Made the acquaintance of the celebrated Dr. P——,
today, at Madame C——’s.
He is a very interesting old man; and, though infirm
in body, his mind is as fresh, and his vivacity as
unimpaired, as if he had not numbered forty instead
of eighty summers.
I am partial to the society of clever medical men,
for the opportunities afforded them of becoming acquainted
with human nature, by studying it under all the phases
of illness, convalescence, and on the bed of death,
when the real character is exposed unveiled from the
motives that so often shadow, if not give it a false
character, in the days of health, render their conversation
very interesting.
I have observed, too, that the knowledge of human
nature thus attained neither hardens the heart nor
blunts the sensibility, for some of the most kind-natured
men I ever knew were also the most skilful physicians
and admirable, surgeons. Among these is Mr. Guthrie,
of London, whose rare dexterity in his art I have
often thought may be in a great degree attributed
to this very kindness of nature, which has induced
him to bestow a more than usual attention to acquiring
it, in order to abridge the sufferings of his patients.
In operations on the eye, in which he has gained such
a justly merited celebrity, I have been told by those
from whose eyes he had removed cataracts, that his
precision and celerity are so extraordinary as to
appear to them little short of miraculous.
Talking on this subject with Dr. P——
to-day, he observed, that he considered strength of
mind and kindness of heart indispensable requisites
to form a surgeon; and that it was a mistake to suppose
that these qualities had any other than a salutary
influence over the nerves of a surgeon.
“It braces them, Madame,” said he; “for
pity towards the patient induces an operator to perform
his difficult task con amore, in order to relieve
him.”
Dr. P—— has nearly lost his voice,
and speaks in a low but distinct whisper. Tall
and thin, with a face pale as marble, but full of
intelligence, he looks, when bending on his gold-headed
cane, the very beau ideal of a physician of
la Vieille Cour, and he still retains the costume
of that epoch. His manner, half jest and half
earnest, gives an idea of what that of the Philosopher
of Ferney must have been when in a good humour, and
adds piquancy to his narrations. Madame C——,
who is an especial favourite of his, and who can draw
him out in conversation better than any one else,
in paying him a delicate and well-timed compliment
on his celebrity, added, that few had ever so well
merited it.
“Ah! Madame, celebrity is not always accorded
to real merit,” said he, smiling. “I
have before told Madame that mine—if I may
be permitted to recur to it—was gained
by an artifice I had recourse to, and without which,
I firmly believe I should have remained unknown.”
