Tales and Novels, Vol. VII by Maria Edgeworth

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Tales and Novels, Vol. VII

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Upon Dr. Percy's arrival at Lady Spilsbury's, he immediately perceived that
parties ran high, and that the partisans were all eager to know whether he
would pronounce the young lady's case to be nervous or scrofulous. He was
assailed by a multitude of female voices, and requested particularly to
attend to innumerable contradictory symptoms, before he was permitted
even to see his patient. He attended carefully to whatever facts he could
obtain, pure from opinion and misrepresentation. The young lady was in a
darkened room--he begged to have a little more light admitted, though she
was in such pain that she could scarcely endure it. Our young physician had
the great advantage of possessing the use of his senses and understanding,
unbiassed by medical theories, or by the authority of great names: he was
not always trying to force symptoms to agree with previous descriptions,
but he was actually able to see, hear, and judge of them as they really
appeared. There was a small protuberance on the left side of the nose,
which, on his pressing it, gave great pain to the child.

"Dear me! miss, you know," said the maid, "it is not in your nose you feel
the great pain--you know you told Sir Amyas Courtney t'other day--that is,
Sir Amyas Courtney told you--"

Dr. Percy insisted that the child should be permitted to speak for
herself; and, relieved from the apprehension of not saying the thing that
she was expected to say, she described her present and past feelings.
She said, "that the pain seemed lately to have _changed from where it
was before_--that it had changed ever since Dr. Frumpton's opening his
snuff-box near her had made her sneeze." This sneeze was thought by all but
Dr. Percy to be a circumstance too trivial to be worth mentioning; but on
this hint he determined to repeat the experiment. He had often thought that
many of the pains which are supposed to be symptoms of certain diseases,
many disorders which baffle the skill of medicine, originate in accidents,
by which extraneous substances are taken or forced into different parts
of the body. He ordered some cephalic snuff to be administered to the
patient. All present looked with contempt at the physician who proposed
such a simple remedy. But soon after the child had sneezed violently and
repeatedly, Dr. Percy saw a little bit of green silk appear, which was
drawn from the nostril, to the patient's great and immediate relief. Her
brothers and sisters then recollected having seen her, two months before,
stuffing up her nose a bit of green riband, which she said she liked
because it smelt of some perfume. The cause of the inflammation removed, it
soon subsided; the eye and nose recovered their natural size and colour,
and every body said, "Who would have thought it?" all but Dr. Frumpton and
Sir Amyas Courtney, who, in the face of demonstration, maintained each his
own opinion; declaring that the green riband had nothing to do with the
business. The sudden recovery of the child, Sir Amyas said, proved to him,
in the most satisfactory manner, that the disease was, as he at first
pronounced--nervous. Dr. Frumpton swore that scrofula would soon break
out again in another shape; and, denouncing vengeance against generations
yet unborn, he left Lady Spilsbury's children to take the consequences of
trusting to a youngster, whose impertinent interference he could never
forget or forgive. In spite of all that the two angry and unsuccessful
physicians could say, the recovery of the child's eye redounded much to Dr.
Percy's honour, and introduced him to the notice of several men of science
and celebrity, who frequented Lady Spilsbury's excellent dinners. Even the
intemperance of Dr. Frumpton's anger was of service; for in consequence of
his furious assertions, inquiry was made into the circumstances, and the
friends of Erasmus had then an opportunity of producing in his defence the
Irish porter. His cause could not be in better hands.

With that warmth and eloquence of gratitude characteristic of his country,
the poor fellow told his story so as to touch every heart. Among others
it particularly affected an officer just returned from our armies on
the continent: and by him it was the next day repeated at the table of
a celebrated general, when the conversation turned upon the conduct of
certain army surgeons. Lord Oldborough happened to be one of the company;
the name of Percy struck his ear; the moment Erasmus was thus brought to
his recollection, he attended particularly to what the officer was saying;
and, after hearing two circumstances, which were so marked with humanity
and good sense, his lordship determined to give what assistance he could to
the rising credit of the son of his old friend, by calling him in for Lady
Oldborough, who was in a declining state of health. But Sir Amyas Courtney,
who had long attended her ladyship, endeavoured, with all the address
of hatred, to prejudice her against his young rival, and to prevent her
complying with her lord's request. Depending on her habitual belief that
he was essential to her existence, Sir Amyas went so far as to declare
that if Dr. Percy should be sent for, he must discontinue his visits. Lord
Oldborough, however, whom the appearance of opposition to his will always
confirmed in his purpose, cut short the matter by a few peremptory words.

Sir Amyas, the soft silken Sir Amyas, could not for an instant stand before
the terror of Lord Oldborough's eye: the moment he was told that he was at
perfect liberty to discontinue his visits, his regard--his attachment--his
devotion for Lady Oldborough, prevented the possibility of abandoning her
ladyship; he was willing to sacrifice his private feelings, perhaps his
private prejudices, his judgment, in short any thing, every thing, sooner
than disoblige Lord Oldborough, or any of his family. Lord Oldborough,
satisfied with the submission, scarcely stayed to hear the end of the
speech, but rang the bell, ordered that Dr. Percy should be sent for, and
went to attend a cabinet council.

Lady Oldborough received him as it might be supposed that a very sickly,
very much prejudiced, very proud lady of quality would receive a physician
without a name, who was forced upon her in opposition to her long habits
of reliance on her courtly favourite. Her present disease, as Dr. Percy
believed, was water upon her chest, and there was some chance of saving
her, by the remedies which have been found successful in a first attack of
that complaint; but Sir Amyas had pronounced that her ladyship's disorder
was merely nervous spasms, consequent upon a bilious attack, and he could
not, or would not, recede from his opinion: his prescriptions, to which
her ladyship devoutly adhered to the last, were all directed against bile
and nerves. She would not hear of water on the chest, or take any of the
remedies proposed by Dr. Percy. Lady Oldborough died ten days after he was
called in. Those who knew nothing of the matter, that is, above nine-tenths
of all who talked about it, affirmed that poor Lady Oldborough's death was
occasioned by her following the rash prescriptions of a young physician,
who had been forced upon her by Lord Oldborough; and who, unacquainted with
her ladyship's constitution, had mistaken the nature of her complaint.
All her ladyship's female relations joined in this clamour, for they were
most of them friends or partizans of Sir Amyas Courtney. The rank and
conspicuous situation of Lord Oldborough interested vast numbers in the
discussion, which was carried on in every fashionable circle the day after
her ladyship's decease.

Dr. Percy took a decided step in this emergency. He went to the minister,
to whom no one, friend or enemy, had ventured to give the slightest hint of
the reports in circulation. Dr. Percy plainly stated the facts, represented
that his character and the fate of his whole life were at stake, and
besought his lordship to have the truth examined into by eminent and
impartial physicians. Erasmus was aware of all he hazarded in making this
request--aware that he must hurt Lord Oldborough's feelings--that he must
irritate him by bringing to his view at once, and in this critical moment,
a number of family cabals, of which he was ignorant--aware that Lord
Oldborough was oppressed with business, public and private; and that, above
all things, he was impatient of any intrusion upon his hours of privacy.
But all these subordinate considerations vanished before Lord Oldborough's
magnanimity. Without saying one word, he sat down and wrote an order,
that proper means should be taken to ascertain the disease of which Lady
Oldborough died.

The report made, in consequence of this order, by the surgeons, confirmed
Dr. Percy's opinion that her ladyship's disease was water on the chest--and
Lord Oldborough took effectual means to give the truth publicity.

"You need not thank me, Dr. Percy--you have a right to expect justice, more
you will never want. My assistance might, it seems, have been injurious,
but can never be necessary to your reputation."

These few words--much from Lord Oldborough--and which he took care to
say when they could be heard by numbers, were quickly circulated. The
physicians and surgeons who had given in their report were zealous in
maintaining the truth; medical and political parties were interested in
the affair; the name of Dr. Percy was joined with the first names in the
medical world, and repeated by the first people in the great world, so that
with surprising celerity he became known and fashionable. And thus the very
circumstance that threatened his ruin was, by his civil courage and decided
judgment, converted into the means of his rising into eminence.

Late one night, after a busy and fatiguing day, just as Erasmus had got
into bed, and was settling himself comfortably to sleep, he heard a loud
knock at the door.

"Mr. Henry, sir, from Mr. Panton's in the city, wishes to speak with you."

"Show him in.--So, old Panton, I suppose--some indigestion has brought him
to reason?"

"Oh! no such thing," interrupted Mr. Henry--"I would not have disturbed you
at this time of night for any such trifle; but our excellent friend, Mr.
Gresham--"

"What of him?" cried Erasmus, starting up in bed.

"Is ill,--but whether dangerously or not, I cannot tell you. An express
from his house in the country has just arrived; I heard the letter read,
but could not get it to bring to you. It was written to old Panton from Mr.
Gresham's housekeeper, without her master's knowledge, as he has no opinion
of physicians, she said, except of a young Dr. Percy, and did not like to
send for him for such a trifle as a sore throat, lest it should hurt his
practice to leave town at this season."

Erasmus stayed to hear no more, but ordered horses instantly, set out, and
travelled with all possible expedition. He had reason to rejoice that he
had not made a moment's delay. He found Mr. Gresham actually suffocating
from a quinsy. A surgeon had been sent for from the next town, but was not
at home. Erasmus, the instant he saw Mr. Gresham, perceiving the danger,
without saying one syllable, sprang to the bed, lanced the throat, and
saved the life of his valuable friend. The surgeon, who came the next
day, said that Dr. Percy ought to have waited for his arrival, and
that a physician might be severely blamed for performing a surgical
operation--that it was a very indelicate thing.

But Mr. Gresham, who had fallen into a comfortable sleep, did not hear him;
nor did Dr. Percy, who was writing the following letter to his father:

"... You will sympathize with me, my dear father, and all my friends at
home will sympathize in the joy I feel at seeing this excellent man, this
kind friend, recovering under my care. These are some of the happy moments
which, in my profession, repay us for years of toil, disappointment, and
sufferings--yes, sufferings--for we must suffer with those that suffer:
we must daily and hourly behold every form of pain, acute or lingering;
numbers, every year of our lives, we must see perish, the victims of
incurable disease. We are doomed to hear the groans of the dying, and the
lamentations, sometimes the reproaches, of surviving friends; often and
often must the candid and humane physician deplore the insufficiency of
his art. But there are successful, gloriously successful moments, which
reward us for all the painful duties, all the unavailing regrets of our
profession.

"This day I shall recall to my mind whenever my spirits sink, or whenever
my fortitude begins to fail. I wish you could see the gratitude and joy in
the looks of all Mr. Gresham's servants. His death would have been a public
loss, for the beneficent use he makes of his princely fortune has rendered
numbers dependent on him for the comforts of life. He lives here in a
palace, and every thing he has done, whether in building or planting, in
encouraging the useful or the fine arts, has been done with a judicious
and magnificent spirit. Surely this man ought to be happy in his own
reflections, and yet he does not seem to me as happy as he deserves to be.
I shall stay here till I see him out of all danger of relapse.--He has just
awakened--Adieu for the present."

In continuation of this letter the following was written the next day:

"All danger is over--my friend is convalescent, and I shall return to town
to-morrow. But would you think, my dear father, that the real cause of Mr.
Gresham's being unhappy is patronage? By accident I made use of that word
in speaking of old Panton's quarrel with me, and he cursed the word the
moment I pronounced it: 'Yes,' he exclaimed, 'it is twice accursed--once in
the giving, and once in the receiving.' Then he began, in a most feeling
manner, to describe the evils attendant upon being a patron. He has done
his utmost to relieve and encourage genius in distress; but among all
the poets, painters, artists, and men of letters, whom in various ways
he has obliged, he has scarcely been able to satisfy the vanity or the
expectations of any. Some have passed from excessive adulation to gross
abuse of him--many more torment him continually with their complaints and
invectives against each other; and, instead of having done good by his
generosity, he finds that, in a variety of instances, of which he detailed
the circumstances, he has done much mischief, and, as he says, infinite
injury to his own peace of mind--for he has burdened himself with the care
of a number of people, who cannot be made happy. He has to deal with men
but partially cultivated; with _talents_, unaccompanied by reason, justice,
or liberality of sentiment. With great feeling himself, he suffers acutely
from all their jealousies and quarrels, and from the near and perpetual
view of the _littleness_ by which artists too often degrade themselves.
Another man in Mr. Gresham's situation would become a misanthropist, and
would comfort himself by railing against the ingratitude of mankind; but
this would not comfort Mr. Gresham. He loves his fellow-creatures, and
sees their faults in sorrow rather than in anger. I have known him, and
intimately, for a considerable time, and yet I never heard him speak on
this subject but once before, when the painter, whom I used to call the
irritable genius, had caricatured him in return for all his kindness.

"Though it is not easy to change the habits or to alter the views and
objects of a man, like Mr. Gresham, past the meridian of life, yet I
cannot help flattering myself that this might be effected. If he would,
by one bold effort, shake off these dependents, the evening of his days
might yet be serene and happy. He wants friends, not _protegees_. I have
advised him, as soon as his strength will permit, to take a little tour,
which will bring him into your part of the country. He wishes much to
become acquainted with all our family, and I have given him a note of
introduction. You, my dear father, can say to him more than I could with
propriety.

"Mr. Gresham knows how to accept as well as to give. He allows me to have
the pleasure of proving to him, that where my friends are concerned, I am
above pecuniary considerations. My love to my dear mother, Rosamond, and
Caroline.

"Your affectionate son,

"E. PERCY."

Though Mr. Gresham would not hurt the feelings of his young friend and
physician, by pressing upon him at the moment any remuneration, or by
entering into any calculation of the loss he would sustain by his absence
from London at this critical season, he took his own methods of justly
recompensing Dr. Percy. Erasmus found at his door, some time after his
return to town, a plain but excellent chariot and horses, with a note from
Mr. Gresham, written in such terms as precluded the possibility of refusing
the offer.

The celebrated London physician, who said that he was not paid for three
weeks' attendance in the country, by a draft of two thousand pounds; and
who, when the pen was put into his own hands, wrote four in the place
of two, would smile in scorn at the generosity of Mr. Gresham and the
disinterestedness of Dr. Percy.

CHAPTER XXI.

LETTER FROM CAROLINE TO ERASMUS.

"MY DEAR ERASMUS,

"Your friend and patient, Mr. Gresham, was so eager to take your advice,
and so quick in his movements, that your letter, announcing his intended
visit, reached us but a few days before his arrival at the Hills. And--mark
how great and little events, which seem to have no possible link of
connexion, depend upon one another--Alfred or Mr. Gresham must have sat up
all night, or slept on the floor, had not Alfred, that morning, received
a letter from Mrs. Hungerford, summoning him to town to draw her son's
marriage settlements. It is thought that Colonel Hungerford, whose leave
of absence from his regiment has, by special favour, been repeatedly
protracted, will be very soon sent abroad. Lady Elizabeth Pembroke has,
therefore, consented to his urgent desire for their immediate union; and
Alfred will, I am sure, give them as little reason as possible to complain
of the law's delay. Lady Elizabeth, who has all that decision of mind and
true courage which you know is so completely compatible with the most
perfect gentleness of disposition and softness, even timidity of manners,
resolves to leave all her relations and friends, and to go abroad. She says
she knew what sacrifices she must make in marrying a soldier, and she is
prepared to make them without hesitation or repining.

"And now to return to your friend, Mr. Gresham. The more we see of him the
more we like him. Perhaps he bribed our judgment a little at first by the
kind, affectionate manner in which he spoke of you; but, independently of
this prepossession, we should, I hope, soon have discovered his merit. He
is a good English merchant. Not a '_M. Friport, qui scait donner, mais qui
ne scait pas vivre_,' but a well-bred, well-informed gentleman, upright,
liberal, and benevolent, without singularity or oddities of any sort. His
quiet, plain manners, free from ostentation, express so well the kind
feelings of his mind, that I prefer them infinitely to what are called
polished manners. Last night Rosamond and I were amusing ourselves by
contrasting him with our recollection of the polished M. de Tourville--but
as you were not at home at the memorable time of the shipwreck, and of M.
de Tourville's visit, you cannot feel the force of our parallel between
these two beings, the most dissimilar I have ever seen--an English merchant
and a diplomatic Frenchman. You will ask, what put it into our heads
to make the comparison? A slight circumstance which happened yesterday
evening. Rosamond was showing Mr. Gresham some of my drawings, and among
them the copy of that beautiful miniature in M. de Tourville's snuff-box.
My father told him the history of Euphrosyne, of her German prince, and
Count Albert. Mr. Gresham's way of listening struck us, by its contrast
to the manner of M. de Tourville--and this led us on to draw a parallel
between their characters. Mr. Gresham, instead of shrugging his shoulders,
and smiling disdainfully, like the Frenchman, at the Quixotism of the young
nobleman, who lost his favour at court by opposing the passion of his
prince, was touched with Count Albert's disinterested character; and quite
forgetting, as Rosamond observed, to compliment me upon my picture of
Euphrosyne, he laid down the miniature with a negligence of which M. de
Tourville never would have been guilty, and went on eagerly to tell some
excellent traits of the count. For instance, when he was a very young man
in the Prussian or Austrian service, I forget which, in the heat of an
engagement he had his sabre lifted over the head of one of the enemy's
officers, when, looking down, he saw that the officer's right arm was
broken. The count immediately stopped, took hold of the disabled officer's
bridle, and led him off to a place of safety. This and many other anecdotes
Mr. Gresham heard, when he spent some time on the continent a few years
ago, whilst he was transacting some commercial business. He had full
opportunities of learning the opinions of different parties; and he says,
that it was the prayer of all the good and wise in Germany, whenever the
hereditary prince should succeed to the throne, that Count Albert Altenberg
might be his minister.

"By-the-bye, Mr. Gresham, though he is rather an elderly man, and looks
remarkably cool and composed, shows all the warmth of youth whenever any of
his feelings are touched.

"I wish you could see how much my father is pleased with your friend. He
has frequently repeated that Mr. Gresham, long as he has been trained in
the habits of mercantile life, is quite free from the spirit of monopoly
in small or great affairs. My father rejoices that his son has made such a
friend. Rosamond charged me to leave her room to write to you at the end
of my letter; but she is listening so intently to something Mr. Gresham is
telling her, that I do not believe she will write one line. I hear a few
words, which so much excite my curiosity, that I must go and listen too.
Adieu.

"Affectionately yours,

"CAROLINE PERCY."

Another letter from Caroline to Erasmus, dated some weeks after the
preceding.

"Tuesday, 14th.

"Yes, my dear Erasmus, your friend, Mr. Gresham, is still with us; and he
declares that he has not, for many years, been so happy as since he came
here. He is now sufficiently intimate in this family to speak of himself,
and of his own feelings and plans. You, who know what a horror he has of
egotism, will consider this as a strong proof of his liking us, and of his
confidence in our regard. He has related many of the instances, which, I
suppose, he told you, of the ingratitude and disappointments he has met
with from persons whom he attempted to serve. He has kept us all, for
hours, Rosamond especially, in a state of alternate pity and indignation.
For all that has happened, he blames himself more than he blames any one
else; and with a mildness and candour which make us at once admire and love
him, he adverts to the causes of his own disappointment.

"My father has spoken to him as freely as you could desire. He has urged,
that as far as the public good is concerned, free competition is more
advantageous to the arts and to artists than any private patronage can be.

"If the productions have real merit, they will make their own way; if they
have not merit, they ought not to make their way. And the same argument he
has applied to literary merit, and to the merit, generally speaking, of
persons as well as of things. He has also plainly told Mr. Gresham that he
considers the trade of a patron as one of the most thankless, as it is the
least useful, of all trades.

"All this has made such an impression upon your candid friend, that he has
declared it to be his determination to have no more protegees, and to let
the competition of talents work fairly without the interference, or, as
he expressed it, any of the _bounties_ and _drawbacks_ of patronage. 'But
then,' he added, with a sigh, 'I am a solitary being: am I to pass the
remainder of my days without objects of interest or affection? While
Constance Panton was a child, she was an object to me; but now she must
live with her parents, or she will marry: at all events, she is rich--and
is my wealth to be only for my selfish gratification? How happy you are,
Mr. Percy, who have such an amiable wife, such a large family, and so many
charming domestic objects of affection!'

"Mr. Gresham then walked away with my father to the end of the room, and
continued his conversation in a low voice, to which I did not think I ought
to listen, so I came up stairs to write to you. I think you told me that
Mr. Gresham had suffered some disappointment early in life, which prevented
his marrying; but if I am not mistaken, his mind now turns again to the
hopes of domestic happiness. If I am not mistaken, Rosamond has made an
impression on his heart. I have been as conveniently and meritoriously
deaf, blind, and stupid, for some time past as possible; but though I shut
my eyes, and stop my ears, yet my imagination will act, and I can only say
to myself, as we used to do when we were children--I will not think of it
till it comes, that I may have the pleasure of the surprise....