In Memoriam
Originally published in St. James's Magazine (W. Kent) vol.3 #2 (Jan 1862).
Until the twenty-eighth of November, 1861, we knew but imperfectly the high estimation in which Beauty of Character is held, and what it is able to effect. We knew heretofore, what Force of Character can do. We knew that men are ever ready to acknowledge the influence of a strong will—that to it they will render respect—that to it they will succumb and offer homage. But, on the day mentioned, we for the first time witnessed, in their full extent, the admiration, and honour, and love, that Beauty of Character can command. On that day there was a meeting in King Street, St. James's. It was a notable gathering—such as is rarely seen, even in London. All classes of the community had representatives there. On the platform were Statesmen, Orators, Churchmen, Soldiers,—men of all parties, and men of none; and, as they took their seats, cheer after cheer greeted them, for each was a man of mark, A Prince of the Blood Royal, the Commander-in-Chief of our Armies, was in their midst. The occasion, moreover, that had brought together these celebrated men was a very memorable one. His Royal Highness having taken the chair, the purpose of the meeting was unfolded. Then it appeared that all those present had come to record their esteem and regard for one to whom England owes much, but whom England has of late lost—had come to do honour to the memory of one who was dead. And he whom they thus lamented was worthy of all honour—was "one in a thousand"—was one who had died whilst in the performance of his duty to his country—was the well-beloved Sidney Herbert.
All who spoke on the occasion bore testimony—each in the particular department in which he is an authority—to the value and excellence of the departed. The Commander-in-Chief, regarding the service with which he is immediately identified, declared that the late Lord Herbert had the clearest views on military matters of any civilian he had ever met, and that his anxious desire was ever to promote the interests and welfare of the British army, and, in that way, to serve his country. He was succeeded by the Prime Minister, who spoke of the political career of the late Lord—of his eminent public services, of his zeal, of the qualities he possessed which fitted him for the highest public functions, of his singular powers, of his immense popularity, of the vast numbers of personal and political friends he had made, of his having had the happy fortune never to have made a personal enemy. The Chancellor of the Exchequer said, that it was seldom given to men to exhibit before their fellow-creatures such a combination of every mental and moral, as well as social gift, as that which belonged to Lord Herbert—"he was the gentlest man that ever undertook to confront the difficulties of public affairs." Then, the most eloquent Bishop of our Church rose. He had known Lord Herbert from his sweet youth up, and lamented that, when he was removed, life lost one of its most blessed lights; one who never failed to feel with every sorrow; one whose sensibility of sympathy was unsurpassed; one who spent himself freely for every suffering brother, or to mitigate the adverse lot of every tempted sister. Their dear departed friend had left memorials, irrespective of the results of his political labours and military reforms, that will endure for ages. He was the founder of hospitals, he was the builder of churches, he was the maintainer of schools, he was a judicious encourager of rational emigration,—there never was any one reasonable plan for mitigating the sufferings of others which did not meet at once, in him, a ready response. Others—and all foremost men of the country and the age—followed in the same strain.
There is much truth in that saying—"A man is not a hero to his valet." Most men are compelled by the force of circumstances to wear a cloak in public. Some wear it so as entirely to shroud themselves in its folds; some wear it loosely, and exhibit themselves but in parts; and some put it on in such a manner as not to conceal themselves at all, but only to let the world know they are in possession of such a garment, and could, if need be, use it. Most of us have some rent we wish to hide—few can afford to go abroad without their cloak; but in private life, amongst friends, it is thrown aside. There a man's true nature is learned; there he has no occasion to appear other than he really is. If he is in authority elsewhere, he is to act as one having authority; if he is under the control of another, he is to obey that other; only at home and amongst his equals may he act as he likes, So, the Judge leaves his ermine and his gravity at the courts; the Soldier does not carry his weapons into the street; the Schoolmaster, outside the walls of the school-room, is as mild as other men. But although it is not given to all to be themselves at all times; some there have been who find it possible to be so—but they are few. Lord Herbert was undoubtedly one of these—he was pre-eminently a daylight man—all his actions will bear the full blaze of the sun. To him simulation or dissimulation, even in manner, was unknown. He was the same all the year round, and at home as abroad; he was clothed in goodness as with a garment; his mind ever moved in charity. None came in contact with him but felt the beauty of his character; his very presence was a revelation of his worth—he was a "hero" even to his "valet."
No man had greater power over himself. The lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, the pride of life, were despised for nobler aims. With a princely fortune, of an illustrious race, of noble presence, with a refined taste, an accomplished scholar, a lover of the arts—he might have attained every desire it was possible for him to have conceived; but he preferred rather to serve his country than yield himself to selfish indulgence.
It was impossible to avoid noticing, at the late meeting, that all the speakers—although evidently desirous of confining their remarks to those public acts of Lord Herbert which were of so great a benefit to the country at large—were yet unable to restrain themselves from touching on the noble and beautiful private character of him who was in their thoughts. General Peel, half fearing it would be so, ventured to give a caution on the subject ; but he himself had already broken the rule by which he advised the assembly to be guided.
No one of those who spoke could confine himself to what was the primary object of the meeting—the recognition, namely, of the Public Services of him who has recently departed from among us; but it was apparent that there were springing up for utterance, in each speaker, thoughts of the many hearty and genial qualities, of the unselfishness, of the manly bearing, and of the loving-kindness, of the late Statesman.
But, of a surety, his public services were as valuable as his private qualities were loveable. It would be incorrect to say he held a first place amongst English politicians. He had not the energetic will, the fertility of resources, the power of command, that have distinguished some of our most renowned statesmen; yet, though he lacked these, he was possessed of gifts that amply compensated for their absence. What he could not accomplish by force of will he brought about by gentleness of manner; his laborious activity stood in the stead of invention; and, without exercising command, he accomplished his desires by his "winning" way. No task that required the minutest attention was esteemed by him irksome; nothing that was necessary was considered impossible; and what he undertook to do, that he never left undone. When the Times, shortly after his death, spoke of him as one who, had he lived, would have assuredly occupied the highest position in the councils of the Sovereign, the mere public were surprised. They had never contemplated the possibility of one like him filling a post they had been accustomed to associate with a man of far other qualities than those they believed he possessed. The Times, however, was, without doubt, right in its conjecture. With his political associates and intimate friends Sidney Herbert was held in high esteem as a Statesman, and they had marked out for him a career second to none. The public are not always in a favourable position for appreciating a man and his intellectual gifts, and attainments, and powers; they too often confound the noise that surrounds the vulgar charlatan for the voice of true Fame; and, not supposing it possible they may be mistaken in their estimate, measure the candidates for their applause by a very inaccurate standard. If, however, as in the case of Sidney Herbert, those with whom a man comes into intimate contact, and who are most certainly competent and unprejudiced judges, have a high opinion of that man's parts, the verdict arrived at is sure to be in accordance with justice. Often, indeed, there are men, such for instance as was the late John Sterling, whose public performance bears but a small proportion to their private promise—whose executive are vastly inferior to their conceptive faculties; and there are those whose delicacy restrains them from a display of their powers, but who, nevertheless, have the powers and exert them. In the latter class was Sidney Herbert. His performances were of the highest value. As Secretary of State for War he displayed qualities of the first order. Everything he suggested had a practical bearing, and the vast improvements he effected are known to all. To him we owe that Commission for Inquiring into the Sanitary State of the army which has produced such good results; to him we are indebted for the reorganization of the Medical Department of the army, and the Commission that prepared the Vital Statistics of the army in such a form as to afford a guarantee against the recurrence of the evils he struggled to overcome. The best test of the value of these Commissions is to be found in the significant fact, stated by the Chancellor of the Exchequer on the highest authority, that the mortality of the British army has, in consequence of the measures in which Lord Herbert, at so great a cost to himself, took so commanding a share, been reduced by no less than one-half—that is to say, one-half of the men die now who died in the army under the same circumstances before those measures were adopted.
And now that the reality of his services to his country has been ascertained, and it has been thought only an act of justice that the Nation should, in a positive and public way, mark its sense of his worth by paying a fitting tribute to his memory, who is there that will not aid in the work? Who but feels an obligation to do so? He was one of the first to see the propriety of the country recognizing acts of great public service, and recording its respect for those who performed them.
His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge could not but remember, when taking the chair at the late meeting, a previous occasion on which he had performed that office in the same room, Exactly six years had elapsed.[1] Then, as now, he was surrounded by the élite of the land, and then, as now, the object of the meeting was to recognize services rendered to the State. We refer to the gathering that assembled there to establish the Nightingale Fund. He whom we now lament was, on that occasion, one of the Honorary Secretaries, and distinguished himself by his active exertions to perpetuate the memory of the self-sacrifice of Florence Nightingale. Few then thought that she, at that time so delicate, would outlive "her chief," and see him fall a sacrifice to his duty. He is gone! It remains for us to erect a worthy monument to his memory, on which may be inscribed the lines of the old English poet—
"Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust!"
1. The meeting to promote the "Nightingale Fund" was held in Willis's Rooms, on Thursday, the 29th November, 1855: the meeting to render a tribute to the memory of Sidney Herbert was held in Willis's Rooms, on Thursday, the 28th November, 1861: the Duke of Cambridge presiding on both occasions.