After nearly six weeks' confinement to the house, Richard thought that he should like to try Dr. Kellgren, of Eaton Square, who went in for shampooing, and gives a kind of athletic treatment for these complaints, and I went down to Eaton Square first to see what it was like. On the 29th of November he came, and it was a very curious experience. He arrived with a young lady called Miss Alice, who is his right hand. They first treated me for quite a different malady, and my yells amused Richard very much, because he did not know that it was not a joke. He was afraid to let anybody come into the room, for fear that they should shake his foot, and he was presently being driven round the room like a wild beast. This was kept up for several days, and there is no doubt that, awful as it seemed, he was able to go down to Dr. Kellgren's in Eaton Square in a brougham with me, with restoratives in the carriage, on that day week, and he got gradually better. We were able to drive to Putney and lunch with Swinburne and Mr. Watts.
This is his own account of it—
"Three short visits to Oxford and one long one in a single month were sufficient to bring on a disabling attack of gout—my third attack of gout, which threatened to last. It was made as pleasant to me as it could be, by the kindness and attention and sympathy of such men as Professors Chandler, Sayce, and many other kind friends; and, helpless in both feet, 20th of October, I was ambulanced up to London by my wife, men to carry me from bed to train at each end, and bed in train. I went through my first treatment by Dr. Foakes, the rhubarb and magnesia man, but though the drugs formed a good prophylactic, they failed to subdue a sharp attack. After six weeks of bed, I determined upon a neck-or-nothing treatment, and sent my wife to fetch me Dr. Kellgren, the celebrated Swede, concerning whom there is such a variety of opinions in London. The treatment is simply horrible; the gouty limb, which can hardly bear the noise of a person passing over the carpet, is shampooed and twisted and pumped up and down till the patient is in absolute agony, and as soon as he is able to stand upon it he is driven round the room like a wild beast. There seems to be some danger in the practice; the lithic acid expelled from the joint is absorbed into the circulation, and in the protean malady no one can tell when or where the mischief may break out—in stomach, brain, or heart. However, the treatment was for the moment most successful, and after a week I was able to crawl downstairs, limp into a cab, and visit Mr. Kellgren's establishment, No. 1, Eaton Square.[3]
"The improvement continued, and we determined to pass our Christmas at Garswood with our uncle, the late Lord Gerard. He had always been both to me and to my wife a kind and generous friend, and a second father. It was her second home, and it was with heartfelt sorrow that we saw him fast declining, and felt sadly sure that we should not see him again; and so it proved, for after much difficulty he was persuaded to go up to town and take the best medical advice, but two days after was found dead in his bed. He belonged to that old school of good and gallant English gentlemen, which in its time made the name of Englishmen a word of honour throughout the civilized world. We took the opportunity of going over to Knowsley, which is a mere drive, where we found a large party, and we then returned to London, and were invited to Hatfield, where we also found a large Christmas party. On the 1st of November we said good-bye to Lady Marian Alford, who was declining in health, and we had a fear that we should not see her any more."
Richard notices on the 11th of November the death of our old friend the Dublin philanthropist, Sir John Lentaigne, and on the 8th of December he writes feelingly about the death of Lady Orford at Florence.
The day before we left London for good (January 4th, 1887), we saw and said good-bye to "Ouida" for the last time, and on the 5th he notices the death of Sir Francis Bolton.
[1] It might be remarked, "Why did he ever leave me behind?" Sometimes it was a press of double business, requiring two people in different places, but mostly it was lack of money. If there was enough for one, he went; when there was enough for two, we both went.—I. B.
[2] Richard's retiring pension—full pension for his four last years.
[3] N.B.—I could often wish that that treatment had never taken place. I cannot help connecting subsequent misfortunes with it.—I. B.