"green leaves a-floating,
castles of the foam,
boats of mine a-boating,
where will all come home?"
—stevenson.
in may, 1886, i took my children to the queen's hotel, eastbourne, for a change, and, after a few days spent in looking for lodgings, i settled them in st. john's road. parnell enjoyed the bathing at eastbourne greatly, and was much distressed that the weakness of my heart prevented my joining him in his swims, and that boating had most disastrous effects on me.
he was boyishly determined that i should at any rate join him in some way in his sea "sports," and one warm may evening he insisted that if i went into the sea fully dressed it could not hurt me. i thought it would at any rate be most uncomfortable, but to please him i held tightly to his arm while we waded far out to sea till the waves came to my shoulder and threw me off my feet.
he held me tightly, laughing aloud as the ripple of waves and wind caught my hair and loosed it about my shoulders; and, as i grew cold and white, my wonderful lover carried me, with all my weight of soaked clothing, back to the shore, kissing the wet hair that the wind twisted about his face and whispering the love that almost frightened me in its strength. luckily the dusk of evening had come down upon us, and i was able to get back {239} to the house in my wet things, half-walking and half-carried by parnell, without unduly shocking eastbourne's conventions.
as i thought i should be able to be away from my aunt, with occasional flying visits to her, for about two months, parnell had two of our horses brought down to eastbourne. he had during that time to go to london and ireland, but it was on the whole a peaceful little interlude in his strenuous political life, and we were very happy. he rode his horse president in the morning, and afterwards i drove him far out into the country around eastbourne with dictator in my phaeton.
we often drove out to birling gap—a favourite haunt of ours—and there we selected a site for the ideal house of our dreams; a place where one could hear nothing but the beating of the surf on the rocks below and the wild call of the sea-birds. he loved that place, where we could be absolutely alone save for the coastguardsman along the cliff, who never intruded his interesting conversation, but who was always ready for a chat when we cared to hear his stories of the sea.
it was impossible to drive near the place, so we had to leave dictator and the phaeton far off on the last bit possible to drive upon. parnell had an easy method of "hitching" a horse to something, in the firm faith that he would find it there on return a few hours later, and this made me very uneasy where my far from patient dictator was concerned. parnell would settle the horse with a feed, in charge of his groom, well sheltered behind a hill, and take a fantastic pleasure in observing the sulky gloom of the young man's face after an hour or so of this isolated meditation.
parnell had a great love of sea-storms, and when there {240} was a gale blowing from the west, and rough weather assured, he loved to get me out to birling gap to listen to the roar of the sea and the screaming of the wind as it blew around us, nearly carrying us off our feet. he would tie his coat about me, and hold me firmly against the wind as it tore about us, and while we gazed out at the raging waves he would exclaim: "isn't this glorious, my queen? isn't it alive?"
our coastguardsman friend always seemed somewhat pleased to see us, though undoubtedly he thought us odd in our amusements. i have often thought since that if we had built our house in that isolated loveliness, where the sound of the sea and moan of the wind were incessant, there would have been some truth in what was said afterwards as to our house in walsingham terrace, that it was so "terribly dreary."
on one occasion we drove to pevensey, and, passing the station on our return, a crowd from some local train came pouring out. parnell asked me to pull up to let the crowd go by; but to his consternation this attracted the attention of some young men in the crowd, who at once recognized him, and, waving their hats, cried "parnell, parnell!" with that horrible emphasis on the "nell" that is so prevalent. parnell, lifting his hat, urged me in an agonized tone to drive on, but it was too late. the crowd clustered about us, insisting on shaking hands with him, and throwing covertly interested glances at his companion. they would not let us go on till he had made a little impromptu speech on current affairs, after which we drove off amid cheers.
parnell never swore, and "goodness gracious!" learned from his nurse in extreme youth, was the strongest expression he ever used, but the dull, quiet anger such a {241} contretemps as this caused him would, i felt, have been relieved could he have acquired the habit of "language." this little incident at pevensey would lead to newspaper paragraphs, and it was hard we could not have a few days' quiet amusement without having it boomed through the country. however, a brilliant thought struck me. if we were to be bothered by paragraphs let them be our own! so we drew up by the wayside, and concocted a paragraph which told an over-interested world that "mr. parnell had been staying at hastings with his sister, and on visiting pevensey with her had," etc., etc. this, forwarded to the press association, left us in peace at eastbourne to complete our little holiday.
apropos of parnell's "goodness gracious," he was at first quite unconscious of his use of the words, and it was only on willie's plaintive query as to why he did not d—-n like other men, instead of using "that foolish and vulgar expression," he became aware of it. he then admitted with some amusement that he liked the homely old expression and did not d—-n merely because it never occurred to him to do so.
on the cliffs towards beachy head is a house that at that time was built but not quite finished. parnell took me up to see it, and suggested that it might be a charming seaside retreat for us, even though not the ideal we always had in our minds. this house then had a beautiful and wide outlook over the sea, and i liked it so much that he arranged to take it on a three years' agreement directly it was finished. he wanted to have all the walls distempered instead of papered, and we spent many hours over this and the selection of the minton tiles for the hall. the details of the house interested him greatly, and one day when the men working there had gone to dinner parnell {242} showed me how to lay the tiles with so much energy that we had finished their work by the time the men returned. he then insisted upon my writing "heatherbell cottage" on a tile, which he proceeded to inlay over the front door, earning the comment from the men working there that he seemed to know as much about the "job" as they did.
he then turned his attention to making a smooth lawn in our little garden, spending hours pulling a roller up and down, while i sat on the steps writing from his dictation "a proposed constitution for the irish and the english peoples"—a production that excited the greatest wrath in the minds of some of the irish party at a subsequent meeting. i do not think that the english members of parliament were ever made acquainted with the benefits proposed for their consideration under this "constitution."
this constitution was more fun than anything else. parnell undoubtedly put it before certain members of the irish party instead of one drafted by his own hand. he told me afterwards that they looked "absolutely ill" when they saw my handwriting, so he would not withdraw it in favour of his own—till later.
i was sitting on the doorstep of our new house one day, idly watching parnell build a bank that was to be turfed over to keep us from prying eyes, when he stopped suddenly and, leaning on his spade, said: "i am a poet! and descended from the poet, thomas parnell."
"not a poet," i answered gently, "even though descended from one."
"i am a poet myself; give me a pencil and paper." and, throwing himself down beside me, he wrote down the following verse proudly. "it came to me while i was digging," he said as he tossed it over to me, "and it is a {243} real poem, and makes me a real poet. it's as good as any of tom parnell's stuff!"
i was forced to confess that i agreed with him, as i do now, that it was and is as good as, and better to me than, any of thomas parnell's stuff, or "the stuff" of any poet who ever graced the world with song. this is it:—
"the grass shall cease to grow,
the river's stream to run,
the stars shall ponder in their course,
no more shall shine the sun;
the moon shall never wane or grow,
the tide shall cease to ebb and flow,
ere i shall cease to love you."
chas. parnell.
one evening in 1886, on his return from town, parnell told me about mr. o'brien's plan of campaign. he did not approve of it, and said that he did not wish to have anything to do with the working of it, adding: "i shall let o'brien run it by himself."
parnell was looking and feeling very ill at this time, and when mr. o'brien took upon himself to call at my house to see him, entirely uninvited, parnell was not really well enough to see him. he was suffering from nervous breakdown, chiefly brought on by gastric trouble, which in its turn was produced by overwork and the strain of political life. all through his life parnell was delicate. from 1880, when i first met him (and nursed him into health) to 1891, when he died, it was only by incessant watchfulness and care that i was able to maintain his health at all. it is certainly the fact that only his indomitable will and power of mind rendered him capable of enduring the strain of his public life and of the feats {244} of strength that few men of far greater physique would have attempted.
it was in allusion to this illness at the time of the visit of mr. o'brien that parnell said in his speech at the eighty club (may 8, 1888): "i was ill, dangerously ill; it was an illness from which i have not entirely recovered up to this day. i was so ill that i could not put pen to paper, or even read the newspaper. i knew nothing about the movement until weeks after it had started, and even then i was so feeble that for several months—absolutely up to the meeting of parliament—i was positively unable to take part in any public matter, and was scarcely able to do so for months afterwards. but, if i had been in a position to advise, i candidly submit to you that i should have advised against it."
mr. o'brien called again to see parnell during the time he was so ill, and he left his room for the first time to go down to the sitting-room to see him. they had a long talk over the plan of campaign and other matters, and the interview left parnell so exhausted that he was very ill again for some days afterwards.
long after he told me, "all i got for getting up to see o'brien was that he went about telling people that i was insane."
mr. parnell had been feeling low and depressed all through the summer of this year, and towards the autumn i became very much worried about his lassitude and general feeling of illness. i tried different diets without effect, and, thinking it might be better for him to go straight to bed after "the house," i took a house in london for him and settled him there, but he could not bear the loneliness and came back to eltham as usual after a few nights. in november he became worse, and i insisted {245} upon his consulting a doctor, suggesting sir henry thompson, as i had heard he was very clever. i took him to london on the afternoon of november 6, in a closed carriage, and he was feeling so weak and nervous that he asked me to go in and see sir henry first for him. his nerves had completely broken down and i felt terribly worried about him. he stayed in the waiting-room while i went into the consulting-room. here sir henry hurried in from dinner, extremely irritable at being disturbed at such an unseemly hour for a "mr. charles stewart," whom he did not know. "look, look, look! look at the clock! what's the matter? i have a consultation in a few minutes!"
i was very glad that the door between the rooms was shut, as i felt that such a reception in his state of nerves would have caused parnell to leave the house without waiting for an interview. i began to point out that "my" patient could not, in such a low state, face such an ungenial reception. so he permitted me to explain a little about mr. stewart's ill-health, and as he was kindness itself, losing every trace of impatience, he helped parnell into his room, where, after receiving a smile of assurance from parnell, and having seen the relief in his face, i left them together, feeling what an inestimable blessing it was to have placed parnell's health in such a haven of security in so far as human skill could aid it.
the knowledge, throughout the rest of parnell's life, of being able to obtain sir henry thompson's advice was a great comfort to this overwrought man.
sir henry thompson warned me that it was most important for mr. parnell's health that his feet should be kept very warm, as his circulation was bad. when his feet became cold it upset his digestion, and this so {246} disorganized his general health that he was then laid up for several days. i always insisted upon his frequently changing his shoes and socks when he was at home, and gave him a little black bag containing a change whenever he was sure to be away for a few hours, as i found that the trouble of the frequent changing was amply compensated for in warm feet and therefore better health.
so curiously inquisitive were some of the irish party about its contents that the little bag with the change of socks and shoes became an obsession with them till one of them made the brilliant discovery that "parnell had boots and socks in it to save him from wet feet!" parnell used to complain to me when he handed it over to me that i might see by the different coloured socks that he had kept his promise of "changing" in town, that ——'s eyes seemed to be boring holes in the bag, and he was really thinking it would be better to hang the other shoes and socks round his neck if he must take them about with him!
when parnell had to go over to ireland he desired his secretary, mr. campbell, to bring his correspondence down to me at eastbourne in order that i might deal with one or two matters on which he desired immediate intelligence telegraphed to him in our private code. he had long since registered the telegraphic address of "satellite" for me that he might be able to telegraph with more privacy, and this arrangement had proved its usefulness many times in political and private matters. he had himself put together the code words we used, and insisted on my learning them by heart, to obviate the risk of any misunderstanding in case of loss.
most of the words used were taken from his assaying operations, though not all, and were sent as from one {247} engineer to another about work in hand. in the code willie appeared as "tailings" and with middlings, crude, gas, overseer, slag, concentrate, deposit, and a few other such words for gladstone, chamberlain, and other politicians, our code was an excellent working medium of private communication.
before we took the house in eastbourne we made a flying visit to bognor, but this, though in those days a pretty, fresh, little place, was very difficult to get at, and impossible from a politician's point of view. we went there on a gloriously stormy day, and thoroughly enjoyed it. in our search for houses we even got as far as selsey, but when, on our going into the house we had come to see, the caretaker carefully double-locked the door, parnell turned with a horrified gesture to me, and insisted upon leaving at once without going over the house at all. it was an omen of misfortune, he said, and we could never be happy in such a house.
i have always thought that one of the greatest charms of parnell's personality was the extraordinary simplicity of his outlook on ordinary life allied to the extremely subtle trend of his intellect.
a man of moods, he never permitted a mood to blind him to probable, or possible, issues in political matters. a keen judge of character, he summed up, mentally docketed, and placed in the pigeon-hole of memory, each and every man who came into his political vision, and could thus at any time place, sort, and direct any pawn of the irish political game. yet in things having no political significance his simplicity was almost absurd in its na?veté.
an amusing instance of what i mean occurred while we were at eastbourne in '86. there was a boy i {248} employed about the house at eltham, who was growing too fast, and looked as though he would be all the better for a little sea air. as i was taking my own servants down to eastbourne i took this boy down also for a holiday, since it made little difference as to expense. this child was, i suppose, about fourteen years old, and once as i sat at the window, sorting parnell's letters, and enjoying the morning air, i was suddenly struck with consternation to see my protégé, jimmie, escorted up the road between two of eastbourne's largest policemen. i said to parnell, "look!" and, following the direction of my horrified forefinger, he gazed sadly out at jimmie, and replied, "throwing stones, i'll wager. more paragraphs, sweetheart! you shouldn't have boys about."
but the large policeman insisted upon an interview with "the gentleman," with "mr. stewart," and, on my having the whole party in to hear the worst, we were informed that poor jimmie had been caught trying to change a ￡50 note at the grocer's shop! "mr. stewart's" cold gravity of expression changed to one of deprecating amusement as i glanced indignantly at him. "i had no change, constable, so of course sent the boy to change the note," explained parnell. "told 'em so," threw in jimmie, now feeling fairly safe and the centre of interest. but eastbourne policemen are far too unimaginative to believe that boys of jimmie's age are to be sent for change for ￡50 notes, and it was with the utmost difficulty we got rid of these stolid guardians of our pockets.
parnell, after sending the boy for change, had temporarily forgotten the matter, and no explanation could convince him that it was the obvious thing that the boy should be "arrested" on trying to change so large a note. {249} "jimmie's a nuisance, but anyone can see that he is honest," was his conclusion.
on one of our excursions, ostensibly to look for a house, but really as much as anything for the purpose of getting away for a few hours to the sea, we went to herne bay. this was a charming and lonely little place then; a cluster of houses set in green fields and a fresh sea dashing over the little pier. it was always on days when the wind was high that the longing for the sea came over us, and thus we generally found the sea responding to our mood.
at this little village of herne bay the house we saw was unsuitable, but the day is a memory of salt wind and rough waves, followed by a picnic dinner at the little inn, where parnell ordered a fowl to be roasted, and was momentarily saddened by my refusal to eat that murdered bird, which had been so pleasantly finding its own dinner when he gave the order.
