Before playing the Chaconne from the Unaccompanied Violin Partita No. 2, Jennifer Koh spoke of the solace this music can offer in a troubled time. The violinist Midori conveyed much the same sentiment without words in a complete performance of the Partita No. 1. The Knights, a chamber orchestra, contributed a remarkable performance of the “Brandenburg” Concerto No. 3 filmed at Caramoor last fall. In place of the slow movement that Bach never wrote, it included an arrangement of Paul Simon’s “American Tune” (itself based on Bach’s Passion chorale), movingly sung by Christina Courtin.

This all came as blessed relief, solace indeed. But there was also an uncomfortable edge. For, I often had to wonder, who am I to be privileged to wallow in Bach when so many people are suffering and dying of the virus? Who am I to be so gloriously entertained while doctors, nurses and hospital supply, maintenance and cleaning people are laboring as never before in unrelentingly terrifying conditions?

I thought of a medical poet-philosopher of our own moment, Craig R. Smith, the surgeon-in-chief at NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital. He writes daily updates about the coronavirus crisis to the hospital staff, which have attracted a following on the internet for their depth, candor, gentle and tough encouragement, cleareyed compassion and literary quality.

Unlike Lewis Thomas, who generally reflected from a serene height above the fray, Dr. Smith is writing in the horrifying grip of the here and now, of ventilators and personal protective equipment. “Today,” he noted last month, “I don’t want my parables and literary flourishes to get in the way of the redeployment punchline, which is this: We will not leave you alone out there!”