The whole position was extraordinary.  Legally and theoretically, Redmond was a simple member of Parliament.  Practically and morally, he was the head of Ireland, exactly as Botha was of South Africa; and he was trying to do without legal powers what Botha was doing by means of them.  He was far more than the Leader of the Opposition in Great Britain; for in Ireland there really was no Government.  Moral authority, which must proceed from consent of the governed, the Irish Government had not possessed for many a long day; but its legal status had been unimpeachable.  Now even that was gone; it was merely a stop-gap contrivance, carrying on till the Act of Parliament should receive fulfilment; and, as a bare matter of fact, it was powerless.  No operative decision of any moment was taken or could be taken at this moment in Ireland.  Everything was referred to the Cabinet, and that body had no power to carry out a popular policy in Ireland.

Redmond had put forward a policy which they had accepted in principle.  It could only be carried out through him, and for success he must be consulted in detail.  Neither Lord Kitchener nor General Parsons in fact recognized the status which this implied.  They were prepared to listen to suggestions from him; they were not prepared to accept guidance, as they must have done had he been Prime Minister of the country.

It was impossible that Redmond’s attitude in dealing with General Parsons should not imply some sense of the position which he held; equally impossible, from the temper and mentality of the man, that there should not be in General Parsons’s letters an underlying assertion that in military matters the military must decide.

The correspondence between the two men opened by a letter from Sir Lawrence Parsons, who had just established his headquarters at Mallow; and its chief purpose was to direct Redmond’s attention to the fact that an Irish Division was a much finer and nobler unit than an Irish Brigade.  Two points in it, however, are of interest.  “I have been appointed by Lord Kitchener,” said General Parsons, “because I am an Irishman and understand my countrymen.”  Also, “I have had a considerable share in selecting the officers of the Division, almost all Irishmen of every political and religious creed.”

What lay behind the first of these sentences was a profound conviction that the writer thoroughly understood the necessities of the situation.  That was a disastrous mistake.  To understand Ireland at such a moment was difficult for anyone, impossible for a man who had not been in close touch with the mental condition produced by all these extraordinary happenings.  The effect of the preparations for rebellion in Ulster, of the Curragh incident, and of the collision between troops and people in Dublin—­the effect of the existence of a permitted Nationalist Volunteer Force—­the effect of Redmond’s appeal:  these were three completely novel and conflicting currents in the stream of Irish life.  Nobody could hope to estimate these developments from a general view, however intelligent, of Irish history and character, nor even from the most intimate and sympathetic acquaintance with Irish troops of the old Army.