Yours sincerely,
J. Chamberlain.
Lord Randolph seems to have realised that there was for the moment nothing that he could usefully do; and on the morrow of his speech he came suddenly to a decision.
To his Mother.
2 Connaught Place, W.: February 2, 1887.
After great reflection and balancing of everything I have decided upon a little holiday abroad and am off to-morrow night. I shall be away, I expect, about six weeks, and H. Tyrwhitt and I contemplate going to Algiers, Tunis, Malta, Palermo, Naples, and so home. It will, I think, be a grand rest for me, and good for the nerves. I don’t see that I can do any good by hanging on here day after day. The Address will go on for a long time; then will come Procedure, then Coercion; so that when I come back they will not be much further ahead than they are now. I think my speech last night did a lot of good, and H. Chaplin’s violent attack shows how much the enemy is alarmed. I am told H. C. did not go down very well, and Jennings answered him capitally. George[61] will watch after my interests, and I shall ask him to take charge of my correspondence.
I have no information as to what is passing inside Ministerial circles, but I have an instinctive feeling that all is not right and that they will come to grief. Beach was very grateful to me for what I said about him.
I wish I could have seen you before going, for a farewell talk over everything. I have a lot to do to put things in order and to get ready.
To Chamberlain he wrote (February 3) in amicable terms, not withdrawing in any way from his discouragement of the Round Table Conference, but indicating his difficulties and announcing his project. ‘I do not think I said anything which ought even to ruffle our private friendship, which—though it may seem a paradox to say so—is one of the chief and few remaining attractions of political life. For the moment I am quite tired and worn out. "Many dogs have come about me, and the council of the wicked layeth siege against me." Therefore I seek a temporary refuge and repose in a flight to the south and to the sun.’
His friends, for the most part, thought him right to go. ‘Be of good cheer,’ wrote the warm-hearted Jennings; ‘you are by no means alone. As for the men whom you have put into office, or who would not be in office but for you, their conduct makes me sick. I am very glad you are going away for rest and change. It will give time for events to shape themselves; and when you are gone, you will be missed, and kinder feelings will enter into the consideration of your position. You could not do much good just now, and anything that went wrong would be laid on your shoulders. You will come back in time to save both party and Ministry from the consequences of their own incapacity. My deepest sympathies will always be with you in your unequal, but just and honourable, struggle. I would stake my life upon your ultimate success.’ Sometimes, perhaps, these wagers are accepted.
The next night—February 3—Lord Randolph left England, and I shall not offer to the reader other accounts of his wanderings than his own.