After he had entered like a whirlwind the porch of the "Lion d'Or," the

doctor, shouting very loud, ordered them to unharness his horse. Then he

went into the stable to see that he was eating his oats all right; for

on arriving at a patient's he first of all looked after his mare and his

gig. People even said about this-"Ah! Monsieur Canivet's a character!"

And he was the more esteemed for this imperturbable coolness. The

universe to the last man might have died, and he would not have missed

the smallest of his habits.

Homais presented himself.

"I count on you," said the doctor. "Are we ready? Come along!"

But the druggist, turning red, confessed that he was too sensitive to

assist at such an operation.

"When one is a simple spectator," he said, "the imagination, you know,

is impressed. And then I have such a nervous system!"

"Pshaw!" interrupted Canivet; "on the contrary, you seem to me inclined

to apoplexy. Besides, that doesn't astonish me, for you chemist fellows

are always poking about your kitchens, which must end by spoiling your

constitutions. Now just look at me. I get up every day at four o'clock;

I shave with cold water (and am never cold). I don't wear flannels, and

I never catch cold; my carcass is good enough! I live now in one way,

now in another, like a philosopher, taking pot-luck; that is why I

am not squeamish like you, and it is as indifferent to me to carve a

Christian as the first fowl that turns up. Then, perhaps, you will say,

habit! habit!"

Then, without any consideration for Hippolyte, who was sweating with

agony between his sheets, these gentlemen entered into a conversation,

in which the druggist compared the coolness of a surgeon to that of a

general; and this comparison was pleasing to Canivet, who launched out

on the exigencies of his art. He looked upon, it as a sacred office,

although the ordinary practitioners dishonoured it. At last, coming back

to the patient, he examined the bandages brought by Homais, the same

that had appeared for the club-foot, and asked for someone to hold the

limb for him. Lestiboudois was sent for, and Monsieur Canivet having

turned up his sleeves, passed into the billiard-room, while the druggist

stayed with Artemise and the landlady, both whiter than their aprons,

and with ears strained towards the door.

Bovary during this time did not dare to stir from his house.

He kept downstairs in the sitting-room by the side of the fireless

chimney, his chin on his breast, his hands clasped, his eyes staring.

"What a mishap!" he thought, "what a mishap!" Perhaps, after all, he had

made some slip. He thought it over, but could hit upon nothing. But the

most famous surgeons also made mistakes; and that is what no one would

ever believe! People, on the contrary, would laugh, jeer! It would

spread as far as Forges, as Neufchatel, as Rouen, everywhere! Who could

say if his colleagues would not write against him. Polemics would ensue;

he would have to answer in the papers. Hippolyte might even prosecute

him. He saw himself dishonoured, ruined, lost; and his imagination,

assailed by a world of hypotheses, tossed amongst them like an empty

cask borne by the sea and floating upon the waves.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024