by Roy Jenkins
There was another factor which made the charge against Dilke unusually damaging-—still more so, for example, than that which was to be made against Parnell. This was the nature of Mrs. Crawford’s accusations. These would have done a great deal of harm to the most unassailable of politicians in the most tolerant of decades. They were made to her husband on the night of Friday, July 17th, 1885.[2] He arrived home at their London lodgings, then in George Street, Bryan-ston Square, at about 11.30 that night, and found a letter waiting for him. It was anonymous—one of a series which he had received[3]—and in the following terms: “Fool, looking for the cuckoo when he has flown, having defiled your nest. You have been vilely deceived, but you dare not touch the real traitor.”
Crawford then went to his bedroom where his wife was waiting for him. She asked if he had received the letter and what were its contents. He told her, and then said: “Virginia, is it true that you have defiled my bed? I have been a faithful husband to you.” She replied: “Yes, it is true, it is time that you should know the truth. You have always been on the wrong track, suspecting people who are innocent, and you have never suspected the person who is guilty.” Crawford answered: “I never suspected anybody except Captain Forster,” and Mrs. Crawford replied: “It was not Captain Forster. The man who ruined me was Charles Dilke.”
She then related how, a few months after their marriage in 1881, when she was aged eighteen, Dilke had called upon her at Bailey’s Hotel in the Gloucester Road, where they were staying after their wedding trip.[4] On this occasion “he made love to me and kissed me but nothing more.” There was no further meeting until the following February, because the Grawfords were away in Scotland. On their return, however, Dilke again called upon Mrs. Crawford, this time at a house in Sydney Place, Chelsea, which they had taken for the session. In the course of this call (on February 23rd, 1882) he persuaded her to meet him that afternoon at a house “off Tottenham Court Road.” There they spent about an hour together, and she became Dilke’s mistress. Their liaison continued, Mrs. Crawford said, for two and a half years, until the summer of 1884, although in a somewhat spasmodic way. She went only once again to the house near Tottenham Court Road, but in February, 1883, when she came to London from Scotland before her husband, she spent two nights in Dilke’s Sloane Street house, returning home on one morning at 4 o’clock and on the other at 7-30. In addition there were frequent but brief adulterous meetings, both at Sloane Street and at the Grawfords’ rented house in Young Street, Kensington, during the sessions of 1883 and 1884. These meetings took place between eleven and twelve in the mornings and lasted sometimes half an hour and sometimes an hour. In Sloane Street she mounted to Dilke’s bedroom, but in Young Street they remained in the drawing-room. In the late summer of 1884, Mrs. Crawford said, Dilke tired of her and their clandestine meetings ceased, although they saw each other occasionally at family tea parties during the following autumn. She admitted that she had been “too familiar” with other men, including Captain Forster, but solemnly denied that she had committed adultery with anyone other than Dilke. About Captain Forster she was quite specific. “He had always treated her like a lady,” and, less ambiguously, he was not and never had been her lover.
This was the skeleton of Mrs. Crawford’s confession; but she embellished it with a number of details which contributed greatly to the sensationalism of the case. She said that Dilke’s hold over her was such that, had he come into the room while she was making the confession, “I believe I should have to do whatever he pleased.” She announced that he had told her that he was first attracted by her likeness to her mother, whose lover he had been many years before. She described how, at Sloane Street, she used to be dressed by a maid named Sarah whose silence was thought to be guaranteed by her status as an old mistress of Dilke’s. She told how Mrs. Roger-son—also, she implied, a former mistress of Dilke’s—had at his instigation gradually become a confidante of hers. And, most sensationally of all, she described the role of “Fanny.” Fanny, she said, was a servant-girl of about her own age who, Dilke told her, used to spend almost every night with him at Sloane Street. Dilke, Mrs. Crawford said, was most anxious to see both herself and Fanny together. After one or two unsuccessful attempts to introduce Fanny into the room while she was there, her resistance was overcome and they all three shared the same bed. “He taught me every French vice,” Mrs. Crawford added. “He used to say that I knew more than most women of thirty.”
Dilke became aware of the greater part of Mrs. Crawford’s story on the morning of Sunday, July 19th, at Mrs. Rogerson’s. His informant had seen Mrs. Crawford on the previous day, after she had finally left her husband’s house, and had obtained her version of what had happened. “19th. Early. Heard of charge against me,” was Dilke’s laconic diary entry. But he had no doubt of the seriousness of the threat to his whole future. He behaved, however, with surprising composure. First, he established contact with J. B. Balfour, the former Lord Advocate, Crawford’s chief and the proposer of his own health at the Reform Club banquet on the previous evening. He arranged to meet him on the following afternoon. Then he took a train from Paddington and fulfilled his plans for spending the day at Taplow Court. While there he wrote two letters to Mrs. Pattison. They afford our best glimpses into his state of mind on that day. It should be remembered that the mail to India then took six weeks, and that they were not intended to break the news; a telegram sent by Chamberlain in the following week was to perform this task.
“The blow long threatened in the wicked letters has fallen at last,” Dilke wrote in one of his letters. “The instrument chosen by the conspirators is Donald Crawford. . . . I shall at once leave public life for ever after doing everything that can be done through the late Lord Advocate whose secretary he was and who is very fond of him to stop it . . . In my belief the conspiracy comes from a woman who wanted me to marry her—but this is guesswork. I only know that there is conspiracy, from one of two women, perhaps from both.”2
The other letter was still more despairing, at least about his political prospect.
“The only thing I can do in future,” he wrote, “is to devote myself entirely to you and to helping in your work. To that the remainder of my life must be dedicated. I fancy you will have the courage to believe me, whatever is by madness and malevolence brought against me, and to live a lifelong exile with me, which if you can do at all will be a dream of happiness. You may be ill when you get my telegrams—and they may kill you! I don’t think ever man was so unhappy as (I) and the only ray of hope is that you may be willing to believe (me) whatever happens.”3
On the Monday Dilke was back in London. He saw first Chamberlain and told him the whole story. He next called on J. B. Balfour, whom he asked to arrange for an independent, private investigation of the charges to be carried out by a commission of two, one being a friend of Crawford and the other a friend of Dilke. Balfour said that he would consult Crawford about the proposal and let Dilke have an answer in the course of a few days. Meanwhile Chamberlain had been to see James, the former Attorney-General, and had arranged for him to advise Dilke and, should this become necessary, to conduct the case. On the Tuesday morning, however, whether with or without James’s consent, Dilke took a further and most unwise step. At nine o’clock—his habits had become earlier since the blow had fallen—he went, “boiling with rage” to use his own phrase, to his sister-in-law’s house and demanded to see Mrs. Crawford. What took place then is in dispute. Mrs. Ashton Dilke said that he tried to bribe her sister into arranging a quiet separation from her husband without a divorce. Dilke denied this and said that he merely pointed out that Mrs. Crawford was telling lies and demanded that she withdraw the charges against him. What is common ground, however, is that at this interview he tried and failed to obtain a written retraction from his accuser. On the Wednesday he was informed that Crawford had refused the private enquiry suggested through Balfour.
These two setbacks reduced Dilke to a state of near despair.
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bsp; “You always said that that family would lead us to shame,” he wrote to Mrs. Pattison in a letter which he finished on Friday, July 24th, but which he had begun earlier in the week. “You could not have guessed to what shame. I believe I shall have to let the Crawford suit at the last moment go without defence, on condition that nothing is said, because otherwise they not only press the adultery with the mother . . . (but also) a mass of other charges supported by conspiracy and perjured evidence. Mrs. Cd. has got up my bedroom (!!!) having gone over it with Mrs. Chatfield I find! It is madness, but I will do my very best for us. I believe your love can forgive even shame and exile. 76 (Sloane Street) must be got rid of after you have cleared out the things from it. I can’t see it again after this thing gets out, which may be to-day. . . . Chamberlain is very dear. He is writing to you.”4
In the same mood of renunciation and resignation Dilke, on the Thursday, walked out of the House of Commons.
“Left for the last time the H. of C.,” he recorded in his diary, “in which I have obtained some distinction. It is curious that only a week ago Chamberlain and I had agreed at his wish that I should be the future leader, that only three days ago Mr. G. had expressed the same wish. A sudden fall, indeed! Such a charge—even if disproved—which is not easy against perjured evidence picked up with care, is fatal to supreme usefulness in politics. In the case of a public man a charge is always believed by many, even tho’ disproved, and I should be weighted by it throughout life. I prefer therefore to at once contemplate leaving public life for ever.”[5]5
By the beginning of the following week Dilke’s morale had improved a little. Partly, perhaps, this was due to the mere passage of time, and partly, also, to the fact that the hurdle of publication had been surmounted. Lord Granville, for example, on the news becoming known, had written an agreeable little letter, which while it did not express quite the burning faith in his innocence which Dilke was later to demand, was at least comfortingly tolerant. “Do not be too much discouraged,” Granville had written. “After all you are not the Archbishop of Canterbury and continuous action on public affairs will soon cause a nine-day wonder to be forgotten.”6 And Dilke replied, on Monday, July 27th: “Things look better and I am quite well again.”7 Two days later—on what evidence it is not clear—he wrote again to Granville, in still more optimistic terms: “Your kind letter prompts me to tell you that the lady has changed her mind and declares that her ‘confession’ was hysterics, and as there never was or could be anything else in the charge but this so-called ‘confession,’ I hardly see how the gentleman can go on—though he still believes it, I am told.”8 But while it is true that Mrs. Crawford was hesitating a good deal at this stage as to what she should say and what she should sign, she never committed herself to such a withdrawal.
On Thursday, July 30th, Dilke went to Birmingham to stay at Highbury. Chamberlain was not only “very dear,” but had also abandoned some meetings at Hull in order to take him there. The first part of the visit was brief, for on August 3rd Chamberlain took Dilke back to London and made him attend the House of Commons for a week and speak in the debates on the Housing of the Working Classes Bill. While in London Dilke received some bad news—Crawford’s divorce petition was filed on August 5th[6]—and some encouraging letters. John Morley wrote to say that “. . . whatever the result may be you will find that a good many of us shall stand firm by you. You have been a staunch friend, and it would be a shame if you were not to find others as staunch to you. If anything happens amiss to you, it will be as unfortunate a thing for English Liberalism as any contingency that I can imagine—let that other be what it may.”9 There was also a warm letter from Cardinal Manning asking if he could call at Sloane Street; Dilke readily acceded to this request, and claimed that when the visit took place he told the Cardinal “everything,” a claim which was to some extent borne out by a letter which Manning wrote several years later.[7]
Meanwhile Mrs. Pattison had received the news at Ootaca-mund in the Madras Hills, where she was convalescent from a severe attack of typhoid fever. She related that Mrs. Grant Duff brought the opened telegram in to her saying: “Of course this must be Mrs. Smith’s doing.”10 Despite the nature of the news and the state of her health Mrs. Pattison reacted defiantly. Immediately and on her own responsibility she telegraphed to The Times the news of her engagement to Dilke. The announcement duly appeared on August 18th: “We are requested to announce that a marriage is arranged between the Right Hon. Sir Charles Dilke, M.P., and Mrs. Mark Pattison, widow of the late Rector of Lincoln College, Oxford.”
This development produced a fresh crop of letters to Dilke. There was one from the Prince of Wales, whom Dilke had informed privately before the announcement (and who was later to join Manning amongst those to whom “everything” was told), which referred to the Prince’s “trust that the painful ordeal you have lately had to undergo may soon be a thing of the past.”11 There was also a letter from Rosebery, which Dilke gave to Bodley, having noted upon it: “Perhaps we had better keep this of Rosebery’s, because she is odd as you know.”12 Gladstone also wrote, several weeks later, offering his congratulations but making no reference to the divorce case. To this letter Dilke added the slightly aggrieved comment: “He’s gone on writing about business until now without saying anything.”13
These letters Dilke received at Highbury, where he had returned with Chamberlain on August 13th. He stayed there with a short break until the middle of September. Life in Birmingham involved a routine of almost breathless sporting activity, although Chamberlain himself, whose attitude to exercise was always hostile, participated only occasionally. Dilke described the pattern in letters to Mrs. Pattison.
“I rise at 8 with my letters,” he wrote on August 28th. “Breakfast with Austen at 8-30. Write letters. 10-15, Boxing lesson with Austen. 10-45, Fence with rapiers, 11, Fence with foils. Dress in breeches. 11-30, Ride with Austen. . . . After lunch we have some pistol shooting and some lawn tennis, and then I get to work on the Local Government Bill.”14
Another letter contained a similar account with mild deprecatory references to Chamberlain’s lack of participation and general grandeur. “Breakfast with Austen at 8-30 (J. King does not get up till much later),” it ran. . . after lunch I play tennis with the King in person—I sett (sic) is all he will do.”15 This regime did much to restore Dilke’s physical health and something to restore his equanimity. His weight, which had fallen from 13 stone 13 to 12 stone 4 in the fortnight after he had received the news of Mrs. Crawford’s action, quickly went back to normal. But he remained subject to neurotic fears. He was afraid that his letters to Mrs. Pattison, who by now was on her way home from India, would be intercepted and used in some obscure way against him. He wrote to Aden, but with apprehension. Perhaps the Crawfords would obtain possession of the letter and use it for the basis of a libel action. He wrote to Naples, but only after great doubt that, if he addressed it care of the ship it might not be sent on board, and if he sent it Poste Restante she might not have time to go and fetch it. He wrote to Marseilles, where she was to disembark, but only after making most elaborate arrangements for his Toulon gardener to collect the letter from friends who kept the Buffet de la Gare and take it to the ship. During the same period, however, he was able to write calmly and almost confidently to Cardinal Manning, and even with Mrs. Pattison herself to engage in quite a sensible discussion of his longer-term plans. Austen Chamberlain, writing many years afterwards, commented on Dilke’s self-control while at Highbury during that summer. “. . . he showed me nothing of what he was suffering,” Austen wrote, “. . . and at meal times he delighted me with talk of foreign politics, of France, French history and customs, so that he left on my mind the memory of a most interesting companion.” Austen Chamberlain went on to testify to his recollection of his father’s “anguish of mind” on Dilke’s behalf at this time, and to his conviction, based both on memory and on a subsequent reading of contemporary letters to Morley,[8] that Joseph Chamberlain was absol
utely convinced of the falseness of Mrs. Crawford’s charges.16
In the middle of September Dilke crossed to Paris to await the arrival of Mrs. Pattison. There had been some dispute as to whether, in the circumstances, the wedding had not better be celebrated in France than in England. Eventually Chamberlain came down decisively in favour of a marriage in London. The original plan of a ceremony in the cathedral at Oxford had been abandoned, and Chelsea parish church was substituted. They were married there on October 3rd, Dilke having returned from Paris two days before, and Mrs. Pattison having followed him twenty-four hours later. Chamberlain was best man, but in other respects the ceremony was as austere as Dilke’s first marriage, nearly fourteen years before.
After the wedding the Dilkes did not use 76, Sloane Street for some time. They went first to the Oatlands Park Hotel, near Weybridge, and remained there, except for occasional visits to London (during one of which they stayed, a little strangely, at Bailey’s Hotel) until the beginning of November. They then returned to Sloane Street and Dilke began his election campaign. His constituents had remained friendly, and he found it possible to abandon the earlier plan, by which, if the case should not have been heard when the campaign began, the chairman of his local Liberal Association should fight in his stead. His meetings were well attended and enthusiastic, and the result satisfactory. Under Dilke’s own redistribution act Chelsea had become a one-member seat with its boundaries roughly the same as those of the present constituency. In those days there were proportionately many more working-class electors within these boundaries than there are to-day. The new borough, therefore, offered Dilke a fair radical prospect, although it was a seat which he would have done well to win even without the complication of the divorce suit.[9] He had shed the Tory wastes of South Kensington, but he had also lost the electorally more encouraging areas of Hammersmith and Kensal Green.
