THE PHOENIX PARK MURDERS AND AFTER
"_The blood more stirs
To rouse a lion than to start a hare._"
--SHAKESPEARE.
On Parnell's release from Kilmainham he returned to me at Eltham, and
on May 6, 1882, went to Weymouth to welcome Michael Davitt, who came
out of Portland prison on that day. He returned to Eltham that
Saturday evening, and the next morning, Sunday, I drove with him to
Blackheath Station, as he had to go to London to see Davitt and
others. At the station I asked him to get me a newspaper before he
left, and waited for it in the carriage.
From where I sat in the carriage I could see Parnell's back as he
stood just inside the station door. I was watching him, and he half
turned and smiled at me as he opened the paper--the _Sunday
Observer_--to glance at the news before he brought it to me. He told
me afterwards that he wanted to see what was said about Michael
Davitt. He had now come to the top of the steps and, as he suddenly
stopped, I noticed a curious rigidity about his arms--raised in
holding the newspaper open. He stood so absolutely still that I was
suddenly frightened, horribly, sickeningly afraid--of I knew not
what, and, leaning forward, called out, "King, what is it?" Then he
came down the steps to me and, pointing to the headline, said,
"Look!" And I read, "Murder of Lord Frederick Cavendish and Mr.
Burke!"
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I heard the train coming in, and tried to pull myself together, for
the awful significance of the horrible thing to my lover, just
released from Kilmainham on the Treaty, came home to me with a rush
of pain. His face was ashen, and he stared, frowning heavily, before
him, unconsciously crushing the hand I had slipped into his until the
rings I wore cut and bruised my fingers.
I said to him, "Quick, you must catch this train. See Davitt and the
others as arranged and as many more as you can find. Go, you will
know what to do, but you must meet them all at once." He turned
heavily away, saying, "I shall resign," and I answered as I ran
beside him to the platform, "No, you are not a coward."
Before I left Blackheath I wired to Willie to bring Parnell to dinner
at Eltham if he could possibly manage it, and spent one of the most
terrible days of my life considering the effect this awful crime
would probably have upon my lover's career.
Willie came down that evening, Parnell with him. They were both very
gloomy and depressed, and Parnell, after his greeting of me--as
though this were our first meeting since he came out of prison--sat
gazing stonily before him, only glancing across at Willie with the
stormy flare in his eyes when the latter--who was really sorry for
Parnell, as well as shocked at the murders--said something that
jarred upon him. During dinner Willie told me of what had been done
during the day, of the absolute horror and consternation of the Irish
Party, of what Mr. Chamberlain had said on hearing of the murders,
and of Parnell's continuous threat, throughout that awful day, of
retiring from public life altogether.
Willie said to me: "I wish you would urge Parnell not to talk so,
Dick; he can't resign his seat now, the {170} thing's impossible; he
must show that it simply does not touch him politically in any way."
I turned to Parnell and said: "I do absolutely agree with Willie
about it, Mr. Parnell. It would be throwing the whole country over
and a reflection upon all who joined in that Treaty."
Parnell at last roused himself and said: "Well, I will write to the
G.O.M.[1] and offer to resign, and abide by his decision; the thing
makes me feel hopeless of doing any good."
On the wall of the dining-room where we sat hung a large engraving of
the "House" of 1880. All the members of that Parliament were in the
picture, and among them, of course, Mr. Parnell and Captain O'Shea.
As the maid turned to leave the room, after placing the coffee tray
on a little side table, this picture, which hung immediately behind
Parnell, fell to the floor with a crash that, in the state of nervous
tension we were all in, brought us to our feet in alarm. Willie's
chair overturned as he jumped up; but Parnell's was steady, held in a
grip that showed his knuckles white as he held it slightly raised off
the floor, while he stood, half turned, staring at the picture as it
lay among the splintered glass.
Willie laughed, and, coming to help the parlourmaid to pick up the
picture, exclaimed: "There goes Home Rule, Parnell!" But he also had
in him a slight dash of the superstition that was so highly developed
in Parnell's fatalistic nature, and his smile turned to gravity as he
glanced at Parnell's tense expression and listened to my hasty
explanation of the fall: "Perhaps the wire was rotten, or the maid
had shaken the picture as she passed!" Parnell took the loose end of
the wire in both hands and {171} tried to break it. He could not.
Willie said: "Mary (the parlourmaid) was the other side of the room,
so she could not have shaken it." Parnell said nothing, and we began
to speak of other things.
Afterwards I said to him: "You did not really mind about that
picture, did you? It was only a rotten wire!" and he answered: "It
was an omen, I think, darling, but for whom? Willie or me?" and when
I told him I wished he would not talk such nonsense, and that I did
not believe in omens or want any falling pictures to be "omens" for
either of them, he smiled and said no more.
The immediate consequence of the Phoenix Park murders was the
introduction of a Crimes Bill by Sir William Harcourt on May 11th.
Parnell was not approached on the subject. He was given no
opportunity of criticizing the proposals and of suggesting any more
moderate measure which might have appealed to that great body of
Irish Nationalists who viewed the murders with horror. The new Bill
went roughshod over Irish opinion, and the conciliatory effect of the
Arrears Bill, introduced a few days later, was altogether marred.
The second reading of the latter measure was moved by Mr. Gladstone
on May 22nd. In the course of his speech he said: "Eviction in the
exercise of a legal right may be to the prejudice of your neighbours,
may involve the highest reprehension, may even imply deep moral
guilt. There may be outrages which--all things considered, the
persons and the facts--may be less guilty in the sight of God than
evictions."
The Bill was bitterly opposed by the Tory Party.
I had written to Mr. Gladstone expressing a wish that {172} he should
see Mr. Parnell. He wrote in answer from Downing Street on May 25th,
1882, declining to do so in private, though in public he was more
than ready to co-operate with Parnell.
I suggested in reply that we should meet and talk the matter over,
and it was arranged that he should come to see me at Thomas's Hotel
on June 2nd. He arrived punctually at three o'clock. We had a long
talk about Parnell and about politics--chiefly, of course, as
referring to Ireland. He was extremely agreeable and courteous, and
I remember very well the great charm of manner he possessed, a charm
that struck me afresh at each subsequent meeting. A natural charm
and, no doubt, a natural insincerity, but one which is such an
immense asset in the career of a great man: that of making others
believe--or wish to believe--that they are on the same plane of
intellect and diplomacy as himself! He was a very great old man, I
thought, as his wonderful eagle's eyes showed just sufficient
admiration in them to savour of homage without offence. And I may
say here that, with all the perfect courtesy of which, when he chose,
he was past master, he knew before the conclusion of our interview,
and allowed me to know that he knew, what I desired that he should
know--that my personal interest in Parnell was my only interest in
Irish politics.
Mr. Gladstone having agreed that it would be of considerable
convenience to the Government to be in private and amicable
communication with Mr. Parnell, and that I, whose interests were
inseparable from those of the Irish leader, would be confidently
accepted as such intermediary by him, we parted satisfied, I think,
on both sides with the afternoon's compact.
After this first interview with Mr. Gladstone I had {173} frequently
to see him at Downing Street--taking him drafts, clauses, and various
proposed amendments (of Bills affecting Ireland) that Parnell
proposed, altered, and suggested privately to Gladstone before
putting them before the House. Parnell, of course, always intent on
the betterment of the law as affecting Ireland; Gladstone bargaining
for the Irish vote, when without it he would have lost his majority.
Parnell would sometimes write the rough draft of what he wished
Gladstone to know, or sometimes write what he had to say in the form
of a letter (often dating it from my house!), but occasionally he
would do neither, as, on more than one important occasion, he said:
"I don't trust that Grand Old Spider farther than I can see him.
Sweetheart, learn this by heart, and let it off at him yourself."
Then I had to take down in my own handwriting what he wished proposed
to Gladstone, and at the subsequent interview "let it off" at him.
Very often letters were sufficient, and in this case I almost
invariably wrote them, or, if the letter was in Parnell's handwriting
addressed to me, under cover of my envelope, I would request its
return, and this was done; letters intended for Parnell by Gladstone
being invariably addressed to me.
It was by my suggestion Mr. Gladstone opened these private
negotiations with Mr. Parnell, and I was myself much amused to find
that both these great statesmen were of one mind as to the danger of
such a trusting of one another as such negotiations necessitated.
When I said to Parnell, "Why not see Gladstone yourself privately,
and get what you can from him, in return for the Irish vote?" he at
once replied that such a proceeding would be fatal to the "cause,"
and when I said much the same thing to {174} Gladstone at our first
interview--which latter was a brilliant inspiration of Parnell's
own--he replied that "such a proceeding" would be fatal to his
position, but, he added, "it might be advantageous to the Irish
leader and myself if you, Mrs. O'Shea, would accept the thankless
office of go-between, as you suggest. A safe and secret intermediary
might well prove to be of the greatest assistance to us both in our
efforts for the welfare of the country." I have wondered since which
country the G.O.M. had in his mind as he spoke.
On June 17 and 18, 1882, Gladstone wrote to me. The letter of the
17th was little more than a formal acknowledgment, but in his note of
the following day he referred me to something which had passed at our
last interview. He had on that occasion directed my attention to the
proposal to amend certain severe clauses of the Crimes Act.
Meanwhile the Irish were fighting the Crimes Bill inch by inch. It
had been read a second time on May 25 after three nights' debate.
The most drastic clause, from the legal point of view, was the
suspension of the right of trial by jury in all grave cases of
agrarian crime, which (and the Government would decide when) would be
tried by a Court of three judges, in such district as the
Attorney-general might decide. Public meetings could be proclaimed
and newspapers suppressed. The police were vested with power to
search private houses and arrest night wanderers. Finally, and
against this the Irish Party especially protested--magistrates were
empowered to convict summarily on charges of incitement, boycotting,
and membership of a secret society.
This was the iron heel with a vengeance; it took from the Irish the
last vestige of citizen right. Parnell opposed, {175} yet not
violently; the remembrance of the Phoenix Park murders held him back.
But the speeches of his followers were bitter in the extreme. "What
profit," cried Dillon, "can you ever expect from governing a nation
which nothing conciliates, and nothing can subdue?" Of all the fifty
Coercion Acts passed in the eighty-eight years since the Union this
was the worst.
The second reading was carried by 383 votes against 45.
Parnell expressed a desire that Gladstone should have his (Parnell's)
views distinctly put before him by me--not in writing. This did not
suit Gladstone. He had no intention of giving away his hand in
regard to the Crimes Bill, and, in the then temper of his own Party
and of the Conservatives, was not at all desirous of making any
further private concession that would certainly place him in a too
favourable light (as regards this Bill) in the eyes of the Irishmen.
He was determined not to see me again with reference to the Crimes
Bill, and on June 23 he wrote me to that effect. It was obvious from
the tone of his letter that he was annoyed by the continued
opposition of the Irish Party, which, from his point of view, only
served to impede the progress of the Arrears Bill.
On one of my visits to Downing Street I told Gladstone of the inner
working of the Ladies' Land League, about which he was curious. I
mentioned to him the enormous sum these Lady Leaguers had expended
and the great difficulty Parnell had had in suppressing them. When
he heard the sum of their estimated weekly expenditure a grim smile
flitted over his face. "Very satisfactory," he remarked, "as the
ladies have evidently put these large sums beyond the power of--of
the Land League's expenditure!"
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Gladstone would not sit still when he talked to me, but liked to pace
up and down the long room with me. On my entry he would rise from
his desk to greet me and, solemnly handing me a chair, would walk
down the room to the door at the end, which was always open when I
entered, close it firmly and, pacing back to the door of my entry,
push it. These preparations always made me smile--a smile in which
he joined as, coming up to me and offering me his arm, he said: "Do
you mind walking up and down the room, I talk better so." So we
paced up and down while I voiced Parnell's instructions and listened
to the G.O.M.'s views, intentions, and tentative suggestions, always
on my part keeping to "It is considered that, etc.," in giving
Parnell's point, and always receiving "your friend should, etc.," or
"I am prepared to concede to your friend, etc., in return."
He was so careful in this regard that one day I said: "What is it you
shut up in that room, Mr. Gladstone, when I come to see you?"
"Persons, or a person, you do not come to see, Mrs. O'Shea. Only a
secretary or so, and occasionally, in these times of foolish panic,
detectives. No," in answer to my look of inquiry, "no one can
overhear a word we say when we pace up and down like this, and, as
you do not mind it, it refreshes me."
Always as I stood face to face with this Grand Old Man on leaving,
and looked into his slate-coloured eyes, so like those of an eagle, I
experienced a sudden uneasy feeling, in spite of his gracious
courtesy, of how like to a beautiful bird of prey this old man was:
with the piercing, cruel eyes belying the tender, courteous smile,
and how, relentless as an eagle, men like this had struck and torn
their victims. But to me, personally, he always showed {177} the
marvellous charm of manner which sent me away feeling that I was at
least a compelling force in the great game of politics and worthy of
the place I held.
The political history of this time has been written many times, and
from various points of view, and in this book I do not propose to
repeat it, but only to record such point or detail as at the time
affected my King in his home life.
[1] Gladstone.
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