The Glitter and the Gold Read online

  The family dinner that night disclosed a feud between the Churchill and the Hamilton clans. Lady Blandford, a Hamilton by birth, was a typical grande dame of the late Victorian era-Disraeli had made her the heroine of one of his novels. She had the narrow aristocratic face of the well-bred, a thin slightly arched nose and small blue eyes that were kind and appraising. Her black hair was arranged in a profusion of curls and puffs which took so long to dress that once done they had to last the day. She had the high bust and tightly laced waist fashion imposed and was proud of her small feet and hands, boasting that no manicure had ever touched her nails. Her outlook was limited, for she had received an English girl's proverbially poor education, but she possessed shrewd powers of intuition and observation, and that she liked me, I immediately realized. Lady Sarah Wilson—a Churchill—was quite different. She told me to call her Sarah since she thought herself too young to be an aunt, and I felt an enmity I could not then account for. She seemed to me as hard as her polished appearance, and her prominent eyes, harsh voice and sarcastic laugh made me shudder. She disliked my mother-in-law, "Bertha," as she called her, and plainly showed that she considered her a fool. To me she was kind in an arrogant manner that made me grit my teeth, for I had no intention of being patronized. I was glad to turn to Winston, a young red-headed boy a few years older than I. He struck me as ardent and vital and seemed to have every intention of getting the most out of life, whether in sport, in love, in adventure or in politics. He was the next heir to the dukedom and I wondered how he and his mother, the American-born Lady Randolph Churchill, would regard me. At any rate, I thought, they will be pleased to notice that there is as yet no sign of an heir. Lady Randolph was a beautiful woman with a vital gaiety that made her the life and soul of any party. She was still, in middle age, the mistress of many hearts, and the Prince of Wales was known to delight in her company. Her gray eyes sparkled with the joy of living and when, as was often the case, her anecdotes were risqué; it was in her eyes as well as in her words that one could read the implications. She was an accomplished pianist, an intelligent and well-informed reader and an enthusiastic advocate of any novelty. Her constant friendship and loyalty were to be precious to me in adversity.

  During this welcoming dinner the conversation veered to America, and Lady Blandford made a number of startling remarks, revealing that she thought we all lived on plantations with Negro slaves and that there were red Indians ready to scalp us just around the comer. She was greatly aggrieved to think that having once been in India she should not have been allowed to visit America, and complained that she had not been able to attend our wedding because her son refused to pay her passage over. Then Sarah tittered and also regretted that she had not been present. "But," she added, "the press did not spare us one detail," and I felt that the word "vulgar" had been omitted but not its implications.

  Ignorance of our history and of our geography appeared to be prevalent. An American cousin who came to spend a week end at Blenheim told me of her astonishment when her neighbor at dinner, an elderly nobleman, remarked that he had never been able to understand the war between North and South America.

  "Considering the distance between you, what could you have fought about?" he asked.

  "But we never had a war with South America," she answered, puzzled.

  "Oh, yes you did," he said. "It was in 1861."

  She had difficulty in making him understand that it was the Southern states of the Union and not South America the North had fought.

  The next day, a dull raw morning of early March, was dedicated to family visits. The first of these ordeals was my presentation to the Dowager Duchess of Marlborough, my husband's grandmother, a daughter of the Fourth Marquess of Londonderry. She was a formidable old lady of the Queen Anne type. By that I mean that she could be arrogant and familiar in baffling succession, that she had large prominent eyes, an aquiline nose, and a God-and-my-right conception of life. An English Duchess to her was the highest position any woman not of royal birth could reach, and like Sarah Jennings, first Duchess of Marlborough, she felt capable of matching her wits against any queen's—though I imagine Queen Victoria would have been less easily gulled than Queen Anne had been by Sarah.

  The Duchess was seated in an armchair in the drawing room of her house at the comer of Grosvenor Square where she had lived since her widowhood. Dressed in mourning with a little lace cap on her head and an ear trumpet in her hand, she bestowed a welcoming kiss in the manner of a deposed sovereign greeting her successor. After an embarrassing inspection of my person, she informed me that Lord Rosebery had reported favorably on me after our meeting in Madrid. She expressed great interest in our plans and made searching inquiries concerning the manner of life we intended to live, hoping, she said, to see Blenheim restored to its former glories and the prestige of the family upheld. I felt that this little lecture was intended to show me how it behooved me to behave. Then fixing her cold gray eyes upon me she continued, "Your first duty is to have a child and it must be a son, because it would be intolerable to have that little upstart Winston become Duke. Are you in the family wayr*" Feeling utterly crushed by my negligence in not having insured Winston's eclipse and depressed by the responsibilities she had heaped upon me, I was glad to take my leave. We then went on to Hampden House, the residence of the Duke of Abercom, who was head of the Hamilton family and my husband's uncle.

  This house had all the charm and beauty of Georgian paneling with spacious rooms that gave on to a little garden enclosed in brick walls. The Duke, a small fragile man, was seated near the fire; he had embroidered slippers on his feet, and a velvet smoking jacket, for he was convalescing from some minor ailment. When I saw him it struck me that Marlborough was much more like the Hamiltons than the Churchills in appearance, and that he also had their mannerisms. The Duke was restless and fussy, and ran round the room pointing out family portraits by Lawrence, of which there was a lovely collection. He insisted upon removing my coat, which was of green velvet entirely lined with Russian sables.

  "What a wonderful coat, what priceless furs," he exclaimed. "I must send for my sables to compare them."

  Whereupon he rang the bell and had his valet bring his coat. To his deep concern it did not equal mine! There followed a great deal of family tittle-tattle and finally, as we got up to go, he looked me up and down and, with an amused twinkle in his eyes said, "I see the future Churchills will be both tall and good looking."

  Both sides of the family were evidently equally concerned with the immediate necessity of an heir to the dukedom, and were infecting me with their anxiety.

  Our next visit was to the Marchioness of Lansdowne, an aunt Marlborough greatly preferred to his mother. At that time Lord Lansdowne was Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs in Lord Salisbury's government. Their London residence was Lansdowne House in Berkeley Square whose garden adjoined that of Devonshire House in Piccadilly. Designed by Robert Adam, Lansdowne House with high porticoes and classical pillars was a masterpiece of English eighteenth-century architecture. The beautiful rooms were filled with Greek and Roman sculpture and with pictures. Lady Lansdowne was very like my mother-in-law in appearance except that she was better looking. They were both gay and loved to gossip, and giggled at the slightest provocation. She had not forgotten the pomp and circumstance that had surrounded her during the years she had been Vicereine of India. To Marlborough she showed affection and the mild flirtatiousness of the Victorian grande dame. I sensed that she was curious to know what lay under the shy and diffident schoolgirl I still was. For I was different from English girls and better educated and she realized that there was independence of thought in my reactions to her advice.

  I gathered from her conversation that an English lady was hedged round with what seemed to me to be boring restrictions. It appeared that one should not walk alone in Piccadilly or in Bond Street, nor sit in Hyde Park unless accompanied; that one should not be seen in a hansom cab, and that one should always travel in a reserved compar
tment; that it was better to occupy a box than a stall at the theater, and that to visit a music hall was out of the question. One must further be very careful not to be compromised, and at a ball one should not dance more than twice with the same man. One must learn to take one's place in the social hierarchy and if one had the good fortune to belong to two prominent families one must learn all their ramifications. One must, in other words, memorize the Peerage, that book that with the Almanack de Gotha in Europe and the Social Register to a lesser degree in America establishes pedigrees and creates snobs. I found that being a Duchess at nineteen would put me into a much older set and that a measure of decorum beyond my years would be expected of me. Indeed my first contact with society in England brought with it a realization that it was fundamentally a hierarchical society in which the differences in rank were outstandingly important. Society was definitely divided into castes. They were not so rigid, it is true, as those in the older Hindu civilization, nor did they contain untouchables, except those who intentionally sinned against its standards. Thus a gentleman caught cheating at cards or a woman publicly branded with adultery were equally ostracized. There were cast-iron laws that governed the conventional code of behavior, but an aristocratic sensitivity in manners was definitely more important, and it decreed discretion in one's indiscretions. Arrogance was apparent in the relationships between superiors and those of lesser degree and was so firmly inculcated that even servants observed it in their treatment of each other. It is so much a part of English consciousness that a Labour government has not dared to abolish the House of Lords, nor has it been able to find a better principle on which to establish a second chamber. A title still evokes particular relish and "Your Grace" is at times pronounced with almost reverent unction. I still recall with mirth an occasion when a clergyman before luncheon one day addressed my husband thus: "May I say grace, Your Grace?"

  How fortunate that the day we left for Blenheim was cold, since Marlborough had decided that I must wear my sable coat. Blenheim is only sixty-five miles from London and can be easily reached by car in less than two hours; but in those days there were no automobiles and we went by train to Oxford where a special engine took us the seven short miles to Woodstock. The little station was festive and beflagged; a red carpet had been laid on the platform and the Mayor in his scarlet robes, accompanied by members of th€ Corporation, greeted us in a welcoming speech. Turning to me he said, "Your Grace will no doubt be interested to know that Woodstock had a Mayor and Corporation before America was discovered."

  Feeling properly put in my place, I managed to give the awed smile I felt was expected, although a riposte was seething on the tip of my tongue. A carriage from which the horses had been unhitched was awaiting us and our employees proceeded to drag us up to the house. Somewhat discomfitted by this means of progress at which my democratic principles rebelled, I nevertheless managed to play the role in fitting manner, bowing and smiling in response to the plaudits of the assembled crowds. Triumphal arches had been erected, schoolchildren were waving flags, the whole countryside had turned out to greet us, and I felt deeply touched by the warmth of their welcome. We stopped at the Town Hall where addresses on parchment written in a lovely illuminated script were given to us, and flowers were brought to me by the children. At last we reached the house, but here again ceremonies awaited us. Tenant farmers, employees and household servants were ranged in groups, and each had prepared a welcoming speech and a bouquet which had to be presented in the customary manner and fittingly responded to.

  As I stood on the steps listening to the various speeches I realized that my life would be very strenuous if I was to live up to all that was expected of me. My arms were full of bouquets, the fur coat felt heavier and heavier, the big hat was being blown about by the winds, and I suddenly felt distraught with a wild desire to be alone. My maid was waiting for me, a tea gown of satin and lace laid out, a hot bath ready, and I dressed for the ritual of dinner such as Marlborough, the chef and the butler had decreed it to be.

  How I learned to dread and hate these dinners, how ominous and wearisome they loomed at the end of a long day. They were served with all the accustomed ceremony, but once a course had been passed the servants retired to the hall; the door was closed and only a ring of the bell placed before Marlborough summoned them. He had a way of piling food on his plate; the next move was to push the plate away, together with knives, forks, spoons and glasses—all this in considered gestures which took a long time; then he backed his chair away from the table, crossed one leg over the other and endlessly twirled the ring on his little finger. While accomplishing these gestures he was absorbed in thought and quite oblivious of any reactions I might have. After a quarter of an hour he would suddenly return to earth or perhaps I should say to food and begin to eat very slowly, usually complaining that the food was cold! And how could it be otherwise? As a rule neither of us spoke a word. I took to knitting in desperation and the butler read detective stories in the hall.

  My first duty concerned my household. Taking them in domestic status, first came the butler, or house steward. He was addressed as Mr. So and So by the other servants, and his chief concern was to keep everyone including himself in his place. His rule in the men's department was absolute—only the two electricians who at that time were treated with the respect due to men of science were his equals. The groom of the chambers ranked next. One of his duties was to keep the numerous writing tables supplied with paper, pens and ink, an expensive item, as I was to find when we had guests who preferred to use our writing paper rather than their own. They must often have departed with reams, for I remember receiving a letter headed Blenheim Palace from a guest who had long left us. He had evidently forgotten to whom he was writing.

  Marlborough's valet shared the prestige tails and striped trousers conferred. Such a costume was considered necessary to uphold the standard of elegance of the Steward's room where the valets and maids had their meals, strictly seated according to the rank given their masters upstairs. I remember Jacques Balsan on one of his visits to us telling me that he had to lend his valet a discarded dinner jacket to wear since his blue serge had been looked down upon by the other valets present. The Marchioness of Bath in her little book entitled Before the Sunset Fades describes the etiquette of life below stairs at Longleat: A strange ritual took place over the midday meal in the servants' hall. The under servants first trooped in and remained standing at their places until the upper servants had filed in in order of domestic status. After the first course the upper servants left in the following manner: When the joint, carved by the house steward, had been eaten and second helpings offered, it was ceremoniously removed by the steward's room footman who carried it out with great pomp, followed by the upper servants who then retired to the steward's room for the remainder of their meal; while the housemaids and sewing maids scurried off with platefuls of pudding to eat in their own sitting rooms. This seems to have been the recognised custom of most large houses at that time.

  The procession of head servants leaving the Hall arm in arm is amusingly illustrated by Cecil Beaton. But in my day there was no such ritual at Blenheim, and the upper servants remained entrenched in their own dining room, to which such newcomers as chauffeurs were refused admittance and sent packing to the servants' hall. Next in the servants' hierarchy came the under butler and three or four footmen. There were also humble individuals who were known by the strange name of odd men— not, I was to observe, because of any personal oddity, but rather because they were expected to carry out the butler's wishes however strange they might be. They were kept busy carrying coal to the fifty or more grates; they also washed the windows, which they boasted they cleaned only once a year since it took them twelve months to go the round!

  On the distaff side, the housekeeper ruled. I felt sorry for her for she had only six housemaids, which was an inadequate staff to keep so colossal a house in order. The difficulty was further accentuated by Marlborough's fastidiousness. I shall not
easily forget the day when our worthy and competent housekeeper came to me in a state of flurry and indignation.

  "His Grace," she said, pulling herself erect and speaking slowly and distinctly, "has accused one of my housemaids of stealing."

  "Oh come, Mrs. R.," I said, "surely you have misunderstood him."

  "Not at all," she said. "His Grace says that on the table in the second window of the Green Drawing Room a small china box is missing—in fact he says it has been missing for several days and that I have not even noticed that it is no longer there."

  The housemaid supposedly responsible was sent for and, crying, she said she wished to leave as she had never before been accused of stealing. When at last I managed to soothe them both I went to see Marlborough, who laughingly informed me that he had himself hidden the box to see if they would notice that it was no longer there.