Middlemarch

by George Eliot

  CHAPTER XLV.

  It is the humor of many heads to extol the days of their forefathers, and declaim against the wickedness of times present. Which notwithstanding they cannot handsomely do, without the borrowed help and satire of times past; condemning the vices of their own times, by the expressions of vices in times which they commend, which cannot but argue the community of vice in both. Horace, therefore, Juvenal, and Persius, were no prophets, although their lines did seem to indigitate and point at our times.--SIR THOMAS BROWNE: Pseudodoxia Epidemica.

  That opposition to the New Fever Hospital which Lydgate had sketched toDorothea was, like other oppositions, to be viewed in many differentlights. He regarded it as a mixture of jealousy and dunderheadedprejudice. Mr. Bulstrode saw in it not only medical jealousy but adetermination to thwart himself, prompted mainly by a hatred of thatvital religion of which he had striven to be an effectual layrepresentative--a hatred which certainly found pretexts apart fromreligion such as were only too easy to find in the entanglements ofhuman action. These might be called the ministerial views. Butoppositions have the illimitable range of objections at command, whichneed never stop short at the boundary of knowledge, but can drawforever on the vasts of ignorance. What the opposition in Middlemarchsaid about the New Hospital and its administration had certainly agreat deal of echo in it, for heaven has taken care that everybodyshall not be an originator; but there were differences whichrepresented every social shade between the polished moderation of Dr.Minchin and the trenchant assertion of Mrs. Dollop, the landlady of theTankard in Slaughter Lane.

  Mrs. Dollop became more and more convinced by her own asseveration,that Dr. Lydgate meant to let the people die in the Hospital, if not topoison them, for the sake of cutting them up without saying by yourleave or with your leave; for it was a known "fac" that he had wantedto cut up Mrs. Goby, as respectable a woman as any in Parley Street,who had money in trust before her marriage--a poor tale for a doctor,who if he was good for anything should know what was the matter withyou before you died, and not want to pry into your inside after youwere gone. If that was not reason, Mrs. Dollop wished to know whatwas; but there was a prevalent feeling in her audience that her opinionwas a bulwark, and that if it were overthrown there would be no limitsto the cutting-up of bodies, as had been well seen in Burke and Harewith their pitch-plaisters--such a hanging business as that was notwanted in Middlemarch!

  And let it not be supposed that opinion at the Tankard in SlaughterLane was unimportant to the medical profession: that old authenticpublic-house--the original Tankard, known by the name of Dollop's--wasthe resort of a great Benefit Club, which had some months before put tothe vote whether its long-standing medical man, "Doctor Gambit," shouldnot be cashiered in favor of "this Doctor Lydgate," who was capable ofperforming the most astonishing cures, and rescuing people altogethergiven up by other practitioners. But the balance had been turnedagainst Lydgate by two members, who for some private reasons held thatthis power of resuscitating persons as good as dead was an equivocalrecommendation, and might interfere with providential favors. In thecourse of the year, however, there had been a change in the publicsentiment, of which the unanimity at Dollop's was an index.

  A good deal more than a year ago, before anything was known ofLydgate's skill, the judgments on it had naturally been divided,depending on a sense of likelihood, situated perhaps in the pit of thestomach or in the pineal gland, and differing in its verdicts, but notthe less valuable as a guide in the total deficit of evidence.Patients who had chronic diseases or whose lives had long been wornthreadbare, like old Featherstone's, had been at once inclined to tryhim; also, many who did not like paying their doctor's bills, thoughtagreeably of opening an account with a new doctor and sending for himwithout stint if the children's temper wanted a dose, occasions whenthe old practitioners were often crusty; and all persons thus inclinedto employ Lydgate held it likely that he was clever. Some consideredthat he might do more than others "where there was liver;"--at leastthere would be no harm in getting a few bottles of "stuff" from him,since if these proved useless it would still be possible to return tothe Purifying Pills, which kept you alive if they did not remove theyellowness. But these were people of minor importance. GoodMiddlemarch families were of course not going to change their doctorwithout reason shown; and everybody who had employed Mr. Peacock didnot feel obliged to accept a new man merely in the character of hissuccessor, objecting that he was "not likely to be equal to Peacock."

  But Lydgate had not been long in the town before there were particularsenough reported of him to breed much more specific expectations and tointensify differences into partisanship; some of the particulars beingof that impressive order of which the significance is entirely hidden,like a statistical amount without a standard of comparison, but with anote of exclamation at the end. The cubic feet of oxygen yearlyswallowed by a full-grown man--what a shudder they might have createdin some Middlemarch circles! "Oxygen! nobody knows what that maybe--is it any wonder the cholera has got to Dantzic? And yet there arepeople who say quarantine is no good!"

  One of the facts quickly rumored was that Lydgate did not dispensedrugs. This was offensive both to the physicians whose exclusivedistinction seemed infringed on, and to the surgeon-apothecaries withwhom he ranged himself; and only a little while before, they might havecounted on having the law on their side against a man who withoutcalling himself a London-made M.D. dared to ask for pay except as acharge on drugs. But Lydgate had not been experienced enough toforesee that his new course would be even more offensive to the laity;and to Mr. Mawmsey, an important grocer in the Top Market, who, thoughnot one of his patients, questioned him in an affable manner on thesubject, he was injudicious enough to give a hasty popular explanationof his reasons, pointing out to Mr. Mawmsey that it must lower thecharacter of practitioners, and be a constant injury to the public, iftheir only mode of getting paid for their work was by their making outlong bills for draughts, boluses, and mixtures.

  "It is in that way that hard-working medical men may come to be almostas mischievous as quacks," said Lydgate, rather thoughtlessly. "To gettheir own bread they must overdose the king's lieges; and that's a badsort of treason, Mr. Mawmsey--undermines the constitution in a fatalway."

  Mr. Mawmsey was not only an overseer (it was about a question ofoutdoor pay that he was having an interview with Lydgate), he was alsoasthmatic and had an increasing family: thus, from a medical point ofview, as well as from his own, he was an important man; indeed, anexceptional grocer, whose hair was arranged in a flame-like pyramid,and whose retail deference was of the cordial, encouragingkind--jocosely complimentary, and with a certain considerate abstinencefrom letting out the full force of his mind. It was Mr. Mawmsey'sfriendly jocoseness in questioning him which had set the tone ofLydgate's reply. But let the wise be warned against too greatreadiness at explanation: it multiplies the sources of mistake,lengthening the sum for reckoners sure to go wrong.

  Lydgate smiled as he ended his speech, putting his foot into thestirrup, and Mr. Mawmsey laughed more than he would have done if he hadknown who the king's lieges were, giving his "Good morning, sir,good-morning, sir," with the air of one who saw everything clearlyenough. But in truth his views were perturbed. For years he had beenpaying bills with strictly made items, so that for every half-crown andeighteen-pence he was certain something measurable had been delivered.He had done this with satisfaction, including it among hisresponsibilities as a husband and father, and regarding a longer billthan usual as a dignity worth mentioning. Moreover, in addition to themassive benefit of the drugs to "self and family," he had enjoyed thepleasure of forming an acute judgment as to their immediate effects, soas to give an intelligent statement for the guidance of Mr. Gambit--apractitioner just a little lower in status than Wrench or Toller, andespecially esteemed as an accoucheur, of whose ability Mr. Mawmsey hadthe poorest opinion on all other points, but in doctoring, he was wontto say in an undertone,
he placed Gambit above any of them.

  Here were deeper reasons than the superficial talk of a new man, whichappeared still flimsier in the drawing-room over the shop, when theywere recited to Mrs. Mawmsey, a woman accustomed to be made much of asa fertile mother,--generally under attendance more or less frequentfrom Mr. Gambit, and occasionally having attacks which required Dr.Minchin.

  "Does this Mr. Lydgate mean to say there is no use in taking medicine?"said Mrs. Mawmsey, who was slightly given to drawling. "I should likehim to tell me how I could bear up at Fair time, if I didn't takestrengthening medicine for a month beforehand. Think of what I have toprovide for calling customers, my dear!"--here Mrs. Mawmsey turned toan intimate female friend who sat by--"a large veal pie--a stuffedfillet--a round of beef--ham, tongue, et cetera, et cetera! But whatkeeps me up best is the pink mixture, not the brown. I wonder, Mr.Mawmsey, with _your_ experience, you could have patience to listen. Ishould have told him at once that I knew a little better than that."

  "No, no, no," said Mr. Mawmsey; "I was not going to tell him myopinion. Hear everything and judge for yourself is my motto. But hedidn't know who he was talking to. I was not to be turned on _his_finger. People often pretend to tell me things, when they might aswell say, 'Mawmsey, you're a fool.' But I smile at it: I humoreverybody's weak place. If physic had done harm to self and family, Ishould have found it out by this time."

  The next day Mr. Gambit was told that Lydgate went about saying physicwas of no use.

  "Indeed!" said he, lifting his eyebrows with cautious surprise. (Hewas a stout husky man with a large ring on his fourth finger.) "Howwill he cure his patients, then?"

  "That is what I say," returned Mrs. Mawmsey, who habitually gave weightto her speech by loading her pronouns. "Does _he_ suppose that peoplewill pay him only to come and sit with them and go away again?"

  Mrs. Mawmsey had had a great deal of sitting from Mr. Gambit, includingvery full accounts of his own habits of body and other affairs; but ofcourse he knew there was no innuendo in her remark, since his sparetime and personal narrative had never been charged for. So he replied,humorously--

  "Well, Lydgate is a good-looking young fellow, you know."

  "Not one that I would employ," said Mrs. Mawmsey. "_Others_ may do asthey please."

  Hence Mr. Gambit could go away from the chief grocer's without fear ofrivalry, but not without a sense that Lydgate was one of thosehypocrites who try to discredit others by advertising their ownhonesty, and that it might be worth some people's while to show him up.Mr. Gambit, however, had a satisfactory practice, much pervaded by thesmells of retail trading which suggested the reduction of cash paymentsto a balance. And he did not think it worth his while to show Lydgateup until he knew how. He had not indeed great resources of education,and had had to work his own way against a good deal of professionalcontempt; but he made none the worse accoucheur for calling thebreathing apparatus "longs."

  Other medical men felt themselves more capable. Mr. Toller shared thehighest practice in the town and belonged to an old Middlemarch family:there were Tollers in the law and everything else above the line ofretail trade. Unlike our irascible friend Wrench, he had the easiestway in the world of taking things which might be supposed to annoy him,being a well-bred, quietly facetious man, who kept a good house, wasvery fond of a little sporting when he could get it, very friendly withMr. Hawley, and hostile to Mr. Bulstrode. It may seem odd that withsuch pleasant habits he should have been given to the heroic treatment,bleeding and blistering and starving his patients, with a dispassionatedisregard to his personal example; but the incongruity favored theopinion of his ability among his patients, who commonly observed thatMr. Toller had lazy manners, but his treatment was as active as youcould desire: no man, said they, carried more seriousness into hisprofession: he was a little slow in coming, but when he came, he _did_something. He was a great favorite in his own circle, and whatever heimplied to any one's disadvantage told doubly from his carelessironical tone.

  He naturally got tired of smiling and saying, "Ah!" when he was toldthat Mr. Peacock's successor did not mean to dispense medicines; andMr. Hackbutt one day mentioning it over the wine at a dinner-party, Mr.Toller said, laughingly, "Dibbitts will get rid of his stale drugs,then. I'm fond of little Dibbitts--I'm glad he's in luck."

  "I see your meaning, Toller," said Mr. Hackbutt, "and I am entirely ofyour opinion. I shall take an opportunity of expressing myself to thateffect. A medical man should be responsible for the quality of thedrugs consumed by his patients. That is the rationale of the system ofcharging which has hitherto obtained; and nothing is more offensivethan this ostentation of reform, where there is no real amelioration."

  "Ostentation, Hackbutt?" said Mr. Toller, ironically. "I don't seethat. A man can't very well be ostentatious of what nobody believesin. There's no reform in the matter: the question is, whether theprofit on the drugs is paid to the medical man by the druggist or bythe patient, and whether there shall be extra pay under the name ofattendance."

  "Ah, to be sure; one of your damned new versions of old humbug," saidMr. Hawley, passing the decanter to Mr. Wrench.

  Mr. Wrench, generally abstemious, often drank wine rather freely at aparty, getting the more irritable in consequence.

  "As to humbug, Hawley," he said, "that's a word easy to fling about.But what I contend against is the way medical men are fouling their ownnest, and setting up a cry about the country as if a generalpractitioner who dispenses drugs couldn't be a gentleman. I throw backthe imputation with scorn. I say, the most ungentlemanly trick a mancan be guilty of is to come among the members of his profession withinnovations which are a libel on their time-honored procedure. That ismy opinion, and I am ready to maintain it against any one whocontradicts me." Mr. Wrench's voice had become exceedingly sharp.

  "I can't oblige you there, Wrench," said Mr. Hawley, thrusting hishands into his trouser-pockets.

  "My dear fellow," said Mr. Toller, striking in pacifically, and lookingat Mr. Wrench, "the physicians have their toes trodden on more than wehave. If you come to dignity it is a question for Minchin and Sprague."

  "Does medical jurisprudence provide nothing against theseinfringements?" said Mr. Hackbutt, with a disinterested desire to offerhis lights. "How does the law stand, eh, Hawley?"

  "Nothing to be done there," said Mr. Hawley. "I looked into it forSprague. You'd only break your nose against a damned judge's decision."

  "Pooh! no need of law," said Mr. Toller. "So far as practice isconcerned the attempt is an absurdity. No patient will likeit--certainly not Peacock's, who have been used to depletion. Pass thewine."

  Mr. Toller's prediction was partly verified. If Mr. and Mrs. Mawmsey,who had no idea of employing Lydgate, were made uneasy by his supposeddeclaration against drugs, it was inevitable that those who called himin should watch a little anxiously to see whether he did "use all themeans he might use" in the case. Even good Mr. Powderell, who in hisconstant charity of interpretation was inclined to esteem Lydgate themore for what seemed a conscientious pursuit of a better plan, had hismind disturbed with doubts during his wife's attack of erysipelas, andcould not abstain from mentioning to Lydgate that Mr. Peacock on asimilar occasion had administered a series of boluses which were nototherwise definable than by their remarkable effect in bringing Mrs.Powderell round before Michaelmas from an illness which had begun in aremarkably hot August. At last, indeed, in the conflict between hisdesire not to hurt Lydgate and his anxiety that no "means" should belacking, he induced his wife privately to take Widgeon's PurifyingPills, an esteemed Middlemarch medicine, which arrested every diseaseat the fountain by setting to work at once upon the blood. Thisco-operative measure was not to be mentioned to Lydgate, and Mr.Powderell himself had no certain reliance on it, only hoping that itmight be attended with a blessing.

  But in this doubtful stage of Lydgate's introduction he was helped bywhat we mortals rashly call good fortune. I suppose no doctor evercame n
ewly to a place without making cures that surprised somebody--cureswhich may be called fortune's testimonials, and deserve as muchcredit as the written or printed kind. Various patients got well whileLydgate was attending them, some even of dangerous illnesses; and itwas remarked that the new doctor with his new ways had at least themerit of bringing people back from the brink of death. The trashtalked on such occasions was the more vexatious to Lydgate, because itgave precisely the sort of prestige which an incompetent andunscrupulous man would desire, and was sure to be imputed to him by thesimmering dislike of the other medical men as an encouragement on hisown part of ignorant puffing. But even his proud outspokenness waschecked by the discernment that it was as useless to fight against theinterpretations of ignorance as to whip the fog; and "good fortune"insisted on using those interpretations.

  Mrs. Larcher having just become charitably concerned about alarmingsymptoms in her charwoman, when Dr. Minchin called, asked him to seeher then and there, and to give her a certificate for the Infirmary;whereupon after examination he wrote a statement of the case as one oftumor, and recommended the bearer Nancy Nash as an out-patient. Nancy,calling at home on her way to the Infirmary, allowed the stay maker andhis wife, in whose attic she lodged, to read Dr. Minchin's paper, andby this means became a subject of compassionate conversation in theneighboring shops of Churchyard Lane as being afflicted with a tumor atfirst declared to be as large and hard as a duck's egg, but later inthe day to be about the size of "your fist." Most hearers agreed thatit would have to be cut out, but one had known of oil and another of"squitchineal" as adequate to soften and reduce any lump in the bodywhen taken enough of into the inside--the oil by gradually "soopling,"the squitchineal by eating away.

  Meanwhile when Nancy presented herself at the Infirmary, it happened tobe one of Lydgate's days there. After questioning and examining her,Lydgate said to the house-surgeon in an undertone, "It's not tumor:it's cramp." He ordered her a blister and some steel mixture, and toldher to go home and rest, giving her at the same time a note to Mrs.Larcher, who, she said, was her best employer, to testify that she wasin need of good food.

  But by-and-by Nancy, in her attic, became portentously worse, thesupposed tumor having indeed given way to the blister, but onlywandered to another region with angrier pain. The staymaker's wifewent to fetch Lydgate, and he continued for a fortnight to attend Nancyin her own home, until under his treatment she got quite well and wentto work again. But the case continued to be described as one of tumorin Churchyard Lane and other streets--nay, by Mrs. Larcher also; forwhen Lydgate's remarkable cure was mentioned to Dr. Minchin, henaturally did not like to say, "The case was not one of tumor, and Iwas mistaken in describing it as such," but answered, "Indeed! ah! Isaw it was a surgical case, not of a fatal kind." He had been inwardlyannoyed, however, when he had asked at the Infirmary about the woman hehad recommended two days before, to hear from the house-surgeon, ayoungster who was not sorry to vex Minchin with impunity, exactly whathad occurred: he privately pronounced that it was indecent in a generalpractitioner to contradict a physician's diagnosis in that open manner,and afterwards agreed with Wrench that Lydgate was disagreeablyinattentive to etiquette. Lydgate did not make the affair a ground forvaluing himself or (very particularly) despising Minchin, suchrectification of misjudgments often happening among men of equalqualifications. But report took up this amazing case of tumor, notclearly distinguished from cancer, and considered the more awful forbeing of the wandering sort; till much prejudice against Lydgate'smethod as to drugs was overcome by the proof of his marvellous skill inthe speedy restoration of Nancy Nash after she had been rolling androlling in agonies from the presence of a tumor both hard andobstinate, but nevertheless compelled to yield.

  How could Lydgate help himself? It is offensive to tell a lady whenshe is expressing her amazement at your skill, that she is altogethermistaken and rather foolish in her amazement. And to have entered intothe nature of diseases would only have added to his breaches of medicalpropriety. Thus he had to wince under a promise of success given bythat ignorant praise which misses every valid quality.

  In the case of a more conspicuous patient, Mr. Borthrop Trumbull,Lydgate was conscious of having shown himself something better than anevery-day doctor, though here too it was an equivocal advantage that hewon. The eloquent auctioneer was seized with pneumonia, and havingbeen a patient of Mr. Peacock's, sent for Lydgate, whom he hadexpressed his intention to patronize. Mr Trumbull was a robust man, agood subject for trying the expectant theory upon--watching the courseof an interesting disease when left as much as possible to itself, sothat the stages might be noted for future guidance; and from the airwith which he described his sensations Lydgate surmised that he wouldlike to be taken into his medical man's confidence, and be representedas a partner in his own cure. The auctioneer heard, without muchsurprise, that his was a constitution which (always with due watching)might be left to itself, so as to offer a beautiful example of adisease with all its phases seen in clear delineation, and that heprobably had the rare strength of mind voluntarily to become the testof a rational procedure, and thus make the disorder of his pulmonaryfunctions a general benefit to society.

  Mr. Trumbull acquiesced at once, and entered strongly into the viewthat an illness of his was no ordinary occasion for medical science.

  "Never fear, sir; you are not speaking to one who is altogetherignorant of the vis medicatrix," said he, with his usual superiority ofexpression, made rather pathetic by difficulty of breathing. And hewent without shrinking through his abstinence from drugs, muchsustained by application of the thermometer which implied theimportance of his temperature, by the sense that he furnished objectsfor the microscope, and by learning many new words which seemed suitedto the dignity of his secretions. For Lydgate was acute enough toindulge him with a little technical talk.

  It may be imagined that Mr. Trumbull rose from his couch with adisposition to speak of an illness in which he had manifested thestrength of his mind as well as constitution; and he was not backwardin awarding credit to the medical man who had discerned the quality ofpatient he had to deal with. The auctioneer was not an ungenerous man,and liked to give others their due, feeling that he could afford it.He had caught the words "expectant method," and rang chimes on this andother learned phrases to accompany the assurance that Lydgate "knew athing or two more than the rest of the doctors--was far better versedin the secrets of his profession than the majority of his compeers."

  This had happened before the affair of Fred Vincy's illness had givento Mr. Wrench's enmity towards Lydgate more definite personal ground.The new-comer already threatened to be a nuisance in the shape ofrivalry, and was certainly a nuisance in the shape of practicalcriticism or reflections on his hard-driven elders, who had hadsomething else to do than to busy themselves with untried notions. Hispractice had spread in one or two quarters, and from the first thereport of his high family had led to his being pretty generallyinvited, so that the other medical men had to meet him at dinner in thebest houses; and having to meet a man whom you dislike is not observedalways to end in a mutual attachment. There was hardly ever so muchunanimity among them as in the opinion that Lydgate was an arrogantyoung fellow, and yet ready for the sake of ultimately predominating toshow a crawling subservience to Bulstrode. That Mr. Farebrother, whosename was a chief flag of the anti-Bulstrode party, always defendedLydgate and made a friend of him, was referred to Farebrother'sunaccountable way of fighting on both sides.

  Here was plenty of preparation for the outburst of professional disgustat the announcement of the laws Mr. Bulstrode was laying down for thedirection of the New Hospital, which were the more exasperating becausethere was no present possibility of interfering with his will andpleasure, everybody except Lord Medlicote having refused help towardsthe building, on the ground that they preferred giving to the OldInfirmary. Mr. Bulstrode met all the expenses, and had ceased to besorry that he was purchasing the right to carry out his notions ofimprove
ment without hindrance from prejudiced coadjutors; but he hadhad to spend large sums, and the building had lingered. Caleb Garthhad undertaken it, had failed during its progress, and before theinterior fittings were begun had retired from the management of thebusiness; and when referring to the Hospital he often said that howeverBulstrode might ring if you tried him, he liked good solid carpentryand masonry, and had a notion both of drains and chimneys. In fact,the Hospital had become an object of intense interest to Bulstrode, andhe would willingly have continued to spare a large yearly sum that hemight rule it dictatorially without any Board; but he had anotherfavorite object which also required money for its accomplishment: hewished to buy some land in the neighborhood of Middlemarch, andtherefore he wished to get considerable contributions towardsmaintaining the Hospital. Meanwhile he framed his plan of management.The Hospital was to be reserved for fever in all its forms; Lydgate wasto be chief medical superintendent, that he might have free authorityto pursue all comparative investigations which his studies,particularly in Paris, had shown him the importance of, the othermedical visitors having a consultative influence, but no power tocontravene Lydgate's ultimate decisions; and the general management wasto be lodged exclusively in the hands of five directors associated withMr. Bulstrode, who were to have votes in the ratio of theircontributions, the Board itself filling up any vacancy in its numbers,and no mob of small contributors being admitted to a share ofgovernment.

  There was an immediate refusal on the part of every medical man in thetown to become a visitor at the Fever Hospital.

  "Very well," said Lydgate to Mr. Bulstrode, "we have a capitalhouse-surgeon and dispenser, a clear-headed, neat-handed fellow; we'llget Webbe from Crabsley, as good a country practitioner as any of them,to come over twice a-week, and in case of any exceptional operation,Protheroe will come from Brassing. I must work the harder, that's all,and I have given up my post at the Infirmary. The plan will flourishin spite of them, and then they'll be glad to come in. Things can'tlast as they are: there must be all sorts of reform soon, and thenyoung fellows may be glad to come and study here." Lydgate was in highspirits.

  "I shall not flinch, you may depend upon it, Mr. Lydgate," said Mr.Bulstrode. "While I see you carrying out high intentions with vigor,you shall have my unfailing support. And I have humble confidence thatthe blessing which has hitherto attended my efforts against the spiritof evil in this town will not be withdrawn. Suitable directors toassist me I have no doubt of securing. Mr. Brooke of Tipton hasalready given me his concurrence, and a pledge to contribute yearly: hehas not specified the sum--probably not a great one. But he will be auseful member of the board."

  A useful member was perhaps to be defined as one who would originatenothing, and always vote with Mr. Bulstrode.

  The medical aversion to Lydgate was hardly disguised now. Neither Dr.Sprague nor Dr. Minchin said that he disliked Lydgate's knowledge, orhis disposition to improve treatment: what they disliked was hisarrogance, which nobody felt to be altogether deniable. They impliedthat he was insolent, pretentious, and given to that recklessinnovation for the sake of noise and show which was the essence of thecharlatan.

  The word charlatan once thrown on the air could not be let drop. Inthose days the world was agitated about the wondrous doings of Mr. St.John Long, "noblemen and gentlemen" attesting his extraction of a fluidlike mercury from the temples of a patient.

  Mr. Toller remarked one day, smilingly, to Mrs. Taft, that "Bulstrodehad found a man to suit him in Lydgate; a charlatan in religion is sureto like other sorts of charlatans."

  "Yes, indeed, I can imagine," said Mrs. Taft, keeping the number ofthirty stitches carefully in her mind all the while; "there are so manyof that sort. I remember Mr. Cheshire, with his irons, trying to makepeople straight when the Almighty had made them crooked."

  "No, no," said Mr. Toller, "Cheshire was all right--all fair and aboveboard. But there's St. John Long--that's the kind of fellow we call acharlatan, advertising cures in ways nobody knows anything about: afellow who wants to make a noise by pretending to go deeper than otherpeople. The other day he was pretending to tap a man's brain and getquicksilver out of it."

  "Good gracious! what dreadful trifling with people's constitutions!"said Mrs. Taft.

  After this, it came to be held in various quarters that Lydgate playedeven with respectable constitutions for his own purposes, and how muchmore likely that in his flighty experimenting he should make sixes andsevens of hospital patients. Especially it was to be expected, as thelandlady of the Tankard had said, that he would recklessly cut up theirdead bodies. For Lydgate having attended Mrs. Goby, who diedapparently of a heart-disease not very clearly expressed in thesymptoms, too daringly asked leave of her relatives to open the body,and thus gave an offence quickly spreading beyond Parley Street, wherethat lady had long resided on an income such as made this associationof her body with the victims of Burke and Hare a flagrant insult to hermemory.

  Affairs were in this stage when Lydgate opened the subject of theHospital to Dorothea. We see that he was bearing enmity and sillymisconception with much spirit, aware that they were partly created byhis good share of success.

  "They will not drive me away," he said, talking confidentially in Mr.Farebrother's study. "I have got a good opportunity here, for the endsI care most about; and I am pretty sure to get income enough for ourwants. By-and-by I shall go on as quietly as possible: I have noseductions now away from home and work. And I am more and moreconvinced that it will be possible to demonstrate the homogeneousorigin of all the tissues. Raspail and others are on the same track,and I have been losing time."

  "I have no power of prophecy there," said Mr. Farebrother, who had beenpuffing at his pipe thoughtfully while Lydgate talked; "but as to thehostility in the town, you'll weather it if you are prudent."

  "How am I to be prudent?" said Lydgate, "I just do what comes before meto do. I can't help people's ignorance and spite, any more thanVesalius could. It isn't possible to square one's conduct to sillyconclusions which nobody can foresee."

  "Quite true; I didn't mean that. I meant only two things. One is,keep yourself as separable from Bulstrode as you can: of course, youcan go on doing good work of your own by his help; but don't get tied.Perhaps it seems like personal feeling in me to say so--and there's agood deal of that, I own--but personal feeling is not always in thewrong if you boil it down to the impressions which make it simply anopinion."

  "Bulstrode is nothing to me," said Lydgate, carelessly, "except onpublic grounds. As to getting very closely united to him, I am notfond enough of him for that. But what was the other thing you meant?"said Lydgate, who was nursing his leg as comfortably as possible, andfeeling in no great need of advice.

  "Why, this. Take care--experto crede--take care not to get hamperedabout money matters. I know, by a word you let fall one day, that youdon't like my playing at cards so much for money. You are right enoughthere. But try and keep clear of wanting small sums that you haven'tgot. I am perhaps talking rather superfluously; but a man likes toassume superiority over himself, by holding up his bad example andsermonizing on it."

  Lydgate took Mr. Farebrother's hints very cordially, though he wouldhardly have borne them from another man. He could not help rememberingthat he had lately made some debts, but these had seemed inevitable,and he had no intention now to do more than keep house in a simple way.The furniture for which he owed would not want renewing; nor even thestock of wine for a long while.

  Many thoughts cheered him at that time--and justly. A man conscious ofenthusiasm for worthy aims is sustained under petty hostilities by thememory of great workers who had to fight their way not without wounds,and who hover in his mind as patron saints, invisibly helping. Athome, that same evening when he had been chatting with Mr. Farebrother,he had his long legs stretched on the sofa, his head thrown back, andhis hands clasped behind it according to his favorite ruminatingattitude, while Rosamond sat at the piano, and played one tune af
teranother, of which her husband only knew (like the emotional elephant hewas!) that they fell in with his mood as if they had been melodioussea-breezes.

  There was something very fine in Lydgate's look just then, and any onemight have been encouraged to bet on his achievement. In his dark eyesand on his mouth and brow there was that placidity which comes from thefulness of contemplative thought--the mind not searching, butbeholding, and the glance seeming to be filled with what is behind it.

  Presently Rosamond left the piano and seated herself on a chair closeto the sofa and opposite her husband's face.

  "Is that enough music for you, my lord?" she said, folding her handsbefore her and putting on a little air of meekness.

  "Yes, dear, if you are tired," said Lydgate, gently, turning his eyesand resting them on her, but not otherwise moving. Rosamond's presenceat that moment was perhaps no more than a spoonful brought to the lake,and her woman's instinct in this matter was not dull.

  "What is absorbing you?" she said, leaning forward and bringing herface nearer to his.

  He moved his hands and placed them gently behind her shoulders.

  "I am thinking of a great fellow, who was about as old as I am threehundred years ago, and had already begun a new era in anatomy."

  "I can't guess," said Rosamond, shaking her head. "We used to play atguessing historical characters at Mrs. Lemon's, but not anatomists."

  "I'll tell you. His name was Vesalius. And the only way he could getto know anatomy as he did, was by going to snatch bodies at night, fromgraveyards and places of execution."

  "Oh!" said Rosamond, with a look of disgust on her pretty face, "I amvery glad you are not Vesalius. I should have thought he might findsome less horrible way than that."

  "No, he couldn't," said Lydgate, going on too earnestly to take muchnotice of her answer. "He could only get a complete skeleton bysnatching the whitened bones of a criminal from the gallows, andburying them, and fetching them away by bits secretly, in the dead ofnight."

  "I hope he is not one of your great heroes," said Rosamond, halfplayfully, half anxiously, "else I shall have you getting up in thenight to go to St. Peter's churchyard. You know how angry you told methe people were about Mrs. Goby. You have enemies enough already."

  "So had Vesalius, Rosy. No wonder the medical fogies in Middlemarchare jealous, when some of the greatest doctors living were fierce uponVesalius because they had believed in Galen, and he showed that Galenwas wrong. They called him a liar and a poisonous monster. But thefacts of the human frame were on his side; and so he got the better ofthem."

  "And what happened to him afterwards?" said Rosamond, with someinterest.

  "Oh, he had a good deal of fighting to the last. And they didexasperate him enough at one time to make him burn a good deal of hiswork. Then he got shipwrecked just as he was coming from Jerusalem totake a great chair at Padua. He died rather miserably."

  There was a moment's pause before Rosamond said, "Do you know, Tertius,I often wish you had not been a medical man."

  "Nay, Rosy, don't say that," said Lydgate, drawing her closer to him."That is like saying you wish you had married another man."

  "Not at all; you are clever enough for anything: you might easily havebeen something else. And your cousins at Quallingham all think thatyou have sunk below them in your choice of a profession."

  "The cousins at Quallingham may go to the devil!" said Lydgate, withscorn. "It was like their impudence if they said anything of the sortto you."

  "Still," said Rosamond, "I do _not_ think it is a nice profession,dear." We know that she had much quiet perseverance in her opinion.

  "It is the grandest profession in the world, Rosamond," said Lydgate,gravely. "And to say that you love me without loving the medical manin me, is the same sort of thing as to say that you like eating a peachbut don't like its flavor. Don't say that again, dear, it pains me."

  "Very well, Doctor Grave-face," said Rosy, dimpling, "I will declare infuture that I dote on skeletons, and body-snatchers, and bits of thingsin phials, and quarrels with everybody, that end in your dyingmiserably."

  "No, no, not so bad as that," said Lydgate, giving up remonstrance andpetting her resignedly.