Sir John Sparrow David Thompson (1845–1894) was Sir John A. Macdonald’s most skilled protégé and was prime minister from 1892 to 1894. But he had the tragic honour of being Queen Victoria’s only first minister to drop dead in the royal presence. He was 49, and his embarrassed last words were: “It seems too absurd.”
The sudden blow to Canada and the Empire occurred on the afternoon of Dec. 12, 1894, during a celebratory luncheon in the Octagon Room at Windsor Castle. Thompson had just been sworn in to the Privy Council, an honorary cabinet of imperial statesmen. He was overweight and had been feeling unwell for some time. Moreover, he was just back from a three-week jaunt on the continent. It was during this Roman holiday that, in defiance of doctors’ orders, he fatally over-exerted himself.
Sir John had been pudgy since young middle age. Doctors in Ottawa and Montreal diagnosed Bright’s disease—kidney inflammation or nephritis—and the valvular disease of the heart that frequently goes with it. If careful, he could live 30 years more. A top consultant in England found Sir John’s heart to be “peculiarly strong,” prescribing rest and a judicious diet.
But the charms of Europe beckoned, and Sir John made the Channel crossing to meet his daughter Helena, 16, then attending the Sacred Heartconvent school in Paris. Together with his Muskoka cottage friend, Sen. William Eli Sanford and Sanford’s daughter Muriel, 19, they proceeded by night on the “Rome Express” to the Côte d'Azur, the French Riviera. From there it was on to Genoa and Rome.
We can imagine these two kindly Victorian daddies and their buoyant daughters making their way through French countryside, along the Ligurian coast and through Tuscan hills, relishing together the sights and sounds, the Colline du Château at Nice, Monte Carlo’s Place du Casino, the Duomo di Genova. Could Thompson resist the croissants and cornetti? Perhaps a rich raclette, a crème brûlé, or a plate of gnocco fritto followed by a bistecca alla fiorentina and a beautifully layered tiramisú?
According to “The Man from Halifax: Sir John Thompson, Prime Minister” by biographer and historian P.B. Waite, doctors had warned Thompson to take it easy. But in Rome, standing in St. Peter’s Square (Thompson was an adult convert to Catholicism) roving exuberance triumphed. The group climbed the 551 steps inside Michelangelo’s iconic dome of St. Peter’s Basilica. It took less than half an hour, the stairs narrow, winding, and steep, with only small windows for ventilation, to get the panoramic view from above the Piazza that cost him his life.
On the way back Sir John was out of breath, needing extra sleep in Naples, Florence, and Venice. Returning to England he immediately resumed work. Dining and speaking at the Colonial Institute, he seemed in hearty good humour.
Born in Halifax and a lawyer by training, Thompson was drawn into politics and in 1878 became Attorney General of Nova Scotia. There was talk that he would make an excellent judge of the Supreme Court of Nova Scotia. In 1882, he reluctantly became premier until a vacancy opened on the court.
At the time, the Gilbert & Sullivan musical “Patience” was playing at the music hall in Halifax, where the Capitol Theatre later stood. With brilliant timing, the Acadian Recorder newspaper quoted a few lines: “A bright, round and rosy M.P./ A smiling, bland, legal M.P./ A demi-political, semi-aesthetical/ Going to be a Judge, M.P.”
They really hit the mark. Thompson enjoyed life’s pleasures, though to strangers he seemed bookish. After leading the Conservatives to defeat in 1882, he indeed became a judge.
Lady Annie Thompson in 1896. Public Domain
Lady Thompson, née Annie Emma Affleck (1845–1913), was a great Canadian political wife and entertained at their house three nights a week. According to Waite, she “was a high-spirited young woman, moody, often a creature of her own impulses,” like the fiery Catherine Linton in Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights. “She had pride and independence. … She was tougher than he was and would help to keep him bolstered up.”
During the 1882 campaign, Annie wrote: “My poor old tired Tory, … I wish I could be with you for one ten minutes to talk square to you. Win or lose they can’t keep you from me much longer. … So now my old baby you must not be such an awful awful baby until you get home and then I’ll see how far you can be indulged.”
No wonder Thompson was eager to get home. She even bathed him, kneeling by the tub and pouring jugs of hot water over him. Pretty steamy stuff! It was effective too. The Thompsons had nine children, of whom five survived.
It was the great nation-builder Macdonald who asked Thompson to become Minister of Justice in 1885 and he introduced the Criminal Code of Canada in 1892. Macdonald used to say, “The best thing I ever invented is Thompson.”
After the fateful Privy Council swearing-in at Windsor, the Queen and her guests went to the Octagon Room, the dining room in the Brunswick Tower (one of the rooms completely consumed in the 1992 fire at the castle).
Thompson fainted as soon as he sat down. Lord Breadalbane (Gavin Campbell) and a servant helped him to an adjacent room to recover. Breadalbane was both Lord High Commissioner to the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland and Lord Steward of the household at Windsor. Thompson felt embarrassed to appear so “weak and foolish” but Breadalbane assured him, “My dear fellow, one does not faint on purpose.” They sent for the doctor. Thompson said, “I’m all right now,” and “It seems too absurd to faint like this.”
After he returned to the luncheon table, the Queen’s physician, Dr. Watt Reid, arrived and was seated beside him. Sir John mentioned a pain in the chest—and suddenly collapsed. Dr. Reid cradled him and poured brandy between his lips, but it was too late. He was gone, felled by a massive heart attack.
Queen Victoria was deeply moved. Thompson’s body was placed in Clarence Tower at the Castle. When the Queen was told Thompson was a Catholic, she asked that a Requiem Mass be held in the tower chapel. Thompson then lay in state in the Marble Hall, was taken next day to London for embalming, and again lay in state at St. James’s Spanish Place, a famous Catholic chapel in London where another Requiem was held. It was attended by many great men of the Empire such as Sir Charles Tupper, Lord Mount Stephen (who built the Canadian Pacific Railway), the poet laureate Lord Tennyson, the famous empire-builder Cecil Rhodes, and Lord Ripon, a fellow Catholic convert who knew Thompson and had attended the luncheon where he died.
When news of Thompson’s death reached Ottawa, his fishing pal Sir Mackenzie Bowell at first called it “mere newspaper rumour,” then when the fact was confirmed, “burst into tears.” With Thompson’s secretary, Douglas Stewart, and cabinet colleague Sir George Foster, Bowell, sobbing, walked under a rainy sky with church bells tolling to 276 Somerset Street West to convey his condolences to Lady Thompson.
Thompson’s body was brought home aboard HMS Blenheim, a Royal Navy 1st class armoured cruiser. He was buried in Holy Cross cemetery in his home town.
Thompson is a great “might have been” because of the potential his premiership represented—a worthy successor of Macdonald, if only his health had been better. He had the tact and breadth of mind to unite the English and French (Protestant and Catholic) wings of the coalition. His loss was politically devastating because, according to historian Michael Bliss, “there was no one in the party fit to succeed him.”
Views expressed in this article are opinions of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Epoch Times.
C.P. Champion
Author
C.P. Champion, Ph.D., is the author of two books, was a fellow of the Centre for International and Defence Policy at Queen's University in 2021, and edits The Dorchester Review magazine, which he founded in 2011.
