The Remarkable Rise of Eliza Jumel

by Margaret A. Oppenheimer

  What did Eliza think of Burr, once her divorce was secure? According to Parton, she “cherished no ill will toward him and shed tears at his death.”40 It’s hard to believe that she was so forgiving immediately after the divorce—consider her comments to her former employer Dunlap in 1834—but she left us no written records of her emotional state. What remain, then, are the bare facts: Eliza not only triumphed in court over Aaron Burr—one of the cleverest lawyers in New York—but would one day transmute the brief and troubled marriage into an instrument to enhance her own reputation. For the moment, however, she had other priorities. She was enmeshed in a new legal battle in which she would employ tactics worthy of Burr himself. The issue—once again—was money.

  29

  FINANCIAL SHENANIGANS

  In early nineteenth-century French vaudeville plays, there is a stock character referred to as the oncle d’Amérique (American uncle). This personage is typically a younger son who leaves France in early adulthood, before the play opens. Decades later he returns home with a fortune, which he uses to resolve family financial dilemmas. Often a poor nephew or niece becomes the object of his bounty. The favored recipient, newly wealthy, is able to marry the object of his or her affections.1

  Stephen Jumel was a real-life oncle d’Amérique. Returning to France twenty years after his departure, he had showered gifts on his delighted family. He had made allowances to his brother and sister, helped younger members of the family complete their educations, and enabled his niece Felicie’s marriage by promising her a large sum of money to be inherited after his death.2 But the curtain had not fallen after this happy ending. Stephen’s family had grown to depend on his largess and their demands had strained his purse.3 Eliza had resented the money he spent on them, and they had begrudged her claims on his support.4 When Eliza had put Stephen’s real estate in trust for herself in 1827 and ’28, she must have acted, at least in part, to shield his property from his relatives.

  Her husband’s passing increased the need for caution. Under New York State law, Stephen’s relatives were entitled to half of his estate, if his assets exceeded four thousand dollars.5 When Eliza took out letters of administration—the documents that would allow her to wind up Stephen’s affairs—she stated that his estate was worth less than the crucial sum and his only surviving relatives were a brother and nephew (i.e., François and Ulysses).6 She hid the existence of Madelaine and her daughters, Felicie and Rose; did not inform Stephen’s family of his death; and did not pay Felicie and her husband the fifteen thousand francs that Stephen had promised them. She protected herself further by not submitting an inventory of the estate to the surrogate (the official in charge of probate and inheritance).7

  Eliza was not unique in hiding resources after the death of a spouse. Delaying submission of an inventory in order to withhold or deplete assets was so common that some states passed legislation against the practice.8 Because needy widows might be forced to move in with relatives or resort to an almshouse, women tried to secure as much money and property as possible after a spouse’s passing.9 Other potential heirs would fight back. Eliza had to battle Stephen’s family for his fortune.

  The fight was slow to heat up. Rumors of Stephen’s death did not reach France until six months after his burial. Family members reached out to his former business connections for confirmation.10 Was he dead? How much money had he left? How much of it could be claimed by his heirs? After confirming Stephen’s decease, Lesparre wrote a condolence letter to Eliza and offered her his hospitality, should she desire to revisit France.

  In a letter dated June 30, 1833, she thanked her “dear nephew” for his missive: “It is in the highest degree grateful to me to hear eulogies on my dear departed husband, especially from one who had such peculiar opportunities of estimating his character and virtues. The desolation occasioned in my heart by the sudden loss of my dear friend and husband has disqualified me for the accustomed enjoyments of life.”11 She did not mention that she would be embarking on a second marriage the next day.

  Mary’s recent union was worthy of note, however. Nelson was still a half-trained law student, but Eliza inflated his stature when she described him to Lesparre: “My dear Niece Mary, of whom you have the goodness to inquire, was married about a year and a half since to a gentleman who is a lawyer by profession, and whose residence is in New York. And I have great comfort and relief in the society of my niece and her husband, who is a gentleman of eminent talents.”12

  Eliza’s need to exaggerate Nelson’s accomplishments seems sad. She was an intelligent and accomplished woman. She read, wrote, and spoke two languages and was knowledgeable about the fine arts. She knew how to run a household, care for a garden, and manage a landed property. From a deprived childhood, she had risen to become a woman of means. Yet in spite of the haughty exterior she presented to the world, she remained uncertain enough of her worth that she craved borrowed glory.

  Finally she addressed Lesparre’s underlying concern. There was nothing to inherit, she told him:

  In reply to the inquiries which you have the goodness to make respecting the affairs of Mr Jumel, I might refer to your recollection of the circumstances under which he left Europe; since that period nothing has happened to improve his fortune or to redeem the errors suffered in France, which so tended [sic] so greatly to impoverish him. The value of his whole property is appraised under the direction of the public authorities of the city, amounting to only four thousand dollars—and the debts which he owed in this country amounted to upwards of fifty thousand francs [ten thousand dollars], although the whole amount of them has not yet been ascertained. In this is not included a debt which he owed to Doctor Berger of Paris of thirty thousand francs. Under the circumstances I have been compelled to relinquish many of the comforts of life to which I had been accustomed. I have therefore no prospect of visiting France.13

  The letter was deceptive. Stephen owed only trifling sums in America at the time of his death, and his debt to Dr. Eloi Berger—a six-thousand-dollar mortgage on the downtown properties—was not chargeable to the estate. Paying off the mortgage to Berger (an old friend of Stephen’s) was Eliza’s personal obligation under the terms of the conveyance that gave her control of the buildings.14

  Eliza concluded her piece of creative fiction politely:

  I thank you nevertheless for your very civil offers of hospitality as well as for the very great interest manifested in your letter for my welfare, which I assure you is most sincerely reciprocated by your most affectionate aunt.

  Eliza Jumel

  P.S. Mary and her husband join me in most affectionate salutations, to yourself, Madam [i.e., Lesparre’s wife, Rose], and her cousins your dear children.15

  The letter was a lie and Stephen’s relations knew it, thanks to financial details gleaned from Stephen’s former business associates.16 Acting from abroad, Madelaine and François hired New York lawyers who forced Eliza to produce inventories and accounts of the estate.17

  Hidden assets emerged. Eliza had collected cash from Stephen’s account in the Manhattan Company’s bank. She was owed large sums from two marine insurance companies. She had received compensation from the French government for the loss of the ship Prosper, seized in San Sebastián twenty years before. Even the Hartford Bridge Company stock that she had sold after her marriage to Burr had belonged to Stephen’s estate.18 On the debit side of the equation, she had used funds from the estate to pay off the mortgage held by Berger (and later would be forced to reimburse the money to the estate with interest).19

  Suspicious that Eliza was still hiding funds, Stephen’s siblings forced her to submit to an examination before the surrogate. The hearing, on December 17, 1836, began with questions about some of Stephen’s minor investments: stock in a turnpike in New Jersey and a textile mill on the Hudson River. As Eliza stated accurately, both initiatives had long since failed.20 Next she was asked how she became acquainted with Stephen’s relatives. “I visited his native town and province,” E
liza said, “and I was introduced to his relations or to those who were called so.”21

  Then she dropped a bombshell: “But my husband said that they were no relations of his as he was changed at the nurse … I don’t know whether he was in joke or earnest when he talked of being changed at the nurse, but he often spoke of it.”22 Under further questioning, she explained what she meant: when the real Stephen Jumel was an infant, he was sent to be breast-fed by a wet nurse. But when it came time for him to return to his family, another child—Eliza’s Stephen—was sent back in his place.

  The examiner was properly incredulous: “Did your husband say that he was changed at nurse in the presence and hearing of all those persons who were called his relatives?”

  “Not to my recollection,” Eliza answered prudently.

  “Did not Mr. Jumel, whenever he spoke to them or of them in their presence, call them his relatives?” the examiner continued.

  At this, Eliza’s resentment of Madelaine came to the fore: “He called the woman an old witch,” she claimed. As for François, she acknowledged that Stephen called him his brother, but intimated that she had never actually been introduced to him as such: “I believe there was no introduction, I don’t recollect that there was any, he came to Bordeaux when we first arrived, and he came and dined with us. Mr. Jumel perhaps did not mention who he was and I asked Mr. Jumel why he had this dirty man at table.”23

  The germ of Eliza’s story could have been folktales in which fairies stole an infant and replaced it with another, or a play in which children were swapped at birth.24 Alternately, she may have been inspired by long-standing rumors that the sixth Duke of Devonshire (1790–1858) was a changeling.25 It is improbable that she expected her account to be believed. It was an improvisation, deployed as a delaying action. If she were going to be forced to share her late husband’s estate, she would not pay out a penny sooner than she must. Walter Skidmore, a lawyer who represented Stephen’s siblings, told them that “Mrs. Jumel tells people who converse with her on the subject, that as she is the widow of Stephen Jumel, deceased, she ought in justice to have the whole personal estate, and that his relations, whom she says are so remote, ought not to have anything, and therefore she feels justified in contesting their claims as far as possible.”26 The particular narrative she chose in mounting her defense—a child stolen away at nurse—hints at her emotions. In spite of her differences with Stephen, she saw him as hers and hers alone. In trying to claim what had belonged to him, his brother and sister were stealing bits of him away.

  Unlikely as Eliza’s story was, it would have to be tested. If Stephen wasn’t really a Jumel, then François and Madelaine had no claim on his estate. The next act in the drama took place in southwest France on April 22, 1837. At 10:00 am, as church bells cacophonously marked the hour, a parade of elderly residents of Mont-de-Marsan made their way slowly through the arched doorway of the Palais de Justice. Jacques Laborde, justice of the peace, probably recognized most of the lined faces before him. Mont-de-Marsan was not a big place.

  Six witnesses, ranging in age from sixty to ninety years, swore to having known Stephen’s parents and the three children born of the marriage, having “been personally acquainted with them since their births.” Stephen had treated François and Madelaine as his siblings, “as well before his departure [from France] as during his absence and after his return from the United States of America and further … these facts [were] of public notoriety.” François and Madelaine, in their seventies, looked on.27

  The testimony completed, a copy of the paperwork began its travels, collecting signatures and seals as it went. From the tribunal of Mont-de-Marsan to the ministry of justice in Paris. From the ministry of justice to the ministry of foreign affairs. From the ministry of foreign affairs to the U.S. consul in Paris. From there to the coast and onto a ship to New York. From the bustling wharves to the desk of the surrogate.28

  Eliza would have to share the estate.

  30

  THE WIDOW’S MITE

  Eliza would hardly be penniless after paying Madelaine and François their dues. She was entitled to not only half the estate’s assets but also the income from the downtown properties and Harlem Heights farmlands. Protected by the trust she had set up for herself, these holdings were not part of her late husband’s estate.

  In addition, she had a modest inheritance that Stephen’s French relatives could not claim. A widow was entitled to a one-third share—known as her dower—in the income from any real estate owned by her husband during their marriage.1 Paid quarterly or annually by whoever owned the real estate that had at one time belonged to the deceased spouse, dower functioned much as an annuity would, ensuring that a widow would not be left destitute.

  In Eliza’s case, dower would come not from the properties in the trust (all of the income from these was hers already), but rather from the real estate remaining in Stephen’s hands at the time of his death. In 1837 Eliza launched fifteen lawsuits to claim her dower in lands he had owned in Westchester and central New York.2 With Nelson’s assistance, she sued the farmers who were working the lands, and then renounced her dower rights in return for lump-sum payments.3

  She won all fifteen suits, but lost a sixteenth, on a property at 57 Pearl Street in Manhattan. This was a house that Stephen and Benjamin Desobry had owned jointly and then sold.4 (A widow retained dower rights in any property her husband had ever owned, unless she had renounced them at the time of the sale.)5 The occupants of the building hired Charles O’Conor, a brilliant young lawyer, to handle their defense. He argued that Eliza was ineligible to collect dower payments because Stephen’s transfer of the Broadway and Liberty Street properties to her in 1826 was designed to provide a settlement for her in lieu of dower.6

  This was a clever line of reasoning, taking advantage of a gap in the law. If a man willed property to his wife in lieu of dower, his widow could claim either the property or her dower rights, but not both.7 But no statutes indicated whether a woman who received a settlement from her husband during his lifetime would have to choose between it and dower. The matter would have to be adjudicated in New York’s Court of Chancery.

  Wisely Eliza opted against pursuing the case. If the chancellor decided that the 1826 settlement had been made in lieu of dower, she might have had to give up dower payments received already. She withdrew her demand for dower rights on 57 Pearl.8

  In the meantime her tussle with Stephen’s relatives went on. Thanks to continued stalling on her part, including an unsuccessful appeal of the decision that barred her from discharging the mortgage held by Berger using monies from the estate, it was not until October 1839—more than seven years after Stephen’s death—that Eliza paid half of his net assets to François and Madelaine. Each received just over five thousand dollars, a sum roughly equivalent to $129,000 today.9

  Strictly speaking, the inheritance arrived too late for François, who had died in April. His share went to his son, Ulysses, who, with Madelaine, continued to fight for more. The two launched an attempt to claim the Jumel lands that Eliza had put in trust for herself.10 Taking aim at the questionable conveyances used to establish the trust, they argued that she had defrauded Stephen and his heirs. Her husband had failed to challenge her, they claimed, only because intemperance and “weakness and imbecility of mind” had overcome him “during the latter part of his residence in France.”11 Their suit failed, however. There was insufficient evidence of fraud.12

  At the same time Eliza was sued by Felicie and her husband, Joseph Benjamin Texoeres, for the fifteen thousand francs (three thousand dollars) that Stephen had promised them in their marriage contract.13 The money should have been paid within a year of his death, but Eliza had ignored the obligation. Once more she triumphed. Most of the money in the estate had been distributed by the time the couple made their claim. Madelaine and Ulysses would be obliged to pay 50 percent of the sum out of their share of the estate, and Eliza negotiated a clever compromise for her half. She would leave
Felicie the sum in her will.14

  Eliza’s most colorful legal battle of the period resulted from a claim by a Parisian woman, Mademoiselle Marie-Antoinette-Ambroisine Guendet. In 1823 Stephen had agreed to pay Guendet an annuity of 1,200 francs a year for life (the reason for his generosity was not stated). But the promised payments had not been made since he left France, and Guendet sued in 1840 to claim the money from his estate.15

  Shrewdly Eliza delayed the resolution of the case by refusing to be served with a summons. When lawyer Walter Skidmore called at Mount Stephen in September 1840, Eliza was there, but declined to receive him. Skidmore gave the subpoena to a servant, instructing him to deliver it to Madame Jumel, “which the said servant promised to do.” But Eliza failed to show up in court.16

  A man named Edward Cavanagh, probably a summons server, fared no better in January 1842. He went to Eliza’s residence, but she had gone into the city, and he, like Skidmore, had to leave the subpoena with a servant. But Cavanagh had a stroke of luck a week later—or so it appeared initially. “On the 29th of January last,” he testified, “he saw the defendant Eliza B. Jumel in John Street, opposite the office of Nelson Chase Esq.” He

  was in the act of handing a copy of said subpoena to said Eliza B. Jumel when the said Chase took it out of [his] hand and looked at it and said he would attend to it. The said Eliza B. Jumel said to Chase, “Let me see it.” The said Chase then assisted her to get in the carriage which was standing near her and whispered something to her which appeared to satisfy her as to the nature of the paper. And the carriage was then driven off without the said subpoena being served; and [the] deponent was prevented from making personal service of the said writ of subpoena by reason of the interference of the said Nelson Chase Esq.17