Dear Mother,—I have now entered upon a strange phase of life, which I must try and describe, that you may imagine me running about in my great white apron, in which respectable article of apparel I expect to figure for the next three months. I had a good many obstacles to encounter from my ignorance of French customs; and the physicians of Paris, as far as I can judge, are determined not to grant the slightest favour to a feminine M.D. I could not obtain from any persons connected with the Maternité the smallest modification to suit the very different status with which I enter from the young French sages-femmes; but I was determined to enter on whatever conditions, and enter, too, by the first of July, to habituate myself a little to the ways of the place before the annual lectures commenced. I find now that nothing would have been easier than to have given me a little room to myself, permission to go out occasionally, and similar favours, which need have occasioned no jealousy or inconvenience; for the very fact of my being a foreigner impresses the French girls, and they would freely have accepted any claim made for me. But everything was obstinately refused to all the representations of myself or the Consul, Mr. Walsh, and I was only too glad to enter as a young, ignorant French girl. On June 30 I drove down with Anna to the hospital. A high stone wall, with the tops of old buildings peeping above, extends nearly the whole length of a little street. A very small door led into a dark little entrance, the portière on one side, and a long room, called by courtesy the parloir, on the other. You must notice the parloir, for it is there I shall receive my visitors, if I ever have any, at two o’clock, in common with the other élèves; and there in one corner, in a sort of little glass box, sits the good dame who attends to the letters and transacts all the outdoor business for the élèves. The ceiling is very low, the floor of brick, rows of wooden benches ranged one before the other—the most uninteresting room you can possibly conceive; the only pretty thing being the vine leaves which peep through the diamond-shaped windows. This room forms part of a row of old buildings standing against the wall, which contain the director’s bureau, the Interne’s rooms, &c. It was too late for me to see M. Boivin, the director, so an old woman took me into the central buildings, through a labyrinth of little passages and long galleries, and all manner of rooms and queer places, to Madame Charrier, the sage-femme in chief, who has her own rooms in a particular part of the building. Her parlour is the funniest little cabinet of curiosities, with a carpet on the floor, as it is of brick instead of waxed wood. Little chintz sofas, mosaic tables, boxes, china and figures, crucifixes, pictures and embroideries, and curtains everywhere. Madame Charrier is a little deformed woman, elderly, but with a fresh colour still, and kind blue eyes. I like what I have seen of her; she seems generally loved by the pupils, and though I do not imagine her of any particular amount of intellect, she seems to have good sense, and after twelve years in such an establishment as this she ought to have much valuable experience. Madame Charrier conducted me by unknown ways to Madame Blockel, the superintendent of the dortoirs, who took me into the infirmary, and said I must sleep there until I had arranged my affairs with the director. I did not much admire the idea of passing the night in the infirmary. There was a large wood fire on the hearth, and the air felt warm and somewhat close. I looked suspiciously at the long rows of beds extending on each side, their white curtains closely drawn; I did not know what undesirable emanations might be proceeding from them. However, I said nothing, but determined to investigate the contents of the beds as soon as the observers had withdrawn. My trunk was brought up, my bed pointed out, a little lamp placed on the table, and I was left alone. I proceeded then to make my observations, and found to my great relief that every bed was empty, except one, in which one of the élèves, who happened to have a headache, was lying, and from her I found that the place is healthy and no epidemic has prevailed there for a long time. I found her, like all the other French girls, full of those light kindnesses which are so pleasant. She asked me eagerly if I was from her province, and seemed to regard me with much interest when she found I was a stranger from New York, which was the only part of the United States she had heard of, and which she took to be an island near Havannah. I have since found that the pupils are much disappointed that I am not black, as they supposed all persons from America were! After talking a little with her I took out my writing materials, and sat down to the table determining to pay a little visit across the water before going to rest in my new home; but I had no sooner seated myself than Madame Charrier entered with a crowd of élèves, to know if I would pass the night in the salle d’accouchements, it being an optional matter the first night. Of course I expressed the utmost willingness. I put up my letter with a sigh, dressed myself for duty, and accompanied an ancienne élève (that is, one who has already studied a year, and who always has one or more of the nouvelles élèves under her care for initiation) to the room where the children are born. A large apron of coarse towelling was given me, with the injunction not to lose it, or I should have to pay three francs. It was a large upper room, rather dimly lighted, beds all round, a fire on the hearth, cupboards full of linen in the corners, heaps of shining copper and tin utensils, several rush-bottomed chairs and wooden tables, and in the centre a large wooden stand with sides, on which the little new-comers, tightly swathed and ticketed, are ranged side by side. In the course of the night we had the pleasure of arranging eight in this way, and the next morning when Madame Charrier made her appearance the cloth was removed and the sight shown with much triumph. It was really very droll. Each little shapeless red visage peeped from under a coarse peaked cap, on the front of which was a large label with the name and sex; a black serge jacket with a white handkerchief pinned across, and a small blanket tightly folded round the rest of the body, completed the appearance of the little mummy. Their behaviour certainly realised Fourier’s supposition, for there was very little crying all the time they lay there together. There were four young French girls sitting up with me, besides the girl who makes the beds and does the roughest work. They were all pretty and pleasant, of no education except their studies in the institution; but those had been evidently carefully attended to, and it sounded not a little droll to hear the scientific terms flowing so glibly from their laughing lips, which were busily employed in talking nonsense all the time that their duties did not call them to the bedside. The next morning at ten o’clock we were discharged from duty; it was Sunday, a comparatively leisure day, and I being a Protestant was excused from the religious services, but I was too sleepy to do much. I wrote, walked in the garden and read a little there, retired early, and had a most welcome sleep and very pleasant dreams.
Our dortoir is a large airy room, with a row of windows and beds on each side, divided into two by a large archway; it contains sixteen beds, occupied mostly by anciennes élèves. I have a window behind my bed; I have shoved the bed forward, fitted in a chair behind, hung up my dressing-gown, and put a few books on the floor by my side, and call it my room. I am now sitting there writing to you. I have just room enough to move my right arm freely, but I am out of the way, I am breathing fresh air, so I consider myself very well off. An old crucifix ornamented by gilded leaves hangs at one end of the dortoir, two little lamps are suspended from the ceiling, an iron bedstead and a chair are appropriated to each individual. The floor is formed of little hexagon bricks, which in some of the rooms are so terribly polished that I walk on them with difficulty. The dortoir is seldom quiet; the girls sit there a good deal, and some who have watched through the night are generally there in bed; and how French girls do chatter! How they do go into sudden fits of ecstasy or rage! Once at least in the day we have a grand storm, Madame Blockel coming in for some trouble or other, in which she and the accused out-scream each other, and appear to be mortal enemies for a few minutes, and the best of friends immediately after. At twelve o’clock we receive our supply of bread for the day, which we keep in our bedroom and take backwards and forwards to meals. I have frequently wished that you could see me walking gravely along the gallery with my loaf of bread wrapped in a napkin under my arm. The dining-room is a large hall full of round tables, only three of which are occupied at present, as the élèves only number thirty, instead of ninety, the usual number. At dinner I saw them all together for the first time; some very pretty and graceful, some very rough. I am learning to take wine; everyone advises me to do so, and I shall soon be able to drink my bottle a day.
There seems to be an admirable organisation of work here in every department. I have been much amused to-day by the lessons in theory that I have received from my ancienne élève or chef. The pupils all sat round, and the young instructress, furnished with some bones, gave out an explanatory sentence, which was repeated by each one in turn; I found it an excellent plan of learning French. Of course, the repetition would have been intolerable without the language, but to listen to a dozen different voices and to repeat myself I found to be admirable practice; indeed, being cut off from all English communication is a great advantage in learning French.
July 3.—This morning I finish my letter in another situation. I wrote last night till it was dark, and the little lamp in our dortoir gave so much darkness that I went to bed for want of light. To-day I am en service—that is to say, I shall spend the day from eight in the morning till eight in the evening in superintending the six rooms of the infirmary. I have been handling leeches for the first time (disgusting little things). I enter with an ancienne élève, who shows me all the ways of the house. At present the lectures have not commenced, but the visits of Madame Charrier and the physician take place every day; and nature is always here in great abundance to be studied. I feel I shall gain a great deal, and hitherto it has really not proved nearly so formidable an imprisonment as I supposed. The air is delightful this beautiful summer weather, the girls pleasant. There is much to interest in so large an establishment, and I suppose the three months will soon slip away, for I have entered, in my own mind, only for the three months, though I have been asked so often if I am going to stay two years that I have had to tell a great many—evasions. I shall have, doubtless, many weary moments, but I want you all to know that it will not be so utterly miserable as my former letters may have represented it. And great will be the reward! So send a welcome greeting to the Voluntary Prisoner.
July 1849.
Dear M.,—I last wrote to you when I was my own mistress; now in some measure I have given up my liberty, and I must give you a little sketch of my prison life, that you may be able to picture the surroundings of your sister M.D. Imagine a large square of old buildings, formerly a convent, set down in the centre of a great court with a wood and garden behind, and many little separate buildings all around, the whole enclosed by very high walls, over the tops of which, shining out beautifully against the clear sky, may be seen the dome of the Panthéon, the Hôtel des Invalides, and the whole building of the observatory which is close adjoining. The inner court is surrounded by les cloîtres, a most convenient arched passage which gives a covered communication to the whole building, and which I suppose was formerly traversed by shaven monks on their way to the church, whose great painted window looks out into the court, but which now echoes the laughter of many merry girls, and across which at half-past seven every morning you may see your humble servant with her coarse tablier de service and little white pot in hand hurrying to get some coffee. At half-past five every morning I start up in bed, roused by the bustle of the élèves, who are up before me. I make violent efforts to drive away sleep, which are only partially successful, and then follow the example of twenty girls who inhabit the same long dortoir, and who are busy each by her own iron bedstead dressing hastily to be ready for the visit. I hasten upstairs to the long corridor, the ‘Sainte-Elisabeth,’ where my patients lie. I inquire carefully their condition, wash them, and see that the beds have been properly arranged. By that time it is a quarter past six; Madame Charrier makes her appearance and goes the rounds, accompanied by the élèves, each one giving a short report of the patients under her care. It is a funny group: fifty women or more of all ages, wide awake from the hurry of their duties, but dressed mostly in haste with little white caps, coloured handkerchiefs, and the coarser ones in short bed-gowns, their faces browned by the sun, their hands red with hard work, but all good-tempered, with a kind word always ready, and their black eyes sparkling with life. We pass through the Salles Sainte-Marguerite, Sainte-Elisabeth, Sainte-Anne, visiting each patient in her alcove—it is seven when we finish. I hasten back to my dortoir, make my bed, &c., fetch my coffee, which I procure for two sous a morning from the superintendent of the infirmary, eat it hastily with my bread, which is always supplied for the day at noon, and then hurry off to the Salles Sainte-Marie and Sainte-Marthe, where the more sick patients are placed, whom the attending physicians visit every morning at eight. At this visit are present M. Girardin, the chief physician, a tall, dry, grey-haired man, full of pomposity; the interne, M. Blot, a very handsome, somewhat dignified young physician, with, I fancy, rather a cross temper; Madame Charrier, the aide-sage-femme, and as many of the élèves as choose to be present. This over, I make some independent visits to cases which interest me, to the nursery, &c., and try to pick up a little here and there; then I return to the dortoir and read or write a little. Afterwards I join the class instruction in the wood, a preparatory lesson which the elder élèves give to the younger ones, and which I attend for the sake of the French. It is a very pretty method of instruction: the young teacher seated on the grass, all the pupils grouped around under the thick shade of some fine tree, the atmosphere being of an elastic purity which is truly charming. The French girls have a natural talent for instruction; they are so in the habit of talking that they never find the slightest difficulty in expressing what they know, and their lively perceptions give them a peculiar power for superficial instruction. Our poor country girls find it very hard at first to catch scientific words that they do not understand, but in a surprisingly short time they roll them off smoothly and to a certain extent understand well what is taught them.
At twelve the bell sounds for the first meal, only milk being given at seven o’clock. We enter a large hall, full of round tables, each holding twelve; to each are furnished a couple of white plates, a tumbler and small bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, a spoon and fork. The meal consists of soup, boiled meat, and vegetables; it is eaten in haste to the music of Madame Blockel’s voice, which keeps up a storm the whole time. She is a somewhat important personage, superintending our meals and our dortoirs; she is a little red-faced, squint-eyed being, with tremendous projecting teeth, and dressed always in rusty black with a black cap. She is good-natured, liked by the girls, but has a tremendous vocal organ, which is always sounding forth at its highest pitch. Morning, noon, and night good Madame Blockel’s voice drowns all opposing sounds; and really now I am getting as used to it as to a noisy street, and would not care if only she would keep out of the dortoir at night when I am sleepy, for, like a barking dog, she sets all the girls going, and I don’t know when the storm subsides, for I sink to sleep in spite of it. When the meal is over we present a funny sight, each carrying off her loaf, napkin, knife, and various bottles and remnants of dinner. I return to the dortoir, do up little matters, read or attend the class again, visit my patients in the corridor, and from two to three go to the parloir to see my friends, if they are so good as to come at that hot hour to see me. This parloir is a funny affair—a plain room, filled with wooden benches, where all manner of rough people are assembled to visit the élèves. On certain days, also, in one corner a woman establishes a little shop, where she supplies all the small wants of the girls in the way of haberdashery, stationery, perfumery, &c.; and in another corner sits the old lady, la dame du bureau, observing everything, and giving the signal precisely at three for the departure of everybody. At six a second meal is served, consisting of roast meat and some little kind of cake, and another bottle of wine; afterwards we are free to do as we choose. I generally sit a little in the wood and write till it is dark; in a few days, however, the lectures commence, and four or five hours will be occupied in that way. I have described my idle, or rather my free days. When I am en service I spend the whole day in the ward where I am placed; or the night, if I happen to be on night service. About three or four days are thus spent, and after passing the night in watching I am not worth much the next day, for I am not yet accustomed to the duty. Then little extra touches come in to diversify the day. I pay a visit to Madame Charrier or to Mlle. Mallet, one of the aides-sage-femmes, whom I like very much, or some difficult operation calls us to the amphitheatre. Next week I shall be able to tell you how I like the lectures; we shall have several each day, and I hope they will supply the want which I now feel of an intelligent explanation of the phenomena which I observe.
August.—The lectures have now commenced. From seven to eight Madame Charrier gives her lesson every morning; I occupy a chair beside her in consideration of my foreignness, she being anxious that I should understand thoroughly. I wish I could describe that lesson to you; it is the most curious spurring-up of pupils I ever saw, and really it makes some of them gallop admirably, though many tumble down in the effort. Three pupils are called down every morning, seated on a long bench in front of Madame Charrier’s table, and undergo an hour’s examination on what they have heard from the teachers. If they answer promptly and well, her satisfaction is extreme, her face grows beautiful, and her ‘Bien! très bien!’ really does me good, it is so hearty; but if an unlucky pupil hesitate, if she speak too low, if intelligence or attention be wanting, then breaks forth the most admirable scolding I ever listened to. Alternately satirical and furious, she becomes perfectly on fire, rises upon her chair, claps her hands, looks up to heaven, and the next moment, if a good answer has redeemed the fault, all is forgotten, her satisfaction is as great as her anger. There is not the slightest wickedness about her; she puts her whole soul into her lesson, and does not realise how very difficult it is for ignorant girls to study a science. At first I was a little shocked at this stormy instruction, but really it seems almost necessary now, and produces wonderful results. If the girls only keep their temper under it and do not cry, it comes right at last; but a tear is an unpardonable offence, and considered an insult and a total misunderstanding. Madame Charrier is a woman of great experience and always speaks to the point, and her lessons are often very useful. From nine till ten we listen to M. Paul Dubois. I like his lectures exceedingly. A little, bald, grey-haired man, with a clear, gentle voice and a very benevolent face, he thoroughly understands his subject, and expresses himself with precision and completeness.
At a little after twelve our dinner-bell rings, and right glad I always am to hear it. The large round tables are speedily encircled, all stand up, and a grace is said with such rapidity that to this day I can make out no words but saint usage, and the sign of the cross made with wonderful dexterity on the forehead and breast. At the conclusion of the meal another prayer rocket is sent up, amidst laughing and bustle, and all crowd out of the hall, with their loaves of bread under their arms and all manner of odd little pots full of eatables in their hands. From one till two another lesson in the amphitheatre—which, fortunately, is a pleasant room—from the second aide-sage-femme, a lesson useful on the whole, but sometimes a little wearisome. From two to three is the hour for receiving visitors, but if I am not expecting a visit, and if I have sat up the preceding night, I take a bath—for there are six baths prepared every day at that hour for the élèves. The same communism exists in the baths as in everything else. They are side by side, in a double row, down the middle of the room; and the withered genius of the bath-room stands, observing every movement, and talking an incomprehensible patois the whole time. I try to imagine it is only the bubbling of water that I hear; I shut my eyes, lie quietly for half an hour, and fancy that I am deliciously reposing on the heaving waters of some soft summer lake; then I spring up, take a cold dash, to the horror of my companions, and hurry off as fast as possible, really the better for the divine element....
Were I a good Catholic I should find my time filled with visits to the chapel—morning and evening prayers, vespers, and the daily baptisms are regular services, with numerous extras on saints’ days, &c.; but most happily I am Protestant, and again and again I have blessed Heaven for the fact. The great fat, red-faced priest occasionally leaves the retirement of his clerical dwelling and strolls in the wood, or makes a visit to the infirmary; he always gives me long stares of excessive curiosity when I pass him, but I have taken a great dislike to his sensual-looking worship, and will not give him the slightest opportunity to make my acquaintance....