Social Landmines of Debutantes

 

If you are prepared to spend about $4,500 per day on clothes, you have cleared one of the many hurdles to become a debutante.

You also need to attend an exclusive school such as Roedean, Cheltenham, or Cherborne. You will spend a “finishing” year in France, Germany, or Switzerland in polishing your command of art, languages, and especially social rules–because the Prince of Wales was known for rebuking a lady if she wore a crescent when she should have been wearing a tiara.*

You will learn how to curtsy properly at the barre in the Vacani School of Dancing in Knightsbridge, putting “the left foot behind the right, leaning the weight on to the right foot, bending the knees, sinking down and rising up in one fluid movement.”**

There is no arguing over the dress you will wear to be presented to the King and Queen:  it will be “a short-sleeved white evening dress with a train…between 2 and 3 ½ yards long held in place by a headdress of three white ostrich plumes carefully arranged in the style of the Prince of Wales feathers.”**

You and your sponsor will ride in an elegant car down Pall Mall towards Buckingham Palace with throngs of onlookers. At precisely nine-thirty, the ceremony will begin and you and your sponsor will be announced by full, formal title. You will each execute a flawless curtsy, and–if you are favored–the Prince, King, or Queen might give a brief compliment or acknowledge your family ties.

This moment–this royal imprimatur–shows you are now deemed acceptable for society and for a privileged marriage.

Now you will spend every night for weeks in ballrooms of exclusive hotels such as Claridges or the Dorchester–or in glittering town homes in Mayfair and Park Lane. If you are a debutante in 1939, you might be among the 1,000 guests attending the debutante ball at Blenheim Palace for young Lady Sarah Spencer-Churchill where you enjoy fountains of champagne (Smith 52).  You will carry a dance program numbered 1-20 with a pencil attached by a ribbon, and young men will write their names next to the numbers, “signifying which dance they would like to serve as partner.” ***

Your dance partners will judge you as well.  Even Winston Churchill and his friend Eddie Marsh played the game, “Was this the face that launched a thousand ships?,” standing by the dance floor and allotting to each face a tally of ships to decide who was worth their interest.

And if you do not measure up in social standing or behavior, you could still be ignored with the “cut direct” where someone looks at you–and then past you without acknowledging you.  These judgments could last your lifetime.

To learn more about English social manners, click this link to Debretts:

Social Landmines of Debutantes

Next time:  American Heiresses Invade as Buccaneers

 

Photo credit of Lady Olive Baillie and daughters Pauline and Susan (portrait painted by Etienne Drian):  Nancy Parrish

*Aslet, Clive.  The Last Country Houses.  New Haven and London:  Yale University Press, 1982; p. 17

**Taggart, Caroline.  Her Ladyship’s guide To the British Season.  London:  National Trust Books, 2013; pp. 35, 26

***Smith, Sally Bedell.  Reflected Glory:  The Life of Pamela Churchill Harriman.  New York:  Simon & Schuster, 1996; p. 42

How To Party Like A Noble

How many people did you invite to your most recent party?

On July 2, 1897, the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire invited seven hundred people to climb the famous “crystal staircase” of Devonshire House and join a costume ball that was destined to become legendary. The Countess of Westmoreland arrived with a stuffed eagle on her shoulder. Lady Ronalds wore a lit lyre on her head. Winston Churchill’s mother, Lady Randolph Churchill (the former Jennie Jerome) came as Empress Theodora in a gown designed by the couturier Jean Worth of Paris. The hostess, the Duchess of Devonshire, arrived as Queen Zenobia carried in a sedan chair by costumed footmen. High Society absolutely sparkled.

Despite Queen Victoria’s preference for unassuming behavior, the upper class enjoyed their wealth. What evolved for them was a series of exclusive social events together dubbed “The Season.” One writer would observe that “it seemed as if ‘a race of gods and goddesses descended from Olympus upon England in June and July.’”**

The Season began with intense preparations to present to the King and Queen the young titled women seeking official acceptance into elite society. Then, the golden circle of the wealthy began their social schedule with a glittering fortnight of celebrations bracketed by The Derby and Royal Ascot races. During July they moved to seaside resorts such as Brighton, followed by a foray down to Cowes for a week of yacht-racing. After Cowes, they shifted to Scotland to begin shooting grouse on the “Glorious 12th” of August. In 1911, the Tatler magazine reported that $65 billion was spent on shooting alone.*** The speed with which servants could re-load guns allowed the group with Lord Burnham and George V to bag a record of nearly 4,000 grouse in one day in 1913.* They pushed on to fox hunting in Oxfordshire, the Henley Regatta, and the Royal Academy’s Summer Exhibition. Horse races at Goodwood in late August marked the conclusion of The Season, and the elite then dispersed “to their country estates for hunting, Christmas and to await the coming of spring.”^ It was a glorious time.

Hidden among all of this partying, though, was a secret hunt that determined the future happiness and financial security of many a young woman.

Next Time: Social Landmines of Debutantes

 

Photo credit of Windsor Castle: Nancy Parrish

*Aslet, Clive. The Last Country Houses. New Haven and London: Yale University
Press, 1982; p.71.

^Taggart, Caroline. Her Ladyship’s Guide To the British Season. London: National Trust Books, 2013; pp. 13, 17.

**Tuchman, Barbara. The Proud Tower: A Portrait of the World Before the War,
1890-1914. The Library of America, 1962; 2012; p. 582.

***Warwick, Sarah. Upstairs and Downstairs. London: Carlton Publishing Group, 2011;
2016 conversion; p. 82.

Who Owned Almost All of England?

 

Have you ever hauled a wheelbarrow filled with dirt?
Then can you imagine hiring enough workmen to haul away 23,500 cubic yards of soil and rock with wheelbarrows as did the owners of the great house Stowe?
Can you imagine being the owner of the great house Longleat and having 91,000 trees planted at one time?*
Can you imagine having an entire village relocated to improve your view shed as was done at Castle Howard and Chatsworth?
If you can imagine these things, you would fit in comfortably with many aristocratic lords, such as the 7th Duke of Westminster who in 2016 owned London properties valued at $13 billion. This wealth had its origins in the vast tracts of land owned by a small number of men.
In the 1880s–just prior to Winston Churchill’s birth–sixty peers each owned 50,000 acres of land; fourteen owned in excess of 100,000 acres each.*** The estate of William Cavendish, the 7th Duke of Devonshire, extended to nearly 200,000 acres. But the 2nd Duke of Sutherland trumped all other peers by owning a stunning 1.3 million acres.** If you consider that the United Kingdom is about 6 million acres in size, it’s startling to see that about sixty men owned 5 million of those acres—5/6 of the entire country.
So if you own practically the entire country, what do you do with it? Certainly you govern it, which we will explore a bit later.
But another thing you do is party on an epic scale—all over the country.

 

Next: How To Party Like A Noble

Photo credit for Castle Howard: Nancy Parrish

*Bryson, Bill. At Home: A Short History of Private Life. New York: Anchor Books,
2010; p 310.
**Cannadine, David. The Decline and Fall of the British Aristocracy. New York:
Vintage Books, 1999; pp. 710-711.
***Tuchman, Barbara. The Proud Tower: A Portrait of the World Before the War,
1890-1914. The Library of America, 1962; 2012; p. 595W

How to get a gift of 2,700 acres and a palace with a 7-acre roof

Blenheim Palace has a roof that covers seven acres.  And it was a gift.  Really.

How does that happen?

First, you need shrewd, well-placed ancestors.

In 1677 Winston Churchill’s ancestor, the dashing John Churchill, had wanted to take 17-year-old Sarah Jennings as a lover; but clever Sara outmaneuvered him and got him to marry her.  Sarah Churchill then instinctively–and some said brutally–navigated the intrigues of court to keep her husband at the forefront of royal attention.  Her most astute political move was to link her fortunes to Princess Anne.
Anne constantly battled her sister and brother-in-law–King William and Queen Mary–to secure an allowance or some modest independence, and Sarah always lobbied on Anne’s side. When Anne finally became Queen, she raised John Churchill to the highest and most exclusive order of the peerage, the rank of Duke of Marlborough. Then, in 1705 when John defeated the French and Bavarians at the Battle of Blenheim in Bavaria (which insured that Britain then dominated Europe), Queen Anne naturally turned to Sarah for ways to thank John for his service.

 

Here Sarah played her winning card.  She guided her royal friend Anne to bestow upon her husband the gift of a country house and 2,700 acres in Oxfordshire. The resulting gift took nearly thirty years to build, employed over 1,500 workman, and became–because of its breathtaking scale–the only non-royal country house in England to hold the title of palace. To the eventual horror of Anne and the British government, it also ballooned to over five times the initial estimated cost and ultimately estranged the Marlboroughs from Queen Anne.
But the gift had been given. A later royal ruler, King George III, would look down from a hilltop towards the palace and remark with a mixture of awe and royal chagrin, “We have nothing to equal this.”*
Blenheim Palace became an emphatic statement of Churchillian power and wealth–and showed especial scorn for the French whom John had defeated. A massive Arch of Triumph marked the entrance into the grounds. Atop the entrance pediment stood a statue of Britannia and beneath her cringed two chained French captives. One lower roof supported an English lion devouring the French rooster. The south portico contained a 30-ton marble bust of French King Louis XIV that Marlborough had looted–and the 1st Duke always pointedly sat with his back to this bust. Each feature of the palace was expensive and calculated to awe the viewer.
Where St. Donat’s had towers for sighting the enemy and crenellations to protect archers, Blenheim’s tower housed a clock and decorative battlements. These vestiges of a military architectural style now signaled an unassailable class structure. The 320 rooms in the interior elaborated on that theme. Blenheim’s entrance hall soared to over four stories. The library, stocked with rare first editions and artwork, exceeded half the length of a football field. Later Dukes added a Temple of Diana, a 134-foot Column of Victory honoring the first Duke, and great works of art ranging from Raphael’s Ansidei Madonna to Van Dyck’s equestrian painting of Charles I.

 

Not satisfied with simply creating an imposing structure, each succeeding Duke shaped the landscape as well. The grounds of the estate were encircled by a dry stone wall that ran for nearly nine miles. In the 1760s the 4th Duke employed landscape designer Lancelot “Capability” Brown to reshape the grounds to create an even more aesthetic context for the great house. Virtually unfettered, Brown dammed a river, created a lake, constructed a series of cascades, and diverted a stream. With the Duke’s permission, Brown took a 30-room brick building near the stream,  flooded it, submerged the lower stories until the height of the building seemed pleasing and proportional to the surrounding landscape–and used it as a bridge.

 

But Marlboroughs were far from the only nobles to take the land, architecture, and art as their sovereign birthright to shape for the family’s glory.

Next Time: What families owned most of England?

 

*Martin, Ralph G. Jennie: The Life of Lady Randolph Churchill, 1854-1895.
Englewood Cliffs, N. J., Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1969; p. 61.

**Image courtesy of Framepool.com

Americans’ Bittersweet Love Affair with Old Wealth and England

Americans like to claim we’re independent from the class traditions and distinction of the British. But as America became an industrial power, we also gained a wealthy class who, F. Scott Fitzgerald famously wrote, “are different from you and me.” American wealth is still on elaborate display in the necklace of fabulous summer “cottages” at Newport (actually huge mansions), at Vanderbilt’s Biltmore in Asheville, and in grand homes of New York City. There has even been a parsing of the better wealth: Eastern versus Western, Northern versus Southern, Harvard-educated versus Princetonian.
So perhaps it became inevitable that the New Wealth of America began gazing fondly–or jealously–at the Old Wealth of Great Britain as William Randolph Hearst and others came to do. The English system of Lords and Ladies was politically repellent—but socially irresistible. We Americans became fascinated with how the British upper class system excluded or condescended to anyone who did not hold inherited wealth and title.

Wealthy Americans easily found themselves tripped up by the unspoken rules of the class. The story is told of American Consuelo Vanderbilt, who had married the 9th Duke of Marlborough, the highest rank in the social class: “Once, at a party at Blenheim Palace, her husband’s seat, Consuelo was unsure of the sequence in which the Ladies should be withdrawing from the dining room. Not wanting to appear rude, she dithered in the doorway, only to be shoved in the back by a furious Marchioness, who hissed at her, ‘It is quite as vulgar to hang back as to jump ahead.’” *
A social system that insisted on a particular order for leaving the dinner table?
Now that was a system that commanded Americans’ attention.
Next Time: How to get a gift of 2,700 acres and a palace with a 7-acre roof

*From The Countess of Carnarvon’s Lady Almina and The Real Downton Abbey:
The Lost Legacy of Highclere Castle. New York: Broadway Paperbacks, 2011; p. 74.

Photo credit:  blenheimhorse.co.us

A Real Castle

While constructing San Simeon Castle, William Randolph Hearst instructed his English agent to purchase some nonspecific castle somewhere in the United Kingdom.

While visiting the construction site of his fabulous San Simeon Castle, William Randolph Hearst sent his English agent, Alice Head, a brief telegram initiating the purchase of some nonspecific castle somewhere in the United Kingdom. What could possibly draw his interest to a generic English castle when he was already assembling a castle over which he had entire design approval; at a beloved coastal location near the center of his California business operations; with a size and structure that would quite comfortably house his European art, furniture, and architectural collections?
The provocative magazine that fired Hearst’s imagination was the very genteel Country Life, a quintessentially English magazine for aristocratic readers. In the 1920s Country Life was THE great judge of upper class English taste. The magazine often opened with the “Girls in Pearls” feature: the studio portrait of a debutante whose marriage had recently been announced. Then, within the magazine itself, nobles could read elegant gossip about their fox hunts, their yachting competitions at Cowes, their parties, and their grouse-hunting in Scotland. A favorable profile of a great country house or garden in this magazine could make or break a family’s worthiness to be part of the highest social sphere in England.

             
The April 2, 1921, issue of Country Life included an article about a remarkable collection of medieval arms housed in the Welsh castle St. Donat’s. The article would have remained just a fusty description had the author Francis Henry Cripps-Day not pointed out the one cultural treasure that William Randolph Hearst did not possess and had not even understood before. It was a prize that would be beyond the reach of most men in the world–and, hence, became an irresistible quest for Hearst and men like him. As Cripps-Day passionately rose to champion the cause of armorial collecting, he wrote the lines that caused Hearst to stop and reorder his passions.  Cripps-Day firmly stated that the arms in St. Donat’s were magnificent because they provided “the actual and personal setting to the scene which the imagination is trying to reconstruct.”

What did that mean?
Hearst had certainly collected warehouses full of historical and artistic objects that were the envy of many great museums. But the context–”the actual and personal setting” at Hearst Castle–of these treasures, he had to admit, was new and a mixture of many architectural styles.   His California castle La Cuesta Encantata was–by Cripps-Day’s standards–a second best mixture.  Only  genuine objects in their original setting had the highest value; and Hearst’s American castle, no matter how wonderfully designed, would  always be inauthentic: a faint echo rather than a powerful authority.
In mulling over this article, Hearst apparently felt a metaphorical gauntlet hurled down before him–and he picked it up.  He would no longer just be a collector of armor, furniture, paintings, and sculpture: he would buy authenticity itself.
So, regardless of his stated indifference as to a specific castle and despite his
businessman’s instinct to look for the best bargain, Hearst trained his sights on that very castle in the west of Wales about which he had read: St. Donat’s.

Next time:  Americans’ bittersweet love affair with Old Wealth and England.

 

Photo credit:  St. Donats Castle courtesy of Wedding Day Wales

Why you need a second castle

William Randolph Hearst was building a castle in California–and then sent a very startling telegram.

On a hot California day in 1925 newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst drove to his construction project overlooking a bay midway between San Francisco and Los Angeles. His mountainous 250,000-acre ranch was called Rancho Piedra Blanca–White Stone Ranch–and here as a boy and a young man Hearst had loved to camp, hike, and savor the glorious view down to the curving peninsula protecting the bay below. However, at age 56 Hearst had confided in architect Julia Morgan, “I get tired of going up there and camping in tents. I’m getting a little too old for that. I’d like to get something that would be a little more comfortable.”* So in 1919 Morgan began designing something “a little more comfortable” that also met Hearst’s other more extraordinary specifications.
Hearst was delighted with the progress on the project. Nevertheless, on this particular day, August 13, 1925, he also took a few moments to send a cable to London. The recipient of the cable was Alice Head, editor of Hearst’s three-year-old British version of Good Housekeeping. She read the message multiple times to make sure she had not imagined it:
WANT BUY CASTLE IN ENGLAND PLEASE FIND WHICH ONES AVAILABLE STDONATS [sic] PERHAPS SATISFACTORY AT PROPER PRICE BUT PRICE QUOTED SEEMS VERY HIGH SEE IF YOU CAN GET RIGHT PRICE ON STDONATS OR ANY OTHER EQUALLY GOOD
                                                                            HEARST
The brief cable was stunning: in under forty words Hearst had authorized Head to see about the purchase of any English castle of good quality at an acceptable price. The request was probably unique in the history of the world; and, as a personal order from her American boss, it sent a dazed Head scurrying to turn her hand to the task.
Any observer standing beside Hearst at that moment would have been equally startled; because on this day when Hearst authorized the purchase of an English castle, he was overseeing the construction site of what would become the spectacular Hearst Castle. He fondly referred to his castle overlooking San Simeon Bay as “the ranch,” but he formally named it La Cuesta Encantata, The Enchanted Hill. It would cost over half a billion dollars in 2018 value and take thirty years to complete.

In the next post, let’s see why an American would buy a second castle.

 

Photo Credit: Free Image, Wikipedia

*Wilson, Mark Wilson: forward by Lynn Forney McMurray. Julia Morgan:
Architect of Beauty. p. 105