The Glitter and the Gold Read online

  "If I am to bring her out," she told my mother, "she must be able to compete at least as far as clothes are concerned with far better-looking girls."

  It was useless to demur that I was only seventeen. Tulle must give way to satin, the baby décolletage to a more generous display of neck and arms, naïveté to sophistication. Lady Paget was adamant.

  It was at a dinner party at her house, soon after, that I met the Duke of Marlborough. My hostess had placed the Duke on her right and had put me next to him—a rather unnecessary public avowal of her intentions. He seemed to me very young, although six years my senior, and I thought him good-looking and intelligent. He had a small aristocratic face with a large nose and rather prominent blue eyes. His hands, which he used in a fastidious manner, were well shaped and he seemed inordinately proud of them.

  By that time the London season was well over, and the festivities and balls of June and July had petered out in the dust and heat of August. Society had gone its different ways to Cowes, to Scotland, to do a cure or simply to country houses. We went to our house on the Thames accompanied by Mrs. Jay and her daughters who were younger than I. My brother Willie joined us. His tutor, blessed with the appropriate name of Noble, had brought him from St. Mark's School to spend the holiday with us. With Miss Harper and my brother Harold we were a pleasant little party. Being the eldest and hard put to finish my studies, I worked a considerable part of the day while Willie and Mr. Noble ran a motor launch on the Thames. There were occasional breaks in our routine, such as the day my mother, posing as an English chatelaine, gave a party for the village children. To our discomfiture they complained that American ice cream gave them tummy-aches and clamored for hot tea which we had not provided. Occasionally we had guests; among them I remember particularly Paul Deschanel, a good-looking and cultured Frenchman. He used to read French poetry to my mother, but one day, breaking off a couplet, he asked her permission to pay me his court. He told her of his ambitions, and in no uncertain tones announced that one day he would be President of the French Republic. He was at this time a member of the Chamber of Deputies of which he soon became President. There were no more readings of French poetry after so indiscreet a disclosure of his ambitions, and the next day Monsieur Deschanel departed, taking a tearful farewell of "le petit philosophe rose" as he named me. Years later, as President of the French Republic, Deschanel paid an official visit to England and, as fate strangely decreed, I was selected as his partner in the State Quadrille at the Court Ball at Buckingham Palace. The Lord Chamberlain informed me that he relied upon me to steer my partner through the intricate figures. We were dancing opposite King George, who expected his aristocracy to avoid false steps in the Quadrille as well as in other matters. I could not help smiling at the President's bewilderment when, confronted by a tall lady glittering in jewels, he recognized the "petit philosophe rose" he had once wished to marry. During the dance he managed to whisper, "Did your mother tell you that I had made up my mind one day to be President of the French Republic?" and I answered truthfully, "Yes, but only after your departure." His end was sad, for after several undignified exhibitions of folly he threw himself out of a railway train in a tunnel and soon after died from his injuries.

  That summer I received two or three other proposals from uninteresting Englishmen which I found slightly disillusioning. They were so evidently dictated by a desire for my dowry, a reflection that was inclined to dispel whatever thoughts of romance might come my way.

  In the early autumn of the year 1894 we returned to America. I looked forward to being in my own country and to coming out in New York society with feelings of pleasure. The few balls of Paris and London had awakened a zest for more and I was anxious to see something of my friends from whom I had been separated for many months. It was with relief that I realized that the dangers of a foreign alliance were at least for the time being in abeyance and that my mother's ambitions appeared to have waned, since that one dinner with the Duke of Marlborough remained our only meeting.

  We settled at 660 Fifth Avenue, from which my father had temporarily been banished. Society, not yet hardened to divorce, was inclined to take sides. During the following months I was to suffer a perpetual denial of friendships and pleasures, since my mother resented my seeing anyone whose loyalties were not completely hers. I had moreover to render a strict account of the few parties I was allowed to attend without her, and if I danced too often with a partner he immediately became the butt of her displeasure. She knew how to make people look ridiculous and did not spare her sarcasm about those to whom I was attracted, reserving special darts for an older man, who by his outstanding looks, his distinction and his charm had gained a marked ascendancy in my affections.

  The following March, on my eighteenth birthday a succession of floral offerings arrived in staggering profusion. It was then the custom to send American Beauty roses to the object of one's affections, and when I opened a small box and found a perfect rose alone on its green foliage I instinctively knew who had sent it, though no name was attached. Later that day I received the only proposal of marriage I wished to accept. We had gone to Riverside Drive to bicycle, which was at that time a fashionable amusement, and my Rosenkavalier and I managed to outdistance the rest. It was a most hurried proposal, for my mother and the others were not far behind; as they strained to reach us he pressed me to agree to a secret engagement, for I was leaving for Europe the next day. He added that he would follow me, but that I must not tell my mother since she would most certainly withhold her consent to our engagement. On my return to America we might plan an elopement. Alas for those hurried promises! I have never succeeded in hiding my feelings and my mother must have guessed the cause of my new radiance. She laid her plans with forethought and skill and during the five months of our stay in Europe I never laid eyes on Mr. X. nor did I hear from him. Later I learned that he had followed us to Paris but had been refused admittance when he called. His letters had been confiscated; my own, though they were few, no doubt suffered the same fate. When one is young and unhappy the sun shines in vain, and one feels as if cheated of one's birthright. I knew that my mother resented my evident misery, and her complaints about what she satirically termed my "martyrdom" did not improve our relations. Like an automaton I tried on the clothes she ordered for me. Visits to museums and churches were varied by concerts and lectures. I went to a few of those deadly debutante balls which I no longer cared for and danced with men who had no interest for me. Then we moved to London where events began to move more rapidly, and I felt I was being steered into a vortex that was to engulf me.

  One ball stands out clearly because of the beauty of the hostess and of her surroundings. It was given by the Duke and Duchess of Sutherland at Stafford House. The young Duchess was a glittering apparition in her silver dress and diamonds as she stood at the top of the great staircase receiving her guests. There were endless reception rooms thronged with people. I had few acquaintances and felt lost and ill at ease. It was the custom then to have cards on which your partners wrote their names, and I can still recall the surge of gratitude with which I welcomed the first to do so. Marlborough, whom I had not seen since the dinner at Lady Paget's the previous year, claimed several dances.

  We were but a short time in England, and a visit to Blenheim Palace was the outstanding event. At that time Marlborough lived there alone. His two unmarried sisters sometimes stayed with him, but his mother. Lady Blandford, was seldom invited. She had after many years of unhappiness with Marlborough's father finally divorced him, and he had contracted a second marriage with Mrs. Hammersley, an American widow, whose wealth had been freely spent installing central heating and electric light at Blenheim.

  Blenheim always impressed one by its immense size and by the beauty of its situation and surroundings. It has a stately grandeur—the word Palace best describes the intentions Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, and the architect. Sir John Vanbrugh, had in mind when they built it. We entered the park through a stone arch. A p
orter in livery carrying a long wand surmounted by a silver knob from which hung a red cord and tassel stood at attention and the great house loomed in the distance. At the right of us and below lay an ornamental lake spanned by a monumental bridge. We turned into a fine avenue of elms and passed through another arch leading into a court around which were disposed audit rooms, laundries, a porters* lodge and various offices. On its southern façade it was flanked by hothouses which formerly had housed a collection of Titian's works. The gallery was kept locked, since the ladies were not allowed to view the pictures, and great was their delight when it was destroyed by a fire.

  Passing through still another stone arch we drove into the central court surrounded by the house. To the open north one looked across the bridge to the monument built to the first Duke, a column around which, as legend would have it, trees were planted in the order in which the British regiments stood at the opening of the battle of Blenheim. It was this legend which gave rise to the question asked by so many tourists with more curiosity than knowledge of either history or geography: "At which exact spot was the battle fought?" From the column the High Park sloped gently down in green glades to the lake. There were great oaks, some accounted over a thousand years old, including one credited to have hidden King Alfred, for the park had been part of the royal forest of Woodstock. There was also Fair Rosamond's well, named after a King's love, and the High Lodge where the wicked Earl of Rochester, High Ranger to Charles the Second, had taken his pleasure. The High Lodge was a small house with a lovely view over the park and surrounding country; in my time it was used only for picnic luncheons when the men shot pheasants and rabbits in the park.

  A flight of shallow steps led up to the main entrance of the Palace. The doors opened onto an immense hall with a domed ceiling. It was so high that I had to crane my neck to see the Great Duke dressed in a Roman toga driving a chariot. He was surrounded by clouds and I realized that he was hurrying through celestial spheres, no doubt to join Julius Caesar and Alexander the Great. Even Napoleon, I thought, could not have imagined a finer apotheosis. The architect Vanbrugh had unfortunately forgotten to provide space for the monumental staircase such a house required and one had to climb a long and narrow flight with an ugly handrail. A family group painted by Hudson was the only ornament to enliven one's endless peregrinations up and down. From the hall red baize druggets showed the way to which tourists must adhere.

  We followed one into the great Saloon where again we viewed the first Duke and his household in wall frescoes painted by the French artist Laguerre, who must have rued the day he came to exploit his country's humiliation. Here there were two impressive mantelpieces and in front of one a tea table had been set. In due course Marlborough, accompanied by his sisters. Lady Lilian and Lady Norah Spencer-Churchill, joined us. Lilian, a pretty blonde a few years my senior, immediately won my heart by her simple unaffected kindness. Two or three young men completed a party which seemed lost in so big a house. As I looked about I saw drawing rooms stretching in vistas on either side of the Saloon, on the west toward the Long Library and on the east to the private apartments. We spent the evening listening to the Duke's organist, a famous musician from Birmingham, who played for us on the organ Marlborough's father had installed in the Long Library.

  The following day, Sunday, my host showed me his estate. We also drove to outlying villages where old women and children curtsied and men touched their caps as we passed. The country round Blenheim is rural with ploughed fields and stone fences. The villages are built of gray stone and the lovely old churches delighted me. Each cottage had its small garden gay with flowers. I realized that I had come to an old world with ancient traditions and that the villagers were still proud of their Duke and of their allegiance to his family. They earned little, but were cared for when sick. There were as yet no stump orators to inform them of better conditions; politicians were Liberal or Conservative, which meant in either case much of a sameness to the tiller of the soil. That Marlborough was ambitious I gathered from his talk; that he should be proud of his position and estates seemed but natural; but did he recognize his obligations? Steeped as I then was in questions of political economy—in the theories of the rights of man, in the speeches of Gladstone and John Bright-it was not strange that such reflections should occur to me.

  I don't know what Marlborough thought of me, except that I was quite different from the sophisticated girls who wished to become his Duchess. My remarks appeared to amuse him, but whether he considered them witty or naïve I never knew, except that much later after our separation he said on the occasion of some trivial catastrophe, "Consuelo must be laughing at this— she has such a sense of humor!" Luckily for me I have always been able to laugh even at my own discomfiture. It was that afternoon that he must have made up his mind to marry me and to give up the girl he loved, as he told me so tragically soon after our marriage. For to live at Blenheim in the pomp and circumstance he considered essential needed money, and a sense of duty to his family and to his traditions indicated the sacrifice of personal desires.

  When I left Blenheim after that week end I firmly decided that I would not marry Marlborough. And homeward bound, I dreamed of life in my own country with my Rosenkavalier. It would, I knew, entail a struggle, but I meant to force the issue with my mother. I did not relish the thought, but my happiness was at stake.

  My mother had invited Marlborough to visit us in Newport sometime in September. I barely had six weeks to make my plans and I was nervous and worried, not knowing when or where I could get into touch with the man to whom I considered myself engaged.

  On reaching Newport my life became that of a prisoner, with my mother and my governess as wardens. I was never out of their sight. Friends called but were told I was not at home. Locked behind those high walls—the porter had orders not to let me out unaccompanied—I had no chance of getting any word to my fiancé. Brought up to obey, I was helpless under my mother's total domination. Despairing of ever seeing him, I had succumbed to despondency, when at a ball we met. We had one short dance before my mother dragged me away, but it was enough to reassure me that his feelings toward me had not changed.

  Driving home my mother observed an ominous silence, but when we reached the house she told me to follow her to her room. Thinking it best no longer to dissemble, I told her that I meant to marry X., adding that I considered I had a right to choose my own husband. These words, the bravest I had ever uttered, brought down a frightful storm of protest. I suffered every searing reproach, heard every possible invective hurled at the man I loved. I was informed of his numerous flirtations, of his well-known love for a married woman, of his desire to marry an heiress. My mother even declared that he would have no children and that there was madness in his family. I had no answer to these accusations, but in my silence she must have read how obstinately I clung to my choice. In a final appeal to my feelings she argued that her decision to select a husband for me was founded on considerations I was too young and inexperienced to appreciate. Though rent by so emotional a plea, I still maintained my right to lead the life I wished. It was perhaps my unexpected resistance or the mere fact that no one had ever stood up to her that made her say she would not hesitate to shoot a man whom she considered would ruin my life.

  We reached a stage where arguments were futile, and I left her then in the cold dawn of morning feeling as if all my youth had been drained away. No one came near me and the morning dragged on its interminable course. I could not seek counsel with X. for there was no telephone. I could not write, for the servants had orders to bring my letters to my mother, neither could I get past the porter at the gate. The house was full of ominous rumors. I heard that my mother was ill and in her bed, that a doctor had been sent for; even my governess, usually so calm, was harassed. The suspense was becoming unbearable. There was no one I could consult; to appeal to my father, who was away at sea and who knew nothing of my mother's schemes, would, I knew, only involve him in a hopeless struggle against imp
ossible odds and further stimulate my mother s rancor.

  Later that day Mrs. Jay, who was my mother's intimate friend and was staying with us at the time, came to talk to me. Condemning my behavior, she informed me that my mother had had a heart attack brought about by my callous indifference to her feelings. She confirmed my mother's intentions of never consenting to my plans for marriage, and her resolve to shoot X. should I decide to run away with him. I asked her if I could see my mother and whether in her opinion she would ever relent. I still remember the terrible answer, "Your mother will never relent and I warn you there will be a catastrophe if you persist. The doctor has said that another scene may easily bring on a heart attack and he will not be responsible for the result. You can ask the doctor yourself if you do not believe me!"

  Still under the strain of the painful scene with my mother, still seeing her frightening rage, it seemed to me that she might indeed easily suffer a stroke or a heart attack if further provoked. In utter misery I asked Mrs. Jay to let X. know that I could not marry him.

  How sad were those summer days of disgrace and unhappiness, my mother turned away from me, my father out of reach, my brothers engrossed in their personal pleasures—Willie cruising in his small boat, and Harold too young to mix himself in my problems. My friends who had wearied of being rebuffed no longer called, and with an ingrained reticence I kept my worries to myself.