The morning was beautiful and clear and the sunshine came in at the open window of Mr. Gladstone's room. The aged sufferer was hovering between life and death, and only by the feeble beating of his pulse could it be told he was alive. He was sleeping himself away into eternal day. Mrs. Gladstone sat by the side of his bed, holding his hand, and never leaving except for needed rest. At times he seemed to recognize for a moment some of those with him. He surely knew his wife as she tenderly kissed his hand.
It soon became known abroad that Mr. Gladstone was dying. In the House of Commons it caused profound sorrow. Everything else was stopped while members discussed how best to honor him, even by taking steps without, precedent as that of adjourning, because the circumstances were unprecedented. His former colleagues silently watched his last struggle with the relentless foe, to whom, true to himself, he was yielding slowly, inch by inch.
Telegrams of inquiry and sympathy came from all parts of the world to the Castle. The Queen wrote making inquiries and tendering assurances of profound sympathy. A long telegram from the Princess of Wales concluded: "I am praying for you." The Prince of Wales wrote: "My thoughts are with you at this trying time., God grant that your father does not suffer." The Duke of Devonshire before the British Empire League referred touchingly to the mournful scenes at Hawarden, when "the greatest of Englishmen was slowly passing away." And all over the land people of all conditions and at all kinds of gatherings, politicians, divines, reformers, and women joined in expressions of grief and sympathy. Many were the messages of regard and condolence that came from other lands.
Dr. Dobie furnishes the following picture of the dying man. "His grand face bears a most peaceful and beautiful look. A few days ago the deeply bitten wrinkles that so long marked it were almost gone; but now, strangely enough, they seem strong and deep as ever. He looks too in wonderfully good color."
At 2 o'clock in the morning, it was evident that the time had come, and the family gathered about the bed of the aged man, from that time none of them left the room until all was over. The only absentee was little Dorothy Drew, who tearfully complained that her grandfather did not know her. Behind the family circle stood the physicians and the nurses, and the old coachman, who had been unable to be present when the other servants took their farewell, and who was now sent for to witness the closing scene.
The end was most peaceful. There were no signs of bodily pain or of mental distress. The Rev. Stephen Gladstone read prayers and repeated hymns. The nurse continued to bathe with spirits the brow of the patient, who showed gratitude by murmuring, "How nice!" While the son was engaged in praying, came the gentle, almost perceptible cessation of life, and the great man was no more. So quietly had he breathed his last, that the family did not know it until it was announced by the medical attendants. The weeping family then filed slowly from the room, Mrs. Gladstone was led into another room and induced to lie down. The only spoken evidence that Mr. Gladstone realized his surroundings in his last moments was when his son recited the litany. Then the dying man murmured, "Amen." This was the last word spoken by Mr. Gladstone and was uttered just before he died.
The death of Mr. Gladstone was announced to the people of Hawarden by the tolling of the church bell. The following bulletin was posted at 6 a.m.: "In the natural course of things the funeral will be at Hawarden. Mr. Gladstone expressed a strong wish to have no flowers at his funeral; and the family will be grateful if this desire is strictly respected."
There was something indescribably pathetic in the daily bulletins about Mr. Gladstone. All the world knew that he was afflicted with a fatal but slow disease, and all the world was struck with wondering admiration at his sustained fortitude, patience, and resignation. The tragedy of a life, devoted simply and purely to the public service, drawing to an end in so long an agony, was a spectacle that struck home to the heart of the most callous. These bulletins were posted on the front door of the Jubilee Porch, at Hawarden Castle, at 9 a.m., 5 p.m. and 10 o'clock at night daily, and published throughout the world.
When the sad event was announced that Mr. Gladstone had passed away, the action of the House of Commons was prompt, decided and sympathetic. The House was crowded Thursday, May 19, when Speaker Gully called upon the government leader, Mr. A. J. Balfour, the First Lord of the Treasury, and all the members uncovering their heads, Mr. Balfour said:
"I think it will be felt in all parts of the House that we should do fitting honor to the great man whose long and splendid career closed to-day, by adjourning.