Chapter V: Breach With Mr. Parnell. (1890-1891) (2)

A couple of days later (Dec. 2) a division was taken in Room Fifteen upon a motion made in Mr. Parnell’s interest, to postpone the discussion until they could ascertain the views of their constituents, and then meet in Dublin. It was past midnight. The large room, dimly lighted by a few lamps and candles placed upon the horse-shoe tables, was more than half in shadow. Mr. Parnell, his features barely discernible in the gloom, held a printed list of the party in his hand, and he put the question in cold, unmoved tones. The numbers were 29 for the motion—that is to say, for him, and 44 against him. Of the majority, many had been put on their trial with him in 1880; had passed months in prison with him under the first Coercion Act and suffered many imprisonments besides; they had faced storm, obloquy, and hatred with him in the House of Commons, a place where obloquy stings through tougher than Hibernian skins; they had undergone with him the long ordeal of the three judges; they had stood by his side with unswerving fidelity from the moment when his band was first founded for its mortal struggle down to to-day, when they saw the fruits of the struggle flung recklessly away, and the policy that had given to it all its reason and its only hope, wantonly brought to utter foolishness by a suicidal demonstration that no English party and no English leader could ever be trusted. If we think of even the least imaginative of them as haunted by such memories of the past, such distracting fears for the future, it was little wonder that when they saw Mr. Parnell slowly casting up the figures, and heard his voice through the sombre room announcing the ominous result, they all sat, both ayes and noes, in profound and painful stillness. Not a sound was heard, until the chairman rose and said without an accent of emotion that it would now be well for them to adjourn until the next day.

This was only the beginning. Though the ultimate decision of the party was quite certain, every device of strategy and tactics was meanwhile resolutely employed to avert it. His supple and trenchant blade was still in the hands of a consummate swordsman. It is not necessary to recapitulate all the moves in Mr. Parnell’s grand manœuvre for turning the eyes of Ireland away from the question of leadership to the question of liberal good faith and the details of home rule. Mr. Gladstone finally announced that only after the question of leadership had been disposed of—one belonging entirely to the competence of the Irish party—could he renew former relations, and once more enter into confidential communications with any of them. There was only one guarantee, he said, that could be of any (M159) value to Ireland, namely the assured and unalterable fact that no English leader and no party could ever dream of either proposing or carrying any scheme of home rule which had not the full support of Irish representatives. This was obvious to all the world. Mr. Parnell knew it well enough, and the members knew it, but the members were bound to convince their countrymen that they had exhausted compliance with every hint from their falling leader, while Mr. Parnell’s only object was to gain time, to confuse issues, and to carry the battle over from Westminster to the more buoyant and dangerously charged atmosphere of Ireland.

The majority resisted as long as they could the evidence that Mr. Parnell was audaciously trifling with them and openly abusing his position as chairman. On the evening of Friday (December 5) Mr. Sexton and Mr. Healy went to Mr. Parnell after the last communication from Mr. Gladstone. They urged him to bend to the plain necessities of the case. He replied that he would take the night to consider. The next morning (December 6) they returned to him. He informed them that his responsibility to Ireland would not allow him to retire. They warned him that the majority would not endure further obstruction beyond that day, and would withdraw. As they left, Mr. Parnell wished to shake hands, “if it is to be the last time.” They all shook hands, and then went once more to the field of action.

It was not until after some twelve days of this excitement and stress that the scene approached such disorder as has often before and since been known in the House of Commons. The tension at last had begun to tell upon the impassive bronze of Mr. Parnell himself. He no longer made any pretence of the neutrality of the chair. He broke in upon one speaker more than forty times. In a flash of rage he snatched a paper from another speaker’s hand. The hours wore away, confusion only became worse confounded, and the conclusion on both sides was foregone. Mr. McCarthy at last rose, and in a few moderate sentences expressed his opinion that there was no use in continuing a discussion that must be barren of anything but reproach, bitterness, and indignity, and he would therefore suggest that those who were of the same mind should withdraw. Then he moved from the table, and his forty-four colleagues stood up and silently followed him out of the room. In silence they were watched by the minority who remained, in number twenty-six.(278)

VII

A vacancy at Bassetlaw gave Mr. Gladstone an opportunity of describing the grounds on which he had acted. His speech was measured and weighty, but the result showed the effect of the disaster. The tide, that a few weeks before had been running so steadily, now turned. The unionist vote remained almost the same as in 1885; the liberal vote showed a falling off of over 400 and the unionist majority was increased from 295 to 728.

About this time having to go to Ireland, on my way back I stopped at Hawarden, and the following note gives a glimpse of Mr. Gladstone at this evil moment (Dec. 17):—

I found him in his old corner in the “temple of peace.” He was
only half recovered from a bad cold, and looked in his worsted
jacket, and dark tippet over his shoulders, and with his white,
deep-furrowed face, like some strange Ancient of Days: so
different from the man whom I had seen off at King’s Cross less
than a week before. He was cordial as always, but evidently in
some perturbation. I sat down and told him what I had heard from
different quarters about the approaching Kilkenny election. I
mentioned X. as a Parnellite authority. “What,” he flamed up with
passionate vehemence, “X. a Parnellite! Are they mad, then? Are
they clean demented?” etc. etc.

I gave him my general impression as to the future. The bare idea
that Parnell might find no inconsiderable following came upon him
as if it had been a thunder-clap. He listened, and catechised, and
knit his brow.

_Mr. G._—What do you think we should do in case (1) of a divided
Ireland, (2) of a Parnellite Ireland?

_J. M._—It is too soon to settle what to think. But, looking to
Irish interests, I think a Parnellite Ireland infinitely better
than a divided Ireland. Anything better than an Ireland divided,
so far as she is concerned.

_Mr. G._—Bassetlaw looks as if we were going back to 1886. For me
that is notice to quit. Another five years’ agitation at my age
would be impossible—_ludicrous_ (with much emphasis).

_J. M._—I cannot profess to be surprised that in face of these
precious dissensions men should have misgivings, or that even
those who were with us, should now make up their minds to wait a
little.

I said what there was to be said for Parnell’s point of view;
that, in his words to me of Nov. 25, he “must look to the future”;
that he was only five and forty; that he might well fear that
factions would spring up in Ireland if he were to go; that he
might have made up his mind, that whether he went or stayed, we
should lose the general election when it came. The last notion
seemed quite outrageous to Mr. G., and he could not suppose that
it had ever entered Parnell’s head.

_Mr. G._—You have no regrets at the course we took?

_J. M._—None—none. It was inevitable. I have never doubted. That
does not prevent lamentation that it was inevitable. It is the old
story. English interference is always at the root of mischief in
Ireland. But how could we help what we did? We had a right to
count on Parnell’s sanity and his sincerity....

Mr. G. then got up and fished out of a drawer the memorandum of
his talk with Parnell at Hawarden on Dec. 18, 1889, and also a
memorandum written for his own use on the general political
position at the time of the divorce trial. The former contained
not a word as to the constabulary, and in other matters only put a
number of points, alternative courses, etc., without a single
final or definite decision. While he was fishing in his drawer, he
said, as if speaking to himself, “It looks as if I should get my
release even sooner than I had expected.”

“That,” I said, “is a momentous matter which will need immense
deliberation.” So it will, indeed.

_Mr. G._—Do you recall anything in history like the present
distracted scenes in Ireland?

_J. M._—Florence, Pisa, or some other Italian city, with the
French or the Emperor at the gates?

_Mr. G._—I’ll tell you what is the only thing that I can think of
as at all like it. Do you remember how it was at the siege of
Jerusalem—the internecine fury of the Jewish factions, the
Ζηλωταί, and the rest—while Titus and the legions were marching on
the city!

We went in to luncheon. Something was said of our friend ——, and
the new found malady, Renault’s disease.

_J. M._—Joseph de Maistre says that in the innocent primitive ages
men died of diseases without names.

_Mr. G._—Homer never mentions diseases at all.

_J. M._—Not many of them die a natural death in Homer.

_Mr. G._—Do you not recollect where Odysseus meets his mother
among the shades, and she says:—

Οὔτε τις οὖν μοι νοῦσος ἐπήλυθεν ...
ἀλλά με σός τε πόθος σά τε μήδεα, φαίδιμ᾽ Ὀδυσσεῦ,
σή τ᾽ ἀγανοφροσύνη μελιηδέα θυμὸν ἀπηύρα.(279)

_J. M._—Beautiful lines. Πόθος such a tender word, and it is
untranslatable.

_Mr. G._—Oh, _desiderium_.

“Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus
Tam cari capitis.”(280)

_J. M._—The Scotch word “_wearying_” for somebody. And
_Sehnsucht_.

Then Mr. G. went off to his library to hunt up the reference, and
when I followed him, I found the worn old _Odyssey_ open at the
passage in the eleventh book. As he left the room, he looked at me
and said, “Ah, this is very different stuff for talking about,
from all the wretched work we were speaking of just now. Homer’s
fellows would have cut a very different figure, and made short
work in that committee room last week!” We had a few more words on
politics.... So I bade him good-bye.... #/

(M160) In view of the horrors of dissension in Ireland, well-meaning attempts were made at the beginning of the year to bring about an understanding. The Irish members, returning from America where the schism at home had quenched all enthusiasm and killed their operations, made their way to Boulogne, for the two most important among them were liable to instant arrest if they were found in the United Kingdom. They thought that Mr. Parnell was really desirous to withdraw on such terms as would save his self-respect, and if he could plead hereafter that before giving way he had secured a genuine scheme of home rule. Some suspicion may well have arisen in their minds when a strange suggestion came from Mr. Parnell that the liberal leaders should enter into a secret engagement about constabulary and the other points. He had hardly given such happy evidence of his measure of the sanctity of political confidences, as to encourage further experiments. The proposal was absurd on the face of it. These suspicions soon became certainties, and the Boulogne negotiations came to an end. I should conjecture that those days made the severest ordeal through which Mr. Gladstone, with his extreme sensibility and his abhorrence of personal contention, ever passed. Yet his facility and versatility of mood was unimpaired, as a casual note or two of mine may show:—

... Mr. G.’s confabulation [with an Irish member] proved to have
been sought for the purpose of warning him that Parnell was about
to issue a manifesto in which he would make all manner of
mischief. Mr. G. and I had a few moments in the room at the back
of the chair; he seemed considerably perturbed, pale, and
concentrated. We walked into the House together; he picked up the
points of the matter in hand (a motion for appropriating all the
time) and made one of the gayest, brightest, and most delightful
speeches in the world—the whole House enjoying it consumedly. Who
else could perform these magic transitions?

‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐

Mr. G. came into the House, looking rather anxious; gave us an
account of his interview with the Irish deputation; and in the
midst of it got up to say his few sentences of condolence with the
Speaker on the death of Mrs. Peel—the closing phrases admirably
chosen, and the tones of his voice grave, sincere, sonorous, and
compassionate. When he sat down, he resumed his talk with H. and
me. He was so touched, he said, by those “poor wretches” on the
deputation, that he would fain, if he could, make some
announcement that would ease their unlucky position.

[A question of a letter in reply to some application prompted by
Mr. Parnell. Mr. Gladstone asked two of us to try our hands at a
draft.] At last we got it ready for him and presently we went to
his room. It was now six o’clock. Mr. G. read aloud in full deep
voice the letter he had prepared on the base of our short draft.
We suggested this and that, and generally argued about phrases for
an hour, winding up with a terrific battle on two prodigious
points: (1) whether he ought to say, “after this statement of my
views,” or “I have now fully stated my views on the points you
raise”; (2) “You will _doubtless_ concur,” or “_probably_ concur.”
Most characteristic, most amazing. It was past seven before the
veteran would let go—and then I must say that he looked his full
years. Think what his day had been, in mere intellectual strain,
apart from what strains him far more than that—his strife with
persons and his compassion for the unlucky Irishmen. I heard
afterwards that when he got home, he was for once in his life done
up, and on the following morning he lay in bed. All the same, in
the evening he went to see _Antony and Cleopatra_, and he had a
little ovation. As he drove away the crowd cheered him with cries
of “Bravo, don’t you mind Parnell!” Plenty of race feeling left,
in spite of union of hearts!

No leader ever set a finer example under reverse than did Mr. Gladstone during these tedious and desperate proceedings. He was steadfastly loyal, considerate, and sympathetic towards the Irishmen who had trusted him; his firm patience was not for a moment worn out; in vain a boisterous wave now and again beat upon him from one quarter or another. Not for a moment was he shaken; even under these starless skies his faith never drooped. “The public mischief,” he wrote to Lord Acton (Dec. 27, 1890), “ought to put out of view every private thought. But the blow to me is very heavy—the heaviest I ever have received. It is a great and high call to work by faith and not by sight.”

Occasion had already offered for testing the feeling of Ireland. There was a vacancy in the representation of Kilkenny, and the Parnellite candidate had been defeated.

_To J. Morley._

_Hawarden, Dec. 23, 1890._—Since your letter arrived this morning,
the Kilkenny poll has brightened the sky. It will have a great
effect in Ireland, although it is said not to be a representative
constituency, but one too much for us. It is a great gain; and yet
sad enough to think that even here one-third of the voters should
be either rogues or fools. I suppose the ballot has largely
contributed to save Kilkenny. It will be most interesting to learn
how the tories voted.

I return your enclosure.... I have ventured, without asking your
leave, on keeping a copy of a part. Only in one proposition do I
differ from you. I would rather see Ireland disunited than see it
Parnellite.

I think that as the atmosphere is quiet for the moment we had
better give ourselves the benefit of a little further time for
reflection. Personally, I am hard hit. My course of life was
daring enough as matters stood six weeks ago. How it will shape in
the new situation I cannot tell. But this is the selfish part.
Turning for a moment to the larger outlook, I am extremely
indisposed to any harking back in the matter of home rule; we are
now, I think, freed from the enormous danger of seeing P. master
in Ireland; division and its consequences in diminishing force,
are the worst we have to fear. What my mind leans to in a way
still vague is to rally ourselves by some affirmative legislation
taken up by and on behalf of the party. Something of this kind
would be the best source to look to for reparative strength.

_To Lord Acton._

_Jan. 9, 1891._—To a greybeard in a hard winter the very name of
the south is musical, and the kind letters from you and Lord
Hampden make it harmony as well as melody. But I have been and am
chained to the spot by this Parnell business, and every day have
to consider in one shape or other what ought to be said by myself
or others.... I consider the Parnell chapter of politics finally
closed for us, the British liberals, at least during my time. He
has been even worse since the divorce court than he was in it. The
most astounding revelation of my lifetime.

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_To J. Morley._

_Hawarden, Dec. 30, 1890._—I must not longer delay thanking you
for your most kind and much valued letter on my birthday—a
birthday more formidable than usual, on account of the recent
disasters, which, however, may all come to good. If I am able to
effect in the world anything useful, be assured I know how much of
it is owed to the counsel and consort of my friends.

It is not indeed the common lot of man to make serious additions
to the friendships which so greatly help us in this pilgrimage,
after seventy-six years old; but I rejoice to think that in your
case it has been accomplished for me.

VIII

A few more sentences will end this chapter in Mr. Gladstone’s life. As we have seen, an election took place in the closing days of December 1890. Mr. Parnell flung himself into the contest with frantic activity. A fierce conflict ended in the defeat of his candidate by nearly two to one.(281) Three months later a contest occurred in Sligo. Here again, though he had strained every nerve in the interval as well as in the immediate struggle, his candidate was beaten.(282) Another three months, then a third election at Carlow,—with the same result, the rejection of Mr. Parnell’s man by a majority of much more than two to one.(283) It was in vain that his adherents denounced those who had left him as mutineers and helots, and exalted him as “truer than Tone, abler than Grattan, greater than O’Connell, full of love for Ireland as Thomas Davis himself.” On the other side, he encountered antagonism in every key, from pathetic remonstrance or earnest reprobation, down to an unsparing fury that savoured (M161) of the ruthless factions of the Seine. In America almost every name of consideration was hostile.

Yet undaunted by repulse upon repulse, he tore over from England to Ireland and back again, week after week and month after month, hoarse and haggard, seamed by sombre passions, waving the shreds of a tattered flag. Ireland must have been a hell on earth to him. To those Englishmen who could not forget that they had for so long been his fellow-workers, though they were now the mark of his attack, these were dark and desolating days. No more lamentable chapter is to be found in all the demented scroll of aimless and untoward things, that seem as if they made up the history of Ireland. It was not for very long. The last speech that Mr. Parnell ever made in England was at Newcastle-on-Tyne in July 1891, when he told the old story about the liberal leaders, of whom he said that there was but one whom he trusted. A few weeks later, not much more than ten months after the miserable act had opened, the Veiled Shadow stole upon the scene, and the world learned that Parnell was no more.(284)