And let it not be supposed that opinion at the Tankard in SlaughterLane was unimportant to the medical profession: that old authenticpublic-house—the original Tankard, known by the name of Dollop's—was the resort of a great Benefit Club, which had some months beforeput to the vote whether its long-standing medical man, "Doctor Gambit,"should not be cashiered in favor of "this Doctor Lydgate," who wascapable of performing the most astonishing cures, and rescuing peoplealtogether given up by other practitioners. But the balance had beenturned against Lydgate by two members, who for some private reasonsheld that this power of resuscitating persons as good as dead was anequivocal recommendation, and might interfere with providential favors.In the course of the year, however, there had been a change in the publicsentiment, of which the unanimity at Dollop's was an index.
A good deal more than a year ago, before anything was known ofLydgate's skill, the judgments on it had naturally been divided,depending on a sense of likelihood, situated perhaps in the pit of thestomach or in the pineal gland, and differing in its verdicts, but not theless valuable as a guide in the total deficit of evidence. Patients who hadchronic diseases or whose lives had long been worn threadbare, like oldFeatherstone's, had been at once inclined to try him; also, many who didnot like paying their doctor's bills, thought agreeably of opening anaccount with a new doctor and sending for him without stint if thechildren's temper wanted a dose, occasions when the old practitionerswere often crusty; and all persons thus inclined to employ Lydgate heldit likely that he was clever. Some considered that he might do more thanothers "where there was liver;"—at least there would be no harm ingetting a few bottles of "stuff" from him, since if these proved useless itwould still be possible to return to the Purifying Pills, which kept youalive if they did not remove the yellowness. But these were people ofminor importance. Good Middlemarch families were of course not goingto change their doctor without reason shown; and everybody who hademployed Mr. Peacock did not feel obliged to accept a new man merelyin the character of his successor, objecting that he was "not likely to beequal to Peacock."
But Lydgate had not been long in the town before there wereparticulars enough reported of him to breed much more specificexpectations and to intensify differences into partisanship; some of theparticulars being of that impressive order of which the significance isentirely hidden, like a statistical amount without a standard ofcomparison, but with a note of exclamation at the end. The cubic feet ofoxygen yearly swallowed by a full-grown man—what a shudder theymight have created in some Middlemarch circles! "Oxygen! nobodyknows what that may be—is it any wonder the cholera has got toDantzic? And yet there are people who say quarantine is no good!"
One of the facts quickly rumored was that Lydgate did not dispensedrugs. This was offensive both to the physicians whose exclusivedistinction seemed infringed on, and to the surgeon-apothecaries withwhom he ranged himself; and only a little while before, they might havecounted on having the law on their side against a man who withoutcalling himself a London-made M.D. dared to ask for pay except as acharge on drugs. But Lydgate had not been experienced enough toforesee that his new course would be even more offensive to the laity;and to Mr. Mawmsey, an important grocer in the Top Market, who,though not one of his patients, questioned him in an affable manner onthe subject, he was injudicious enough to give a hasty popularexplanation of his reasons, pointing out to Mr. Mawmsey that it mustlower the character of practitioners, and be a constant injury to thepublic, if their only mode of getting paid for their work was by theirmaking out long bills for draughts, boluses, and mixtures.
"It is in that way that hard-working medical men may come to bealmost as mischievous as quacks," said Lydgate, rather thoughtlessly. "Toget their own bread they must overdose the king's lieges; and that's a badsort of treason, Mr. Mawmsey—undermines the constitution in a fatalway."
Mr. Mawmsey was not only an overseer (it was about a question ofoutdoor pay that he was having an interview with Lydgate), he was alsoasthmatic and had an increasing family: thus, from a medical point ofview, as well as from his own, he was an important man; indeed, anexceptional grocer, whose hair was arranged in a flame-like pyramid, andwhose retail deference was of the cordial, encouraging kind—jocoselycomplimentary, and with a certain considerate abstinence from lettingout the full force of his mind. It was Mr. Mawmsey's friendly jocosenessin questioning him which had set the tone of Lydgate's reply. But let thewise be warned against too great readiness at explanation: it multipliesthe sources of mistake, lengthening the sum for reckoners sure to gowrong.
Lydgate smiled as he ended his speech, putting his foot into thestirrup, and Mr. Mawmsey laughed more than he would have done if hehad known who the king's lieges were, giving his "Good morning, sir,good-morning, sir," with the air of one who saw everything clearlyenough. But in truth his views were perturbed. For years he had beenpaying bills with strictly made items, so that for every half-crown andeighteen-pence he was certain something measurable had been delivered.He had done this with satisfaction, including it among hisresponsibilities as a husband and father, and regarding a longer bill thanusual as a dignity worth mentioning. Moreover, in addition to themassive benefit of the drugs to "self and family," he had enjoyed thepleasure of forming an acute judgment as to their immediate effects, soas to give an intelligent statement for the guidance of Mr. Gambit—apractitioner just a little lower in status than Wrench or Toller, andespecially esteemed as an accoucheur, of whose ability Mr. Mawmseyhad the poorest opinion on all other points, but in doctoring, he waswont to say in an undertone, he placed Gambit above any of them.
Here were deeper reasons than the superficial talk of a new man,which appeared still flimsier in the drawing-room over the shop, whenthey were recited to Mrs. Mawmsey, a woman accustomed to be mademuch of as a fertile mother,—generally under attendance more or lessfrequent from Mr. Gambit, and occasionally having attacks whichrequired Dr. Minchin.
"Does this Mr. Lydgate mean to say there is no use in takingmedicine?" said Mrs. Mawmsey, who was slightly given to drawling. "Ishould like him to tell me how I could bear up at Fair time, if I didn'ttake strengthening medicine for a month beforehand. Think of what Ihave to provide for calling customers, my dear!"—here Mrs. Mawmseyturned to an intimate female friend who sat by—"a large veal pie—astuffed fillet—a round of beef—ham, tongue, et cetera, et cetera! Butwhat keeps me up best is the pink mixture, not the brown. I wonder,Mr. Mawmsey, with your experience, you could have patience to listen. Ishould have told him at once that I knew a little better than that."
"No, no, no," said Mr. Mawmsey; "I was not going to tell him myopinion. Hear everything and judge for yourself is my motto. But hedidn't know who he was talking to. I was not to be turned on his finger.People often pretend to tell me things, when they might as well say,'Mawmsey, you're a fool.' But I smile at it: I humor everybody's weakplace. If physic had done harm to self and family, I should have found itout by this time."
The next day Mr. Gambit was told that Lydgate went about sayingphysic was of no use.
"Indeed!" said he, lifting his eyebrows with cautious surprise. (Hewas a stout husky man with a large ring on his fourth finger.) "How willhe cure his patients, then?"
"That is what I say," returned Mrs. Mawmsey, who habitually gaveweight to her speech by loading her pronouns. "Does he suppose thatpeople will pay him only to come and sit with them and go away again?"
Mrs. Mawmsey had had a great deal of sitting from Mr. Gambit,including very full accounts of his own habits of body and other affairs;but of course he knew there was no innuendo in her remark, since hisspare time and personal narrative had never been charged for. So hereplied, humorously—
"Well, Lydgate is a good-looking young fellow, you know."
"Not one that I would employ," said Mrs. Mawmsey. "Others may doas they please."
Hence Mr. Gambit could go away from the chief grocer's without fearof rivalry, but not without a sense that Lydgate was one of thosehypocrites who try to discredit others by advertising their own honesty,and that it might be worth some people's while to show him up. Mr.Gambit, however, had a satisfactory practice, much pervaded by thesmells of retail trading which suggested the reduction of cash paymentsto a balance. And he did not think it worth his while to show Lydgate upuntil he knew how. He had not indeed great resources of education, andhad had to work his own way against a good deal of professionalcontempt; but he made none the worse accoucheur for calling thebreathing apparatus "longs."
Other medical men felt themselves more capable. Mr. Toller sharedthe highest practice in the town and belonged to an old Middlemarchfamily: there were Tollers in the law and everything else above the lineof retail trade. Unlike our irascible friend Wrench, he had the easiestway in the world of taking things which might be supposed to annoyhim, being a well-bred, quietly facetious man, who kept a good house,was very fond of a little sporting when he could get it, very friendly withMr. Hawley, and hostile to Mr. Bulstrode. It may seem odd that withsuch pleasant habits he should have been given to the heroic treatment,bleeding and blistering and starving his patients, with a dispassionatedisregard to his personal example; but the incongruity favored theopinion of his ability among his patients, who commonly observed thatMr. Toller had lazy manners, but his treatment was as active as youcould desire: no man, said they, carried more seriousness into hisprofession: he was a little slow in coming, but when he came, he didsomething. He was a great favorite in his own circle, and whatever heimplied to any one's disadvantage told doubly from his careless ironicaltone.
He naturally got tired of smiling and saying, "Ah!" when he was toldthat Mr. Peacock's successor did not mean to dispense medicines; andMr. Hackbutt one day mentioning it over the wine at a dinner-party, Mr.Toller said, laughingly, "Dibbitts will get rid of his stale drugs, then. I'mfond of little Dibbitts—I'm glad he's in luck."
"I see your meaning, Toller," said Mr. Hackbutt, "and I am entirely ofyour opinion. I shall take an opportunity of expressing myself to thateffect. A medical man should be responsible for the quality of the drugsconsumed by his patients. That is the rationale of the system of chargingwhich has hitherto obtained; and nothing is more offensive than thisostentation of reform, where there is no real amelioration."
"Ostentation, Hackbutt?" said Mr. Toller, ironically. "I don't see that.A man can't very well be ostentatious of what nobody believes in. There'sno reform in the matter: the question is, whether the profit on the drugsis paid to the medical man by the druggist or by the patient, and whetherthere shall be extra pay under the name of attendance."
"Ah, to be sure; one of your damned new versions of old humbug,"said Mr. Hawley, passing the decanter to Mr. Wrench.
Mr. Wrench, generally abstemious, often drank wine rather freely ata party, getting the more irritable in consequence.
"As to humbug, Hawley," he said, "that's a word easy to fling about.But what I contend against is the way medical men are fouling their ownnest, and setting up a cry about the country as if a general practitionerwho dispenses drugs couldn't be a gentleman. I throw back theimputation with scorn. I say, the most ungentlemanly trick a man can beguilty of is to come among the members of his profession withinnovations which are a libel on their time-honored procedure. That ismy opinion, and I am ready to maintain it against any one whocontradicts me." Mr. Wrench's voice had become exceedingly sharp.
"I can't oblige you there, Wrench," said Mr. Hawley, thrusting hishands into his trouser-pockets.
"My dear fellow," said Mr. Toller, striking in pacifically! and lookingat Mr. Wrench, "the physicians have their toes trodden on more than wehave. If you come to dignity it is a question for Minchin and Sprague."
"Does medical jurisprudence provide nothing against theseinfringements?" said Mr. Hackbutt, with a disinterested desire to offerhis lights. "How does the law stand, eh, Hawley?"
"Nothing to be done there," said Mr. Hawley. "I looked into it forSprague. You'd only break your nose against a damned judge's decision."
"Pooh! no need of law," said Mr. Toller. "So far as practice isconcerned the attempt is an absurdity. No patient will like it—certainlynot Peacock's, who have been used to depletion. Pass the wine."
Mr. Toller's prediction was partly verified. If Mr. and Mrs.Mawmsey, who had no idea of employing Lydgate, were made uneasy byhis supposed declaration against drugs, it was inevitable that those whocalled him in should watch a little anxiously to see whether he did "useall the means he might use" in the case. Even good Mr. Powderell, whoin his constant charity of interpretation was inclined to esteem Lydgatethe more for what seemed a conscientious pursuit of a better plan, hadhis mind disturbed with doubts during his wife's attack of erysipelas, andcould not abstain from mentioning to Lydgate that Mr. Peacock on asimilar occasion had administered a series of boluses which were nototherwise definable than by their remarkable effect in bringing Mrs.Powderell round before Michaelmas from an illness which had begun in aremarkably hot August. At last, indeed, in the conflict between his desirenot to hurt Lydgate and his anxiety that no "means" should be lacking, heinduced his wife privately to take Widgeon's Purifying Pills, an esteemedMiddlemarch medicine, which arrested every disease at the fountain bysetting to work at once upon the blood. This co-operative measure wasnot to be mentioned to Lydgate, and Mr. Powderell himself had nocertain reliance on it, only hoping that it might be attended with ablessing.
