On October 4th, 1864, Pastor Fliedner, to use Miss Nightingale’s words, “passed to his glorious rest.” Almost his last words were: “As I look back upon my life, I appreciate how full it has been of blessings; every heart-beat should have been gratitude and every breath praise.”
Commenting upon his work, Miss Nightingale made this characteristic summary: “Pastor Fliedner began his work with two beds under a roof, not with a castle in the air, and Kaiserswerth is now diffusing its blessings and its deaconesses over almost every Protestant land.”
CHAPTER VII
ENTERS KAISERSWERTH: A PLEA FOR DEACONESSES
An Interesting Letter—Description of Miss Nightingale when she entered Kaiserswerth—Testimonies to her Popularity—Impressive Farewell to Pastor Fliedner.
The travelled mind is the catholic mind educated from exclusiveness and egotism.—A. Bronson Alcott.
When Florence Nightingale entered the Deaconess Hospital at Kaiserswerth, the institution, if we count the first primitive penitentiary, had been in existence sixteen years. It already consisted of a hospital and training home for deaconesses, a seminary for infant-school teachers, a kindergarten, an orphan asylum, and a penitentiary, but was small compared with the extensive settlement of to-day. It was managed on very simple and primitive lines, and the nurses came almost entirely from the peasant class. The fashion of “lady” nurses was practically unknown. Deaconess Reichardt, the first sister enrolled in the institution, was still there at the time of Miss Nightingale’s sojourn.
An interesting bit of autobiography regarding her Kaiserswerth days is given by Miss Nightingale in a letter preserved by the authorities of the British Museum. The letter was sent in reply to their request for a copy of the little history of Kaiserswerth which Miss Nightingale published after her return from the institution, and was hastily written in pencil. It is dated September 24th, 1897, from her house 10, South Street, Park Lane, and runs as follows:—
“Messrs. Dubau,—
“A gentleman called here yesterday from you, asking for a copy of my Kaiserswerth for, I believe, the British Museum.
“Since yesterday, a search has been instituted—but only two copies have been found, and one of those is torn and dirty. I send you the least bad-looking. You will see the date is 1851, and after the copies then printed were given away, I don’t think I have ever thought of it.