"vulneratus non victus."
in december a vacancy occurred in kilkenny, and, on december 9th, my king started for ireland, and stayed with dr. kenny for the night in dublin. of the great meeting in the rotunda i give miss katharine tynan's description, because of all the eye-witnesses' accounts of it that i have kept, none gives the true glimpse of parnell as she does.
"it was nearly 8.30 when we heard the bands coming; then the windows were lit up by the lurid glare of thousands of torches in the street outside. there was a distant roaring like the sea. the great gathering within waited silently with expectation. then the cheering began, and we craned our necks and looked on eagerly, and there was the tall, slender, distinguished figure of the irish leader making its way across the platform. i don't think any words could do justice to his reception. the house rose at him; everywhere around there was a sea of passionate faces, loving, admiring, almost worshipping that silent, pale man. the cheering broke out again and again; there was no quelling it. mr. parnell bowed from side to side, sweeping the assemblage with his eagle glance. the people were fairly mad with excitement. i don't think anyone outside ireland can understand what a charm mr. parnell has for the irish heart; that wonderful personality of his, his proud {294} bearing, his handsome, strong face, the distinction of look which marks him more than anyone i have ever seen. all these are irresistible to the artistic irish.
"i said to dr. kenny, who was standing by me, 'he is the only quiet man here.' 'outwardly,' said the keen medical man, emphatically. looking again, one saw the dilated nostrils, the flashing eye, the passionate face; the leader was simply drinking in thirstily this immense love, which must have been more heartening than one can say after that bitter time in the english capital. mr. parnell looked frail enough in body—perhaps the black frock-coat, buttoned so tightly across his chest, gave him that look of attenuation; but he also looked full of indomitable spirit and fire.
"for a time silence was not obtainable. then father walter hurley climbed on the table and stood with his arms extended. it was curious how the attitude silenced a crowd which could hear no words.
"when mr. parnell came to speak, the passion within him found vent. it was a wonderful speech; not one word of it for oratorical effect, but every word charged with a pregnant message to the people who were listening to him, and the millions who should read him. it was a long speech, lasting nearly an hour; but listened to with intense interest, punctuated by fierce cries against men whom this crisis has made odious, now and then marked in a pause by a deep-drawn moan of delight. it was a great speech, simple, direct, suave—with no device and no artificiality. mr. parnell said long ago, in a furious moment in the house of commons, that he cared nothing for the opinion of the english people. one remembered it now, noting his passionate assurances to his own people, who loved him too well to ask him questions."
{295}
during this meeting the anti-parnellites took the opportunity to seize parnell's paper, united ireland, and the offices. a witness's account of the incident contained in mr. barry o'brien's "life of charles stewart parnell" appealed to me immensely, because this little affair was of intense interest to me, and all, or nearly all, i could get out of parnell himself on the subject was a soft laugh and, "it was splendid fun. i wish i could burgle my own premises every day!"
something like this appears to have happened. the anti-parnellite garrison was strongly entrenched in the offices of the newspaper—doors and windows all barred. the streets were filled with a crowd of parnellites crying death and destruction on the enemy, and pouring in faster from the side streets. men threading their way through the mass were distributing sticks and revolvers.
parnell had been apprised of the event at the meeting, and a pony-trap was waiting for him outside the rotunda. he got into it with dr. kenny, and they dashed off to the scene of action. at the sight of their chief the crowd went wild; cheers for parnell and curses for his enemies filled the air. at full gallop the pony-trap dashed through the mass of people (which gave way as if by magic), and was brought up before the offices with a jerk that sent the horse sprawling on the ground. parnell jumped out of the trap, sprang up the steps, and knocked loudly at the door of the offices. there was a dramatic moment of silence—the crowd hushed and expectant. then parnell quietly gave some orders to those nearest him. in a brief space they were off and back again with pickaxe and crowbar. parnell wished to vault the area railings and attack the area door, but he was held back. so several of his followers dropped into the area, while parnell {296} himself attacked the front door with the crowbar. the door yielded, and he and many others rushed into the house. a second party came from the area, and the united force dashed upstairs. the rest was a homeric struggle between garrison and besiegers, fought from staircase to staircase and story to story. at length the garrison was downed to the last man. a window of the second story was removed, and parnell came out to his people. he had lost his hat, his hair was tumbled, his face was quite white, his eyes were filled with the wild joy of the battle. his face and clothes were powdered with dust and plaster. for a moment again the crowd was silent; then it burst into a roar.
parnell made a short speech, came down, got into the trap, and drove to the railway station.
on the 11th, when he nominated mr. vincent scully, he stayed at kilkenny. that day he wrote to me that he was feeling ill, and his telegram of "good night" was weary in tone. but the next day he wrote that he was feeling far better, and his letter was very hopeful of success. he insisted on returning to me every saturday, if it was in any way possible, during these months of fighting, and going back to ireland on the next evening, sunday. i begged him to spare himself the fatigue of this constant journeying, but he could not rest away; so, in despair, i gave up the fight against my own desire to have him at home for even these few hours. this election lasted ten days. polling took place on december 22, and that morning he telegraphed to me not to expect victory, so i knew he was sure of defeat long before the poll was declared. he returned to dublin that night, and addressed a meeting outside the national club.
{297}
it was during one of these last meetings that someone in the crowd threw lime in the chief's face. it has been said that the thing was a hoax, and that the substance thrown was flour. it was not flour, but lime, and had not parnell shut his eyes in time he would undoubtedly have been blinded. as it was his eyes were not injured, and but for a tiny scar on the outer edge of his right eye he was not hurt. i well remember the awful hours i passed pacing up and down my room at brighton waiting, waiting for news after seeing the morning paper. he had telegraphed to me directly after the cowardly assault was made, but he could not send it himself as he could not leave his friends. the man to whom he gave the telegram for dispatch boasted to his fellows that he had a message from parnell, and in the crowd and scuffle it was taken from him; so it was not until midday, when my own telegram of inquiry reached him, that parnell knew that i had not received his; and by the time his reassuring message arrived i was nearly out of my mind. the newspapers had made the very most of the affair, and i thought my husband was blinded.
at the end of december mr. william o'brien returned from america, but, as a warrant was out for his arrest, he could not enter ireland. much against his own wish parnell went over to boulogne to see him, as the party were so anxious that he should go. he did not think that it would do any good, and, feeling ill, he hated undertaking the extra fatigue. he felt, too, that he would have to fight "all along the line" in ireland, and continued the war without cessation, although he went over to boulogne several times to hear what mr. o'brien had to say. he was, however, on good terms with o'brien, and suggested him as leader of the party in the {298} event of his own resignation. the suggestion did not prove acceptable to the party.[1]
throughout this time he occasionally attended the sittings of the house, and, on returning home one sad evening, he did not speak much after his first greeting. i felt that something had troubled him unusually, but forbore to worry him, knowing that he would tell me presently. after a while he turned to me, and all he said was, "o'kelly has gone too."
i did not answer in words, for my heart bled for him in this the only personal sorrow he had suffered in the disloyalty of his party. anger, scorn, and contempt, yes! but this was the first and only blow to his affections. for the first time since that miserable and most cowardly exhibition of treachery in committee room 15 there was a little break in his voice. they had been friends for so long, and had worked with each other in american and irish politics so intimately. he had loved him, and now o'kelly had "gone too."
when mr. gladstone gave the word, and the insecure virtue of the country obeyed it, because it is a very shocking thing to be found out, the anti-parnellites were {299} extremely ingenious in inventing new forms of scurrility in connexion with my supposed name. from one end of chivalrous ireland to the other—urged on more especially by a certain emotional irish member of parliament—the name of "kitty" o'shea was sung and screamed, wrapped about with all the filth that foul minds, vivid imaginations, and black hatred of the aloof, proud chief could evolve, the chief whom they could not hurt save through the woman he loved!
they hurt him now a little, it is true, but not very greatly. my husband said to me after the kilkenny election, "it would really have hurt, my queen, if those devils had got hold of your real name, my queenie, or even the 'katie' or 'dick' that your relations and willie called you." and then i was glad, so very glad that the gallant company of mud-slingers had with one accord leapt to the conclusion that those who love me called me "kitty" because my name was katharine. for me it was a little thing to bear for the man who loved me as never woman has been loved before, and the only thing that i could not have borne would have been the thought that one of those who hated him had pierced the armour of his pride and touched his heart.
* * * * * *
on 22nd april, 1891, mr. frederick kerley wrote from 10, broad court, bow street, w.c., to mr. thomson, to say that he had succeeded that day in serving mr. parnell with a copy of the judge's order, which mr. thomson had handed to him on the evening of the 20th instant. he saw mr. parnell at 7.5 p.m. pass through the barrier on to the brighton platform at victoria station. he walked by his side and, addressing him, {300} said, "mr. parnell, i believe?" parnell replied, "yes." he said he was desired to hand him that paper, at the same time handing him the copy, when the following conversation ensued:
parnell: "what is it?"
kerley: "it is a judge's order."
p.: "oh, it is the costs."
k.: "yes, it is. that is a copy, this is the original, and the signature of mr. justice butt," and kerley showed the original to him.
p.: "oh, very well."
k.: "this is mr. wontner's card, who is the solicitor in the matter."
mr. parnell took the card and said, "thank you."
it had all been clone very quietly. no one saw what was done, and parnell was not subjected to the slightest annoyance, and he did not appear to be the least annoyed. kerley did not enclose the original, as he was afraid to trust it through the post, but would hand it to mr. thomson personally.
wontners, 19 ludgate hill., e.c.
wired 10 a.m., 23 april, '91.
copy order costs p. served personally last evening. letter follows.
[1] the conversations with o'brien and dillon in france and the correspondence which followed were concerned with the attitude of the irish party towards the details of the home rule bill to be introduced when the liberals came into power. mr. justin mccarthy had been elected leader of the party, but parnell insisted on his traditional right to a predominant voice in its decisions. at the beginning of 1891 there were anxious discussions about gladstone's intentions as to the number of irish members to be retained at westminster and as to the basis of a public declaration of liberal policy. the proposals made to him were not satisfactory either to parnell's political judgment or to his amour propre. they came to nothing, however, and both o'brien and dillon were arrested on their return to ireland and put "out of the way for a bit," as parnell said. he complained of the "depressing effect" these two colleagues had upon him; it was "so hard to keep them to the difficulties of the moment while they were so eagerly passing on the troubles of to-morrow."
