The Mysteries of Paris, Volume 6 of 6

"Well," said Doctor Griffon to him, with an air of triumph, "what do you think of my hospital?"

"Really," replied M. de Saint-Remy, "I do not know why I yielded to your desire; nothing is more harrowing than the sight of rooms filled with sick persons. Since I entered, my feelings have been severely distressed."

"Bah, bah! In a quarter of an hour you will think no more of it. You, who are a philosopher, will find here ample matter for observation; and besides, it would have been a shame for you, one of my oldest friends, not to have known the theatre of my glory, my labours, and seen me at work. I take pride in my profession – is that wrong?"

"No, certainly; and after your excellent care of Fleur-de-Marie, whom you have saved, I could refuse you nothing."

"Well, have you ascertained anything as to the fate of Madame de Fermont and her daughter?"

"Nothing!" replied M. de Saint-Remy, with a sigh. "And my last hope is in Madame d'Harville, who takes such deep interest in these two unfortunates; she may find some traces of them. Madame d'Harville, I hear, is expected daily at her house; and I have written to her on the subject, begging her to reply as soon as possible."

During the conversation between M. de Saint-Remy and Doctor Griffon, several groups were formed gradually around a large table in the middle of the apartment, on which was a register in which the pupils of the hospital (who were to be recognised by their long white aprons) came in their turns to sign the attendance-sheet.

"You see, my dear Saint-Remy, that my staff is pretty considerable."

"It is indeed! But all these beds are occupied by women, and the presence of so many men must inspire them with painful confusion!"

"All these fine feelings must be left at the door, my dear Alcestis. Here we begin on the living those experiments and studies which we complete on the dead body in the amphitheatre."

"Doctor, you are one of the best and worthiest of men, and I owe you my life, and I recognise all your excellent qualities; but the practice and love of your art makes you take views of certain questions which are most revolting to me. I leave you. These are things which disgust and pain me; and I foresee that it would be a real punishment to me to be present at your visit. I will wait for you here at the table."

"What a strange person you are with these scruples! But I will not let you have quite your own way. So remain here till I come for you."

"Now, then, gentlemen," said Doctor Griffon; and he began his round, followed by his numerous auditory.

On reaching the first bed on the right hand, the curtains of which were closed, the sister said to the doctor:

"Sir, No. 1 died at half past four o'clock this morning."

"So late? It astonishes me. Yesterday morning I would not have given her the day through. Has her body been claimed?"

"No, sir."

"So much the better. It is a very fine one; we will not dissect it, but I will make a man happy." Then turning to one of the pupils, "My dear Dunoyer, you have long desired a subject; your name is down for the first, and it is yours."

"Oh, sir, you are too good."

"I am only desirous of rewarding your zeal, my dear fellow; but mark the subject – take possession; there are so many who covet it."

As the doctor passed onwards, the pupil, with his scalpel, incised very delicately an F. and D. (his initials) on the arm of the defunct actress, in order "to take possession," as the doctor termed it. And the round continued.

"Lorraine," said Jeanne Duport, in a low voice, to her neighbour, "who is all this crowd of people with the surgeon?"

"It is pupils and students."

"Oh, will all these young men look on whilst the doctor asks me questions and examines me?"

"Alas, yes!"

"But it is in my chest that I am ill; will they examine me before all these men?"

"Yes – yes – it must be so. I cried bitterly the first time, and thought I should have died of shame. I resisted, and they threatened to send me away, and that made me so ill. Only imagine, almost naked before everybody! It is very painful."

"Before the doctor alone I can easily comprehend it is necessary, and even that is a great deal to submit to; but why before all these young men?"

"They learn and practise on us; that is why we are here, – why they admit us into the hospital."

"Ah, I understand," said Jeanne Duport, with bitterness; "they give us nothing for nothing. Yet still there are times when even that could not be. Suppose my poor girl Catherine, who is only fifteen, were to come to the hospital, would they dare with her, before so many young men, to – Oh, no! I would rather see her die at home!"

"Oh, if she came here she must make up her mind to do as the others do, – as you and I. But hold your tongue; if the poor young lady in front hears you – they say she was rich, and, perhaps, has never left her mother before, – and yet her turn comes now. Only think how confused and distressed she will be."

"I shudder when I think of her! Poor child!"

"Hush, Jeanne! Here is the doctor!" said Lorraine.

After having quickly visited several patients who presented nothing remarkable in their cases, the doctor at last came to Jeanne. At the sight of this crowd coming around her bed, anxious to see and learn, the poor creature, overcome with fear and shame, pulled the bed-clothes tightly around her. The severe and meditative countenance of the doctor, his penetrating glance, his eyebrows, always drawn down by his reflective habit, his abrupt mode of speech, impatient and quick, increased the alarm of poor Jeanne.

"A new subject!" said the doctor, as he read the placard in which was inscribed the nature of the patient's malady, and throwing on Jeanne a lengthened look of scrutiny. There was a profound silence amongst the assistants, who, in imitation of the prince of science, fixed a scrutinising glance on the patient. After an examination of several minutes, the doctor, remarking something wrong in the yellow tint of the patient's eyeball, approached her more closely, and, raising the lid with his finger, examined it silently. Then several of the students, responding to the kind of mute invitation of their professor, drew near, and gazed at Jeanne's eye with attention. The doctor then began:

"Your name?"

"Jeanne Duport," she murmured, more and more alarmed.

"Are you married?"

"Alas, yes, sir!" with a profound sigh.

"Have you any children?"

Here, instead of replying, the poor mother gave way to a flood of tears.

"It is no use crying, – answer! Have you any children?"

"Yes, sir, – two little boys, and a girl of sixteen."

Then followed a string of questions impossible to repeat, but to which Jeanne could only reply in stammering, and after many severe rebukes from the doctor. The poor woman was overwhelmed with shame, compelled as she was to reply aloud to such questions before such a numerous auditory.

The doctor, completely absorbed by scientific feelings, did not give the smallest heed to Jeanne's distress, and continued:

"How long have you been ill?"

"Four days, sir," replied Jeanne, drying her tears.

"Tell us how your illness first disclosed itself."

"Sir, – why, – there are so many persons here, that I dare not."

"Pooh! Where do you come from, my dear woman?" inquired the doctor, impatiently; "would you like to have a confessional brought? Come, come, make haste!"