John Singer Sargent - Mary Crowninshield Endicott Chamberlain (1902)

I recently visited a small exhibition of John Singer Sargent’s portraits of American heiresses. (‘Heiress’ is at Kenwood, London until 5 October.)

‘I thoroly [sic] dislike…these international marriages…which are not even matches of esteem and liking, but which are based upon the sale of the girl for her money and the purchase of the man for his title.’
Theodore Roosevelt, 1906

Between 1870 and 1914, 102 American women married into the British peerage, and many more into the upper classes. Sargent, who was himself an American, painted more than thirty of them. Most were post-marriage and in their twenties.

The heiresses were admired for their beauty, style, wit and intelligence. They were often sporty - riding, hunting, fishing and playing golf. They immersed themselves in British life, joining charitable institutions, overseeing the restoration of the great country houses. During the First World War many worked for the Red Cross.

However, establishment figures on both sides of the Atlantic spoke out against the marriages. The ‘dollar princesses’ were characterised as ‘sad poachers,’ the British peers as feckless fools.

‘There is always a British title going a-begging – always some decayed or degenerative or semi-drunken peer, whose fortunes are on the verge of black ruin, ready and willing to devour, monster-like… an American virgin, provided bags of bullion are flung, with her, into his capacious maw.’
Marie Corelli, 1905

*John Singer Sargent - 'Mrs. Wilton Phipps'*, 1884

As the Kenwood curators point out, there was a good deal of stereotyping and misogyny at play here.

‘Stereotyping usually involves people of a different nationality, social class, or gender, but the American heiress stereotype embraces all three.’
Maureen Montgomery, ‘Gilded Prostitution’ (1989)

The exhibition endeavours to set the record straight, by accompanying each of Sargent’s portraits with a miniature biography of the sitter.

What emerges is a compelling cast of distinctive characters.

Margaret Leiter, Countess of Suffolk, drove fast cars and had her own plane and helicopter. Grace Hinds, Marchioness Curzon of Kedleston, had a relationship with Sir Oswald Mosley, who was also the lover of all three of her stepdaughters. When Eloise Breese, Countess of Ancaster, ended her affair with Lord Londonderry, she sent all his presents back in a sack. Consuelo Yznaga del Valle, Duchess of Manchester, smoked cigars and played Louisiana folk songs on her banjo.

‘Oh! I am a true American in my love for everything bright and cheerful about me… I can’t bear darkness and gloom, I like sunshine and light, and plenty of both!’
Consuelo Yznaga del Valle, 1891

*John Singer Sargent -* Nancy Witcher Langhorne, Viscountess Astor (1908)

Many of the heiresses had singular talents and used their position for the benefit of others. Consuelo Vanderbilt, Duchess of Marlborough, working as a Councillor for Southwark, secured a minimum wage for women in ‘sweated’ trades. Adele Grant, Countess of Essex, was a vegetarian activist. Pauline Astor, a noted gardener, developed new strains of rhododendrons and azaleas. Nancy Langhorne, Viscountess Astor, became the first woman to take her seat as an MP, and campaigned for women’s issues, and against unemployment and alcohol.

‘I know what I am talking about, and you must remember that women have got a vote now and we mean to use it, and use it wisely, not for the benefit of any section of society, but for the benefit of the whole.’
Viscountess Astor, maiden speech in the House of Commons, 1920

The ‘Heiress’ exhibition may give commercial strategists pause for thought. We are in the business of segmenting and categorising audiences. We make assumptions and take overviews. We simplify, summarise and abstract. But in so doing, we should never lose sight of the fact that, at the heart of our analyses, reside unique human beings, with their own quite distinct behaviours and beliefs; their own very particular lives.

In generalising, we should not lose sight of people’s individuality.

'I don't want to ball about like everybody else,
And I don't want to live my life like everybody else,
And I won't say that I feel fine like everybody else.
'Cause I'm not like everybody else.
I'm not like everybody else.
But darling, you know that I love you true,
I'd do anything that you want me to,
Confess all my sins like you want me to,
There's one thing that I will say to you:
I'm not like everybody else.
I'm not like everybody else.’

The Kinks, 'I'm Not Like Everybody Else’ (R Davies)

No. 537