Wondrous Beauty: The Life and Adventures of Elizabeth Patterson Bonaparte by Berkin Carol

Author:Berkin, Carol [Berkin, Carol]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography, History, Non-Fiction
ISBN: 9780385351621
Google: 7fSvAAAAQBAJ
Amazon: 0307592782
Barnesnoble: 0307592782
Goodreads: 18007502
Publisher: Knopf
Published: 2014-02-11T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“That Was My American Wife”

While the debacle of Bo’s proposed marriage played itself out, Betsy began a peripatetic life in Europe, dividing her time between Geneva, Florence, the coast of France, and Paris. Although the Russian-Polish contingent had relocated to Florence, Geneva still boasted a number of interesting friends. She could spend evenings with the famous economist and historian Jean-Charles-Leonard de Sismondi and his family and enjoy the sparkling conversation, and the admiration, of the elderly philosopher Karl Viktor von Bonstetten. Although he was married and nearing eighty, Bonstetten enjoyed a flirtation with Betsy. “You may not have reigned in Westphalia,” he is said to have told her, “but then you are the Queen of all hearts, which is much better!” But Demidov and his circle were a magnet, and Betsy found herself spending more of her time in Florence. Here she could lose herself in the seemingly endless rounds of parties and theatrical productions that Demidov hosted.

The only sour note was that Jérôme had also relocated to Italy, and when he was in Florence, Betsy felt compelled to stay away. Their one chance meeting was enough for her. They encountered each other in a gallery at the Pitti Palace, Jérôme with his wife, the portly Catherine, on his arm, Betsy without an escort. Not a word passed between them, but Betsy heard her former husband remark to his entourage, “Did you see? That was my American wife.” Awkward though the moment was, it may have given Betsy a touch of satisfaction. Jérôme was still a dandy, but he was now heavier, his features more pronounced and sharper, his hair graying. Betsy, on the other hand, remained as beautiful as ever.

That enduring beauty attracted suitors wherever Betsy went. Even Pauline’s husband, the Prince Borghese, vainly attempted to make Betsy his mistress. Rumors that she was about to marry one smitten suitor or another continued to spread across the Atlantic. Letters from Baltimore asked if she had already married Lord William Russell, a prominent English liberal some eighteen years her senior, and if not, when was the wedding to be? Whatever hopes Russell entertained, they would be dashed, just as the desires of another Englishman, Henry Edward Fox, would come to nothing. When the young Mr. Fox failed to win Betsy, his ardor turned to enmity, and his journal began to bristle with sour-grapes comments on her “vulgar” manners, “the extreme profligacy of her opinions,” and even the “indecency of her expressions.” Unlike the bitter Fox, most of the men who courted Betsy conceded defeat graciously, content to settle for friendship or to admire her from afar. Sir George Dallas was typical of those who wooed her—and lost. His affection for Betsy continued from a distance. After his return to England from Italy, he confessed to his mother: “I every Day miss Mrs Pattersons agreeable, Spirituelle, naïve Conversation and like a Harp unstrung for want of being play’d on, I feel I am losing both my tones and my own powers in this way—she roused me.

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