“You may make your mind quite easy upon that point,” he said. “I only wish I felt as sure that every incident, in what has been practically a revolution, would redound as surely to the credit of the Irish people. But it is inevitable,” he added, “that such a movement must of necessity call into being forces which it is beyond the power of any single individual to control.”
Through his chief whip Mr. Richard Power, a dear friend and companion of the Garrick Club, Mr. Parnell had offered me a seat as one of the Irish party, but although I had then, and still retain, complete sympathy with the principles of Home Rule, I felt it would be impossible for me as an Englishman to yield such complete surrender of my independent judgment as was demanded by the parliamentary tactics of the party.
A little later I heard Mr. Parnell in the House of Commons on one of the few occasions when his rigid self-control yielded to a moment of almost uncontrollable passion.
The subject under debate was this same forged letter which had imposed upon the credulity of the Times, and it was Mr. Parnell’s natural desire that this imputation which so deeply affected his character should be made the subject of a separate and independent inquiry.
His opponents, not unwisely from their point of view, desired to merge the single issue in a general examination of the Home Rule movement, and this view had been, at an earlier period of the debate, strongly enforced by Mr. Chamberlain in a speech of icy coldness that seemed to withhold the last particle of sympathy from a man who had been so grossly attacked.
The tone of Mr. Chamberlain’s speech, for it was a matter rather of tone than of substance, must have deeply incensed Mr. Parnell, for as he rose, with the usual pallor of his face deepened to an ashen whiteness, the trembling tones of his voice were, it was obvious, scarcely under control.
I have not, sir, had an opportunity before this of thanking the right honourable gentleman the member for West Birmingham for his kind references to me, and for the unsolicited character he was kind enough to give me when he last addressed the House a few nights since. He spoke of me not long ago, when he said he entertained a better opinion of me than he does to-day. I care very little for the opinion of the right honourable gentleman. I have never put forward men to do dangerous things which I shrank from doing myself, nor have I betrayed the secrets of my colleagues in Council. My principal recollection of the right honourable gentleman before he became a minister is that he was always most anxious to put me forward and my friends forward to do work which he was afraid to do himself. And after he became a minister my principal recollection of him is that he was always most anxious to betray to us the secrets and counsels of his colleagues in the Cabinet, and to endeavour, while sitting beside these colleagues and while in consultation with them, to undermine their counsels and their plans in our favour. If this inquiry is extended into these matters—and I see no reason why it should not—I shall be able to make good my words by documentary evidence that is not forged.
The withering scorn with which these final sentences were delivered, the tall slim figure visibly shaken by emotion, recall an unforgettable image of the man as he stood erect in his place below the gangway.
But a still more dramatic scene of that time occurred during the trial itself on the day when the forger Mr. Pigott was to be put into the box. I shall not easily forget the breathless interest of the Court when the Attorney-General called Mr. Inglis, the expert in hand-writing.
The witness was arranging his papers on the desk before him when Sir Charles Russell rose in his place and in strong but measured tones said, “My lords, I shall decline to cross-examine this witness until Mr. Pigott has been put into the box.”