"the soul of a philosopher will consider that it is the office of philosophy to set her free."—socrates.
january 3, 1882.
my own darling queenie,—many happy new years, my own love, with your husband to make you happy.
my queenie must take great care of herself, and must be sure to have at least one doctor in february. it will never do to let it trust to chance.
there is every prospect of my being able to see my darling soon, but it does not do to be too sure, as things change so much from day to day.
january 7, 1882.
my own queenie,—if queenie could see her husband reading her letters over and over again every night she would have more faith in their readable quality and power for giving her husband happiness than she can have in looking at the blank paper as the result of her work. the paper of that of the 6th, which reached me to-day, is exactly suited; but wifie, in sending two sheets, one of them quite blank, makes a bad conspirator, but i must forgive her, as the result is by no means blank to me.
i do feel very anxious about you, my darling, and cannot help it. you must tell the doctor, and never mind about ——. could you not go to london or brighton about the beginning of february? london would be best, if you could get him away on any pretext; but if you could not, brighton would leave you most free from him.
it is perfectly dreadful that wifie should be so worried at night. i had hoped that the doctor's orders would have prevented that.
i am being fed very well. chops or grilled turkey or eggs {140} and bacon for breakfast, soup and chops for luncheon, and joint and vegetables, etc., for dinner, and sometimes oysters. the "one meal a day" is only a pretence. each man gets ￡2 when arrested, and 15s. a week, and can feed himself as he likes. most of them pocket the money and make the government feed them. you can understand the unwillingness of w.'s friend to leave under these circumstances. the government food is much better now after the row about it, so most of the men can manage very well with it, and send the 15s. home or put it in bank. i expect the majority of the irish people will be here after a time, the pay is so good and it is quite a safe place. i am very well, dearest queenie, and enjoying our new exercise yard very much.
your own king.
january 11, 1882.
my own queenie,—yes, i will go to you, my love, immediately i am released. there is nothing in the world that i can do in ireland, nor is it likely that i shall be able to do anything here for a long time to come. certainly until the coercion act has expired i will not speak here again, so queenie need not be afraid that when she gets me again she will lose me.
i am disposed to think that government at present intend to release me shortly before opening of parliament, but, of course, they may change their mind and hasten or postpone my release. anyhow, let queenie's mind be quite at rest, i am very well and am growing more vigorous every day, the air and exercise in the new yard suiting me exactly.
i long very, very much to be with my own wifie again, and wish i could take care of and comfort her in the time that is coming—queenie has been very good and very loving to her husband to give him this child, and to take such care of it during this long, sad interval, but she must remember that she is far more to me than all the world beside, and that she must specially take care of herself, as her king cannot now live without her.
i had forgotten to tell you that the jacket and other things you gave me have been very useful and comfortable. during my illness i wore it all the time, and wear it now in the {141} mornings to read the newspapers. it has quite cured pain in shoulder.
i do trust you have been now relieved for a time by his departure, and that you are getting a little sleep. it is enough to have killed you several times over, my own queenie.
always your own husband.
january 17, 1882.
my own queenie,—the large paper is very good, the best for the purpose of any you have tried yet.
your husband is so happy that you have at last been left free for a time.
queenie may send her letters from any place about that she likes, but she had best not write direct, as there is a very sharp-eyed man over the letters.
very much lighter writing will do, and it might be written between the lines of the ordinary ink, but it is best not to risk anything just now.
i think brighton will do very well if wifie likes it, and if it would be safe for her to be so far from london. her king could be there quite well, as he intends to take a holiday when released, and will not go to work at once.
have just received formal and usual notice of further detention, first three months being up. the other two have also received theirs. this has no significance one way or the other, as nobody has ever been released at the end of the exact period. my own wifie must try and keep herself well and strong. does she feel so? i wish i could be with my poor darling.
it is really the only reason why i wish for a change, and my queenie's loneliness and weariness makes me very unhappy. yesterday and to-day as three of us were exercising in our yard the gates in adjoining yard leading into the outer world were opened twice to permit some carts to come in and go out. a low wall only separated the two yards, across which we could have easily sprung; there was no warder in our yard, and only one in the next, with his back turned to us. so, you see, we can get out whenever we want to. trying to escape is six months with hard labour, so we have nothing {142} to gain by it, even if they keep us till end of act in october, which they are not at all likely to do.
your own loving husband.
january 21, 1882.
my own queenie,—on further consideration i think it would be much too risky for my darling to go to brighton, as you would be too far from the doctor, so let it be london or home. i shall find means to see my wifie wherever she is.
it looks like our release shortly.
yours of 19th received.
january 23, 1882.
we have got an air-gun and practise every day.
my own queenie,—your letter of the day before yesterday makes me very nervous about my own love again, as i fear from it that you are going to distress and worry yourself about me again. i can assure you, my own, that i am exceedingly well, and am likely to remain so.
notwithstanding the newspapers, it is most unlikely they will keep us here till the commencement of session. d., indeed, will probably go out in a day or two on account of his health; but in any case my queenie must not think of worrying about her husband, as he is very comfortable and happy where he is, if he might only see his own wifie sometimes. i should feel quite lonely now in london without being able to see my darling, and i should very much prefer to stay here than to be all alone in london while wifie is suffering, except that i know it would comfort her to have me even so near her.
i hope you have received my letter saying that i think london or home the best for you, and not brighton; the latter would be much too far from the doctors. does wifie feel strong and well? i fear my poor queenie has had a dreadful time of it, and our poor little child also.
your own loving king.
january 28, 1882.
my own dearest queenie, i did not like to write direct, lest there should be any mistake, especially as my paper is not very suitable. it looks as if they were going to keep me here {143} for a while longer, probably till a month or so after the opening of session, in order that they may get their new rules more easily.
i do not know what to say, my darling, about your going to brighton, but queenie will decide best for herself. i hope wifie will not feel much worried about not seeing me so soon as she hoped. her husband is very well indeed, and in the best of spirits.
i do not like your going to london so often, it may hurt you. is there any address you could get nearer home, so that you would not have to go so far?
my poor little wifie, i wish i could be with you, but queenie must be good and take care of herself.
it looks to-day as if d. would go out soon; in that case it would facilitate our release. your own king.
january 31, 1882.
have received your two letters postmarked e. be cautious about writing for a few days. i am very well, and trust my darling is well.
rumours about legal adviser being arrested, but will send you another address to-morrow.
february 2, 1882.
my own queenie,—have just received your third letter with e. postmark—shall write you to-morrow direct so as to avoid for you the fatigue of going to london. the writing between the lines comes out perfectly, and you need at no time write more heavily.
with best love and urgent request that my darling will take care of herself. your own king.
february 3, 1882.
my own queenie,—you really must try and sleep properly at night and stop worrying yourself about me. i can assure my darling there is nothing to feel unhappy about so far as my health goes. i really cannot remember when i have ever felt so well in my life.
it is very very hard not to be able to see each other, and that my poor wifie should not have her husband with her {144} now—i think after this letter i shall be able to write you a few lines occasionally home, so as to save wifie going to london, but if she writes to me in the same way she must be very careful and write very lightly and between the lines. a gold pen is, i think, better than a quill.
the alarm about the legal adviser has blown over, so queenie may direct as usual.
the paris failures don't concern us in any way, as everything is secure.[1]
give my best love to our little child, and take good care of yourself and it for my sake. your own husband.
february 10, 1882.
my own queenie,—i have received your note postmarked 7th, but have not had time to read it yet.
i hope my darling will take better care of herself; that journey to london in the fog was most dangerous for her.
i think that we shall probably be released by the middle of march, as it will be known then which way the tenants intend to go, and we shall be able to decide whether it is worth our while remaining here any longer.
how does queenie intend letting her husband know how she is?
your own loving king
february 14.
my own darling queenie,—to-day i have written you direct, sending a few words between the lines, just to see how it will answer. i find that rubbing with blotting paper after the words are dry takes away any glistening or appearance of letters. my own wifie had best not try writing direct here, but send all her letters as usual, and continue to do so.
the note i have just written goes out through a warder, and i think i shall always be able to manage in that way, but in case queenie should get a letter from me through the governor she will see it marked with his initials on the top left-hand corner, and in that case she might write me a commonplace letter direct here, but nothing between the lines.
wifie is very good indeed to write her husband such beautiful {145} letters; if she only knew what a pleasure and happiness every word from her is to her husband it might make her feel a little less unhappy. i am very much troubled about my darling having become so thin, and fear that you have suffered a great deal more than you have ever told me, and that you are not strong. i often reproach myself for having been so cruel to my own love in staying so long away from her that time, which has led to such a long, long separation. i was dragged into that kildare engagement, otherwise i should have been safe with wifie. until then i had settled that i should leave ireland after wexford. it would, however, have been very difficult for me to have kept out of the country even if i had left then, and on the whole i hope it will turn out all for the best. at least, i am very glad that the days of platform speeches have gone by and are not likely to return. i cannot describe to you the disgust i always felt with those meetings, knowing as i did how hollow and wanting in solidity everything connected with the movement was. when i was arrested i did not think the movement would have survived a month, but this wretched government have such a fashion for doing things by halves that it has managed to keep things going in several of the counties up till now. however, next month, when the seeding time comes, will probably see the end of all things and our speedy release.
i hope wifie has got her house in london; i am exceedingly anxious about those long journeys to london for you, my own. your husband is very well indeed, and is, i think, actually beginning to grow fat!
i think queenie ought to congratulate me at being away from the house instead of pitying me.
when i get out i hope to have a good long rest with my own little wifie somewhere, and to listen to the waves breaking as we used those mornings of spring last may.
your own loving husband.
february 17, 1882.
my own queenie,—i had written my queenie a nice long letter which she should have liked very much, but an alarm came before my messenger arrived that we were all going to be searched, and i was obliged to burn it.
{146}
i intend to try and send you a letter direct, written between the lines—i find that by rubbing the words after they are dry it removes all the glistening appearance.
queenie had best not write me direct at any time, but she can send me a word in the usual way as soon as she is able to tell me how she is. your king will wait very anxiously for that word. oh, my queenie, do take care of yourself, and do not run any risk by remaining at e.
it is exceedingly likely that we shall all be released about the end of march, as then the lading time comes, and the tenants will have to decide whether they will pay or not, and as the majority have decided to pay already it is most likely the minority will then follow suit. your own king.
february 17, 1882.
my own darling queenie,—i cannot describe to you what a relief your little note was that everything was quite right. oh, my wifie, when i had your two short messages of the 14th your poor husband burst into tears and could not hold up his head or think of anything until my darling's note arrived that everything was right.
my own, you must be very good and quiet until you are quite strong again, and do not be in a hurry to get up.
i have only just a minute to close this as my mercury is waiting. your own loving husband.
my baby was born on february 16th, 1882. i was very ill, but the joy of possessing parnell's child carried me through my trouble. she was a beautiful baby, apparently strong and healthy—for the first few weeks—and with the brown eyes of her father. this child of tragedy rarely cried, but lay watching me with eyes thoughtful and searching beyond the possibility of her little life. i used to seek in hers for the fires always smouldering in the depths of her father's eyes, but could not get beyond that curious gravity and understanding in them, lightened only by the little smile she gave when i came near.
* * * * * *
{147}
march 5, 1882.
my dear mrs. o'shea,—it is so long since i have heard from you that i sometimes wonder whether you have quite forgotten me.
in case you see any of my friends who may inquire after me, will you kindly tell them that i am very well, and that there is no truth in the stupid rumour which appeared in some of the london papers about the seven days' solitary confinement—i was merely prevented from receiving or sending letters for a week; the latter portion of the sentence did not trouble me much, as i am an even worse correspondent in here than when i was outside.
i think you will scarcely know me when you see me again, i have become so fat.
i have not heard from your sister for a great many months; in fact have only had one letter from her since i have been here.
believe me, yours very truly, chas. s. parnell.
march 16, 1882.
my own darling queenie,—you are very good to your husband in writing so often and so lovingly to your king, even when you must have been suffering terribly. i cannot describe to my little wifie how hopeless and utterly miserable i felt until your little note came that all was quite right. i am very happy, my own, that our little daughter pleases you, and that you are not too much disappointed, and that she is strong and good-tempered. does queenie think she will be too big? i shall love her very much better than if it had been a son; indeed, my darling, i do love her very much already, and feel very much like a father. what do you intend to call her?
will you not give her papa's best love and innumerable kisses?
i have been arranging a little happiness, i hope, for queenie, as soon as she is strong and well enough to come over here and can manage it. i have been training up captain barlow, the chairman of the prisons board, to allow me to see my married sisters in private. to-day i got him to give {148} me a private visit with one of them, mrs. dickinson, for the first time, and i did so with the intention of passing queenie off as another married sister after a time. wifie will then be able to come and see for herself how well her husband looks, and how happy and comfortable he is. i don't know whether they intend to move me or not, and do not like to guess, but wherever i go i shall be probably very well off. the dusting they got in the house the other night about treatment of the rank and file will do them good. i am told that all the police in the king's county were drafted into tullamore and put into plain clothes to form an audience for forster. shall send wifie my weight to-morrow with certificate of chief warder so that you may believe it.
do you remember what it was the last time? i think wifie has the ticket, and that it was about twelve stone.
i hear from all over the country that the tenants are everywhere settling, so we shall be probably out in a couple of months, unless we are kept to make sure that they pay the next time.
i hope my own love will take good care of herself and not try to go to london too soon. i want queenie when i see her to be an even younger little wifie than when i gave her that last kiss.
the idea of nursing our little daughter was too preposterous. do, my own darling, think of yourself and take great, great care of your husband's own little wifie.
good-night, my own darling queenie.
your loving husband.
march 23, 1882.
my own darling wifie,—i have only just got an opportunity of sending my queenie a few lines, and will write a nice long letter to-night.
no letter came to me from you between that dated march 14 and the two of march 20. a reference to his[2] return from paris makes me think that you may have sent me one between, informing me that he had gone, which i did not receive. if you think one has been intercepted write in {149} future to mr. w. kerr, casino, rathdrum, and they will reach me safely, otherwise no change need be made.
the letter written between the lines, of which i spoke, was that refused by the warder, and i did not send it.
mrs. s. has written me that she has "seen you recently," and that you "have not left your room," assuming that i know all about it. what am i to say to her?
i have not been weighed yet, but shall try to-day and send my own darling the true weight. it must be considerably more than 12-5.
my beautiful little wifie must continue to take great care of herself and not go too often to town.
your own loving king.
march 24, 1882.
my own queenie,—since writing you yesterday have received your letter dated 17th, which had accidentally gone astray, so if there is no other letter which i ought to have got you can send to the same address as usual.
your own king.
march 27, 1882.
my own darling queenie,—i am very anxious about our little daughter. is it dangerous?
was weighed yesterday—12 st. 7 lb. have certainly gained five or six pounds since i have been here.
how did wifie find out i had grown a beard?
your own loving king.
i don't think we shall be moved.
march 29, 1882.
my own darling little wifie,—i am very much relieved to hear that our little child is better, and is likely to be all right soon; but fear my poor queenie must have been exhausted by all that hunting about for nurses. i cannot consent to wifie turning nurse even when brown eyes do come. she is much too good and beautiful for anything of the kind.
do you remember a small pair of scissors with fine points that queenie once gave me in london? i have got them still, and cut my cigar with them every morning.
{150}
shall write mrs. —— as you suggest, and say how sorry to hear you had not left your room, and that i had seen the event in the times and hoped you would soon be quite well again. if my own can make an arrangement now for him[3] to keep away, i think she ought to do so. it will be too intolerable having him about always. when i see wifie again or am released, i can consider the situation, but until then, if you can you had best make some arrangement.
wifie must not be frightened at the vapourings of the government yesterday; they amount to nothing, and they know perfectly well that neither i nor any of my friends outside have sanctioned in any way certain recent deplorable occurrences. they are simply the result of leaving the people without guidance and appear to be quite spontaneous. in any case the country is likely to quiet down as the days get longer and the crops commence to spring up. d. is to be released immediately the house adjourns for easter, and after a time, when they find nothing happening as a consequence of his release, they will probably take courage and let me out also. anyhow this government are going down the hill very fast, and are not likely to last more than another session, and we will take care that if they once go out they shall not come in again very quickly. my own loveliest wifie, i do not think they intend moving me. your loving husband.
march 30.
the london correspondent of freeman is very ignorant.
march 30, 1882.
my own little wifie,—the letter posted at bexley reached me all right after it had gone astray for two or three days. queenie's of 28th has also reached me.
i suppose you did not address one to casino, as i have had none from there. i wrote yesterday to say that i think you had best make some arrangement about him pending my release, and when that takes place we can consider further.
i will let my darling see me any time as soon as she is quite strong again. we are going to have a weekly biography {151} of doubtful irish members in irishman or rather united ireland which will come out again shortly in such a form as to save it from seizure.
if queenie sends me some of our daughter's hair i will put it in the locket i have with wifie's. would sophie make a nice second name? it was the name of one of my sisters whom i was said to be most like of the family; but possibly it might make suspicions.
i am very anxious about my darling going to london so often; it must be very bad for you. you may try your next letter upon ordinary paper, unglazed, and do not crowd what you write in ordinary ink into one little space in the middle of the sheet. after the solution has dried if you rub over the letters with an ink eraser it will remove all the glistening and appearance of letters. i wonder they have never opened any of them, but they may do it at any time. it would not hurt me in any way as i do not use it for any other purpose. unless, indeed, they sent it to a certain person.
queenie must not be alarmed about stupid rumours in the papers. you know what these liners are, and the freeman agent in london is singularly stupid and badly informed.
your loving husband.
april 5, 1883.
my own dearest wifie,—i think it very likely that something will be done by the government shortly on the arrears question. if this be so, things will undoubtedly quiet down a great deal, and it will give us an opportunity of coming to some arrangement. i do not in the least apprehend that any further steps will be taken against me in any case, though, of course, they would eagerly grasp at the slightest thing in order to try and throw discredit on me.
so far as i can judge, the number of outrages has diminished very materially during the last two or three weeks, and is likely to continue decreasing.
my own wifie must remember that i was only 12 st. 2 lb. when i came here, as i had fallen away very much after i left her, and that i have got back 5 lb. since, notwithstanding my illness, which left me very thin indeed. poor little queenie {152} must be greatly troubled and anxious at all the rumours she hears, but she need not regard any of them; she knows what newspaper men are.
give my best love and ever so many kisses to our little daughter. i am very much troubled about her health, and hope it will not make her permanently delicate.
i am longing very very much to see my own wifie. i love you, my darling, more and more every day, and i should feel quite reconciled to giving up politics for ever and living with my sweet katie all by ourselves away from everybody and everything. i do not think anything will ever induce me to speak from a platform again. i always disliked it excessively, but i should loathe it now. wifie must not, however, suppose that i am annoyed with the way things have gone. on the contrary, everything has succeeded remarkably, and much better than anybody could have expected.
it is thought that d.[4] will be released to-morrow.—good-night, my own wifie. your loving husband.
april 7, 1882.
my own dearest wifie,—i am so happy from receiving your letter of the 5th to-day, although part of what you say about our daughter makes me very anxious indeed.
i hope the poor little thing will soon get over it. her hair is absolutely lovely. i am so glad it is more like queenie's than mine, although there is enough of mine in it to spoil it somewhat and render it less beautiful than wifie's. still, there is a splendid golden tint in it which is quite exceptional.
wifie need not feel at all anxious about me or anything which the government are likely to do or be able to do. although there have been one or two bad events things are getting much quieter every day. d. is going abroad and will not even appear in the house for a couple of months. my mother's health has, i fear, become very much broken latterly, and after a time i think of applying to go over to see her, but i must try and get o. k.[5] out first.
i am still keeping very well, although have missed the ball-playing very much for the last three weeks, as o. k., {153} who used to play with me, has been ill. i think my weight is very good considering the hard exercise i have been taking and the good condition i am in. i hope my precious one is getting strong again and that she will have some good news to tell me of our little daughter when she writes next.
your own loving husband.
i will not speak of my anguish when i found that the child of my love was slowly dying, and that the doctors i called in could do nothing for her. slowly she faded from me, daily gaining in that far-reaching expression of understanding that dying children have so strongly, and my pain was the greater in that i feared her father would never see her now.
willie was very good; i told him my baby was dying and i must be left alone. he had no suspicion of the truth, and only stipulated that the child should be baptized at once—urged thereto, i think, by his mother and sister. i had no objection to this. parnell and i had long before agreed that it would be safer to have the child christened as a catholic, and he had no feeling at all against the catholic religion, considering, indeed, that for those who required a religion it was an admirable one. i made an altar of flowers in my drawing-room, as the child was much too ill to be taken to church, and there the priest, father hart, came and baptized sophie claude. sophie, after parnell's sister, claude, after lord truro, an old friend of mine.
a few days before the death of my baby i had the unspeakable comfort of knowing that parnell could come to me for a few hours and perhaps see his child while she lived. his nephew, son of his sister delia (mrs. thomson), had died in paris, and the authorities gave parnell leave on "parole" to attend the young man's {154} funeral. a brilliant, handsome fellow, great sympathy was felt with the parents of this only son.
spring was very early that year, and in the april morning when the air was fragrant with the sweet freshness of the spring flowers and the very breath of life was in the wind, parnell came to me and i put his dying child into his arms.
that evening he had to go on to paris.
grand hotel,
12 boulevard des capucines, paris.
thursday, april 13, 1882.
my own queenie,—i hope to leave paris on saturday morning. the doctor says the fever is not infectious, but i doubt it very much, as a great many people amongst the american colony are having it just now. i am staying here, but i am obliged to go to the house, which has been well disinfected, to see my sister, who is very much cut up. the risk to me is a minimum, as i had this fever very badly when i was young, and they say people very rarely have it a second time, and then only slightly.
at all events it is the ordinary typhoid, which doctors say is not catching.
i shall take a turkish bath every day i am here, and adopt other precautions. your own loving king.
grand hotel,
12 boulevard des capucines, paris,
saturday, april 15, 1882.
my dear mrs. o'shea,—i think of leaving paris to spend a few days in the south or elsewhere on monday morning. had intended starting this evening, but caught a slight cold coming over, which the doctor, whom my sister insisted on seeing me, says is nothing, but think i had best not travel till monday.
i am very glad that i came over, as my sister is in a very low state, and my coming has picked her up very much, believe me, yours always truly, charles s. parnell.
{155}
grand hotel,
12 boulevard des capucines, paris,
sunday, april 16, 1882.
my dear mrs. o'shea,—having fallen into the hands of the doctor, he informed me to-day that he was coming again to-morrow morning, and upon my saying that i wished to commence my journey to the country to-morrow he said he would let me go on tuesday morning. perhaps it is better so, as i might catch fresh cold if i started so soon as to-morrow.
i was out a good deal yesterday by the doctor's orders, and dined with my sister in the evening. she is much better.
to-day a north wind is blowing, and i shall not go out much, although my cold is quite gone. i think i caught it from leaving off a flannel jacket which i used to wear when asleep in prison. it would have been a bad chest cold had i not taken two turkish baths immediately i felt it coming on.
i am staying here under the name of stewart, and have not been found out yet.—yours very sincerely,
charles s. parnell.
after his nephew's funeral he returned to eltham, having, before, telegraphed to willie to say that he was coming. he wished to conciliate willie as much as possible, and believed that his politics might now prove useful.
all that night of the 21st april parnell and willie sat up in my dining-room discussing the irish question, and bit by bit working out the "kilmainham treaty." willie wanted me to join them, but i would not leave my baby, and when the daylight came and they went to lie down for a few hours' rest before parnell left for ireland, my little one died as my lover stole in to kiss us both and say good-bye.
overlooking the valley in the catholic churchyard at chislehurst is her little grave, headed by a granite cross {156} and wreathed about with clematis and white roses; and often as we drove past on our way home through the summer evenings parnell would go in to scatter the wild flowers he had gathered for me over little sophie's resting-place.
the following letter from my sister-in-law, mary o'shea, i insert, as proving, i think very conclusively, that my little one's paternity was utterly unsuspected by the o'sheas.
paris, avenue wagram 137,
sunday, may 21, 1882.
dearest katie,—we are very pleased to be able to hope that you are better. how is your dear aunt? we trust she is better. i cannot express our feelings of affectionate regard for her, nor can i say adequately how truly we desire her happiness here and for all eternity in heaven. she has been so sweet a friend and so charming in all her ways towards your dear children, "the butterflies"—most attractive designation. dear lady o'donnell wrote a rapturous description of the little creatures. she loved your dear little claude, and shared your grief at losing her, but happy child, how glorious is her existence! what a contrast to ours, we who must struggle on, working out our salvation in fear and trembling!..."
