20

Confrontation

September 1895, Newport, Rhode Island

‘A marble palace is the right place for a woman with a marble heart.’ – ANONYMOUS RESIDENT OF NEWPORT

The gardens of Marble House looked resplendent in their summer bloom and from the shade of a copper-beech tree, Consuelo Vanderbilt would have appraised the newly constructed mansion that was her mother’s masterpiece. Its imposing façade, entirely of marble, stood defiantly on Bellevue Avenue, its Corinthian pillars rising endlessly to meet the sky. Alva’s statement to all of Newport was clear: exclude me at your peril. Consuelo had heard the rather uncomplimentary views of Marble House. An anonymous resident of Newport had been reported to say, ‘A marble palace is the right place for a woman with a marble heart.’¹ Now, she sadly contemplated whether this statement possessed more than a grain of truth.

Alva had collaborated with Richard Morris Hunt on the project, their third mansion together, after Willie K had presented her with a blank cheque for the project on her thirty-fifth birthday some years before. The project was so ambitious that it had outlived their ill-fated marriage. By its completion, Alva had spent almost eleven million dollars² on a neoclassical-inspired palace that proudly claimed its place among Newport’s other summer houses, all competing for the accolade of most spectacular. French author Paul Bourget wrote, ‘The same outbreak of individuality which reared the palaces of Fifth Avenue in New York, almost as by Aladdin’s lamp, created in a flash of miracle this town of cottages.’³

Italian and French artisans had been drafted in to ensure the five hundred thousand cubic feet of fine marble was shaped into a remarkable and accomplished palatial residence that eclipsed the dramatic turrets of Ochre Court, the Goelets’ Hunt-designed French chateau. It had taken numerous workers years to realise Alva’s dream, but almost as soon as the last piece of furniture had been placed in the perfect position, life had changed immeasurably. The Vanderbilts’ divorce had been controversial and public. Alva seemed oblivious to the gossip and hurt that the constant presence of Oliver Belmont at her side created for her daughter. Consuelo Vanderbilt would have considered how her own life was on the cusp of change; she was almost certainly bound for England. It must have seemed to Consuelo as though, while her mother busily gave instructions to construct the most impressive and enduring statement of the Vanderbilts’ wealth and position, she had been just as diligently dismantling the foundations on which their lives were built. The Vanderbilts had risen and prospered together, now they were at war.

In the messy aftermath of Alva and Willie K’s divorce, there had been many casualties. The Vanderbilts were no stranger to being the subject of spurious reports in the popular press, in fact they had courted journalists and furnished them with titbits about their lives, but until now they hadn’t been exposed to a sustained period of scandal. While Alva and Willie K had separately left for long sojourns to Europe, it was Willie K’s brother Cornelius and his wife Alice who had endured the daily gossip propagated about the family and then been forced to face the rest of New York society at numerous social functions. It was safe to say that Alice Vanderbilt and Alva had never been close, but now the tension was palpable as they both converged on Newport for the summer Season. At a dance at the Newport Casino on 8 August 1895, Town Topics had commented on Alva, who ‘looked remarkably well in green’, and Alice, who was ‘becomingly gowned in black’⁴. Keen to capitalise on the Vanderbilts’ evident rift, the report went on to tell its readers, ‘They both held courts of their own in their respective corners of the room where they sat.’⁵

It wasn’t long before the two camps could no longer avoid each other and Town Topics again delighted in informing its readers when Cornelius Vanderbilt came face to face with his former sister-in-law Alva and her rumoured lover, Oliver Belmont, on the steps of the Casino. Cornelius was on his way back to his mansion, The Breakers, which had recently been designed and reconstructed by Richard Morris Hunt. Its very existence typified the feud between Alva and Alice. The Breakers and Marble House were prodigious, both in size and cost, and vied with each other for the distinction of most lavish addition to Newport’s real estate, as their mistresses competed to be crowned queen of society. Meanwhile, Alva drove up to the Casino with Oliver, who some said had been audacious and most ungentlemanly in his attentions towards Mrs Vanderbilt. On noticing Cornelius, she was said to react ‘calmly’⁶; he, however, could barely contain his emotions, eventually furnishing Alva with a ‘sarcastic smile’⁷.

The subject of Alva and Oliver’s abiding companionship had been a source of endless speculation in the gossip columns of New York’s newspapers for many months. Consuelo Vanderbilt had witnessed their affection for each other grow when Oliver, as one of Willie K’s friends and confidants, had accompanied the family on a long voyage aboard the Valiant to India in 1893. Consuelo remembered the trip well. It was the trip that signalled the awakening of her own passionate feelings for Winthrop, who had also been on board the yacht. When, disorientated and beguiled by the beauty and the bedlam of the East, she had fallen in love. Seen through the prism of her own undeniable affections for Winthrop, while duty pushed her towards Sunny, she finally understood her mother’s refusal to cast Oliver to one side. No matter what it cost her. If only Consuelo had the luxury of choice.

It wasn’t just the Vanderbilts who avidly followed the whereabouts of Alva and Oliver during the summer of 1895. The press, now wise to the increasing popularity of society gossip amongst its readers, pursued The Four Hundred relentlessly, wherever they went. Alva was used to utilising the media to her advantage, feeding them stories to increase her social standing, but she bitterly resented their pursuit of her when she lost control of the story. Newspapers were rumoured to install spies in the households of the wealthy, pay waiters and receptionists at hotels for information and put telegraph operators on the payroll. All in the pursuit of a good story.

‘The dogging of the footsteps of Mr and Mrs Vanderbilt and Mr Belmont… that has already begun at Newport would hardly be possible in any other civilised country on the face of the globe,’ wrote one reporter rather sympathetically. ‘The wonder to my mind is that more of our very wealthy and prominent American men and women do not resent or combat this detective business… by exiling themselves to Europe.’⁸

Alva, Willie K and Oliver had all exiled themselves in Europe for long enough. Now they were back to reclaim their places in society, showing faith that the scandal and speculation over their respective affairs would disappear and the order they were all accustomed to would be restored. Willie K resided on his yacht and entertained widely, surrounded by his friends and family, seemingly untainted by the stories of his affairs with Parisian courtesans. Oliver ensconced himself at Belcourt, his unconventional sixty-room mansion that gave his beloved horses pride of place in stables on the ground floor, with the mansion’s only bedroom reserved for their master, who was situated directly above them. Alva retreated to Marble House, where she approached the Season with the fortitude and chutzpah that she had employed in every moment of crisis throughout her life. She made a conscious effort to be seen at all of Newport’s social occasions and made a note of those who welcomed her and those who didn’t. She adhered to the plan she had so carefully constructed with Minnie in England and began to make the necessary arrangements for the finest ball Newport had ever seen. Just as she had in 1883, when her costume ball had compelled Mrs Astor to extend the hand of friendship, Alva was determined her ‘Bal Blanc’ would restore her to greatness among the American aristocracy and capture the heart of the British aristocracy too. If Sunny was in any doubt about Consuelo, Alva would demonstrate just what the Vanderbilt millions could buy, with the most luxurious manifestation she could fashion.

Consuelo was fully aware of her mother’s scheme. She had endured the humiliation that accompanied scandal in society and seemed to follow them wherever they went, with whispers at the Casino or silent stares from matrons and their charges burning through her from the comfort of their carriages. She had done as she was instructed, attending picnic parties at Lawton’s Valley, cycling with her mother in the countryside and pretending to enjoy an excursion to Narragansett Pier, but it was Winthrop who occupied her thoughts. It had been months since she had seen or heard from him and, since leaving England, Alva had determined that Consuelo should not be granted permission to see any friends or attend events alone, thwarting all her attempts to engineer a meeting. ‘On reaching Newport my life became that of a prisoner, with my mother and my governess as wardens,’ she wrote. ‘I was never out of their sight. Friends called but were told I was not at home.’⁹

Then suddenly he was there, standing in front of her. Consuelo had dressed for yet another ball, inattentive to the nightly instructions from her mother that had become a feature of the early evening. She began the evening with the sense of impending monotony that had begun to consume her thoughts in Newport as she spent more and more hours alone and isolated, and dutifully followed Alva into the ballroom, back straight, eyes ahead, always a few steps behind. She sensed Winthrop rather than saw him as she moved deeper into the throngs of people, and then he was before her, asking her if he could claim this dance. For several minutes they glided around the room, undisturbed while Alva was temporarily distracted, engaging in social niceties with Newport’s smart set. Winthrop assured her that his feelings had not altered and Consuelo gave a gentle nod of agreement and then abruptly the dance was over. The strains of the violins fell silent and immediately Consuelo felt Alva at her side. Firmly gripping Consuelo’s elbow, Alva rushed her away from Winthrop without saying a word. Anxious not to make a scene, the whole manoeuvre was executed swiftly, masterfully, before Consuelo could protest. The carriage was readied and Alva and Consuelo quickly returned to Marble House.

The ceiling of Alva’s boudoir at Marble House had been painted to her exacting instructions with an elaborate and intricate painting of Athene, the Greek goddess of wisdom and power. Consuelo looked up at the image and wondered whether any of the fabled power would help her summon the courage to face her mother. Amongst the heavy damask that covered the walls and windows, in a voice rendered faint with emotion, Consuelo carefully and calmly explained her intention to marry Winthrop. ‘These words the bravest I had ever uttered, brought down a frightful storm of protest,’¹⁰ Consuelo revealed in her memoirs. Unused to anything but compliance from her passive daughter, Alva quickly lost her temper. She railed against Winthrop, accusing him of being a flirt, engaging in adulterous affairs and liaisons with different ladies. She warned Consuelo that he was only after a fortune, a charge she didn’t seem to think applied to the impoverished aristocrat Sunny. She told her daughter that there was madness in the Rutherfurd family and that Winthrop couldn’t have children. And when her catalogue of insults seemed to have no effect, she finally told Consuelo that she would rather shoot Winthrop than see him married to her daughter. Alva’s desperate measures, as she contemplated the disappearance of her carefully laid plans, continued throughout the night. ‘We reached a stage where arguments were futile, and I left her then in the cold dawn of morning feeling as if all my youth had been drained away,’¹¹ Consuelo recalled.

Despite her mother’s pleas, when Consuelo finally retired to her austere, oak-panelled bedroom at the rear of Marble House, she had been resolute. She must marry Winthrop. However, Alva had one last card to play and sent her old friend Mrs William Jay to deliver the final blow. ‘Mrs Jay… came to talk to me… she informed me that my mother had had a heart attack brought about by my callous indifference to her feelings.… In utter misery I asked Mrs Jay to let X know that I could not marry him. How sad those summer days of disgrace and unhappiness…’¹²

In the weeks that followed, Consuelo had not seen or heard from Winthrop and became resigned to a life without him. The gatekeeper at Marble House had been instructed that she should not be permitted to leave the grounds. Her mother’s ‘heart attack’ passed without any further comment and soon Alva was consumed with planning the details of her ‘Bal Blanc’ once more. Consuelo watched as the liveried servants moved quickly back and forth, diligently taking delivery of decorations, favours and flowers. All the ingredients for a spectacular occasion. Consuelo remained seated, wondering whether anyone would be sent to search for her. All those around her were preparing for a momentous event, the night when a duke would be guest of honour at a ball to be hosted at Alva Vanderbilt’s Marble House. Consuelo thought of Sunny, small and disagreeable, and hoped that all of society would not be as bitterly disappointed with him as she was.