As we walked back we stopped at the Louvre; I longed to see again that rich collection of art, particularly the statues, that seemed more beautiful than ever. We called in the Rue de Seine, hoping to gratify my old landlady, but she was out. Then Anna introduced me to her reading-room, where we studied the affairs of Europe, and grew indignant at the barbarism which seems for the moment triumphant. Anna took great pleasure all day in filling me with all manner of eatables, having great faith in ‘the very best beef,’ and I must confess that when dinner was concluded my dress felt a little tight at the waist!
Punctually at eight o’clock the recluse retired again from the vanities of the world. But, seriously, the idle day refreshed me; I needed it, and feel all the better for a little change.
October 24.—A most pleasant occurrence. Professor Lee, my Geneva Professor of Materia Medica, is in town, and is coming to see me to-morrow. He has been making a tour of two months in Great Britain, and now he visits Paris. How glad I shall be to see him, as a friend whom I respect, and with whom I can have a long delightful gossip! perhaps also he can give me information and some advice and introductions.
October 25.—By these most absurd regulations I was not allowed to show Dr. Lee over the hospital when he called. However, the directeur escorted him, and M. Blot offered an introduction to Ricord.
Although the residence in La Maternité was an extremely trying one from the utter absence of privacy, the poor air and food, and really hard work when sleep was lost on the average every fifth night, yet the medical experience was invaluable at that period of pioneer effort. It enabled me later to enter upon practice with a confidence in one important branch of medicine that no other period of study afforded; and I have always been glad that I entered the institution, notwithstanding the very grave accident which now befell me.
This event was noted at the time as follows:—
Sunday, November 4.—Served all day in the infirmary, and witnessed M. Dayau’s first application of the serrefine. I felt all the afternoon a little grain of sand, as it were, in one eye. I was afraid to think what it might be, for in the dark early morning, whilst syringing the eye of one of my tiny patients for purulent ophthalmia, some of the water had spurted into my own eye. It was much swollen at night, and in the morning the lids were closely adherent from suppuration.
November 5.—I applied for permission to leave until the eye was well, and was refused. I went to the infirmary of the élèves and informed M. Blot that I was prisoner. He examined the eye carefully, discovered that it was the dreaded disease, consulted his chief, and then told me that as everything depended on the early active treatment, he should give up the first days entirely to me. He expressed much sympathy, arranged everything for me in the most thoughtful way, and I went to bed—I little knew for how long! I despatched a note to my sister, and then active treatment commenced—the eyelids cauterised, leeches to the temple, cold compresses, ointment of belladonna, opium to the forehead, purgatives, footbaths, and sinapisms, with broth for diet. The eye was syringed every hour, and I realised the danger of the disease from the weapons employed against it. Poor Anna came down in the evening to sympathise with the ‘inflamed eye’ I had written about, and was dreadfully shocked. She has told me since how many times she hid behind the curtain to cry. My friendly young doctor came every two hours, day and night, to tend the eye, Mlle. Mallet acting in the alternate hours. The infirmary was kept profoundly quiet, and a guard appointed day and night. The sympathy was universal and deep, the élèves asking after me with tears. An unheard-of permission was granted to Anna to visit me three times a day. For three days this continued—then the disease had done its worst; and I learned from the tone of my friends that my eye was despaired of. Ah! how dreadful it was to find the daylight gradually fading as my kind doctor bent over me, and removed with an exquisite delicacy of touch the films that had formed over the pupil! I could see him for a moment clearly, but the sight soon vanished, and the eye was left in darkness.
For three weeks I lay in bed with both eyes closed, then the right eye began to open gradually, and I could get up and do little things for myself. How kind everybody was! I shall never forget it. Anna, with her faith in magnetism, came down regularly three times a day in rain and snow to sympathise and impart ‘the vital fluid.’ My friendship deepened for my young physician, and I planned a little present for his office. Madame Charrier entered into it with spirit; we had long discussions together, and finally secured an elegant pair of lamps for his consultation-rooms, which I hurried through the corridors to see, bundled up in my dressing-gown and shawl, looking and feeling very much like a ghost. The lamps were conveyed to his room that night. The next morning he came to me evidently full of delight, and longing to be amiable, yet too conscientious to infringe the rules of the Maternité by acknowledging the present. He admired my braid of long hair, wondered how fingers without eyes could arrange anything so beautifully regular; spoke of the Protestant religion, thought if he joined any Church it would be that; turned to go, turned back again, and was evidently hardly able to leave without thanking me. Mlle. Mallet told me that the night before he had run in to Madame Charrier to tell her of his present, and on his way out passed by the cloisters in an evident perplexity, longing to enter the infirmary of the élèves, but unable to do so. I do admire his delicate conscientiousness!
I received a visit from M. Davenne, who had sent me a message of sympathy. I could not clearly make him out with my dim eye, but had a general idea of a short, elderly man standing hat in hand, and regarding me as one would a solemn religious spectacle. M. Boivin made some very friendly remarks to me, and concluded, raising his hand, ‘et, voyez-vous? c’est d’une patience.’