Memoirs of a Physician (2 page)

” It is he ! ” exclaimed he, opening his arms.

This exclamation attracted the young man’s attention.

” Gilbert ! ” exclaimed Philip in his turn.

“You know Gilbert, sir?”

” Is it Gilbert whom you seek ?”

These two questions were uttered simultaneously. The old man seized Gilbert’s hand ; it was as cold as death. Philip opened the young man’s dress, pushed aside the shirt, and placed his hand upon his heart.

” Poor Gilbert ! ” said he.

” My dear child ! ” sobbed the old man.

” He breathes, he lives! He lives, I tell you!” exclaimed Philip.

” Oh ! do you think so ? “

” I am certain of it his heart beats.”

“It is true,” replied the old man. “Help ! help! There is a surgeon yonder.”

” Oh, let us succor him ourselves, sir ; just now I asked that man for help, and he refused me.”

” He must help my child ! ” cried the old man, indignantly. ” He must. Assist me, sir, to carry Gilbert to him.”

” I have only one arm, but it is at your service, sir,” replied Philip.

” And I, old as I am, feel strong again ! Come ! “

The old man seized Gilbert by the shoulders ; the yonng man took his two feet under his right arm, and in this manner they advanced toward the group in the midst of which the surgeon was operating.

” Help ! help ! ” cried the old man.

” The men of the people first ! The men of the people first ! ” replied the surgeon, faithful to his maxim, and sure each time he replied thus of exciting a murmur of applause among the group which surrounded him.

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” It is a man of the people whom I am bringing,” replied the old man, with vehemence, but beginning to share in the general admiration which the firm and resolute tone of the young operator excited.

“After the women, then,” said the surgeon; “men have more strength to support pain than women.”

” A simple bleeding will suffice, sir,” replied the old man.

^ ” Oh ! it is you again, my young nobleman ?” said the surgeon, perceiving Philip before he saw the old man.”

Philip did not reply. The old man thought that these words were addressed to him.

” I am not a nobleman,” said he ; ” I am a man of the people ; my name is Jean Jacques Rousseau.”

The doctor gave a cry of astonishment, and making an imperative gesture.

” Give place,” said he, ” to the man of nature ! Make room for the emancipator of the human race ! Place for the citizen of Geneva ! “

” Thanks, sir,” said Rousseau, “thanks !”

” Has any accident happened to you ? ” asked the young doctor.

” Not to me, but to this poor child. See.”

” Ah ! you too,” cried the physician, ” you, too, like myself, represent the cause of humanity.”

Rousseau, deeply moved by this unexpected triumph, could only stammer forth some almost unintelligible words. Philip, dumb with astonishment at finding himself in the presence of the philosopher whom he admired so highly, remained standing apart. Those who stood around assisted Rousseau to lay the fainting Gilbert upon the table. It was at this moment that the old man glanced at the person whose assistance he was imploring. He was a young man about Gilbert’s age, but his features presented no appearance of youth. His sallow complexion was withered like that of an old man ; his heavy and drooping eyelids covered an eye like that a serpent’s, and his mouth was distorted as if in an epileptic fit.

His sleeves turned back to the elbow, his arms covered

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with, blood, surrounded by lifeless and bleeding limbs, he seemed more like an executioner at work, and glorying in his task, than a physician accomplishing his sad and holy mission.

Nevertheless, Rousseau’s name seemed to have had so much influence over him as to cause him to lay aside for an instant his usual brutality ; he gently opened Gilbert’s sleeve, tied a band of linen round his arm, and opened the vein.

The blood flowed at first drop by drop, but after some moments the pure and generous current of youth spouted forth freely.

” Ha ! we shall save him,” said the operator. ” But he will require great care ; his chest has been rudely

” I have now to thank you, sir,” said Rousseau, ” and praise you, not for the exclusive preference you show for the poor, but for your care and kindness toward them. All men are brothers.”

“Even the noble, even the aristocrats, even the rich ?” asked the surgeon, his piercing eyes flashing from beneath his heavy eyelid.

” Even the noble, the aristocrats, the rich, when they suffer,” said Rousseau.

” Sir,” said the operator, ” excuse me. I am from Baudry, near Neufchatel ; I am a Switzer like yourself, and therefore a democrat.”

“A countryman!” cried Rousseau, “a native of Switzerland ! Your name, sir, if you please ?”

“An obscure name, sir; the name of a retiring man who devotes his life to study, waiting till he may, like yourself, devote it to the good of humanity. My name is Jean Paul Marat.”

“Thanks, Monsieur Marat,” said Rousseau. “But while enlightening the people as to their rights, do not excite them to vengeance ; for if they should ever revenge themselves, you will perhaps be terrified at their re-prisals.”

Marat smiled a fearful smile.

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” Oh ! if that day should happen during my life ! ” said he ; “if I could only have the happiness to witness it.”

Rousseau heard these words, and, alarmed at the tone in which they were uttered, as a traveler trembles at the first mutterings of the far distant thunder, he took Gilbert in his arms and attempted to carry him away.

“Two volunteers to help Monsieur Bousseau ! Two men of the people ! ” cried the surgeon.

” Here ! here ! here ! ” cried twenty voices simultaneously.

Rousseau had only to choose ; he pointed to the two strongest, who took the youth up in their arms.

As he was leaving the place he passed Philip.

” Here, sir,” said he, ” I have no more use for the lantern; take it.”

” Thank you, sir,” said Philip ; ” many thanks.”

He seized the lantern, and while Rousseau once more took the way to the Rue Plastriere, he continued his search.

” Poor young man ! ” murmured Rousseau, turning back, and seeing Philip disappear in the blocked-up and encumbered streets. He proceeded on his way shuddering, for he still heard the shrill voice of the surgeon echoing over the field of blood, and crying :

” The men of the people ! None but the men of the people ! Woe to the noble, to the rich, to the aristocrats ! “

CHAPTER II.

THE KETUKIf.

WHILE the countless catastrophes we have mentioned were rapidly succeeding each other, M. de Taverney escaped all these dangers as if by a miracle.

Unable to oppose any physical resistance to the devouring force which swept away everything in its passage, but at the sume time calm and collected, he had succeeded in

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maintaining his position in the center of a group which was rolling onward toward the Rue de la Madeleine. This group crushed against the parapet walls of the place, ground against the angles of the Garde Meuble, had left a long trail of wounded and dead in its path ; but, deci-mated as it was, it had yet succeeded in conducting the remnant of its number to a place of safety. When this was accomplished, the handful of men and women who had been left dispersed themselves over the boulevards with cries of joy, and M. de Taverney found himself, like his companions, completely out of danger.

What we are about to say would be difficult to believe, had we not already so frankly sketched the character of the baron. During the whole of this fearful passage, M. de Taverney may God forgive him ! had absolutely thought only of himself. Besides that, he was not of a very affectionate disposition, he was a man of action ; and, in the great crises of life, such characters always put the adage of Caesar’s age quod affis, in practise. We shall not say, therefore, that M. de Taverney was utterly selfish, we shall merely admit that he was absent. But once upon the pavement of the boulevards, once more master of his actions, sensible of having escaped from death to life, satisfied, in short, of his safety, the baron gave a deep sigh of satisfaction, followed by a cry feeble and wailing a cry of grief.

” My daughter ! ” said he, ” my daughter ! ” and he remained motionless, his hands fell by his side, his eyes were fixed and glassy, while he searched his memory for all the particulars of their separation.

” Poor dear man ! ” murmured some compassionate women.

A group had collected around the baron, ready to pity, but above all to question. But M. de Taverney had no popular instincts ; he felt ill at ease in the center of this compassionate group, and making a successful effort he broke through them, and, we say it to his praise, made a few steps toward the place.

But these few steps were the unreflecting movement of

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paternal love, which is never entirely extinguished in the heart of man. Eeason immediately came to the baron’s aid and arrested his steps. We will follow, with the reader’s permission, the course of his reasoning. First, the impossibility of returning to the Place Louis XV. occurred to him. In it there was only confusion and death, and the crowds which were still rushing from it would have rendered any attempt to pass through them as futile as for the swimmer to seek to ascend the fall of the Ehine at Schaffhausen. Besides, even if a Divine arm enabled him to reach the place, how could he hope to find one woman among a hundred thousand women ? And why should he expose himself again, and fruitlessly, to a death from which he had so miraculously escaped ?

Then came hope, that light which ever gilds the clouds of the darkest night. “Was not Andre near Philip, resting on his arm, protected by his manly arm and his brother’s heart ?

That he, the baron, a feeble and tottering old man, should have been carried away, was very natural ; but that Philip, with his ardent, vigorous, hopeful nature Philip with his arm of iron Philip responsible for his sister’s safety should be so, was impossible. Philip had struggled, and must have conquered.

The baron, like all selfish men, endowed Philip with those qualities which his selfishness denied to himself, but which nevertheless he sought in others strength, generosity and valor. For one selfish man regards all other selfish men as rivals and enemies, who rob him of those advantages which he believes he has the right of reaping from society.

M. de Taverney, being thus reassured by the force of his own arguments, concluded that Philip had naturally saved his sister ; that he had perhaps lost some time in seeking his father to save him also, but that probably, nay, certainly, he had taken the way to the Rue Coq Heron, to conduct Andre, who must be a little alarmed by all the scene, home.

He therefore wheeled round, and descending the Rue

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des Capucines, he gained the Place des Conquetes, or Louis le Grand, now called the Place des Victoires.

But scarcely had the baron arrived within twenty paces of the hotel when Nicole, placed as a sentinel on the threshold where she was chattering with some companions, exclaimed: “And Monsieur Philip? and Mademoiselle Andre ? What has become of them ? ” For all Paris was already informed by the earliest fugitives of the catastrophe, which their terror had even exaggerated.

” Oh ! heavens ! ” cried the baron, a little agitated, “have they not returned, Nicole ?”

“No, no, sir, they have not been seen.”

” They must probably have been obliged to make a detour ‘ replied the baron, trembling more and more in proportion as the calculations of his logic were demolished ; and he remained standing in the street waiting in his turn along with Nicole, who was sobbing, and La Brie, who raised his clasped hands to heaven.

” Ah ! here is Monsieur Philip ! ” exclaimed Nicole, in a tone of indescribable terror, for Philip was alone.

And in the darkness of the night, Philip was seen running toward them, breathless and despairing.

” Is my sister here ? ” cried he, while yet at a distance, as soon as he could see the group assembled at the door of the hotel.

“Oh, my God ! ” exclaimed the baron, pale and trembling.

“Andre! Andre !” cried the young man, approaching nearer and nearer ; ” where is Andre ? “

” We have not seen her ; she is not here, Monsieur Philip. Oh ! heavens ! my dear young lady ! ” cried Nicole, bursting into tears.

” And yet you have returned ! ” said the baron, in a tone of anger, which must seem to the reader the more unjust, that we have already made him acquainted with the secrets of his logic.

Philip, instead of replying, approached and showed his bleeding face, and his arm, broken and hanging at his side like a withered branch.

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” Alas ! alas ! ” sighed the old man, ” Andre ! my poor Andre ! ” and he sank back upon the stone bench beside the door.

“I will find her, living or dead !” exclaimed Philip, gloomily. And he again started off with feverish activity. Without slackening his pace, he secured his left arm in the opening of his vest, for this useless limb would have fettered his movements in the crowd, and if he had had a hatchet at that moment he would have struck it off. It was then that he met on that fatal field of the dead, Rousseau, Gilbert, and the fierce and gloomy operator who, covered with blood, seemed rather an infernal demon pre-si’ding over the massacre, than a beneficent genius appearing to succor and to help. During a greater portion of the night, Philip wandered over the Place Louis XV., unable to tear himself away from the walls of the Garde Metible, near which Gilbert had been found, and incessantly gazing at the piece of white muslin which the young man had held firmly grasped in his hand.

But when the first light of day appeared, worn-out, ready to sink among the heaps of corpses scarcely paler than himself, seized with a strange giddiness, and hoping, as his father had hoped, that Andre might have returned or been carried back to the house, Philip bent his steps once more toward the Rue Coq Heron. While still at a distance he saw the same group he had left there, and guessing at once that Andre had not returned, he stopped. The baron, on his side, had recognized his son.