eminent victorians-第29章

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Ben　Hawes　himself；　however；　did　not　quite　see　it　in　that　light。

He　set　himself　to　resist　the　wishes　of　the　Minister　by　every

means　in　his　power。　The　struggle　was　long；　and　desperate；　and；　as

it　proceeded；　it　gradually　became　evident　to　Miss　Nightingale

that　something　was　the　matter　with　Sidney　Herbert。　What　was　it？

His　health；　never　very　strong；　was；　he　said；　in　danger　of

collapsing　under　the　strain　of　his　work。　But；　after　all；　what　is

illness；　when　there　is　a　War　Office　to　be　reorganised？　Then　he

began　to　talk　of　retiring　altogether　from　public　life。　The

doctors　were　consulted；　and　declared　that；　above　all　things；　what

was　necessary　was　rest。　Rest！　She　grew　seriously　alarmed。　Was　it

possible　that；　at　the　last　moment；　the　crowning　wreath　of　victory

was　to　be　snatched　from　her　grasp？　She　was　not　to　be　put　aside　by

doctors；　they　were　talking　nonsense；　the　necessary　thing　was　not

rest；　but　the　reform　of　the　War　Office；　and；　besides；　she　knew

very　well　from　her　own　case　what　one　could　do　even　when　one　was

on　the　point　of　death。



She　expostulated　vehemently；　passionately；　the　goal　was　so　near；

so　very　near；　he　could　not　turn　back　now！　At　any　rate；　he　could

not　resist　Miss　Nightingale。　A　compromise　was　arranged。　Very

reluctantly；　he　exchanged　the　turmoil　of　the　House　of　Commons　for

the　dignity　of　the　House　of　Lords；　and　he　remained　at　the　War

Office。　She　was　delighted。　'One　fight　more；　the　best　and　the

last；'　she　said。



For　several　more　months　the　fight　did　indeed　go　on。　But　the

strain　upon　him　was　greater　even　than　she　perhaps　could　realise。

Besides　the　intestine　war　in　his　office；　he　had　to　face　a

constant　battle　in　the　Cabinet　with　Mr。　Gladstonea　more

redoubtable　antagonist　even　than　Ben　Hawesover　the　estimates。

His　health　grew　worse　and　worse。　He　was　attacked　by　faintingfits；

and　there　were　some　days　when　he　could　only　just　keep　himself

going　by　gulps　of　brandy。　Miss　Nightingale　spurred　him　forward

with　her　encouragements　and　her　admonitions；　her　zeal　and　her

example。　But　at　last　his　spirit　began　to　sink　as　well　as　his

body。　He　could　no　longer　hope；　he　could　no　longer　desire；　it　was

useless；　all　useless；　it　was　utterly　impossible。　He　had　failed。

The　dreadful　moment　came　when　the　truth　was　forced　upon　him：　he

would　never　be　able　to　reform　the　War　Office。　But　a　yet　more

dreadful　moment　lay　behind；　he　must　go　to　Miss　Nightingale　and

tell　her　that　he　was　a　failure；　a　beaten　man。



'Blessed　are　the　merciful！'　What　strange　ironic　prescience　had

led　Prince　Albert；　in　the　simplicity　of　his　heart；　to　choose　that

motto　for　the　Crimean　brooch？　The　words　hold　a　double　lesson；

and；　alas！　when　she　brought　herself　to　realise　at　length　what　was

indeed　the　fact　and　what　there　was　no　helping；　it　was　not　in

mercy　that　she　turned　upon　her　old　friend。



'Beaten！'　she　exclaimed。　'Can't　you　see　that　you've　simply　thrown

away　the　game？　And　with　all　the　winning　cards　in　your　hands！　And

so　noble　a　game！　Sidney　Herbert　beaten！　And　beaten　by　Ben　Hawes！

It　is　a　worse　disgrace。。。'　her　full　rage　burst　out　at　last；　'。。。a

worse　disgrace　than　the　hospitals　at　Scutari。'



He　dragged　himself　away　from　her；　dragged　himself　to　Spa；　hoping

vainly　for　a　return　to　health；　and　then；　despairing；　back　again

to　England；　to　Wilton；　to　the　majestic　house　standing　there

resplendent　in　the　summer　sunshine；　among　the　great　cedars　which

had　lent　their　shade　to　Sir　Philip　Sidney；　and　all　those

familiar；　darling　haunts　of　beauty　which　he　loved；　each　one　of

them；　'as　if　they　were　persons'；　and　at；　Wilton　he　died。　After

having　received　the　Eucharist；　he　had　become　perfectly　calm；

then；　almost　unconscious；　his　lips　were　seen　to　be　moving。　Those

about　him　bent　down。　'Poor　Florence！　Poor　Florence！'　they　just

caught。　'。。。Our　joint　work　。。。　unfinished　。。。　tried　to　do　。。。'

and　they　could　hear　no　more。



When　the　onward　rush　of　a　powerful　spirit　sweeps　a　weaker　one　to

its　destruction；　the　commonplaces　of　the　moral　judgment　are

better　left　unmade。　If　Miss　Nightingale　had　been　less　ruthless；

Sidney　Herbert　would　not　have　perished；　but　then；　she　would　not

have　been　Miss　Nightingale。　The　force　that　created　was　the　force

that　destroyed。　It　was　her　Demon　that　was　responsible。　When　the

fatal　news　reached　her；　she　was　overcome　by　agony。　In　the

revulsion　of　her　feelings；　she　made　a　worship　of　the　dead　man's

memory；　and　the　facile　instrument　which　had　broken　in　her　hand

she　spoke　of　forever　after　as　her　'Master'。　Then；　almost　at　the

same　moment；　another　blow　fell　on　her。　Arthur　Clough；　worn　out　by

labours　very　different　from　those　of　Sidney　Herbert；　died　too：

never　more　would　he　tie　up　her　parcels。　And　yet　a　thirddisaster

followed。　The　faithful　Aunt　Mai　did　not；　to　be　sure；　die；　no；　she

did　something　almost　worse：　she　left　Miss　Nightingale。　She　was

growing　old；　and　she　felt　that　she　had　closer　and　more　imperative

duties　with　her　own　family。　Her　niece　could　hardly　forgive　her。

She　poured　out；　in　one　of　her　enormous　letters；　a　passionate

diatribe　upon　the　faithlessness；　the　lack　of　sympathy；　the

stupidity；　the　ineptitude　of　women。　Her　doctrines　had　taken　no

hold　among　them；　she　had　never　known　one　who　had　appris　a

apprendre；　she　could　not　even　get　a　woman　secretary；　'they　don't

know　the　names　of　the　Cabinet　Ministersthey　don't　know　which　of

the　Churches　has　Bishops　and　which　not'。　As　for　the　spirit　of

self…sacrifice；　wellSidney　Herbert　and　Arthur　Clough　were　men；

and　they　indeed　had　shown　their　devotion；　but　women！　She　would

mount　three　widow's　caps　'for　a　sign'。　The　first　two　would　be　for

Clough　and　for　her　Master；　but　the　third'the　biggest　widow's

cap　of　all'would　be　for　Aunt　Mai。　She　did　well　to　be　angry；　she

was　deserted　in　her　hour　of　need；　and　after　all；　could　she　be

sure　that　even　the　male　sex　was　so　impeccable？　There　was　Dr。

Sutherland；　bungling　as　usual。　Perhaps　even　he　intended　to　go　off

one　of　these　days；　too？　She　gave　him　a　look；　and　he　shivered　in

his　shoes。　No！she　grinned　sardonically；　she　would　always　have

Dr。　Sutherland。　And　then　she　reflected　that　there　was　one　thing

more　that　she　would　always　have　her　work。



IV



SIDNEY　HERBERT'S　death　finally　put　an　end　to　Miss　Nightingale's

dream　of　a　reformed　War　Office。　For　a　moment；　indeed；　in　the

first　agony　of　her　disappointment；　she　had　wildly　clutched　at　a

straw；　she　had　written　to　M。　Gladstone　to　beg　him　to　take　up　the

burden　of　Sidney　Herbert's　work。　And　Mr。　Gladstone　had　replied

with　a　sympathetic　account　of　the　funeral。



Succeeding　Secretaries　of　State　managed　between　them　to　undo　a

good　deal　of　what　had　been　accomplished；　but　they　could　not　undo

it　all；　and　for　ten　years　more　（1862…72）　Miss　Nightingale

remained　a　potent　influence　at　the　War　Office。　After　that；　her

direct　connection　with　the　Army　came　to　an　end；　and　her　energies

began　to　turn　more　and　more　completely　towards　more　general

objects。　Her　work　upon　hospital　reform　assumed　enormous

proportions；　she　was　able　to　improve　the　conditions　in

infirmaries　and　workhouses；　and　one　of　her　most　remarkable　papers

forestalls　the　recommendations　of　the　Poor　Law　Commission　of

1909。　Her　training；　school　for　nurses；　with　all　that　it　involved

in　initiative；　control；　responsibillity；　and　combat；　would　have

been　enough　in　itself　to　have　absorbed　the　whole　efforts　of　at

least　two　lives　of　ordinary　vigour。　And　at　the　same　time　her　work

in　connection　with　India；　which　had　begun　with　the　Sanitary

Commission　on　the　Indian　Army；　spread　and　ramified　in　a　multitude

of　directions。　Her　tentacles　reached　the　India　Office　and

succeeded　in　establishing　a　hold　even　upon　those　slippery　high

places。　For　many　years　it　was　de　rigueur　for　the　newly　appointed

Viceroy；　before　he　left　England；　to　pay　a　visit　to　Miss

Nightingale。



After　much　hesitation；　she　had　settled　down　in　a　small　house　in

South　Street；　where　she　remained　for　the　rest　of　her　life。　That

life　was　a　very　long　one；　the　dying　woman　reached　her　ninety…

first　year。　Her　ill　health　gradually　diminished；　the　crises　of

extreme　danger　became　less　frequent；　and　at　last　altogether

ceased；　she　remained　an　invalid；　but　an　invalid　of　a　curious

characteran　invalid　who　was　too　weak　to　walk　downstairs　and　who

worked　far　harder　than　most　Cabinet　Ministers。　Her　illness；

whatever　it　may　have　been；　was　certainly　not　inconvenient。　It

involved　seclusion；　and　an　extraordinary；　an　unparalleled

seclusion　was；　it　might　almost　have　been　said；　the　mainspring　of

Miss　Nightingale's　life。　Lying　on　her　sofa　in　the　little　upper

room　in　South　Street；　she　combined　the　intense　vitality　of　a

dominating　woman　of　the　world　with　the　mysterious　and　romantic

quality　of　a　myth。　She　was　a　legend　in　her　lifetime；　and　she　knew

it。　She　tasted　the　joys　of　power；　like　those　Eastern　Emperors

whose　autocratic　rule　was　based　upon　invisibility；　with　the

mingled　satisfactions　of　obscurity　and　fame。



And　she　found　the　machinery　of　illness　hardly　less　effective　as　a

barrier　against　the　eyes　of　men　than　the　ceremonial　of　a　palace。

Great　statesmen　and　renowned　generals　were　obliged　to　beg　for

audiences；　admiring　princesses　from　foreign　countries　found　that

they　must　see　her　at　her　own　time；　or　not　at　all；　and　the

ordinary　mortal　had　no　hope　of　ever　getting　beyond　the　downstairs

sitting…room　and　Dr。　Sutherland。　For　that　indefatigable　disciple

did；　indeed；　never　desert　her。　He　might　be　impatient；　he　might　be

restless；　but　he　remained。　His　'incurable　looseness　of　thought'；

for　so　she　termed　it；　continued　at　her　service　to　the　end。　Once；

it　is　true；　he　had　actually　ventured　to　take　a　holiday；　but　he

was　recalled；　and　he　did　not　repeat　the　experiment。　He　was　wanted

downstairs。　There　he　sat；　transacting　business　answering

correspondence；　interviewing　callers；　and　exchanging　innumerable

notes　with　the　unseen　power　above。　Sometimes　word　came　down　that

Miss　Nightingale　was　just　well　enough　to　see　one　of　her　visitors。

The　fortunate　man　was　led　up；　was　ushered；　trembling；　into　the

shaded　chamber；　and；　of　course；　could　never　afterwards　forget　the

interview。　Very　rarely；　indeed；　once　or　twice　a　year；　perhaps；

but　nobody　could　be　quite　certain；　in　deadly　secrecy；　Miss

Nightingale　went　out　for　a　drive　in　the　Park。　Unrecognised；　the

living　legend　flitted　for　a　moment　before　the　common　gaze。　And

the　precaution　was　necessary；　for　there　were　times　when；　at　some

public　function；　the　rumour　of　her　presence　was　spread　abroad；

and　ladies；　mistaken　by　the　crowd　for　Miss　Nightingale；　were

followed；　pressed　upon；　vehemently　supplicated　'Let　me　touch　your

shawl'；　'Let　me　stroke　your　arm'；　such　was　the　strange　adoration

in　the　hearts　of　the　people。　That　vast　reserve　of　force　lay　there

behind　her；　she　could　use　it；　if　she　could。　But　she　preferred

never　to　use　it。　On　occasions；　she　might　hint　or　threaten；　she

might　balance　the　sword　of　Damocles　over　the　head　of　the　Bison；

she　might；　by　a　word；　by　a　glance；　remin