Crowds of good-natured spectators continued to follow the couple wherever they went – even when they travelled to see Bishop Littlejohn for lunch and a pre-marital chat at Garden City. On Sunday 27 October, the World reported that the Duke had had a ‘good day’, as if it were a matter for comment that nothing had gone wrong. The Duke and Consuelo, accompanied by Alva, went to the theatre; he rode his bicycle without being arrested; he stayed for two days in Washington with the British ambassador, Sir Julian Pauncefote, who would represent his relatives at the wedding, and returned to New York in time to sign the all-important marriage settlement. Then, at the eleventh hour the Duke, clearly misunderstanding the importance of the wedding rehearsal in America, announced that he would not be attending, saying: ‘That sort of thing is good enough for women.’ ‘He spent the hours of the rehearsal shopping,’ said The New York Times pointedly, printing the whole sorry story on its front page.61
As the crowds, guests, conductor, orchestra, choir, bridesmaids, husband-to-be and anxious mother waited amid the spectacular flowers at St Thomas Church on 6 November 1895, what had become of Miss Vanderbilt herself? Consuelo wrote later that she spent the morning of her wedding in tears and alone. ‘A footman had been posted at the door of my apartment and not even my governess was admitted.’62 Brides can often find themselves more or less alone in the final hours before a wedding when everyone else is fully occupied. It is possible that the footman was there as a security measure; and that it was felt that Consuelo should be left in peace at the beginning of a most demanding day. But it does appear that this was one more example of the carelessness with which her feelings were treated.
According to the World, Consuelo’s wedding dress cost $6,720.35.63 Made from cream-white satin it had graduated flounces of point lace and trails of orange blossom; a 15-foot train, embroidered with pearls and silver, fell in double box pleats from the shoulder. But by her own account, much of this was lost on the bride on her wedding day: ‘Like an automaton I donned the lovely lingerie with its real lace and the white silk stockings and shoes. My maid helped me into the beautiful dress, its tiers of Brussels lace cascading over white satin,’64 and fitted the veil of lace – which fell down to her knees – with a wreath of orange blossom. Consuelo wrote later that her bouquet from Blenheim did not arrive in time, but it was widely reported that flowers from Blenheim had arrived some days beforehand, so it is possible that once again some bitterness distorted her recall. It also seems unlikely Alva did not check the appearance of the bride in her wedding dress before she left for the church, though she may have been so tense and preoccupied that she failed to notice just how upset Consuelo had become, or she simply chose to ignore it.
After Alva had departed, however, there was a scene of some distress. Consuelo’s father appeared at the house as soon as Alva left, as instructed. When she saw him Consuelo broke down and cried uncontrollably. As the world waited, there were frantic efforts to sponge the tears from her face which delayed their departure for a full twenty minutes. Alva is reported as saying that Consuelo later told her they were detained by reminiscing about old times, but if she did, Consuelo can only have intended irony. Given the waiting crowds and the military scale of the arrangements, such absentmindedness is quite implausible. It was probably one of the worst moments of William K.’s life, for there was clearly no option other than to proceed and to persuade his weeping daughter to go through with it. When they finally appeared outside the house, Consuelo on her father’s arm, it was obvious that all was not well. The New York Times noted that William K. was far from his normal merry self, for: ‘There was a grave look upon his face as if his short talk with the future Duchess has been of a serious nature.’65 The Herald’s correspondent focused on Consuelo. ‘She looked sad and appeared to have been crying – a natural proceeding with brides,’ he remarked callously.66
As the carriage containing the bride and her father moved off down the street, women ran along beside it trying to catch a glimpse of Consuelo but were quickly pushed back by the police. Inside St Thomas Church the guests – and Alva – heaved a sigh of collective relief as a distant cheer signalled that the bride was now just a few blocks away. Outside in the street a journalist for The New York Times reported that from ‘far away you could see a wild fluttering of white handkerchiefs which spread and came nearer like the white crest of an incoming wave. “Hurrah!” the women cried. “Here she comes, look, look.” They looked, looked, looked and looked and out of the 5,000 women who were there not 100 saw her face.’67
As soon as the cheers started, according to a man from the World, apparently caught up in the middle of it all, ‘the women heard the rumble of heavy wheels and imagining that the bride was coming seemed to become possessed of demons. They struggled like so many drowning persons and there being such a tremendous pressure behind them they pushed the police line further and further towards the church. “Here,” cried Acting Inspector Courtright [sic], “that won’t do. Push those women back, every one of them – back they go. Quick, now.” And laying his hands upon the shoulders upon the big fat woman who was trying to squeeze through between two policemen, he set his men an heroic example by pushing that woman back into the crowd until her ribs ached.’68 In the end, even those who had waited for hours saw very little of the bride who descended in a haze of wedding finery, asked her father to straighten her dress and hurried into the church without looking right or left.
As the orchestra started up the Wedding March from Lohengrin, every head swivelled to look at the bride, and there was a noise of clicking lorgnettes as she walked up the aisle, squeezing her father’s arm to slow him down. ‘So many eyes pried my defences,’ wrote Consuelo, ‘I was thankful for the veil that covered my face.’69 In spite of the veil, the World reported that it was possible to see that Consuelo looked pale with two strange black lines under her eyes, and that the veil accentuated a curiously enigmatic expression.70
The bridesmaids came up the aisle first. As they reached the chancel Miss Duer, Miss Jay, Miss Post and Miss Edith Morton filed to the left, and Miss Bronson, Miss Goelet, Miss Winthrop and Miss Burden filed off to the right. The Duke stepped out to meet his bride and lead her up to the chancel steps while the fifty-voice choir started the first hymn. The clergy were out in intimidating force: Bishop Littlejohn, Bishop of Long Island, who had baptised and confirmed Consuelo; the highly fashionable Bishop Potter, Bishop of New York; the Reverend Dr John Wesley Brown, Rector of St Thomas; the Reverend Dr J. H. Rylance, Rector of St Mark’s Church, New York; the Reverend Dr Ralph W. Brydges, Rector of St Mark’s Parish, Islip, Long Island, and (somewhat outnumbered) the Reverend Waldo Burnett of Southborough, Massachusetts, who for many years was Chaplain at Blenheim, according to one report. ‘The usual hymns glorifying perfect love were sung, and when I glanced at my husband shyly I saw that his eyes were fixed in space,’ said Consuelo.71 The Duke later said that when he looked at Consuelo she seemed ‘much troubled’.72
The marriage ceremony complete, the wedding party passed into the vestry for the signing of the register, accompanied by the British ambassador and the British consul-general. Once his signature was on the documents, William K. slipped out of the vestry door, into a waiting carriage and went off (it was said) to the Metropolitan Club, his part in the ceremony now over. While the signing of the register was still in progress, the bridesmaids walked down the central aisle distributing pink and white posies to guests, prompting a small eruption of avidity. ‘There was great disappointment when Miss Duer and Miss Morton, thinking there was not a sufficient quantity of flowers to supply the guests, appeared to think it wise not to distribute them to the guests in the last six or eight stalls. There were enough flowers, however, and there was great rejoicing when at the last moment the flowers were supplied to all.’73
As the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough appeared back at the chancel steps, the orchestra struck up the march from Tannhauser and the bridesmaids lined up behind the young couple as they processe
d down the aisle. The crowd, or at least those nearest the church, waited patiently during the wedding ceremony, entertained by intermittent bursts of music and peals of bells. As the bride and groom emerged the Herald was able to report that all signs of sadness seemed to have disappeared – as had patience on the part of the crowd, who now surged forward as women tried to snatch flowers from Consuelo’s bouquet. The sight of the bride on the Duke’s arm brought out something less pleasant in the crowd too, for amid the cheers and pealing bells there were, according to Consuelo, ‘less friendly sallies’.74
When the wedding carriage moved off towards 72nd Street for the wedding breakfast, all restraint broke down. ‘Hundreds of women pushed the policemen aside and ran to the carriage waving their handkerchiefs and screaming with delight,’ wrote the World’s reporter. ‘The horses were going rapidly and none of the women could keep up with the carriage but their places were immediately taken by others and so the carriage moved through a narrower lane of excited women whom the police could not hold back and who waved their hands and cried, “Good luck. God bless you.” And then turned round and abused the policemen who were trying to save them from being run over.’ Some of the women tried to force an entry into the church after the guests had left to take flowers as souvenirs, but their way was barred by policemen who only returned to their precincts at around 2 p.m., ‘worn out in mind and body’.75
At Alva’s house on 72nd Street, the crowd also waited – though not always peacefully. The street corner nearest Alva’s house was a special point of attack where ‘small but lively battles were waged between the police and over-curious women for several hours’.76 The latter were soon rewarded by the sight of the bride and groom, Governor and Mrs Levi P. Morton, the British ambassador, Mrs Astor, and a total of 115 guests representing the highest circles of New York society. It was the first chance for many of these distinguished visitors to admire Alva’s new house; even here the floral display was an extraordinary achievement, featuring ferns ten-feet high and thousands of specially imported orchids, not to mention a bower of white roses in which the bride and groom received their guests.
Mrs Astor, as a guest of honour, sat beside Sir Julian Pauncefote at Alva’s table, together with Governor and Mrs Morton and Bishop Littlejohn. Other guests were placed at tables in the two drawing rooms and in the hall. Another table displayed specially commissioned white boxes for the wedding cake and buttonholes for both men and women. Background music was provided by a Hungarian band. The New York Times reported that (far from failing to arrive) the flowers from Blenheim in the large bouquets carried by both the bride and the bridesmaids were one of the talking points at the wedding breakfast. William K. may have been sent back to his club, but there was help on hand from Oliver Belmont, the World reporting that: ‘In addition to Mrs Vanderbilt’s own dexterous house servants, four of Oliver Belmont’s head men had come down from Newport and assisted in serving the guests.’77 The Vanderbilt and Belmont liveries were remarkably alike, consisting of claret-coloured coats, knickerbockers, silk stockings and patent leather pumps, and all the servants had their hair powdered.
As the crowd outside waited, the first to depart after the speeches was Governor Morton – without his wife and daughters – who gave much pleasure by making use of public transport in the form of a Madison Avenue horse car. Shortly afterwards, the Duke and Duchess appeared. The Duke was still wearing the frock-coat that had been made for him in America for the wedding, but Consuelo had changed into a dark travelling dress. In time-honoured fashion, the guests now threw rice and tokens of good luck at the bridal couple. Aim, generally speaking, was poor. An over-enthusiastic usher caught the owner of Blenheim in the back of the neck with a handful of rice, so that he ‘ducked his ducal head, and followed his wife into the carriage with more speed than grace’.78 A blue slipper almost knocked off the coachman’s hat; and a grey-haired gentleman threw a pink slipper that landed on top of the awning. Another usher led a round of cheers for the newlyweds as they prepared to leave. There were further cheers as the carriage set off down Madison Avenue escorted by an impromptu escort of a dozen cyclists. As the bridal couple drove away, both the hawk-eyed correspondent of the New York Herald and Consuelo noticed that Alva was crying as she watched from an upstairs window, trying to hide her tears behind the curtains.79
The newlywed Duke and Duchess of Marlborough travelled by private boat to Long Island City, and then by private train (decorated with a further profusion of flowers) to Oakdale to spend the first days of their honeymoon at Idle Hour. Sitting in the observation car as the little train chugged along a specially cleared track, Consuelo had her first introduction to British class-consciousness and reacted with a pang of disappointment. Sunny, as she now called him, read through congratulatory telegrams from England ‘handing them on to me with the proper gestures of deference or indifference the senders evoked … Unfortunately, there was no silver platter on which to present Her Majesty Queen Victoria’s missive, but it was read with due respect, and a sense of her intimidating presence crept even into that distant railway car’.80 If Consuelo expected charming compliments and reassuring words of affection from her new husband she was disappointed.
Consuelo was relieved to arrive at Oakdale even though there were more gaping crowds and the first real hitch of the day occurred when the carriage failed to appear. Confronted by thick fog and the mute stares of the crowd, the couple decided to set off to Idle Hour on foot, much to the delight of local reporters who thought they had a big story. ‘It was an odd spectacle, the solitary figures of the Duke and Duchess trudging along the muddy country road in the half darkness of a misty twilight and followed by a motley cortège of bicyclists, pedestrians and carriages of all descriptions.’81 The couple were almost halfway to the lodge gate when the Vanderbilt carriage came dashing down the road drawn by a pair of spirited bays, driven by Johnson the coachman. The Duke and Duchess climbed in and were whisked away, leaving the crowd behind.
As the gates of Idle Hour shut behind her, Consuelo remembered feeling overwhelmed with homesickness – not for the home that she had just left, but for a happier time in childhood ‘when my father and mother were united and I had my brothers as companions’, she wrote later. It was not long before homesickness was compounded by fear. ‘Here my mother’s room had been prepared for me and my room next-door for Marlborough. A sudden realisation of my complete innocence assailed me, bringing with it fear. Like a deserted child I longed for my family. The problem created by the marriage of two irreconcilable characters is a psychological one which deserves sympathy as well as understanding. In the hidden reaches where memory probes are sorrows too deep to fathom.’82
This was an age when sentimental behaviour was common, but Alva’s tears on her daughter’s departure puzzled Consuelo who remembered thinking (a little too neatly perhaps) ‘she has attained the goal she set herself, she has experienced the satisfactions wealth can confer, she has ensconced me in the niche she so early assigned me, and she is now free to let ambition give way to a gentler passion’.83 The day after the wedding, press opinion too was divided as to the true story. The New York Herald opined, for example, that: ‘There is not one unkind or suspicious word to be said about this international episode. The Duke met the young lady in his own country surrounded by his own home influences. He followed her to America, pleaded and won. It is a love match, pure and simple.’ In spite of this, the newspaper could not resist a sly dig at the use to which American money would now be put, while purporting to pay the Duke a compliment. ‘There are hundreds of thousands of Americans who recognise the Duke of Marlborough’s possibilities in the Senate of his country and who expect to applaud the career so plainly marked out for him by his marriage with an American heiress. It would be going too far to say that American dollars have more than once furnished capital for British political preference. They have perhaps been the humble means of renewing activities in certain expensive directions … ’84
The New York
Times, on the other hand, was far more critical of what it saw as ducal greed – in spite of the fact that it had published one of the fullest and most lavish accounts of the wedding, doubtless boosting its circulation figures in the process. ‘In this country ninety-nine marriages in every hundred are love matches, and in all the English-speaking countries the pretence that a marriage is a love match is sedulously maintained. In this case it has been rendered difficult by the frankness of the bridegroom who, in admitting his engagement, was careful to add that the marriage had been arranged by his friends and by those of the young lady … Since the public has been taken into the confidence of the high contracting parties in this case, the public will naturally form and express opinions upon the nature of the contract, and we observe with interest that on both sides of the water the groom is esteemed to have the better of the bargain.’85 The newspaper deplored what it saw as the growing tendency to arranged marriages in ‘a small section of American society numerically very insignificant but pecuniarily very important’.
Consuelo and Alva Vanderbilt Page 17