by Eugène Sue
“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!”
“Sir, these are family matters.”
“Oh, be easy, we are all family men here; a large family, too, as you see,” added the prince of science, who was in very high spirits that day. “Come, come, let us have an end of this.”
More and more alarmed, Jeanne, stammering and hesitating at each moment, said:
“I had — a quarrel with my husband — about the children; I mean my eldest daughter, that he wanted to take away; and I wouldn’t agree, because of a wicked woman he lived with, and who might give bad advice to my daughter. So then, my husband, who was tipsy, — yes, sir, — for if not, he’d never have done it, — my husband gave me a very hard push, and I fell; and then, soon after, I began to vomit blood.”
“Pooh, pooh, pooh! Your husband pushed you, and you fell; you describe it very nicely! Why, he did more than push you; he must have struck you in the stomach; perhaps trampled on you, or kicked you? Come, answer, — let’s have the truth.”
“Oh, sir, I assure you that he was tipsy; but for that he would never have been so wicked.”
“Good or wicked, drunk or sober, it is not to the purpose, my good woman. I am not a public officer, and only want a fact accurately described. Now, were you not knocked down, and trampled under foot?”
“Yes!” said Jeanne, weeping; “and yet I never gave him any cause of complaint. I worked as long as I could, and—”
“The epigastrium must be very painful. Don’t you feel great heat around that region? — uneasiness, lassitude, nausea?”
“Yes, sir. I was quite worn out when I gave up, if not, I should never have left my children; and then, my Catherine! Oh, if you—”
“Put out your tongue,” said the doctor, again interrupting the patient.
This appeared so strange to Jeanne, who thought to excite the doctor’s pity, that she did not reply immediately, but looked at him with alarm.
“Show me your tongue, which you know so well how to use,” said the doctor, with a smile; and he pushed down Jeanne’s lower jaw with the end of his finger. After having had his pupils successively, and for some time, feel and examine the subject’s tongue, in order to ascertain its colour and dryness, Jeanne, overcoming her fear for a moment, said, in a tremulous voice:
“Sir, I was going to say to you, my neighbours, who are as poor as myself, have been so kind as to take care of my children for a week only, which is a great deal; so at the end of that time I must be back home again. So I beg of you, in God’s name, to cure me as quickly as you can, or nearly so, that I may return to work; and I have but a week before me, — for—”
“Discoloured face, — complete state of prostration, — yet the pulse strong, quick, and regular,” said the doctor, imperturbably, and pointing to Jeanne. “Remark her well, gentlemen: oppression, heat in the epigastric regions. All these symptoms certainly betoken hæmatemesis, probably complicated by hepatitis, caused by domestic troubles, as is indicated by the yellow discoloration of the eyeball. The subject has had violent blows in the regions of the epigastrium and abdomen; the vomiting blood is the necessary consequence of some organic injury to the viscera. On this point let me call your attention to a very curious, remarkably curious, feature. The post-mortem appearances of those who die of the injuries under which the subject is suffering frequently present remarkable appearances; frequently the malady, very severe and very dangerous, carries off the patient in a few days, and then no trace of it is found.”
Doctor Griffon then, throwing off the bed-clothes, nearly denuded poor Jeanne. It would be repugnant to describe the struggle of the unfortunate creature, who, in her shame, implored the doctor and his auditory. But at the threat, “You will be turned out of the hospital, if you do not submit to the established usages,” — a threat so terrible for those to whom the hospital is the sole and last refuge, — Jeanne submitted to a public scrutiny, which lasted a long time, very long, for Doctor Griffon analysed and explained every symptom; and then the most studious of the pupils declared their wish to unite practice with theory, and also examine the patient. The end of this scene was that poor Jeanne felt such extreme emotion that she fell into a nervous crisis, for which Doctor Griffon gave an extra prescription.
The round continued, and the doctor soon reached the bed of Mlle. Claire de Fermont, a victim, like her mother, to the cupidity of Jacques Ferrand.
Mlle, de Fermont, dressed in a cap of the hospital, was leaning her head languidly on the bolster of the bed. In spite of the ravages of her malady, there might be detected on her open and sweet countenance the traces of a beauty full of distinction. After a night of keen anguish, the poor girl had fallen into a kind of feverish stupor, and when the doctor and his scientific train entered the ward she was not aroused by the noise.
“Another first subject, gentlemen,” said the prince of science. “Disease, a slow nervous fever; if the receiving surgeon is not mistaken in the symptoms, this is a real godsend. For a long time I have desired a slow nervous fever, for that is not an ordinary complaint amongst the poor. These affections are usually produced after severe trouble in the social position of the subject, and I need hardly add that the higher the position of the patient, the more deep is the disease. It is, moreover, a complaint the more remarkable from its peculiar characteristics. It is traced to the very remotest antiquity, and the writings of Hippocrates have no doubt reference to it. This fever, I repeat, has almost always been produced from the most violent grief, and grief is as old as the world. Yet, strange to say, before the eighteenth century, this disease was never accurately described by any author; it was Huxham, whom the science of medicine of the age so highly honours, — Huxham, I say, who first defined accurately nervous fever; and yet it is a malady of the olden time,” added the doctor, jocosely. “Eh, eh, eh! It belongs to the great, antique, and illustrious family of febris, whose origin is lost in the darkness of ages. But we may be rejoicing too soon; let us see if really we have the good fortune to possess here a sample of this curious affection; it would be doubly desirable, inasmuch as, for a very long time, I have been anxious to try the
effect of the internal use of phosphorus. Yes, gentlemen,” continued the doctor, hearing amongst his auditory a kind of shudder of curiosity,— “yes, gentlemen, of phosphorus; it is a singular experiment that I wish to try, and a bold one, and but audaces fortuna juvat, and the opportunity would be excellent. We will first try if the subject offers in all parts of the body, and particularly in the chest, that miliary eruption, so symptomatic according to Huxham, and you will assure yourselves, by feeling the subject, of the kind of uneven surface which this eruption produces. But do not let us sell the skin of our bear before we have killed it,” added the prince of science, who was decidedly in very high spirits. And he shook Mlle. de Fermont’s shoulder very gently, in order to wake her.
The young girl started and opened her large eyes, hollowed by the malady. It is impossible to describe her amaze and alarm. Whilst a crowd of men surrounded her bed, all fixing their eyes upon her, she felt the doctor’s hand gliding under the quilt into her bed, in order to take her hand and feel her pulse. Mlle. de Fermont, collecting all her strength, in a cry of anguish, exclaimed:
“Mother! Help! Mother! Mother!”
By an almost providential chance, at the moment when the cries of Mlle. de Fermont made the old Count de Saint-Remy spring from his chair, for he recognised the voice, the door of the apartment opened, and a young lady, dressed in mourning, entered very hastily, accompanied by the governor of the hospital; this lady was the Marquise d’Harville.
“I beg of you, sir,” she said to him, “to lead me to Mlle. de Fermont.”
“Be so kind as to follow me,” he replied, respectfully; “the young lady is in No. 17.”
“Unhappy girl! Here — here!” said Madame d’Harville, drying her tears. “Ah, this is really frightful!”
The marquise, preceded by the governor, rapidly approached the group assembled beside the bed of Mlle. de Fermont, when they heard these words uttered with indignation:
“I tell you it is infamous murder; you will kill her, sir!”
“But, my dear Saint-Remy, do pray hear me!”
“I repeat, sir, that your conduct is atrocious! I consider Mlle. de Fermont as my daughter, and I forbid you going near her; I will have her immediately removed hence.”
“But, my dear friend, it is a case of slow nervous fever, very rare; I am desirous of trying phosphorus. It is a unique occasion. Promise me, at least, that I shall have the care of her, and take her where you like, since you are determined to deprive us of so valuable a clinical subject.”
“If you were not a madman, you would be a monster!” replied the count.
Clémence listened to these words with increasing anguish, but the crowd was so dense around the bed that the governor was obliged to say, in a loud voice:
“Make way, if you please, for the Marquise d’Harville, who has come to see No. 17.”
At these words, the pupils made way with equal haste and respectful admiration when they saw Clémence’s lovely face, which was radiant with so much emotion.
“Madame d’Harville!” exclaimed the Count de Saint-Remy, pushing the doctor rudely aside, and going hastily towards Clémence. “Ah, it is God who sends one of his angels here! Madame, I knew you took an interest in these two unfortunate beings, and, more happy than me, you have found them, whilst it was chance only that led me hither, to be present at a scene of unparalleled barbarity. Unhappy child! See, madame; and you, gentlemen, in the name of your sisters and daughters, have pity, I entreat, on a girl of sixteen, and leave her alone with madame and these good sisters; when she recovers her senses, I will have her conveyed hence.”
“Very well, let it be so; I will sign her discharge!” exclaimed the doctor; “but I will not lose sight of her; she is a subject of mine, and I will attend her, do what you will. I’ll not risk the phosphorus, I promise that; but I will pass my nights, if needs be, as I passed them with you, ungrateful Saint-Remy, for this fever is as curious as yours was; they are two sisters, who have an equal right to my interest.”
“Confound the man! Why has he so much science?” said the count, knowing that he could not confide the young girl to more able hands.
“Eh! It is simple enough,” said the doctor, in a whisper. “I have a great deal of science because I study, because I experimentalise, because I risk and practise a great deal on my subjects; and so, old fellow, I shall still have my slow nervous fever, — eh?”
“Yes; but is it safe to move this young girl?”
“Certainly.”
“Then, for the love of heaven, disappear with your train!”
“Come, gentlemen,” said the prince of science, “we shall be deprived of a precious study; but I will make my reports on it to you.” And Doctor Griffon, with his suite, continued his round, leaving M. de Saint-Remy and Madame d’Harville with Mlle. de Fermont.
During this scene, Mlle. de Fermont, still in a swoon, had been attended to by Clémence and the two nuns. Saint-Remy said in a low tone to Clémence:
“And the mother of this unhappy girl, madame?”
The marchioness replied, in a voice deeply affected:
“She has no longer a mother, sir. I learnt yesterday only, on my return, the address of Madame de Fermont, and her dying condition; at one o’clock in the morning I went to her with a medical man. Ah, sir, what a fiction! It was misery in all its horror! And no hope of saving the poor mother, whose last words were, ‘My daughter!’”
“What a death! Good heaven! And she so tender, so devoted a mother, — it is frightful!”
“I will watch her until she can be moved,” said Clémence, “and, when she can be removed, I will take her with me.”
“Ah, madame, bless you for what you say and do!” said M. de Saint-Remy. “But excuse me for not having before mentioned my name to you, I am the Comte de Saint-Remy; Madame de Fermont’s husband was my most intimate friend. I live at Angers, and left that city from uneasiness at not receiving any news of these two noble and excellent women; they had until then lived in that city, and were said to be completely ruined, which was the more terrible as until then they had lived in ease and plenty.”
“Ah, sir! you do not know all; Madame de Fermont was shamefully robbed.”
“By her notary, perhaps? I had my suspicions.”
“That man was a monster, sir! Alas! that was not the only crime he committed; but fortunately,” said Clémence, with excitement, as she thought of Rodolph, “a providential genius had compelled him to do justice, and I was enabled to close Madame de Fermont’s eyes, assuring her as to the future provision for her daughter; thus her death was rendered less cruel.”
“I understand; knowing her daughter to have your support henceforth, my poor friend died more tranquil.”
“Not only is my interest excited for ever towards Mlle. de Fermont, but her fortune will be restored to her.”
“Her fortune! The notary—”
“Has been compelled to refund the money. This man had caused the assassination of Madame de Fermont’s brother, in order to make it appear that the unhappy man had committed suicide, after having dissipated his sister’s fortune; but he has now placed the sum in the hands of the worthy curé of Bonne-Nouvelle, and it will be given to Mlle. de Fermont. The infamous wretch has committed another murder equally infamous!”
“What mean you, madame?”
“But a few days since he got rid of an unfortunate young girl, whom he had an interest in drowning, assured that her death would be attributed to accident.”
M. de Saint-Remy started, looked at Madame d’Harville with surprise, as he recollected Fleur-de-Marie, and exclaimed:
“Ah, madame, what a singular coincidence! This young girl they sought to drown—”
“In the Seine, near Asnières, as I am told.”
“’Tis she! ’Tis she!” cried Saint-Remy.
“Of whom do you speak, sir?”
“Of the young girl whom this monster sought to drown. Do you know her, madame?”
“Poor dear!
I love her tenderly. Ah, if you knew, sir, how lovely, how prepossessing she was! But tell me what you mean.”
“Doctor Griffon and I gave her the first assistance.”
“First assistance to her! And in what way?”
“At the Isle du Ravageur, where she was saved.”
“Saved! Fleur-de-Marie saved?”
“By a worthy creature, who, at the risk of her life, saved her from the Seine. But what ails you, madame?”
“Ah, sir, I fear to believe in such good fortune; but, I pray of you, tell me what is the appearance of this young girl?”
“Singularly beautiful!”
“Large, blue eyes, — light brown hair?”
“Yes, madame.”
“And when she was drowned, there was an elderly woman with her?”
“It was only yesterday she was well enough to speak, and she is still very weak; she said an elderly woman accompanied her.”
“Praised be Heaven!” said Clémence, clasping her hands with fervour; “I can now tell him that his protégée still lives! What joy for him who, in his last letter, spoke to me of this poor child with such bitter regrets! Excuse me, sir, but you know not how happy your intelligence renders me, and will make a person who, more than myself, has loved and protected Fleur-de-Marie. But, for mercy’s sake, tell me, where is she at this moment?”
“Near Asnières, in the house of one of the surgeons of this hospital, Doctor Griffon; she was taken there, and has had every attention.”
“And is she out of danger?”
“Yes, madame, but only during the last two or three days, and to-day she will be permitted to write to her protector.”
“Oh, I will undertake to do that, sir; or, rather, I shall have the pleasure of taking her to those who, believing her dead, regret her so bitterly!”
