Florence Nightingale The name of Florence Nightingle lives in the memory of the world by virtue of the herioc adventure of the crimea. Had she died- as she nearly did-upon her return to England, her reputation would hardly have been different; her legend would have come down to us almost as we know it today- that gentle vision of female virtue which first took shape before the adoring eyes of sick soldiers at the scutari. Yet, as matter of fact, she lived for than half a century after the crimean war; and during the greater part of that long period all the energy and all the devotion of her extraordinary nature were working at their highest pitch. What she accomplished in those years of unknown labour child, indeed, hardly have been glorias than her crimean triumphs; but it was certainly more important. The true history was far stranger even than the myth. She arrived in England in a shattered state of health. The hardships and the ceaseless efforts of the last two years had undermined her nervous system; her heart was affected she suffered constantly from fainting-fits and terrible attacks of utter physical prostration. The doctors declared that one thing alone would save her- a complete and prolonged rest. But that was also the one thing with which she had nothing to do. She had never been in the habbit of resting; why shy should begin now? Now when her opportunity had come at last; now, when the iron was hot and it was time to strike? No; she had work to do; and, come what night, she would do it. The doctors protested in vain; in vain her family lamented and enterated, in vain, her friends pointed out to her the madness of such a course. Madness? Mad-possessed-perhaps she was. Frenzy had- seized upon her. As she lay upon her sofa, gasping, she devoured blue-books, dictated letters, and, in the intervals of her palitations, cracked jokes. For months at a stretch she never left her bed. But she would not rest. At this rate, the doctors assured her, even if she did not die, she would become on invalid for life. She could not help that; there was work to be done; and, as for rest, very likely she might rest when she had done it! Like every other human being she had reached the final abode of all living creatures, leaving behind a mark on every human being on this earth for an oughtful gesture of being kind to others. TO BE A LEGEND, IS TO BE KIND, TO OTHERS.
Posted on: Sat, 26 Jul 2014 15:29:38 +0000
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