by Tim Jeal
His friend Sir Francis de Winton had taken rooms for him at 34, De Vere Gardens - a desirable street just south of Kensington Gardens - and while he was there, one of Queen Victoria's courtiers came to enquire whether a knighthood `would be acceptable'. But in 11885 Henry had taken out American nationality in order to protect his American copyrights. And with Scribner's, his US publisher, just about to disgorge £40,000 for his new book, this was hardly the moment to become a British subject again. As de Winton explained to the Queen's private secretary, `he is involved with publishing transactions that make it impossible [to accept]'. Even so, it was very painful, given Henry's background, to be obliged to sacrifice a knighthood for money - however large the sum.3 In 11872, Queen Victoria had found Stanley `not particularly prepossessing' and had disliked his `strong American twang',4 but in 118go she described him as `the wonderful traveller and explorer'. On 6 May `the wonderful traveller' came to Windsor Castle at her invitation, and she discussed with him `the difficulties with Germany in Africa': `Then Mr Stanley gave us a most interesting lecture.' The Queen added in her diary that Stanley did not want `an order to be offered to him'.'
Eight days before his stay at Windsor, Henry had been bemused and indignant to receive a letter from Dorothy Tennant asking him to visit her at home. `I shall be so deeply glad to see you again, not because you have done such great things, but because you have come back safe, because I feared I might never see your face again. Bula Matari, do not be too proud to come, since I am not too proud to tell you how greatly I desire it.'6 Stanley did not reply. So she wrote again two days later, repeating part of her last letter and adding plaintively: `Perhaps Bula Matari will never wish to see me again, and yet I shall be so deeply glad to see you again that it is impossible that you should not be just a little glad to see me. If I had my wish you would come tomorrow. Will you?'7 This letter, in which she failed to mention the pain she had caused him, is scuffed and dirty, exactly as if he had dragged the sole of his shoe across it.
`I regret to say that it is not likely I shall have an early opportunity of paying you a visit,' he replied with cool formality! But before this brush-off could be delivered in the mail, she contrived to meet him at a social function. Dorothy pleaded with him humbly to visit her the following day, and surprised him into agreeing to do so. But when the next day came, he could not bring himself to risk a tete-a-tete with the woman who had caused him so much pain. Dolly wrote another note, still trying to lure him into a private meeting,' and this time elicited an emotional reply:
I must decline the pleasure of approaching you ... Upon the receipt of your letter in 2886 - only silence could follow ... for this probably I was born ... You will do wisely and well to leave me alone, and some day I have no doubt you shall learn my story ... Meantime ... action cures everything ... No rest, no brooding, but work with zeal and devotion ... Therefore goodbye once again.1O
Instead of trying for another meeting in this more favourable situation, Dorothy wrote a masterly life-changing letter, which seemed to swell directly from her emotions. In reality it was the result of some very cool calculation.
Before saying goodbye, let me tell you this ... Suppose a wild, uncultivated tract of land, and suppose that one day this land is ploughed up and sown with corn, if the field could speak it might say: `I have never borne corn, I do not bear corn, I never shall bear corn.' And yet all the while the wheat lies hidden in its bosom.
When you were gone, when you were out of reach, I slowly realized what you had become to me, and then a great anguish filled me. I then made to myself a vow that ... when you came back I would see you, and tell you all quite simply, and say: `Truly I have never cared for anyone but you. I did not know it when you wrote to me, for till you wrote, the possibility of your caring for me had never even occurred to me. But at that time I was not worthy of your love. Now I believe I am, let me help you and take care of you, and be everything in the world to you.' But there was vanity in this, for it presupposed your still caring for me. Well, dear Mr Stanley, goodbye. God keep and bless you for ever. I shall never again pass across or disturb your life ... If ever you think of me, don't let it be as a poor craven spirit, but as a woman who though she deserved to suffer, has done so bravely, on the whole ..."
From the moment she began to read his reply, which was sent from Windsor Castle, Dorothy knew she was making progress.
My dear Miss Tennant,
Your very nice letter was laid on my table yesterday by my black boy, he little knowing from whom it came ... But oh Heavens, had such possibilities approached me in 2886, I would have been delirious with joy ... But instead ... you were absolutely rude in your violent desire to eradicate all love, so that a far different woman from the gracious queenly woman I worshipped rose in front of me. I saw in my imagination you standing indignant, outraged at the `base born churl' etc., daring to approach your queenliness with such preposterous protestations etc. ... I shrank into nothingness before you and the devout love was crushed ... You permitted me to enter those dark and sorrowful regions [of Africa] with dark sorrowful feelings, and [permitted] the barbed weapon you had flung to enter deeper and deeper into the heart ... I worshipped you as a goddess and the goddess spurned me. If I had not worshipped something else [duty], I had surely been ruined ... Let us meet by all means tonight, calmly and as dear friends ... Your letter has done much to cure an irritating sore ..."
When Dolly set out for an evening party - to which she knew Stanley had been invited - her letter had not yet been delivered. As soon as they met, Dolly recorded, `[I] told him quietly that I would be his wife if he still loved me.' Though stunned by her proposal, Henry did not relent, and his next letter must have come as a great disappointment. `I am grieved, he wrote, ` that I cannot respond as I ought ... From a settled indifference, your words have created in me a profound sympathy ... Let us be good friends."' Most women would have confessed themselves defeated at this stage, but Dorothy, at this point, sat down and wrote another ruthlessly disingenuous appeal. In it she claimed to have `prayed night and day for three years that you might love me back again'. Representing herself as having been at the time she first met him `a girl unacquainted with love', she made out that she had not known that her desire to be with him had in fact been love.
I had no former love to compare it with ... I did not understand, and I wrote to you and destroyed all my life's happiness. When you went into that terrible darkness ... I thought of you without ceasing, and then you did come back ... When I saw your dear face, glorified by all you had suffered and endured, I felt my heart leap with joy, but then you looked at me as though you did not know me ... you tell me that I killed your love long ago ... But my love is a flame, never to be extinguished ... I am yours, whether you will or no, till I die ... Goodbye my Beloved. I am yours for ever and for ever.14
After reading this letter, Stanley agreed to meet Dorothy at his flat in De Vere Gardens." The only record of the meeting is in her diary, and it strikes a bathetic note after the high drama of her letters: `On Wednesday 114th I went by invitation to call on him at 34 De Vere Mansions [sic], then we had a short talk and we were engaged.' After that, Dorothy lost no time in going to see George Buckle, the editor of The Times, who assured her that he would report the story on Saturday morning. On the r 5th Dorothy wrote:
My own beloved Bula Matari,
It is all true - and not a dream, and I am really to be yours. If you did but know how I love you, how intensely I love you ... I long to write to Sir William ...'6
Mackinnon had been in touch with Dorothy since 1887 and had hoped, for the sake of his close friend, that one day she would change her mind. For this reason, during July 118 87, he had invited Dorothy and her mother for a cruise on his line's passenger ship the Jumna, and a month later had called on them, admitting that he was worried to have heard nothing from Stanley for several months. In future, he shared all his news of Henry with Dorothy, sending her telegrams in the name Polly Hopkins.'' Throughout the
se contacts, which lasted from r 8 87 to the spring of r 8go, Dorothy affected to be relieved and grateful to be kept informed. In May 11889, she even asked Sir William to invite her and Stanley to dinner together when he returned.I" A year later, after Stanley appeared to have rejected her decisively, she told Sir William how `dreadfully humbled' she felt. `Some day I will give you a little token he once gave me - he would perhaps like to have it back. And now goodbye till we meet again."9 For the kindly old millionaire, it seemed unbearably sad that these star-crossed lovers should have loved one another so deeply - and yet, tragically, at different times. Sir William was the first person to whom Dorothy wrote after Stanley agreed to marry her. `I will make him gloriously happy,' she promised."O But if the shipping tycoon had known what had really gone on in Dorothy Tennant's life while his dear friend Stanley had been away, he would have been bitterly disillusioned with her.
On r r March 118 8 8 - a month before Stanley met Emin Pasha on the banks of Lake Albert - Dorothy was rhapsodizing in her diary about another man entirely, whom she had by then met four times, and already loved. The Right Honourable Sir Alfred Comyn Lyall was an old Etonian, a Privy Councillor, and a Member of the Council of the Secretary of State for India. He was also an author, who had lectured in English history at Oxford and was a fellow of King's College, Cambridge. He was six years older than Stanley - the age that the fatherfixated Dorothy liked best for her male admirers. Like most of her earlier ones, he too was a married man.
Sir Alfred Lyall
Just when Stanley was approaching the snowy Ruwenzoris, Dorothy was gazing in awe at Sir Alfred, whom she described as being `like a great mountain, inaccessible - with a top of ice and snow'. Yet, though daunting at times, she found him approachable and modest. Normally when people asked her intimate questions about whether she meant to devote herself to art or to marry, she `made them regret they had asked'. But this impertinent question seemed enchanting in Sir Alfred's mouth. Her only fear was that this intellectual man might see nothing to interest him in `a girl who goes out to dinner parties and is fashionable'. Dorothy confessed to her sister, Eveleen (Evie) Myers, how much she loved this fifty-three-year-old luminary of the India Office. In May 11888 Evie took pity on her, promising to invite Sir Alfred to stay with her and her husband in Cambridge later that year. So in July, and in December too, Dorothy and Sir Alfred spent time together under the same roof, enabling Dorothy `to focus my joys', as she put it.
Frederic Myers, the founder of the Society for Psychical Research, had been a classics fellow at Trinity College, Cambridge, but had resigned ten years earlier to become an Inspector of Schools. He and Sir Alfred read French poetry aloud in the evening, and joined in games of cards with Dorothy and Evie. In the day, Dorothy and her distinguished boyfriend wandered through the courts of the Cambridge colleges deep in conversation. For Christmas 11888, Sir Alfred gave Dorothy a gift of ancient Indian coins, and she confided to her dead father - through the pages of her diary - `I care for him as much as I care for you, and this you know my dear, dear Father I have never said or thought of anyone - his beautiful gift has swelled my heart with gladness and sorrowfulness.' That Christmas Day of 11888, Sir Alfred called on Dorothy. `It somehow made Christmas Day right,' she felt.21 (It seems unlikely that Lady Lyall would have shared this opinion.) Whenever Sir Alfred gave lectures, Dorothy was there, as when she went to the South Place Institute in mid-January 118 to hear him speak about Hinduism. She had brought with her a beautifully embroidered Indian bag, which he had given her. Sometimes Sir Alfred sent her poems, which she usually sent back to him illustrated with her drawings. She went with him to Burlington House art exhibitions, and he lunched with her most Wednesdays and Fridays. And so 11889 passed, with Dorothy longing to see her Alfred more often. `Just to see him gives the day its worth.'2'
In mid-May 11889, Dorothy wrote in her diary that Mackinnon `seems to think I have some lingering tender interest in Stanley; he is quite right in thinking I am interested, but I certainly don't feel in the least tender. I think he is a fine, courageous explorer & pioneer - and I hope he will come back safe, & that is all I feel about him.'13 So much for her having `prayed night and day for three years for him to love her back again'.
At this time, she was often at the studio of the young American artist James Shannon, watching him painting a full-length portrait of Sir Alfred. Dorothy loved Lyall's reserve and dignity and found his world-weariness irresistible. Since she suffered from depression, she was paying a great tribute to Sir Alfred when she wrote: `I can never feel hopelessly, desperately alone as long as he lives.' In June he sent Dorothy a first draft of his life of Warren Hastings for her comments, which she gave him honestly. Yet Sir Alfred could be honest with Dolly too, saying - although he loved her - she ought to find a husband and have children. After one intimate chat, Dorothy recorded: `He strongly advised me to marry ... I shouldn't of course have any illusions about love but he advised me to marry a man who might be good and honourable without expecting more. He - Sir Alfred - will always be my friend and care for me ... I know he cares for me and I care for him ...'24
`I long to see you to prove what I can be,' she wrote, shortly before persuading him to stay with her and her mother in their Welsh country house near Swansea. Before his arrival she had his room redecorated and chose new curtains and new paintings. They worked on Warren Hastings together and went for woodland walks. Dorothy `felt very happy'." After his visit, she wrote:
Of an evening I sit in your room scented by the fresh magnolias I put there every day ... I am glad and unregretful as to the past ... Don't tell me I have life before me any more. Let us go on without talking of the mileage. So long as you are in the world I can be happy enough.z6
Yet by the end of the year, although Dorothy still loved Sir Alfred, she knew that his fatalism and detachment would always keep him at arm's length. Yet even a distanced relationship seemed better than nothing. `Let it be so for ever,' she told him, `for you are the only being I care to draw near to.'1'
On io December 11889, Dorothy heard that Stanley had arrived safely at Zanzibar, but two weeks later she gave Sir Alfred a little por trait of Warren Hastings as a Christmas present. By February, however, she was seeing less of Lyall, and in that month flirted with a rich Chicago businessman, though nothing came of it. Then on r9 March, she sent a rather late letter of congratulation to Stanley, who was still in Cairo at the time. At this time Henry's name was constantly in the press. By the end of the month, Dorothy had started her campaign to make herself Mrs Henry Morton Stanley. After all, Sir Alfred would not object, since he had said she ought to marry, regardless of whether she fell in love.23
To many people Dorothy would pretend that she and Stanley had had an understanding to marry if he came back from Africa. Others, like Mackinnon and Gladstone, were told she had fallen in love when he was away. Because Sir Alfred would never leave his wife, Dolly had decided that the next best thing was to become Mrs Stanley - a role offering her, apart from a marriage in Westminster Abbey, a position in society far more dramatic than she could hope to command in any other way. Famous people and elite occasions banished Dolly's gloom: `enabling me, she wrote, `to forget myself completely'.'9
Her letters to Stanley after their engagement glow with a remarkably fervent quality - as if she really had loved him over the past couple of years, rather than Lyall. She resembled a great actress, acting out a theatrical role in real life. But Dorothy genuinely dreaded his returning to Africa. `Before you say those awful words, "I must go" let me entreat you for my sake - and perhaps our child's sake - dearest, don't go back ...'3° Many of her letters begin lovingly - My darling, My dear dear Henry, My dear Well-Beloved Bula Matari - just as if the emotions that the occasion required had always been within her. Though she had been `a great deal in society', Dolly assured her husband-to-be: `My inner life has been quiet, grave, and much with Mother ... What I dread is dealing with the rough outside world ... But you are beside me now, my rock, my prop, m
y bulwark against the great breakers of life.'3' This was the Dorothy who, even aged thirtyfive, sometimes described herself as `a girl' needing protection, when in reality, though sensitive, she was capable of a toughness, at times equal to Stanley's. When he bought her some opulent jewels, which she considered vulgar, she told him very bluntly that she wished him to change them.32 Frederic Myers - Evie's husband - confided, helpfully:
After she is yours I must not criticize her; so now let me say that she has been somewhat over-indulged in life, and that has left her too impetuous, and not always wise. But you have learnt to rule gently; and you will find, as you already know as well as I, that whatever there may be of over-hasty in her is on the surface only, and that beneath is a power of steady devotion ...33
On 17 June Dorothy received from Edward Marston the very first finished copy of In Darkest Africa, and declared: `What a great sensation the book will cause!' She had no idea how right she was. Only three privileged people were allowed to see these pre-publication copies: her mother, her brother Charlie and Sir Alfred Lyall. Few of Stanley's friends and former colleagues were invited to meet Dolly before her wedding: among the chosen ones were Mrs Sheldon, Henry Wellcome, Jephson, Stairs and, rather surprisingly, Sergeant Bonny. But Stanley knew that one day, if he were to have problems with the Barttelot and Jameson families, he would need Bonny to go public with his account of the terrible things that had gone on at Yambuya.34
The day before their wedding in Westminster Abbey, Henry was prostrated by his old enemy, gastritis, and was later told by his doctors that he had suffered `the lightest of strokes'.'' On that day Mackinnon and Stanley's EPRE officers had planned to give him his `last bachelor dinner', but the occasion had to be cancelled.36 Instead, Henry spent the evening at home being given pain-killing injections by Dr Parke. On the eve of his wedding, Stanley wrote to Dorothy: `I rest in peace now with the thought that you are mine ... There is a world of meaning in that word possession, it ends all anxiety and doubt and the pain of a man's life ... I would not care who knows it ...'37
