"Feeling is deep and still, and the word that floats on the surface
Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden."
                                                                                                                —LONGFELLOW.
 
 
Mr. Forster made his notorious attack upon Mr. Parnell in February, 1883, accusing him of encouraging and conniving at murder, outrage, and treachery. On his return home Parnell showed, as he would not deign to show in the House, a fierce joy in the false move of his enemies and the scorn and contempt of the lack of control which could lead a politician of Forster's experience into such a faux pas as this personal attack on him. Here, then, he had what he wanted; in this attack was the repudiation of those charges, made by the "extremists" in Ireland and America, of pandering to the Government—made by them ever since he left Kilmainham on the Treaty—here was another cord to bind the Nationalist forces together without in any way repudiating that Treaty. Here was a fresh weapon given into his hand by an ex-Government official who could not govern his personal spleen by political intelligence.
 
"No," he said to me, when I asked him if he did not mean to answer Forster at all, "I shall not answer. I shall let him hang himself with his own rope."
 
But the Party would not have this, and urged him so strongly that he did—not answer—but show his contempt of the whole thing and of the English politicians who had played their hand so badly. He said to me before he started {220} for the House: "By the judgment of the Irish people only do I, and will I, stand or fall," and this he repeated in the House.
 
The astonishment of the House was unbounded. It had been prepared for anything but this scornful repudiation of the right of the English to judge him—for a downright denial of the charges made, for a skilful fencing with the arguments. The speech of Parnell was a challenge to war. Impassive as ever, betraying no slightest sign of emotion, he tore up the accusations and threw them scornfully in the face of his accuser.[1]
 
Some time afterwards, in an interview I had with him, Mr. Gladstone referred to this declaration of Parnell's—that he would stand or fall only by the judgment of the Irish people.
 
He said: "You know Mr. Parnell's inmost feelings better than others; does this truly represent his mind, Mrs. O'Shea?"
 
I answered, as I could truly do: "Yes, Mr. Gladstone, that is his only and absolute ideal. I may say Ireland's is the only voice he regards as having any authority over him in the whole world."
 
"Yet Mr. Parnell is so much an Englishman in his coldness and reserve?"
 
"He is a paradox, Mr. Gladstone, the enigma of genius herself, a volcano capped with snow. Englishman himself, at least he is descended from Englishmen, he hates England and the English and does not understand them; he loves Ireland and her people through and through, {221} understands them absolutely, and is in nature as apart and aloof from the Irish nature as you are yourself."
 
The hard, flint-like eyes softened a little in the eagle face as the G.O.M. answered with a little sigh: "I have much sympathy with his ambitions for Ireland, Mrs. O'Shea. His is a curious personality; you are right, I think—yes, a paradox indeed, but a wonderful man!"
 
At the end of June, 1883, Parnell went over to conduct Mr. Healy's election at Monaghan (an Ulster stronghold), for which division he was returned a month after he had quitted Richmond Prison.
 
He immediately afterwards (on July 4) attended the Cork banquet given in his honour. He wrote the following letter to me to allay the fears I had expressed in regard to certain political actions which he here repudiates and which had reached my ears from other sources:—
 
 
 
MORRISON'S HOTEL, DUBLIN,
    Tuesday night.
When I received your note I at once determined to go over to you to-morrow morning and to give up my engagement to speak at the Cork banquet to-morrow night, as I knew my own was very much troubled about something, and felt sure that I could comfort and reassure her. I have since been besieged the whole evening by entreaties and threats not to throw over Cork, and it has been represented to me, and with truth, that half the result of the Monaghan victory will be lost if I leave Cork to the Whigs and my enemies. I have been very much perplexed and dragged in different ways, but have at this hour (2 a.m.) made up my mind to ask my own Wifie to suspend her judgment for another twenty-four hours about whatever is tormenting her, to place some little confidence in her husband's honour and fidelity for that short time, and to believe that he now swears to her, and that he will repeat the same oath to her on Thursday evening, that whatever statement has been made about him which is calculated to {222} lower him in his wife's opinion in the slightest degree is a foul lie.
 
I feel that I can ask this of my own Wifie, and that she will not withdraw her confidence and love from her own husband until he can return and defend himself.
 
I shall leave for Cork by to-morrow morning's train at nine o'clock, speak at banquet, and return by night mail the same day to Dublin, and be in time to leave Dublin by mail train for London on Thursday morning. Let me know at Palace Chambers where I shall see you on Thursday evening.
 
Trust your husband, and do not credit any slander of him.
 
 
 
AVONDALE, RATHDRUM,
    2 a.m., July 4, 1883.
MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,—I seize a vacant moment to write you a few words, as it does not look as if Irish affairs would permit me to see you for some time longer. Perhaps even a week or ten days may pass by before I can see Eltham again. I also wish you to forward enclosed to Captain O'Shea, as I have not got his address.
 
I have had several conversations with Fr. White, who is a very superior man, and has impressed me very much.
 
I intend to make it my first business to look up West Clare, and trust that Captain O'Shea may be able to meet me there.—With best regards, yours always sincerely,
 
C. S. PARNELL.
 
 
 
MORRISON'S HOTEL, DUBLIN,
    Tuesday.
MY DEAREST WIFIE,—Your letters received, and always give me the greatest happiness to read.
 
Please continue writing. I will make arrangements to have them kept out of sight here.
 
Shall see him[2] Wednesday evening or Thursday morning, and do what I can. I fear his position in Clare is irretrievable.—With best love, YOUR HUSBAND.
 
 
 
{223}
AVONDALE,
    Sunday.
MY DEAR MRS. O'SHEA,—Will you kindly direct, enclose, and post enclosed.
 
Many thanks for your letter, also for two from Captain O'Shea, which I will reply to shortly.—Believe me, in haste, yours very truly, CHAS. S. PARNELL.
 
 
 
Just before Christmas in 1883 I took a furnished house in Brighton for three months for my children. I had arranged to go into a house in Second Avenue, which both Parnell and I liked, but Willie came down and insisted on my taking one facing the sea in Medina Terrace; so I (with difficulty) got out of my former agreement, and certainly the house Willie chose was very much pleasanter, owing to its close proximity to the sea.
 
Willie undertook to stay here to be with the children while I went back to my aunt (coming myself to Brighton for one or two days in the week).
 
Willie asked Parnell to come and stay. He did so, and Willie and he discussed the Local Government Bill at all hours, as Parnell wished to find out what the views of Mr. Chamberlain and the Tories were—better ascertainable by Willie than others.
 
I went back to my aunt for Christmas Eve. It was bitterly cold, and as the old lady never cared for festivities, she was soon glad to shut herself up in her warm house and "forget in slumber the foolish junketings I permit in my domestics, my love."
 
There was snow that Christmas, very deep at Eltham; and Parnell, who had joined me there, walked round the snowy paths of my aunt's place with me in the moonlight. Now and then he moved with me into the shadow of the trees as a few lads and men, with the inevitable cornet and {224} trombone of a village "band," plunged through the drifts on their short cut to the old house. There they sang Christmas carols to their hearts' content, knowing they were earning their yearly bonus, to be presented with a polite message of her "distaste" for carol singing by "Mrs. Ben's" (as she was affectionately called in the village) man-servant the next morning.
 
Parnell and I enjoyed that pacing up and down the wide terrace in the ............