He concluded, still very emotionally:
I do entreat and implore you to have confidence in me if you really love me and never again to write so cruel and so painful a letter.
Yours as ever, Devoted but despairing, Randolph S. Churchill4
In this letter Randolph veers from one extreme state of mind to another, beginning with an onslaught on Jennie, full of sarcasm and bitterness, and accusing her of making heartless accusations against him. She mocked him, he insisted, and never intended to be led into a serious engagement. The Victorians had several collections and deliveries of mail each day and several letters could be written in a very short space of time. But it was possible for letters to cross and thus promote misunderstanding. In this case, Jennie had obviously received the last letter, because she replied immediately and with equal warmth:
Paris,18th September
This must be – and shall be the last misunderstanding between us – my own darling Randolph unless you wish to make it – if my letter pained you and gave you any anxiety – it has caused me a thousand times more – The moment it had gone – I’d repented and if I could have got it back then – you would never have received it – yet in a way I do not feel sorry – for it has given me a fresh proof of your love – and has made me discover the strength and depth of mine – I did not know how much I loved you – until I left England and felt that I was leaving all I love most on earth behind me – perhaps for ever – Darling I love your angry cross letter – it has done me more good – than twenty tender ones – I could leave Father, Mother – and the whole world for you – if it were necessary.5
Jennie’s explosion of dashes can be easily forgiven, as can Randolph’s abuse of the comma; they are both emotionally involved and completely open with each other. In the short term, this small crisis served to strengthen each of them and draw them closer together. They were so thoroughly engaged with this ‘first and only love’ that their sincerity cannot be doubted.
Randolph still wasn’t finished, and replied in a most moving way. Indeed, he had never moved beyond this point. He began by asking forgiveness for his letter of the previous day but soon shifted the blame to Jennie, admitting that he was cross but that it was Jennie who made him so. All this was, of course, the result of Jennie not writing to him; a one-sided correspondence was bound to lead to misunderstanding. He continued to reassure her that he was still strong in his love and that he meant to marry her. He added significantly:
I can now assure you, dearest, that my father and mother will not oppose my marrying you; they will very probably try to insist on some delay in order that their incredulous minds may be fully persuaded that I am as fond of you and that I love you as dearly as I have continually dinned into their heads ever since I saw you that I do. But it won’t be for very long. I know them so well, they always pretend to be very stern at first about everything, but they can never hold out long as they are really very kindhearted and very fond of me (strange to say). And I assure you that when you do marry me they will be as fond of you as of their own daughters and will be very proud of you indeed and you will never for a moment regret having come into my family.
There is a subtly different note here: have his parents, those two people who have shown him such love and forgiveness over and over again, done anything to deserve the phrase ‘incredulous minds’? Is Randolph’s attitude towards his parents what one expects? Here is the dark side of this charming, well-educated, articulate man. He seems very confident of his ground as he continues to make plans: things are now coming to a crisis and they are only waiting for the formal consent of their parents; Jennie must hold on. He wrote persuasively, asking Jennie for her support:
I call upon you most solemnly and seriously to write to me words of affection and encouragement such as you know how to write. I know you well enough to feel certain that you never would have spoken to me and talked to me as you have done without feeling everything you said or without being prepared to abide by it all. Talk of my giving you up!! Why, as long as I feel sure of your affection as I do now, thank God, you might just as well expect the earth to stop still from ever moving or the sun to cease to shine.6
Notes
1. Marlborough to Randolph 31.8.73, Blenheim Archives A IV/21.
2. Randolph to Jennie 7.9.73, Churchill Archives.
3. Jennie to Randolph 16.9.73, Churchill Archives.
4. Randolph to Jennie 18.9.73, Churchill Archives.
5. Jennie to Randolph 18.9.73, Churchill Archives.
6. Randolph to Jennie 19.9.73, Churchill Archives.
Chapter Fourteen
RESOLUTION
* * *
The united ambition of Frances and John Winston to see Randolph represent Woodstock as its Member of Parliament had existed for a long time and had not diminished with the years. Up to this point Randolph had not established any clear way in which his future could develop – and he was now 24. A problem was that it was seen as inappropriate for a Duke’s son to take up paid activity; he would certainly not have been paid as an MP, which seems unfair on a second son who would not have had the benefit of a ducal income.
Two acceptable options were the Army and the Church. Randolph showed no interest in either, wisely, in view of his lack of self-discipline. A third option was the House of Commons, which would give the necessary shape to his life and also maintain the family tradition: his father, grandfather and great-grandfather had all been Members of Parliament. Not being in the direct line of the dukedom, Randolph would not have to move later to the House of Lords. His father particularly wished him to take the Woodstock seat which he and the 6th Duke had occupied.
Randolph now relied on his parents’ plan to help further his and Jennie’s wishes. His elder brother Blandford, heir to the dukedom, had given nothing but trouble since his schooldays. He was highly intelligent and extremely talented in science, but he was wilful, wayward, unfaithful, and even violent towards his wife Albertha, daughter of an old friend, the Duke of Abercorn. John Winston and Frances had long ago given up all expectation of him, and all hope of a political career; their attention was focused on Randolph. The latter’s suggestion in his letter that, if he were allowed to marry Jennie, he would stand as MP for Woodstock, was given the treatment it deserved and ignored for the moment, but he was certain that it would have its effect. Randolph’s attitude towards his parents reflected his character: the son who had had love and affection given him so generously was blackmailing his father. He had changed greatly from the attractive personality he was in the years of his childhood.
Towards the end of September 1873 the news he was after arrived: his father did not wish for a moment to prevent the young couple seeing each other as often as they could, and promised to give his consent to the marriage when he was sure they were fond of each other. His sister Cornelia agreed that their parents would not wait the year that they had earlier stipulated. Randolph’s letters at this point suggest great jubilation; he was as ‘happy as a lark’, ‘the clouds have all cleared away’, and ‘the sky is bluer than I have ever known it’.
However, he was volatile. He told Jennie there was a possibility of Parliament being dissolved and then, he wrote, he would be Member for Woodstock. A public life held no charms for him, he reflected, but that would change ‘if I thought it would please you’. Was he saying that if he did not succeed it would be her fault? He added in this letter that it was exactly six weeks since their first meeting on board the Ariadne. He was over-confident and full of assertiveness. Jennie was radiant with youth, health and beauty. Randolph had all the confidence of his background and education but his attitude was childish and superficial. He seemed to have no grasp on reality, no understanding or insight.
The Duke’s next letter was written from Cowes, where Frances had now joined him; there is a more gentle tone, reminiscent perhaps of Frances, who wrote, she said, at the dictation of her husband, who was a little tired:
Your mother and I are only anxious fo
r your happiness. I am quite willing, my dear boy, to give you credit for all you say, to make allowances for the state of mind in which you say you are. I only hope that it will not lead you to treat your mother and me ungratefully … You must imagine to yourself what must be our feelings at the prospect of this marriage of yours. You cannot regard yourself alone in the matter and disassociate yourself from the rest of your family … Under any circumstances, an American connection is not one that we would like. You must allow it is a slightly coming-down in pride for us to contemplate the connection.1
John Winston was making an enormous effort to be conciliatory. His reference to Frances was quite deliberate. What could she think of Randolph’s actions? All her hopes and dreams of his future were threatened by this headlong leap into a marriage which had no practical base. Her hopes of a political career for him were fading. Jennie had no supporting fortune, which meant they would have no security beyond what their respective fathers could produce. What did they think they could live on? Randolph paid no heed to the advice he was being given: did he care? He did not seem to think beyond his own desires and emotions. His father was counselling him that he was not alone in this matter but that it would affect them all; Randolph seemed incapable of listening. Across the Atlantic, Leonard Jerome was beginning to raise corresponding objections. His opinions on the inbreeding of the British aristocracy had always been strong and his ambitious wife viewed this impending marriage as one on which their favourite daughter could improve. He wrote to Jennie that she had startled him, and made him anxious. He feared that if anything were to go wrong ‘you will make a dreadful shipwreck of your affections’. He added, ‘You were never born to love lightly.’
Here was a man who understood his daughter very well and at that moment was being very cautious. Despite his irregular and ostentatious lifestyle, Leonard Jerome had made and lost more than one fortune in the United States. He had founded the first two great racecourses – Jerome Park and Coney Island; he owned and edited the New York Times and was said to have subscribed nearly half his fortune to the Federal War funds. He was at the time on the verge of a crisis and could only promise Jennie £2,000 a year. On the other hand, his wife had succeeded in bringing up their three daughters to be sophisticated and fashionable. Jennie’s good looks and musical skills took her into a level of society which encouraged her mother to be ambitious about marriage. When the Jeromes heard about the Marlboroughs’ reactions, they withdrew their original consent.
Jennie, however, was just as determined as Randolph when it came to getting what she wanted and she enjoyed a battle. She had chosen her husband and she would not give him up. They loved each other wholeheartedly. She had no head for practical matters like money and she expected a high and stylish life which Randolph could not deliver. In the end, however, Leonard made what financial provision he could for his daughter and the Duke agreed to his son’s suggestion: Randolph was to contest the Parliamentary seat at Woodstock. The blackmail had worked; he would, without any real commitment on his part, do what his father had wished for. Also, Randolph and Jennie were expected to wait a year to demonstrate the strength of their commitment. Knowing how mercurial Randolph’s emotions were, the condition of a year’s wait was the shrewdest thing the Duke could do: Randolph’s emotional euphoria might deflate over time. It did, of course, but not within the year; only when the marriage was well under way. As always, John Winston had acted with clear knowledge of his son and the wisdom which characterised him; he saw the possibility of settling Randolph down into some regularity of life. In all, he had done his utmost to safeguard this volatile situation.
There were two major obstacles in the way before Randolph could return to Paris to be with his beloved Jennie. The first concerned a favourite aunt, Frances’ sister Alexandrina, the Countess of Portarlington, who was desperately ill at her home in Ireland at the age of 51. Randolph managed to spend some time in London with the newly arrived Leonard Jerome, and passed the test with honours, then crossed to Ireland to join his mother at his aunt’s bedside and do what he could to assuage considerable family grief. Lady Portarlington hovered between relapse and recovery for several weeks. Frances, anxious to let her future daughter-in-law know that she had not been forgotten, sent a telegraph to Jennie. She followed this up with a letter written from the Portarlington home:
Dear Miss Jerome,
Although in great anxiety and affliction, I write a line for dear Randolph to enclose as I feel grieved for his disappointment in not being able to start so as to spend your birthday with you.
(Randolph had been on the point of departure when his aunt had a dramatic relapse; he felt obliged to stay but clearly felt the disappointment.) Frances continued by saying that she hoped to meet Jennie soon under happier circumstances.2
Finally, a month after Randolph first arrived in Ireland, his aunt died. Following the funeral he set off across the Irish Sea with the intention of crossing to France from Dover. Fate intervened again, however, for the dissolution of Parliament, which had been so long awaited, finally arrived. In early 1874 Randolph turned back to Blenheim to begin his campaign to be returned as Member of Parliament for Woodstock.
The Liberal government had been limping along for five years and the tide of political opinion which had swept them into power in 1868 had now turned against them; Randolph had every chance of winning the seat, even though his experience and ability were bound to be called into question. Addressing an important meeting of local farmers in Woodstock’s Bear Hotel, he was nervous and awkward in front of a critical audience; he had written out his speech on small pieces of paper and placed them in the bottom of his top hat, which was on the table in front of him. The audience was not unfriendly, fortunately for him, and as soon as they noticed what he was doing they shouted advice and encouragement: ‘Take the things out of your hat!’ There was little sign here of the skilled orator he was to become. He was helped through the questions by the skill of Edward Clarke, a rising young barrister and experienced campaigner from London. Randolph had excellent support from his father and friends, and struggled through the speech and answers to questions without disaster.
He longed for Jennie to be with him, painfully aware of the support and enthusiasm that she could have generated. As for Jennie, she was reading everything she could lay her hands on in an attempt to be informed about British politics. When his electoral victory was declared, the relief of the Marlboroughs was intense: the many years of dreaming and hoping were fulfilled and a rare sense of general well-being and collective affection pervaded the Palace. In Paris Jennie went wild with excitement. Randolph had fulfilled his part of the bargain.
Matters now began to move forward. The Duke and Duchess crossed to Paris to make the acquaintance of their future daughter-in-law and were charmed by her. Financially, however, the future was not radiant: the Duke had an income of £40,000 a year (two million pounds in today’s values), out of which he had to meet the running costs of Blenheim and find allowances for his children. He had already sold the Marlborough Gems; nevertheless, he paid off Randolph’s debts and bought them a lease on an elegant four-storey house at 48 Charles Street, Mayfair. Randolph was deeply grateful to his father and wrote immediately to thank him:
Indeed Papa, thanks to you this last difficulty is removed and I feel quite confident that Jennie and I will be very happy together, which I know will please you. Nor are we at all likely to forget to whom we chiefly owe our happiness.
The £2,000 a year that Leonard Jerome had promised Jennie was the best he could do in his circumstances, but he was appalled at the idea that an English husband should have control of his wife’s money and insisted it should be entirely hers. Just as whatever money Frances had when she married John Winston in 1843 would have passed to him, so Jennie’s £2,000 was expected by English law to go to Randolph.
Notes
1. Marlboroughs to Randolph (from Cowes), Blenheim Archives A IV/23.
2. Frances to Jennie (from Por
tarlington) 7.1.74, Blenheim Archives A IV/23.
Chapter Fifteen
FAMILY LIFE
* * *
From the British Ambassador in Paris, Lord Lyons, to the British Foreign Secretary Lord Derby, a certificate of a marriage solemnised at this Embassy …
I hereby certify that Lord Randolph Henry Spencer Churchill, bachelor of the parish of Woodstock and the county of Oxford, now residing at Paris, Hotel d’Albe, and Jennie Jerome, spinster, of the city of Brooklyn, in the state of New York, USA, were duly married according to the rites of the Church of England in the House of Her Most Historic Majesty’s Ambassador at Paris this 15th day of April in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy four …
And so, after many trials and tribulations, the marriage went ahead, a simple service at the British Embassy in Paris on 15 April, Frances’ birthday, in 1874, the year Benjamin Disraeli became Prime Minister once again at the age of 70. The best man was Francis Knollys, private secretary to the Prince of Wales, later Edward VII; the bridesmaid was Jennie’s sister Clara. The bride wore a dress of white satin with a long tulle veil, a long train and flounces of Alencon lace. Present were Randolph’s brother the Marquess of Blandford, three of Randolph’s sisters and his aunt, Lady Camden, step-sister of John Winston. Leonard Jerome presented his daughter with a pearl necklace and her mother gave her a magnificent white lace parasol. The bride and groom ate their wedding breakfast separately from their guests in a small drawing-room and, after saying goodbye to their guests, changed and prepared to depart for a short continental honeymoon.
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