PARLIAMENTARY ASSOCIATIONS
"_Live to-day--the past is registered--the future is unguessed--the
instant ours._"--MORTIMER COLLINS.
Forster's Coercion Bill was introduced on January 24th, 1881, and on
the 25th Mr. Gladstone moved that it should have precedence of all
other business before the House. Mr. Parnell fiercely opposed this
motion, and kept his followers hard at work in opposition--thus
forcing the House to sit from 4 p.m. on Tuesday until 2 p.m. of the
next day. The details of these sittings have been recounted ad
nauseam, and I need not repeat them here, but only record Parnell's
fierce joy in these political fights, and my pride in him as I
watched him from the Ladies' Gallery. Sometimes Willie would wish to
give the seats he secured in the Ladies' Gallery to friends of his,
and on such occasions I always knew that Mr. Parnell would ballot one
for me. Of course, later on I could always secure a seat without
ballot, if one was vacant, as I had to wait to receive messages from
Mr. Parnell and Mr. Gladstone, and it was made known to the
attendants that on any important occasion I held priority of place.
As a rule, after an all-night sitting he used to drive down to Eltham
in order not to become well known on the Eltham railway, and come
through the conservatory into my sitting-room, where I would have
supper ready for him before the fire, with his smoking-jacket and
slippers ready to put on. He seldom spoke after his first {92}
greeting. He would take off his frock-coat and boots, and, when I
slipped on the others for him, he would eat his supper quite
silently, thinking over the events of the night. I never worried him
to talk. Supper finished, he would light a cigar and sit down in his
own arm-chair, saying, "Well, Queenie, the Old Man spoke to-night,"
or "So-and-so spoke," and then slowly tell me of all that had passed
during the sitting, and his opinion of the present and future, so far
as politics were concerned.
Sometimes when he had spoken himself he would say: "I did not speak
well to-night," and sometimes it was: "I lost that quotation you gave
me and brought it out sideways, and there it was all the time crushed
up in my hand! Then I forgot the fellow's name and called him 'the
poet.'"
"Well, Shakespeare can be called 'the poet,'" I would return
soothingly.
"Yes? Is that so? It seemed to worry some of the reporters; one
came and asked me what I meant! You must make me learn it better
next time."
Once he began to talk he confided all his thoughts to me
unreservedly, and the more freely that he had not been worried to
talk when he came in cold or tired. He used to say that it was such
a relief to get right away from the House when a sitting was over,
and he enjoyed the drive down to Eltham in a hansom cab every night
or early morning. It was only an eight-miles drive, but part of it
was then very pleasant, through country lanes and over a common. Now
London has swallowed up most of these pretty bits.
After relieving his mind of all political affairs of the day he would
talk of things that were of home interest to us--of his stone
quarries at Arklow, his saw-mills, etc., {93} of what Kerr, his Irish
agent, was doing at Avondale; or of some of his hobbies at home. So
we would talk till daylight sent pale gleams of light under the
window curtains, and he would say: "I am really sleepy, Queenie; I'll
go to bed," and as a rule he would sleep soundly until about four
o'clock in the afternoon, when he would come down to breakfast in my
sitting-room.
Parnell was always generous in letting any members of his Party speak
when they had a chance of distinguishing themselves, and he would at
once give way when he thought any member could speak better on any
subject than himself. This most of his Party, if not all,
acknowledged at one time. I mention the characteristic because I
have noticed in more than one of the so-called "Lives" written by
those strangely ignorant of the man's real character, that
considerable stress is laid upon Parnell's jealousy. He was jealous,
abnormally so where his affections were concerned, but not in
political life.
Gladstone once said that "Parnell always knew what he wanted to say,
and said it," but he was not a ready speaker, and his constitutional
nervousness, hidden though it was under the iron mask of reserve he
always wore in public, rendered public speaking very painful work to
him. He was extremely modest about his own speeches, and frequently
would say to me that So-and-so "would have put that much better to
the House, but I could not have trusted him to say it and leave it."
He considered that most Irishmen spoilt things by over-elaboration.
Here also I may record a protest at the tales of gross discourtesies,
spoken utterly without motive, recorded in some of these "Lives."
The Parnell I knew--and I may claim to have known him more intimately
than anyone else on earth, both in {94} public and private life--was
incapable of such motiveless brusqueries. That Parnell could crush
utterly and without remorse I know; that he could deal harshly, even
brutally, with anyone or anything that stood against him in the path
he meant to tread, I admit; but that he would ever go out of his way
to say a grossly rude thing or make an unprovoked attack, whether
upon the personal appearance, morals, or character of another man, I
absolutely deny. Parnell was ruthless in all his dealings with those
who thwarted his will, but--he was never petty.
Parnell had a most beautiful and harmonious voice when speaking in
public. Very clear it was, even in moments of passion against his
own and his country's foes--passion modulated and suppressed until I
have seen, from the Ladies' Gallery, his hand clenched until the
"Orders of the Day" which he held were crushed into pulp, and only
that prevented his nails piercing his hand. Often I have taken the
"Orders" out of his pocket, twisted into shreds--a fate that also
overtook the slips of notes and the occasional quotations he had got
me to look out for him.
Sometimes when he was going to speak I could not leave my aunt long
enough to be sure of getting to the Ladies' Gallery in time to hear
him; or we might think it inexpedient that I should be seen to arrive
so soon after him at the House. On these occasions, when I was able,
I would arrive perhaps in the middle of his speech and look down upon
him, saying in my heart, "I have come!"; and invariably I would see
the answering signal--the lift of the head and lingering touch of the
white rose in his coat, which told me, "I know, my Queen!"
This telepathy of the soul, intuition, or what you will, was so
strong between us that, whatever the business {95} before the House,
whether Parnell was speaking or not, in spite of the absolute
impossibility of distinguishing any face or form behind the grille of
the Ladies' Gallery, Parnell was aware of my presence, even though
often he did not expect me, as soon as I came in, and answered my
wordless message by the signal that I knew.
Sometimes he would wish to speak to me before I went home, and would
signal by certain manipulations of his handkerchief to me to go and
await him at Charing Cross, or another of our meeting-places, and
there he would come to me to tell me how things were going, or to
chat for a few minutes, or get from me the replies to messages sent
through me to Mr. Gladstone.
* * * * * *
DOVER,
_Wednesday, February_ 23, 1881.
MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--Am just starting for Calais.
Kindly send on my portmanteau with my letters and other things in
my room or in the wardrobe to me at Hotel Brighton, Rue de
Rivoli, Paris.--Yours always, C. S. P.
_February_ 25, 1881.
MY DEAREST KATIE,--I have just received your three letters, and
am so delighted to read them hurriedly before sending you this
line in time for post.
I never had the slightest doubt of my darling, and cannot imagine
why she should think so.
Did not know I was going when leaving here, but was induced to
leave by private information, the nature of which I will send you
in my next.
Am not yet sure whether I shall return, but shall manage to see
you in any case.--Yours, C.
HOTEL BRIGHTON, 218 RUE DE RIVOLI, PARIS,
_Sunday evening, February_ 27, 1881.
MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,--I cannot understand your {96} telegram
received to-day at all, although I have been thinking it over all
the evening. I wired back as you appeared to request in it, "All
right."
There was no letter for me from you at the usual address, so I
enclose another, as I fear something may have gone wrong. You
can write me freely in my own name under cover to this address:
Thomas Adams and Co., Limited, 33 Rue d'Hauteville, Paris, and
they will forward the letters safely to me.
I have been warned from Dublin that there is some plot on foot
against us which has been originated by information received from
Cork, and you will guess the original source.
I am expecting further information to-morrow in reference to it.
I have received five letters in all from you since my arrival in
Paris. Best not post your letters at Eltham.
I did not know when leaving you that I was going my departure was
influenced by information of reliable kind that my arrest was
intended for passage in Clare speech, and that bail would be
refused, and I should be left in jail until Habeas Corpus was
suspended, when I could have been again arrested. I think,
however, they have now abandoned this intention, but will make
sure before I return.
This is my third letter to you since my arrival here.--Yours, C.
S. P.
HOTEL BRIGHTON, 218 RUE DE RIVOLI, PARIS,
_Tuesday, March_ 1, 1881.
MY DEAREST LOVE,--To-day I have received your four letters, the
earliest of which was written on Saturday. You do not seem to
have written on Friday, as there was nothing for me on Saturday
or Sunday.
I propose returning to London on Thursday morning, leaving here
Wednesday evening, but it is just possible I may not leave till
Thursday morning, in which case I shall not be able to see my
Katie until Friday.
If I return Thursday morning, my Queen may expect to see me about
one o'clock.
Your letters make me both happy and sad, happy to hear from my
own, but sad when I see how troubled you are.--Always yours,
CHARLES.
{97}
GLASGOW,
_Tuesday, April_ 19, 1881.
DEAREST KATIE,--I send you authority for letters. They are in
two forms, one authorising delivery to you, and the other to'
bearer.
To-night I leave by boat for Dublin, arriving to-morrow morning.
I trust my own wifie has not permitted herself to be too unhappy,
and that she has not been worried. I am writing with her own
beautiful face before me, and have just kissed it.--Always your
husband.
Please write me to Morrison's.
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