Beginning with in 1992, English journalist Robert Harris launched a lucrative second career as a writer of best-selling novels, several of which have been adapted for either the large or small screen. – an imagining of an intrigue-laden papal election – is just the latest such instance.
Harris is now back with a new book that bids fair to follow in the same popular path. Like much of his work, deals with real historical figures and events, supplementing them with fictional characters and dialogue in order to build a compelling narrative.
Whereas Fatherland was an alternative history based on a scenario where Nazi Germany had won the Second World War, the setting for Precipice is very real. It begins in the summer of 1914 and follows through to the demise of Britain’s last purely Liberal government the following May. And the story revolves around the extraordinarily indiscreet affair between Prime Minister Herbert Asquith and Venetia Stanley, a woman less than half his age.
Asquith was a married man, the father of 10 children from two wives (his first wife died in 1891 and he remarried in 1894). A barrister by profession, he was first elected to parliament in 1886 and became prime minister in 1908.
Venetia’s background was different, her family being landed aristocracy with a pedigree going back several hundred years. She was unmarried at the time of her relationship with Asquith.
It had actually started in 1912 and, over its three-year course, Asquith wrote Venetia at least 560 letters. On occasion, he wrote three times a day. The letters now reside in Oxford’s Bodleian Library, and Harris quotes profusely from them.
At one level, the letters are a titillating look into the romantic obsession of an older man for a younger woman. He’s clearly besotted, and not just sexually. Venetia has become his political confidante, sounding board and reassurer. He seeks her approval and is emotionally boosted when he gets it.
Opinions vary as to the physical relationship between the two. Some commentators aver that there wasn’t any, but Harris believes that position “strains credulity to the breaking point,” and most modern readers of the letters will likely agree with him. As for the precise nature of that intimacy, Harris suggests “frottage,” which was a new word to me (you, too, can look it up if you’re interested).
However, the affair’s real scandal pertains to Asquith’s extraordinary indiscretion with wartime state secrets. Seeking Venetia’s advice/approval, he described the content of cabinet meetings, sent her decoded diplomatic telegrams and also confidential documents on topics like troop deployments. At times, she was better informed than most cabinet ministers. And to compound the recklessness of his behaviour, most of this correspondence went through the public post! Fortunately, the only actual damage done by this egregious security breach was to Asquith’s reputation.
And there’s another dimension to the story. Did Asquith’s obsession get in the way of his doing his job, particularly as a wartime prime minister?
Judging from his letters, Venetia was always on his mind. He even surreptitiously wrote to her during cabinet meetings, a behaviour not conducive to applying full concentration to the job. Harris clearly feels that, for better or worse, some of the decisions made might have been different if Asquith had been fully focused on the issues at hand. The decision to launch the disastrous Dardanelles campaign is one example.
A more tantalizing question is whether, absent his preoccupation with Venetia, Asquith would’ve taken Britain to war. Britain’s involvement wasn’t a given – “dragged in” is a reasonable descriptor. Notwithstanding the 1904 Entente Cordiale with France and the 1839 treaty with Belgium, as late as July 31 – a mere four days before Britain went to war – only two members of the cabinet were explicitly in favour of intervention.
(For a more detailed discussion of what might have been, see my June 2023 column .)
Then there’s Naomi B. Levine, who wrote about the relationship in . She believed that Asquith’s demoralization after Venetia ended the affair in May 1915 contributed to his agreement to form a coalition government with the Conservatives, a decision that ultimately led to his own ousting as prime minister and the subsequent split in the Liberal Party. From being one of the two major players, the Liberals went into decline and never recovered their previous footing. Levine put it this way: “It was the conclusion of my book that a love affair had changed the nature of British politics.”
Venetia Stanley was a consequential woman.
Troy Media columnist Pat Murphy casts a history buff’s eye at the goings-on in our world. Never cynical – well, perhaps a little bit.
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