The Churchills

by Mary S. Lovell

  After days of begging her mother to be allowed to correspond with Randolph, Jennie was given permission to write to him just once. She wrote lovingly, saying that she had told her mother and, even though she liked him a great deal, she did not agree to the engagement, but Jennie was sure they would win her over in the end.

  Randolph found his happy news was not well received at Blenheim, either. His mother Frances, Duchess of Marlborough, the proud and virtuous daughter of the Marquess of Londonderry, could not conceive of anything so low as her son marrying an American, a foreigner whose antecedents were unknown to English society. Apart from Blandford, whose marriage was now something of a farce, Randolph was her only surviving son,* and not only was he her favourite child but she wanted him to marry well, by which she meant to an English heiress from within the ranks of the peerage. The Duke had gone away for a few days, so Randolph wrote him an extremely long letter, hoping to elicit a more favourable reception from his father. He enclosed a photograph of Jennie and stressed that he loved her ‘better than life itself’.12 He apologised for not telling his father in advance, but explained that the night before he left Cowes, his feeling of sadness at their parting was more than he could bear, and he had confessed his love for her and proposed marriage. He had not spoken to Jennie’s mother, he wrote, but Jennie had done so, and she had since written him a note to say that her mother would not hear of the engagement, which he found difficult to understand.

  The Duke could not understand it, either – after all, he must have reasoned, what mother would not look kindly on an offer of marriage from the son of a duke? But that did not mean he approved of the match himself. Far from it.* He made a few inquiries in London from which he learned that Leonard Jerome was considered something of a financial buccaneer in New York, and that he had recently lost almost everything in a stock market venture, only managing to hold on to some properties by heavily mortgaging them. The Duke immediately wired Washington, requesting a full report on Jerome from the British Ambassador there, and wrote to Randolph telling his son that he was acting without wisdom, that his judgement was completely paralysed by his emotions, and his feelings uncontrolled – ‘Never was there such an illustration of the adage “love is blind”, for you seem blind to all consequences in order that you may pursue your passion.’13 As for Leonard Jerome, the Duke wrote, ‘[he] seems to be a sporting, and I should think vulgar kind of man…I hear he drives about 6 and 8 horses [sic] in N.Y. (one may take this as an indication of what the man is)…it is evident he is of the class of speculators.’14 In the circumstances the Duke was, understandably, not inclined to give his blessing.

  Leonard Jerome had by this time received a long letter from Jennie, explaining her engagement and revealing the identity of her fiancé, and he responded to his wife by cable that he was delighted with the proposed match and would arrange to endow Jennie with £2000 a year. He then replied to his daughter: ‘Best of all you think, and I believe, he loves you. He must. You are no heiress and it must have taken heaps of love to overcome an Englishman’s prejudice…I like it in every way.’15 But when Randolph wrote telling Jennie of his father’s pejorative comments about Jerome, Jennie was deeply offended and soon afterwards Leonard Jerome, too, withdrew his consent.

  Even Randolph’s siblings were against the match. The sisters – ranging in age from twenty-six-year-old Cornelia, who was married with a child, to the youngest girls Georgina aged thirteen and Sarah aged eight, who were both still in the schoolroom – not unnaturally followed their mother’s line. Blandford wrote at great length deploring his brother’s news: ‘With a rashness that even I was never capable of, you run tête basse [head first] into the wildest superlative of conceivable folly…you really only want to marry because you are in love with an idea…You are mad, simply mad.’16 It was a pure fantasy, Blandford went on, all based ‘on a six-day seaside holiday romance’. He also enclosed some bad poetry that he had written about it, which warned Randolph of perambulators, baby food and a whining wife, all the ills that he forecast would inevitably follow the proposed marriage. His ode ended with the words:

  So go you forth on your appointed way

  And treat my poor advice with slight.

  Still will I for a golden future pray,

  ‘May I be wrong’ and ‘You be right!’17

  With everyone ranged against them, and even Jennie now reconsidering her feelings in the light of the criticism of her beloved father, Randolph’s response was to return to Cowes for two days. Here, thanks to Mrs Jerome relaxing her disapproval, the couple were able to meet briefly on both days, during which they renewed their vows of love. The Prince of Wales was still in town, staying with his mother at Osborne,* and Randolph presented Jennie to the Prince as the woman he hoped to marry. The Prince liked Jennie from the start and counselled Randolph to stand firm in the face of parental opposition.

  Soon, more detailed information about Leonard Jerome’s fortunes came to light. It was reported that he had indeed suffered reverses, but these had been no fault of his own, and before his financial problems arose he had already ring-fenced money for his wife and daughters.

  Randolph also had an ace to lay down in the negotiations. With high rank but without money, there were few career opportunities open to him. He could waste his life in Society as his elder brother was doing (to the disapproval of their parents), he could go into the Church or the Army, become a master of hounds, or he could enter politics. He had already more or less accepted that he would follow his father into politics, a solution much desired by the Duke, who had arranged for his son to stand as candidate for Woodstock in the forthcoming general election.

  The result of this election was almost a foregone conclusion. Any member of the Duke’s family who stood as candidate at Woodstock was bound to be elected, but the proprieties must be observed. Randolph must at least appear to fight the borough, in other words meet the electors and give a speech. Knowing how much his father wanted him to go into politics, Randolph now used this as a lever to change the Duke’s mind about Jennie. No engagement – no electioneering. He wrote to his father that he could not do as his parents wished without help. On the other hand, he continued, if he had a wife such as Jennie, who would be sure to take an interest in his career, and who would encourage him to pursue his ambitions and assist him, he might achieve far more than his parents had ever envisaged for him.18 This worked: the Duke gave his reluctant consent but insisted that Randolph must get his career under way first – and they must wait a year before marrying.

  Leonard Jerome was now brought round too, and pronounced himself ‘delighted…more than I can tell. It is magnificent.’ However, it remained a difficult time for the lovers – Jennie was allowed by her mother to write only infrequently (‘she does nothing but sermonise me on the subject,’ Jennie complained), though she was permitted to receive letters from Randolph and he wrote faithfully to her almost daily. At last, six weeks to the day after their meeting aboard the Ariadne – by this time Mrs Jerome and her daughters had returned to Paris* – Randolph was able to write to Jennie that their problems were over. And although he seemed to have lived six years since they met, rather than six weeks, despite all the worries and bother that had occurred since – he still blessed the day of their meeting. He regretted that their plan to marry in December was not now possible but he was confident that it would not be very long before they were able to.’19 To his future mother-in-law Randolph wrote that he had been anxiously awaiting a reaction from Mr Jerome to their engagement and was relieved and delighted to hear that Jennie’s father had given his consent to the marriage. He ended by writing that he was well aware of the great treasure that was being consigned into his care.20

  All he had to do now was get himself elected which, with the help of some experienced supporters, he proceeded to do. There was no sign at the public meeting that the nervous and stammering young man, who could not even remember all of his speech, was to become one of Parliament’s greatest eve
r exponents. In his speech he opposed any reduction in naval and military establishments: ‘An economical policy might, however, be consistently pursued,’ he said, ‘and the efficiency of our forces by land and sea completely secured without the enormous charges now laid upon the country.’21

  He was elected with a majority of 165 votes over his opponent, and cabled Jennie: ‘I have won a great victory.’ He set out for Paris at once to see her, but as he reached Dover he was recalled because one of his aunts, Lady Portarlington, was dying in Ireland and his presence was needed there with his family. He was made to kick his heels in Ireland for three long weeks, but as soon as his aunt was buried he rushed off to Paris for a few days – all the time he could spare because he had to be back in London to take his oath in the House and his seat as a supporter of Disraeli’s new administration.

  That visit was frustrating. The couple were never allowed to be alone together; at every meeting Mrs Jerome sat at her desk in the same room, pretending to deal with her correspondence. When they went for a walk they were trailed by a chaperone. For a while the parents were at odds over the marriage settlement – Leonard Jerome having very strong feelings that the man in the family should be the provider, and the Duke believing that if his son was marrying a so-called heiress the least to be expected was that she bring with her a sufficient sum to enable the couple to live in an appropriate style. The fact that he had allowed Randolph to marry Jennie was surely enough? Even after he and the Duchess had travelled to Paris and met Mrs Jerome and her daughters, had been ‘charmed’ by Jennie and pronounced themselves satisfied, the Duke had to be more or less forced by Leonard Jerome into settling an annual allowance on Randolph. To be fair, the Duke had many other obligations – not only the crippling upkeep of Blenheim but the need to provide decent dowries for his flock of daughters. What he, and none of the other protagonists, realised at that time was that Jerome was not in any position to finance what they thought he could manage easily.

  It was all very sticky for a while, and Randolph wrote to the Duke that he and Jennie’s parents were now barely on speaking terms. He could not see how it would all work out but he thought their behaviour ‘perfectly disgraceful’ and Jennie was in entire agreement with him.

  In the end Jerome settled a capital sum of £50,000 on the couple, invested to produce £2000 a year, but he stipulated that £1000 of this amount must be Jennie’s personal allowance, under her own control. His insistence on this clause outraged the Duke and the Marlborough lawyers, but eventually the Duke agreed to pay off Randolph’s debts (£2000), increased the annual allowance he made his son to £1100 and accepted Mr Jerome’s wishes. The impression is left of the Duke and Duchess having been driven into giving their approval, and this is almost certainly the reason why they did not attend the marriage ceremony in Paris – held on the Duchess’s birthday. Six days before the wedding Leonard Jerome wrote to the Duke: ‘I am very sorry you will not be able to come over to the wedding…Under the circumstances, however, we must of course excuse you.’22 (Unfortunately, the page of the letter containing the explanation of ‘the circumstances’ cannot be found.) On the eve of the wedding the Duke wrote to Randolph to wish him well. ‘Your wife…is one whom you have chosen with less than usual deliberation but you adhered to your love with unwavering constancy and I cannot doubt the truth and force of your affection…I am very glad that harmony has been restored and that no cloud obscures the day of sunshine but what has happened will show that the sweetest path is not without its thorns and I must say ought not to be without its lesson to you.’23

  The absence of the ducal couple notwithstanding, the wedding of Randolph and Jennie on 15 April was the event of the 1874 Season. Huge weddings had not yet become fashionable, but an announcement in The Times ensured that magnificent presents began to arrive from everyone from the Prince and Princess of Wales down. The Marlboroughs were represented by Blandford, three of Randolph’s sisters* and an aunt, while Francis Knollys, Private Secretary to the Prince of Wales, was Randolph’s ‘supporter’ (best man). Mrs Jerome had not stinted: apart from the white satin and Alençon lace wedding dress, Jennie’s trousseau included twenty-five gowns, mainly from Maison Worth.

  Jennie’s younger sister Leonie described the day in a letter to a schoolfriend:

  We had to get up very early having to be at the British Embassy at 11.15. Jennie was dressed in white satin, a plain long train behind and a great many lace flounces in front. She wore a long tulle veil which covered her entirely. Clara [Clarita was now called Clara in the family] and myself were bridesmaids and were dressed in blue silk with white embroidery. We received charming bridesmaid’s lockets – a crystal heart with pearls and diamonds around it. We drove to the English Embassy, Papa and Jennie in one carriage, and Mama, Clara and myself in another. [She describes the short service by the Revd Forbes]…Then, not being quite married, [Jennie] took Papa’s arm and went with him to the American Legation. The service was performed again, and then Randolph and Jennie drove off together to the house where our friends came to attend the wedding breakfast. The drawing rooms were full of pretty white flowers. Randolph and Jennie had their breakfast upstairs – in the little drawing room by themselves – a European custom. When everyone was present they came down but not for long as Jennie had to change into a very pretty blue and white striped dress for travelling and a white hat with a white feather. At 2 she bid us goodbye. A beautiful carriage with four grey horses and 2 postilions…waited to carry them off to a chateau called Le Petit Val. Before 4 we were alone.24

  Château Petit Val was just an hour’s drive from Paris, and had been built for the Marquis de Marigny, the brother of Madame de Pompadour. An avenue of tall poplar trees still stood between the old chateau and Madame de Pompadour’s home, Choisy-le-Roi. Petit Val was renowned for its gardens, designed by the same architect who laid out the park of the Petit Trianon, and it contained an arboretum, grottoes, waterfalls and fountains, winding paths, pavilions, aviaries and terraces but also a wall about twenty feet high which made residents feel very private. It was a perfect location for a honeymoon.

  3

  1874–5

  The Birth of Winston

  Three weeks later, in early May, the newly-wed couple arrived by train at Woodstock. Waiting for them was a horse and carriage to take them the short distance to Blenheim Palace. Jennie was not prepared for the old tradition whereby the horses were taken out of their harnesses, the men of Woodstock replacing them in the traces to drag the coach through the arch and along the drive. She wrote in her memoirs that it was a shock to her – evidently, she would never fully understand that this was done not from some sense of feudal obligation but as a freely offered compliment and a sign of approval by the local people who could not afford wedding gifts. As the carriage rolled towards the palace, Randolph waved an arm towards the lake and declared confidently to her: ‘This is the finest view in England.’ The Duke and Duchess and their daughters were waiting for them on the steps.

  Years later Jennie would freely admit that she was ‘awed’ by Blenheim,1 but at the time she was determined not to be patronised by the women there, particularly her sisters-in-law. She had a superior education and musical ability on her side; moreover, she had been further into the wider world than the Blenheim ladies. She was a more accomplished pianist, dressed more elegantly, spoke more languages, was as well read and articulate; and she rode at least as well, if not better, than they did. The Duchess appeared almost a leftover from a bygone age, with her large aquiline nose and prominent eyes (which she passed on to her sons), and her firm conviction that there was no greater calling in life for a non-royal woman than to be an English duchess. She may have been shy in company, but at the rustle of the Duchess’s silken skirts, Jennie wrote, ‘the entire household trembled’.

  With everyone except the Duchess, Jennie adopted a feigned arrogance as a cover for her true feelings. When the glories of Blenheim were pointed out to her, she would compare them with the Châ
teau de Compiègne (which she had visited once). She did not actually criticise the entertainments laid on at Blenheim, but she could not help telling stories of the wonderful balls and parties she had been to in Paris. She found the afternoons spent sitting over needlework with the Duchess and her daughters a bore, and complained frequently about them in letters to her mother and sisters.

  Her attitude gained her no friends among the Spencer Churchill daughters, but probably no demeanour that Jennie could have presented would have done so. She was resented by the unmarried sisters-in-law because she had enjoyed an independence they did not, and never would; and then there were those twenty-five new Parisian gowns in which she paraded – perhaps not as extravagant as it sounds, since ladies were required to change their dresses at least three times a day. Jennie in turn deprecated the frumpy, locally made country clothes and sensible shoes of her sisters-in-law* and the informal domestic arrangements at Blenheim, such as the plain glass tumblers used as water glasses when dining en famille: ‘the kind we use in bedrooms,’ she told her mother. But in her memoirs, written years later, she had the grace to admit that her high heels, sweeping skirts and plumed hats had been out of place in the country and probably constituted a hazard, and that shorter skirts and thick-soled shoes offered more advantages in such circumstances.

  In her memoir, Jennie described a typical day:

  When the family were alone at Blenheim everything went on with the regularity of clockwork. So assiduously did I practise my piano, read or paint, that I began to imagine myself back in the schoolroom. In the morning an hour or more was devoted to the reading of newspapers, which was a necessity if one wanted to show an intelligent interest in the questions of the day, for at dinner conversation invariably turned on politics. In the afternoon a drive to pay a visit to some neighbour or a walk in the gardens would help to while away some part of the day. After dinner, which was a rather solemn full-dress affair, we all repaired to…the Vandyke room. There one might read one’s book or play for love, a mild game of whist…No one dared suggest bed until the sacred hour of eleven had struck. Then we would all troop out into a small anteroom, and lighting our candles, each in turn would kiss the Duke and Duchess and depart to our own rooms.2