CHAPTER IVSTUDY IN EUROPE1849-1851On April 30 we landed at Liverpool, and I began to make acquaintance with the wonderful and unknown Old World, which I had left when a child of eleven. Everything seemed new and striking. The substantial character of Liverpool, the ‘finished look’ of the surrounding country, the extraordinary character of the mining district—all awakened keen interest. My poor cousin being ill with rheumatism, however, we journeyed on at once to his home at Portway Hall, near Dudley. A fortnight was spent in this pleasant home, which, though in the centre of the ‘Black Country,’ was surrounded by gardens where the flowers were fresh and sweet, the trees in beautiful leaf, whilst the cuckoo saluted us in the morning and the nightingales at night. I gained a glimpse of the lovely English country, and spent a memorable time in examining the novel surroundings of the great mining district of England. The following letters are descriptive of a young student’s impressions on revisiting her native land more than a generation ago.Portway: May 2, 1849.Thanks be to Heaven, I am on land once more, and never do I wish again to experience that hideous nightmare—a voyage across the ocean. We had the warmest welcome at my cousin’s pleasant home.... I went one afternoon to see the casting—that is, when the melted iron, like a river of fire, flows into the moulds which shape it. The Russel Hall Works are close by the town of Dudley. There is a wide extent of smoky country, with many little groups of machinery and brick buildings, each constituting or rather surrounding a pit; many mounds of glowing coal turning into coke; piles of ironstone being burned previous to the smelting; the houses of the managers in various directions, the office at the entrance; and immediately in front the two great blast-furnaces, which burn incessantly day and night, making many thousands of tons a year. Very few workmen were to be seen, but underground a whole army of them were hard at work. The casting was very curious. Twice a day the melted iron is drawn off from the bottom of the great brick towers they call furnaces. Strong men with faces as black and scorched as a coal were busy, armed with iron poles, guiding the sea of fire that rushed out into the moulds that covered a great extent of ground, drawing out the white-hot masses of cinders and dirt, and splashing cold water over the front of the furnace to enable them to stand there. We remained at the farther end, but the heat was so great that we had to cover our faces. Suddenly, with a loud noise, the flames burst out from the furnaces, ascending to the very top, immense volumes of black smoke rolled over our heads, and the rushing noise grew louder and louder. I thought some accident had occurred, and looked out for the safest retreat, when I found it was only the clearing ofthe furnaces by sending a powerful blast through them, which was always practised after a casting. Within a square of twelve miles one-sixth of the iron used in the world is said to be made.... I paid a visit to Dudley Castle, having a great curiosity to see a veritable old castle, a ruined castle; and I explored every corner, looked up the broad chimneys, and peeped out of the stone window frames and loopholes with a feeling of true antiquarian enthusiasm. We sat down on a stone bench at the foot of the keep, which is very old, and on a little hill on the western side of the courtyard; there we tried to revive the scene as it may have looked hundreds of years ago, when armed men were bustling about the court, and visions of fair ladies gleaming from the upper windows and now ruined terraces. The castle crowns a wooded hill, commanding the town and level country for many miles; the remains of a double wall with a moat between still surround the castle. As I stood by those strong walls and looked down on the wide fields below, I began to imagine how grandly an army would approach, and how noble a defence the castle would make, till I longed to revive the ancient conflicts, and almost frightened my companions by my martial demonstrations and visions of grim warriors peeping through the iron-barred windows. But the illusion could not last long; the country is covered with smoke and coal-pits, the wallflower is smiling on the ruins of the old castle, and instead of subterranean dungeons and dark passages the hill is excavated for limestone; and these artificial caverns of enormous extent, with a canal winding through them and echoing to the voices of the workmen, form one of the most curious features of the place, and show how the same energy and power are still at work, though in a very different direction. We drove home through the little town of Dudley, whichpresented a most curious spectacle, for it was market day, and the workmen from all the country round, having received their wages, were come in with their wives and children to make their weekly purchases. The streets were crammed with people, and our carriage made its way through a living mass that hardly opened to let it through. I examined the people, as I have constantly done since I entered the country, with great curiosity. I could not see one handsome face in the whole multitude—indeed, the English appear to me a very common-looking people—but neither was I struck by the misery I expected to see. In Liverpool I had peered into all the back alleys and odd corners I could find; I have done the same in Dudley. There is great cleanliness observed everywhere, that compares most favourably with American cities, and the inhabitants of those districts, though miserable, of course, according to a true standard of human life, were neither more numerous nor more wretched than I have been accustomed to see in America. I have very rarely seen a beggar, and in no instance one that has particularly excited my compassion. This district is one of the most thickly peopled in England, and certainly presents an average view of the mining districts, and the poor labourers seem far more comfortable and intelligent than I had supposed. The manufacturing districts, I have no doubt, would present a different spectacle. I have had no opportunity of judging them. I have just learned to my great satisfaction that Mr. Charles Plevins, an old friend of my cousin, is going to London for a few days, and will escort me there and remain during my stay. I can hardly tell you what a relief this is, for the idea of going to that great city an entire stranger, and wandering about it utterly alone, was a most desolate, oppressive thought, and entirely destroyed all the pleasure of the anticipation,though I assumed a very independent tone in speaking of my journey when I found it was utterly impossible for cousin to accompany me. He is an old friend of cousin’s, though young—only twenty-five—and there is an air of youth and immaturity about all his opinions and actions; but his spirit is so beautiful that you have only to see in order to love it, so pure and gentle, so true and genial. In my opinion he belongs to a class of young Englishmen that I find is large and constantly increasing. Cousin S. is one of them. They are reformers in spirit, but not destroyers; they have no clear immediate plan of reform, and so earnestly maintain the present system until they find a better one; but they are all the time seeking for truth, and longing most earnestly to realise that grand future in which they all believe. Fichte is one of their favourite teachers; Carlyle, Emerson, Channing, all we have known and learned from in the past, they worship now; but they have yet to study Fourier and Swedenborg before they can reach that strong hope and clear insight which will make their working strong, happy, and practically efficient. Now, there is too much of metaphysical abstraction in their thoughts, their religious faith is not a glorious reality, and in the case of our friend Charles, he despises the material world too much, and seeks to subdue the body and purify the spirit by privations which proceed from the noblest motive but a mistaken faith.I have a curious interest in seeing and hearing him; it revives so completely my earlier life, when I thought as he does now, and strove for the same ends by the same means. My medical effort won his admiration before I arrived, and since I came here he has done me every little service in his power. His family is an old and highly respected one in Birmingham, and when he found I wished to see something of medicine in the city he used his influence to arrange a useful day for me.Accordingly, the day before yesterday I went in with him to Birmingham, having received invitations from several physicians. We spent the day in visiting the various institutions together, and as it was my first introduction to the English medical world, and as I consider it a good omen, I must describe our doings particularly.Mr. Parker, surgeon to the Queen’s Hospital, had some difficulty in believing that it was not an ideal being that was spoken of; but when he found I was really and truly a living woman he sent me an invitation to witness the amputation he was going to perform, and promised to show me all the arrangements of the institution, sending also a note of admission to the college and museum. Dr. Evans, a distinguished physician, invited me to the General Hospital, the largest and oldest one, and expressed much sympathy in my undertaking. Dr. McKay, of the Lying-in Hospital, thought that God and Nature had indicated the unfitness of women for such a pursuit as I had chosen, but still said he would be very happy to show the lady all he could. All the students were on thequi viveto see the lady surgeon, and as we approached the building I saw them peeping through doors and windows. Mr. Parker, a fat, rosy-faced John Bull, received me very politely, introduced me to some M.D.’s who had come to see the sight, showed me the arrangements of the hospital, which is young and not particularly interesting, and then took me to the operating-room. It was crammed with students, and as fresh ones arrived they would peep about, whisper to their neighbours, and then work their way to a place where they could see me. It was just a repetition of old scenes; a few minutes’ curiosity, and then all went on as usual. The students presented the same mixture of faces as our American ones, wore rather better coats, and seemed to be quicker in their movements. I notednothing peculiar in the operation, which was skilfully performed, without chloroform, which Mr. Parker disliked. Before leaving, he offered me a letter to the famous Roux of Paris.At the General Hospital, established sixty years, Dr. Heslop received me with the utmost deference, showed me every ward, male and female, pointed out every case of note, let me examine it, and detailed the treatment, particularly one operation for subclavian aneurism, which was so remarkable that they were going to publish the case. Dr. Percy, of Birmingham, a particular friend of S., has promised to meet me in London, and to furnish me with all the necessary introduction to give me an insight into the medical world of the great metropolis. So I look forward now with great hope to a short but delightful visit, and leave for London next Saturday, the 12th, to await my passports, which I shall probably receive with letters on the 16th, and then off again for the land of dancing and wooden shoes. I heard the cuckoo this morning; what a soft human sound it is! Last night the nightingales were singing sweetly in the twilight. Our garden is full of lovely English flowers; the primrose and cowslip, laurustinea, and many others make our garden beautiful, though the weather is a most cold, gloomy nurse to the little darlings.May 17.—We left Portway yesterday afternoon. I parted from our friends with great regret; we were getting used to one another; a home feeling was growing up there to me, and so it was time to be off. We arrived late in London, so I could only remark the many handsome houses in gardens that marked its environs, the fine and spacious orderly railway station, the wide streets and gay shops. This morning, after seeing Dr. Percy, Cousin S.’s friend, who has promised to give me the necessary introductions to the hospitals to-morrow, wewalked about five miles through the city before reaching Mrs. X.’s house in Devonshire Street. During our walk we passed through many handsome squares with monuments and public buildings, not an isolated one, as with us, but row after row of grand pillared edifices, whole streets of palaces, substantial, built of freestone, but all rendered dingy by smoke, which permeates the atmosphere and penetrates everywhere. The most venerable pile of Westminster Abbey is crumbling with age; the cathedral service was being chanted when we entered; the central space was filled with people. The aisles are in the form of a cross, bordered by tall pillars rising lofty and plain to support the long vistas of arches. The spaces are filled up by a wilderness of monuments, a subdued light pouring in, a cool, stony atmosphere filling the cathedral. It is a noble old building, and has impressed me more than anything I’ve seen. From Westminster Bridge I saw the new Houses of Parliament—an immense pile, the ornaments too delicate for its size. The poor little river was covered with boats, and the bridge with people enjoying the Sunday; but London was much quieter than I supposed it would be. I noticed but one ‘confectionery store’ partly open; the day seemed to be very strictly observed. We walked through Regent Street, and through endless rows of handsome houses constituting the ‘West End,’ to Mrs. X.’s. We were shown in by a footman in crimson plush breeches, white stockings, and claret-coloured coat with gold buttons, to the drawing-rooms—the walls lined with figured crimson velvet, and all manner of lounges and tables covered with knick-knackery scattered about. The lady made her appearance in a blue and black satin dress with jet ornaments and a lace headdress—a handsome brunette, with red cheeks and very black eyes and hair, and altogether too much mannerism to please me. She wasevidently criticising me, and holding herself in a non-committal attitude. I sat still and talked very quietly, thinking to myself that if I were condemned to live there one week I should overturn the lady and smash everything to atoms. Presently a few fashionable morning visitors dropped in to condole with the lady, who had scratched her throat by swallowing a mouthful too hastily, and so was aninvalid; some messages of inquiry and condolence were delivered by an old, grave footman, so very silly, and answered in so absurd a manner, that I wondered how the man could keep a grave countenance; and yet the lady had wit and spirit which occasionally flashed out. Sir J. H. came in with Dr. H. to see me. I had a little very pleasant talk, and am to meet him on Tuesday. We descended to lunch, ladies sitting down in their bonnets. The dining-room and library had ceilings beautifully painted to imitate the sky with clouds; the whole house was hung with paintings. The lady’s manner grew gradually pleasanter; she seemed to like me, admired my hand, and insisted on my drinking a glass of wine—the first I ever took. I told her so, and she was much pleased at her influence. She took us in her barouche through Regent’s Park, and then extended her drive to Hyde Park. These parks are very beautiful—miles of grassy lawn, scattered over with groves, gardens, and clumps of trees, with occasional water, and varied with little valleys. They are surrounded by rows of palace houses, sometimes approaching the carriage road, sometimes lost in gardens and shrubbery. I did enjoy to see the people walking about, sitting under the trees, inhaling a little fresh air on the quiet Sunday, for the most perfect order prevailed. Our hostess became quite agreeable, laughed, and chatted merrily about all manner of nothings. It was impossible to converse with her; she must do the talking with a little support, and she gaveforth a good deal of shrewd worldly wisdom. She set us down at the Zoological Gardens in Regent’s Park, with many regrets that an engagement to a dinner-party in the country prevented her asking me home, and the expression of a strong desire to have a long, full conversation.Monday, May 1849.—This morning I called on Dr. Carpenter, who has written those admirable works on physiology. He lives near Regent’s Park; it was sparkling with dew as I walked through—refreshingly sweet. I found him and his wife exceedingly agreeable. I liked them at once. They questioned me with great interest about my past course. I am to meet some distinguished people at their house to-night, and among them a Miss Gillies, an artist who has watched my steps with the highest pleasure, and who thinks the only true livers are the workers. I received several notes of introduction from Dr. C. He says I must hear Mr. Paget lecture; that he is the most promising surgeon in England. I found an invitation to a pharmaceuticalsoiréeawaiting me on my return, with the information that I might see all the distinguished M.D.’s there assembled.Evening.—I have just returned from Dr. C.’s delightful little party. The ladies were in regular ball costume; some dresses very elegant; dancing to the piano; music, vocal and instrumental. Dr. C. gave us a very beautiful piece of Mendelssohn’s on the organ; he and his wife sang together with great feeling. His microscopes, said to be the most beautiful in England, were there. His preparations were exquisite: the lung of a frog most minutely injected, a piece of shark skin which seems covered with innumerable teeth, and piles of other specimens. Miss Gillies is a distinguished artist. I am to visit her and see her relation, Dr. Southwood Smith. Chapman, the well-known publisher, was present, and talked a good deal to me, but seemed a little undecidedwhat tone to take. He has a very handsome, intellectual face. I was introduced to many pleasant people; one had the rare, beautiful face of Cowper’s mother. Great interest seemed to be felt in my course.Before going to Dr. C.’s I went to examine the specimens collected for the pharmaceuticalsoirée. I was surprised to find that thepapier-mâchémodels have been hitherto unknown in England, and that the people were regarding with the utmost rapture specimens which are in common use in all American colleges. Sir J. H. drove us to the Consumption Hospital and the Chelsea Botanical Gardens—a most kind-hearted, simple-mannered old gentleman....Dr. Percy secured me a great treat. I visited the Hunterian Museum in company with Mr. Owen, who lectures at the institution. It is said to be the finest collection of comparative and morbid anatomy in the world. Mr. Owen is a man of genius, and the hour passed away like a minute while listening to his eloquent descriptions of the fossil remains and the laws which related them to living animals, to man, and to the globe. He invited me to come any morning between ten and twelve, but unfortunately my time is too crowded. The obstetric collection is very fine; if I return through London I shall certainly try to spend a week or two in examining it.We next took the railroad and went to Greenwich, choosing the third-class open cars that I might see the country, which is laid out in market gardens richly cultivated, all round London, though the city, stretching out through Deptford to Greenwich, makes one uninterrupted town in that direction. Greenwich Hospital for Sailors has impressed me more than any other institution with the power and wealth of the nation. It is a series of great palaces, connected by colonnades with double rows of pillars ranged round a large green open to the river,with the park and observatory in the background. The old sailors were hobbling about in comfortable dresses, with enormous rations of bread and meat; for we reached it just at dinner-time, and they were allowed to take their meals and eat in their cabins. There are long walks where they smoke, and they rove about in the freest style. Their chapel is a very beautiful hall, though I fear the rich painting and mosaic is lost on the rough tars. The Painted Hall is immediately opposite; the vaulted ceiling is covered with figures which are larger than life, even from below; the walls are entirely covered with large paintings, richly framed, of naval engagements and naval heroes, and many relics of the great commanders are preserved in cases. The park is always open to the public; groups of women and children were sitting under the fine old trees, and the deer were so tame that they took no notice of passers-by. We sailed up the river to Waterloo Bridge, passing the Tower and St. Paul’s, and several handsome stone bridges. Then we went over the British Museum, which is thrown open to the public. We had only time to pass rapidly through hall after hall devoted to branches of natural science, Egyptian monuments, Grecian remains, &c., all admirably classified, with a label to every specimen. How I longed that our students, and particularly a certain E. B., could enjoy the great advantage of walking to such an institution, and seeing each object of study actually there in its natural relations! I hastened home to wash and dress, and reached Mrs. X.’s just in time for the seven o’clock dinner. It was a tremendous operation. We sat at table for three hours. I really grew stiff, notwithstanding the champagne I drank. By-the-by, that is the only wine I like; iced champagne is really good. I sat by Sir J. H. at table, and never discovered till I had left that it was actually mother’sold friend. He told Charles that he knew my mother, and remembered my face perfectly, having often seen me at church. I regretted exceedingly that I did not know the connection till too late, for I had always liked the kind old gentleman, and he would have seemed to me quite like an old friend. He has been rather unfortunate in money matters lately, and was robbed of all his family jewels by a foreign count and countess whom he was hospitably entertaining. He possesses an old château in France, which he often visits, and gave me his card to use at Boulogne, in case I went that way. The general conversation, however, was stupid, and I really needed our three-mile walk home to wear off its constraining effects.Thursday morning I visited my first hospital, St. Thomas’s, but under rather unpleasant circumstances; indeed, I hesitated whether to go at all. The surgeon to whom I sent my letter of introduction knew nothing about me, thought it was a very indelicate undertaking, and simply sent me a line to one of the nurses, with the request that I would not enter any of the men’s wards. I swallowed the indignity, however, and went, feeling very uncomfortable. But to my surprise, after I had been there a little while I was met by Mr. South, the senior surgeon, who had come on purpose to meet me and show me everything—a very kind, rather eccentric man, who paid me the utmost attention, and pointed out everything, even to the everlasting brewhouse of the establishment. In the museum he drew my attention to many noteworthy specimens, such as the aorta tied by Sir Astley Cooper. St. Thomas’s is a series of enormous buildings, which is the character of most public institutions here; its income is 30,000l.per annum, and some hospitals have even more. Then he invited me to attend his clinical lecture; so at the head of a large body of students, who had been peeping at me in every direction,I passed with him through ward after ward, men’s and women’s, the students preserving the most perfect order, though I could see that they were filled with the intensest curiosity. He gave me the fullest description of interesting cases, and made me examine several. He left his students to the house-surgeon, and accompanied me to the Barclay Brewery—an enormous affair, quite a national curiosity. It was here that the brutal Haynau, whilst visiting the place a short time ago, was mobbed by the men when they heard who had come amongst them, and barely escaped some very rough usage. My courteous escort left me in the kindliest manner, promising me an introduction to the Bethlehem. While at St. Thomas’s I received three invitations topost-mortems, to a lecture, and to the Ophthalmic Dispensary, all of which I was compelled to decline for want of time.At the brewery visitors enter their names. I set mine down without the M.D.; Mr. South insisted on my adding it. I have been asked by physicians again and again if they shall call me doctor—they fully recognise my right. I always answer this question in the affirmative, as a matter of principle. I can hardly describe to you the difference of feeling with which I entered and left the hospital. We walked a couple of miles to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Charles T., an elegant household, though without the fetters of fashion; they welcomed me most kindly. My two remaining days will be very busy: I have two or three hospitals to visit and several people to see; indeed, engagement treads upon engagement, so that I’ve hardly a moment to think. I thought such excitement would have bothered me intensely. It did at first bewilder, but now I’ve roused myself to meet it and I really enjoy it. I’ve never had such an experience; I must have walked ten miles a day. I come home sometimes hardly able to move a foot; Iwash and dress, and in an hour I’m up again and fresh for as much more—the more I have to do, the more I can. I believe I’ve never yet begun to call out my power of working.The girl has just come in with my letters, passport, and papers by the ‘Europa’—what a good sight! Bless you all ten thousand times! My next letter will probably be from Paris....... I have had a delightful visit to Hampstead, where Dr. Wilkinson lives. He received me at once with the greatest kindness and interest, introduced me to his wife, a very sweet woman, graceful and gentle, and to some very pretty black-eyed children. He was disappointed that my stay was so short; told me I ought certainly to spend a year in London, that the longer he lived in it the more wonderful it seemed to him, that every idea was represented there not by a single individual but by a whole class, and that the societies I might study there would be of great service to me as a means of development. He is a tall, strong man, not handsome, wears spectacles, and has a strong expression of goodness in his face. He took me to see two people who were desirous of making my acquaintance, and showed me all the fine points of view from Hampstead, which truly is a most lovely spot, though only two miles from London. It is a hilly range, looking down on wide undulating country on both sides, with blue hills in the distance—Windsor Castle being distinctly visible twenty miles off. I cannot describe the place; it seems to have built itself in one of Nature’s choicest nooks. There is a common covered with golden gorse, broken by little dells in which pretty cottages are nestled, and there are old mansions hidden in noble parks, old walls covered with luxuriant ivy, shady lanes with long avenues of trees and smooth hedges of hawthorn and laurel, fields covered with arich carpet golden with buttercups and daisies, the cows quietly feeding in a veritable paradise to them. Then there are all manner of odd corners and irregular clusters of houses, but everywhere the most intense vegetation. The little cottage occupied by Byron, who used often to resort to this lovely spot, was pointed out to me, and Harrow, where he went to school. We had much interesting conversation. In the omnibus I parted from the doctor with real regret, but quite refreshed by the cordial intercourse.Journey to Paris.—All my teachers and medical friends in America had strongly advised my going to Paris, as the one place where I should be able to find unlimited opportunities for study in any branch of the medical art. Being then desirous of pursuing surgery as well as medicine, I followed their advice. On May 21, 1849, with a very slender purse and few introductions of any value, I found myself in the unknown world of Paris, bent upon the one object of pursuing my studies, with no idea of the fierce political passions then smouldering amongst the people, nor with any fear of the cholera which was then threatening an epidemic.Curious glimpses of this outer world are given in letters sent home at that time.Paris, 11 Rue de Seine: May 1849.You see, dear friends, that I have reached my destination at last, and fairly established myself in this strange city. I parted from my kind companion, who in London had spent the whole week in one continued effort to aid me in every possible way, with real gratitude. I could not thank him, words seemed too meaningless.... Ileft London with the profoundest respect for the vast power of many kinds displayed there, and a grateful remembrance of a personal reception that had been so encouraging. It rained the whole way over. An English lady returning to Paris with her husband was very friendly. She promised to show me the best place to stay at in Calais, and said if I would travel with them in the cars she could give me much information about Paris, for the French made a point of cheating the English unmercifully, thinking they were immensely wealthy. We were notified of our approach to Calais by a strong smell of fish. It was quite dark and raining in torrents; I was very glad to have companions. We picked our way as well as we could over the stone pier, enclosed by walls on which stood a lighthouse glaring into the dark night. We stepped into the rooms where the passports are examined, and there the whiskered faces showed me I was amongst strangers, and theOù allez-vous, madame?confirmed the fact. Next morning I stood for some time on the pier waiting for the Custom-house officer and watching the strange people. Market-women in their white caps (the common people wear no bonnet), groups of workmen in blue blouses, fishwomen of enormous muscular development, though short, returning from fishing laden with their nets, clad in a single petticoat scarcely reaching to the knee, little children with their school-books making sundry excursions on to the fishing-smacks by the way, and chattering French with all their might. At the Custom-house the search was very slight; they did not even see the cases which I had put at the back of a larger trunk, and I was only charged a couple of francs. We left Calais at nine o’clock, and the difference between France and England was apparent the whole way. The country was no flatter than between Liverpool and Birmingham, but badlydrained and badly cultivated, with many peat bogs and dwarf willows bordering the watercourses. There were many villages built of light-coloured stone, but apparently not one brisk, thriving town. The whole way wooden fences instead of beautiful live hedges, women digging trenches and working in the peat bogs, and the railroad left in the rough, unfinished style of America, without the excuse of an immense young country. At the Custom-house in Paris, where they search the trunks for butter and cheese, I parted from my travelling companions and launched boldly into the sea of Paris. It looked very odd as I drove along; the streets so narrow, with such odd, old-fashioned houses, all built of this light-coloured stone, which has no sort of expression. They charged extravagantly at the hotel where I passed the night, so I determined at once to procure lodgings, and set off early next morning to hunt up Mr. Doherty, who I knew through Dr. Wilkinson would tell me the right quarter for medical doings.I started off with a map in my hand and hope in my heart, and reached Mr. Doherty’s house very early, I suppose, for Parisian hours, for the gentleman was in bed when my letters were handed in; and soon after a short sleepy-looking man made his appearance, with a horrid coarse beard, a blue and red woollen dressing-gown, and green baize trousers hanging about his ankles. I had some difficulty in making him comprehend that I was not Anna. At last, however, with the help of letters and my explanations, all became clear. I found him very pleasant; he breakfasted, dressed, &c., while I talked to his brother Thomas, who is a beautiful artist. Mr. D. went with me to some places he knew of. At last we found a little room with bedroom attached in a central situation and at a moderate rent. The hostess was a very pleasant-looking woman, with her own room close by, thewhole suite being separated from the rest of the house. I felt, however, quite disappointed in the city; it did not seem to me handsome, gay, or elegant after London; but then, in truth, I was so busy settling my own little matters that I hardly had time to examine closely. To-day I have spent in walking about the city with my hostess, chiefly for the sake of chattering with her and accustoming my ear to the strange sounds, for I find I have much to learn. I have great trouble in expressing myself with any elegance, and I cannot see the physicians until I have acquired a tolerable command of words; I shall very soon, however, be able to do so. I went out to buy a bonnet to-day, but found that my unfortunate organs were totally unable to squeeze themselves into a Parisian head-dress; so I was obliged to order a bonnet, choosing plain grey silk, although I was assured again and again that nobody wore that colour....An interview with Lamartine.—At this period much sympathy was felt in America for the Republican movement in France, of which Lamartine was the head. Before leaving Philadelphia a friend had asked me to be the bearer of one of those expressions of sympathy from public meetings which were then sent to the poet from all parts of the United States. I willingly undertook the commission, and now wrote to the President for permission to present the document entrusted to me.May 31, 1849.I have just returned from my visit by appointment to Lamartine, where I went to deliver the Philadelphia resolution entrusted to me. I must hasten to give you a sketch before this post—the last—closes.Of course I dressed with great care, and arrived just at the appointed hour. I was asked if I was a lady fromAmerica, for Lamartine is to most peoplein the country. I was shown through several ante-chambers into a drawing-room, where stood the poet entertaining some visitors; he bowed, requested me to wait a few moments, and withdrew with his visitors into another room. I examined the apartment: a lofty room, carved and richly gilded, three long windows opening on to a balcony commanding a garden full of trees. The room contained a rich carpet and purple velvet couches and chairs, some portraits, an exquisite female profile in bas-relief, a golden chandelier from the ceiling, some antique vases, &c., and a soft green light from the trees of the large garden diffused through the room. The door opened and Lamartine entered; very tall and slender, but the most graceful man I have ever seen, every movement was music; grey eyes and hair. The little bust is a pretty good likeness. He has the gentlemanly voice (Uncle Charles’s), clear, melodious, perfectly well-bred. In fact, his exterior harmonised perfectly with his poetry. He understood English. Slowly and distinctly I explained the commission which had been entrusted to me. He asked me if the resolution referred to the fraternity of the race, and seemed to understand at once the whole matter when I replied in the affirmative. I referred him to the letters accompanying the resolution for full explanation respecting the document and the manner of presenting it. He said he was very happy to receive these expressions of sympathy. He would read the letters carefully and send me an answer, which I promised to transmit to America. He accompanied me very politely to the stairs, bowed, and we parted. I was in no way disappointed; there was perfect harmony in the man and his surroundings. Doubtless he is a true man, though unable to work into practice the great thoughts he cherishes.I went last night with my good little hostess to aneighbouring church, where there is service every evening. It was well lighted round the central altar, but in every direction the lofty aisles stretched away into the darkness, with an occasional lamp illuminating some saint, and small groups of dark figures kneeling on the pavement. The people were assembled in the centre—mostly the lower classes, women in their white caps, and little children dressed like miniature women; they knelt or stood, or sat on chairs and benches as the service required, generally with the utmost devotion. The little children used the holy water, crossed themselves, and knelt with their mothers, and regarded the bright lights, the flowers round the golden Virgin, and the impressive music with eager, wondering faces. The service was sung or chanted entirely in Latin; occasionally a pause in the music would be broken by the sudden, deep tones of a man’s voice away in the darkness, or a choir of boys’ voices would burst forth apparently from the clouds. The walls were covered with enormous pictures partially illuminated. I felt fully the impressiveness of this scene to the uneducated people; no thought awakened, but the emotional religious sentiment powerfully addressed; and this every night, when the solemn ceremonial contrasts so strongly and soothingly with the traffic of the day. The children are nursed in this atmosphere until it becomes a part of their nature that no reasoning can ever change.My first introduction to Paris institutions was through the visit of a public official, who brought a registration paper to be filled up. I put myself down asEtudiante. The man stared, and then standing in front of me began to make the most extraordinary grimaces, opening his eyes until the whites showed all round them. My first astonished thought was—‘Youugly little brute, what on earth are you doing that for?’ when, his manner suddenly changing on my look of astonishment, he tapped me benevolently on the shoulder, saying, ‘Mon enfant, you must not put yourself down as student—rentièreis the word you must use!’In later life, with larger experience, I came to the conclusion that I had been interviewed by the Police des Mœurs! Fortunately at that time I knew nothing of the corrupt system of accepting and regulating female vice.My next important interview was of a very different character. A Boston friend had procured for me, from a physician, an introduction to the famous Louis, then at the height of his reputation. It was a sealed introduction, which I forwarded with my card. The next day a tall, imposing-looking gentleman called upon me, who proved to be Louis himself. I soon felt instinctively that his visit was one of inspection. I told him frankly of my earnest desire for hospital and practical instruction. After a long conversation he most strongly advised me to enter La Maternité, where in one most important branch I could in a short time obtain more valuable practical knowledge than could be obtained anywhere else, and he informed me of the steps to be taken in order to obtain admission. Before leaving, however, M. Louis handed to me the letter of introduction which I had sent to him, saying that he thought I ought to see it. It was an astounding production, written in such wretched French that Icould only suppose that its author was unaware of its insulting character, or of the effect that such a letter delivered to a French gentleman by a young unknown woman was likely to produce. I never again presented a sealed letter of introduction. Some years later, when the distinguished physician who had sent it called upon me in New York, I returned the letter to him, with a few words of very serious remonstrance.On June 1 one of my sisters and a friend came to Paris, and we moved into pleasant lodgings in the Rue de Fleurus overlooking the Luxembourg Garden. Whilst there I attended lectures at the Collège de France and the Jardin des Plantes, and earnestly sought for admission to some of the hospitals for practical instruction. It seemed, however, that an entrance into La Maternité would be the most direct first step in obtaining the practical instruction needed, and although regretting the delay in my surgical studies which would be involved in such a course, I finally resolved to pursue the courses of that great institution.The following letters refer to this period of effort.My dear Cousin.—I find that I cannot enter the Maternité at present for want of anacte de naissance. I am trying to get over the difficulty, but French regulations are so strict that it is still uncertain whether I can succeed. Would it be possible to secure in Bristol a copy of my register of baptism, with a statement of my birthday and my parents, certified by the mayor or some proper authority? I was baptised at Bridge Street byMr. Leifchild; I was born on February 3, 1821. I do not know, however, whether such a register is kept in England. If it could be procured, it would remove the difficulty which lies in my way.We find Paris a very lively residence; every day something new is occurring, or we discover some wonderful old place which we must certainly visit. One day it is the funeral celebrations of Marshal Bugeaud, at which all the great men assist, with an army of soldiers and an enormous crowd; or a thousand little girls take their first communion at St. Sulpice, dressed in white with long veils; or some grand collection of flowers or manufactured articles calls out the spectacle-loving people. There is a constant effervescence of life in this great city, which concentrates all its energy in itself, and makes the Parisians at the same time the most brilliant and the most conceited people in the world. The greatest pleasure which we have yet enjoyed was our trip last Sunday to Versailles; it is really a place to be proud of, and I could not wonder at the worship which is paid to that beautiful temple by the people who, day after day, range freely through its grand galleries and spacious gardens.I received to-day a very pleasant letter from Dr. Webster, one of our professors at Geneva; I was much gratified to find that their course to me has been approved by the profession in America. It would have grieved me inexpressibly if they had been condemned for the aid they had given me, and there seemed to be some possibility of it when I left. But he tells me my thesis was commented on in the Report on Medicine at the National Medical Convention held in Boston, and their course in relation to me justified and approved. The thesis was received with applause. This information is quite a relief to me, for the thought would be too painful that you could injure your friends.June 15.Dear Cousin,—By the first of July, as soon as I have conquered some miserable little difficulties, such as theacte de naissance, certificate of vaccination, &c., which I cannot produce, I shall enter La Maternité, a world-famous institution, and remain until I have succeeded in my first object—viz. to become an accomplished obstetrician. There are personal objections connected with this course that I was not prepared for—viz. a strict imprisonment, very poor lodging and food, some rather menial services, and the loss of three or four nights’ sleep every week. Still, these are things that can be borne (if the health will stand them) when the end to be gained is an important one; and I am sure you will agree with me that it is wise to sacrifice physical comfort for a while in order to attain it. I propose to remain there three months, and then I shall try and accomplish my second object—viz. surgery.I hope in a day or two to receive permission from the Directeur-General, M. Davenne, to examine all the hospitals of Paris. I am working on gradually; but I find more clearly every day that the genius of the French nation does not suit me, and my love for the Anglo-Saxon race, and my admiration for our wonderful Fatherland, increase by the comparison....We have had a strange glimpse of a revolution, a sort of theatrical representation of what that terrible thing might be. I confess that the whole exhibition seemed to me peculiarly French; and yet there are noble and terrible passions, lying below this mercurial excitability, that command hearty sympathy or serious consideration, and the unjust, tyrannical acts of the Government excite one’s strongest indignation. Now all is quiet again, however, and the whole affair is said to have been planned by the authorities to get rid of certain troublesome men.A. and E. have stood the shock well, though they turned quite pale on finding as they were quietly parading the streets that they were in the midst of anémeute, and later I was sent out to see if they had not better instantly return to England, before civil war broke out and their throats were cut....On the afternoon of the 13th E. and I went out to see the curious sight. The Quai to the National Assembly, more than a mile long, was lined with soldiers with their drawn bayonets. The Louvre and the Tuileries opposite were closed and filled with soldiers. An army of cavalry was mounted and ready to start at any moment. We passed through hurrying crowds full of excitement, hearing fearful reports of what had happened and what was to come. On the bridges, at the corners of the streets, were large groups of blouses, students, citizens, women, listening to some orator of the moment, gesticulating violently. More than once I observed a woman enthusiastically haranguing an audience. The most curious mixture of passions was visible on the faces—fear, anger, indignation, hope, hatred; there was many a figure that realised the horrors of an earlier revolution. It seems inconceivable now that those violent expressions should have died away, and that Paris is going on in its usual busy way.
On April 30 we landed at Liverpool, and I began to make acquaintance with the wonderful and unknown Old World, which I had left when a child of eleven. Everything seemed new and striking. The substantial character of Liverpool, the ‘finished look’ of the surrounding country, the extraordinary character of the mining district—all awakened keen interest. My poor cousin being ill with rheumatism, however, we journeyed on at once to his home at Portway Hall, near Dudley. A fortnight was spent in this pleasant home, which, though in the centre of the ‘Black Country,’ was surrounded by gardens where the flowers were fresh and sweet, the trees in beautiful leaf, whilst the cuckoo saluted us in the morning and the nightingales at night. I gained a glimpse of the lovely English country, and spent a memorable time in examining the novel surroundings of the great mining district of England. The following letters are descriptive of a young student’s impressions on revisiting her native land more than a generation ago.
Portway: May 2, 1849.Thanks be to Heaven, I am on land once more, and never do I wish again to experience that hideous nightmare—a voyage across the ocean. We had the warmest welcome at my cousin’s pleasant home.... I went one afternoon to see the casting—that is, when the melted iron, like a river of fire, flows into the moulds which shape it. The Russel Hall Works are close by the town of Dudley. There is a wide extent of smoky country, with many little groups of machinery and brick buildings, each constituting or rather surrounding a pit; many mounds of glowing coal turning into coke; piles of ironstone being burned previous to the smelting; the houses of the managers in various directions, the office at the entrance; and immediately in front the two great blast-furnaces, which burn incessantly day and night, making many thousands of tons a year. Very few workmen were to be seen, but underground a whole army of them were hard at work. The casting was very curious. Twice a day the melted iron is drawn off from the bottom of the great brick towers they call furnaces. Strong men with faces as black and scorched as a coal were busy, armed with iron poles, guiding the sea of fire that rushed out into the moulds that covered a great extent of ground, drawing out the white-hot masses of cinders and dirt, and splashing cold water over the front of the furnace to enable them to stand there. We remained at the farther end, but the heat was so great that we had to cover our faces. Suddenly, with a loud noise, the flames burst out from the furnaces, ascending to the very top, immense volumes of black smoke rolled over our heads, and the rushing noise grew louder and louder. I thought some accident had occurred, and looked out for the safest retreat, when I found it was only the clearing ofthe furnaces by sending a powerful blast through them, which was always practised after a casting. Within a square of twelve miles one-sixth of the iron used in the world is said to be made.... I paid a visit to Dudley Castle, having a great curiosity to see a veritable old castle, a ruined castle; and I explored every corner, looked up the broad chimneys, and peeped out of the stone window frames and loopholes with a feeling of true antiquarian enthusiasm. We sat down on a stone bench at the foot of the keep, which is very old, and on a little hill on the western side of the courtyard; there we tried to revive the scene as it may have looked hundreds of years ago, when armed men were bustling about the court, and visions of fair ladies gleaming from the upper windows and now ruined terraces. The castle crowns a wooded hill, commanding the town and level country for many miles; the remains of a double wall with a moat between still surround the castle. As I stood by those strong walls and looked down on the wide fields below, I began to imagine how grandly an army would approach, and how noble a defence the castle would make, till I longed to revive the ancient conflicts, and almost frightened my companions by my martial demonstrations and visions of grim warriors peeping through the iron-barred windows. But the illusion could not last long; the country is covered with smoke and coal-pits, the wallflower is smiling on the ruins of the old castle, and instead of subterranean dungeons and dark passages the hill is excavated for limestone; and these artificial caverns of enormous extent, with a canal winding through them and echoing to the voices of the workmen, form one of the most curious features of the place, and show how the same energy and power are still at work, though in a very different direction. We drove home through the little town of Dudley, whichpresented a most curious spectacle, for it was market day, and the workmen from all the country round, having received their wages, were come in with their wives and children to make their weekly purchases. The streets were crammed with people, and our carriage made its way through a living mass that hardly opened to let it through. I examined the people, as I have constantly done since I entered the country, with great curiosity. I could not see one handsome face in the whole multitude—indeed, the English appear to me a very common-looking people—but neither was I struck by the misery I expected to see. In Liverpool I had peered into all the back alleys and odd corners I could find; I have done the same in Dudley. There is great cleanliness observed everywhere, that compares most favourably with American cities, and the inhabitants of those districts, though miserable, of course, according to a true standard of human life, were neither more numerous nor more wretched than I have been accustomed to see in America. I have very rarely seen a beggar, and in no instance one that has particularly excited my compassion. This district is one of the most thickly peopled in England, and certainly presents an average view of the mining districts, and the poor labourers seem far more comfortable and intelligent than I had supposed. The manufacturing districts, I have no doubt, would present a different spectacle. I have had no opportunity of judging them. I have just learned to my great satisfaction that Mr. Charles Plevins, an old friend of my cousin, is going to London for a few days, and will escort me there and remain during my stay. I can hardly tell you what a relief this is, for the idea of going to that great city an entire stranger, and wandering about it utterly alone, was a most desolate, oppressive thought, and entirely destroyed all the pleasure of the anticipation,though I assumed a very independent tone in speaking of my journey when I found it was utterly impossible for cousin to accompany me. He is an old friend of cousin’s, though young—only twenty-five—and there is an air of youth and immaturity about all his opinions and actions; but his spirit is so beautiful that you have only to see in order to love it, so pure and gentle, so true and genial. In my opinion he belongs to a class of young Englishmen that I find is large and constantly increasing. Cousin S. is one of them. They are reformers in spirit, but not destroyers; they have no clear immediate plan of reform, and so earnestly maintain the present system until they find a better one; but they are all the time seeking for truth, and longing most earnestly to realise that grand future in which they all believe. Fichte is one of their favourite teachers; Carlyle, Emerson, Channing, all we have known and learned from in the past, they worship now; but they have yet to study Fourier and Swedenborg before they can reach that strong hope and clear insight which will make their working strong, happy, and practically efficient. Now, there is too much of metaphysical abstraction in their thoughts, their religious faith is not a glorious reality, and in the case of our friend Charles, he despises the material world too much, and seeks to subdue the body and purify the spirit by privations which proceed from the noblest motive but a mistaken faith.I have a curious interest in seeing and hearing him; it revives so completely my earlier life, when I thought as he does now, and strove for the same ends by the same means. My medical effort won his admiration before I arrived, and since I came here he has done me every little service in his power. His family is an old and highly respected one in Birmingham, and when he found I wished to see something of medicine in the city he used his influence to arrange a useful day for me.Accordingly, the day before yesterday I went in with him to Birmingham, having received invitations from several physicians. We spent the day in visiting the various institutions together, and as it was my first introduction to the English medical world, and as I consider it a good omen, I must describe our doings particularly.Mr. Parker, surgeon to the Queen’s Hospital, had some difficulty in believing that it was not an ideal being that was spoken of; but when he found I was really and truly a living woman he sent me an invitation to witness the amputation he was going to perform, and promised to show me all the arrangements of the institution, sending also a note of admission to the college and museum. Dr. Evans, a distinguished physician, invited me to the General Hospital, the largest and oldest one, and expressed much sympathy in my undertaking. Dr. McKay, of the Lying-in Hospital, thought that God and Nature had indicated the unfitness of women for such a pursuit as I had chosen, but still said he would be very happy to show the lady all he could. All the students were on thequi viveto see the lady surgeon, and as we approached the building I saw them peeping through doors and windows. Mr. Parker, a fat, rosy-faced John Bull, received me very politely, introduced me to some M.D.’s who had come to see the sight, showed me the arrangements of the hospital, which is young and not particularly interesting, and then took me to the operating-room. It was crammed with students, and as fresh ones arrived they would peep about, whisper to their neighbours, and then work their way to a place where they could see me. It was just a repetition of old scenes; a few minutes’ curiosity, and then all went on as usual. The students presented the same mixture of faces as our American ones, wore rather better coats, and seemed to be quicker in their movements. I notednothing peculiar in the operation, which was skilfully performed, without chloroform, which Mr. Parker disliked. Before leaving, he offered me a letter to the famous Roux of Paris.At the General Hospital, established sixty years, Dr. Heslop received me with the utmost deference, showed me every ward, male and female, pointed out every case of note, let me examine it, and detailed the treatment, particularly one operation for subclavian aneurism, which was so remarkable that they were going to publish the case. Dr. Percy, of Birmingham, a particular friend of S., has promised to meet me in London, and to furnish me with all the necessary introduction to give me an insight into the medical world of the great metropolis. So I look forward now with great hope to a short but delightful visit, and leave for London next Saturday, the 12th, to await my passports, which I shall probably receive with letters on the 16th, and then off again for the land of dancing and wooden shoes. I heard the cuckoo this morning; what a soft human sound it is! Last night the nightingales were singing sweetly in the twilight. Our garden is full of lovely English flowers; the primrose and cowslip, laurustinea, and many others make our garden beautiful, though the weather is a most cold, gloomy nurse to the little darlings.May 17.—We left Portway yesterday afternoon. I parted from our friends with great regret; we were getting used to one another; a home feeling was growing up there to me, and so it was time to be off. We arrived late in London, so I could only remark the many handsome houses in gardens that marked its environs, the fine and spacious orderly railway station, the wide streets and gay shops. This morning, after seeing Dr. Percy, Cousin S.’s friend, who has promised to give me the necessary introductions to the hospitals to-morrow, wewalked about five miles through the city before reaching Mrs. X.’s house in Devonshire Street. During our walk we passed through many handsome squares with monuments and public buildings, not an isolated one, as with us, but row after row of grand pillared edifices, whole streets of palaces, substantial, built of freestone, but all rendered dingy by smoke, which permeates the atmosphere and penetrates everywhere. The most venerable pile of Westminster Abbey is crumbling with age; the cathedral service was being chanted when we entered; the central space was filled with people. The aisles are in the form of a cross, bordered by tall pillars rising lofty and plain to support the long vistas of arches. The spaces are filled up by a wilderness of monuments, a subdued light pouring in, a cool, stony atmosphere filling the cathedral. It is a noble old building, and has impressed me more than anything I’ve seen. From Westminster Bridge I saw the new Houses of Parliament—an immense pile, the ornaments too delicate for its size. The poor little river was covered with boats, and the bridge with people enjoying the Sunday; but London was much quieter than I supposed it would be. I noticed but one ‘confectionery store’ partly open; the day seemed to be very strictly observed. We walked through Regent Street, and through endless rows of handsome houses constituting the ‘West End,’ to Mrs. X.’s. We were shown in by a footman in crimson plush breeches, white stockings, and claret-coloured coat with gold buttons, to the drawing-rooms—the walls lined with figured crimson velvet, and all manner of lounges and tables covered with knick-knackery scattered about. The lady made her appearance in a blue and black satin dress with jet ornaments and a lace headdress—a handsome brunette, with red cheeks and very black eyes and hair, and altogether too much mannerism to please me. She wasevidently criticising me, and holding herself in a non-committal attitude. I sat still and talked very quietly, thinking to myself that if I were condemned to live there one week I should overturn the lady and smash everything to atoms. Presently a few fashionable morning visitors dropped in to condole with the lady, who had scratched her throat by swallowing a mouthful too hastily, and so was aninvalid; some messages of inquiry and condolence were delivered by an old, grave footman, so very silly, and answered in so absurd a manner, that I wondered how the man could keep a grave countenance; and yet the lady had wit and spirit which occasionally flashed out. Sir J. H. came in with Dr. H. to see me. I had a little very pleasant talk, and am to meet him on Tuesday. We descended to lunch, ladies sitting down in their bonnets. The dining-room and library had ceilings beautifully painted to imitate the sky with clouds; the whole house was hung with paintings. The lady’s manner grew gradually pleasanter; she seemed to like me, admired my hand, and insisted on my drinking a glass of wine—the first I ever took. I told her so, and she was much pleased at her influence. She took us in her barouche through Regent’s Park, and then extended her drive to Hyde Park. These parks are very beautiful—miles of grassy lawn, scattered over with groves, gardens, and clumps of trees, with occasional water, and varied with little valleys. They are surrounded by rows of palace houses, sometimes approaching the carriage road, sometimes lost in gardens and shrubbery. I did enjoy to see the people walking about, sitting under the trees, inhaling a little fresh air on the quiet Sunday, for the most perfect order prevailed. Our hostess became quite agreeable, laughed, and chatted merrily about all manner of nothings. It was impossible to converse with her; she must do the talking with a little support, and she gaveforth a good deal of shrewd worldly wisdom. She set us down at the Zoological Gardens in Regent’s Park, with many regrets that an engagement to a dinner-party in the country prevented her asking me home, and the expression of a strong desire to have a long, full conversation.Monday, May 1849.—This morning I called on Dr. Carpenter, who has written those admirable works on physiology. He lives near Regent’s Park; it was sparkling with dew as I walked through—refreshingly sweet. I found him and his wife exceedingly agreeable. I liked them at once. They questioned me with great interest about my past course. I am to meet some distinguished people at their house to-night, and among them a Miss Gillies, an artist who has watched my steps with the highest pleasure, and who thinks the only true livers are the workers. I received several notes of introduction from Dr. C. He says I must hear Mr. Paget lecture; that he is the most promising surgeon in England. I found an invitation to a pharmaceuticalsoiréeawaiting me on my return, with the information that I might see all the distinguished M.D.’s there assembled.Evening.—I have just returned from Dr. C.’s delightful little party. The ladies were in regular ball costume; some dresses very elegant; dancing to the piano; music, vocal and instrumental. Dr. C. gave us a very beautiful piece of Mendelssohn’s on the organ; he and his wife sang together with great feeling. His microscopes, said to be the most beautiful in England, were there. His preparations were exquisite: the lung of a frog most minutely injected, a piece of shark skin which seems covered with innumerable teeth, and piles of other specimens. Miss Gillies is a distinguished artist. I am to visit her and see her relation, Dr. Southwood Smith. Chapman, the well-known publisher, was present, and talked a good deal to me, but seemed a little undecidedwhat tone to take. He has a very handsome, intellectual face. I was introduced to many pleasant people; one had the rare, beautiful face of Cowper’s mother. Great interest seemed to be felt in my course.Before going to Dr. C.’s I went to examine the specimens collected for the pharmaceuticalsoirée. I was surprised to find that thepapier-mâchémodels have been hitherto unknown in England, and that the people were regarding with the utmost rapture specimens which are in common use in all American colleges. Sir J. H. drove us to the Consumption Hospital and the Chelsea Botanical Gardens—a most kind-hearted, simple-mannered old gentleman....Dr. Percy secured me a great treat. I visited the Hunterian Museum in company with Mr. Owen, who lectures at the institution. It is said to be the finest collection of comparative and morbid anatomy in the world. Mr. Owen is a man of genius, and the hour passed away like a minute while listening to his eloquent descriptions of the fossil remains and the laws which related them to living animals, to man, and to the globe. He invited me to come any morning between ten and twelve, but unfortunately my time is too crowded. The obstetric collection is very fine; if I return through London I shall certainly try to spend a week or two in examining it.We next took the railroad and went to Greenwich, choosing the third-class open cars that I might see the country, which is laid out in market gardens richly cultivated, all round London, though the city, stretching out through Deptford to Greenwich, makes one uninterrupted town in that direction. Greenwich Hospital for Sailors has impressed me more than any other institution with the power and wealth of the nation. It is a series of great palaces, connected by colonnades with double rows of pillars ranged round a large green open to the river,with the park and observatory in the background. The old sailors were hobbling about in comfortable dresses, with enormous rations of bread and meat; for we reached it just at dinner-time, and they were allowed to take their meals and eat in their cabins. There are long walks where they smoke, and they rove about in the freest style. Their chapel is a very beautiful hall, though I fear the rich painting and mosaic is lost on the rough tars. The Painted Hall is immediately opposite; the vaulted ceiling is covered with figures which are larger than life, even from below; the walls are entirely covered with large paintings, richly framed, of naval engagements and naval heroes, and many relics of the great commanders are preserved in cases. The park is always open to the public; groups of women and children were sitting under the fine old trees, and the deer were so tame that they took no notice of passers-by. We sailed up the river to Waterloo Bridge, passing the Tower and St. Paul’s, and several handsome stone bridges. Then we went over the British Museum, which is thrown open to the public. We had only time to pass rapidly through hall after hall devoted to branches of natural science, Egyptian monuments, Grecian remains, &c., all admirably classified, with a label to every specimen. How I longed that our students, and particularly a certain E. B., could enjoy the great advantage of walking to such an institution, and seeing each object of study actually there in its natural relations! I hastened home to wash and dress, and reached Mrs. X.’s just in time for the seven o’clock dinner. It was a tremendous operation. We sat at table for three hours. I really grew stiff, notwithstanding the champagne I drank. By-the-by, that is the only wine I like; iced champagne is really good. I sat by Sir J. H. at table, and never discovered till I had left that it was actually mother’sold friend. He told Charles that he knew my mother, and remembered my face perfectly, having often seen me at church. I regretted exceedingly that I did not know the connection till too late, for I had always liked the kind old gentleman, and he would have seemed to me quite like an old friend. He has been rather unfortunate in money matters lately, and was robbed of all his family jewels by a foreign count and countess whom he was hospitably entertaining. He possesses an old château in France, which he often visits, and gave me his card to use at Boulogne, in case I went that way. The general conversation, however, was stupid, and I really needed our three-mile walk home to wear off its constraining effects.Thursday morning I visited my first hospital, St. Thomas’s, but under rather unpleasant circumstances; indeed, I hesitated whether to go at all. The surgeon to whom I sent my letter of introduction knew nothing about me, thought it was a very indelicate undertaking, and simply sent me a line to one of the nurses, with the request that I would not enter any of the men’s wards. I swallowed the indignity, however, and went, feeling very uncomfortable. But to my surprise, after I had been there a little while I was met by Mr. South, the senior surgeon, who had come on purpose to meet me and show me everything—a very kind, rather eccentric man, who paid me the utmost attention, and pointed out everything, even to the everlasting brewhouse of the establishment. In the museum he drew my attention to many noteworthy specimens, such as the aorta tied by Sir Astley Cooper. St. Thomas’s is a series of enormous buildings, which is the character of most public institutions here; its income is 30,000l.per annum, and some hospitals have even more. Then he invited me to attend his clinical lecture; so at the head of a large body of students, who had been peeping at me in every direction,I passed with him through ward after ward, men’s and women’s, the students preserving the most perfect order, though I could see that they were filled with the intensest curiosity. He gave me the fullest description of interesting cases, and made me examine several. He left his students to the house-surgeon, and accompanied me to the Barclay Brewery—an enormous affair, quite a national curiosity. It was here that the brutal Haynau, whilst visiting the place a short time ago, was mobbed by the men when they heard who had come amongst them, and barely escaped some very rough usage. My courteous escort left me in the kindliest manner, promising me an introduction to the Bethlehem. While at St. Thomas’s I received three invitations topost-mortems, to a lecture, and to the Ophthalmic Dispensary, all of which I was compelled to decline for want of time.At the brewery visitors enter their names. I set mine down without the M.D.; Mr. South insisted on my adding it. I have been asked by physicians again and again if they shall call me doctor—they fully recognise my right. I always answer this question in the affirmative, as a matter of principle. I can hardly describe to you the difference of feeling with which I entered and left the hospital. We walked a couple of miles to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Charles T., an elegant household, though without the fetters of fashion; they welcomed me most kindly. My two remaining days will be very busy: I have two or three hospitals to visit and several people to see; indeed, engagement treads upon engagement, so that I’ve hardly a moment to think. I thought such excitement would have bothered me intensely. It did at first bewilder, but now I’ve roused myself to meet it and I really enjoy it. I’ve never had such an experience; I must have walked ten miles a day. I come home sometimes hardly able to move a foot; Iwash and dress, and in an hour I’m up again and fresh for as much more—the more I have to do, the more I can. I believe I’ve never yet begun to call out my power of working.The girl has just come in with my letters, passport, and papers by the ‘Europa’—what a good sight! Bless you all ten thousand times! My next letter will probably be from Paris....... I have had a delightful visit to Hampstead, where Dr. Wilkinson lives. He received me at once with the greatest kindness and interest, introduced me to his wife, a very sweet woman, graceful and gentle, and to some very pretty black-eyed children. He was disappointed that my stay was so short; told me I ought certainly to spend a year in London, that the longer he lived in it the more wonderful it seemed to him, that every idea was represented there not by a single individual but by a whole class, and that the societies I might study there would be of great service to me as a means of development. He is a tall, strong man, not handsome, wears spectacles, and has a strong expression of goodness in his face. He took me to see two people who were desirous of making my acquaintance, and showed me all the fine points of view from Hampstead, which truly is a most lovely spot, though only two miles from London. It is a hilly range, looking down on wide undulating country on both sides, with blue hills in the distance—Windsor Castle being distinctly visible twenty miles off. I cannot describe the place; it seems to have built itself in one of Nature’s choicest nooks. There is a common covered with golden gorse, broken by little dells in which pretty cottages are nestled, and there are old mansions hidden in noble parks, old walls covered with luxuriant ivy, shady lanes with long avenues of trees and smooth hedges of hawthorn and laurel, fields covered with arich carpet golden with buttercups and daisies, the cows quietly feeding in a veritable paradise to them. Then there are all manner of odd corners and irregular clusters of houses, but everywhere the most intense vegetation. The little cottage occupied by Byron, who used often to resort to this lovely spot, was pointed out to me, and Harrow, where he went to school. We had much interesting conversation. In the omnibus I parted from the doctor with real regret, but quite refreshed by the cordial intercourse.
Portway: May 2, 1849.
Thanks be to Heaven, I am on land once more, and never do I wish again to experience that hideous nightmare—a voyage across the ocean. We had the warmest welcome at my cousin’s pleasant home.... I went one afternoon to see the casting—that is, when the melted iron, like a river of fire, flows into the moulds which shape it. The Russel Hall Works are close by the town of Dudley. There is a wide extent of smoky country, with many little groups of machinery and brick buildings, each constituting or rather surrounding a pit; many mounds of glowing coal turning into coke; piles of ironstone being burned previous to the smelting; the houses of the managers in various directions, the office at the entrance; and immediately in front the two great blast-furnaces, which burn incessantly day and night, making many thousands of tons a year. Very few workmen were to be seen, but underground a whole army of them were hard at work. The casting was very curious. Twice a day the melted iron is drawn off from the bottom of the great brick towers they call furnaces. Strong men with faces as black and scorched as a coal were busy, armed with iron poles, guiding the sea of fire that rushed out into the moulds that covered a great extent of ground, drawing out the white-hot masses of cinders and dirt, and splashing cold water over the front of the furnace to enable them to stand there. We remained at the farther end, but the heat was so great that we had to cover our faces. Suddenly, with a loud noise, the flames burst out from the furnaces, ascending to the very top, immense volumes of black smoke rolled over our heads, and the rushing noise grew louder and louder. I thought some accident had occurred, and looked out for the safest retreat, when I found it was only the clearing ofthe furnaces by sending a powerful blast through them, which was always practised after a casting. Within a square of twelve miles one-sixth of the iron used in the world is said to be made.... I paid a visit to Dudley Castle, having a great curiosity to see a veritable old castle, a ruined castle; and I explored every corner, looked up the broad chimneys, and peeped out of the stone window frames and loopholes with a feeling of true antiquarian enthusiasm. We sat down on a stone bench at the foot of the keep, which is very old, and on a little hill on the western side of the courtyard; there we tried to revive the scene as it may have looked hundreds of years ago, when armed men were bustling about the court, and visions of fair ladies gleaming from the upper windows and now ruined terraces. The castle crowns a wooded hill, commanding the town and level country for many miles; the remains of a double wall with a moat between still surround the castle. As I stood by those strong walls and looked down on the wide fields below, I began to imagine how grandly an army would approach, and how noble a defence the castle would make, till I longed to revive the ancient conflicts, and almost frightened my companions by my martial demonstrations and visions of grim warriors peeping through the iron-barred windows. But the illusion could not last long; the country is covered with smoke and coal-pits, the wallflower is smiling on the ruins of the old castle, and instead of subterranean dungeons and dark passages the hill is excavated for limestone; and these artificial caverns of enormous extent, with a canal winding through them and echoing to the voices of the workmen, form one of the most curious features of the place, and show how the same energy and power are still at work, though in a very different direction. We drove home through the little town of Dudley, whichpresented a most curious spectacle, for it was market day, and the workmen from all the country round, having received their wages, were come in with their wives and children to make their weekly purchases. The streets were crammed with people, and our carriage made its way through a living mass that hardly opened to let it through. I examined the people, as I have constantly done since I entered the country, with great curiosity. I could not see one handsome face in the whole multitude—indeed, the English appear to me a very common-looking people—but neither was I struck by the misery I expected to see. In Liverpool I had peered into all the back alleys and odd corners I could find; I have done the same in Dudley. There is great cleanliness observed everywhere, that compares most favourably with American cities, and the inhabitants of those districts, though miserable, of course, according to a true standard of human life, were neither more numerous nor more wretched than I have been accustomed to see in America. I have very rarely seen a beggar, and in no instance one that has particularly excited my compassion. This district is one of the most thickly peopled in England, and certainly presents an average view of the mining districts, and the poor labourers seem far more comfortable and intelligent than I had supposed. The manufacturing districts, I have no doubt, would present a different spectacle. I have had no opportunity of judging them. I have just learned to my great satisfaction that Mr. Charles Plevins, an old friend of my cousin, is going to London for a few days, and will escort me there and remain during my stay. I can hardly tell you what a relief this is, for the idea of going to that great city an entire stranger, and wandering about it utterly alone, was a most desolate, oppressive thought, and entirely destroyed all the pleasure of the anticipation,though I assumed a very independent tone in speaking of my journey when I found it was utterly impossible for cousin to accompany me. He is an old friend of cousin’s, though young—only twenty-five—and there is an air of youth and immaturity about all his opinions and actions; but his spirit is so beautiful that you have only to see in order to love it, so pure and gentle, so true and genial. In my opinion he belongs to a class of young Englishmen that I find is large and constantly increasing. Cousin S. is one of them. They are reformers in spirit, but not destroyers; they have no clear immediate plan of reform, and so earnestly maintain the present system until they find a better one; but they are all the time seeking for truth, and longing most earnestly to realise that grand future in which they all believe. Fichte is one of their favourite teachers; Carlyle, Emerson, Channing, all we have known and learned from in the past, they worship now; but they have yet to study Fourier and Swedenborg before they can reach that strong hope and clear insight which will make their working strong, happy, and practically efficient. Now, there is too much of metaphysical abstraction in their thoughts, their religious faith is not a glorious reality, and in the case of our friend Charles, he despises the material world too much, and seeks to subdue the body and purify the spirit by privations which proceed from the noblest motive but a mistaken faith.
I have a curious interest in seeing and hearing him; it revives so completely my earlier life, when I thought as he does now, and strove for the same ends by the same means. My medical effort won his admiration before I arrived, and since I came here he has done me every little service in his power. His family is an old and highly respected one in Birmingham, and when he found I wished to see something of medicine in the city he used his influence to arrange a useful day for me.Accordingly, the day before yesterday I went in with him to Birmingham, having received invitations from several physicians. We spent the day in visiting the various institutions together, and as it was my first introduction to the English medical world, and as I consider it a good omen, I must describe our doings particularly.
Mr. Parker, surgeon to the Queen’s Hospital, had some difficulty in believing that it was not an ideal being that was spoken of; but when he found I was really and truly a living woman he sent me an invitation to witness the amputation he was going to perform, and promised to show me all the arrangements of the institution, sending also a note of admission to the college and museum. Dr. Evans, a distinguished physician, invited me to the General Hospital, the largest and oldest one, and expressed much sympathy in my undertaking. Dr. McKay, of the Lying-in Hospital, thought that God and Nature had indicated the unfitness of women for such a pursuit as I had chosen, but still said he would be very happy to show the lady all he could. All the students were on thequi viveto see the lady surgeon, and as we approached the building I saw them peeping through doors and windows. Mr. Parker, a fat, rosy-faced John Bull, received me very politely, introduced me to some M.D.’s who had come to see the sight, showed me the arrangements of the hospital, which is young and not particularly interesting, and then took me to the operating-room. It was crammed with students, and as fresh ones arrived they would peep about, whisper to their neighbours, and then work their way to a place where they could see me. It was just a repetition of old scenes; a few minutes’ curiosity, and then all went on as usual. The students presented the same mixture of faces as our American ones, wore rather better coats, and seemed to be quicker in their movements. I notednothing peculiar in the operation, which was skilfully performed, without chloroform, which Mr. Parker disliked. Before leaving, he offered me a letter to the famous Roux of Paris.
At the General Hospital, established sixty years, Dr. Heslop received me with the utmost deference, showed me every ward, male and female, pointed out every case of note, let me examine it, and detailed the treatment, particularly one operation for subclavian aneurism, which was so remarkable that they were going to publish the case. Dr. Percy, of Birmingham, a particular friend of S., has promised to meet me in London, and to furnish me with all the necessary introduction to give me an insight into the medical world of the great metropolis. So I look forward now with great hope to a short but delightful visit, and leave for London next Saturday, the 12th, to await my passports, which I shall probably receive with letters on the 16th, and then off again for the land of dancing and wooden shoes. I heard the cuckoo this morning; what a soft human sound it is! Last night the nightingales were singing sweetly in the twilight. Our garden is full of lovely English flowers; the primrose and cowslip, laurustinea, and many others make our garden beautiful, though the weather is a most cold, gloomy nurse to the little darlings.
May 17.—We left Portway yesterday afternoon. I parted from our friends with great regret; we were getting used to one another; a home feeling was growing up there to me, and so it was time to be off. We arrived late in London, so I could only remark the many handsome houses in gardens that marked its environs, the fine and spacious orderly railway station, the wide streets and gay shops. This morning, after seeing Dr. Percy, Cousin S.’s friend, who has promised to give me the necessary introductions to the hospitals to-morrow, wewalked about five miles through the city before reaching Mrs. X.’s house in Devonshire Street. During our walk we passed through many handsome squares with monuments and public buildings, not an isolated one, as with us, but row after row of grand pillared edifices, whole streets of palaces, substantial, built of freestone, but all rendered dingy by smoke, which permeates the atmosphere and penetrates everywhere. The most venerable pile of Westminster Abbey is crumbling with age; the cathedral service was being chanted when we entered; the central space was filled with people. The aisles are in the form of a cross, bordered by tall pillars rising lofty and plain to support the long vistas of arches. The spaces are filled up by a wilderness of monuments, a subdued light pouring in, a cool, stony atmosphere filling the cathedral. It is a noble old building, and has impressed me more than anything I’ve seen. From Westminster Bridge I saw the new Houses of Parliament—an immense pile, the ornaments too delicate for its size. The poor little river was covered with boats, and the bridge with people enjoying the Sunday; but London was much quieter than I supposed it would be. I noticed but one ‘confectionery store’ partly open; the day seemed to be very strictly observed. We walked through Regent Street, and through endless rows of handsome houses constituting the ‘West End,’ to Mrs. X.’s. We were shown in by a footman in crimson plush breeches, white stockings, and claret-coloured coat with gold buttons, to the drawing-rooms—the walls lined with figured crimson velvet, and all manner of lounges and tables covered with knick-knackery scattered about. The lady made her appearance in a blue and black satin dress with jet ornaments and a lace headdress—a handsome brunette, with red cheeks and very black eyes and hair, and altogether too much mannerism to please me. She wasevidently criticising me, and holding herself in a non-committal attitude. I sat still and talked very quietly, thinking to myself that if I were condemned to live there one week I should overturn the lady and smash everything to atoms. Presently a few fashionable morning visitors dropped in to condole with the lady, who had scratched her throat by swallowing a mouthful too hastily, and so was aninvalid; some messages of inquiry and condolence were delivered by an old, grave footman, so very silly, and answered in so absurd a manner, that I wondered how the man could keep a grave countenance; and yet the lady had wit and spirit which occasionally flashed out. Sir J. H. came in with Dr. H. to see me. I had a little very pleasant talk, and am to meet him on Tuesday. We descended to lunch, ladies sitting down in their bonnets. The dining-room and library had ceilings beautifully painted to imitate the sky with clouds; the whole house was hung with paintings. The lady’s manner grew gradually pleasanter; she seemed to like me, admired my hand, and insisted on my drinking a glass of wine—the first I ever took. I told her so, and she was much pleased at her influence. She took us in her barouche through Regent’s Park, and then extended her drive to Hyde Park. These parks are very beautiful—miles of grassy lawn, scattered over with groves, gardens, and clumps of trees, with occasional water, and varied with little valleys. They are surrounded by rows of palace houses, sometimes approaching the carriage road, sometimes lost in gardens and shrubbery. I did enjoy to see the people walking about, sitting under the trees, inhaling a little fresh air on the quiet Sunday, for the most perfect order prevailed. Our hostess became quite agreeable, laughed, and chatted merrily about all manner of nothings. It was impossible to converse with her; she must do the talking with a little support, and she gaveforth a good deal of shrewd worldly wisdom. She set us down at the Zoological Gardens in Regent’s Park, with many regrets that an engagement to a dinner-party in the country prevented her asking me home, and the expression of a strong desire to have a long, full conversation.
Monday, May 1849.—This morning I called on Dr. Carpenter, who has written those admirable works on physiology. He lives near Regent’s Park; it was sparkling with dew as I walked through—refreshingly sweet. I found him and his wife exceedingly agreeable. I liked them at once. They questioned me with great interest about my past course. I am to meet some distinguished people at their house to-night, and among them a Miss Gillies, an artist who has watched my steps with the highest pleasure, and who thinks the only true livers are the workers. I received several notes of introduction from Dr. C. He says I must hear Mr. Paget lecture; that he is the most promising surgeon in England. I found an invitation to a pharmaceuticalsoiréeawaiting me on my return, with the information that I might see all the distinguished M.D.’s there assembled.
Evening.—I have just returned from Dr. C.’s delightful little party. The ladies were in regular ball costume; some dresses very elegant; dancing to the piano; music, vocal and instrumental. Dr. C. gave us a very beautiful piece of Mendelssohn’s on the organ; he and his wife sang together with great feeling. His microscopes, said to be the most beautiful in England, were there. His preparations were exquisite: the lung of a frog most minutely injected, a piece of shark skin which seems covered with innumerable teeth, and piles of other specimens. Miss Gillies is a distinguished artist. I am to visit her and see her relation, Dr. Southwood Smith. Chapman, the well-known publisher, was present, and talked a good deal to me, but seemed a little undecidedwhat tone to take. He has a very handsome, intellectual face. I was introduced to many pleasant people; one had the rare, beautiful face of Cowper’s mother. Great interest seemed to be felt in my course.
Before going to Dr. C.’s I went to examine the specimens collected for the pharmaceuticalsoirée. I was surprised to find that thepapier-mâchémodels have been hitherto unknown in England, and that the people were regarding with the utmost rapture specimens which are in common use in all American colleges. Sir J. H. drove us to the Consumption Hospital and the Chelsea Botanical Gardens—a most kind-hearted, simple-mannered old gentleman....
Dr. Percy secured me a great treat. I visited the Hunterian Museum in company with Mr. Owen, who lectures at the institution. It is said to be the finest collection of comparative and morbid anatomy in the world. Mr. Owen is a man of genius, and the hour passed away like a minute while listening to his eloquent descriptions of the fossil remains and the laws which related them to living animals, to man, and to the globe. He invited me to come any morning between ten and twelve, but unfortunately my time is too crowded. The obstetric collection is very fine; if I return through London I shall certainly try to spend a week or two in examining it.
We next took the railroad and went to Greenwich, choosing the third-class open cars that I might see the country, which is laid out in market gardens richly cultivated, all round London, though the city, stretching out through Deptford to Greenwich, makes one uninterrupted town in that direction. Greenwich Hospital for Sailors has impressed me more than any other institution with the power and wealth of the nation. It is a series of great palaces, connected by colonnades with double rows of pillars ranged round a large green open to the river,with the park and observatory in the background. The old sailors were hobbling about in comfortable dresses, with enormous rations of bread and meat; for we reached it just at dinner-time, and they were allowed to take their meals and eat in their cabins. There are long walks where they smoke, and they rove about in the freest style. Their chapel is a very beautiful hall, though I fear the rich painting and mosaic is lost on the rough tars. The Painted Hall is immediately opposite; the vaulted ceiling is covered with figures which are larger than life, even from below; the walls are entirely covered with large paintings, richly framed, of naval engagements and naval heroes, and many relics of the great commanders are preserved in cases. The park is always open to the public; groups of women and children were sitting under the fine old trees, and the deer were so tame that they took no notice of passers-by. We sailed up the river to Waterloo Bridge, passing the Tower and St. Paul’s, and several handsome stone bridges. Then we went over the British Museum, which is thrown open to the public. We had only time to pass rapidly through hall after hall devoted to branches of natural science, Egyptian monuments, Grecian remains, &c., all admirably classified, with a label to every specimen. How I longed that our students, and particularly a certain E. B., could enjoy the great advantage of walking to such an institution, and seeing each object of study actually there in its natural relations! I hastened home to wash and dress, and reached Mrs. X.’s just in time for the seven o’clock dinner. It was a tremendous operation. We sat at table for three hours. I really grew stiff, notwithstanding the champagne I drank. By-the-by, that is the only wine I like; iced champagne is really good. I sat by Sir J. H. at table, and never discovered till I had left that it was actually mother’sold friend. He told Charles that he knew my mother, and remembered my face perfectly, having often seen me at church. I regretted exceedingly that I did not know the connection till too late, for I had always liked the kind old gentleman, and he would have seemed to me quite like an old friend. He has been rather unfortunate in money matters lately, and was robbed of all his family jewels by a foreign count and countess whom he was hospitably entertaining. He possesses an old château in France, which he often visits, and gave me his card to use at Boulogne, in case I went that way. The general conversation, however, was stupid, and I really needed our three-mile walk home to wear off its constraining effects.
Thursday morning I visited my first hospital, St. Thomas’s, but under rather unpleasant circumstances; indeed, I hesitated whether to go at all. The surgeon to whom I sent my letter of introduction knew nothing about me, thought it was a very indelicate undertaking, and simply sent me a line to one of the nurses, with the request that I would not enter any of the men’s wards. I swallowed the indignity, however, and went, feeling very uncomfortable. But to my surprise, after I had been there a little while I was met by Mr. South, the senior surgeon, who had come on purpose to meet me and show me everything—a very kind, rather eccentric man, who paid me the utmost attention, and pointed out everything, even to the everlasting brewhouse of the establishment. In the museum he drew my attention to many noteworthy specimens, such as the aorta tied by Sir Astley Cooper. St. Thomas’s is a series of enormous buildings, which is the character of most public institutions here; its income is 30,000l.per annum, and some hospitals have even more. Then he invited me to attend his clinical lecture; so at the head of a large body of students, who had been peeping at me in every direction,I passed with him through ward after ward, men’s and women’s, the students preserving the most perfect order, though I could see that they were filled with the intensest curiosity. He gave me the fullest description of interesting cases, and made me examine several. He left his students to the house-surgeon, and accompanied me to the Barclay Brewery—an enormous affair, quite a national curiosity. It was here that the brutal Haynau, whilst visiting the place a short time ago, was mobbed by the men when they heard who had come amongst them, and barely escaped some very rough usage. My courteous escort left me in the kindliest manner, promising me an introduction to the Bethlehem. While at St. Thomas’s I received three invitations topost-mortems, to a lecture, and to the Ophthalmic Dispensary, all of which I was compelled to decline for want of time.
At the brewery visitors enter their names. I set mine down without the M.D.; Mr. South insisted on my adding it. I have been asked by physicians again and again if they shall call me doctor—they fully recognise my right. I always answer this question in the affirmative, as a matter of principle. I can hardly describe to you the difference of feeling with which I entered and left the hospital. We walked a couple of miles to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Charles T., an elegant household, though without the fetters of fashion; they welcomed me most kindly. My two remaining days will be very busy: I have two or three hospitals to visit and several people to see; indeed, engagement treads upon engagement, so that I’ve hardly a moment to think. I thought such excitement would have bothered me intensely. It did at first bewilder, but now I’ve roused myself to meet it and I really enjoy it. I’ve never had such an experience; I must have walked ten miles a day. I come home sometimes hardly able to move a foot; Iwash and dress, and in an hour I’m up again and fresh for as much more—the more I have to do, the more I can. I believe I’ve never yet begun to call out my power of working.
The girl has just come in with my letters, passport, and papers by the ‘Europa’—what a good sight! Bless you all ten thousand times! My next letter will probably be from Paris....
... I have had a delightful visit to Hampstead, where Dr. Wilkinson lives. He received me at once with the greatest kindness and interest, introduced me to his wife, a very sweet woman, graceful and gentle, and to some very pretty black-eyed children. He was disappointed that my stay was so short; told me I ought certainly to spend a year in London, that the longer he lived in it the more wonderful it seemed to him, that every idea was represented there not by a single individual but by a whole class, and that the societies I might study there would be of great service to me as a means of development. He is a tall, strong man, not handsome, wears spectacles, and has a strong expression of goodness in his face. He took me to see two people who were desirous of making my acquaintance, and showed me all the fine points of view from Hampstead, which truly is a most lovely spot, though only two miles from London. It is a hilly range, looking down on wide undulating country on both sides, with blue hills in the distance—Windsor Castle being distinctly visible twenty miles off. I cannot describe the place; it seems to have built itself in one of Nature’s choicest nooks. There is a common covered with golden gorse, broken by little dells in which pretty cottages are nestled, and there are old mansions hidden in noble parks, old walls covered with luxuriant ivy, shady lanes with long avenues of trees and smooth hedges of hawthorn and laurel, fields covered with arich carpet golden with buttercups and daisies, the cows quietly feeding in a veritable paradise to them. Then there are all manner of odd corners and irregular clusters of houses, but everywhere the most intense vegetation. The little cottage occupied by Byron, who used often to resort to this lovely spot, was pointed out to me, and Harrow, where he went to school. We had much interesting conversation. In the omnibus I parted from the doctor with real regret, but quite refreshed by the cordial intercourse.
Journey to Paris.—All my teachers and medical friends in America had strongly advised my going to Paris, as the one place where I should be able to find unlimited opportunities for study in any branch of the medical art. Being then desirous of pursuing surgery as well as medicine, I followed their advice. On May 21, 1849, with a very slender purse and few introductions of any value, I found myself in the unknown world of Paris, bent upon the one object of pursuing my studies, with no idea of the fierce political passions then smouldering amongst the people, nor with any fear of the cholera which was then threatening an epidemic.
Curious glimpses of this outer world are given in letters sent home at that time.
Paris, 11 Rue de Seine: May 1849.You see, dear friends, that I have reached my destination at last, and fairly established myself in this strange city. I parted from my kind companion, who in London had spent the whole week in one continued effort to aid me in every possible way, with real gratitude. I could not thank him, words seemed too meaningless.... Ileft London with the profoundest respect for the vast power of many kinds displayed there, and a grateful remembrance of a personal reception that had been so encouraging. It rained the whole way over. An English lady returning to Paris with her husband was very friendly. She promised to show me the best place to stay at in Calais, and said if I would travel with them in the cars she could give me much information about Paris, for the French made a point of cheating the English unmercifully, thinking they were immensely wealthy. We were notified of our approach to Calais by a strong smell of fish. It was quite dark and raining in torrents; I was very glad to have companions. We picked our way as well as we could over the stone pier, enclosed by walls on which stood a lighthouse glaring into the dark night. We stepped into the rooms where the passports are examined, and there the whiskered faces showed me I was amongst strangers, and theOù allez-vous, madame?confirmed the fact. Next morning I stood for some time on the pier waiting for the Custom-house officer and watching the strange people. Market-women in their white caps (the common people wear no bonnet), groups of workmen in blue blouses, fishwomen of enormous muscular development, though short, returning from fishing laden with their nets, clad in a single petticoat scarcely reaching to the knee, little children with their school-books making sundry excursions on to the fishing-smacks by the way, and chattering French with all their might. At the Custom-house the search was very slight; they did not even see the cases which I had put at the back of a larger trunk, and I was only charged a couple of francs. We left Calais at nine o’clock, and the difference between France and England was apparent the whole way. The country was no flatter than between Liverpool and Birmingham, but badlydrained and badly cultivated, with many peat bogs and dwarf willows bordering the watercourses. There were many villages built of light-coloured stone, but apparently not one brisk, thriving town. The whole way wooden fences instead of beautiful live hedges, women digging trenches and working in the peat bogs, and the railroad left in the rough, unfinished style of America, without the excuse of an immense young country. At the Custom-house in Paris, where they search the trunks for butter and cheese, I parted from my travelling companions and launched boldly into the sea of Paris. It looked very odd as I drove along; the streets so narrow, with such odd, old-fashioned houses, all built of this light-coloured stone, which has no sort of expression. They charged extravagantly at the hotel where I passed the night, so I determined at once to procure lodgings, and set off early next morning to hunt up Mr. Doherty, who I knew through Dr. Wilkinson would tell me the right quarter for medical doings.I started off with a map in my hand and hope in my heart, and reached Mr. Doherty’s house very early, I suppose, for Parisian hours, for the gentleman was in bed when my letters were handed in; and soon after a short sleepy-looking man made his appearance, with a horrid coarse beard, a blue and red woollen dressing-gown, and green baize trousers hanging about his ankles. I had some difficulty in making him comprehend that I was not Anna. At last, however, with the help of letters and my explanations, all became clear. I found him very pleasant; he breakfasted, dressed, &c., while I talked to his brother Thomas, who is a beautiful artist. Mr. D. went with me to some places he knew of. At last we found a little room with bedroom attached in a central situation and at a moderate rent. The hostess was a very pleasant-looking woman, with her own room close by, thewhole suite being separated from the rest of the house. I felt, however, quite disappointed in the city; it did not seem to me handsome, gay, or elegant after London; but then, in truth, I was so busy settling my own little matters that I hardly had time to examine closely. To-day I have spent in walking about the city with my hostess, chiefly for the sake of chattering with her and accustoming my ear to the strange sounds, for I find I have much to learn. I have great trouble in expressing myself with any elegance, and I cannot see the physicians until I have acquired a tolerable command of words; I shall very soon, however, be able to do so. I went out to buy a bonnet to-day, but found that my unfortunate organs were totally unable to squeeze themselves into a Parisian head-dress; so I was obliged to order a bonnet, choosing plain grey silk, although I was assured again and again that nobody wore that colour....
Paris, 11 Rue de Seine: May 1849.
You see, dear friends, that I have reached my destination at last, and fairly established myself in this strange city. I parted from my kind companion, who in London had spent the whole week in one continued effort to aid me in every possible way, with real gratitude. I could not thank him, words seemed too meaningless.... Ileft London with the profoundest respect for the vast power of many kinds displayed there, and a grateful remembrance of a personal reception that had been so encouraging. It rained the whole way over. An English lady returning to Paris with her husband was very friendly. She promised to show me the best place to stay at in Calais, and said if I would travel with them in the cars she could give me much information about Paris, for the French made a point of cheating the English unmercifully, thinking they were immensely wealthy. We were notified of our approach to Calais by a strong smell of fish. It was quite dark and raining in torrents; I was very glad to have companions. We picked our way as well as we could over the stone pier, enclosed by walls on which stood a lighthouse glaring into the dark night. We stepped into the rooms where the passports are examined, and there the whiskered faces showed me I was amongst strangers, and theOù allez-vous, madame?confirmed the fact. Next morning I stood for some time on the pier waiting for the Custom-house officer and watching the strange people. Market-women in their white caps (the common people wear no bonnet), groups of workmen in blue blouses, fishwomen of enormous muscular development, though short, returning from fishing laden with their nets, clad in a single petticoat scarcely reaching to the knee, little children with their school-books making sundry excursions on to the fishing-smacks by the way, and chattering French with all their might. At the Custom-house the search was very slight; they did not even see the cases which I had put at the back of a larger trunk, and I was only charged a couple of francs. We left Calais at nine o’clock, and the difference between France and England was apparent the whole way. The country was no flatter than between Liverpool and Birmingham, but badlydrained and badly cultivated, with many peat bogs and dwarf willows bordering the watercourses. There were many villages built of light-coloured stone, but apparently not one brisk, thriving town. The whole way wooden fences instead of beautiful live hedges, women digging trenches and working in the peat bogs, and the railroad left in the rough, unfinished style of America, without the excuse of an immense young country. At the Custom-house in Paris, where they search the trunks for butter and cheese, I parted from my travelling companions and launched boldly into the sea of Paris. It looked very odd as I drove along; the streets so narrow, with such odd, old-fashioned houses, all built of this light-coloured stone, which has no sort of expression. They charged extravagantly at the hotel where I passed the night, so I determined at once to procure lodgings, and set off early next morning to hunt up Mr. Doherty, who I knew through Dr. Wilkinson would tell me the right quarter for medical doings.
I started off with a map in my hand and hope in my heart, and reached Mr. Doherty’s house very early, I suppose, for Parisian hours, for the gentleman was in bed when my letters were handed in; and soon after a short sleepy-looking man made his appearance, with a horrid coarse beard, a blue and red woollen dressing-gown, and green baize trousers hanging about his ankles. I had some difficulty in making him comprehend that I was not Anna. At last, however, with the help of letters and my explanations, all became clear. I found him very pleasant; he breakfasted, dressed, &c., while I talked to his brother Thomas, who is a beautiful artist. Mr. D. went with me to some places he knew of. At last we found a little room with bedroom attached in a central situation and at a moderate rent. The hostess was a very pleasant-looking woman, with her own room close by, thewhole suite being separated from the rest of the house. I felt, however, quite disappointed in the city; it did not seem to me handsome, gay, or elegant after London; but then, in truth, I was so busy settling my own little matters that I hardly had time to examine closely. To-day I have spent in walking about the city with my hostess, chiefly for the sake of chattering with her and accustoming my ear to the strange sounds, for I find I have much to learn. I have great trouble in expressing myself with any elegance, and I cannot see the physicians until I have acquired a tolerable command of words; I shall very soon, however, be able to do so. I went out to buy a bonnet to-day, but found that my unfortunate organs were totally unable to squeeze themselves into a Parisian head-dress; so I was obliged to order a bonnet, choosing plain grey silk, although I was assured again and again that nobody wore that colour....
An interview with Lamartine.—At this period much sympathy was felt in America for the Republican movement in France, of which Lamartine was the head. Before leaving Philadelphia a friend had asked me to be the bearer of one of those expressions of sympathy from public meetings which were then sent to the poet from all parts of the United States. I willingly undertook the commission, and now wrote to the President for permission to present the document entrusted to me.
May 31, 1849.I have just returned from my visit by appointment to Lamartine, where I went to deliver the Philadelphia resolution entrusted to me. I must hasten to give you a sketch before this post—the last—closes.Of course I dressed with great care, and arrived just at the appointed hour. I was asked if I was a lady fromAmerica, for Lamartine is to most peoplein the country. I was shown through several ante-chambers into a drawing-room, where stood the poet entertaining some visitors; he bowed, requested me to wait a few moments, and withdrew with his visitors into another room. I examined the apartment: a lofty room, carved and richly gilded, three long windows opening on to a balcony commanding a garden full of trees. The room contained a rich carpet and purple velvet couches and chairs, some portraits, an exquisite female profile in bas-relief, a golden chandelier from the ceiling, some antique vases, &c., and a soft green light from the trees of the large garden diffused through the room. The door opened and Lamartine entered; very tall and slender, but the most graceful man I have ever seen, every movement was music; grey eyes and hair. The little bust is a pretty good likeness. He has the gentlemanly voice (Uncle Charles’s), clear, melodious, perfectly well-bred. In fact, his exterior harmonised perfectly with his poetry. He understood English. Slowly and distinctly I explained the commission which had been entrusted to me. He asked me if the resolution referred to the fraternity of the race, and seemed to understand at once the whole matter when I replied in the affirmative. I referred him to the letters accompanying the resolution for full explanation respecting the document and the manner of presenting it. He said he was very happy to receive these expressions of sympathy. He would read the letters carefully and send me an answer, which I promised to transmit to America. He accompanied me very politely to the stairs, bowed, and we parted. I was in no way disappointed; there was perfect harmony in the man and his surroundings. Doubtless he is a true man, though unable to work into practice the great thoughts he cherishes.I went last night with my good little hostess to aneighbouring church, where there is service every evening. It was well lighted round the central altar, but in every direction the lofty aisles stretched away into the darkness, with an occasional lamp illuminating some saint, and small groups of dark figures kneeling on the pavement. The people were assembled in the centre—mostly the lower classes, women in their white caps, and little children dressed like miniature women; they knelt or stood, or sat on chairs and benches as the service required, generally with the utmost devotion. The little children used the holy water, crossed themselves, and knelt with their mothers, and regarded the bright lights, the flowers round the golden Virgin, and the impressive music with eager, wondering faces. The service was sung or chanted entirely in Latin; occasionally a pause in the music would be broken by the sudden, deep tones of a man’s voice away in the darkness, or a choir of boys’ voices would burst forth apparently from the clouds. The walls were covered with enormous pictures partially illuminated. I felt fully the impressiveness of this scene to the uneducated people; no thought awakened, but the emotional religious sentiment powerfully addressed; and this every night, when the solemn ceremonial contrasts so strongly and soothingly with the traffic of the day. The children are nursed in this atmosphere until it becomes a part of their nature that no reasoning can ever change.
May 31, 1849.
I have just returned from my visit by appointment to Lamartine, where I went to deliver the Philadelphia resolution entrusted to me. I must hasten to give you a sketch before this post—the last—closes.
Of course I dressed with great care, and arrived just at the appointed hour. I was asked if I was a lady fromAmerica, for Lamartine is to most peoplein the country. I was shown through several ante-chambers into a drawing-room, where stood the poet entertaining some visitors; he bowed, requested me to wait a few moments, and withdrew with his visitors into another room. I examined the apartment: a lofty room, carved and richly gilded, three long windows opening on to a balcony commanding a garden full of trees. The room contained a rich carpet and purple velvet couches and chairs, some portraits, an exquisite female profile in bas-relief, a golden chandelier from the ceiling, some antique vases, &c., and a soft green light from the trees of the large garden diffused through the room. The door opened and Lamartine entered; very tall and slender, but the most graceful man I have ever seen, every movement was music; grey eyes and hair. The little bust is a pretty good likeness. He has the gentlemanly voice (Uncle Charles’s), clear, melodious, perfectly well-bred. In fact, his exterior harmonised perfectly with his poetry. He understood English. Slowly and distinctly I explained the commission which had been entrusted to me. He asked me if the resolution referred to the fraternity of the race, and seemed to understand at once the whole matter when I replied in the affirmative. I referred him to the letters accompanying the resolution for full explanation respecting the document and the manner of presenting it. He said he was very happy to receive these expressions of sympathy. He would read the letters carefully and send me an answer, which I promised to transmit to America. He accompanied me very politely to the stairs, bowed, and we parted. I was in no way disappointed; there was perfect harmony in the man and his surroundings. Doubtless he is a true man, though unable to work into practice the great thoughts he cherishes.
I went last night with my good little hostess to aneighbouring church, where there is service every evening. It was well lighted round the central altar, but in every direction the lofty aisles stretched away into the darkness, with an occasional lamp illuminating some saint, and small groups of dark figures kneeling on the pavement. The people were assembled in the centre—mostly the lower classes, women in their white caps, and little children dressed like miniature women; they knelt or stood, or sat on chairs and benches as the service required, generally with the utmost devotion. The little children used the holy water, crossed themselves, and knelt with their mothers, and regarded the bright lights, the flowers round the golden Virgin, and the impressive music with eager, wondering faces. The service was sung or chanted entirely in Latin; occasionally a pause in the music would be broken by the sudden, deep tones of a man’s voice away in the darkness, or a choir of boys’ voices would burst forth apparently from the clouds. The walls were covered with enormous pictures partially illuminated. I felt fully the impressiveness of this scene to the uneducated people; no thought awakened, but the emotional religious sentiment powerfully addressed; and this every night, when the solemn ceremonial contrasts so strongly and soothingly with the traffic of the day. The children are nursed in this atmosphere until it becomes a part of their nature that no reasoning can ever change.
My first introduction to Paris institutions was through the visit of a public official, who brought a registration paper to be filled up. I put myself down asEtudiante. The man stared, and then standing in front of me began to make the most extraordinary grimaces, opening his eyes until the whites showed all round them. My first astonished thought was—‘Youugly little brute, what on earth are you doing that for?’ when, his manner suddenly changing on my look of astonishment, he tapped me benevolently on the shoulder, saying, ‘Mon enfant, you must not put yourself down as student—rentièreis the word you must use!’
In later life, with larger experience, I came to the conclusion that I had been interviewed by the Police des Mœurs! Fortunately at that time I knew nothing of the corrupt system of accepting and regulating female vice.
My next important interview was of a very different character. A Boston friend had procured for me, from a physician, an introduction to the famous Louis, then at the height of his reputation. It was a sealed introduction, which I forwarded with my card. The next day a tall, imposing-looking gentleman called upon me, who proved to be Louis himself. I soon felt instinctively that his visit was one of inspection. I told him frankly of my earnest desire for hospital and practical instruction. After a long conversation he most strongly advised me to enter La Maternité, where in one most important branch I could in a short time obtain more valuable practical knowledge than could be obtained anywhere else, and he informed me of the steps to be taken in order to obtain admission. Before leaving, however, M. Louis handed to me the letter of introduction which I had sent to him, saying that he thought I ought to see it. It was an astounding production, written in such wretched French that Icould only suppose that its author was unaware of its insulting character, or of the effect that such a letter delivered to a French gentleman by a young unknown woman was likely to produce. I never again presented a sealed letter of introduction. Some years later, when the distinguished physician who had sent it called upon me in New York, I returned the letter to him, with a few words of very serious remonstrance.
On June 1 one of my sisters and a friend came to Paris, and we moved into pleasant lodgings in the Rue de Fleurus overlooking the Luxembourg Garden. Whilst there I attended lectures at the Collège de France and the Jardin des Plantes, and earnestly sought for admission to some of the hospitals for practical instruction. It seemed, however, that an entrance into La Maternité would be the most direct first step in obtaining the practical instruction needed, and although regretting the delay in my surgical studies which would be involved in such a course, I finally resolved to pursue the courses of that great institution.
The following letters refer to this period of effort.
My dear Cousin.—I find that I cannot enter the Maternité at present for want of anacte de naissance. I am trying to get over the difficulty, but French regulations are so strict that it is still uncertain whether I can succeed. Would it be possible to secure in Bristol a copy of my register of baptism, with a statement of my birthday and my parents, certified by the mayor or some proper authority? I was baptised at Bridge Street byMr. Leifchild; I was born on February 3, 1821. I do not know, however, whether such a register is kept in England. If it could be procured, it would remove the difficulty which lies in my way.We find Paris a very lively residence; every day something new is occurring, or we discover some wonderful old place which we must certainly visit. One day it is the funeral celebrations of Marshal Bugeaud, at which all the great men assist, with an army of soldiers and an enormous crowd; or a thousand little girls take their first communion at St. Sulpice, dressed in white with long veils; or some grand collection of flowers or manufactured articles calls out the spectacle-loving people. There is a constant effervescence of life in this great city, which concentrates all its energy in itself, and makes the Parisians at the same time the most brilliant and the most conceited people in the world. The greatest pleasure which we have yet enjoyed was our trip last Sunday to Versailles; it is really a place to be proud of, and I could not wonder at the worship which is paid to that beautiful temple by the people who, day after day, range freely through its grand galleries and spacious gardens.I received to-day a very pleasant letter from Dr. Webster, one of our professors at Geneva; I was much gratified to find that their course to me has been approved by the profession in America. It would have grieved me inexpressibly if they had been condemned for the aid they had given me, and there seemed to be some possibility of it when I left. But he tells me my thesis was commented on in the Report on Medicine at the National Medical Convention held in Boston, and their course in relation to me justified and approved. The thesis was received with applause. This information is quite a relief to me, for the thought would be too painful that you could injure your friends.June 15.Dear Cousin,—By the first of July, as soon as I have conquered some miserable little difficulties, such as theacte de naissance, certificate of vaccination, &c., which I cannot produce, I shall enter La Maternité, a world-famous institution, and remain until I have succeeded in my first object—viz. to become an accomplished obstetrician. There are personal objections connected with this course that I was not prepared for—viz. a strict imprisonment, very poor lodging and food, some rather menial services, and the loss of three or four nights’ sleep every week. Still, these are things that can be borne (if the health will stand them) when the end to be gained is an important one; and I am sure you will agree with me that it is wise to sacrifice physical comfort for a while in order to attain it. I propose to remain there three months, and then I shall try and accomplish my second object—viz. surgery.I hope in a day or two to receive permission from the Directeur-General, M. Davenne, to examine all the hospitals of Paris. I am working on gradually; but I find more clearly every day that the genius of the French nation does not suit me, and my love for the Anglo-Saxon race, and my admiration for our wonderful Fatherland, increase by the comparison....We have had a strange glimpse of a revolution, a sort of theatrical representation of what that terrible thing might be. I confess that the whole exhibition seemed to me peculiarly French; and yet there are noble and terrible passions, lying below this mercurial excitability, that command hearty sympathy or serious consideration, and the unjust, tyrannical acts of the Government excite one’s strongest indignation. Now all is quiet again, however, and the whole affair is said to have been planned by the authorities to get rid of certain troublesome men.A. and E. have stood the shock well, though they turned quite pale on finding as they were quietly parading the streets that they were in the midst of anémeute, and later I was sent out to see if they had not better instantly return to England, before civil war broke out and their throats were cut....On the afternoon of the 13th E. and I went out to see the curious sight. The Quai to the National Assembly, more than a mile long, was lined with soldiers with their drawn bayonets. The Louvre and the Tuileries opposite were closed and filled with soldiers. An army of cavalry was mounted and ready to start at any moment. We passed through hurrying crowds full of excitement, hearing fearful reports of what had happened and what was to come. On the bridges, at the corners of the streets, were large groups of blouses, students, citizens, women, listening to some orator of the moment, gesticulating violently. More than once I observed a woman enthusiastically haranguing an audience. The most curious mixture of passions was visible on the faces—fear, anger, indignation, hope, hatred; there was many a figure that realised the horrors of an earlier revolution. It seems inconceivable now that those violent expressions should have died away, and that Paris is going on in its usual busy way.
My dear Cousin.—I find that I cannot enter the Maternité at present for want of anacte de naissance. I am trying to get over the difficulty, but French regulations are so strict that it is still uncertain whether I can succeed. Would it be possible to secure in Bristol a copy of my register of baptism, with a statement of my birthday and my parents, certified by the mayor or some proper authority? I was baptised at Bridge Street byMr. Leifchild; I was born on February 3, 1821. I do not know, however, whether such a register is kept in England. If it could be procured, it would remove the difficulty which lies in my way.
We find Paris a very lively residence; every day something new is occurring, or we discover some wonderful old place which we must certainly visit. One day it is the funeral celebrations of Marshal Bugeaud, at which all the great men assist, with an army of soldiers and an enormous crowd; or a thousand little girls take their first communion at St. Sulpice, dressed in white with long veils; or some grand collection of flowers or manufactured articles calls out the spectacle-loving people. There is a constant effervescence of life in this great city, which concentrates all its energy in itself, and makes the Parisians at the same time the most brilliant and the most conceited people in the world. The greatest pleasure which we have yet enjoyed was our trip last Sunday to Versailles; it is really a place to be proud of, and I could not wonder at the worship which is paid to that beautiful temple by the people who, day after day, range freely through its grand galleries and spacious gardens.
I received to-day a very pleasant letter from Dr. Webster, one of our professors at Geneva; I was much gratified to find that their course to me has been approved by the profession in America. It would have grieved me inexpressibly if they had been condemned for the aid they had given me, and there seemed to be some possibility of it when I left. But he tells me my thesis was commented on in the Report on Medicine at the National Medical Convention held in Boston, and their course in relation to me justified and approved. The thesis was received with applause. This information is quite a relief to me, for the thought would be too painful that you could injure your friends.
June 15.
Dear Cousin,—By the first of July, as soon as I have conquered some miserable little difficulties, such as theacte de naissance, certificate of vaccination, &c., which I cannot produce, I shall enter La Maternité, a world-famous institution, and remain until I have succeeded in my first object—viz. to become an accomplished obstetrician. There are personal objections connected with this course that I was not prepared for—viz. a strict imprisonment, very poor lodging and food, some rather menial services, and the loss of three or four nights’ sleep every week. Still, these are things that can be borne (if the health will stand them) when the end to be gained is an important one; and I am sure you will agree with me that it is wise to sacrifice physical comfort for a while in order to attain it. I propose to remain there three months, and then I shall try and accomplish my second object—viz. surgery.
I hope in a day or two to receive permission from the Directeur-General, M. Davenne, to examine all the hospitals of Paris. I am working on gradually; but I find more clearly every day that the genius of the French nation does not suit me, and my love for the Anglo-Saxon race, and my admiration for our wonderful Fatherland, increase by the comparison....
We have had a strange glimpse of a revolution, a sort of theatrical representation of what that terrible thing might be. I confess that the whole exhibition seemed to me peculiarly French; and yet there are noble and terrible passions, lying below this mercurial excitability, that command hearty sympathy or serious consideration, and the unjust, tyrannical acts of the Government excite one’s strongest indignation. Now all is quiet again, however, and the whole affair is said to have been planned by the authorities to get rid of certain troublesome men.
A. and E. have stood the shock well, though they turned quite pale on finding as they were quietly parading the streets that they were in the midst of anémeute, and later I was sent out to see if they had not better instantly return to England, before civil war broke out and their throats were cut....
On the afternoon of the 13th E. and I went out to see the curious sight. The Quai to the National Assembly, more than a mile long, was lined with soldiers with their drawn bayonets. The Louvre and the Tuileries opposite were closed and filled with soldiers. An army of cavalry was mounted and ready to start at any moment. We passed through hurrying crowds full of excitement, hearing fearful reports of what had happened and what was to come. On the bridges, at the corners of the streets, were large groups of blouses, students, citizens, women, listening to some orator of the moment, gesticulating violently. More than once I observed a woman enthusiastically haranguing an audience. The most curious mixture of passions was visible on the faces—fear, anger, indignation, hope, hatred; there was many a figure that realised the horrors of an earlier revolution. It seems inconceivable now that those violent expressions should have died away, and that Paris is going on in its usual busy way.