The Treaty of Peace was signed at Paris on March 30, 1856, and on July 12 General Codrington formally gave up Sebastopol and Balaclava to the Russians. When the last remnant of our army was ordered home and the hospitals were finally closed, Florence Nightingale was for the first time willing to leave a post which she had held so bravely and so long. But before she left she wished to leave a memorial to the brave men who had fallen, and the brave women, her comrades, who had died upon that other battlefield where disease, and Death himself, must be wrestled with on behalf of those who are nursed and tended.
And so it comes to pass that among the visible tokens which the war has left behind, is a gigantic white marble cross erected by Florence Nightingale upon the sombre heights of Balaclava, where it still opens wide its arms for every gleam of golden sunlight, every reflected shimmer, through the dark night, of silvery moon and star, to hearten the sailors voyaging northward and mark a prayer for the brave men and women who toiled and suffered there. It is inscribed with the words in Italian, “Lord, have mercy upon us.” But while she herself asked only mercy for herself and others, that human shortcomings might be forgiven, her compatriots were uniting to do her honour.
On December 20, 1855, the Morning Post printed the following announcement:—
“The country will experience much satisfaction, though no surprise, on learning, as we believe we are correct in stating, that Her Majesty the Queen has, in a manner as honourable to herself as it must be gratifying to her people, been pleased to mark her warm appreciation of the unparalleled self-devotion of the good Miss Nightingale. The Queen has transmitted to that lady a jewelled ornament of great beauty, which may be worn as a decoration, and has accompanied it with an autograph letter—such a letter as Queen Victoria has ere now proved she can write—a letter not merely of graceful acknowledgment, but full of that deep feeling which speaks from heart to heart, and at once ennobles the sovereign and the subject.”
Of the symbolic meaning of this jewel the following exposition appeared in the issue of January 15, 1856, of the same paper:—
“The design of the jewel is admirable, and the effect no less brilliant than chaste. It is characteristic and emblematical—being formed of a St. George’s cross in ruby-red enamel, on a white field—representing England. This is encircled by a black band, typifying the office of Charity, on which is inscribed a golden legend, ‘Blessed are the merciful.’ The Royal donor is expressed by the letters ‘V. R.’ surmounted by a crown in diamonds, impressed upon the centre of the St. George’s cross, from which also rays of gold emanating upon the field of white enamel are supposed to represent the glory of England. While spreading branches of palm, in bright green enamel, tipped with gold, form a framework for the shield, their stems at the bottom being banded with a ribbon of blue enamel (the colour of the ribbon for the Crimean medal), on which, in golden letters, is inscribed ‘Crimea.’ At the top of the shield, between the palm branches, and connecting the whole, three brilliant stars of diamonds illustrate the idea of the light of heaven shed upon the labours of Mercy, Peace, and Charity, in connection with the glory of a nation. On the back of this Royal jewel is an inscription on a golden tablet, written by Her Majesty ... recording it to be a gift and testimonial in memory of services rendered to her brave army by Miss Nightingale. The jewel is about three inches in depth by two and a half in width. It is to be worn, not as a brooch or ornament, but rather as the badge of an order. We believe the credit of the design is due to the illustrious consort of Her Majesty.”
Punch, of course, had always taken the liveliest interest in Miss Nightingale’s work, and having begun with friendly jesting, he ended with a tribute so tender in its grave beauty that it would hardly have been out of place in a church window; for below a sketch of Florence Nightingale herself, holding a wounded soldier by the hand, and with the badge of Scutari across her breast, was a vision of the Good Samaritan.
CHAPTER XIX.
Her citizenship—Her initiative—Public recognition and gratitude—Her return incognito—Village excitement—The country’s welcome—Miss Nightingale’s broken health—The Nightingale Fund—St. Thomas’s Hospital—Reform of nursing as a profession.