So little did I think when I received the letter written by my old esteemed patient, dated October 3, that his end was so near.
With the feelings which this shock have aroused I cannot do otherwise than ask permission to express my sincere sympathy and condolence in the terrible and, I imagine, even to you who must have known more of his health than anyone else, this sudden affliction. The more so as I think you accompanied him once, if not more than once, in his visits to me in Wimpole Street. Of such expression of feeling towards you in this great trial you will at least find multitudes ready to join, and may find some slight consolation in the knowledge that sympathy with you will be widely felt both here and in America.
Under present circumstances I cannot expect or wish to trouble you to communicate with me. But I should be deeply interested in knowing (for my private interest in him and in what befell him) what followed the communication I made to you, whether you had attendance (professional) on the spot before my letter arrived, and what was said, or supposed, to have been the cause of the fatal result, or any details which some friend could send me.
With renewed assurance of my deep sympathy,—Believe me, yours truly, HENRY THOMPSON.
I think I must have received one of his very last letters, if not his last.
35 WIMPOLE STREET, W.,
Saturday afternoon, October 10, 1891.
DEAR MRS. PARNELL,—I am very glad you have written me, if the doing so, or if the reply I may be able to send you, can in any way help to mitigate any one of the numerous and infinitely painful circumstances, or their influence, rather, on your mind just now.
Such inquiries as those which suggest themselves to you are so natural that it is impossible to repress them.
One never knows exactly what might have happened in any incident of life had some other course been taken. But whatever course may be supposed, it is useless to pursue it, since only one can ever be taken in this life, namely, that one which is chosen by the individual in every case.
In reference to that asked by you, I feel very strongly that the sad catastrophe was by no means the outcome of any one act—or omission to act—and is far more truly indicated in that passage in yours which describes him as saying to Dr. Jowers, "had he only been able to follow my advice during the last few months," etc. There is the gist of the matter! I doubt whether anything would have saved him when passing through London. A blow had been struck—not so heavy—apparently a light one; but his worn-out constitution, of late fearfully overtaxed by a spirit too strong for its bodily tenement, had no power to resist, and gave way, wholly unable to make any fight for itself against the enemy. Hence what would in a fairly robust state of health have been only a temporary conflict with a mild attack of inflammation, developed into a severe form, overwhelming the vital force with great rapidity and rendering all medical aid powerless. I don't believe that any medicine, any treatment, could have enabled his weakened condition to resist successfully. He wanted no medicine to combat the complaint. He wanted physical force, increased vitality to keep the attack at bay. I have nothing to say of the prescription, except that it appears to me quite appropriate under the circumstances and these I have learnt from the public Press. Dr. Jowers is an experienced and most capable man, and I think you may rest assured that he could scarcely have been in safer hands.