"one evening he asked the miller where the river went."
"'it goes down the valley,' answered he, 'and turns a power
of mills.'"—r. l. stevenson.
willie and the o'gorman mahon had been returned at the general election, and many and varied were the stories the o'gorman mahon told me subsequently of their amusing experiences. how they kissed nearly every girl in clare and drank with every man—and poor willie loathed irish whisky—how willie's innate fastidiousness in dress brought gloom into the eyes of the peasantry until his unfeigned admiration of their babies and live stock, scrambing together about the cabins, "lifted a smile to the lip."
the o'gorman mahon was then a tall, handsome old man with a perfect snowstorm of white hair, and eyes as merry and blue as those of a boy. he could look as fierce as an old eagle on occasion, however, and had fought, in his day, more duels than he could remember. a fine specimen of the old type of irishman.
when he came down to eltham to see us, willie and i took him over to greenwich and gave him a fish dinner. we sat late into the night talking of irish affairs, and the o'gorman mahon said to me, "if you meet parnell, mrs. o'shea, be good to him. his begging expedition to america has about finished him, and i don't believe he'll last the session out."
{57}
he went on to speak of mr. parnell; how aloof and reserved he was, and how he received any inquiries as to his obviously bad health with a freezing hostility that gave the inquirers a ruffled sense of tactlessness.
willie broke in to say that he and i were going to give some political dinners in london and would ask parnell, though he was sure he would not come. the o'gorman mahon paid some idle compliment, but i was not interested particularly in their stories of parnell, though i mentally decided that if i gave any dinners to the irish party for willie i would make a point of getting parnell.
on the 26th of april the members of the irish party met in dublin to elect a chairman, and the meeting was adjourned without coming to a decision, but in may mr. parnell was chosen as leader. willie voted for him, with twenty-two others, and telegraphed to me to say that he had done so, but feared that mr. parnell might be too "advanced." the fact was that many people admired steady-going william shaw, the then chairman, as being very "safe," and doubted whither their allegiance to mr. parnell would lead them. years after, when their politics had diverged, mr. parnell said: "i was right when i said in '80, as willie got up on that platform at ennis, dressed to kill, that he was just the man we did not want in the party."
after the meeting of parliament willie was insistent that i should give some dinner parties in london, and, as his rooms were too small for this purpose, we arranged to have a couple of private rooms at thomas's hotel—my old haunt in berkeley square. there were no ladies' clubs in those days, but this hotel served me for many years as well as such a club could have done.
{58}
we gave several dinners, and to each of them i asked mr. parnell. among the first to come were mr. justin mccarthy (the elder), colonel colthurst, richard power, colonel nolan, and several others; but—in spite of his acceptance of the invitation—mr. parnell did not come. someone alluded to the "vacant chair," and laughingly defied me to fill it; the rest of our guests took up the tale and vied with each other in tales of the inaccessibility of parnell, of how he ignored even the invitations of the most important political hostesses in london, and of his dislike of all social intercourse—though he had mixed freely in society in america and paris before he became a politician for the sake of the irish poor. i then became determined that i would get parnell to come, and said, amid laughter and applause: "the uncrowned king of ireland shall sit in that chair at the next dinner i give!"
one bright sunny day when the house was sitting i drove, accompanied by my sister, mrs. steele (who had a house in buckingham gate), to the house of commons and sent in a card asking mr. parnell to come out and speak to us in palace yard.
he came out, a tall, gaunt figure, thin and deadly pale. he looked straight at me smiling, and his curiously burning eyes looked into mine with a wondering intentness that threw into my brain the sudden thought: "this man is wonderful—and different."
i asked him why he had not answered my last invitation to dinner, and if nothing would induce him to come. he answered that he had not opened his letters for days, but if i would let him, he would come to dinner directly he returned from paris, where he had to go for his sister's wedding.
{59}
in leaning forward in the cab to say good-bye a rose i was wearing in my bodice fell out on to my skirt. he picked it up and, touching it lightly with his lips, placed it in his button-hole.
this rose i found long years afterwards done up in an envelope, with my name and the date, among his most private papers, and when he died i laid it upon his heart.
this is the first letter i had from mr. parnell:—
london,
july 17, 1880.
my dear mrs. o'shea,—we have all been in such a "disturbed" condition lately that i have been quite unable to wander further from here than a radius of about one hundred paces allons. and this notwithstanding the powerful attractions which have been tending to seduce me from my duty towards my country in the direction of thomas's hotel.
i am going over to paris on monday evening or tuesday morning to attend my sister's wedding, and on my return will write you again and ask for an opportunity of seeing you.—yours very truly, chas. s. parnell.
on his return from paris mr. parnell wrote to me, and again we asked him to dinner, letting him name his own date. we thought he would like a quiet dinner, and invited only my sister, mrs. steele, my nephew, sir matthew wood, mr. justin mccarthy, and a couple of others whose names i forget. on receiving his reply accepting the invitation for the following friday, we engaged a box at the gaiety theatre—where marion hood was acting (for whom i had a great admiration)—as we thought it would be a relief to the "leader" to get away from politics for once.
on the day of the dinner i got this note:—
{60}
house of commons,
friday.
my dear mrs. o'shea,—i dined with the blakes on wednesday, and by the time dinner was over it was too late to go to the meeting—the post office is all right here.
i cannot imagine who originated the paragraph. i have certainly made no arrangements up to the present to go either to ireland or america or announced any intention to anybody.—yours, chas. s. parnell.
he arrived late, but apologetic, and was looking painfully ill and white, the only life-light in his face being given by the fathomless eyes of rich brown, varying to the brilliance of flame. the depth of expression and sudden fire of his eyes held me to the day of his death.
we had a pleasant dinner, talking of small nothings, and, avoiding the controversial subject of politics, mr. parnell directed most of his conversation to my sister during dinner. she could talk brilliantly, and her quick, light handling of each subject as it came up kept him interested and amused. i was really anxious that he should have an agreeable evening, and my relief was great when he said that he was glad to go to the theatre with us, as the change of thought it gave was a good rest for him.
on arrival at the theatre he and i seemed to fall naturally into our places in the dark corner of the box facing the stage and screened from the sight of the audience, while my sister and the others sat in front.
after we had settled in our seats mr. parnell began to talk to me. i had a feeling of complete sympathy and companionship with him, as though i had always known this strange, unusual man with the thin face and pinched nostrils, who sat by my side staring with that curious {61} intent gaze at the stage, and telling me in a low monotone of his american tour and of his broken health.
then, turning more to me, he paused; and, as the light from the stage caught his eyes, they seemed like sudden flames. i leaned a little towards him, still with that odd feeling of his having always been there by my side; and his eyes smiled into mine as he broke off his theme and began to tell me of how he had met once more in america a lady to whom he had been practically engaged some few years before.
her father would not dower her to go to ireland, and parnell would not think of giving up the irish cause and settling in america. the engagement therefore hung fire; but on this last visit to america he had sought her out and found himself cold and disillusioned.
she was a very pretty girl, he said, with golden hair, small features and blue eyes. one evening, on this last visit, he went to a ball with her, and, as she was going up the stairs, she pressed into his hand a paper on which was written the following verse:
"unless you can muse in a crowd all day
on the absent face that fixed you,
unless you can dream that his faith is fast
through behoving and unbehoving,
unless you can die when the dream is past,
oh, never call it loving."
he asked me who had written the lines, and i answered that it sounded like one of the brownings (it is e. b. browning's), and he said simply: "well, i could not do all that, so i went home."
i suggested that perhaps the lady had suffered in his desertion, but he said that he had seen her, that same evening, suddenly much attracted by a young advocate {62} named a——, who had just entered the room, and decided in his own mind that his vacillation had lost him the young lady. the strenuous work he had then put his whole heart into had driven out all traces of regret.
after this dinner-party i met him frequently in the ladies' gallery of the house. i did not tell him when i was going; but, whenever i went, he came up for a few minutes; and, if the wednesday sittings were not very important or required his presence, he would ask me to drive with him. we drove many miles this way in a hansom cab out into the country, to the river at mortlake, or elsewhere. we chiefly discussed willie's chances of being returned again for clare, in case another election was sprung upon us. both willie and i were very anxious to secure mr. parnell's promise about this, as the o'gorman mahon was old, and we were desirous of making willie's seat in parliament secure.
while he sat by my side in the meadows by the river he promised he would do his best to keep willie in parliament, and to secure county clare for him should the occasion arise. thus we would sit there through the summer afternoon, watching the gay traffic on the river, in talk, or in the silence of tried friendship, till the growing shadows warned us that it was time to drive back to london.
soon after my first meeting with mr. parnell, my sister, mrs. steele, invited mr. parnell, mr. mccarthy and myself to luncheon. we had a very pleasant little party at her house. during lunch mr. parnell told us he was going to his place in ireland for some shooting, and mr. mccarthy and my sister chaffed him for leaving us for the lesser game of partridge shooting, but he observed {63} gravely, "i have the partridges there, and here i cannot always have your society."
i had to leave early, as i was anxious to return to see my aunt; and mr. parnell said he would accompany me to the station. when we got to charing cross the train had already gone; and mr. parnell picked out a good horse from the cab rank, saying it would be much pleasanter to drive down on such a beautiful afternoon. we did so, but i would not let him stay, as i was not sure what state of confusion the house might be in, left in my absence in the possession of the children and governess. i told him i had to hurry over the park to my aunt, as really was the case, and he reluctantly returned to london.
on the next wednesday evening mr. parnell was to dine with me at thomas's hotel. he met me at cannon street station as the train came in, and asked me to have some tea with him at the hotel there and go on to thomas's together. we went to the cannon street hotel dining-rooms, but on looking in he saw some of the irish members there and said it would be more comfortable for us in his private sitting-room. i was under the impression that he lived at keppel street, but he told me he had just taken rooms in the cannon street hotel. we had tea in his sitting-room, and he talked politics to me freely till i was interested and at ease, and then lapsed into one of those long silences of his that i was already beginning to know were dangerous in the complete sympathy they evoked between us.
presently i said, "come! we shall be late!"; and he rose without a word and followed me downstairs. there were some members of his party still standing about in the hall, but, as he always did afterwards when i was {64} with him, he ignored them absolutely and handed me into a waiting cab.
he and i dined at thomas's hotel that evening, and after dinner i returned home to eltham. mr. parnell left for ireland by the morning mail.
from dublin he wrote to me:—
september 9, 1880.
my dear mrs. o'shea,—just a line to say that i have arrived here, and go on to avondale, rathdrum, this evening, where i hope to hear from you before very long.
i may tell you also in confidence that i don't feel quite so content at the prospect of ten days' absence from london amongst the hills and valleys of wicklow as i should have done some three months since.
the cause is mysterious, but perhaps you will help me to find it, or her, on my return.—yours always, chas. s. parnell.
then from his home:—
avondale, rathdrum,
september 11, 1880.
my dear mrs. o'shea,—i take the opportunity which a few hours in dublin gives me of letting you know that i am still in the land of the living, notwithstanding the real difficulty of either living or being, which every moment becomes more evident, in the absence of a certain kind and fair face.
probably you will not hear from me again for a few days, as i am going into the mountains for some shooting, removed from post offices and such like consolations for broken-hearted politicians, but if, as i hope, a letter from you should reach me even there, i shall try and send you an answer.—yours very sincerely, chas. s. parnell.
