The Passing—The People grieve—Sorrow in Parliament—The Nation’s Loss—Letters from Queen Victoria, the Prince of Wales (the late King Edward) and Gladstone—The Railroad Men’s Tribute—The Significance of his Life—India’s Loss—Fawcett’s Message.
On Thursday morning, 6th November 1884, the two doctors who saw him found that his heart was weak, and he asked his secretary to notify the papers of his illness. Another doctor came from London, and when the three went to Fawcett’s room, they found that there was no hope of his recovery. Thoughtful as always of the comfort of others, he asked in a failing voice if dinner had been arranged for the doctor who had just come.
When his hands began to grow cold, he thought the weather had changed. Practical and exact to the last, he said: ‘The best things to warm my hands with would be my fur gloves. They are in the pocket of my coat in the dressing-room.’ He never spoke again. In the quiet room, the dull autumn afternoon darkened as his wife and daughter sat by the bedside. Very gently, his brave fight won, the tired blind man’s unquenchable spirit left them in the twilight and passed to find the light.
Rarely has a loss caused so much deep personal sorrow in every class. A dearly loved friend of many had gone, a noble life had been spent for others. There was mourning in many a little cottage when the head of the family read aloud that the good Postmaster-General had passed away.
In the misty lamplit village squares, and in the market-place at Salisbury, the rural labourers gathered to lament his loss, and to recall his many good deeds and the countless little friendlinesses which he had personally shown to so many of them.
‘That such a man should have died at only fifty-one is one of those apparent wastes in Nature before which our philosophy stands impotent; but that such a light should have existed at all makes philosophy superfluous in contemplating it.’[3]
The morning after Fawcett’s going, Lady Courtney told the news to her parlourmaid, who had known Fawcett. On entering the kitchen, to her surprise the cook burst out weeping and sat by the table rocking herself to and fro. ‘Why,’ said Lady Courtney, ‘Maria, you didn’t know Mr. Fawcett, did you?’ ‘Ah, yes, your ladyship, I knew him, the kind gentleman. It was when you and his lordship were out of town. I opened the door for him, and when he found you were not at home, he said, “I have been here to dine very often, and I want to know you.” “Oh no, sir,” says I, “I’m only the cook,” with which he puts out his hand and shakes mine like an old friend, as he says, “Well, I’m very glad indeed to meet you.” Then I offered him a glass of water, ma’am, which he drank so grateful.’ Lady Courtney queried, ‘But Maria, why didn’t you offer him tea, for the credit of the house?’ ‘Oh, your ladyship, I didn’t dare to, for fear he’d see the state of the house with your ladyship away.’
When the news came to the House of Commons, sudden as such news always is, it fell to the Marquis of Hartington to announce it to the House. It is said that he all but broke down.
Later in the evening there were more formal expressions of grief. Sir Stafford Northcote, on behalf of the Conservative Party, whom Fawcett had so consistently opposed, spoke of the loss the House had sustained, and said: ‘I do not think anybody can recall a single word that ever fell from him that gave unnecessary offence or pain to any one.’ The Marquis of Hartington, on behalf of the Government, said Fawcett commanded the ‘respect, I think I may say the affection, of the whole House’; and Mr. Justin McCarthy, on behalf of the Irish Party, spoke with much feeling of ‘the sudden and melancholy close of so promising and great a career.’ The next evening Gladstone, who had not been present the night before, said: ‘Mr. Fawcett’s name is a name which is heard in all quarters of the House with feelings of the greatest respect. We have all been accustomed to regard with admiration his admirable integrity and independence of mind, his absolute devotion to the public service, the marvellous tenacity of his memory, combined with his remarkable clearness of mental vision; and, I think, even above all these, if possible, the rare courage, the unfailing, the unmeasured courage, with which he confronted and mastered all the difficulties which would have daunted and repelled an ordinary man in connection with the loss of the precious gift of sight. From these and other causes he acquired a place in the hearts and minds such as is undoubtedly accorded to few; and I believe that he had won a place equally high in the esteem and respect of the House of Commons. I wish in these few words to place on record, in the name of myself and my colleagues, our deep sense of the loss of a most distinguished public servant.’ The last words were spoken by Lord John Manners, who, referring to the personal intercourse he had had with Fawcett, said, ‘It was impossible to exceed in courtesy and fairness the eminent statesman whose loss we all deplore.’
Writing of Fawcett shortly after his death, Mr. Beresford Hope used these words: ‘He was a man who had conquered all personal enmity, all personal suspicion, and lived in the hearts of every man, on every side of the House, without exception. Ask me why it was? That is a difficult question to answer. The appreciation of character—the influence that a man has—is generally indescribable.... He had gained a strange influence over the House, from the absolute certainty with which he inspired every man of the clear, transparent honesty and courage of his character.’
Fawcett was always strongly opposed to taking away any legitimate pleasure, and the keen appreciation of this fact by a child seems worth recording. Soon after the Postmaster’s death, his small nephew, who had been promised that he should go to the Lord Mayor’s Show, begged to be taken there; the family naturally hesitated, and discussed the propriety of the boy’s going to the festivity the day before his uncle’s funeral. The natural question was, ‘What would Fawcett have said under similar circumstances?’ The small nephew piped up with ‘I know Uncle Harry would have said: “Go, my boy!”’ This was so true that the boy went.
Numerous letters were sent to the family, some from those who, from lack of learning, were forced to dictate their letters to the village schoolmaster. Others, who had rarely struggled with the intricate problems of pen and paper, strove painfully to put their sympathy into written words. Telegrams and resolutions of sympathy came from workingmen’s societies, labour unions, and all kinds of associations and societies, tokens of love and grief from a vaster circle of personal friends than almost any one ever had.
We have the privilege of printing a facsimile of the sympathetic letter written with her own hand by Queen Victoria, and of the note of condolence from the Prince of Wales (the late King Edward).
‘Dear Mrs. Fawcett,—I am anxious to express to you myself the true and sincere sympathy I feel for you in your present terrible bereavement, as well as my sincere regret for the loss of your distinguished husband, who bore his great trial with such courage and patience, and who served his Queen and country ably and faithfully.
‘You, who were so devoted a wife to him, must, even in this hour of overwhelming grief, be gratified by the universal expression of respect and regret on this sad occasion.
‘That He Who alone can give consolation and peace in the hour of affliction may support you, is the earnest wish of yours sincerely,
Facsimile of a letter from Queen Victoria to Mrs. Fawcett.
‘Dear Mrs. Fawcett,—You are certain to receive many letters expressing sympathy with your present grief, and although I hardly like intruding so soon on your great sorrow, yet I am anxious to express how deeply both the Princess and myself sympathise with you in this severe hour of trial. Mr. Fawcett cannot fail to be deeply mourned and regretted by all who knew him—but he has left a name, which will ever be remembered among England’s distinguished men.—Believe me, dear Mrs. Fawcett, truly yours,
Facsimile of a letter from the Prince of Wales (King Edward VII)
to Mrs. Fawcett
Mr. Gladstone wrote to Fawcett’s father. Miss Fawcett has kindly given us permission to reprint the letter.
‘Dear Sir,—Will you allow me to intrude upon you for a moment by offering to you in private my assurances of deep sympathy under the grievous loss you have sustained, and to repeat also the testimony which I have endeavoured to render in public to your distinguished son. There has been no public man in our day whose remarkable qualities have been more fully recognised by his fellow-countrymen, and more deeply enshrined in their memories. There they will long remain now that they form the subject of recollection only and are no longer associated, as they were until the sad event, with sanguine and brilliant hopes.
‘He has left a record of some qualities which are given to few; but of others, perhaps yet more remarkable, which all his fellow-countrymen may in their degree emulate and follow; for integrity so high, and courage so far beyond the common range, aid more often than his great powers of intellect and memory to profitable imitation, and will, I trust, give to thousands a powerful incentive to honourable imitation and a means of real advancement.
‘Heartily wishing to you, dear Sir, both in retrospect and in prospect every consolation,—I remain, faithfully yours,
‘W. Fawcett, Esqr.’
Mr. Fawcett, senior, died at Salisbury at the ripe age of ninety-five, after a successful and much honoured life.
It is interesting to read what the Prime Minister said of Fawcett, by whom he had been at times so vigorously and successfully opposed, and to whom the downfall of his Government was once largely due.
The sorrow of the grief-stricken parents in Salisbury for the loss of their beloved son seemed too great a burden for their aged shoulders to bear. But slowly, as time went on, the father gathered comfort from the sympathy of great and humble. Reviewing lovingly bit by bit the brave course which his boy had run, he realised perhaps, as the crowning comfort, that in the inscrutable workings of fate, his unwittingly blinding his own child had not after all proved an irreparable calamity. Rather it had, by depriving the lad of the blessing of sight, miraculously sped him on valiantly to a great life gladly lived.
Among the many sympathetic letters sent to Mrs. Fawcett, perhaps none express more truly the feelings of those to whom her husband had given his constant solicitude, and certainly none are more touching, than these two:—
‘Dear Madam,—I hope you will forgive us, but having followed the political life of the late Professor Fawcett, we felt when we saw his death in the papers on the 7th that we had lost a personal friend, and that a great man had gone from us. The loss to you must be beyond measure; but we as part of the nation do give you who have been his helper our heartfelt sympathy in your great trouble, and we do hope you may find a little consolation in knowing that his work that he has done for the working classes has not been in vain.
‘We, as working men, do offer you and your child our deepest sympathy, and beg to be yours respectfully,
|A Tribute from the Railroad men of Brighton.|
‘Dear Mrs. Fawcett,—Excuse me in not writing you sooner, on the sad death of your dear lamented husband. Several of his old friends at the Brighton Railway Works has wished me to ask you privately how you are situated in a pecuniary sense. We always thought that the Professor was a poor man, and only had what he earned by his talents; his three years of office could not have brought in much money for you and the family to live in ease and comfort for the rest of your days. It is our opinion that you are richly entitled to a public pension.
‘Failing this, would you accept a public subscription, say a penny one, from the working classes of this country, for the many good and noble deeds your noble partner done for the working classes of this country. His advice was always sound, good and practical, and full of sympathy, a good private friend to all men.
‘I see you had a plentiful supply of flowers, but those flowers soon fade and are no support to the poor and fatherless ones. I am confident, if you could make up your mind to accept a penny testimonial the working classes would give cheerfully, not in the shape of charity, but for public and striking services rendered by one of the best men since Edmund Burke. We only wish he had lived twenty years longer.
‘Pray excuse my plain way of writing to you, as an honest workman, one of his supporters from first to last. His last letter to me a month back was full of sound and good advice concerning our Provident Society.—Believe me, your sincere friend and well-wisher,
Mrs. Fawcett, profoundly touched by this letter, was able to say that she could not properly accept the generous offer, as her husband had left her adequately provided for. Mr. Short, who had written the letter, replied to Mrs. Fawcett, ‘our men of the railway works say that you are entitled to all honour for refusing a pension or a public subscription from the working men; also that your dear husband and our best friend has practised what he always preached to us, private thrift!’
Fawcett was buried in the churchyard at Trumpington, near Cambridge, by the little old church, with its square tower, which he had so often passed on his joyful walks and rides. He was followed to his resting-place by representatives of all the classes and the peoples who had loved him. Those humble folk who were so dear to him mingled with statesmen of all parties and many countries, delegates from learned bodies and universities, his colleagues, and the undergraduates from his beloved Cambridge.
The influence of such a career, the significance of its eternal echo, grows in value each year. As life becomes more complicated, and competition keener, men in the general struggle naturally think themselves forced to safeguard their own interests, and forget what, by their very birthright as citizens, they owe to the community, to the making and purifying of the Government which should be the protector of the weak, the instigator of progress, and the guardian of national honour.
Fawcett’s life awakens us to the possibilities of happiness and usefulness without the aid of money or position, and even despite one of the gravest impediments under which a man can labour. He completely forgot himself and his personal interests, and in so doing found happiness and success. His career was a forceful illustration of that ancient truth, ‘He that loses his life shall find it.’
His heroic victory should help to give that faith and inspiration needed so much in our day in every field. Like that great friend of liberty with whom he so deeply sympathised and to whom we have compared him, Fawcett came from the humble people whom he fully appreciated, and he too might have said that ‘God must have loved the plain people, or He would not have made so many of them.’ He too struggled against gigantic difficulties, and became a leader of his countrymen. From this position of vantage, which he cherished because it enabled him to do good effectively, he helped the poor and neglected, and those who had no voice to ask justice for themselves. Even the least of these touched his great heart and claimed his sympathy, and he wrought unsparingly, unselfishly for their rights. Worn out with his ceaseless task, he too was taken in his prime, at the height of his powers, beloved and reverenced by his own people, and the great and small of many lands.
MEMORIAL IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY
A national memorial and many others were set up. Contributions were received from all parts of the Empire, in gifts ranging from the widow’s mite to the munificent donations of Indian princes, in recognition of the help which Fawcett had given to their country. To the one fittingly placed in Westminster Abbey, the employees of the Post Office contributed one-quarter of the cost. Besides the portrait, the memorial includes two figures symbolising Brotherhood, and others for Zeal, Justice, Fortitude, Sympathy and Industry.
The remainder of the National Memorial Fund was devoted to the Fawcett Scholarship, available for blind students at the universities, and to the Fawcett playgrounds, gymnasium, skating rinks, boating equipment, and other athletic facilities at the Royal Normal College for the Blind.
We have spoken of the feeling of India. A great public meeting was held at Bombay; extracts from some of the speeches are given below, and with them some cuttings from the Indian papers.
‘This great assembly is here to do honour to the memory of a high-minded English statesman, whose name has become a household word out here, to express that policy of strict justice and warm sympathy which alone can bind India to England.’
‘The best friend of India has gone—the Right Honble. Henry Fawcett. All people will regret the death of this statesman—especially those in India. He had so identified himself with the interests of India, and so fearlessly advocated the cause of the dumb millions of this poor country, that he had gained for himself the honorary title of the Member for India. It was certainly unfortunate that he had no place in the Cabinet. His colleagues, who knew him thoroughly, were probably afraid that in Indian matters he would prove too stiff for them. By far the best place for him would have been that of Secretary of State for India. In fact, ever since he was Postmaster-General India lost the services of its Member.’
‘Independently of his political services to India, Mr. Fawcett was well known among us as an author. His Manual of Political Economy has become a text-book in all our colleges and universities, and his other writings on social and economic questions are extensively read by the educated portion of our countrymen.’
‘There was no more touching spectacle than that of the blind Professor devoting himself as the champion of the country he had never seen, and the steadfast friend of the people with whom he had never come into personal contact, simply because that country needed a champion, and those people wanted a friend to represent their interests. Such a figure strikes me as even more chivalrous than the figures of the ideal knights who went about redressing human wrongs.’
‘To India his loss is truly irreparable.’
‘In the market-place at Salisbury, near the house where Fawcett was born, and where he made his first economic investigation, they have placed a statue of him, so that the inhabitants of India and others coming from distant parts to see Stonehenge and the great Cathedral may pause before the memorial, and, seeing Fawcett’s name, will remember that he was the friend who fought for their rights.’
As a friend wrote when deploring Fawcett’s untimely death: ‘The necessity of the hour is one brave man, faithful to his convictions, strong enough to make himself heard above the angry cries of a mob, and determined that no amount of popular applause, no momentary party advantage, no miserable plea of expediency, and no false imputation of cowardice shall move him one hair’s-breadth from the path of rectitude.’ Yes, Fawcett is needed to-day, and his example is needed now—the teaching of his generous brotherhood, his intense industry, his fair thoroughness of investigation, and his conscientious deliberation.
On his grave they have written, ‘Speak to the people that they go forward.’ In obedience to this summons this book has been written, and in hope that it will lead others to tell the story over and over again. It may too help others to follow in the footsteps of this country boy, who, blinded, fought valiantly against tremendous odds, and taught himself to ignore his misfortune and to make at last his spirit see so clearly that he found the truth and pointed it out to others. He became the champion of those who most needed a protector, and battled against oppression, ignorance, and neglect. He gave to the humblest the right to enjoy the commons and forests which he himself could not see. He strove for the friendless in India, and for the poor woman who had no voice in the making of the laws which bound her. He shouldered tasks beyond his strength, loving them. He attained the best because he believed the best.
There is no parallel in history for this heroic and romantic life, in spite of the overhanging shadow, so full of usefulness, of joy and light. So keen was the sight of the eyes on his finger-tips, that he could detect the smallest leaf carried by the stream against his fishing-line. After a score of years he would recognise the laugh and the voice of a long absent friend. He worshipped in the cathedral of the immensity he could not see. His creed was simple,—love and service; sacrifice, his interpretation of God, and the secret of his life.
He was called the ‘Messiah of the Blind,’ and it was said that with his death the beacon for those who sit in darkness had been extinguished. Let us rather say that he kindled one for them for all time; that saving for the blindness of the spirit there is no blindness; through the light shed by his bright and noble life this blind man has proved it, and still teaches us to see.
3. This tribute is from an American appreciator of Fawcett.