Welcome back, Diana Rubino! Today she's sharing another book based on a real person.
ELIZA
JUMEL BURR, VICE QUEEN OF AMERICA
By Diana Rubino
A true rags-to-riches story: how “Bouncin’ Bet Bowen”
George Washington’s daughter, became Eliza Jumel Burr, wife of Vice President
Aaron Burr
and New York City’s wealthiest woman
My passion for history and
travel has taken me to every locale of my books and short stories, set in
Medieval and Renaissance England, Paris, Egypt, the Mediterranean, colonial Virginia,
New England, Washington D.C. and New York. My urban fantasy romance, FAKIN’ IT,
won a Top Pick award from Romantic Times. I’m a member of Romance Writers of
America, the Richard III Society and the Aaron Burr Association. My husband
Chris and I own CostPro, an engineering firm based in Boston. In my spare time,
I bicycle, golf, play my piano, devour books of any genre, and spend as much
time as possible living the dream on my beloved Cape Cod.
While researching Hamilton, I
became fascinated with his political nemesis Aaron Burr, which led to Aaron's
last wife Eliza Bowen Jumel. Only a handful of biographies of her exist, so I
learned as much as possible about her from these books and other sources I
found.
She came from the filthy
streets of Providence and wound up owning to the grandest mansion in New York
City, which has been Washington’s headquarters during the Revolutionary War and
is open to the public. The urchin Betsy Bowen used her street smarts and
business acumen to become Madame Eliza Jumel Burr, Vice Queen of America. Her
legacy lives on—in the Morris Jumel Mansion of Washington Heights, where her
spirit still lingers, 147 years later.
During
her ninety-one years, she begged on the streets, sold her body, married a rich
man, married a former Vice President, and as New York City’s grand dame,
traveled Manhattan in the coach Napoleon Bonaparte gave her.
Throughout
her adventurous and unconventional life, Eliza’s one regret was that she could
not publicly announce that George Washington was her father. When Eliza was ten
years old, her mother told her of Washington’s visit to Providence. They spent
one night together at the home of Freelove Ballou, an aunt who later adopted
Eliza. She was born nine months later. Her many attempts to reach her father
gained her an invitation to Mount Vernon weeks before his death.
Eliza’s love of make-believe brought her to
Manhattan’s John Street Theatre, where she played many leading roles. When the
theatre was bought by a speculator and torn down, she “made a living how I
could” – at the brothel of Manhattan madam Sally Marshall, whose ladies
entertained senators and other prominent figures.
Eliza met the charismatic Aaron Burr when he became
New York’s Attorney General. While standing outside Federal Hall after
President Washington’s inauguration with her best friend Susannah Shippen, she
caught a flash of dark eyes that sparkled and caught the sunlight like jewels.
Susannah innocently introduced them, unaware of their instant attraction.
Deeply in love, Eliza wrote: “Colonel Aaron Burr
appeared to me the perfection of manhood personified. Wherever he went he was
petted and caressed by our sex. And yet, he never took advantage of his
position.”
Eliza named her only son George Washington Bowen,
believing Aaron was the father.
While Aaron climbed the political ladder on his way
to the Vice Presidency, Eliza met wealthy wine merchant Stephen Jumel, a native
Frenchman. Knowing Eliza’s heart belonged only to Aaron, he wooed her and
trusted her to invest his capital in Manhattan real estate. With her shrewd
negotiating skills and street smarts, they amassed an empire.
On Eliza and Stephen’s first trip to France
together, the fallen and beaten Napoleon Bonaparte boarded Stephen’s brig the Eliza, seeking an American vessel to ensure his escape from the British. Stephen, in all
seriousness, offered the Emperor a wine barrel to stow away in. The Emperor,
haughtily put out when he realized Stephen wasn’t joking, accepted Eliza’s
invitation to hide in their New York home, but never made it to the new world.
However, he did give Eliza his yellow coach and other costly gifts, now on
display in the Jumel Mansion. Stephen’s business connections afforded
him and Eliza introduction to the upper echelons of Paris society. She met King Louis XVIII, but
he shunned her begging to let Stephen join court circles.
Back home, she resumed her
love affair with Aaron, whose wife Theodosia had died of cancer. He was now
Vice President, having lost the presidency to Thomas Jefferson. Eliza asked him
to marry her, but he turned down her proposal. He just wasn’t ready for
remarriage.
After the most famous duel in
American history, Aaron fled New York City while Alexander Hamilton lay dying.
When Hamilton died the next day, Aaron was indicted for murder. After four
frantic months, Eliza finally received a letter from him, under an assumed name,
R. King.
Financed by his son-in-law Joseph, he’d bought the rights to a half million
acres in the South. He planned to make it into a new state, settle it with
adventurous pioneer men, attract a slew of colonists and settlers, and make
himself Governor.
His next hurried missive told her that he’d abandoned the entire plan. Why?
He didn’t say. But President Jefferson had filed a formal charge of treason
against Aaron. He was brought to Richmond, Virginia for trial.
He’d gathered so much support and adoration from Richmond, he was wined,
dined and acquitted, with his daughter at his side.
 |
The author on the steps
of the Morris-Jumel Mansion
|
He finally returned to Eliza after finishing out his term as Vice President,
but soon sailed for England. Believing her life with him was over, she dragged
herself back to Stephen and proposed marriage to him—only to be turned down
once again. Determined to become Mrs. Jumel, she faked her impending death with
the help of a loyal servant, a bottle of hot water to raise her temperature,
and white powder to mimic deathly pallor. She called her doctor and had a
stable hand inform Stephen that she was dying. When he rushed to her bedside,
she begged him, “Before I leave this world,
it would mean so much to me if I could leave as Mrs. Jumel.” He summoned a
priest and they were wed even before she received last rites. But of course she
made a miraculous ‘recovery’ and once again, returned to her wheeling and
dealing.
While tending to his
farmlands, Stephen fell from a cart and died in Eliza’s arms two days later.
She was brought up on murder charges which were dropped. A despondent Eliza
once again turned to her true love, Aaron, back in New York at his law
practice.
One
evening, Aaron showed up at her doorstep with a minister in tow, the same
Reverend Bogart who’d married him to his first wife Theodosia fifty years
before. He proposed to Eliza on bended knee: “I give you my hand, Madame; my heart has long been yours.”
She finally became Mrs. Burr at age 56. Aaron was a robust and youthful 78.
He began to spend Eliza’s money recklessly,
plowing through $13,000 within a few months. The bickering became grounds for
divorce when a maid caught him in a compromising position with another woman.
Brokenhearted, Eliza
hired a lawyer Who handled family matters—including divorces. Who was this
lawyer? Alexander Hamilton Jr.
Aaron received the final papers on September 14,
1836, and died later that day.
Eliza
returned home to her family and lived another 29 years as Mrs. Burr, the name
she’d always longed for.
The
Morris-Jumel Mansion still stands in Harlem, New York City and is open to the
public.
****
An
excerpt from Eliza Jumel Burr, Vice Queen of the United States:
July 11, 1804, a day I’ll
never forget, a Wednesday, I rose early from fitful sleep. Two of my servants
huddled in the kitchen, murmuring instead of cooking. They held the newspaper
wide open.
When I walked in, they froze
as if turned to stone, and held the paper out to me.
“What is it?” Without fresh
coffee I was half-awake. But seeing the paper, I trembled. My mouth dried up.
“Oh, no …” I hid my eyes with my hands, I couldn’t bear to look.
“M-Miss Eliza …” Mary stammered. “Vice President Burr
shot General Hamilton in a duel.”
Too weak to stand, I grabbed
a chair and sank into it. “He … shot Hamilton?” My head spun,
dizzy with relief. But I still didn’t know about Aaron. “Is he all right? The
vice president?”
“We don’t know, ma’am. It
just says General Hamilton was mortally wounded.”
Without another word, I ran
down the hall, threw open the front door, not closing it behind me, and raced
to Gold Street in the gathering morning heat. Humidity soaked my clothes. I
mopped sweat from my face.
I banged on his door. No
answer. “Aaron, open the door, it’s me, please, we need to talk!” I banged
again. Echoes answered me. I stepped back and squinted into the sunlight,
shading my eyes to see the upper windows. Nothing stirred. The house was shut
tight. He’d fled. But where? When would I see my beloved again?
Hamilton died the next day,
and the city fell to its knees in mourning. It was even more pronounced than
when Papa passed – because Hamilton was one of New York’s own.
Public grief over Hamilton
paled beside the anger at Aaron. As I approached Trinity Church for the
funeral, Gertrude’s father Gouverneur Morris greeted me. “I’m to deliver the
eulogy. But indignation mounts to a frenzy already,” he cautioned me, eyeing
the mob.
The tolling church bells and
muffled drumbeats echoed through the sweltering city air. I thought of every
place Aaron could be. I knew he hadn’t meant for this to happen. It was a
tragic twist of fate. I also knew Aaron’s political career was over. He’d never
be president.
“Oh, Aaron,” I wailed,
“Where are you, my love?”
****
I heard nothing from him as
each empty day slipped away. Desperate, I wrote
to his daughter Theodosia but received no reply. I contacted his friends, but no one knew his whereabouts.
I saw Mrs Hamilton on Broad Way, head to toe in widow’s weeds.
I wanted to approach her and offer my condolences, but she knew I was intimate
with the vice president, so I kept my distance. Their country home, The Grange,
was not far from the Morris mansion I planned to buy. We’d be neighbors
someday.
****
Read
about my ‘ghostly’ visit to the Morris-Jumel Mansion on my blog.
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