later, an iconoclastic priest, doctor of canon law, and former vicar-general of the diocese of Angers, one Pierre Boilève, declared (after substantial remuneration, no doubt) “that no marriage was contracted” and that therefore “the marriage allegedly contracted between the parties is null and clandestine.” But of course neither priest nor bishop could overrule a declaration by the pope himself — the papal decision stood. Napoleon never forgave the pope, and years later, when the moment presented itself, he made him, like his predecessor, a French prisoner.[641]
For Jérôme, the “distinguished child,” Napoleon proved as good as his word. Quickly promoted to the rank of post captain and then rear admiral (over Admiral Decrès’s angry protests), he was proclaimed a French prince and an imperial highness and decorated with the Grand Eagle of the Legion of Honor, all within the next fifteen months. His “salary” was increased first to 150,000 francs a year, and then to 1 million.
Next Napoleon found a second “wife” for him, the Princess Frederika Catherine Sophia Dorothea, daughter of the king of Württemberg. The contract was hastily signed without too many sensitive questions being asked. A month later Jérôme left the navy, joined the army, and was given the command of an entire army corps (comprising three German divisions). A year after that he was named king of Westphalia, and the bigamous civil and religious marriage ceremonies of the unhappy couple took place in the Tuileries. As the union was illegal, all their subsequent children were of course bastards.
The great warlord loved children, as he was wont to point out, even babies. He adored and spoiled his nephews and nieces and thought it perfectly natural to get down on his hands and knees to play with them.
Although Josephine occasionally agreed to serve as godmother to the children of close friends, Napoleon rarely did so. He made an exception, however, in the case of General Andoche and Laure Junot’s fifteen-month-old Josephine, a beautiful, bright, and already most mischievous child.
The baptismal service was not long, and at its conclusion Napoleon and Josephine stepped closer, to present the child for the sprinkling ceremony. “Give me your child, Madame Junot,” Napoleon said, holding out his arms. But the baby gave a piercing cry. “What a little devil!” Bonaparte exclaimed with a twinkle in his eye. “Will you please come now, little Miss Devil!” But the child fixed her eyes on him and answered “No!” Finally she permitted him to hold her for the ceremony, and he rewarded her with kisses on her cheeks. A few minutes later, when Laure Junot attempted to take her back, she would not leave Napoleon’s arms. “She is my godchild,” the childless Bonaparte beamed. “My child.”
The following day Josephine Bonaparte sent Laure Junot a valuable pearl necklace, and attached to it without a note of any kind the receipted purchase contract for the residence Junot was having built amid the rural prairies of the Champs-Elysées, marked “paid in full.” That baptismal gift alone cost two hundred thousand francs, a
nd a few weeks later it was followed by one hundred thousand in cash, with which to furnish the new mansion. Clearly Napoleon was most relieved and grateful to the discreet Madame Junot. As for Junot, he was promoted to the important post of military governor of Paris.
Chapter Twenty-Four – It All Began with Austerlitz
‘The battle of Austerlitz is the finest of all I have fought.’
In spite of his official peaceful protests — “Peace is my heartfelt wish” — “the most powerful prince in Europe,” as Talleyrand referred to Napoleon, was bent on expansion.[642] For the sake of whitewashing and legalizing the historical record, Napoleon left a neatly edited paper trail of such peaceful overtures. But such documents were at best legal fictions and at worst blatant lies. Meanwhile he continued to make his plans for greater geopolitical expansion. He would push eastward and westward at the same time, and be forced to forgo plans for aggressive expansion in America — in “the Louisiana Territory” ceded to France by Spain in October 1802 — only when General Leclerc’s army, designated to occupy it, was unexpectedly annihilated in Hispaniola that same year, before it could continue to North America as ordered.[643]
Although French expansion in America thus came to an unexpected halt, much to the relief of President Jefferson, Napoleon’s efforts in Europe were intensified. Not only had he refused to withdraw French occupation troops from the Batavian (Dutch) and Helvetian (Swiss) Republics, but he had invaded German territory and British Hannover and had even kidnapped a British diplomat, Sir George Rumbold, the minister accredited to the Hanseatic cities, in Hamburg, taking him hundreds of miles to a Paris prison. Then, to ensure that he had thoroughly roused the Austrians to arms (thus permitting France to claim that it was simply defending itself), he created the Kingdom of Italy, crowning himself its monarch on May 26, 1805, annexing Genoa, Piedmont, and Savoy as he did so. These were hardly the moves of someone genuinely interested in establishing a lasting peace in Europe.