All at once, after a terrible night of suffering on the part of the little one, Hahnemann beside himself with pity and grief, exclaimed, “No, it is not possible that God should have created those dear and innocent beings for us to inflict such tortures upon. No,a thousand times, no! I will not be the executioner of my children,” and aided by his profound knowledge of chemistry begotten from long study, he rushed as it were in quest of new remedies, and built up a complete medical system, of which his fatherly affection was virtually the foundation. [ All this is inexact, Hahnemann made no theory, but made the discovery that “Like cures like.”] Such was the man, and as he was then, he had always been.
The powerful structure of his face, his square jaws, the almost incessant quiver of his nostrils, the constant twitching of the mouth, the corners of which had dropped from age, everything of the mouth, the corners of which had dropped from age, everything attested conviction, passion, power. His language was as original as his character and figures. One day I asked him why he always prescribed water even to people in good health? “What is the use of crutches to people who have got sound legs, and wine is after all no better than crutches.” It is also from his lips that I heard that strange sentence which, taken in its absolute sense, is apt to puzzle one, but which, if properly understood, goes to the very foundation of medical science.
“There are no disease, there are people who are ill.” His religious faith was as intense as his medical faith. I had two striking proofs of this. One spring day, on entering his room, I said, “Oh, monsieur, what a beautiful day.” “They are all beautiful days,” he replied in his calm and grave voice. Like Marc Aurelius, he lived in the bosom of a harmonious universe. When my daughter was quite recovered, I showed him the charming drawing of Amaury Duval. He looked for a long while, and with intense emotion, at the picture of the dear little creature he had snatched as it were from the jaws of death, at the little creature such as he had seen for the first time when she was on the brink of the grave; then he asked me to give him a pen, and he wrote at the bottom:.
“God has blessed her and saved her.
“Samuel Hahnemann”.
He simply looked upon himself as a minister who countersigns the orders of his master.
